Margaret St. Clair (4 page)

We had all turned and were swimming outward. The water held the smell of suffering. Djuna and I bore the messenger —it was Baldus, a full brother of mine —up between our bodies and swam gently with him through the parting ra nks of the sea people toward the beach. He was hurt; he would have drowned without our help.

“What is it?” Sven asked. “What’s happening?”

No one answered him immediately. We were all clustered around Baldus, listening to his painfully gasped message. Then his body relaxed, and Djuna and I knew he was dead. The smell of death spread through the sea.

“What is it?” Sven repeated. “What’s happening?”

We let his body drop gently to the bottom. We would take Baldus later to one of the places where we lea ve our dead.

“He was a messenger,” I told the Splits, who were looking eagerly toward us. “He came to say that the navy has been hunting down sea people with an electric shock device. They have captured about fifty more of us. He was hurt, but managed to escape to tell us what was happening. Now —he is dead.”

Dr. Lawrence coughed. The rain showed no sign of slackening. “There’s your answer,” he said. “If your scruples still bother you, let me point out that human beings wouldn’t be bothered by them for an instant. Generally speaking, they are not deterred from an action by respect for their own or any other sort of life.”

“Yes,” Pettrus answered, rather wobblingly (Baldus had been his half-brother, too, and we sea people love one another), “but we have rather higher standards of conduct for ourselves than Splits do.”

Madelaine had been standing immobile, her hands pressed to her breast. Now she said, in a low, carrying voice, “There must be a quake.”

We were all looking at her, sea people and Splits alike, “Dr. Lawrence forgot the final argument,” she went on slowly. “He says that a quake is long overdue, that it may happen at any time. That means —there might be a quake on a weekday, when children were in school, the stores full of people, the freew a ys roaring with traffic. But if we make the quake, we can choose the time for it. We can select a time for it when the loss of life will be kept to a minimum, “Late Sunday night —before sunrise Monday morning —would be best, I think. Yes, that would be a go od time. But we must have a quake.”

“I ought to have thought of that,” Dr. Lawrence said in a rather dissatisfied voice. “But she’s right, of course. There will be much less destruction this way than if we merely leave it to nature.”

“Can’t we warn the m a quake is coming?” Pettrus asked hesitantly.

“No. If we warned them, they would strengthen the walls or evacuate the dolphins,” Madelaine answered. There was something odd in her voice —there had been something odd ever since she had said, “There must be a quake”—and she stood in the pouring rain without appearing to notice it at all. I did not realize until much later what was affecting her.

“Let’s have a vote on it,” Dr. Lawrence said, stepping forward. “We three are in favor of having a quake, I kn ow. Amtor, what do your sea people say?”

I felt their minds. It seemed to be unanimous, but I wanted to be positive. “Is there anyone opposed to triggering an earthquake by exploding a bomb in Benthis Canyon?” I asked in the high pitch that is inaudible to human ears.

Silence. “We all think we should try to cause the quake,” Pettrus said after a minute. “But it must be on Sunday night, as Moonlight” (that was one of the names we had for Madelaine) “said.”

“We are all in favor of the earthquake,” I rep orted. “But it must be on Sunday night.”

“Good,” said Dr. Lawrence. “Today is Thursday. Sven, you used to be a demolitions expert. Do you think you can get a bomb for us, perhaps from Port Chicago or Benecia, by sometime on Saturday?”

The doctor seemed to have elected himself our leader. He was intelligent, his plans were realistic, And yet, I did not trust him. I did not trust him at all.

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Chapter 3

How can an unarmed man get safely away with a bomb from a U.S. Navy arsen al? Sven had devoted a lot of thought to this problem, but the plan of action he had come up with was rudimentary indeed. For the most part, he felt he would have to rely on luck.

He left the Rock before sunset. Madelaine and Dr. Lawrence gave him what m oney they had with them, and Dr. Lawrence got a prescription pad out of his briefcase and wrote a prescription for a powerful, quick-acting hypnotic.

“I’ve made the signature ‘To be taken as needed’,” he told Sven, unsmiling. “Any drugstore ought to be a ble to ill it for you.” He put the prescription inside his rubber-ined tobacco pouch and handed it to Sven.

Sven put the pouch in his pants pocket, beside his pocket knife. “Does the stuff dissolve quickly?” he asked.

“Yes. It might taste a little bitter. Beer would be a good medium to administer it in.”

They shook hands. The doctor wished Sven good luck. Madelaine, more demonstrative, kissed him on both cheeks. Then Sven got on Djuna’s back —Djuna and Pettrus were fer rying him to Port Chicago —and was carried away from the Rock. He turned to wave good-bye at Madelaine and Lawrence, standing on the shingle in the glowing light. He was gone.

I should have liked to go with them. A historian ought o be where the action is . But my deformity would have slowed the party down, and three dolphins and a man were a little more apt to attract attention than two dolphins and a man. We didn’t want to attract any attention at all. So I stayed behind, near Noonday Rock.

Sven, astride Djuna’s back, experienced again the extraordinary contentment he had found before in physical contact with one of the sea people. The contentment was always there, like a basic theme in a piece of music, and when he speculated about it, he was always su r prised by its intensity. The conscious part of his mind was occupied, however, with the problem of the night: how can an unarmed man get safely away with a bomb from a navy arsenal? Not quite unarmed, perhaps —the knife in his pocket had a sharp two-and-ah alf-inch blade. But it was splitting hairs to think of the knife in his dungarees as a weapon. He had never used it for anything more serious than stripping the insulation from electric wires.

Sven had been stationed at Port Chicago for two months’ speci al training before he had been shipped out to the Middle East. He’d got to know several of the civilian dockside workers well enough to be on drinking terms with them. He’d liked a fellow Scandinavian, a man named Karl Eting, particularly well. If he coul d find Karl now —but it had been several years; Karl might not be working at the arsenal any more.

Sven shifted his position on Djuna. To cut down wind resistance, he was leaning far forward, like a jockey. Even so, he knew that carrying him had more than halved her normal cruising speed. Pettrus swam beside them silently, making hardly a ripple in the water. And how cold the water was! When they got to Port Chi, Sven thought, he would have to spend some time rubbing his feet before they would be much use f or walking.

The man and the dolphins passed under the Golden Gate Bridge. Sven saw the lights and heard the rush of traffic high over his head. Then they were inside the bay. The water was very slightly warmer here.

The moon had come up. San Francisco was a long blaze of light away to the south. Abruptly Djuna’s sleek body shuddered. Sven saw ripples run away from it in the moonlit water. In her high, quick voice she said, “Get on Pettrus’ back. Be quick.”

Sven made the transfer hastily, asking no que stions. When Djuna was relieved of his weight, she shot away northeastward in a great burst of speed.

“What’s the trouble?” Sven asked Pettrus. The male dolphin was swimming strongly straight on; Sven had the impression he too was using his reserves of s peed.

“Shark,” Pettrus said in his quick gabble. “She’s gone to try to head it off.”

Sven felt a thrill of alarm. He knew, without being told, that the sea people would have nothing to fear from any shark if it were not for him. Their speed, their incr edible speed —they were the fastest thing in the whole world of water —was their great safety. But Pettrus was burdened with Sven’s weight. And Djuna had shot unhesitatingly away to try to divert the shark.

Sven swallowed and licked his lips. He had said t hat he would help the sea people; He had not meant that his friends should run any risk because of him.

He was bent almost flat against Pettrus’ back. The question was no longer, how can an unarmed man get safely away with a bomb? but, more immediately and pressingly, how can a man, armed only with a pocket knife, fight off a shark? His head pressed close t o the dolphin’s, Sven said, “I have a pocket knife.”

“Good. Get it ready.” Pettrus plainly didn’t want to waste breath on words.

For a few moments Pettrus swam steadily on to the east. Sven had got the knife from his pocket and was ho lding it open in his hand. As the moments lengthened, he began to hope that Djuna had succeeded in her mission and that the shark had gone after easier prey. Then a quiver ran through Pettrus’ body. Sven raised his head quickly. To the right, unmistakable in the moonlight, was a triangular fin.

Well, but it might not attack; sharks were cautious, wary animals. It might find a man on a dolphin’s back a combination too disconcerting to molest, it might not attack, it might not … might not …

Pettrus appeared to share Sven’s uncertainty as to the predator’s intentions. He had almost ceased to move through the water. Then the fin cut sharply across Pettrus’ forward path. It banked, returned, banked, and came back again, each time closer to Pettrus and Sv e n. The shark was moving in.

There wasn’t much doubt now what it intended. Sven felt an odd sort of pressure inside his head, over his eyeballs. It wasn’t fear, it came from outside; and Sven, though he disliked it, had sense enough not to resist. He open ed his mind to it.

The shark made another pass at them, this time so close that Sven felt the water it disturbed churn around his legs. In a moment it would turn bell y up and —Pettrus attacked. He gave Sven no instructions; it wasn’t necessary. Sven kn ew he must try for the enemy’s eyes.

He bent far over, his arm outstretched. Even burdened with a rider, Pettrus could get up a very respectable speed. He had launched himself toward the shark like an arrow shot from a bow.

The shark—angry?, frightened ?—had stopped its ominous cruising and was bearing down on them with equal speed. At the last moment Pettrus winced aside. Sven leaned over and struck.

Even a shark’s eye is tough. But Sven’s knife had the whole force of Pettrus’ muscular body behind it. The blade drove in.

The force of the impact almost wrenched the knife from Sven’s hand. He held on, gripping Pettrus with his knees. The dolphin turned sharply, at an angle to his former course, and the knife was dragged out of the eye again. A gush of blood followed it.

The shark had gone wild with pain and rage. The water frothed white with the fury of its movements. But it still had one eye left; Sven and Pettrus must try again.

The shark had turned belly up and was driving at them. Sven caught a glimpse of its enormous open shearing jaws. Pettrus veered accurately, at the last moment, but Sven’s blow went wild. The shark’s file-rough hide took off part of his trouser leg.

Once more. The shark was losing blood, but this did not make it any less formidable an antagonist. Pettrus had been motionless for an instant, trying, Sven thought, to guess what the enemy would do next. Now he gathered himself and drove toward the shark’s tail.

It was a feint. Pettrus turned, ra king his velvet body against the cruel integument. Sven struck. The knife went deep into the eye. Sven felt it grate against the bone of the eye socket.

Pettrus made a quick turn. The knife stayed in the eye. But this time it did not matter. The enemy wa s blind. The shark could not even track them by smell; the water was too full of the smell of its own blood.

Sven drew a deep breath. The sense of pressure in his head relaxed. Pettrus began to swim eastward again, toward Port Chicago. They left the shar k behind them, churning the water dirty white with its furious blood.

“That was good, Sven,” Pettrus said after a little while.

Sven did not answer immediately. He felt that in the struggle just over he had been as much a part of Pettrus as if he had b een an arm the dolphin had grown to help in the fight.

“Was it Udra?” he asked at last.

“Yes-s-s. Something like Udra, anyhow. I’m sorry I had to do it so quickly. There wasn’t time to ask your permission, Sven. It was an emergency.”

“I’m glad you did it,” Sven answered sincerely. “How about you? I notice you’re swimming a little less smoothly than usual.”

Pettrus made a blowing noise with his lips. “I lost some skin that last time, when you put out the other eye. That’s one reason we sea people hat e the sharks —their hides are so rough. But it’s not serious, only unpleasant. It will grow back.”

“Is Djuna all right?”

“I think so. There was only the one shark. I think —Yes-s, she’s coming this way. She ought to be here in a little while.”

Sure enough, in two or three minutes Djuna came coasting up. She nuzzled Sven’s bare leg interestedly, and ran her snout along Pettrus’ side. She said nothing that was audible to Sven’s ears, but he was sure that she was in possession of a full account of the en c ounter with the shark.

“Get on my back, Sven,” she said after a moment. “Pettrus is tired.”

Sven was still riding Djuna when they got to their destination. “How will you know when to come for me?” the young man asked as he felt the pebbles of the beach under hi s feet .

“Don’t worry, we just will,” Djuna replied. Her voice was a little higher than Pettrus’: now that he was used to the sea people, Sven found that their voices were as individual as those of human beings. “But we’ll stay away from shore. We don’t want to be noticed or picked up.” They swam away.

As he walked up from the beach, Sven realized that the adventure with the shark had shaken him considerably. Odd that in an age of nuclear explosives and biological warfare, a shark’s jaws could s till retain their archaic terribleness.