Humanx - Cachalot Part 11

"Don't you think that under the present circ.u.m- stances we might make an exception?"

Sam considered the matter, spoke cautiously. "If it's vital to your research, well, we might try locating a herd or two. But only if it's absolutely necessary."

"Whom do I have to clear it with?"

"With the cetaceans, of course. No arguing per- mitted, by the way." He spoke sternly. "H we do hap- pen to run into a pod and they don't want to stop and chat, there must be no disappointed tantrums. If we pester them beyond a certain point, they're fully within their rights to smash the boat-and its inhabitants."

They were approaching the southern tip of the atoll.

Curving beaches reached out and around to embrace then" arrival. The buildings here were larger than any they had seen up close, larger even than the central

50 CACHALOT.

Administration Building back by the shuttle dock.

Some were circular, others ma.s.sive and foursquare to the sand. All were coated with photovoltaic panel- ing. Much plastic and metal tubing ran between the buildings. Bulky structures running up each end of the atoll looked like warehouses. And far more ac- tivity was visible than they had encountered at Ad- ministration. The Commonwealth is present on Cacha- lot because of this, Cora told herself, and not the other way around.

"South Terminus," Mataroreva announced. "The clearing area for the produce of Cachalot's ocean."

"What about the processing?" Rachael inquired.

"The basics are performed on the floating towns themselves-sizing and grading corbyianver, for ex- ample. Concentrating and precrating are mostly done right here. The final refining takes place," and he waved at the sky, "out there. There are a number of fairly large orbital factories set in synchronous...o...b..ts above us."

Cora nodded. "We saw one on our way down, I think."

"That's where the final work takes place." He angled toward the beach. "All of the more valuable products are completed up there: pharmaceuticals, perfumes and other cosmetics, foodstuffs, minerals. It's cheaper than trying to build a floating factory down here. Also, most of the raw materials take acceleration better than the finished products would."

"I wouldn't think an orbital factory would be cheaper," Cora protested.

"Consider that everything you see on Mou'anui was built with imported materials. Undersea mining is prohibitively expensive, not to mention refining.

Cachalot's population doesn't call for an extensive manufacturing base. It's cheaper to import."

He slowed, edged the craft up against one of several empty piers. Switches were flipped and the engine

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died. Another switch locked the craft to the pier. They followed their guide into a complex of buildings that were as modem as any Cora had seen. Ferrocrete covered the sand. It sounded harsh and alien against her sandals.

Around them strolled technicians whose accents she traced to many worlds. The atmosphere was radically different from the casual aura that enveloped the Administration Center. "Hustle" was the word here, commerce the constant reaction. This realization killed some of the charm Cora had come to a.s.sociate with the new world. She had to remind herself that the human presence on Cachalot existed because of cold economic figures.

Mataroreva left them to chat with a lanky lady who looked rather like one of the imported coconut palms.

She held an electronic notepad as she inspected man- high rows of opaque plastic containers.

"He's inside," Cora heard her say, "near the con- veyors. He's checking potential extract yield himself.

Seych.e.l.les Town brought in a large batch of formicary foam."

"Thanks, Kina." As she turned to resume her count- ing, he gave her a fond pat on the derriere. Cora took note of this, along with the ambient temperature and the time of day.

As they penetrated farther into the complex, Mat- aroreva pointed out the functions of various structures.

Eventually they entered a long, cavernous edifice that seemed to stretch onward forever. The clank and hum of machinery grinding out credits for distant, uncaring proprietors further deepened Cora's mel- ancholy. The last vestiges of paradise were being drowned around her. An ancient bit of music by Mos- solov echoed in her head.

Clearly Cora had arrived on Cachalot with a brace of misconceptions, which she was rapidly shedding.

No wonder the cetacean settlers wanted nothing to

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do with the local humanity. The same self-centered, acquisitive drives that had goosed mankind across a thousand pa.r.s.ecs in six directions were functioning round the clock on Cachalot.

She noticed a few thranx working some of the more intricate machinery. No doubt they were more com- fortable here, inside, well away from the threatening water.

Occasionally Mataroreva would wave at this worker or another. Some were human, some not. Of the for- mer, the majority was female.

They turned a corner and a gust of fresh salt air swept over them. They had completely crossed the reef and were now in a huge chamber, the far end of which lay open to the ocean. Gentle waves slapped metallically against the duralloy seawall. Two large suprafoils bobbed queasily against the broad metal platform. Both were portside-up to the wall. Their foils lay beneath the water. Stabilizers kept them from rolling farther.

Conveyors were moving large bulk crates from the holds of both vessels, stacking them neatly in a far comer of the chamber. The crates were pink, marked with blue stripes and black lettering. A small group of people were gathered by the nearest conveyor.

Dwarfed by the mechanical arms and large crates, they seemed to be arguing politely. Mataroreva headed toward them.

Two men and one woman were chatting with four others. They wore pareus similar to Mataroreva's.

One was a strikingly handsome blond youth of late adolescence who stood over two meters tall. Of the four they confronted physically and verbally, two were clad in suits and the popular net overs.h.i.+rts. One man wore standard trousers and a casual s.h.i.+rt. The last was clad collar to toe as if he were about to attend an inaugural ball. His shut was long-sleeved, of jet- black satiny material that blended into crimson metal

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fiber at wrists and waist. The trousers were identical in material and cut. The high collar b.u.t.toned beneath the chin was also of woven metal. The soft plastic sandals he stood in seemed strikingly out of place.

It was to him alone the three pareu-clad visitors spoke, while the other three deferred to him in voice and manner. Cora studied Yu Hwos.h.i.+en. He was no taller than she, but seemed so because of his pos- ture, as stiff as any antenna. When he spoke only his mouth moved. He did not gesture with hand or face.

His hah- was pure white, thinning in the front. Though he was at least thirty years older than she, there was nothing shaky about him. His eyes, small and deep- sunk, were the rich blue of daydreams.

Mataroreva did not interrupt to announce their arrival, so they were compelled to listen in on the conversation, which had something to do with for- micary foam. Cora knew nothing about that, but when the words "exene extract" were mentioned, she perked up quickly.

Exene was not quite a miracle drug, and its appli- cation was specialized and limited. However, anything Commonwealth chemistry had been unable to synthe- size was extremely valuable. Of such substances, exene was among the most desired.

As safe as cerebral surgery had become over the last several centuries, there was always a certain de- gree of danger whenever one tampered with the human brain. Microxerography could detect even the smallest embolisms, but such dangers still had to be excised.

No longer, though. Not since the discovery of for- micary foam, which could be reduced to produce exene. A small dose injected into the bloodstream would dissolve any arterial buildup or blockage. It was nontoxic and had no side effects. The enzyme literally scoured clean the patient's circulatory system.

The ancient scourge colloquially known as a "stroke"

had been banished forever.

54 CACHALOT.

So, the famous drug was made from something called formicary foam. Cora could neither see nor smell the stuff, encased as it was in the airtight crates.

It seemed as if quite a lot of foam was required to produce a small amount of exene. She wondered what the antlike creatures which secreted it looked like.

During the conversation Hwos.h.i.+en spoke less than any of his companions. He was apparently content to let his subordinates do most of the talking. He remained motionless, arms folded across his chest.

When he did speak, the arms didn't move.

For a wild instant Cora suspected his extraordinary rigidity was a result of some physical infirmity. But when the discussion ended and he shook hands with each of the visitors, she saw there was nothing wrong with him. His movements were just extremely spare.

He was as economical of gesture as of word.

As he turned toward them she noted a few wrinkles in the long, impa.s.sive face, but not nearly as many as one would expect in someone of his apparent age. Those startling blue eyes seemed to Stare not through her but past her.

Hwos.h.i.+en spoke to Mataroreva. His voice was soft but not gentle, each word loaded with irresistible com- mitment. Then he again eyed them each in turn, stop- ping on Cora. To her surprise she discovered she was fidgeting. It was not that Hwos.h.i.+en intimidated her.

No one intimidated her. But he somehow managed to convey the inescapable feeling that he was just a bit smarter than anyone else in the room.