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query several ways. It might refer to the journey for
food, the whale's personal odyssey, or the catodonian
journey through life. She guessed that he left it
purposely indistinct, perhaps to provoke a questioning
response.
A very young whale, no more than four meters in
length, responded by angling for the flank of the ship.
"Human ones, I have never seen that " A vast
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mass suddenly appeared beneath the juvenile, nudged
it aside.
"Will you talk, mother?" Matororeva hurriedly in-
quired of the female who had interposed herself be-
tween ship and offspring. She and the infant slid away,
and what she replied was not translated effectively.
Mataroreva managed a tight grin, however. "Scolding
the child, I would guess. Trying to keep him from the
evil influence of human beings."
Abruptly, a gigantic bulk emerged alongside the
ship. A vast skull, larger than most of the creatures
that had dwelled on the Earth or in its waters, reared
above the surface. Cora immediately recognized the
gnarls and whorls that slashed it, like markings on
some ancient tree.
"Greetings, old one," Mataroreva offered in recog-
nition.
"Human, I Know You," a vast, sighing voice said
through Cora's headset. The eye set back and just
above the wrinkled jaw flicked across the railing. "I
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Know Most Of Thee. We Did Talk To Little Purpose
Not Long Ago." Lumpjaw paused, considering how to
proceed.
"We Did All Our Talking Then. Why Dost Thou
Disturb Us Yet Again?" No one could mistake the
urgent edge to that question, nor the implied threat
behind it. Normal catadonian apathy was changing to
anger.
"Thou Tryest The Patience Of The Pod. We Will No
More Talk With Thee. Go Now!" he finished em-
phatically. "Or We Will Not Be Responsible. We
Know The Laws And Will Make Use Of Them! Nor
Depend On Thy Small Servants To Help Thee. They
Are Well Away From This Place And Would Not
Help Thee If They Could, For They Also Know The
Laws."
"What is there for them to help us from?"
Mataroreva asked with an ease he did not feeL "If we
are not friends, at least we are not enemies, for we
have not harmed you."
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"Thou Interruptest Thought, Thou Breakest Con-
centration, As Thou Didst With That Youngling, Thou
Lengthenest The Great Journey!" the furious old ce-
tacean stormed.
"We know and we're sorry," Mataroreva replied
quickly. "We just want "
A massive pair of flukes slammed dangerously near
the ship, dousing everyone on board. "No More Talk-
ing! No More Wasted Time! Life Is Short!" Cora
found herself wondering at their perception of time,
since a healthy catodon could live well over a hundred
years, as this patriarch probably already had.
"We Go This Side Of The Light-Giver. You Go The
Opposite Way. Go Now!"
"That's enough," Hwoshien grumbled outside his
headset. "We'll have to find another pod to question,
or look elsewhere altogether." He yelled dispiritedly
up at the helm. "Slow turn to starboard and quarter
speed ahead."
"Yes, sir," the helmsman acknowledged; he needed
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no urging to comply.
"Wait," Cora pleaded with the Commissioner. "We
226 CACHALOT
can't give up now. We need to ask only one or two
questions."
"I'll take a reasonable risk," he replied carefully,
"such as entering this pod's area. I won't risk a warn-
ing such as we've just received." The engines whined
behind them.
She looked imploringly at Mataroreva, found no
comfort there. "He's right, Cora." He turned away
from her, spoke to his superior. "We might have a
chance to locate an isolated . . ."
Cora looked wildly around. Anxious crewmembers
were rushing preparations to depart. Mataroreva con-
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tinued to converse in low tones with Hwoshien.
Rachael fingered her neurophon and chatted with
Merced. Only Dawn appeared unoccupied, and she
was staring interestedly at the herd, not at Cora.
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