Though he'd believed himself fully prepared, the journey from Ophhlia to Parramat still took longer than he'd expected. He knew he shouldn't have been surprised. Distances on Senisran were substantial, and Parramat was located several thousand kilometers from Ophhlia.
As the low-altitude transport jet screamed through cloud-flecked sky, he watched the landscape change beneath him. Given the inherent limitations of Senisrani terrain, the panorama varied considerably. There were low islands and high islands, islands with marked volcanic craters and islands with heavily eroded ridges and peaks. He saw islands with deserts and islets so cloaked in green growth that no bare earth was visible. There were blindingly white atolls and blue holes, sandbars aligned like folds of pale skin beneath shallow turquoise waters, tiny islets strung like pearls on a necklace, and isolated exposed seamounts devoid of life. All were corpuscles aswim in blue blood. The largest took no more than a couple of minutes to overfly.
It was impossible to count them all, and indeed, ongoing surveys added dozens of new landmasses to the Senisran total every week. By no means were all inhabited, or even visited by the natives, but even the most inconsequential found its way onto the list. Geo-Survey was very thorough.
The AAnn were compiling their own overview. Chraara, their main base, was fortuitously located on the opposite side of the planet from Ophhlia, on a low, sandy island only an AAnn would find attractive. From there contact parties fanned out, attempting to secure the friendship of manifold native societies. Occasionally they found themselves competing with human scouts for local affections. At such times a frosty politeness was established and maintained. It was all very formal, very restrained, and deadly serious. Beneath the diplomatic etiquette lay a brutal competition for influence with the locals.
In the race to conclude treaties, neither side had any natural advantages. The seni were perfectly happy to listen to the supplications of both. As to local conditions, the AAnn handled the heat better while humans enjoyed a greater tolerance for the high humidity. Physiologically, the thranx were better suited to Senisrani conditions than either human or AAnn, but their dislike of open water rendered them unenthusiastic when it came to accepting assignments on an island world, and the semihumanoid natives found them unpleasant to look upon. So it fell upon humans and AAnn to compete in the face-to-face negotiations.
"There it is." Even as he pointed, the pilot banked to starboard and descended to give his passenger a better view. "Parramat."
Pulickel had been on many similar craft, but while seasickness held no worries for him, aerial maneuvers always left him feeling slightly queasy. He would be relieved when they were down.
The mass of islands and islets rising from the azure sea was in no way remarkable. As near as Pulickel could tell, it differed only slightly from the thousands of similar islands they had overflown on the long flight out from Ophhlia.
The pilot proceeded to circumnavigate the entire archipelago, pointing out the thirty-six main islands and the occasional important minor group that had been dismissed by Survey with a collective name. Pulickel did his best to pay attention. To the north lay the archipelago of Ririroarak, to the west Mosiniatan, to the south Bebat, and to the east the close-packed island groups of Komapau, Seriseri, and Apla. Other clusters lay farther afield. All were inhabited, but thus far only Ririroarak and Seriseri had been visited by representatives of the Commonwealth. The Department of Xenology had many demands on its time and resources. Senisran received its fair share of attention, but no more.
"You know that the AAnn have a station here, too." As the pilot maintained their descent, Pulickel did his best to match the view outside with the survey map of Parramat he'd committed to memory. The two lined up adequately in his mind, except that the reality was far more beautiful than the recordings he'd been given to study.
"I've seen the prospectus," he informed his guide. "It doesn't matter. Their base is on an island in the far north of the group. I don't expect their presence to affect my work."
The pilot grunted softly. "Hope not. I reckon trying to make sense of one island culture after another is hard enough without the lizards making things more difficult than they already are. Personally, the less I have to do with them, the better I like it." In response to a nudge on a switch, there was a whine from the belly of the craft as her landing pontoons deployed.
"They're not lizards." As the g-forces on him increased modestly, Pulickel shifted uneasily in his harness. "They're far more closely related to the extinct order dinosauria, being warm-blooded and possessing distinctive characteristics of their own. The resemblance to terrestrial lizards is purely superficial."
"Yeah, right." His attempt at casual camaraderie thus rebuffed, the pilot's voice returned to neutral. "I-Lang on. Might be a little bumpy setting down. The lagoon's ten kilometers wide and the water inside is flat calm, but afternoon winds can be tricky."
Pulickel went silent, wondering if the pilot was being honest or if he was simply tired of trying to make friends with his stuffy passenger. Not that it mattered one way or the other. They wouldn't be seeing one another again for some time, if ever.
Banking sharply, they made one overfly of the landing site to check local conditions. Pulickel's view filled with water in a dozen amazing shades of blue and green, all enclosed within a huge lagoon ringed with low islets composed of largely uncolonized sand. Although a fair proportion of the material was a familiar white, in many places it was a startlingly bright red or yellow. This reflected its origin in aqueous alien growths that, while analogous in form and lifestyle to communal Terran corals, contained a high proportion of silicon as opposed to the more common calcium. The result was sand that was not only differently and more brightly colored but extraordinarily reflective, and reefs whose component structures tended to be sharp and angular rather than soft and rounded.
A single sharp bounce and they were down. Garrulous the pilot might be, but he knew his business. Backjets roared, fighting to reduce the ship's speed and making conversation impossible. Ahead of the slowing craft, several dozen silvery, nearly transparent fleratii exploded from the surface of the lagoon, fluttered fluted fins, and dispersed toward the eastern horizon. From a distance they suggested a fistful of fairy dust scattered upon the sea.
Pulickel knew that Senisran's single world-girdling ocean boasted creatures that in variety and numbers put those of Earth to shame. Not all were as beautiful as the feratii, whose glistening transparent skins scattered rainbows in their wake. There were thousands of forms glimpsed but as yet undescribed, and millions more to be discovered. The preparatory materials he had studied so assiduously prior to arrival had acquainted him with only a minimum of the most notable examples. What stood out foremost in his mind about Senisran's ocean life was that unlike on Earth and Cachalot, here invertebrate lifeforms were dominant. One could fish but would do better with a basket than a hook.
As they slowed, the pilot aimed for a small, sandy cay located inside the lagoon. A second craft was already drawn up on the picture-perfect beach, its silvery-gray exterior at odds with the reddish-white surface on which it rested. Green crowns burst from the tops of three gently curving, blue-black boled trees. Their stiff, starlike crests provided the only shade on the little islet.
Beneath the largest of these hearty growths, Pulickel noted as the pilot cut the engine and they coasted into the shallows, was some kind of fold-up lounge. On the lounge lay a figure, which due to their angle of approach seemed to be mostly legs. The pilot chuckled.
"Your field support."
Mentally organizing his neatly packed gear, the xenologist turned to him. "Something funny about that?"
"Funny? Naw, nothing funny about that." And he chuckled again. "I guess there's worse fates than being stuck on an island for months on end with only Fawn Seaforth for company."
"Why? Does she have a reputation for inhospitableness?" The pilot pursed his lips before replying. "I expect you'll find out, since you're the first person who's been assigned here to do more than temporary construction or delivery work." Both men lurched slightly forward as the ship's pontoons grounded on smooth sand.
"Yes, I suppose I will. I'm not worried, you know. No matter how obstinate or difficult they are at first, I've always been able to ingratiate myself with whomever I've been assigned to work with." For some reason this prompted the pilot to chortle even louder.
"Let's go." Grinning at some private thought, he wiped at one eye. "I'll unload that precious case of yours."
As the cockpit canopy slid back into the body of the transport, the landing ramp automatically deployed, coming to rest on a patch of dry, red sand that glittered like powdered rubies. Pulickel preceded the pilot, who was busy removing his passenger's travel case from the cargo hold.
As the xenologist marched down the ramp and into the heat, the figure reclining on the lounge raised up to get a better look at him. A hand waved in greeting. He ignored it, his first concern being for his kit.
He helped the pilot position the heavy plastic box on the sand. It contained everything of a personal and professional nature that he expected to need for the next six months. If anything had arrived damaged, it would take at least that long to replace it.
The one thing he wasn't concerned about was clothing. You didn't need much on Senisran. Though he'd been outside the air-conditioned cockpit for only a few minutes, he was already beginning to sweat. After weeks on a climate-controlled KK-drive ship in space-plus, it would take him a while to get acclimated anew to tropical surroundings. As soon as they arrived at Parramat station he intended to shed as much of his attire as possible.
From a small pool in the sand he splashed a little water on his face. Warm on contact, it cooled him as it evaporated. What slipped into his mouth, while not drinkable, was mild to the taste, Senisran's world ocean having a lower salt content than those of Earth. There were no continents here to erode and replenish the seas with rivers of dissolved minerals.
Once the travel case was placed to Pulickel's satisfaction, the pilot looked longingly toward the lounge and its single occupant, who showed no inclination to leave her shady spot and come to greet them. Obviously disappointed, he bade his ex-passenger farewell and goad luck before returning to his craft.
Pulickel stood just above the water's edge and watched as the stubby transport's engine whined back to life. Backing out of the shallows, the compact craft pivoted until it was facing southward. The jets roared, water rooster tailed, and in a moment it was lifting clear of the glassy surface, climbing steadily into a cloudless sky. It circled once over the islet and, like a fleeing dragonfly, vanished into the distance.
Pulickel stared at the place where it had disappeared until he could no longer hear the fading rumble. As his eyes dropped, a dozen shafts of dark blue erupted from the water some thirty meters out in the lagoon. Averaging two meters in length, they looked like Olympic javelins equipped with multiple exhaust pipes. They were followed by something that resembled a flattened disk of barbed wire. It landed just short of where the javelins had reentered the water. In this hopscotching fashion, prey and predator made their way across the lagoon.
Only when all was quiet again did he kneel to inspect the lower half of his case. It was wet, but only on the outside. The unit was air- as well as watertight.
Straightening, he turned his attention to the three trees and the lounge beneath. Since his support seemed less than eager to make his acquaintance, he started up the gentle slope to introduce himself. She ought to come down to meet him, he thought. This wasn't the best way to begin a long-term working relationship. Mindful of his self-assured boast to the pilot, he resolved not to make an issue of this minor breach of protocol. At least, not right away.
He halted beneath the shade of the first tree and studied the portable flex-lounge. Fashioned of an aerogel composite, it looked as if its occupant was lying on an illusion. As his eyes adjusted, he saw that she was something of an illusion herself. Having worked with hundreds of specialists and contact personnel on a dozen alien worlds, he was prepared for almost anything.
He was not prepared for Fawn Seaforth.
But then, no one ever was.
Putting aside the chill-cup she'd, been holding, she swung her legs off the side of the lounge and rose to greet him, hand extended. As she turned from the sun, her wraparound eyeshades lightened from dark to neutral so that he could see her eyes. They were bright blue.
"Hi! I'm Fawn Seaforth. And unless Dispatch has fouled up again, you're Pulickel Tomochelor."
He swallowed. "Pleasure to meet you, Seaforth. You you're out of uniform."
She laughed, a wonderful, melodious sound that the breeze caught and cast out over the lagoon, as if she were trolling for poets. For an instant, the air in the immediate vicinity was as full of life as the sea below.
"Actually, as you can see, I'm just about out of everything." She spread her arms wide to reveal what he could already see: that the bathing costume she was wearing would fit comfortably in any pocket of his shorts.
"When I'm by myself, which is all of the time except when I'm making a supply pickup, I rarely wear anything. It's just too damn hot. Of course, I wouldn't think of wearing anything remotely like this in Ophhlia, but this isn't Ophhlia. This is Parramat. The natives, naturally, could care less." She paused, waiting for a response. When none was forthcoming, she added, "Don't worry. I'm not going to drive the skimmer like this. I have a wraparound."
"That's good." He knew he was staring, but he couldn't help himself. Doubtless she was used to it, and too polite to point it, out. But what else was he to do? A full head taller than himself, well over the ancient six feet in height, she was a physical amalgam of Hera, several vit heroines, and the female bull dancers of ancient Crete. Her face reminded him of the famous bust of Nefertiti in the Berlin Museum archive. In addition to the sapphire blue eyes, she had shoulder-length blond hair wrapped in four tails. Her skin was the color of new-forged bronze. She was utterly and completely overpowering.
No wonder the pilot had been amused. Where "local support" was concerned, his unknowing passenger had been displaying ignorance on a global scale.
It wasn't Pulickel's fault. No one had informed him, no one had warned him that he was going to be working with a goddess. What was someone like Seaforth doing running a xenological contact station in the wilds of a frontier world, even as comparatively benign a frontier world as Senisran? Socioanthropology being what it was, he expected he would find out.
It would be exceedingly rude to ask her, having just been introduced. Meanwhile he would treat her exactly as he would any other colleague, except that he would have to watch where he let his eyes linger rather more than was usual. No doubt she was used to that, as well.
She laughed again. "Well, I'm glad `that's good.' Bet you're tired. We're a long way from Ophhlia." Stepping past him, she headed for his travel case. "What do I call you? Senior officer on site, Pulickel. Mr. Tomochelor, or just Pu, as in Winnie the?"
Following her, he discovered, was no less distracting than talking with her face to face. He made an effort. "Pulickel will do fine, since we'll be working together for the foreseeable future." He glanced to his left. "I'm sure there's plenty of room for my stuff in your skimmer."
"You travel light." Her tone was approving, which shouldn't have mattered to him but inexplicably did.
"Experience. The controls for the built-in hoist are located in a recess on the other end."
"Glad to hear it. I'm not in a lifting mood." She held out the chill-cup as they reached the case. "Want a sip?"
He eyed the protruding siphon. Mindful of her admonition to relax, he tried to make himself sound less officious. "What's in it?"
"Fructosoid specimen number one twenty-six. Suaswana in the local lingo. There are about a thousand regional varieties of fruit and juice, some with conflicting names depending on the maturity or location of the relevant tree or bush. I'm still cataloging." She thrust the container at him.
He shrugged internally. So long as it was cold and wet...
The frosty liquid detonated against his palate, blasting out reminiscences of lime, pomegranate, and something almost intolerably sweet. Another exotic trade item, he thought as he passed the cup back. No wonder the big trading houses were salivating over development permits for Senisran.
"Very nice," he admitted readily.
She downed a swallow. "There's plenty more, some of it even better. You'll taste for yourself. Come on."
Using the case's integral hoist, they maneuvered his gear up and into the open cargo bay of the skimmer. It had no canopy, only an adjustable windscreen forward.
"Don't use the top much," she replied in response to his query. "It's back in the shed. I can reattach it when necessary." Vaulting up into the open cockpit, she turned and reached down. "Need a hand?"
Shaking his head, he put both hands on the gunwale and pulled himself up and in. Nodding approvingly, she slipped a dirty, stained mechanic's shirt on over her suit, settled into the pilot's seat, and flicked contact pads. Humming with restrained power, the skimmer lifted off, leveled itself, and hovered a meter above the crimson sands.
He eyed his precious case. "What about clampdowns?"
She looked back over her shoulder and shook her head. "Shouldn't need 'em. It's heavy, enough that it won't blow out. You, on the other hand, might want to hang onto something." She indicated the seat next to her own.
Moving forward, he gripped an available handbar and braced himself. "I've been sitting down most of the way from Earth and all the way from Ophhha. I'll stand, if you don't mind."
"Just hang on. Over open water this baby can fly."
With a rising whine they rose to a height of three meters. Seaforth pivoted the craft until they were facing the lagoon and gunned the engine. Sand flew and Pulickel nearly stumbled as the skimmer shot out over the water, accelerating rapidly. Beneath their shadow the placid surface of the lagoon rippled slightly.
Seeing him squinting into the wind, she helpfully raised the transparent windscreen to a height sufficient to shield his face. The gesture went unremarked upon and she shrugged inwardly. Prim sort of chap, she thought. If that was the way he wanted it, it was fine with her. Deity knew there was plenty to be done.
She was mistaking his indecision for stiffness. An attractive woman he could have dealt with, but Fawn Seaforth was as much beyond attractive as a diamond was beyond coal. She was representative of the type one saw on the vit, a human being who existed only in virtual reality and not in real life. Yet then, she was, sitting in the pilot's seat not an arm's length from where he stood and doing her best to relax him by making small talk. At which he was failing miserably.
He was only being realistic. He was not the sort, physically or personality-wise, who appealed to goddesses. It was a law of nature. Better that she see him as a tool sent to facilitate her work. His worst fear was that she would prove even friendlier than she seemed. In that case he was terrified he would freeze completely.
This is ridiculous, he told himself firmly. She was a contact xenologist, just like himself only with less experience and a shorter resume. If he was going to let her mere appearances-though there was little mere about it bother him, he wasn't going to get any serious work done and his journey all this way would be accounted a failure. In his whole career he'd never had a failure, and he wasn't about to start now. Exhorting himself thus made him feel better.
The wind was brisk and cooling against his face as they crossed over the reef. Glancing down as they made the transition, he saw a waterscape alive with jewels. Once beyond the protective barrier, she angled north and pushed the skimmer's speed up another notch.
The reigning silence was becoming painful. "Interesting hairstyle," he ventured lamely. "What's that you've woven into the braids?"
She glanced over at him. "Kiswaa and socolo fibers. The plants are natural gold concentrators. As opposed to food, gardening Parramati grow them for decorative purposes like this, though they have no hair."
He blinked. "Gardening?"
"Wait till you see a Parramati garden. They're genuine works of art. Growing food is almost secondary to appearance."
"I look forward to seeing in person everything I've only had the opportunity to study." He turned to face back into the wind.
They'd long since left the huge atoll behind and were speeding along above open water. Islands sizable and small were visible in all directions, but Seaforth maintained their northerly heading, changing course only to avoid those islets that protruded a meter or more above the water. In the open passages between landmasses, strong ocean swells occasionally reached for the speeding skimmer, but none dampened its underside. High, chiseled, and overwhelmed by green, a cluster of larger islands loomed ahead.
"I didn't expect full field uniform, but do you always meet the supply shuttle from Ophhlia that way?"
Seaforth glanced down at herself. "Something wrong with the way I'm dressed?"
"I didn't say that. I just wondered."
"Sure you did." She kept her gaze forward and her attention on their course.
He struggled to recover. "It's just that it's been my experience that indifference to casual detail leads to sloppy work."
"Does it, now?"
He gave up. "If you're going to respond to everything I say with another question, we're going to have trouble communicating."
"You mean we're not already?" Her gaze narrowed. "Tell you what, Pulickel. Wait till you've been here for a few weeks. Then talk to me about protocol, okay?"
"Fair enough." He returned his attention to the view forward, blinking repeatedly. The tropical sun reflecting off the water was harsh against his pupils, and his eyeshades were still packed inside his travel case.
She was silent for several minutes, then sighed and reached into a side storage compartment. The goggles she handed him were similar to his own.
He accepted them gratefully. "I have several pair, but they're packed away. I didn't expect so long a ride from the pickup point to base."
"So they didn't tell you everything back on Earth."
"There wasn't much time. Normally I'm given more advance notice. I had to complete basic preparatory studies on the journey out from Earth."
"Yeah, well, everyone's in a hurry to get the situation here resolved."
He nodded knowingly. "The mineral rights."
"Among other things." She swerved to avoid a coral pinnacle that rose high above the water. "Smell that air, Pulickel! Everything's unspoiled here. Fresh, unpolluted, natural."
He eyed her thoughtfully. "Is that why you're here?
I'd think someone like yourself would miss the excitement of a developed world, or at least the comforts of Ophhlia."
She turned to him so quickly that he started. "Someone like me? For a guy I met less than an hour ago, you presume a lot." Her darkened eyescreens prevented him from seeing her eyes. "For a supposed specialist with a fancy reputation, you show a disappointing tendency to fall back on unsupported assumptions."
He hastened to make amends. "I'm sorry. Let's start over, okay? I'm Pulickel Tomochelor. It's nice to meet you."
"Pardon me if I don't shake hands. I've got to steer this air skate." But she smiled, and he was relieved.
"It's not that I dislike parties and civilization," she went on, "but you can get used to peace and quiet. Even," she added coolly, "someone like me." After a moment she added, "Leastwise, it's peaceful and quiet most of the time.
"Trouble with the locals?"
"More frustration than trouble. You'll see." Reaching down, she pulled the hem of her overshirt out in front of her and eyed the stains. "I guess you're right. This could use a wash. Especially now that I have company."
If she was waiting for him to demur, she'd have a long wait. It was unfortunate if his attitude put her off, but he felt it necessary to establish from the start who was in charge and whose work philosophy was to prevail. She might be the one with on-site experience, but within the Department he easily ranked her. Convincing her to do some personal laundry was a relatively painless way of reminding her of their respective positions. Once she accepted that, their working relationship would improve.
Maybe she enjoyed going native, or playing beachcomber, or whatever it was that had happened to affect her attitudes but relaxation and indifference weren't going to solve the problems at hand. She might be in love with Parramat, but all he wanted was to fix what he'd been sent out to fix, receive his commendation, and get out. Goddess or no, he wasn't about to let her stand in the way of that goal.
About then she took a deep breath and stretched, causing him to temporarily forget everything related to his admirable work ethic.
Ten minutes on found them weaving between the larger, heavily vegetated islands. The southernmost reaches of the Parramat archipelago, Fawn informed him. Thereafter they were never out of sight of high peaks and their cosseting clouds. The sheer sides of many of the islands and the. heavy waves breaking on their fringing reefs showed why she had traveled to the sandy cay in the lagoon to pick him up. There was no protected touchdown site here for the aerial transport.
One especially striking crag was. several hundred meters high, a jungled spire rising sheer from the ocean floor. Flocks of unidentifiable flying things roosted in its hollows and ledges. Showing no inclination to reduce their speed, Seaforth guided the skimmer skillfully past.
As they entered an area of open water between two smaller islands, he found out why the spectacular beauty through which they were traveling needed to be taken with a grain of sea salt.
Something beeped on the instrument panel. Moving faster than he'd yet seen, Seaforth sat up straight and began checking her readouts.
“What…?”
Before he could finish the query, she slammed the steering guide hard aport and yelled out, "Hang on!" Water rooster-tailed to starboard, an artificial geyser.
Following which she shouted something so unexpectedly obscene that he found himself rocked from two quarters. If nothing else, it permanently killed the goddess image he'd assigned to her.
"Damn! There's a whole school of the slimy bastards. They've come in from the deep ocean. Passing between islands." The skimmer lurched heavily to starboard as she threw it in the opposite direction.
"A whole school of what?" Making sure of his grip on the hang bar, he turned and leaned over the side to have a look at the sea.
"Hey, are you crazy? Don't do that!" A hand reached out and grabbed the waistband of his shorts, yanking him backward.
As he stumbled awkwardly in her grasp, a narrow stream of water shot skyward, passing through the space where he'd been leaning over the side. The fountain glittered in the bright sunshine, intense enough to suggest the presence of something more than just water.
Trying to maintain his dignity, he stumbled as he spun out of her grip. "What the devil do you think you're doing?"
"Saving your ignorant life, Tomochelor." She flung the steering guide hard over and he nearly fell down. Her gaze was focused on the instrument panel as well as the water ahead. "When passing over something dangerous, you don't lean over for a closer look at it."
He steadied himself as the skimmer twisted beneath him. He was more upset at the ease with which she'd pulled him away from the side than the manner in which she'd addressed him.
"An explanation night help. I didn't see anything dangerous." Without approaching the edge, he glanced cautiously over the side. As far as he could see, the water was undisturbed by anything out of the ordinary. "For that matter, I still don't see anything dangerous."
"If you're a predator, that's the idea." She glanced back over a shoulder. "We're clear of them now. I counted more than a dozen of the squishy monstrosities when they were on the screen."
Leaning against the front console, he crossed his arms and eyed her tensely. "I'm still waiting for an explanation. And I don't recognize `squishy monstrosities' as an applicable taxonomic classification."
"They were apapanus. "
He frowned. "I don't recall that name from any of the lists of local fauna."
"They're not in the catalog yet. Remember, Bioscan is accepting a dozen new species a week here. An apapanu is a big, fat, ugly pseudocephalopod. It likes to sit just under the surface in shallow water. In ambush."
"Ambush
"It ejects a stream of water under pressure. Many of the local oceanic life-forms propel themselves by squirting-water through tubes on the sides of their bodies or at the tips of fins-from just about anywhere you can imagine. A few use similar high-pressure jets for predation."
He rubbed at his forehead. "What's the intent? To drown intended victims?"
"Are you familiar with the Terran archer fish?" Pulickel shook his head. "It lies in wait just beneath the surface of ponds and rivers and shoots a thin stream of water at insects poised on overhanging branches and leaves. Knocks them off into the water and eats them. The apapanu does something similar, utilizing a much higher volume. What distinguishes it is that it doesn't shoot just water." She put her feet up on the instrument panel.
"When it's not feeding, it nibbles on particularly tough quasi-corals. Instead of digesting, it passes this groundup detritus into a special sac located behind its cranial ejection spigot. The solid material consists primarily of indigestible silicates. What it's firing at its prey is a stream of water under extremely high pressure that contains a high proportion of sharp-edged silicaceous aggregate. Think of it as a water cannon packed with ground glass.
"When you were leaning over the side, you were in danger of catching more than a faceful of seawater. An apapanu the size of the ones we passed over could have I sheared your head off." One sandaled foot nimbly ad-
justed a minor instrument.
"Once when I was out fishing for eleuu, a flock of uluritei flashed right past the front of the skimmer. They're low-level gliders that fish the surface waters."
"Like fleratii," he commented.
She nodded approvingly. "Yes, like fleratii, only much smaller. Wing-span of less than three meters. Anyway, one of them had just snapped something out of the water when an apapanu brought it down. Blew a hole clean through it. Apapanus have excellent diffraction compensatory vision and can see anything above the surface while lurking beneath it." She eyed him meaningfully. "Could've cut your visit here real short. So to speak."
"It won't happen again," he assured her stiffly. "I suppose I should thank you."
"Why not? I adore novelties." There was silence for a long moment. "Well?"
"Well what?" His attention was on the large, high island directly ahead. Absently he added, "Thank you for saving my face."
"As opposed to saving face?" Her smile, never, absent for very long, returned. "Don't take it to heart. You just got here. I didn't expect to run into any trouble between the landing cay and Torrelau myself."
"How do the locals avoid such creatures?"
"As best they can. When they don't someone usually dies." Her tone was fiat. "The design of their outriggers is unique and they can turn quickly. The Parramati are skilled at avoiding the dangers of the sea, but they're not omnipotent. Sometimes the predators are faster."
He nodded slowly. "How do they cope?"
"High birthrate. And magic."
His eyebrows rose. "I beg your pardon?"
She lowered her voice, trying to make herself sound as mysterious as possible. "Magic."
He smiled thinly, doing his best to go along with what was obviously a joke. "Do they employ any particular divinations? Or perhaps special powders and incantations?"
She didn't miss a beat. "Absolutely. Superficially, it sounds a lot like the magicks of Aluwela, Tesiratupa, Curusisim, and a hundred other island groups. The only difference is, here it works."
"Not all the time, according to what you've just told me."
"Parramati magic isn't absolute. It just seems to improve the odds."
He shrugged. "Chants and incantations are inherently superficial, but native herbs and powders can have powerful physiological effects. Something they might sprinkle on the water to numb the nervous systems of dangerous predators, for example. I could give you a hundred possible explanations for what you think you've seen, many from personal experience."
She leaned forward slightly, peering through the windscreen. "Pretty soon you'll have the chance to judge for yourself. We're almost there. That's Torrelau dead ahead."