Margaret St. Clair Read Online Free PDF Page B

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