"Just pa.s.sing over the Hawaiian Corridor," said the pilot's voice from the speaker. "We should see the break in a minute."

"I can see it now," said one of the other wardens, leaning past Franklin and pointing out to sea. "There they are-having the time of their lives."

It was a spectacle which must be making the poor farmers tear their hair. Franklin suddenly remembered an old nursery rhyme he had not thought of for at least thirty years: Little Boy Blue, come blow your horn, The sheep's in the meadow, the cow's in the corn.

There was no doubt that the cows were in the corn, and Little Boy Blue was going to have a busy time getting them out. Far below, myriads of narrow swathes were being carved in the endless yellow sea, as the ravenous, slowly moving mountains ate their way into the rich plankton meadows. A blue line of exposed water marked the track of each whale as it meandered through what must be a cetacean heaven-a heaven from which it was Franklin's job to expel it as promptly as possible.

The three wardens, after a final radio briefing, left the cabin and went down to the hold, where the little subs were already hanging from the davits which would lower them into the sea. There would be no difficulty about this operation; what might not be so easy would be getting them back again, and if the sea became rough they might have to go home under their own power.

It seemed strange to be inside a submarine inside an airplane, but Franklin had little time for such thoughts as he went through the routine c.o.c.kpit drill. Then the speaker on his control panel remarked: "Hovering at thirty feet; now opening cargo hatches. Stand by, Number One Sub," Franklin was number two; the great cargo craft was poised so steadily, and the hoists moved down so smoothly, that he never felt any impact as the sub dropped into its natural element. Then the three scouts were fanning out along the tracks that had been a.s.signed to them, like mechanized sheep dogs rounding up a flock.

Almost at once, Franklin realized that this operation was not going to be as simple as it looked. The sub was driving through a thick soup that completely eliminated vision and even interfered seriously with sonar. What was still more serious, the hydrojet motors were laboring unhappily as their impellers chewed through the mush. He could not afford to get his propulsion system clogged; the best thing to do would be to dive below the plankton layer and not to surface until it was absolutely necessary.

Three hundred feet down, the water was merely murky and though vision was still impossible he could make good speed. He wondered if the greedily feasting whales above his head knew of his approach and realized that their idyll was coming to an end. On the sonar screen he could see their luminous echoes moving slowly across the ghostly mirror of the air-water surface which his sound beams could not penetrate. It was odd how similar the surface of the sea looked from below both to the naked eye and to the acoustical senses of the sonar.

The characteristically compact little echoes of the two other subs were moving out to the flanks of the scattered herd. Franklin glanced at the chronometer; in less than a minute, the drive was due to begin. He switched on the external microphones and listened to the voices of the sea.

How could anyone have ever thought that the sea was silent! Even man's limited hearing could detect many of its sounds-the clashing of chitinous claws, the moan of great boulders made restive by the ocean swell, the high-pitched squeak of porpoises, the unmistakable "flick" of a shark's tail as it suddenly accelerates on a new course. But these were merely the sounds in the audible spectrum; to listen to the full music of the sea one must go both below and above the range of human hearing. This was a simple enough task for the sub's frequency converters; if he wished, Franklin could tune in to any sounds from almost a million cycles a second down to vibrations as sluggish as the slow opening of an ancient, rusty door.

He set the receiver to the broadest band, and at once his mind began to interpret the mult.i.tudinous messages that came pouring into the little cabin from the watery world outside. The man-made noises he dismissed at once; the sounds of his own sub and the more distant whines of his companion vessels were largely eliminated by the special filters designed for that purpose. But he could just detect the distinctive whistles of the three sonar sets-his own almost blanketing the others -and beyond those the faint and far-off beep-beep-beep of the Hawaiian Corridor. The double fence which was supposed to channel the whales safely through the rich sea farm sent out of its pulses at five-second intervals, and though the nearest portion of the fence was out of action the more distant parts of the sonic barrier could be clearly heard. The pulses were curiously distorted and drawn-out into a faint continuous echo as each new burst of sound was followed at once by the delayed waves from more and more remote regions of the fence. Franklin could hear each pulse running away into the distance, as sometimes a clap of thunder may be heard racing across the sky.

Against this background, the sounds of the natural world stood out sharp and clear. From all directions, with never a moment's silence, came the shrill shrieks and squealings of the whales as they talked to one another or merely gave vent to their high spirits and enjoyment. Franklin could distinguish between the voices of the males and the females, but he was not one of those experts who could identify individuals and even interpret what they were trying to express.

There is no more eerie sound in all the world than the screaming of a herd of whales, when one moves among it in the depths of the sea. Franklin had only to close his eyes and he could imagine that he was lost in some demon-haunted forest, while ghosts and goblins closed in upon him. Could Hector Berlioz have heard this banshee chorus, he would have known that Nature had already antic.i.p.ated his "Dream of the Witches' Sabbath."

But weirdness lies only in unfamiliarity, and this sound was now part of Franklin's life. It no longer gave him nightmares, as it had sometimes done in his early days. Indeed, the main emotion that it now inspired in him was an affectionate amus.e.m.e.nt, together with a slight surprise that such enormous animals produced such falsetto screams.

Yet there was a memory that the sound of the sea sometimes evoked. It no longer had power to hurt him, though it could still fill his heart with a wistful sadness. He remembered all the times he had spent in the signals rooms of s.p.a.ce ships or s.p.a.ce stations, listening to the radio waves coming in as the monitors combed the spectrum in their automatic search. Sometimes there had been, like these same ghostly voices calling in the night, the sound of distant ships or beacons, or the torrents of high-speed code as the colonies talked with Mother Earth. And always one could hear a perpetual murmuring background to man's feeble transmitters, the endless susurration of the stars and galaxies themselves as they drenched the whole universe with radiation.

The chronometer hand came around to zero. It had not scythed away the first second before the sea erupted in a h.e.l.lish cacophony of sound-a rising and falling ululation that made Franklin reach swiftly for the volume control. The sonic mines had been dropped, and he felt sorry for any whales who were unlucky enough to be near them. Almost at once the pattern of echoes on the screen began to change, as the terrified beasts started to flee in panic toward the west. Franklin watched closely, preparing to head off any part of the herd that looked like it would miss the gap in the fence and turn back into the farms.

The noise generators must have been improved, he decided, since the last time this trick had been tried-or else these whales were more amenable. Only a few stragglers tried to break away, and it was no more than ten minutes' work to round them up on the right path and scare them back with the subs' own sirens. Half an hour after the mines had been dropped, the entire herd had been funneled back through the invisible gap in the fence, and was milling around inside the narrow corridor. There was nothing for the subs to do but to stand by until the engineers had carried out their repairs and the curtain of sound was once more complete.

No one could claim that it was a famous victory. It was just another day's work, a minor battle in an endless campaign. Already the excitement of the chase had died away, and Franklin was wondering how long it would be before the freighter could hoist them out of the ocean and fly them back to Hawaii. This was, after all, supposed to be his day off, and he had promised to take Peter down to Waikiki and start teaching him how to swim.

Even when he is merely standing by, a good warden never lets his attention stray for long from his sonar screen. Every three minutes, without any conscious thought, Franklin switched to the long-range scan and tilted the transmitter down toward the sea bed, just to keep track of what was going on around him. He did not doubt that his colleagues were doing exactly the same, between wondering how long it would be before they were relieved....

At the very limit of his range, ten miles away and almost two miles down, a faint echo had crawled onto the edge of the screen. Franklin looked at it with mild interest; then his brows knit in perplexity. It must be an unusually large object to be visible at such a distance-something quite as large as a whale. But no whale could be swimming at such a depth; though sperm whales had been encountered almost a mile down, this was beyond the limits at which they could operate, fabulous divers though they were. A deep-sea shark? Possibly, thought Franklin; it would do no harm to have a closer look at it.

He locked the scanner onto the distant echo and expanded the image as far as the screen magnification would allow. It was too far away to make out any detail, but he could see now that he was looking at a long, thin object-and that it was moving quite rapidly. He stared at it for a moment, then called his colleagues. Unnecessary chatter was discouraged on operations, but here was a minor mystery that intrigued him.

"Sub Two calling," he said. "I've a large echo bearing 185 degrees, range 9.7 miles, depth 1.8 miles. Looks like another sub. You know if anyone else is operating around here?"

"Sub One calling Sub Two," came the first reply. "That's outside my range. Could be a Research Department sub down there. How big would you say your echo is?"

"About a hundred feet long. Maybe more. It's doing over ten knots."

"Sub Three calling. There's no research vessel around here. The Nautilus IV Nautilus IV is laid up for repairs, and the is laid up for repairs, and the Cousteau's Cousteau's in the Atlantic. Must be a fish you've got hold of." in the Atlantic. Must be a fish you've got hold of."

"There aren't any fish this size. Have I permission to go after it? I think we ought to check up."

"Permission granted," answered Sub One. "We'll hold the gap here. Keep in touch."

Franklin swung the sub around to the south, and brought the little vessel up to maximum speed with a smooth rush of power. The echo he was chasing was already too deep for him to reach, but there was always the chance that it might come back to the surface. Even if it did not, he would be able to get a much clearer image when he had shortened his range.

He had traveled only two miles when he saw that the chase was hopeless. There could be no doubt; his quarry had detected either the vibrations of his motor or his sonar and was plunging at full speed straight down to the bottom. He managed to get within four miles, and then the signal was lost in the confused maze of echoes from the ocean bed. His last glimpse of it confirmed his earlier impression of great length and relative thinness, but he was still unable to make out any details of its structure.

"So it got away from you," said Sub One. "I thought it would."

"Then you know what it was?"

"No-nor does anyone else. And if you'll take my advice, you won't talk to any reporters about it. If you do, you'll never live it down."

Momentarily frozen with astonishment, Franklin stared at the little loudspeaker from which the words had just come. So they had not been pulling his leg, as he had always a.s.sumed. He remembered some of the tales he had heard in the bar at Heron Island and wherever wardens gathered together after duty. He had laughed at them then, but now he knew that the tales were true.

That nervous echo skittering hastily out of range had been nothing less than the Great Sea Serpent.

Indra, who was still doing part-time work at the Hawaii Aquarium when her household duties permitted, was not as impressed as her husband had expected. In fact, her first comment was somewhat deflating.

"Yes, but which which sea serpent? You know there are at least three totally different types." sea serpent? You know there are at least three totally different types."

"I certainly didn't."

"Well, first of all there's a giant eel which has been seen on three or four occasions but never properly identified, though its larvae were caught back in the 1940's. It's known to grow up to sixty feet long, and that's enough of a sea serpent for most people. But the really spectacular one is the oarfish-Regalecus glesne. That's got a face like a horse, a crest of brilliant red quills like an Indian brave's headdress -and a snakelike body which may be seventy feet long. Since we know that these things exist, how do you expect us to be surprised at anything the sea can produce?"

"What about the third type you mentioned?"

"That's the one we haven't identified or even described. We just call it 'X' because people still laugh when you talk about sea serpents. The only thing that we know about it is that it undoubtedly exists, that it's extremely sly, and that it lives in deep water. One day we'll catch it, but when we do it will probably be through pure luck."

Franklin was very thoughtful for the rest of the evening. He did not like to admit that, despite all the instruments that man now used to probe the sea, despite his own continual patrolling of the depths, the ocean still held many secrets and would retain them for ages yet to come. And he knew that, though he might never see it again, he would be haunted all his life by the memory of that distant, tantalizing echo as it descended swiftly into the abyss that was its home.

Thirteen.

THERE ARE MANY misconceptions about the glamour of a warden's life. Franklin had never shared them, so he was neither surprised nor disappointed that so much of his time was spent on long, uneventful patrols far out at sea. Indeed, he welcomed them. They gave him time to think, yet not time to brood-and it was on these lonely missions in the living heart of the sea that his last fears were shed and his mental scars finally healed.

The warden's year was dominated by the pattern of whale migration, but that pattern was itself continually changing as new areas of the sea were fenced and fertilized. He might spend summer moving cautiously through the polar ice, and winter beating back and forth across the equator. Sometimes he would operate from sh.o.r.e stations, sometimes from mobile bases like the Rorqual Rorqual, the Pequod Pequod, or the Cachelot Cachelot. One season he might be wholly concerned with the great whalebone or baleen whales, who literally strained their food from the sea as they swam, mouth open, through the rich plankton soup. And another season he would have to deal with their very different cousins, the fierce, toothed cetaceans of whom the sperm whales were the most important representatives. These were no gentle herbivores, but pursued and fought their monstrous prey in the lightless deep half a mile from the last rays of the sun.

There would be weeks or even months when a warden would never see a whale. The bureau had many calls on its equipment and personnel, and whales were not its only business. Everyone who had dealings with the sea appeared to come, sooner or later, to the Bureau of Whales with an appeal for help. Sometimes the requests were tragic; several times a year subs were sent on usually fruitless searches for drowned sportsmen or explorers.

At the other extreme, there was a standing joke that a senator had once asked the Sydney office to locate his false teeth, lost when the Bondi surf worked its will upon him. It was said that he had received, with great promptness, the foot-wide jaws of a tiger shark, with an apologetic note saying that these were the only unwanted teeth that an extensive search had been able to find off Bondi Beach.

Some tasks that came the warden's way had a certain glamour, and were eagerly sought after when they arose. A very small and understaffed section of the Bureau of Fisheries was concerned with pearls, and during the slack season wardens were sometimes detached from their normal work and allowed to a.s.sist on the pearl beds.

Franklin had one such tour of duty in the Persian Gulf. It was straightforward work, not unlike gardening, and since it involved diving to depths never greater than two hundred feet simple compressed-air equipment was used and the diver employed a torpedo for moving around. The best areas for pearl cultivation had been carefully populated with selected stock, and the main problem was protecting the oysters from their natural enemies-particularly starfish and rays. When they had time to mature, they were collected and carried back to the surface for inspection-one of the few jobs that no one had ever been able to mechanize.

Any pearls discovered belonged, of course, to the Bureau of Fisheries. But it was noticeable that the wives of all the wardens posted to this duty very soon afterward sported pearl necklaces or earrings-and Indra was no exception to this rule.

She had received her necklace the day she gave birth to Peter, and with the arrival of his son it seemed to Franklin that the old chapter of his life had finally closed. It was not true, of course; he could never forget-nor did he wish to- that Irene had given him Roy and Rupert, on a world which was now as remote to him as a planet of the farthest star. But the ache of that irrevocable parting had subsided at last, for no grief can endure forever.

He was glad-though he had once bitterly resented it- that it was impossible to talk to anyone on Mars, or indeed anywhere in s.p.a.ce beyond the orbit of the Moon. The six-minute time lag for the round trip, even when the planet was at its nearest, made conversation out of the question, so he could never torture himself by feeling in the presence of Irene and the boys by calling them up on the visiphone. Every Christmas they exchanged recordings and talked over the events of the year; apart from occasional letters, that was the only personal contact they now had, and the only one that Franklin needed.

There was no way of telling how well Irene had adjusted to her virtual widowhood. The boys must have helped, but there were times when Franklin wished that she had married again, for their sakes as well as hers. Yet somehow he had never been able to suggest it, and she had never raised the subject, even when he had made this step himself.

Did she resent Indra? That again was hard to tell. Perhaps some jealousy was inevitable; Indra herself, during the occasional quarrels that punctuated their marriage, made it clear that she sometimes disliked the thought of being only the second woman in Franklin's life.

Such quarrels were rare, and after the birth of Peter they were rarer. A married couple forms a dynamically unstable system until the arrival of the first child converts it from a double to a triple group.

Franklin was as happy now as he had ever hoped to be. His family gave him the emotional security he needed; his work provided the interest and adventure which he had sought in s.p.a.ce, only to lose again. There was more life and wonder in the sea than in all the endless empty leagues between the planets, and it was seldom now that his heart ached for the blue beauty of the crescent Earth, the swirling silver mist of the Milky Way, or the tense excitement of landfall on the moons of Mars at the end of a long voyage.

The sea had begun to shape his life and thought, as it must that of all men who try to master it and learn its secrets. He felt a kinship with all the creatures that moved throughout its length and depth, even when they were enemies which it was his duty to destroy. But above all, he felt a sympathy and an almost mystical reverence, of which he was half ashamed, toward the great beasts whose destinies he ruled.

He believed that most wardens knew that feeling, though they were careful to avoid admitting it in their shoptalk. The nearest they came to it was when they accused each other of being "whale happy," a somewhat indefinable term which might be summed up as acting more like a whale than a man in a given situation. It was a form of identification without which no warden could be really good at his job, but there were times when it could become too extreme. The cla.s.sic case-which everyone swore was perfectly true-was that of the senior warden who felt he was suffocating unless he brought his sub up to blow every ten minutes.

Being regarded-and regarding themselves-as the elite of the world's army of underwater experts, the wardens were always called upon when there was some unusual job that no one else cared to perform. Sometimes these jobs were so suicidal that it was necessary to explain to the would-be client that he must find another way out of his difficulties.

But occasionally there was no other way, and risks had to be taken. The bureau still remembered how Chief Warden Kircher, back in '22, had gone up the giant intake pipes through which the cooling water flowed into the fusion power plant supplying half the South American continent. One of the filter grilles had started to come loose, and could be fixed only by a man on the spot. With strong ropes tied around his body to prevent him from being sucked through the wire meshing, Kircher had descended into the roaring darkness. He had done the job and returned safely; but that was the last time he ever went under water.

So far, all Franklin's missions had been fairly conventional ones; he had had to face nothing as hair-raising as Kircher's exploit, and was not sure how he would react if such an occasion arose. Of course, he could always turn down any a.s.signment that involved abnormal risks; his contract was quite specific on that point. But the "suicide clause," as it was sardonically called, was very much a dead letter. Any warden who invoked it, except under the most extreme circ.u.mstances, would incur no displeasure from his superiors, but he would thereafter find it very hard to live with his colleagues.

Franklin's first operation beyond the call of duty did not come his way for almost five years-five busy, crowded, yet in retrospect curiously uneventful, years. But when it came, it more than made up for the delay.

Fourteen.

THE CHIEF ACCOUNTANT dropped his tables and charts on the desk, and peered triumphantly at his little audience over the rims of his antiquated spectacles.

"So you see, gentlemen," he said, "there's no doubt about it. In this area here"-he stabbed at the map again-"sperm whale casualties have been abnormally high. It's no longer a question of the usual random variations in the census numbers. During the migrations of the last five years, no less than nine plus or minus two whales have disappeared in this rather small area."

"Now, as you are all aware, the sperm whale has no natural enemies, except for the orcas that occasionally attack small females with calves. But we are quite sure that no killer packs have broken into this area for several years, and at least three adult males have disappeared. In our opinion, that left only one possibility."

"The sea bed here is slightly less than four thousand feet down, which means that a sperm whale can just reach it with a few minutes' time for hunting on the bottom before it has to return for air. Now, ever since it was discovered that Physeter Physeter feeds almost exclusively on squids, naturalists have wondered whether a squid can ever win when a whale attacks it. The general opinion was that it couldn't, because the whale is much larger and more powerful." feeds almost exclusively on squids, naturalists have wondered whether a squid can ever win when a whale attacks it. The general opinion was that it couldn't, because the whale is much larger and more powerful."

"But we must remember that even today no one knows now big the giant squid does grow; the Biology Section tells me that tentacles of Bathyteutis Maximus Bathyteutis Maximus have been found up to eighty feet long. Moreover, a squid would only have to keep a whale held down for a matter of a few minutes at this depth, and the animal would drown before it could get back to the surface So a couple of years ago we formulated the theory that in this area there lives at least one abnormally large squid. We-ahem-christened him Percy." have been found up to eighty feet long. Moreover, a squid would only have to keep a whale held down for a matter of a few minutes at this depth, and the animal would drown before it could get back to the surface So a couple of years ago we formulated the theory that in this area there lives at least one abnormally large squid. We-ahem-christened him Percy."

"Until last week, Percy was only a theory. Then, as you know Whale S.87693 was found dead on the surface, badly mauled and with its body covered with the typical scars caused by squid claws and suckers. I would like you to look at this photograph."

He pulled a set of large glossy prints out of his brief case and pa.s.sed them around. Each showed a small portion of a whale's body which was mottled with white streaks and perfectly circular rings. A foot ruler lay incongruously in the middle of the picture to give an idea of the scale.

"Those, gentlemen, are sucker marks. They go up to six inches in diameter. I think we can say that Percy is no longer a theory. The question is: What do we do about him? He is costing us at least twenty thousand dollars a year. I should welcome any suggestions."

There was a brief silence while the little group of officials looked thoughtfully at the photographs. Then the director said: "I've asked Mr. Franklin to come along and give his opinion. What do you say, Walter? Can you deal with Percy?"

"If I can find him, yes. But the bottom's pretty rugged down there, and it might be a long search. I couldn't use a normal sub, of course-there'd be no safety margin at that depth, especially if Percy started putting on the squeeze. Incidentally, what size do you think he is?"

The chief accountant, usually so glib with figures, hesitated for an appreciable instant before replying.

"This isn't my my estimate," he said apologetically, "but the biologists say he may be a hundred and fifty feet long." estimate," he said apologetically, "but the biologists say he may be a hundred and fifty feet long."

There were some subdued whistles, but the director seemed unimpressed. Long ago he had learned the truth of the old cliche that there were bigger fish in the sea than ever came out of it. He knew also that, in a medium where gravity set no limit to size, a creature could continue to grow almost indefinitely as long as it could avoid death. And of all the inhabitants of the sea, the giant squid was perhaps the safest from attack. Even its one enemy, the sperm whale, could not reach it if it remained below the four-thousand-foot level.

"There are dozens of ways we can kill Percy if we can locate him," put in the chief biologist. "Explosives, poison, electrocution-any of them would do. But unless there's no alternative, I think we should avoid killing. He must be one of the biggest animals alive on this planet, and it would be a crime to murder him."

"Please, Dr. Roberts!" protested the director. "May I remind you that this bureau is only concerned with food production-not with research or the conservation of any animals except whales. And I do think that murder is rather a strong term to apply to an overgrown mollusk." Dr. Roberts!" protested the director. "May I remind you that this bureau is only concerned with food production-not with research or the conservation of any animals except whales. And I do think that murder is rather a strong term to apply to an overgrown mollusk."

Dr. Roberts seemed quite unabashed by the mild reprimand.

"I agree, sir," he said cheerfully, "that production is our main job, and that we must always keep economic factors in mind. At the same time, we're continually co-operating with the Department of Scientific Research and this seems another case where we can work together to our mutual advantage. In fact, we might even make a profit in the long run."

"Go on," said the director, a slight twinkle in his eye. He wondered what ingenious plan the scientists who were supposed to be working for him had cooked up with their opposite numbers in Research.

"No giant squid has ever been captured alive, simply because we've never had the tools for the job. It would be an expensive operation, but if we are going to chase Percy anyway, the additional cost should not be very great. So I suggest that we try to bring him back alive."

No one bothered to ask how. If Dr. Roberts said it could be done, that meant he had already worked out a plan of campaign. The director, as usual, bypa.s.sed the minor technical details involved in hauling up several tons of fighting squid from a depth of a mile, and went straight to the important point.

"Will Research pay for any of this? And what will you do with Percy when you've caught him?"

"Unofficially, Research will provide the additional equipment if we make the subs and pilots available. We'll also need that floating dock we borrowed from Maintenance last year; it's big enough to hold two whales, so it can certainly hold one squid. There'll be some additional expenditure here- extra aeration plant for the water, electrified mesh to stop Percy climbing out, and so on. In fact, I suggest that we use the dock as a lab while we're studying him."

"And after that?"

"Why, we sell him."

"The demand for hundred-and-fifty-foot squids as household pets would seem to be rather small."

Like an actor throwing away his best line, Dr. Roberts casually produced his trump card.

"If we can deliver Percy alive and in good condition, Marineland will pay fifty thousand dollars for him. That was Professor Milton's first informal offer when I spoke to him this morning. I've no doubt that we can get more than that; I've even been wondering if we could arrange things on a royalty basis. After all, a giant squid would be the biggest attraction Marineland ever had."

"Research was bad enough," grumbled the director. "Now it looks as if you're trying to get us involved in the entertainment business. Still, as far as I'm concerned it sounds fairly plausible. If Accounts can convince me that the project is not too expensive, and if no other snags turn up, we'll go ahead with it. That is, of course, if Mr. Franklin and his colleagues think it can be done. They're the people who'll have to do the work."

"If Dr. Roberts has any practical plan, I'll be glad to discuss it with him. It's certainly a very interesting project".

That, thought Franklin, was the understatement of the year. But he was not the sort of man who ever waxed too enthusiastic over any enterprise, having long ago decided that this always resulted in eventual disappointment. If "Operation Percy" came off, it would be the most exciting job he had ever had in his five years as a warden. But it was too good to be true; something would turn up to cancel the whole project.

It did not. Less than a month later, he was dropping down to the sea bed in a specially modified deep-water scout. Two hundred feet behind him, Don Burley was following in a second machine. It was the first time they had worked together since those far-off days on Heron Island, but when Franklin had been asked to choose his partner he had automatically thought of Don. This was the chance of a lifetime, and Don would never forgive him if he selected anyone else.