Dolphin Island - Arthur C. Clarke [55]
It was. As the huge head surfaced only a few feet away, he recognized the streamlined box of the control unit, still anchored securely in the massive skull.
"You gave me quite a shock, Snowy," he said when he had recovered his breath. "Please don't do that again."
Even now, he had no guarantee of safety. According to the last reports, Snowy was still on an exclusive diet of fish; at least, there had been no complaints from the dolphins.
But he was not a dolphin, nor was he Mick.
The board rocked violently as Snowy rubbed herself against it, and it was all that Johnny could do to keep himself from being thrown into the water. But it was a gentle rub—the gentlest that fifteen feet of killer whale could manage—and when she turned to repeat the maneuver on the other side, Johnny felt a good deal better. There was no doubt that she only wanted to be friendly, and he breathed a silent but fervent "thank you" to Mick.
Still a little shaken, Johnny reached out and patted her as she slid by, so silently and effortlessly. Her skin had the typical, rubbery dolphin feel—which, of course, was natural enough. It was easy to forget that this terror of the seas was-just another dolphin, only on a slightly bigger scale.
She seemed to appreciate Johnny's rather nervous stroking of her flank, for she came back for more.
"I guess you must be lonely, all by yourself," said Johnny sympathetically. Then he froze in utter horror.
Snowy wasn't by herself, and she had no need to be lonely. Her boy friend was making a leisurely approach— all thirty feet of him.
Only a male killer had that enormous dorsal fin, taller than a man. The huge black triangle, like the sail of a boat, came slowly up to the surfboard upon which Johnny was sitting, quite unable to move. All he could think was, " You've had no conditioning—no friendly swimming with Mick."
This was far and away the largest animal that he had ever seen—it looked as big as a boat—and Snowy had suddenly shrunk to dolphin size by contrast. But she was the master—or mistress—of the situation, for as her huge mate patrolled slowly around the board, she circled on an inner orbit, always keeping between him and Johnny.
Once he stopped, reared his head a good six feet out of the water, and stared straight at Johnny across Snowy's back. There was hunger, intelligence, and ferocity in those eyes
—or so it seemed to Johnny's heightened imagination —but no trace of friendliness. And all the time he was spiraling in toward the surfboard; in a very few minutes he would be squeezing Snowy against it.
Snowy, however, had other ideas. When her companion was only ten feet away and filling the whole of Johnny's field of view, she suddenly turned on him and gave him a nudge amidships. Johnny could hear the "thump" clearly through the water; the impact would have been enough to stave in the side of a small boat.
The big whale took the gentle hint, and to Johnny's vast relief began to move farther outward. Fifty feet away there was another slight disagreement, and another thump. That was the end of it. Within minutes, Snowy and her escort had vanished from sight, heading due north. As he watched them go, Johnny realized that he had just seen a ferocious monster converted into a henpecked husband, forbidden to take snacks between meals. The snack concerned was devoutly grateful.
For a long time, Johnny sat on the board, trying to regain control of his nerves. He had never been so scared in his life, and he was not ashamed of it, for he had had plenty to be scared about. But at last he stopped looking over his shoulder every few seconds to see what was coming up from behind, and began to get organized. The first order of business was: Where were Susie and Sputnik?
There had been no sign of them, and Johnny was not surprised. Undoubtedly, they had detected the killers and