Once all the humans reported in, Jim tersely explained that, with one of the volcanoes about to erupt, Landing had to be evacuated and everyone must help to get as many supplies as possible to safety around Kahrain Head. The larger ships would be taking their loads as far as Paradise River Hold; although that would be too far for the smaller craft, everything that floated was to be used to shift matйriel as far as Kahrain.

"We've got to transport all that?" Ben Byrne cried in aggrieved tone as he flung an arm toward the wharfside, where enormous piles of matйriel were being deposited by sleds of all sizes. He was a small, compact man with crisp blond hair nearly white from sun bleach. His wife, Claire, who worked with him at Paradise River, stood at his side. "There aren't that many ships of any decent size and if you think the dolphins can—"

"We've only to get it to Kahrain, Ben," Jim said, laying a steadying hand on the younger man's shoulder.

"Click! Click!" Teresa managed an ear-piercing shout for attention. "We do that, we do that!" Amadeus, Pha, and Kibby agreed, nodding vigorously.

"Ye daft finnies, you'd burst yerselves," Ben cried, incensed, wagging his arms at the dolphins facing him to be quiet.

"We can, we can, we can," and half the dolphins crowding the end of the wharf heaved themselves up out of the water to tailwalk in their enthusiasm. Somehow they managed not to crash into the seething mass of podmates who ducked out of the way underwater with split-second timing. Such antics were repeated by many, all across the waters of the bay.

"Look what you started, Cap'n!" Ben cried in an extravagant show of despair. "Damned fool fin-faces! You wanna burst your guts?"

Sometimes, Jim Tillek thought, Ben was as uninhibited as any of the whimsically impetuous dolphins he was supposed to "manage." The difference between their enthusiasm and the reality of their assistance lay in the fact that all adult dolphins had spent a period training with human partners, learning to come to the aid of stranded swimmers and sailors and, occasionally, damaged sailing craft. They were delighted to have a chance to practice on such a scale.

Harnesses from the training sessions were available—and more could be cobbled together—to hitch dolphin teams to any of the smaller sailing craft. A big yoke already existed, contrived for the ore barge that the dolphins had several times hauled from Drake's Lake. But never had the settlers had to call on all the dolphins.

"We've known something big was up," Jan Regan said, her manner much calmer as befit the senior dolphineer. She gave a snort that was half-laugh. "They've been squee-eeing like nutters about underwater changes around here," she added, flicking her hand at the crowded bay. "But you know how some of them exaggerate!"

"Hah! With Picchu blowing smoke rings, of course the'd know something's going to happen," Ben said, having recovered his equilibrium. "Question is, how much time do we have before Picchu blows?"

"It isn't Picchu that's going to blow," Jim began as gently as possible. He allowed the startled reaction to subside before he continued. "It's Garben."

"Knew we shouldn't have named a mountain for that old fart," Ben muttered.

Jim continued. "More important, Patrice can't give us a time frame." That stunned even the solid and unflappable Bernard Shattuck. "All he can do is warn us when the eruption is imminent."

"Like how imminent?" Bernard asked soberly.

"An hour or two. The increasing sulfur-to-chlorine ratio means the magma is rising. We've two, maybe three days with just sulfur and ash—"

"The ash I don't mind. It's the sulfur that's so appalling." Helga Duff said, coughing.

"The real problem is—" Jim paused again. "Monaco is also within range of pyroclastic missile danger."

"Range of what?" Jan screwed her face up at the technical term. She knew as much as any human could about dolphins, but she tended to ignore technical jargon.

"Range of what heavy stuff the volcano can throw out at us," Jim said, almost apologetically.

"Worse than the ash and smoke already coming down?" Efram asked. Although they hadn't been standing on the wharf that long, their wet suits were already gray with volcanic ash.

"The big stuff, boulders, all kinds of molten debris…"

"But we have Threadfall at Maori Lake this afternoon," young Gunnar Schultz said, looking totally confused by the conflict of imperatives.

"We have to get all the materiel we can to Kahrain as soon as possible, and that is the immediate priority, folks. Thread'll have to wait its turn," Jim said with his usual wry humor. "All available craft are to be used, and the call's gone out to owners to either get here or appoint a surrogate. So all we have to do is explain to pod leaders what has to be done and the kind of cooperation we need from them." He began passing out copies of the evacuation plans that Emily Boll, the colony's co-leader with Admiral Paul Benden, had given him forty minutes before. He glanced anxiously overhead, where three heavy sleds seemed about to collide. "Damn ‘em. Look, read the overall plans while I go organize some air-traffic control."

The dolphineers dutifully read the evacuation plan, though Jan skimmed ahead to their responsibilities: the stuff building up on the beach. Loads were all color-coded Red and orange were priority, and red was fragile, for immediate transfer to Kahrain. Yellow would have to go in a hull of some kind; green and blue were waterproofed and could be towed.

Jim stuck his head out of the control-room window. "Lilienkamp's sending us drums, wood, lines, and whatever men he can spare from his Supply Depot to lash rafts together. At least the weather report's good. Decide which of the dolphins can be trusted to pull—"

"Any one of ‘em you ask," Ben said indignantly.

"And we'll need some sensible dolphs to swim escort on the smaller sail craft. Keeerist, what's that driver doing?" Leaning his long frame as far out of the window as he could, Jim began waving both long arms shoreward to ward a heavy sled away from colliding with two smaller ones that were trying to slide into the tight landing spaces on the strand. "Do the best you can!" he shouted at his team, and pulled his head back in to restore some order to the traffic heading toward the bay.

"Jan, you, Ef, and me explain," Ben said. "Bernard, start organizing those red and orange loads for the Cross and the Perseus already tied up. Let's get some of the larger small craft in to load. By then the pod leaders'll know what's expected and can make assignments of escorts. You others, start checking with the sail craft, find out their load limits. Try to keep track of what went with whom—" He broke off, realizing the monumental task ahead of them. "We'll need some hand recorders… You guys get started. I'll see if I can liberate us a few ‘corders. There have to be some…" His voice trailed off as he climbed up the ladder to the wharf office.

"Right after we tell the fins what they're to do, we organize some sea police, huh?" Bernard said.

"Right, man! Right!" Efram said with heartfelt agreement. "Now then, let's brief the pods…"

As they were all suited up, they moved along the length of the float, spotting their individual pod leaders. Then, gesturing to the dolphins to give them some space, they jumped in. It was the easiest way to impress on individual dolphins their particular tasks.

There was a sudden swirling of water around the dolphineers as the dolphins chose their favorite swimming partners. Despite the crush, Teresa emerged right by Jan Regan, Kibby by Efram; Ben got splashed by a well-aimed sweep of Amadeus's right flipper.

"Cut that out, Ammie. This is serious," Ben said.

"No rough stuff?" Amadeus asked, and clicked in surprise.

"Not today," Ben said, and gave Ammie an affectionate scratch between the pectorals to take the sting out of the reprimand. Then he put his whistle in his mouth and blew three sharp notes.