Hunting the Dragon by Peter Dixon

creature’s back, ripping him open to the spine. His murder stopped the old dolphin’s followers and they turned aside to group around him. Several of the pod nudged him with their beaks as if mourning his death. Rocha drove the skiff around the milling, confused dolphins, and the net sealed off their escape.
    Billy turned his eyes away and peered over the side looking for sharks amid the cauldron of thrashing creatures. Maybe this time there wouldn’t be any. Maybe the captain would order a back-down. He shifted his eyes to the sea. It was oily calm, without a cloud in the sky. Rocha had said that in smooth seas American skippers always backed down, allowing almost all of the dolphins to escape the net. It was during night fishing, or when the ocean was rough, Rocha had explained, that disaster sets occurred. Well, today, damn it to hell, it’s like a swimming pool out here.
    Rocha yelled for Billy to cast off from the net. He reached over the stern and unhooked the line. Then Rocha turned the skiff away from the clipper and they idled alongside the corkline, some fifty yards off Lucky Dragon ’s stern.
    As the net drew tighter, the frenzied dolphins beat against the mesh and became entangled, drowning themselves. Billy yelled at Rocha, “We gotta cut the net!”
    “Are you crazy or something?”
    “Don’t you understand? We gotta save them!”
    “Shut the hell up!”
    Directly below the corkline a dolphin struggled in the webbing, drowning before Billy’s eyes. His rage came pouring out. He jumped on the engine cover and screamed, “Damn you, you’re killing them all, you bastard!”
    On the bridge, Gandara leaned against the railing watching the seine skiff when Billy’s cry reached across the water. The captain swore and lifted the binoculars hanging around his neck. He focused on the skiff and saw the young American dive into the net. Gandara murmured, “Since you like to swim so much…”
    Amid the thrashing, crazed dolphins Billy dove and untangled one. Riding it to the surface, he thrust it over the net. Another beat against the corkline, and he hurled it over the rim. He was consumed by his battle to save them and lost all sense of where he was, who he was, what he was. All that mattered was freeing them. He failed to realize that the net was shrinking around him until he heard Rocha yell that sharks were arriving.
    His hands went around the body of a small female caught in the upper strands. At his touch she ceased struggling and allowed him to untangle her. She looked familiar. He thought the dolphin might be one he had saved before and began swimming her toward the corkline. As he gasped for breath, he told the dolphin, “Not so smart to get caught again.”
    On the bridge, Gandara picked up a handheld radio and keyed the transmit button. “Rocha, bring the skiff back immediately, and I mean right now.”
    The boatman’s astonished voice came out of the radio’s tinny speaker. “But, captain, he’s—”
    “Now, Rocha! That is an order! Pronto! Pronto! Or you’re shark bait too!”
    He saw the boatman hesitate, then start the engine and turn the skiff toward Lucky Dragon . Gandara turned to yell at the helmsman, “We’re getting under way. Give me three knots, slow and steady.”
    He brought the radio to his lips, “Santos, haul the net as fast as you can. Pronto, man. Pronto!”
    Santos didn’t question the command.
    Billy reached the corkline and gently shoved the little female out of the net. The dolphin floated just beyond the rim, looking at him instead of swimming away. Billy called to her. “What’s a matter with you?”
    He wriggled over the net and reached for the dolphin. This time she didn’t swim off. He put his hands around the dolphin’s body and began to tow her from the net. As they inched away from the corkline she drew life from his touch. He felt her quiver. Then her fluke began to beat against the water. “Go on,” he urged. “You can make it. Get out of