(eng) Michael G. Coney by Brontomek

Author:Brontomek [Brontomek]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Launchday minus two.

The final coats of paint and varnish were applied. A team of amorphs began cleaning up the slipway, stowing away the half-empty paint cans and offcuts of hard Arcadian timber, preparing the area for the ceremonial equipment: the 3-V cameras, the platform, the seats. These workers were paid for by the Organisation. As they completed their task another force arrived in a truck with prefabricated timbers and started erecting things. Megaphones roared out instructions, cameras whirred through dummy takes. In this atmosphere, we tried to complete the boat.

Barker directed the installation of the boat cameras. “That one on the bracket at the masthead—it won’t quite have a 360 degree field because of the thickness of the mast.”

Susanna paced across the cabin roof, stood on the forward edge. “Which means you can pee into the ocean from here, if you must. Careful how you turn round afterwards.” She grinned at the lone yachtsman.

“Goddamned invasion of a man’s privacy, these cameras,” Streng muttered.

“And another on the afterdeck, just above the rudder.” Barker indicated the place. “That covers the cockpit and the main cabin, which should be enough. I think we can do without a camera in your bedroom, Streng. I’m sure the Sector won’t be interested in whatever the hell goes on in there.”

“And the microphones?” I asked, wondering how else Barker could ruin the lines and the finish of my boat.

“We’ll bug the main cabin, the cockpit—and the forward decking, I think, so that Streng can lie there and philosophise, with the boat on automatic pilot. That will give a nice suggestion of relaxation, of security.”

“Be sure to remind me to philosophise from time to time,” said Streng sarcastically.

Barker glanced at him. “Uh, we can’t do that. Communication is strictly one-way, I’m afraid.”

“What the hell do you mean?”

“I mean no radio, no receiver of any kind on the boat. This is strictly a lone voyage, Ralph. Which means you hear nothing, see nothing of humanity until you get back. Otherwise there’s no point. We can see you and hear you—but, as far as you’re concerned, you’re on your own. Every attempt is being made to convince the Sector of the authenticity of this voyage. There’ll be observers at the launch and they’ll check the whole goddamned boat for hidden aids, like a propeller driven off the compressor or anything like that. Your trip is on the level, Ralph.”

“I would hope so,” murmured Streng calmly, with a sudden return to his old manner. “I’m undertaking this voyage because of the challenge it presents me, and I certainly wouldn’t countenance any faking.”

He wandered off and we saw little of him for the rest of that day. Later Susanna and I had to go to Oldhaven Aerogeographical Institute to pick up the satellite photographs which were to serve Streng as charts. We left yet another list of items for the Swindons to buy in Inchtown, jumped into my hovercar and moved briskly off.

Later we walked hand in hand along the road behind the beach.

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