Anderson, Poul - The Byworlder by Anderson Poul

Author:Anderson, Poul
Language: eng
Format: epub

Maury Station rested on the continental shelf off the Oregon coast, about fifty kilometres out and as many fathoms down. The Vikings had a cargo of refined metals to deliver. Ormen, too huge for the docks, anchored at a. safe distance amidst its followers, except for the concentrator ship. That one laid along the assigned pier, which projected from the caisson-mounted platforms supporting a complex of buildings and machinery.

Unloading would be quick, but Granstad had promised a six-hour stay for the sake of children who had never toured the place. The rest must keep out; their numbers would swamp the available facilities. Most of them had visited Maury or similar colonies before. And the fleshpots of Los Angeles, where organic products were to be landed, were now only a couple of days away.

A few men wangled leave to go off hydrofoiling, scuba diving, or dolphin riding under the aegis of local youths who frolicked about the vessel on their big fish-herder animals. Yvonne regarded the splashing, leaping, and shouting wistfully. 'I'd enjoy that,' she said.

'Water's cold hereabouts,' Skip warned. 'The merfolk are used to it, we aren't. True, you get warm fairly quickly in a wet suit___Well, why don't you? We're passengers, not under orders, nothing to prevent.

And any boatman or diving guide or Dolphin boy would come snorting like a grampus to oblige you.'

Their relationship had reached the point where his habit of speaking little gallantries to any good-looking woman didn't embarrass her. This was the first time in a week or more that he had seen her slightly unhappy.

She sighed. 'I mustn't. Andy Almeida would be furious. He insisted I stay aboard, incognito, the whole trip. For safety's sake. I couldn't be Yolanda Cohen here. Not that I've ever been to Maury, but it's crammed with scientists and some are statistically certain to have met me at Triple-A-S conventions or wherever. My earlier work had applications to cetacean pseudo-speech.' She squeezed his hand. 'I talk too much. You go. Have fun.'

'Do you yourself think you're in danger?' he asked.

'No,' she said emphatically. 'If the attempt on me wasn't a case of mistaken identity or something, then it has to have been the work of a lunatic-fringe anti-Sigman group. Those are known, and I'm sure the government has put the fear of the Lord in them.'

'So does this Almeida own you? Will a squad of police meet you at the gangplank?'

'He wanted that, but I wouldn't have it. He gave in when I pointed out that, precisely because no one will know where I've been, no assassin can be lurking.'

'Right. Well, take my word, you're a blessed sight safer in Maury, with the sea laying nine or ten atmospheres of pressure on you, and killer whales which are supposed to be tame flippering around loose, than in Los Angeles. I've not been here either, but I know LA and I've read about Maury. They're your breed, of cat, come from all over the world to study and conquer the seabed together.

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