[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
A Matter of Sovereignty
Power is a strange thing. Sometimes those who have it can’t legally use it. But that never stops
really determined men…
WADE CURTIS
"We're almost there, Mr. Adams."
Bill Adams woke to the thrum of propellers and the smell of fresh coffee. He stirred lazily and looked
up at blue eyes and a heart-shaped face framed in long blonde hair. The girl's soprano voice had a trace of
an English accent. She wore a white blouse and a conservative plaid miniskirt that showed off her tanned
legs perfectly. It was, Adams decided, one of the better ways to wake up.
"We're almost there, sir," she repeated. "I've brought coffee."
"Thanks, Courtney." Adams stretched elaborately. The aircraft cabin was small. It had a desk and
couch and overstuffed chairs, and except for the panel of lights and buttons above Adams's seat it might
have been the study at Santa Barbara. Far down below the Pacific flashed blue and calm as it had when he
dozed off. Now, though, it was dotted with tiny white rings of surf crashing endlessly on coral reefs.
"Sit with me and tell me what I'm looking at," Adams said.
"All right." Courtney balanced the tray clumsily with one hand as she reached to fold the table down
from the cabin wall. Adams hurriedly came fully awake to help her. She sat next to him on the couch and
smiled uncertainly.
Courtney wasn't sure who Bill Adams was. She'd seen his name on the Nuclear General Company
organization chart, but his title merely said "Assistant to the Chairman," and that might mean anything. Her
own title was "Assistant to the Director" of Ta'avu Station, and that didn't mean much at all. She was more
than a secretary, but she hadn't much influence over Station operations.
Adams, though, was in charge of the largest airplane in the world, and anyone who could commandeer
Cerebrus
for personal transportation had real power, Courtney suspected that Adams was one of Mr.
Lewis's special assistants, the troubleshooters who were said to have no emotions and computers for
hearts, but his easy smile made that hard to believe. He was very likable as well as handsome.
Adams sipped coffee and looked out the thick rectangular window. There was more land in sight
ahead. They were approaching a series of coral atolls stretched out like jumbled beads on the blue water
below. Each was ringed with white, then lighter blues fading quickly into the deeper tones of the Pacific.
There was no way to estimate the size of the islands. They might be tiny coral reefs or the tops of the large
mountains. One thing was certain. There wasn't much land you could live on down there.
"That's good coffee, Courtney. Thanks."
"You're welcome. I should be thanking you. It would
have been three weeks before I could get home if
you hadn't given me a lift." The view below was lovely, but Courtney had seen it many times. She was still
interested in the airplane. They were the only passengers in the lounge—this smaller one and the big lounge
beyond. She knew that Adams had brought others, but they had stayed on the lower decks and she hadn't
met them. His own assistant, Mike King, was forward with the pilots.
Aft of the lounges were other offices, laboratories, and several staterooms. Below them was an
enormous cargo space.
Cerebrus
was enormous, larger than any other plane in the world, and she shared
its luxury accommodations with one man. It was quite an experience. Courtney made good money at
Ta'avu, but she wasn't accustomed to posh standards of living.
Adams peered forward to get a better look at the oncoming land, and Courtney remembered why he'd
asked her to sit with him. "The first group of atolls is undeveloped so far," she said. "You can just see
Ta'avu Station beyond. We'll be over it in a second."
Adams nodded and pushed back sandy hair with an impatient gesture. Except for the short nap, he'd
worked at something the entire time he'd been on the plane. He was always impatient, although he didn't
always show it. Courtney wondered what he did for relaxation. She noted that he wore no rings. "Before
we get there— I've wanted to ask about this plane. How could even Mr. Lewis afford it?"
"He couldn't," Adams answered. "Some African government went broke having it built. Largest flying
boat ever constructed. We'd already put in the nuclear engines so we were the principal creditors come
foreclosure. Seemed cheaper to finish it for ourselves than scrap it."
"But why propellers?" Courtney asked.
 Adams shrugged. He was no engineer. "Something about efficiency. Worked out well. They say it's the
props that let
Cerebrus
stay up for weeks at a clip. She's come in handy at that. We can use her to look for
ice floes and get our crews aboard first. Competition for good Antarctic ice is stiff, and
Cerebrus
gives us
a big edge."
"I'd only seen it once before," Courtney said. "When we were bringing in the whales."
Adams nodded. "Yeah, we'd never have been able to herd the beasts without the plane." He grinned.
"Ferrying pretty young managerial assistants home is just a side-line. Is that the Station there?"
"Yes." She leaned across to see better and felt him very close to her. He was handsome and
unmarried, in his thirties by his looks, but maybe a bit more. She liked older men. He had grey eyes, and it
was hard to tell what he thought because half the time he looked as if something secretly amused him. He
would be a very easy man to like. Her last romance had gone badly, and there was certainly no one at the
Station—in fact, there was never anyone at the Station. She wondered how long Adams would be there.
He hadn't told her why he was flying thousands of miles to the Tonga Islands, and Mr. MacRae would be
worried.
"The big atoll in the center of that group of three," she said. "The lagoon is about fifteen miles across,
and the Station is on the island at the fringe, the one shaped like a shark. The reactors are just about at the
jaw."
"Yeah." Now that she'd given him some idea of the scale the rest of the picture was clear. Ta'avu
consisted of seven atolls, but only three were in use at the moment. Nuclear General leased the whole chain
from the King of Tonga, paying off with electric power, fresh
water, fish, fertilizer, and expert advice on
how to support too many Tongans on too few islands. The land area of Ta'avu was insignificant, but it
wasn't land they needed.
Now he could make out the big microwave dishes which beamed power from the Station to the
inhabited parts of the Tonga Islands. That was an inefficient way to transmit power, but there was plenty to
spare at the Station. The plane circled lower, and Adams could see dams and locks, enormous sea walls
closing off the lagoons from the oceans. He winced, remembering how much they had cost, and then there
were the smaller dams and net booms dividing the lagoon into pens.
A chime sounded and Adams picked up the phone. Mike King, his assistant, said, "We're almost there,
sir. Shall we take her in?"
"No. Have the pilots circle the Station. I want a better picture before I land."
"Yes, sir. Want me back there?"
"No, I think Miss Graves can tell me what I need to know. Unless you'd care to join us?"
King laughed nervously, betraying his youth. "Thanks, but I'd rather not . . . Uh, the pilots are giving me
a pretty good briefing, sir."
"Fine." Adams hung up the phone and chuckled softly. There was no question about it, Mrs. Leslie King
had great influence over her husband. Fancy being afraid to be around Courtney. ... Of course she was
pretty and Leslie would be joining Mike if Adams decided to leave Mike at the Station. Maybe Michael was
right to stay away from temptation. The plane dropped lower, down to five hundred feet. Bill Adams turned
to Courtney.
"Where are the whales?"
"In the big lagoon—there, look carefully, you can
usually see them. Yes!" She pointed excitedly. "Over
there, on the other side from the reactors."
Adams looked for a moment, then gasped. There were three dark shapes visible under the water, and
they were
big.
One seemed to grow, larger, larger, impossibly huge, then broke the surface and rolled lazily,
great flukes splashing. A hundred feet long, the largest thing that ever lived on the earth.
"That's Susie," Courtney said happily. "She's almost tame. You can get close to her in a boat."
"My God, that's a big animal!" Bill said. "What are the small things around her? Baby whales?"
Courtney laughed. "Those are
dolphins,
Mr. Adams. We don't have any baby blue wales, nobody
does. We hope Susie's pregnant, but how can you tell? The dolphins patrol the lagoon for us. You know
how we used them to get Susie and her friends here in the first place?"
Adams shook his head. "Not really. I was busy on something else." He made a wry face. "This whale
business is strange. Only thing the Company ever did that doesn't at least
threaten
a profit. Mr. Lewis
insists on it, but you can't imagine how much it has cost."
"Oh." She looked at him sternly and let a note of disapproval into her voice. "It was worth it, Mr.
Adams, Look at those whales! How could you let something so magnificent be exterminated? I guess it
was costly, though," she added hastily. Shouldn't get him angry with me. . . . "Never gave it a thought, but—
 well, training the dolphins to herd whales took a long time. Then finding the whales—there aren't more than
a dozen left in the whole world. And even with the dolphins it took a long time to drive four whales to the
Station. They kept getting away and the dolphins had to go find them again."
"I know something about how long it took," Adams observed dryly. "While
Cerebus
was on that
project, Southern California Edison grabbed two icebergs from us. Big ones, three hundred billion gallons at
least.
Poseidon
and
Aquarius
were left out in the Antarctic with nothing to do for months—it's too
expensive to bring the tugs home and send them out again. So I know the costs."
Courtney turned away, not so much disgusted as sad. It was true, then; he was one of Lewis's
hard-eyed troops with an account book for a heart.
Adams grinned suddenly. "But it brought us luck. Or something did. A couple of months later we found
a nine hundred billion gallon iceberg. A real monster, and we've got it under tow."
And it's still under tow, he thought. The tugs were bringing the monster iceberg up the Humboldt
Current. The fresh water was worth at least three hundred million dollars if they could get it to Los
Angeles. The trouble was that Ecuador claimed sovereignty out to two hundred miles from the coast, and
the passage fees could eat up half the value of the ice. Ecuador wanted cash. . . .
And now
Persephone,
with all that plutonium, was held by the Fijians, and Nuclear General was in real
trouble. There were a lot of assets tied up in those two projects, and Mr. Lewis was stretched thin with
risky investments. The big bergs made a lot of profit, but exploration and towing weren't cheap, competition
was stiff, and the taxes kept going up all the time. If they couldn't get that plutonium back . . .
"The other lagoons have smaller fish," Courtney said, breaking in on his reverie. She wondered why
he'd lost his grin, but it came back when she pointed and said, "Rainbow trout in that one."
"You're putting me on."
"No, really, they adapt to salt water very easily. In fact, they do it naturally — haven't you ever fished
for steelhead? And hatching them is easy, that's been done for decades."
"Yeah, I guess it figures," Bill answered absently. Come to think of it he had known that. He used to
fish for steelhead when he was younger. Hard to think of anything but the plan. It had to work. It had
sounded good back in Santa Barbara, but neither he nor Mr. Lewis had ever met the Tongans and it all
depended on them.
"You can see the different color waters," she continued. "We pump cold water from six thousand feet
down. It's rich in phosphates and nitrates, so the plankton and krill grow fast. Dr. Martinez is experimenting
to see what works best. But if we can feed Susie, think how many fish we can grow in the other lagoons!"
Bill nodded. He'd seen the figures. There was a good profit in protein, but production was low at Tonga
Station, and there'd be no profit at all if the farms had to pay their own way. He tried to explain that to the
girl, but she wasn't much interested. Blast it, he thought, she should know such elementary things about the
Company. Without funds and profits you couldn't do anything.
"Profits. I see." Her voice was acid. "I guess you have to worry about that, Mr. Adams, but out here at
the Station we're proud of what we're doing. We can feed a million people some day, more even, and
prevent kwashiorkor. . . . Do you know how much misery is due to simple protein deficiency?"
"No. But I know we couldn't have built the plants if that were all we were doing out here, Courtney.
Breeding plutonium on a grand scale makes power, and as far
as the Station's concerned that power is free.
But plutonium, not protein, is the reason for the Station."
"Why out here, then? You've got breeder reactors in the States. Dr. Martinez is Director of one."
Adams nodded wearily. "We didn't put new breeders in the States because we can't find locations for
them. Everywhere we turn there's protest. They even complain about our sea farms because we introduce
new species. As if Kansas wheat were native. . . . Anyway, Tonga's got cold water for the reactors and no
regulations about our plutonium sales. In the States the government makes us sell over half the product at
their own prices." Taxes were nonexistent at the Station, too, Adams thought, Even though there was no
market for the electric power the breeders could produce, it was still worth coming out here. And the
protein sales would eventually pull their own weight, even pay back some of the investment Ta'avu
represented. It had been a good gamble, but too big, too big; now the crunch was coming. A shortage of
cash, and the creditors coming around like wolves . . .
A chime sounded and above the entrance to the flight control deck the NO SMOKING, FASTEN
SEAT BELTS signs came on. The chime sounded again and Adams lifted the telephone. He heard Mike
King.
"We're bringing her down now, sir. Some nasty weather expected later. The pilots want to get
Cerebrus
inside the lagoon while it's calm. If that's all right with you, sir."
"Fine. Take her in," Adams told him. The big plane banked sharply, leveled, and skimmed lower and
 lower across the water, touched into the swells outside the lagoon. They bucked four-foot whitecapped
waves as the plane taxied to the atoll. Big lock gates opened ahead of them and the plane moved inside
cautiously.
Adams watched a floating object appear around the hull; it resembled the plastic baths yachts were
kept in back in the States, or the floating tanks used to catch fresh water from icebergs. He turned to
Courtney with a puzzled expression.
"Biological trap," she said. "They can purge the whole lock area if they have to, but it's easier this way.
They'll sluice out the bath with cold water from the deeps and slide the plane off into the lagoon."
He nodded and was about to say something when the pilot came out with Mike King. "That's it, sir,"
Mike said. "Boat's alongside to take you to the Station."
"Fine," Adams said, but he didn't feel fine. His senses were dulled by the time differential from Santa
Barbara; the mild chop taxiing in had upset his stomach, and ahead of him were problems enough to wreck
the Company. The turmoil of thoughts contrasted sharply with the peaceful scene of the lagoon and the girl
beside him, and he chuckled slightly, but when Courtney smiled quickly he didn't see her.
She turned away hurt, wondering what he was thinking about. Profits, she thought contemptuously.
How could any man look at that out there, blue water and sparkling sun, the dolphins dancing around the
open companionway hoping for attention—they got enough to eat—and the big Tonga boatmen grinning
from their long narrow outrigger; how could a
man
look at all that and think about money? It never failed.
The unmarried ones had something wrong with them, and of course that would be true—if they didn't, why
weren't they married?
The outrigger flashed across the lagoon, skimming almost silently in the strong trade wind and calm
water. Samual and Toruga, the boatmen, handled her almost
effortlessly. They weren't really boatmen, of
course. They'd call themselves fishermen, or just sea people; back in the States they'd be technicians, and
damned skilled ones at that. They and fifty like them tended the sea farms under the direction of Ta'avu's
ecologist on loan, Dr. Arturo Martinez, who'd no doubt be anxious to get back to his home in San Juan
Capistrano.
There were motorboats at the Station, but the silently skimming outrigger seemed more natural and was
certainly almost as fast. Besides, it disturbed fewer sea creatures. After a while Adams was able to lean
back and enjoy himself as Courtney chattered with the Togans in musical Polynesian.
Around the edge of the lagoon was a series of pens and baffles and large fiberglass tank complexes,
each served with a network of pipes for delivering both cold nutrient water from over a mile down outside
the atoll and heated water from the reactors. Courtney tried to tell Bill Adams what each pen was, but
there were too many. After a while Toruga took over at the tiller and Samual came forward to join Adams.
Like all Tongans he spoke English. It was the Kingdom's second language, a principal factor in locating the
Station at Ta'avu.
"We have all kinds of fish, sir," the boatman said. "Some we catch around the reefs, some Dr. Martinez
sends for. From all over the world."
"Which ones grow best?" Adams asked.
The Tongan laughed heartily, "We won't know that for years. Look at what we can do, temperatures,
plankton mixes, dry fertilizers—one thing we try is different cleaners."
"Cleaners?"
"Yes, sir. What lubbers call trash fish. Little ones that clean up parasites. And shrimps. Big fish need
'em to live. There's a lot even the sea people don't know."
Adams looked at him sharply and nodded. No wonder Dr. Martinez was pleased with his technicians.
They'd know more about the reefs and the water than anyone else, and with their excellent basic school
system it shouldn't take long to train them in systematic observation.
"Another thing, maybe you can see down there," Samuel said. He pointed down into the clear water.
"Different shapes for reefs. We make them out of fiberglass in the shops. Makes a lot of difference what
kind of fish live in them."
They passed a series of rafts, each supporting long lines dangling into the lagoon. Samual pointed to
them and said, "Oyster farms. That's the hatchery, when the rafts are full we move 'em. Take some outside
the lagoon, keep some here."
"What do you do about predators?" Bill asked.
"Look," Courtney told him. One of the dolphins swam near the boat, a starfish clutched in its bill. "Our
technicians catch them, but the dolphins do a better job," she said. "It's amazing what you can train them to
 do. Some are just like dogs, they want to please you."
"Hard to operate here without dolphins," Samual agreed. "That's something we learned from you. But
there's a lot the sea people know that didn't come from books."
"I'm sure," Adams agreed. "You like working here?"
"Who wouldn't?" Samual asked. "Why would anybody do something else?"
"We're just learning about sea farming, I mean really learning," Courtney said. "When I think of the
nonsense I was taught in schools — and there are so many variables. As Samual said, there's temperatures,
reef shapes, species mixtures — and some of the parasites are necessary, some of them have to be
eliminated. All we can do is try things, there aren't any good theories."
"Yeah." What was it Helmholtz said, Adams thought. The most practical thing in the world is a good
theory. . . . Well, that was all very well, but this wasn't just a research station. It was supposed to he a
producing farm, and they'd better start getting something to sell out of those lagoons if they expected any
more internal research and development funding.
It was nearly dark when they reached the Station, and there is no twilight in the tropics. The sun fell
into the sea and was gone. The lagoon became dark and mysterious, then suddenly flashed with whites and
blues and greens, phosphorescent streaks, all about them, an endlessly changing light show. Two enormous
shapes glided past the boat, turned, and charged for it again. Adams eyed them nervously.
Courtney grinned, her teeth barely visible in the pale moonlight. "I wouldn't worry about them, those are
the dolphins again," she said. Then she giggled softly. "They like to swim with the boats, and the
phosphorescence makes them look bigger than they are. I pity any sharks that do manage to get inside the
lagoon."
"Some do?"
"Yes. We can't keep a perfectly closed system in the open lagoons the way we can in the pens."
"You know a lot about the operations here," Adams said quietly.
She smiled. "I've been here four years." She sighed. "I like it here but it's time to move on. I've asked
for a transfer to Company headquarters."
"Why?"
"Well, I'm not really a biologist, and there's not a lot of management work here at the Station. Dr.
MacKae leaves most of that up to Santa Barbara."
I've noticed, Adams thought. He looked at the girl, wondering if she could learn the important points
about Nuclear General operations. She did all right with the technical stuff, and Mike King would have to
stay here at the Station. She might be good company.
They glided expertly to the landing. The reactor domes were invisible a thousand yards away, and the
Station was a low series of concrete rectangles along the reef, much of it extending down into the lagoon
itself. There was almost no land, and everything had to be attached to the reefs, anchored deep with
aluminum pilings to protect it from tsunamis and typhoons. A natural fortress, Adams thought.
Living quarters were made of fiberglass, constructed like the thatch and frond houses of Polynesia but
using artificial fibers. They could be taken below into the concrete blockhouses if a real storm threatened,
and they were much more pleasant to live in.
Adams took his supper alone, served by Mike King in his rooms. He'd met no one, not even Art
Martinez, and he wanted it that way. When he put down his fork, he realized he didn't even know what he'd
eaten, and it was probably a special meal. Well, there'd be time enough for the social amenities later. Now
he was as ready as he'd ever be.
"Who all's there?" he asked.
Mike King blushed slightly. Staff men assigned to Bill Adams never lasted long — when Adams
wanted to know something, you'd better be ready with an answer or know how to find it. And you could
never tell what he'd want to know because Adams himself didn't know what would be significant. Mike had
spent as much time as he could talking to anyone he could find, but as sure as anything it wouldn't be
enough. Working with Adams was good experience, but Mike would be glad when the troubleshooter
moved on.
“Dr. MacRae, Dr. Martinez, that I know of," Mike said. "And Courtney Graves. Dr. MacRae said if
you were going to have an assistant at the conference then by the white Christ—that's what he said,
sir—he'd have one there too."
Adams exploded in laughter. "And what about the Tonganese?"
"Prince Toki Ukamea, the Prime Minister, is at the Station, sir. With a couple of members of the Privy
Council. But he's out looking at the reactors so you can have a word with the others alone as you wanted."
  [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]