Pournelle, Jerry - High Justice

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HIGH JUSTICE
.Jerry Pournelle
Copyright (c) 1974 by Jerry Pournelle
e-book ver. 1.0
ISBN: 0-671-65571-X
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
"A Matter of Sovereignty," copyright, (c), 1972, by the Conde Nast Publications. Inc. First
published in Analog.
"Power to the People," copyright, (c), 1972, by the Conde Nast Publications, Inc. First published
in Analog.
"Enforcer," copyright, (c), 1974, by Mercury Press, Inc. First published in the Magazine of
Fantasy and Science Fiction.
"High Justice," copyright, (c), 1974 by the Conde Nast Publications, Inc. First published in
Analog.
"Extreme Prejudice," copyright, (c), 1974, by the Conde Nast Publications, Inc. First published in
Analog.
"Consort," copyright, (c). 1975, by the Conde Nast Publications, Inc. First published in Analog.
"Tinker," copyright, (c). 1975, by UPD Publishing Company. First published in Galaxy.
A Matter of Sovereignty
"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
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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?"
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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
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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."
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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
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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."
"Good." Adams's tone was so noncommittal that Mike King looked at his superior closely, but he
couldn't tell what the man was thinking. The hidden amusement was gone from the grey eyes, and
King didn't envy the people who'd got Mr, Adams so upset.
The conference room was underwater, concrete walls paneled in rich woods framed with sea shells,
an enormus rainbow trout stuffed and mounted on one wall. Another wall was completely glassed to
show the dark waters of the lagoon outside. Several large fish and one of the inevitable dolphins
swam dartingly just outside the conference room.
Dr. David MacRae was a tall, elderly man who spoke with a thick, broad Scots accent mixed with
something unrecognizable, and he sucked endlessly on a meerschaum pipe carved into the shape of a
dolphin. Adams shook hands with the Director, and let his mental filing system bring up the
important facts. MacRae, licensed reactor operator, master of arts in marine biology from
Wellington University, New Zealand, honorary Ph.D., Edinburgh. Reactor physics courses at Nuclear
General's own schools. With the Company over fifteen years, mostly in overseas posts. Apprentice
power operator somewhere in his native highlands; that was a long time ago.
Bill turned with pleasure to Arturo Martinez and shook his hand warmly. "Glad to see you, Art.
How's Dianne and the kids?"
"Everyone is fine at home, Bill," Martinez said. "I was supposed to go back last week, but now ...
I don't know if I can help, but I thought I would stay until this is settled."
Adams nodded soberly and took a seat at the thick wooden conference table. "All right, Dr. MacRae,
how did it happen?"
MacRae lit his pipe slowly, letting the flame play over the entire bowl and taking several
experimental puffs before he answered. "We had a storm in the channel," he said carefully.
"Persephone was in shallow waters with large waves breaking around her. There were reports of a
bigger storm comin' and Captain Anderson thinking of the cargo decided to take her into harbor to
be safe. . . . Aye, and I agreed when he called the Station. I had nae thought o' trouble."
"And the Fijians boarded her and took over," Adams finished. "Any change in her status?"
MacRae shook his head. Like all his movements it was slow, almost majestic, as if he controlled
time and could slow it to suit himself. "They say 'twould nae be safe to allow the ship to leave
harbor wi' that cargo, and their 'experts' will examine her for damage from the storm. 'Tis
blackmail simple, Mr. Adams. They've nae experts to begin wi' and there's nae the matter wi'
Persephone. But you would nae let me report the ship stolen."
"Time enough for that," Adams said grimly. "For the moment it's better we don't have an open
break. They don't actually claim the ship or cargo then?"
"Nae." MacRae shook his great head. "But 'tis only a matter o' time in my thought. Then they will
'discover' storm damage that only they can repair and confiscate the cargo for the safety o' the
human race."
Adams nodded. "The earth safety boys are likely to support them. Are you sure the cargo's still
aboard?"
"Aye. There's no man in Fiji fool enough to go in there, they'll need friends from the mainland
for that. The containers are sealed, encased in glassite. In case o' sinking, you know. So the
plutonium will nae foul the oceans if the ship is lost."
"Yeah." Adams nodded thoughtfully. "Now tell me about the troubles the Tongans are having with
Fiji."
MacRae nodded slowly again. "You know about the politics?" he asked. When Adams didn't answer, he
continued, "Both Tonga and Fiji have been under British protection, but now the Royal Navy's gone
from the Pacific and both countries are independent."
Adams said quietly, "Tonga always was, of course."
MacRae looked surprised and noticed that Martinez was smiling. "Aye. But Britain managed defense
and foreign relations. Now that's gone too. And since the British left, the Fijians hae claimed
sovereignty over waters almost to the Tonga Islands, hae seized more than a dozen Tongan fishing
boats. Now they've had Persephone for three days."
"Did the seizures of Tongan boats come before they took Persephone?"
"Aye. I see what you're thinking, mon, but how would we know they'd take a ship flying the U.S.
flag?" MacRae demanded. "That they'd take boats from the Tongans does nae imply they'd defy the
U.S. flag! Mon, you sit here talking to us when you've only to report piracy and have the U.S.
Navy get our ship back!"
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Adams laughed bitterly. "Do you think we haven't tried? The State Department says the matter is
very delicate . . . and the Fijians have good advice from somewhere. They've unofficially let it
be known they'll fight before they give up our ship. The U.S. won't bully a small power to support
Nuclear General Company."
"I see," MacRae said. "Then 'tis more serious than we thought."
"But I don't understand," Courtney protested. "Nuclear General has a stranglehold on dozens of
little countries. You've got a reactor in Fiji, that's where they get their power . . . and the
influence the Company must have, food supplies, everything, surely you can pressure them to give
us our ship?"
Adams grinned, but there was no humor in it. "You've misunderstood a couple of things. The
mainstay of our power is plutonium, and at the moment we haven't much to bargain with. The Fijians
do. They've got a couple of hundred million dollars worth of it aboard Persephone. With what they
can trade that for, they can laugh at any threats we make."
MacRae puffed at his pipe and relighted it. "Then we're in trouble. But we've the Station, we can
breed more."
Adams said nothing. Mr. Lewis's creditors would be on him in seconds if they heard about the loss
of Persephone. If the iceberg could be got to Los Angeles before the news broke, there might be
enough cash to bail the Company out, but the Fijians wouldn't sit on it that long, and the rumors
were already out. "Tell me about Tonga, Dr. MacRae. How much of your report about our relationship
with the government can I believe?"
"All of it," MacRae snapped. He brooded heavily, then nodded. "Aye. It may sound too good to be
true, but it is so. We've nae problems at all wi' the king and government. They're happy to have
us here, for their people hae no talent for technology. Or if they do they've no interest."
"They work well with the Project," Martinez added. He nodded confirmation to MacRae's statements.
"You've heard me say they're natural ecologists, they'll have no trouble operating when I'm gone.
A real talent for sea farming. But David's right, they have no interest in the reactors at all."
"OK. That's the king. What about the people?"
"Same thing," MacRae said, "They respect the king. He gives them good government, and don't forget
they're almost the only islands which were never colonized by Europeans, held their independence
right along under the same royal family. There's nae opposition to speak of. The king gives every
boy a bit of land when he turns seventeen, or something worth the same since there's little land
to be had. And they allow no foreigners to own or lease land here. We're an exception, but the
land here's worthless without our improvements. With our help they've reclaimed other atolls
closer to the main islands, and we've shown them how to build sea farms for their own. . . . No,
Mr. Adams, strangely enough this is as close to Paradise on earth as you'll ever find."
"They're good Christians, too," Courtney added. Martinez gave her a wry look and she said, "Well,
Methodists then, Dr. Martinez!"
Adams sat quietly for a moment, nodding to himself. "OK. So the basic situation makes it possible
for us to survive here. Now tell me about the Station itself."
"What do you want to know?" Martinez asked. "The reactors are fine. And we've got the world's
largest sea farms, we're only getting started. Por Dios, Bill, it's an ecologist's dream."
"And an accountant's nightmare," Adams answered. "The reactors pay their way in plutonium and the
power's free-nearly so, the turbines were expensive, but we had to generate power to pay the
Tongans for their atolls. But the real construction-reefs, pumps, pipelines, Art-it's been two
years and there's damn little return on investment. The equivalent amount invested in nuclear-
powered food processing ships and trawlers would be earning us money right now!"
"Mon, mon, do you nae understand?" MacRae protested. His open palm struck the table with a flat
crack. -"Trawlers! No matter how modern you make those beasties they're ten thousand years out of
date! Civilized men are nae hunters, laddie. We cultivate, we grow what we need, and how can we do
that in open water? The investment here will pay for itself, never you fear, and I'm willin' to
gamble you'll be putting in more farms with what we learn."
"He's right," Martinez said. "Our open farms in the States are profitable, you'll agree?" Adams
nodded, and Martinez continued, "But we have poachers since we can't get title to the sea beds.
Out here we own the waters, and nothing at home has the potential of these reefs, Bill. We can
grow anything in enormous quantities. The Project's already starting to produce. Give us a year.
I've got five square miles under intensive cultivation. We'll clear over a thousand salable tons
to the square mile. At fifty cents a pound-and you know we'll get more than that, Bill-we'll take
in five million dollars."
"About two percent of the cost of those dams," Adams reminded him. Before Martinez could protest
Bill interrupted. "Yeah, I know. You've got a lot more square miles you'll bring in next year.
I've seen the projections. But the Company's got cash problems, and this place had better plan on
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paying its own way." He pushed back his chair, turned to the windows of the lagoon.
"Don't-don't you ever do anything just because it's worth doing?" Courtney asked. Her voice was
not quite under control, as if she were holding back anger.
Adams shrugged. "When you're talking about as much money as this Project costs, you get into the
altruism game precisely once. OK, if you'll ask His Highness to come in, I'd like to meet him. And
I give all of you warning, be careful what you say when he's here."
"Would you rather we left?" Courtney asked.
"No. I may need all of my advisors. But keep your little round mouth closed unless I ask for
something, will you? All right, Mike."
His Highness, Toki Ukamea, Prime Minister and Crown Prince, was a giant for a Tongan. He stood six
feet two, with broad shoulders and the hips. Adams noted the massive hands and legs, and that the
full middle had no sag at all. The two councillors were normal-sized Tongans, short and rather
slender but well-muscled, and both wore open, flowered shirts. His Highness was wearing a dark
suit and regimental striped tie which Adams noted thoughtfully. Cambridge or Oxford, couldn't
remember which, or which college . . .
There were few formalities. After the introductions they sat at the big conference table and Adams
nodded to Mike King, who began by telling the Prince about Persephone.
He was interrupted by a full, hearty laugh. "I already know about your ship, Mr. Adams," the
prince said. His voice was deep and rich, with an almost perfect Oxbridge accent. "You must
remember that Fiji and Tonga have been close neighbors for centuries, and we have many friends
there. My people sail to Fiji whenever they like."
"I thought you would know, Your Highness," Adams said. The amused glint was back in his grey eyes.
"But I wonder if you know the consequences of that?"
"Damned awkward for your company, I think," the Prince said. His voice lost the amused tone, and
became stern. "For us too, perhaps."
Adams nodded and turned to Mike King.
"Yes, sir," Mike said. "Overseas Foods wants the Station. They've got enough of our bonds and
preferred debentures to get it. We might be able to keep the reactors, and then again we might
not, but they definitely want the rest of the Project. Except for the whales, which they consider
an unnecessary expense. They'll butcher them."
"Susie!" Courtney exclaimed. "But you can't let them do that, we're just beginning to-we might
even be able to have them bear young, save the species. ..."
"Aye. And before they can be killed I'll turn them out myself," Dr. MacRae added. "Nae matter what
Mr. Lewis says, but I think he'll no forbid it. I hae never met the chief but I'm told he loves
the whales."
Prince Toki nodded agreement. "I think even if you did not, Dr. MacRae, the sea people would
release the whales. By the way, I'm surprised you've never met Mr. Lewis. But then I haven't
either." The simple statement was a demand for explanations.
"Never come to Tonga," one of the councillors said slowly. "Must be a very stupid man."
"No, sir," Adams told them. "Mr. Lewis is crippled. He never leaves his headquarters in Santa
Barbara."
"I see," Toki said. "I had heard something of the sort but . . . well, sir. We are agreed that we
have common interests. Now what is it you want?"
Adams looked surprised, as if the prince's bluntness was unexpected. "Let's be sure we do agree,"
he said slowly. "The Project is going well?"
Martinez answered quickly. "Very well. I am astonished at how quickly the Tongan fishermen have
learned the techniques of scientific record-keeping. They'll have no trouble operating the farm
projects so that the Station can be manned with few non-Tongans, as agreed in the sale."
"A gentleman's agreement only," the prince said. "Quite unenforceable, but I am happy that you
have voluntarily kept to it."
MacRae was muttering to himself. "'Twill be a pity to see the Station go to people like Overseas
Foods; they've no sense for the future. And 'tis a bonny project."
"There's no hope, then?" the prince asked carefully. "Nuclear General is in that much financial
difficulty?"
"Without the plutonium aboard Persephone we are," Adams answered.
"Of course you wouldn't be talking to me if your government were willing to help get it back," the
prince said. "All right, Mr. Adams, you've an idea. What is it?"
Martinez laughed and everyone looked at him. "I don't know what he has in mind," Martinez
explained quickly, "but one thing I've learned, never count Mr. Lewis out until he's not only dead
but embalmed. Not even then. El Patron has won tougher fights than this." He gestured
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significantly at Bill Adams. "And we know he is concerned, to send his prime minister."
Adams gave Martinez and the prince a twisted grin. "He's worried all right." He took a large chart
from his briefcase and spread it on the table. "Persephone's here?" he asked the prince.
"Yes."
"Aye," MacRae answered. "In that harbor, protected by the entire Fiji Navy, all seven gunboats and
a destroyer."
"Radar scanners, I suppose?"
MacRae nodded.
"We can't do much," Adams said. "But you've said that the Tongans sail to Fiji, Your Highness.
Even in bad weather. In open boats, small outriggers. Is that true?"
The prince grinned carefully. "It's true enough, Mr. Adams. We have sailed those straits for
hundreds of years. I've done it myself often enough. I suppose you've thought of underwater
approaches?"
Adams found it was his turn to laugh. "Yes, sir. My company police say the harbor's too
treacherous for frogmen. We might train the dolphins, but there's not enough time. On the other
hand, our people say the chances of a small outrigger being picked up at night during a storm are
just about nil. Of course, no westerner would be able to navigate an outrigger into that harbor
under such conditions. ..."
"What will you tell the Republic of Fiji if this succeeds?"
"Why, that we found our ship adrift and unmanned in international waters," Adams said. The grin
was back now, Martinez thought his friend looked quite himself. "We'll even offer to pay a
reasonable fee for 'caring' for Persephone."
The prince's laughter rumbled through the room. "All right, Mr. Adams. We'll help you get your
ship back. I've heard of Overseas Foods and I don't want them for neighbors . . . but none of us
could sail her, I think. I'm sure there are no Tongans who can operate a nuclear reactor aboard
ship. Or probably anywhere else."
"I will take care of the reactor," Art Martinez said. "I may be an ecologist but I am Director of
San Juan Capistrano Station. I know how."
Adams nodded. "And I can sail the ship if you get us to her, Your Highness. I also have a couple
of sailing officers from Company headquarters in Cerebrus' staterooms. If you hadn't been willing
to help, we'd have had a crack at it alone, but by God, welcome aboard!"
Cerebrus landed in the lee of an uninhabited atoll seventy miles from Fiji. Her clamshell cargo
doors opened to discharge men and a slender war canoe.
"Now we'll see how it floats," Prince Toki said. "I wonder that you made your own."
Adams shrugged, then quickly grasped the handrail by the cargo door as the plane lurched to a
heavy sea.
"Fiberglass is a bit tougher than your woods," he said, "But this outrigger is an exact duplicate
of the one in our harbor. And remember we won't be bringing it back with us. This one can't be
traced."
Toki laughed softly into the gathering dark. "You hope it won't be coming back." They climbed
gingerly down from the enormous plane to the pitching boat. It was only three feet wide, but
nearly fifty feet long. All metal tools and weapons were laid in the bottom of the boat so they
would be below the waterline and out of radar reflection.
"As soon as you're ready," the pilot called softly. "That blow's coming up fast and it's getting
darker. I'd like to get the old dog upstairs."
Adams waved. The props spun, and Cerebrus drifted away, turned, and gunned into the wind. Spray
flew from her bows and pontoons, then she was aloft, winging just above the tops of the waves.
They'd come in at the same altitude.
The boat wallowed heavily in the rising seas. Prince Toki stood in the stern and spoke quietly to
the sea people. Except for a half dozen technicians and company police, Adams, King, and Martinez
were the only westerners. Adams hadn't objected to the prince coming himself; he understood why.
It would not have been in a warrior aristocrat's character to send men on something like this and
not go himself, even if the Tongan royal families hadn't led men in battle for a hundred years.
...
The prince's teeth flashed white as Toki spoke carefully in musical tones, his voice carrying
easily over rising wind and crashing waves. When he sat again, they cheered.
"What did you tell them?" Adams asked, but the prince had gone forward to see to the sails. The
outrigger gathered way under sail, flashing across steadily rising seas. When they left the lee of
the island, breakers crashed around them, but no water came aboard. Adams estimated their speed at
twenty knots.
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Toki came back finally after inspecting sails and rigging. "I told them of their ancestors and
mine," he said. "I was named for one, Toki Ukamea means 'iron axe.' We once sailed these waters in
revenge against raiders. I could have told them in English but - it sounded better in Tongan!"
There was amusement in the clipped accents. "If my professors at Magdalene College should see me
now!"
The boat was pitching wildly, and the Americans found it hard to pay attention to anything. The
storm rose, wind howling until the Tongans reefed, reefed again until the sail was a tiny patch in
the night, but the boat tore on at high speed, leaving a great creamy wake behind, actually
outrunning the seas, carried along by the screaming wind.
"Quite a blow," Michael King said. His voice was strained, artificially calm.
"Not really," Toki answered. "You will know it when the storm really hits. There will be rain
then. I warned
you. . . ."
"Yeah." Adams grimly held the bulwarks. He looked behind, saw an enormous wave building up astern,
flinched, but they ran away from it so that it broke harmlessly aft of them. Another monster sea
came up, with the same result, but it was unnerving to watch them. He tried to close his eyes, but
his stomach heaved and he quickly opened them again, grimly took a deep breath, and held it.
"At night, with this storm, there shouldn't be anyone very alert," Adams told the prince. "I
hope."
Toki shrugged. "Fijians might, but I do not believe their Asian masters will let them out in
boats." Mike King looked up in surprise, and Prince Toki grimaced. "Malays, Indians, Chinese-they
outnumbered the Fijians as far back as the late fifties. We would have gone the same way if we
ever let the Europeans control us. The Indians came to Fiji as workers, so did the Chinese. Soon
there was no room for the sea poeple. Our King George Tupuo I kept Tonga for the Tongans. A wise
policy, I think."
Adams looked at the enigmatic face and wondered if there were a message addressed to him. His wits
weren't sharp, not in this wild sea and screaming wind.
Prince Toki read the expression and smiled thinly. "No, I don't mean your Company, Mr. Adams. I
was worried at first, but you have kept your agreement, brought in only enough westerners to run
the Station, kept them on short-term contracts. If you had encouraged your people to settle
permanently . . . but do you know why I agreed to help you tonight?"
Adams shook his head warily.
"The whales. The sea people have always respected the whales, Mr. Adams. It will be a sad world
for us when they're gone. But there's nothing we can do to keep the powers from killing them all
off. Your Company is at least trying."
"Be damned," Adams muttered to himself. Had Mr. Lewis seen that coming, or did he really just want
to save the beasts for sentimental reasons? No matter, the books balanced nicely now.
"Understand me," the prince was saying. "We can help each other, and the reefs you occupy would
never have been much use to us. You can keep them. But I hope you have no other plans for Tonga."
"We don't," Adams said. At least none I'll talk about now, he added to himself. A thick cloud had
moved over the already feeble moon, and it was dark and threatening in the open boat.
Phosphorescent seas crashed around them. Ominous black clouds astern added an atmosphere of
menace. Bill settled his windbreaker around himself and stared miserably at the water.
In four hours they were at the harbor entrance. A driving rain obscured everything, and Adams was
amazed at the skill of the Tongan helmsmen who seemed to know exactly where they were. They had
sailed to Fiji many times across hundreds of miles of open water, and they had phenomenal
memories, but there was no clue to what they steered by in this wet darkness. A tiny reef to port,
swirls and breakers in the water, the boat raced on past the harbor bars in silence, and they were
in calmer water.
Then, quite suddenly, a white shape loomed up off the starboard bow. Persephone riding at anchor,
tossing violently in the big swell that swept in from the Pacific. Even close up the ship was
almost hidden in the driving rain.
The boat moved quietly to the anchor chain and Prince Toki, followed by three Tongans swarmed up
it. Moments later a dozen followed. Adams heard a scuffling sound, a noise as loud to him as
Cerebrus's engines had been, then silence. A few moments later grinning bronze faces peered over
the bulwarks.
"They'll have headaches in the morning. What do we do with them?"
"Set the lot of them adrift in the canoe. Only anchor it so they won't get lost," Adams said.
Despite his seasickness there was a wave of triumph swelling over him.
Toki nodded. "Ready to be cut loose?"
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