D.K. KIRTS  
 
 

 
 

ANGLER  
 
 

The Luckiest Fisherman In The Universe  
 
 

 
 

a science fiction novel  
 
 
 
 

ANGLER is a work of fiction. All characters and locations are fictitious. 
Any relation to actual people or places is accidental and coincidental.  
 
 

copyright © D.K. Kirts 1998 All rights reserved  

ISBN 1-882639-10-3  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

CHAPTER ONE  
 
 
 
 

THE STAR TOURNAMENT  
 
 
 
 
 
 

The people, industries and military of Earth had polluted the land and oceans 
of that planet until very little grew, and nothing worth catching swam in the waters. 
Most of the people and all of the fishermen then migrated upwards. 
Rita Resnick Ph.D. 
from History of the Tournament  
 
 
 
 

It was almost dawn on the 1st of June. As they had done for the past thirteen years, the Star Anglers 
had gathered at the Tidetable Chart House on Wexley Common to pay their entry fees. Old Johann 
Miller, the dour proprietor, still served breakfast and banked the money for the prize winners to 
claim when they returned after ten dangerous weeks of fishing their butts off. 
The fee was 200,000 Confederation dollars payable in cash or credits, no checks. The Star Anglers 
was a very exclusive club. That many Confederation dollars was big bucks. The Confederation 
insisted on maintaining the platinum currency standard. And it cost much more than that to purchase 
and maintain a fishing boat, hire a crew for ten weeks, buy food and exotic fishing gear, and 
occasionally a new tooth brush. The filthy rich, of course, regard two hundred thousand as pocket 
change, but to a poor fisherman, the fee was a heavy weight tied around the neck. Life is like that 
everywhere, haves and haves not. Wheels and axles. 
The Tidetable Chart House was the first dank, wharfside bar and grill to become an inter-galactic 
landmark. Old Johann owed the fame of his tavern to its central location in the Spiral Nebula, and to 
a handful of fishermen who enjoyed his greasy cooking and surly friendship. He had never 
refurbished and doubtless never would, and he seldom dusted. There were only minor changes in the 
place year to year. One was a photograph of each new Tournament winner hanging over the bar, in 
a cheap frame. A sneering head shot of Dresden Carthy, last yearOs hero, hung in the place of 
honorNcentered on the mirror behind the bar. That spot between the two blinking neon beer signs 
was a much prized eight by ten inches of real estate. Every fisherman in the Tournament hoped to 
drive Carthy off the mirror to the obscurity of a dark dining booth or even to the restroom corridor. 
The permanent placement of last year's Champion depended entirely on the whim of old Johann, and 
also perhaps on the condition of his lumbago when he changed the photos. 
In a section of wall near the front door labeled ONot ForgottenÓ hung smiling photographs of 
Tournament fishermen unlucky enough to get themselves killed. That section kept growing.  
 
 
 
 
 
 

Twenty-three fishermen huddled in the pre-dawn of opening morning. Most of them lounged at the 
long center table, looking out over the dank harbor and drinking coffee laced with the additive of 
their choice. The rest sat on stools at the bar. Everyone was waiting to see if Ira Fairborne would 
show up to make it twenty-four and deadlock the vote again. Ira was one of the six surviving charter 
members. None of the original fourteen had died of disease. Fishing the Star Tournament was 
dangerous, and threatened to become more so. A vote was pending to add two extra freshwater 
categories to next yearOs schedule, both pitifully foolhardy to Pike ResnickOs way of thinking. But 
then Pike had won the Tournament, twice, and was the most famous fisherman in the Galaxy. Some 
of the freshwater zealots, Baron Farouk Bardona among them, felt themselves to be disadvantaged, 
poor babies. So they had gone crazy. Crazy enough to demand Electric Batfish, and Giant Poison 
Chiclids from Orlando Seco be added to the circuit. And the necessary fifty-one percent for a rules 
change seemed to be present unless Ira showed. A very democratic club, the Star Anglers. In order 
to vote, a member must have fished in any previous Tournament and be fishing this year. 
As a cloudy dawn broke outside the rather dirty windows, Pike sat on a bar stool with his back to 
the worn mahogany bar wishing that Rita Bardona, the BaronOs daughter, would come in for 
breakfast; but, of course, she wouldnOt. Crew, family and tourists were excluded from opening 
morning. That didnOt stop Pike from wanting to see herNshe kept getting more and more beautiful 
every yearNand she was only a few hundred yards across the harbor on her fatherOs para-yacht. 
Part of the reason Pike still enjoyed the Tournament was because he got to see Rita at the 
fishermen's waterholes most nights and at other social gatherings. But, of course, she was much too 
young for him. Very strange how he could be so fond of Rita, and detest her father. 
Curiously, Richie Tourbo had not shown up, and that surprised Pike more then Ira being absent. The 
kid was a hot and lucky fisherman, so rumor had it, and was very wealthy. He had wanted to hire 
Pike as a guide during the off season. And he was a friend of RitaOs from college. She had gone out 
of her way to tell Pike to be nice to him; but the lad hadnOt arrived yet. He couldnOt vote his first 
year anyway, but where was he? 
PikeOs friend, Ira, was no longer a serious fisherman. He attended mostly for the camaraderie, and 
to prove he was still hale and hardy at sixty-four. Ira could be a bull walrus without coughing up the 
price of a small planet to prove it, any of the old timers could, but they still liked to show up. 
Dresden Carthy another founding member and last yearOs winner, was here, sitting in the corner 
with his beer, telling fishing stories as if they were truth, and so was Hardluck Harry Dolan. Like 
Farouk Bardona, Harry had never won a tournament in the thirteen years, but he had been second 
seven times. Harry was a great fisherman. Superb. But luck never seemed to smile on him. Not the 
big luck that gets it done. 
The marine spacer radio behind the bar crackled to life. OBreaker, breaker..!!Ó Ira FairborneOs 
electronically enhanced voice blasted through the speaker. OSucking pirate this quadrant. Fix.Ó A 
pause as his computer whirled up the information that pinpointed his exact position in hyper-space. 
OI may be late...Ó A sizzle as his laser cannon discharged. OBut I vote no on the new 
amendment.Ó More sizzle. 
Pandemonium broke out in the Tidetable. Fishermen leaped up, already running, to assist Ira. At that 
precise moment, the door at the top of the short stairs jerked open to reveal a very small person with 
a weak, self-effacing grin. Rich Rodney Tourbo had arrived, in a new Abercrombie and Bean fishing 
vest. He stepped into the gloom, miscalculating the three stairs that led down to the bar room, and 
pitched airborne in a strangled swan dive into the arms of Mordachi Skinner, the first of the members 
to reach the stairs. MordachiOs bulk absorbed the shock of Rich Rodney quite easily. He tossed the 
kid aside and lumbered outside, followed by a mob of Star Anglers. 
OTournament suspended until noon..!!Ó Johann Miller shouted. 
Pike set Richie on his feet. ONice to see you again, Tourbo. Remember me, Pike Resnick? You can 
ride to the rescue with me.Ó He pulled the kid out the door into the gauzy brightness of sunrise on 
the Commons. 
OOf course, I remember you,Ó Rich Rodney managed to stammer as they ran to the quayside 
mooring of PikeOs famous para-launch, The Jumper. 
The first of the boats were already motoring to the harbor mouth as they scrambled through Pike's 
galley. OPirates, Lester..! WeOre rolling..!!Ó Pike shouted at the cook, and then pushed Richie up 
the inside stairway to the flying bridge. 
OBuckle down, kid,Ó he yelled, snapping on the radio and starting the engines. MordachiOs big 
cruiser disappeared from mid-channel leaving empty ocean in its wake. 
OWhatOs going on?Ó Rich Rodney asked from his spot on the passengerOs bench. OI didnOt pay 
my fee...Ó 
IraOs voice crackled from the radio. OGot the bastard..!!Ó A long sizzle of cannon fire followed. 
OOkay, no problem. IOm limping, but IOll be there. And I repeat, I still vote no. Hey, Mordachi..!! 
Nice to see you! Had your coffee yet..? Okay, over and out!Ó 
With a grin of relief, Pike cut the engines . OJust a normal day after all, Rich. LetOs go sweeten the 
pot with your money.Ó 
Johann Miller came on the radio. OThe Tournament will resume at 0900 hours. Is that late enough 
for you, Ira..?Ó 
OFine,Ó Ira crackled. OI think IOve still got light speed.Ó 
Pike snapped off the radio and unbuckled. OSo you made it,Ó he said to young Tourbo. OKind of 
an exciting start to your new career, huh?Ó 
OWhat was it..?Ó 
OSpace pirates. They're after the technology. We try to help each other out. Come on, IOll 
introduce you to the boys and girls.Ó 
Lester Wunderman, Pike's cook and 1st mate, wiped his hands on his white apron, and stuck his 
grizzled head into the bridge cabin. OWhat the Sam Hill is going on?Ó he squawked. OI've got a 
cake in the over!Ó 
A powerful Indian stood alertly behind Lester. His long, dark hair was wet and a little soapy, and a 
blue towel was wrapped around his waist as if he'd just stepped from a shower. The Indian, June 
Madrigal, was also the 1st mate. Job descriptions between the three men on The Jumper got a little 
hazy. 
OFalse alarm. Go back to sleep,Ó Pike said, with a benign twinkle. They all grinned at each other. 
OThis is Richie Tourbo, our newest competition. HeOs a friend of RitaOs.Ó 
Richie exchanged pleasantries with PikeOs famous crew for a few minutes, then he and Pike trooped 
back to the Tidetable. 
"That guy is very short," June commented, heading back to the shower. 
Lester snorted derisively, and gimped into the galley.  
 
 

*  
 
 

Baron Farouk Bardona from the Starfleck System glowered. The Tidetable was still humming with 
excitement; but the object of Bardona's spleen was young Richie Tourbo, who was approaching 
Johann with his cash chits in hand. 
OIOm surprised to see you here, Tourbo,Ó the Baron blustered, loudly. OIOm not sure we ought to 
let you enter, after all.Ó The room got suddenly quiet. Rich Rodney flushed. Evidently, there was 
some bad blood between them. OIn fact, now that I think about it,Ó the Baron went on, OisnOt 
there a clause to disqualify somebody who is a clear and present danger. Nothing personal. I know 
my daughter likes you, but I appreciate your antics better from far away.Ó 
OIsnOt it a little early to be a horseOs ass?Ó Pike inquired, with a pleasant smile. BardonaOs ears 
reddened. It was a well known fact that bad blood did exist between Pike and the BaronNhad for 
years. 
OHey, kid,Ó Harry Dolan chimed in. ODonOt listen to FaroukOs sour grapes. The only way to get 
you out, once you make the down payment on a boat, is for you to quit or not catch a fish. So just 
hand over the cash, and have some breakfast.Ó 
OThe asshole sank my power launch last year!Ó the Baron rumbled, appealing for support. OHe 
was on the bridge with me. I let him take the helm as a personal favor. I turned my back for one 
second and he put her on a perfectly visible rock. Ripped her guts out!Ó 
OYou could run home with your toys, it you donOt like our playmates,Ó Pike goaded. He wanted 
to add something like OButt wipe,Ó but refrained. 
OJam it, Resnick. Maybe someday youOll learn to keep your nose out of other peopleOs business, 
and I vote no on his nomination.Ó 
The gathered assembly laughed at him, knowing that Bardona had used the insurance money to buy 
a much better para-launch, one that heOd wanted for two years, but had been too cheap to buy. 
ONo reason to call a vote on this issue, I should think,Ó Johann Miller said, in his official position as 
referee. OWe already accepted your nomination, Mr. Tourbo, and now we accept your money.Ó 
Johann counted the cash and passed it to a Spiral Bank representative who sat at the end of the bar 
in a bullet-proof suit and tie. Accompanying the banker were two heavily armed guards. An attack 
dog lay quietly at his feet. The banker nodded and wrote a receipt. 
OWelcome to the club, Mr. Tourbo,Ó Old Johann said. ODonOt catch them all,Ó he observed 
dryly. OThe Rules will be sent to your computer whenever Ira gets here, so we can have some rules. 
You canOt vote this year, sonny.Ó 
OThatOs all right,Ó Richie said. OIs there a good computer repairman in town for an AXZ-15. 
Mine got orange juice in it by accident when we splashed down.Ó 
Everybody chuckled. It looked like they planned to accept Richie Tourbo, as they did everyone who 
could catch a fish and had the money. It was indeed a very democratic group.  
 
 

*  
 
 

OI vote no,Ó Ira Fairborne said loudly, limping down the stairs. White hair bristled uncontrollably 
under his greasy CommodoreOs cap. 
ONobody expected you to vote yes,Ó Johann Miller said, cordially, pouring a shot of his best 
cognac into a mug of coffee. He placed the mug at an empty seat at the bar, beside Pike. 
Ira Fairborne toasted Johann, then the other members before taking a careful sip. OWhat you donOt 
know is that I talked Mordachi into voting No also.Ó He grinned triumphantly. OOnly a fool would 
fish for batfish, especially without a boat.Ó 
OVoting on the rules changes will now commence,Ó Johann said. He had observed Mordachi 
Skinner standing in the doorway, blocking out the morning haze. OTwenty-five members present. 
Twenty-four voting. A simple yes or no will suffice nicely. No poems, William, if you please.Ó 
OItOs my duty to keep up a certain literary standard,Ó Alaska Bill Bolen from Bixler-Bolen said, 
standing up. He put his hand on his breast in classical oratory style and spoke through his buck teeth:  

OA yes is a guess 
At a change from the known. 
All smart guys seek change 
Or they go down alone.Ó  

Alaska Bill smiled complacently as the crowd booed tolerantly. BolenOs paternal grandfather still 
lived on Earth, in Alaska. Bill had been to visit him last year and reported the fishing was still poor, 
although BillOs grandfather was not, thanks to Bixler-Bolen Mining. 
OLovely,Ó Johann said, sarcastically. OYou're out of order, but I take it that was a yes vote?Ó 
OYou take it correctly, Mr. Miller. Batfish are relatively harmless from a boat or from shore.Ó 
He was greeted with a chorus of loud agreement and disagreement.  
 
 

*  
 
 

A para-yacht is a beautiful thing. It is equally at home in the air or in the water, a condition that few 
other man-made machines can claim, except perhaps Timex watches. All classifications from the 
three passenger fishing smack to the twelve berth pleasure craft are made to order for their original 
owners. Therefore, the sport fishing fleet fitted each member like a true mirror, reflecting whims and 
sensibilities, and the condition of the wallet. A fishing boat is by nature a working vessel, so it places 
a premium on stability in rough water, and must have enough open deck space to play and land a big 
fish. A Tournament fisherman must have a helmsman and one deck hand, at a minimum. Few fish 
over fifty pounds can be landed without help. And a guide in unknown waters is certainly useful. 
During the Tournament a judge is always on board, so most yachts sleep at least five. The crews 
become as addicted as the fishermen, in many cases staying on from year to year with whoever will 
hire them. Some even have partnership arrangements.  
 
 
 
 
 
 

The problem of how to get a lumbering, deep-ballasted water craft airborne, so that the leap to 
hyper-space could be made, had plagued boat designers since the first hydrofoils were able to flit 
here and there through the galaxy. From their position above the waterOs surface, hydrofoils, known 
as cigar boats, had been leaping into space for several generations, and in spite of their restricted 
payload, were the backbone of the intergalactic shipping industry for water mining. But hydrofoils 
were not really fully suitable for fishing.  
 
 
 
 
 
 

Then one day sixteen years ago, a young marine biologist working on his dissertation, came across 
an odd property of water. It can become a solid launching platform for a split instant, if at that instant 
a magnetic mega-force is thrust downward. The force bonds the positive hydrogen molecules to 
form a grid for a nano-second. In that fraction of time, a boat (or any floating object) can squirt past 
the bonded surface like a cork held under water and then released. As an after effect, a quantity of 
free oxygen is released. 
In the next instant, the hydrogen was rejoined with new oxygen molecules in that loose bond that is 
the magic of waterNbut during that grid locked micro-second, the young man reasoned, the leap to 
para-space and then hyper-space should be possible. 
That biology student was Pike Resnick, of course. At one time, fourteen years ago, Pike owned 
four/fifths of the universal patent on the Resnick Thruster. One tenth was owned by his patent 
attorney, Sidney Ulmann, and the other tenth was sold to Farouk Bardona in exchange for a 
development deal for the Thruster. This was before Bardona had taken the honorific Baronet, which 
he felt was somewhat modest considering his holdings. He could have been King Bardona of the 
Starfleck System if he had chosen. A small but significant portion of the BaronOs possessions now 
consisted of seven/tenths of the Thruster patent, which he sat onNnot allowing the Thruster to be 
used, except in boats for the Star Tournament. Sid Ulmann had bought an additional tenth from Pike 
to make one/fifth currently in his portfolio. And Pike had managed to retain a tenth. Like many 
inventors and fishermen before him, Pike was not much of a businessman. Luckily, he had won the 
Tournament twice out of the thirteen years and had finished in the money seven other times. He really 
was a heck of a fisherman. Most of his debts were paid off. He had no trouble sleeping, these days.  
 
 
 
 

* * *  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

STAR ANGLERS TOURNAMENT 
PRIZE LIST 
and other expenditures  

FIRST PLACE 40% of purse 
SECOND PLACE 20% of purse 
THIRD PLACE 12% of purse 
FOURTH PLACE 8% of purse 
FIFTH PLACE 5% of purse  

1st Place Moon Halibut Entry fee returned 
1st Place All Other Fish $10,000 
25 Judges' Wages (174 man weeks) $174,000 Confederation 
Burial Fund As needed 
Contingency As needed 
Interest on capital 10 weeks to Johann Miller  

$ 200,000.00 
x25 
$ 5,000,000.00 
-85% prizes 
$ 750,000.00 
-$ 200,000.00 
$ 550.000.00 
-$ 90,000.00 
$ 460,000.00 
-$ 174,000.00 
$286,000.00  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

<><> RULES of the GALACTIC ANGLERS TOURNAMENT <><>  
 
 

1. One keeper length fish must be caught in each category in order to proceed to the next 
planet. 
2. There is a maximum time span of one week in each categoryNDawn of the first day to 
Midnight of the last. But after having caught a species fish and properly registering it with 
an official judge, the contestant fisherman is free to pursue other events in his/her life; but 
may not land on the subsequent planets of the Tournament for any reason without 
permission of the Tournament Head Judge. 
3. Category fish must be taken in proper sequenceNduring the 7 days assigned to that 
species. 
4. All fish will be caught on hook and line, and will be played only by the Tournament 
fisherman. Gaffing or netting may be accomplished by an assistant. 
5. All local fish and game laws will be rigorously adhered to. 
6. Points are awarded in each category: 
5 pointsN1st Place; 4 pointsN2nd; 3 pointsN3rd; 2 pointsN4th and 1 pointN5th Place. 
7. Chicanery of any form will result in ejection from the current Tournament and 
prizesNand probable elimination from further Star Anglers Tournament competition.  

<><><> SCHEDULE OF FISHING <><><> 
DATES FISH SPECIES PLANET  

JUNE 1 - JUNE 7 BLUE NOSED DELILAH - AMORA  

JUNE 8 - JUNE 14 HOWLER - BETA TORGA XII  

JUNE 15 - JUNE 21 TIGER MUSKY - ASHENDON A.R.  

JUNE 22 - JUNE 28 DEEP WATER SCUT - GIEDON  

JUNE 28 - JULY 4 PHANTOM TROUT - STREAMSIDE  

JULY 5 - JULY 11 LARCHMONT BARRACUDA - NEW COLUMBUS  

JULY 12 - JULY 18 GLANS SALMON - DELTA 5 TANGO  

JULY 19 - JULY 25 RAZORFIN - BLIZWAK-HOJMER  

JULY 26 - AUG 1 SWAMPFISH - SEGUMI 6  

AUG 2 - AUG 8 MOON HALIBUT - WATER MOON SOLERI  

AUG 9 TALLY DUE 0900 HRS - TIDETABLE - WEXLEY  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

CHAPTER TWO  
 
 

BLUE NOSED DELILAHS  
 
 
 
 
 
 

"Winning? Well, Rita, off the top of my head, I'd say that winning 
is like a place to go to. A zone of contentment. All the cogs slide into place 
magically, and suddenly everything you do is smooth and successful. And 
your name is all over the leader board." 
Dresden Carthy 
quoted in History of the Tournament  
 
 

The Jumper, Pike ResnickOs boat, was trolling slowly for delilahs along a coral head where Pike 
had often found the bad tempered wahoo-type fish in the past. Delilahs were not his strong suit, 
maybe because the big ones were all female. The males of the species never exceeded ten pounds, 
while the largest female ever caught was twenty-eight hundred pounds. An odd situation, Pike 
thought; although marine biology is so full of surprises that nothing is truly odd. At any rate, he had 
never caught the winning delilah; consequently the Jumper crew always left Amora somewhere back 
in the pack. But everybody caught a delilahNthatOs why the Tournament always began on Amora. 
Blues were plentiful, and while the big females were mean, they werenOt a difficult species to entice 
to the hook. It got everybody at least two weeks of fishing and partying for their exorbitant entry fee. 
The only real problem with blues was that their bad temper was mixed with strong jaw muscles and 
very sharp teeth. These traits had probably evolved because their primary diet was armored 
anchovies, a food species whose survival strategy was armor-plated skin. It evidently made the big 
hen delilahs peevish to spend every day chewing on the non-nourishing armor to get to the tiny filet of 
meat. 
Pike would have been quite satisfied with a small keeper. On the first day of each category, he liked 
to establish his eligibility, then look for more poundage in a leisurely fashion during the remaining six 
days. Then on to the next planet and a repeat of the procedure. That was his method. Very 
pragmatic. And generally he was there at the Tidetable on Wexley Common to receive part of the 
prize money, if not all of it. ItOs hard to knock success, but it had been several years since he had 
won. He needed to pull it off this year, before the money and lucrative endorsements evaporated 
permanently into a black hole. 
The Star Tournament was a big deal in the Spiral Nebula. It was the one sporting event which 
bridged the chasm of space and touched a lot of planetary systems that no one else bothered with. 
And Pike Resnick was the most luminous of its luminaries. The fact that female sports reporters 
thought he was ruggedly handsome did not hurt his reputation. 
OPike Resnick was born to be a fisherman.Ó That statement had been coined by a Spiral Download 
Magazine reporter as part of a lead story on this yearOs Intergalactic Star Anglers Tournament. As 
somewhat of a confirmation, the philosopher priests on Aixi say that every man is born to the life he 
livesNso Pike probably was born to be a fisherman. 
In any case, thanks to product endorsements and articles about him in every type of sporting media, 
Pike was a famous guy. Not as famous as a Tri V actor; but people sometimes recognized him in the 
street. Smiling, carefree, swashbuckling, brave, trustworthy, mostly honestNin short, a man that other 
men liked, and women sometimes chased. That was Pike ResnickNor was it..? 
Well, certainly that was a surface look at Pike. Beyond that he was an inventor of intergalactic 
importanceNwho didnOt have a dime to show for it. An unsuccessful father and divorced husband, 
he was not much of a star at relationships, at least not so far. But feeling bad about Alex and Annette 
didnOt seem to help much, so he had given up feeling bad about them. 
No woman had been deeply connected to Pike for a number of years. Pleasant companions came, 
and when they stopped being pleasant they went. No one had attained permanent status since 
Annette; and she hadn't cared for fishing, nor for a husband who thought of fishing as more than a 
hobby. Pike had met Annette while he was working on the thruster. Most of that two year period 
found him landlocked in his workshop in his parentOs old beach house on Galatin Bay. 
Annette had come on vacation from being a Senator's secretary on Alpha Alba. While sunbathing 
one day on the quaint beach in front of his workshop, she had ill-advisedly knocked on his door to 
borrow some ice cubes. Annette had foolishly insisted on believing that he was a scientist, rooted 
and stable. Pike told her he liked to fish, but she had allowed herself to get pregnant, then had 
allowed him to marry her. A year after Alex was born at the country hospital on Galatin Bay, the 
Tournament was born also. Pike was invited to be on the Rules Committee; since, after all, he had 
made the whole thing possible. And once the planets were chosen, he was gone most of the time. 
Pike Resnick now had an ex-wife and a fourteen year old son whom he rarely saw since they had 
moved back to Alpha Alba. Pike didn't care for seats of government. But the kid was growing. 
Doing well at school. I should invite him over for the holidays, Pike thought for the billionth time. 
Fourteen is old enough to start fishing. Past old enough. But Alex never sounded like he was 
interested, not really. Maybe he hates fishing...or maybe heOs not that fond of me.  
 
 

*  
 
 

On the other hand, the crew of the Jumper, which consisted of June Madrigal and Lester 
Wunderman were like PikeOs family. He had listed both as first mate in his log because that's how 
he saw it. They were both first rate. Lester had been with him since before the Tournament began, 
and June had been enticed aboard eleven years ago from the Segumi Swamps, where his father was 
a chief. The three men got along superlatively in the tight quarters of the JumperNa fact that Pike 
attributed to blind luck, and for which he was very grateful. 
Like most humans, Pike didnOt have a very clear picture of himself. This truth didnOt worry himNin 
fact, it escaped his attention.  
 
 
 
 
 
 

A keeper delilah had to measure forty-six inches on Amora. One didnOt jump onto the hook with 
every cast, but catching one was no great feat. Pike had already caught and released a forty inch 
specimen, just eight inches short of perfection, and was trolling up the back side of the coral ridge 
when lightening struck. An absolutely monster hen delilah whammed into the streamer, almost jerking 
the rod and reel out of PikeOs hands as he stood at the stern rail. 
OHook up..! Big one..!!Ó he yelled to June Madrigal, who was at the wheel. By instinct, the Indian 
feathered the engine and prepared for the battle. Pike jumped into the fighting chair, set the pole in 
the socket and strapped himself down. During those few lost seconds the 50 pound test line sang off 
his reel as the fish dove toward the coral reef. The line was too light even with the steel-core leader, 
but Pike settled down to play her. His lucky day, a delilah that size would certainly be close to 
winning him some points. 
The judge, Howland Biggers, moseyed out of the galley with a cup of coffee and a handful of 
cookies. He liked blues. They always put up a terrific fight for their size. 
OHow big..?Ó June Madrigal shouted down. 
OFive, maybe six hundred..!Ó Pike grunted back. He was pumping up and down on the rod, trying 
to gain back a little of the lost line. OToo damned big for this rig, Chief, but we may as well try for 
her.Ó Pike wished heOd eaten breakfast. It would probably take the rest of the day to bring the big 
nelly up. 
OIs she in the reef yet..?Ó June yelled. The melodious intonations of his voice blended into nature, as 
many Indian voices do, so he talked loudly to make himself heard when he spoke to a non-Indian. 
OIOm backing over her. Get some line in.Ó 
OWait a minute..!Ó Pike shouted. OItOs turning..!! Can you beat that..?Ó 
ODumb fish. That line will snap like a string if she rubs it on a coral head.Ó 
OWell, sheOs coming up and sheOs coming this way..!Ó Pike yelled, reeling like mad. OPush 
ahead, slow.Ó 
OAhead slow,Ó June echoed. Judge Biggers peered over the side rail and took a sip of coffee. 
By reeling like a tornado, Pike made up half the line on the spoolNthen the monster blue shot out of 
the water at his feetNteeth like broad swords and a gaping mouth like the tunnel to hell! PikeOs 
silver streamer hung on her lip like a hair. 
OGet back..!!Ó the Indian screamed, kicking the cabin cruiser into fast forward. The judge stumbled 
backwards until he banged against the galley wall. His face was frozen in a look of horror. 
For what seemed like an eternity, the delilahOs terrible mouth hung suspended above Pike, who was 
strapped in the fighting chair. Then the sheer weight of the fish caused it to fall as the boat 
accelerated away from it. Instead of human prey, the great blue maw snapped down on the fantail, 
ripping a huge chunk of railing and side sheeting from the boat. Amid a shower of sparks, the delilah 
flopped back into the sea no longer attached to PikeOs line. It flapped its tail in anger and sank from 
view. 
OHoly shit,Ó Pike wheezed, still anchored in the chair. ODid you see the teeth on that thing..?Ó He 
unhooked his safety harness and stood up on weak legs, staying well back from the rail in case of a 
repeat sneak attack. 
OSix hundred, my ass..! ThatOs the biggest damn blue I ever saw..!Ó June Madrigal shouted. 
OAinOt that right, Biggie..?Ó 
The judge shook himself, as if trying to regain his equilibrium, and said nothing. He sat down on the 
deck next to the galley wall. 
OHow much damage back there?Ó June yelled. 
OA lot,Ó Pike answered, surveying the halo of sparks sputtering from the deactivated defense grid. 
He climbed the ladder to the bridge. OTake her back in.Ó 
OBack in she is.Ó The Indian pushed the throttle forward. OWhooee..! Big sucker.Ó June was 
talking too much now that the terror was over. OI never seen nothing like that! Had to be a record 
blue! Had to be. Two thousand pounds easy. Maybe more. WasnOt it..?Ó 
Pike nodded. 
OI never saw nothing like that! She tried to get you!Ó 
Pike nodded again and stretched his back muscles. His back seemed to be knotted up for some 
reason. 
OI guess weOll be trying to catching her again..?Ó 
OSeems like it,Ó Pike said. His knees were weaker than he could recall them ever being. Must be a 
sign of approaching infirmity, he thought. He was thirty-nine. 
Pike checked to see that the laser cannon mounted on the back of the bridge was fully charged. It 
suddenly seemed like a good idea to make sure it was working properly, so he squeezed off a 
round. The gun sizzled. The ruby light beam sliced into the deep blue water. 
OWhat the hell is going on out here..?Ó gimpy Lester Wunderman demanded, sticking his head out 
of the galley. OWhat is all the noise about..? You trying to make my biscuits fall..? I told you to go 
easy this morning. First the cake, and now this. You think I like ruined baking..? Well, I donOt..!Ó 
He spied the hole in the railing and limped onto the fantail. OWhat the hell happened to that? You 
run into something, you damn Injun..? I thought I felt a tremor.Ó He looked at Judge Biggers, who 
was very pale. 
June Madrigal grinned down at the bald cook. 
OKind of,Ó Pike answered. OWeOre going in.Ó 
OGood,Ó Lester answered. OBreakfast is ready whenever you are.Ó  
 
 

*  
 
 

OYou might at least turn your hearing aid up to normal,Ó June Madrigal yammered happily at 
Lester. Heavy banter was usual between them. They were leaning on the JumperOs rail as it lay 
berthed in the bright sunshine in AmoraOs best and only boatyard. OYou might actually be useful 
sometimes. If you could hear what was going on.Ó 
Pike and the yard master were surveying the wrecked boat. Part of the bantering was for PikeOs 
benefit, so he didnOt get too sad. Part of it was for fun. 
OI could hear your crow-squawks even if I was deaf,Ó Lester Wunderman rejoined. OWhich I 
ainOt.Ó His voice trailed off. June Madrigal had walked away from him to follow Pike and the yard 
master. Lester limped after them. 
Lester was generally regarded as one of the best chefs afloat, although he mostly refused to fix 
anything but the simplest dishes. Poor folks food, he insisted, was much more nourishing. Like many 
great cooks, he was cantankerous whenever the bonded spirits moved him. Shoreside, he prided 
himself on being something of a fighter, although his bad leg was a disadvantage. Few people, even in 
the outworlds, like to beat the hell out of a belligerent cripple, but some do. Whenever possible, Pike 
and June Madrigal tried to keep an eye on their chef; but there were times when he shoved off to a 
drinking bout by himself, and those times often found him the next day nursing cuts and scrapes. 
Lester insisted that a hangover was something to be disregarded, especially when fish needed to be 
caught. That attitude made him a touch impatient with other peopleOs hangovers and minor 
disorders. 
OIt doesnOt look real wonderful to me, Captain Resnick,Ó the grizzled boat builder apologized. 
Stopping on the fantail, he leaned against the live bait well. OThe two aft ribs are snapped at the tip, 
which is a terrible place because we canOt laminate a patch, that I can think of. On the other hand, it 
could be worse. Another foot or so and youOd have lost the third rib, then the keel would have 
warped for sure. But your keel seems straight as a fishermanOs face. I guess you could call that 
lucky... We'll check it for sure when we haul the boat out." 
OHow long to fix it?Ó Pike asked, respectfully. It was always a good idea to show massive doses of 
respect in a boat yard. 
OWell, that depends. How many men do you want me to put on it? Probably take three days to 
build the ribs, if I can find the material. Like I said, these ainOt really patchable, cause the ends are 
destroyedNunless you can design a way to do it?Ó he asked, hopefully. While weOre building the 
ribs, we could get another crew to strip out the old ones. Then installation. A couple more days, if it 
goes smooth. Call it seven or eight days.Ó 
Pike calculated the time. Eight days put them halfway through howlers on Beta Torga XII, which was 
enough time, if this rustic builder could deliver on time. He couldnOt fly to a better boat yard without 
a grid that worked. 
OThen the painting. I imagine I could scout up a stink pot of some kind for you to rent, so you could 
go on fishing.Ó The reference to a stink pot meant that the old yard master was a purist. Wind 
sailors always refer to motor launches as stink pots. Perhaps rightly so, Pike thought. Sailing boats 
did not screw up harbors with fossil fuel sludge. Atomic powered boats eventually poisoned any 
world they were allowed on. ODonOt fuck up space.Ó was kind of a motto. Most people adhered 
to it. 
OCan you get two shifts working on it?Ó Pike asked the yard master. Visions of disaster kept 
bracketing his fiduciary future. Eight days could easily take two weeks and that would mean 
disqualification. He could not afford to get shut out of the money again this year. 
OI was figuring on two shifts, seeing as how itOs you, Captain Resnick. Lots of fellows would like to 
say that they worked on your boat.Ó 
OGood. My crew will do the clean up after the night shift. WeOll fish until we catch one with your 
stink pot. Then weOll scrape this old girl down. Might as well paint the hull while we got her up, 
hadnOt we..?Ó 
OMight just as well,Ó the old graybeard answered. OIOll get to calling the men. Hopefully we can 
get started tonight.Ó 
OWeOll rig up some work lights,Ó Pike said. OAnd thank you, Cap. I appreciate the effort.Ó 
OThank you. ItOs a sorry story, but I can always use the business.Ó 
Pike looked at June MadrigalOs dark face as they walked outside. June had been with him since the 
unfortunate accident on Segumi. His former first mate, Sted Hjstum, had gotten them lost in a Segumi 
swamp with night coming on. A lot of nasty things live in the big mauette swamps. One of them 
managed to murder Sted before the night was over. Sted was not a man who feared night or 
anything. By refusing to sleep up in a tree for safety like the guide book suggested, Sted discovered 
that a little healthy fear is not such a bad part of a human inventory. Sted had been a good friend. 
Pike was grief stricken and ham-strung at the same time. He needed help to finish the Tournament. 
He and Lester couldnOt fish for Moon Halibut alone. To say nothing of the swampfish which hadnOt 
been caught yet. 
The next evening, an Indian canoe had come paddling all the way over to Port Remalin on the other 
side of Shimapoi BayNa long trip in a single canoe. June Madrigal had been the paddler. OI will 
guide you to a swampfish, if you will allow the son of Chief Nove Madrigal to help make up for the 
cowardly act of a dead Urobami.Ó Urobamoa were the rival tribe living in the swamp with the Piets 
and the swampfish and other very strange things. Evidently the chiefOs son was saying that the Indian 
who killed Sted had met his reward. Piet justice, perhaps. Pike had never found out the whole story, 
but June Madrigal had come aboard as temporary first mate and had worked out splendidly from the 
start. Pike had taken a very respectable swampfish to win that category, and place third overall in the 
Tournament that year. And June had stayed on. He was an excellent deck hand, an excellent 
fisherman and an excellent friend. His father was ill now, and June was troubled that he might have to 
take the leadership of his tribe; but Chief Nove Madrigal was a tough old bird and so far he was 
hanging on.  
 
 
 
 
 
 

OThat blue-nosed devil scared the peter off me,Ó Pike confided to June and Lester as they walked 
over toward the boat. OIOd just as soon not go out in a stink pot with no grid; but what choice do 
we have? We have to catch a fish.Ó 
OYouOre the boss,Ó June replied, with a grin of relief. OThankfully youOve got good sense.Ó He 
punched Lester on the shoulder. They were not a crew to give up at the first sign of disaster. When 
your only road to monetary fullness is fishing, it takes many signs of doom to get you to bury your 
head in the sand. 
OItOs a useful lesson, though,Ó Pike reflected. OWhen we get the Jumper back, weOll keep the 
grid on whenever weOre fishing. No sense being dead just to save a battery.Ó He smiled, and 
thought about the good men heOd known who were dead from fishing the Tournament. Too many 
good men.  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

* * *  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

CHAPTER THREE  
 
 
 
 

BEGINNEROS LUCK  
 
 
 
 

"When we first came out here, winning wasn't everything, like it is now. We 
were all friends, weren't we? You were probably too young to remember, but 
that's how it wasNfriendly competition. It was fun to beat your dad and that 
blowhard Carthy into a pudding. Now, I don't know.... It's becoming serious. 
Ira Fairborne 
quoted in History of the Tournament  
 
 
 
 

At twenty-three years old, Rich Rodney Tourbo was the eighty-fifth richest man in the galaxy. His 
mother was the fifth richest man. When he someday inherited her vast real estate holdings, he would 
still only be the fifth richest man. Billions of Confederation dollars separated the Tourbos from Baron 
Farouk Bardona, the shipping magnate, who was currently the fourth richest. And no matter how 
rich he was, R.R. would still be a walking danger zone. 
Rich Rodney Tourbo had just gotten his first passion other then sex. It was fishing. Early last autumn, 
Rita Bardona, his ex-college roommate, had invited him aboard her fatherOs para yacht, and had 
shown him how to hold a rod and reel. She still wasnOt his girlfriend exactly, but she was his best 
friend, and someday he intended to marry her. But fishing...! Glorious! He was good at it..! He was 
masterful. Skill oozed out of his fingertips as he held the rod, reeling up fish after fish. Big ones, too. 
One was over five pounds. Of course, heOd slipped once or twice on the wet deck, but he hadnOt 
been badly injured. The scabs had healed nicely. Then there was that little accident when he was 
steering the boat. Embarrassing, but he had offered to pay for the damage. It didn't look very 
serious. The boat didn't sink, or anything. 
Buying into the Galactic Star Fishing Tournament had been relatively easy, given his social position; 
but keeping it from his mother was a little dicey. A career as a fisherman wouldnOt please her too 
much. Mom hated sports and sportsmen, unless the sport or sportsman was making a real estate 
deal with her. She didnOt like non-sportsmen either. The only things she liked were possessions, 
gorgeous young women and pomeranians, in that order. And she did not care for other peopleOs 
yipping pomeranians. Young women and possessions were always warmly regarded, no matter 
whose they were. Women and possessions could often be enticed into changing hands. 
And she doted on Rich Rodney, since the day she had been unable to break her deceased 
husbandOs will, which left control of the corporation to their only child in the event of her death. That 
day, Mom Tourbo made up her mind to love the boy dearly. She suddenly regarded him as a 
precious possession. 
Mom Tourbo did not believe strongly in education. She would have happily purchased a mail order 
doctorate for the boy at any university, but a stipulation in his fatherOs will stated that he should earn 
a degree in Comparative Humanities from The University of Tesla, Reich and Hayden on Diston 
Prime before he inherited sixty-six million in Confederation dollars outright, and several dozen small 
planets. TR&H was a very tough school. After initially endowing a new research library, Richie had 
done splendidly. In matters of scholarship, he credited himself with being quite gifted, whereas in 
point of fact, he was lucky. What Rich Rodney attributed to genius level intelligence inherited from 
his father was really the result of computer generated testing where yes and no answers, or even 
multiple choice questions, had supplanted written examinations at the undergraduate level. Rich 
Rodney was very skilled at guessing. His luck consistently gave him something like ninety-one 
percent correct answers, and sometimes higher. Had he gone on to post-graduate work, the shock 
of his ineptitude would have been brutal; but luckily, he hadnOt. 
At twenty-three years of age, Rich Rodney had completed his bachelorOs degree, and now had the 
money and planets to start life with. He knew virtually nothing about Comparative Humanities, but 
was blithely unaware of it. He smiled a lot when he wasnOt tripping over something. 
His mother, who had always been the brains behind the real estate empire, suggested that his first act 
as a wealthy adult should be to fire his fatherOs attorney, Clive McAndrews. Old McAndrews had 
somehow inserted that clause about earning a degree into the will, and had fought her through three 
courts, winning in each. She had behaved as if the willOs corporation inheritance clause was 
incidental. Her well-mounted law suits were aimed at proving that her late husband was insane. Why 
would any sane man require a bewilderingly rich kid to earn a degree? After losing at the Inter-
Confederation High Court of Appeal, she grudgingly paid the court cost and hired R.R. to work for 
her corporation. His job was to study Comparative Humanities at TR&H. Mom Tourbo, as she was 
affectionately known, loathed every living thing about Clive McAndrews. She had intense daydreams 
of sicking a hunting pack of pomeranians on McAndrews and, while she ate peach ice cream, the 
tiny dogs would yip unceasingly and tear him to bits in a blood frenzy. She invited him frequently to 
her estate on Talmage Heights, but he was always regretfully too busy. 
But R.R. had a mind of his own, and so still retained his fatherOs swashbuckling friend. At Rich 
RodneyOs insistence, McAndrews had used his considerable old boy influence to obtain young 
Tourbo a membership invitation to the Star Tournament on the QT. McAndrews found it amusing to 
think that simply by taking the kid fishing, he would probably ensure his job as watchman to the 
billions. 
Clive had accompanied young Tourbo to the G&G Boatworks to make sure that he didnOt get 
schtupped on his para-yacht. The good Baron, so rumor went, was not above having glitches built 
into an opponentOs boat. After satisfying himself that the warranty clause was fully binding on 
Thaddeus Golan, he and the boy adjourned to a nearby bistro, where R.R. inevitably knocked over 
the champagne caddy, then a small vase of flowers on the table. Clive once again marveled at how 
little like his father young Tourbo was. Nor like his mother, for that matter. McAndrews was 
convinced that thereOd been a mix-up in the maternity ward. 
While the boat was being built, McAndrews advertised for a captain and crew, and organized fishing 
trips for himself and the boy with the best guides that money could buyNvirtually every famous 
fisherman except Pike Resnick, who had wanted to take their very generous offer, God knows, but 
couldnOt work it into his schedule. ONext year..?Ó Pike had offered, almost tearfully, standing on 
his dock. McAndrews had left that option open. And Richie turned out to be a pretty damn good 
fisherman. At least, he always caught fish. Whether it was skill or not is every fishermanOs secret. 
Clive McAndrews was content with that.  
 
 
 
 
 
 

Rich Rodney had been sexually precocious since the age of three. His early nannies thought it was so 
cute when he made a fool of himself over pretty little girls in the park or at various other outings. But 
Richie knew even then that he also lusted after the little girlsO exotic mothers, and after each one of 
the nannies in turn as they rotated through the seasons. Like a never sated bee buzzing around an 
eternal supply of flower blossoms, he was drawn to gawk in adoration at shop girls, Tri V actresses, 
dancers of any variety, art tutors, his mother's friends and clientsNin short, any female with a pretty 
face. He couldnOt help it. He loved alluring females. Long hair of any color, curling limply gave him 
goosebumps. The strange, wonderful curve of a female flank tore his soul. And the bulge of a soft 
breast ripped his heart open. He adored pretty women and was simply powerless not to stare at 
them. Having no young males to compare himself to, R.R. thought that this rather normal behavior 
was aberrant and probably sinful. 
Tragically, he was much too shy to follow through on his heart-felt staring. Occasionally one of his 
targets became self-conscious under his outrageous gaping. OWhy are you staring at me like that, 
Rich Rodney,Ó she might snap with annoyance. This direct confrontation would instantly plunge 
Richie into paroxysms of embarrassment. Exposed..! His disgusting lust for women burning his face 
red, he would cast his eyes down and creep away. Blessedly, he was too short and nerdy to be 
noticed very often. 
Short people are often very well coordinated. Richie remembered running and skipping happily 
through his nursery as a child, normal in every way. Even swimming and riding horses. Then in a 
surprise back-stabbing surge, his feet began a period of rapid growth, while his body staunchly 
refused to follow suit. A decade of stumbling over throw rugs and other assorted carnival tricks 
followed. His astounding clumsiness made him the butt of innumerable jokes at prep school and 
through four years of college, and gained him the reputation of somewhat of a clown. In point of fact, 
Richie was far from being a clown. He was mortally chagrined at the antics of his big feet; however, 
he had learned to put a foolOs smiling face on his frequent episodes in free-fall. Before he began 
studying his saving grace, Ken Pao Ri, his ego was a mass of scar tissue, an uneasy companion to 
the bloody knobs of his knees and elbows. 
But the clumsiness was yet another aspect of his astounding luck, which Richie overlooked daily. 
Even discounting the vast luck of his birth into financial super-abundance as accidental, his day to 
day luck was astronomical. Never once, for instance, in any of his heart-chilling falls had he broken 
even one tiny bone, whereas a normal person would have been dead many times over from multiple 
broken necks. Unaware of his good luck, Richie assumed that his battle-scarred shins were the 
laughing stock of the universe, and a terrible retribution for his sexual deviation. 
And to make matters worse, Rich Rodney had fallen madly in love with Rita Bardona the first instant 
he had seen her in the dorm room at the U of TR&H. But, so far, nearly three years later, he hadnOt 
found the courage to mention it to a living soul.  
 
 

*  
 
 

So Rich Rodney Tourbo made his entrance to the Tidetable Chart House on Wexley Common, the 
morning of June 1st, and promptly fell down the three steps into the dark taproom. Tripping into a 
room was typical. He had been relieved that the big fisherman caught him before he made a total 
buffoon of himself. 
The captain and crew that McAndrews had hired waited nervously aboard his boat, The 
Comparative Humanity. Captain James "Big Jim" Walen was a skilled fisherman, who had previously 
captained four seasons with Jean Santos. He wanted his own boat in the worst way. When Clive 
McAndrews offered him double the salary and double the points in any prize purse, Walen jumped 
for it. 
McAndrews had also arranged for a local guide to be hired at every planet. And he had taken out a 
large insurance policy on Rich Rodney and all the members of his crew, listing himself as beneficiary.  

*  

By the evening of June first, Big Jim WalenOs head was spinning. He had been the captain of The 
Comparative Humanity for one day, and that was already one day too long. The Tourbo kid was the 
single most clumsy person he had ever witnessed. He wanted to have a drink and laugh it off, but he 
had a sinking feeling that he and his crew were in real danger. Naturally, a novice fisherman can be 
risky until he learns the ropes, but this kid, his boss, was amazing. On the virtually empty boat he had 
sunk a treble hook into Brownie Samson, the deck hand. Just like a snake, the kid had whipped out 
a cast without looking behind, and had impaled BrownieOs shoulderNit could easily have been an 
eye or an ear. Brownie had howled with pain. 
Before Big Jim could get down from the bridge to help, stupid Tourbo had embedded another barb 
of the triple hook into his own thumb while trying to extract the one from Brownie. Big Jim had never 
seen anything like it. Both of them hopping around the deck stuck to each other, bleeding and 
yowling. Grabbing his diagonal cutters, Big Jim snipped the hook free of the boss and had silently 
apologized to Brownie. After a stern lecture on safety, he had flown immediately back to the harbor. 
While both men were at the hospital for serum tetanus shots and hook removal, he had gone in 
search of a big supply of barbless hooks. Better to miss an occasional fish than to have a repeat of 
that madness. Without a barb, hook removal is rather simple. 
On the other hand, Tourbo was lucky as sin. No doubt about it. HeOd caught a keeper blue in the 
Marina. While Big Jim was explaining how to cast the salt water reel, the kid had snagged a nice little 
blue, fifty inches long, and horsed him up to the gaff. The Comparative Humanity was in the running 
before theyOd even baited a hookNbut at what cost, Big Jim wondered with an uncharacteristic 
shiver. An ugly premonition kept forcing itself into his mind, and he kept pushing it back.  
 
 
 
 
 
 

Now on the fourth day, they were leading the Tournament with a three hundred and sixty-seven 
pound blue, and Big Jim had a new deck hand. Brownie had recovered from the fish hook, but being 
tripped overboard by TourboOs foot during the fight for the big delilah was too much for him. As he 
climbed up an emergency ladder dripping wet, he said heOd rather be poor and alive, that dead or 
maimed for life. Big Jim felt the same way, but he needed the prize money for a boat of his own. He 
started hanging out on the flying bridge after that, simply shouting instructions down to Rich Rodney 
and the new deck hand. 
The new guy, Silas Weathertal, was swarthy like a New Phoenician, where his sea papers said he 
hailed from, but Big Jim had a hunch that the guy was lying. Something about him didnOt seem quite 
human. Well, he could dump Silas after Amora. But maybe he should keep him on. The guy really 
was an excellent deck hand. He was giving the boss all kinds of fishing tips, and he seemed able to 
stay out of harmOs way. And Silas hadnOt seen Wiggins, the local guide, take that crack on the jaw 
with the butt of TourboOs rod. Wiggins couldnOt tell him the tale now, because he couldnOt talk. 
His jaw was wired shut and he was recovering on the beachNpaid off to keep quiet. Sport fishing 
can be a hazardous business. 
Well, three more days here. Then they could get on to safer waters. He chuckled to himself at the 
insanity of that statement. But at least, they might win this leg. That would be a plum. Winning any 
category provided a nice subsidiary purse, like lap winners got in motor racing. Big Jim Walen 
needed that plum.  
 
 
 
 
 
 

Fishing was harder work than Rich Rodney had realized. Sun up to sundown they were out on the 
crystal water. So far heOd caught forty-two keeper blue delilahs, not to mention the small ones and 
the hundreds of other species that they werenOt looking for. Truthfully, Richie had been a little 
dismayed when Captain Walen kept ordering the fish released. Only the first one and the huge prize 
fish had been kept. Richie had wanted to show off those other fish in the Marina, too. It seemed a 
pity to toss them back so somebody else could catch them. 
And by golly, he was leading the Tournament! That seemed like an incredible longshot with all the 
great fishermen here. But he felt like he really was getting the hang of fishing. There was nothing that 
difficult about it. So really, why shouldnOt he be leading? Between Captain WalenOs skill and his 
own, they were a match for anyone. 
ThatOs why he had nixed the idea of staying in port, even if it was protocol to stay in when you had 
the biggest fish. Captain Walen was just being considerate. HeOs always worried that IOm going to 
get hurt. Well, I guess it is his job to see that IOm safe. He seemed to understand when I told him 
that bruised ribs might keep a cry baby at home, but they certainly wouldnOt stop me. 
R.R. rocked gently in his fishing chair. Ouch...! The ribs definitely were tender. He still didnOt quite 
see how the rod butt could have slipped out of the socket like that. And poor Wiggins was so brave. 
I knew right away that his jaw was broken from the way it cracked, then sagged, when the reel hit it. 
I know I shouldnOt blame myself. Okay, so it wasnOt my fault. Like Silas said, thereOs no way a 
rod can slip out of the cup. And Wiggins could have been any other place on the boat, instead of 
standing right there waiting to get smashed. It wasnOt even a very big fish, nothing like my big blue 
beauty. Richie eased his ribs against the back of the padded fishing chair. Maybe I should ask Rita 
about the various protocols, he thought.  
 
 
 
 

* * *  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

CHAPTER FOUR  
 
 

RED SNAPPER  
 
 

OActually, among us boys, winning is pretty much the thingNotherwise 
you'd just go fishing by yourself. I would.Ó 
Mordachi Skinner 
quoted in History of the Tournament  
 
 
 
 

The hot afternoon sun found Pike in the marina boatyard, scraping barnacles underneath the hull of 
the Jumper. He had caught a delilah in the rented boat yesterday morning and was very qualified. If 
the Jumper got fixed in time to go to Beta Torga XII for the howler fishing, everything would be 
normal. The nagging premonition that all was not well could probably be attributed to heartburn. 
Besides being hot, the day was very humid. Sweat dripped off him as he worked, sticking his sodden 
blue work shirt to his back. The boat rested on an I-beam cradle. A crew of boat wrights swarmed 
over her, torching and sawing the hole in the stern into proper shape for a laminated patch. The 
repair job would be as strong as new, Pike wasn't worried about that. He wasn't worried about 
rewiring the grid either, it was just a question of paying attention. What he was worried about was 
the little pink rubber dingy which had just tied up to the nearest dock. Seeing it, is pulse rate climbed 
steeply. 
The dingy belonged to Rita Bardona, and it was her getting out of the little boat; and she didn't seem 
to be wearing any clothes. Her long dark hair hung to her shoulders, and her erogenous zones were 
spectacularly visible, even at fifty yards. What the heck was she up to? Pike had known Rita since 
she was a little girl. She clearly was not little anymore. 
A pleasant surge of blood tingled through Pike's lower extremity at the sight of her. She really was 
naked. Far fucking out! Her father did not deserve a daughter like Rita, that much was clear. Pike 
speculated that perhaps the Baron was not Rita's real father, even though there was a strong family 
resemblance. 
The peculiar fact that he and the Baron were business partners in the Resnick Thruster patent 
complicated his natural tendency to bed the girl, and had for several years. Pike had been naive 
enough to permit an option clause in the original development contract which allowed Bardona first 
refusal on share sales. To date, he had not refused on the any of the shares that Pike had been 
forced to sell during poor seasons with the rod and reel. 
Having gained control of the patent, the Baron was able to force his point of view on the boat buying 
public. The asinine point of view was this: he wanted para-yacht ownership to remain an exclusive 
club. No fleets of commercial fishing boats. No fleets of fancy pleasure yachts. Just fishing boats for 
Tournament members. He only allowed two new para-yachts to be built in any year, unless a 
previous owner wanted a new model and agreed to convert the old one into a regular power launch 
upon delivery of the new one. This absolutely firm and fly-brained stance kept Pike in virtual penury 
unless he won some portion of the Tournament. Winning this year seemed like a thin reed on which 
to pin his hopes when he looked at the boat up in dry dock. 
So he turned his attention to Rita instead. She was walking up the boat ramp, heading straight for 
him. The sawing stopped on the other side of the boat. Pike heard several workers moan in anguish, 
not even able to summon a wolf whistle. He smiled, watching her hips swaying. Utterly enchanting. 
What a bold move. Pike loved boldness in women. His heart, which was already very tilted toward 
Rita, tilted even farther. 
OHi, Pike,Ó Rita called, waving from twenty feet away. She walked into the shade of the boat. OI 
heard you had to stay in today, so I thought you might want to go swimming,Ó she said, breathlessly. 
OIt sure is hot, isn't it...Ó 
Pike mopped his brow with the back of his hand and placed the barnacle scrapper carefully on a 
sawhorse. Strangely, his hands were steady; but he could see Rita's heart pounding inside her tanned 
rib cage. She had put herself way out on the limb for this superb little exhibition. And she was 
wearing a bathing suit, after all. A thoroughly transparent bikini made of some kind of soft, invisible 
plastic. What a fantastic invention! The suit hid absolutely nothing, and yet made him discontent that 
she was wearing so much. He felt compelled to find a way to get her alone so he could take the 
damned suit off. Then he would be able to see exactly what he could see now. He decided to buy a 
piece of stock in the plastic company. Had to be a winner. 
OPretty revealing suit. I didn't realize how well you had developed,Ó he flirted. 
ODo you like it..?Ó she purred. OI wanted to be sure I attracted your attention away from this 
interesting barnacle scraping.Ó She felt her knees go limp as she watched him smile. He was so 
handsome. She wanted to crawl right inside his sweaty shirt and feel his slippery skin against hers. 
Being so exposed turned her on unbearably, and made her painfully shyNboth feelings at the same 
time. Amazing sensations stretched her to the limit south and north. Not a place she could live with 
very long, Rita knew instinctively. She had never put herself this far over the edge before. It was 
deliciously painful to be exposed to his eyes after wanting to for so long. But since Pike didn't grab 
her immediately in a passionate embrace, the shyness won out. 
ODo you have a shirt I can borrow?Ó she asked, playfully. OI only did this for you, so you wouldn't 
feel so bad about your boat. I can't really be seen this way at a restaurant, if you wanted to buy me 
lunch before we go swimming.Ó 
Pike grinned down at her. It had been obvious that eventually a thing was going to happen between 
them. Whenever they had met during the last few years, it was thereNwaiting to begin. A genuine, 
mutual attraction hanging in the air, waiting. 
OSo you took pity on me and decided this was the day to make my life worthwhile?Ó he asked, 
with a grin. 
OI played you the best ace I have. Don't look for me to be so completely forward in the future. I 
don't know what came over me?Ó 
OI accept,Ó he said, simply. 
OThe shirt, please,Ó she answered, holding out her hand. OAnd I want a tour of your boat. You've 
never managed to invite me aboard before.Ó 
OHaven't I..? Well, that part of my poor manners can be remedied.Ó He took her arm and led her 
to the boat yard's step ladder. OI only wish I had a transparent shirt to give you. But I don't...Ó He 
climbed up the ladder behind her and watched her hop lightly over the rail. Well, there she was. Rita 
on the boat. Home at last. Life does begin at thirty-nine.  
 
 
 
 
 
 

Rita had been at the Tournament with her father every year since it began, so a fishing yacht was no 
big news to her. She wanted to satisfy her curiosity about his boat only because he lived on it. Was 
he a ship-shape sailor or messyNthings like that. 
OThat's the bait well,Ó he said, pointing out the first thing that came to view, the circulating tank on 
the fantail. 
OShirt, please,Ó Rita repeated, smiling at him. OIt's a lovely tank. So round.Ó She was ninety-
seven percent certain that he liked her a lot, and today she intended to make sure of the other three 
percent. OI'm shy, and these nice carpenters are staring at me,Ó she said, crossing her arms across 
her chest, which didn't hide much, but was a choice gesture. 
OThink how uncomfortable you might be if June and Lester were here. I doubt if either of them 
would be tongue-tied.Ó 
OI waited until they left,Ó she assured him. OIsn't that why binoculars were invented. Hopefully, 
they'll be gone for a few hours.Ó 
OHopefully,Ó Pike agreed. OThey went fishing.Ó 
OAnd this must be your lovely galley,Ó Rita said, pulling him through an open door. Galley is a 
nautical term meaning general eating space, knock around room and kitchen. The Jumper's galley 
took up the whole deck level of the boat, except for the wide fishing deck encircling it. A hatch led 
down to the living quarters, and stairs led up to the flying bridge. He watched her eyes taking in the 
bachelor galley. Amazing violet eyes flecked with green, wide-spaced in the tanned face, sparkling 
with merriment and secrets. Always. Pike had a weakness for light colored eyes, and hers were the 
kind to get lost in. Until today, he had carefully avoided looking at Rita's eyes except in moving 
glimpses, feeling it was wrong somehow. Her eyelashes were long, the tips sun bleached. The 
eyebrows were dark and natural, or perhaps artfully cared for so as to appear unaltered. Her nose 
was long and straight, perfectly balanced with her face. And her lips were generous, with no hint of 
meanness. Luscious really. Yielding. Her chin was regular, square but soft. From long experience 
with her father, Pike knew that the square chin was capable of setting like a bulldog's and never 
giving up. Long neck leading down to the depressions of her clavicle and the lovely shoulders, and 
beyond that.... 
ONice galley, ORita said. OMost people have curtains on windows.Ó 
OMost people who live here like to see out their windows,Ó he said. He didn't want The Jumper 
feminized. OThe guest room can have curtains, if you want.Ó 
Pike was proud of the boat. He treated her like an artist treats his early works, the ones that made 
him famous. She was casual and lived in, but he didn't allow kids and tourists to spill soda pop on 
her. Children and tourists rarely came aboard. 
The Jumper was the first para-yacht ever made, and for that reason was full of unexpected 
idiosyncrasies. Pike had designed her stem to stern with the help of Thaddeus Golan, the master boat 
wright, and Aaron Galatin, an aeronautics engineer. G&G Boatworks still made all the para-
yachtsNand still crafted them by hand for specific owners. Some days Pike was happy about that, 
and some days he gritted his teeth. 
Being the prototype version, the Jumper was somewhat over-engineered. She was heavier than the 
current models and maybe not quite as spatially functional inside, and certainly not so luxurious as 
some of the fancier boats. She had miles of extra wiring circuits, and the power plant was more than 
twice what he had ever needed. But Pike was fond of the old tub. After fourteen years, he could 
detect few signs of decay, and if the truth were known, he felt more secure on her than he did on her 
sleeker sisters. The extra weight was a positive factor as far as he was concerned. He had designed 
her to be able to ride out the worst storm. If he had wanted a cork, he would have designed her that 
way.  
 
 
 
 
 
 

OI don't want to live in your lovely guest room,Ó Rita said, with an impatient shake of her head. OIf 
I wanted a room of my own, I could just stay on the Lady Slipper, where I have scads more 
space.Ó The Baron, who doted on Rita, had allowed her to name his traveling house yacht. She'd 
chosen Lady Slipper, being a romantic little girl at the time. Left to his own devices, the Baron would 
probably have chosen a name like The Ravaging Demon or some such; but the Lady Slipper it had 
always been. OAnd I could do my research from afar,Ó she added. 
OResearch..?Ó 
OI'm thinking of getting my Ph.D.Ó 
OStaying at home,Ó Pike said. Owould probably keep your folks a lot happier if that's a 
concern...Ó 
OWould it keep you happier...?Ó she asked, digging the question into his awareness. OThink 
carefully.Ó She uncrossed her arms and pulled her hair off of her shoulders. OHot, isn't it?Ó she 
said. 
OWell, I have a well-known weakness for transparent bathing suits hanging over my shower stall.Ó 
OThen I'm not staying in a guest room.Ó 
OOkay, but you'll find my room a little cozy. I didn't build a master suite. I didn't really count on you 
showing up when I designed her.Ó 
OHow short sighted.Ó She poked him in the ribs with a hard brown finger. OAren't you a little eager 
to show me our bedroom?Ó she said, with a mischievous grin. 
ODown there.Ó This was turning into a very fine afternoon in spite of everything. OAfter you,Ó she 
said, gallantly. 
She slid sailor-style down the hatch ladder to the sleeping quarters. It was much smaller than the 
Lady Slipper. Quaint. Nice. OYou promised you'd be a quivering, vulnerable guy, doting on my 
every whim, so don't go changing your mind.Ó She looked directly up at his crotch. 
OYou wish,Ó Pike said, sliding down the ladder to join her below deck.  
 
 

*  
 
 

When they finished making love, he was still able to smile. That was about all he could doNlay there 
and smile, and be utterly at peace. He had just experienced a titanic event. No other words seemed 
able to cover the experience. His heart was finally slowing down, bumping against his chest wall. Or 
maybe it was her heart. He couldn't tell. Had they really become one person? 
OIs that your heart of mine?Ó he murmured in her ear. Rita's face was turned slightly away from him 
on the pillow. 
OYours,Ó she said, speaking slowly from far away. OYou were very excited. I was calm 
throughout, except when I made those strange yelping sounds. Maybe we'll become addicted.Ó 
OThat's a thought,Ó he agreed. The sound of the saw and laser generator came back to his ears. He 
remembered that his boat was injured. Strange how he'd forgotten that for over an hour. 
OI'll need to take several sex breaks during my working day. Writing a doctoral thesis takes a lot of 
concentrated brain work, which is not necessarily healthy for people unless they exercise.Ó 
OBeing a doctor is fine,Ó he answered sleepily. OIn case somebody gets hurt.Ó 
OHa ha. In anthropology. I'm writing about the Tournament.Ó 
OHmmm.Ó Closing his eyes seemed very pleasant, so he did. 
OSweet dreams,Ó she whispered, pulling the sheet up over them. A blanket was tacked up over 
two of the port holes. His shirt covered the third. She sighed and snuggled her flank against his. 
OOh, by the way, do you know Richie Tourbo?Ó 
OWe've met a few times,Ó he said, already heading toward unconsciousness. 
OHe's a friend of mine from college.Ó 
OYou told me.Ó Was this really the time to start talking about other guys, he wondered. 
OI think he's going to be needing a new captain. Some sort of strange accident happened to the one 
he had.Ó 
OWhat's that got to do with me..?Ó 
OWell, nothing; but your boat is pretty damaged, isn't it..?Ó 
OThey're fixing it.Ó 
OThat's not what I heard. Anyway, I'll introduce you to Richie. He's a nice guy. He'll make you a 
good deal.Ó 
OI don't want a good deal.Ó 
OHe's in First Place.Ó 
OI know.Ó 
OI just want you to stay with the Tournament, now that we're finally together,Ó she murmured, 
kissing his deltoid muscle. 
OI will,Ó he whispered. OIf you insist on having curtains try to pick out simple ones, without flowers 
and lace.Ó He closed his eyes. 
Rita smiled to herself. OEven if you end up captaining Richie's boat, I promise I'll keep sleeping with 
you, if you want to,Ó she said. 
Pike didn't answer, which Rita thought was a very curious response. Was he asleep already?  
 
 

*  
 
 

On Friday evening, Pike was sitting in the Amora House dining room waiting for Rita and the Tourbo 
kid. His heart skipped a couple of beats when he saw her come through the double doors on Rich 
Rodney's arm. She looked ravishing with her dark hair trailing the shoulders of her pale mint green 
designer's safari jacket. Knotted around her throat, a thin silk scarf of dark green accentuated the 
long line of her neck. Her face was serene and her violet eyes were laughing. He hadn't seen her for 
two longish days. She had set this meeting up on the computer phone. The shock of seeing her now 
was very intense. He took a sip of water and smiled at them. 
OYou know Rich Tourbo, don't you, Pike?Ó Rita asked, maneuvering Richie a step ahead of her so 
she could blow a kiss at Pike. 
ONice to see you again, Rich,Ó Pike said, standing up. OQuite a thrill to be in 1st Place, isn't it?Ó 
OIt's a new experience for me,Ó Richie said, shyly. OI think I could learn to like it.Ó He grinned, 
boyishly. 
OI've been throwing myself at this man since I was a little girl,Ó Rita confided to Rich Rodney, 
sliding into a chair. OBut he's in business with Daddy, and until recently, he hasn't looked twice at 
me.Ó She smiled sweetly. OThis is so much fun having dinner with both of you. Doing this thesis is 
the smartest thing I ever did, isn't it, Richie..?Ó 
OSure seems like it,Ó Richie agreed. His heartiness was a little strained. OBoy, I'm starved,Ó he 
said, rubbing his hands together. OI can't tell you what an honor it is to have dinner with you, 
Captain Resnick. It's my treat. I insist.Ó 
OOh, good,Ó Rita bubbled. OLet's start with some caviar and champagne. And call him Pike.Ó 
She signaled a waiter, and patted Rich Rodney's hand. OYou certainly seem different, RR. Have 
IOve never seen you with a suntan, have I?Ó 
OI don't think so,Ó Richie said. He seemed quite distracted. 
Where have you been for two days? Pike wanted to askNbut he didn't. Are you with me or not? 
Instead he flagged the waiter. 
Rita raised her water glass in a toast. OHere's to Champion fishermen. Daddy will have a kitten if 
you win someday, R.R.Ó 
Richie tilted his head to one side so he could briefly contemplate Rita, then he turned his attention 
fully on Pike. 
OThey say you're not going to be able to fix your boat in time to continue,Ó he stammered. 
Pike squeezed his lips together, but nodded for the kid to continue. The bad news had arrived earlier 
that afternoon. The fabricated ribs wouldn't anchor correctly and had to be re-done. Pike was fit to 
be tied, but what could he do about it? Nothing. 
OI really feel strange about your boat. I wasn't even thinking about offering to hire you since you're 
so high above me, and you probably have things you want to do; but Rita insisted that you'd prefer 
to stay with the Tournament if possible, and it seems that I need a new captain. Rita says she wants 
to go with us and write about you and the Tournament, so that gave me the nerve to ask, sort of. As 
far as financially, I can certainly make it worth your while if you'd consider bringing your crew and 
yourself to guide me through the Tournament.Ó He stopped talking and waited nervously. 
Pike added up the pluses and minuses. OI might be smart to take out a large insurance policy,Ó he 
said with a grin. 
There didn't seem to be room for Rich Rodney to stand on dignity, so he smiled back. OI know I'm 
somewhat accident prone; but if I had someone with your expertise to help, I could relax to some 
extent.Ó 
OYou're accident prone to a monumental degree,Ó Rita corrected, with a giggle. Richie blushed and 
cocked his head to one side. 
OWhat happened to Big Jim?Ó Pike asked. OHe got you off to a beautiful start.Ó 
Richie looked confused. He glanced at Rita. She nodded for him to tell it. OWell,Ó he began. 
OCaptain Walen had to be taken to a back specialist on Alpha Alba. He said himself that he was 
thinking about wearing muckerball pads, and if he had, he probably would have just gotten a few 
bruises instead of a broken coccyx.Ó 
Pike momentarily lost his bearings in the green/violet irises of Rita's eyes. They seemed to change 
color minute by minute. Impossible to describe. How old was she now...twenty-one, twenty-two? 
OR.R. wanted a lesson in how to gaff a fish, for some reason..Ó Rita stated. 
OSo I would know how,Ó Richie explained for the manyieth time. OThat's no mystery. To be 
proficient, you need to know all about your craft.Ó 
OCaptain Walen was fishing so that Richie could learn to gaff,Ó Rita said. OHe caught a little fish 
and Richie gaffed it expertly, but instead of dumping it on the deck, he dumped it right on Captain 
Walen, who staggered backwards and landed on the seat of his pants when he lost his footing after 
the gaff handle caught him in an unmentionable place. That about sums it up. He'll be in a float cast 
for a month or so, and after that he should be able to walk again.Ó 
OYou weren't there,Ó Richie sniveled. 
ONo, but that's the skinny, attributed to Big Jim himself after the morphine loosened his tongue.Ó 
OWell, yes,Ó Rich said, miserably. OThat's pretty much how it went; but the darned fish flapped 
just at the wrong time. And he was too heavy. We should have had two gaffs.Ó 
OPossibly true,Ó Rita said, giving the kid very little mercy. OBut you are amazingly accident prone. 
Remember that time with the vacuum cleaner?Ó 
OOh sure, bring up ancient history.Ó 
OYou should hear about some of the manic things Richie used to do in school before you decide,Ó 
Rita said, punching Richie on the arm. 
Rich Rodney took the wine bottle from the caddy and refilled their glasses. OPike doesn't want to 
hear stuff like that,Ó he lamented. OTell us a little about glans salmon and phantom trout, sir. The 
guide books don't go into enough detail on the fresh water species.Ó 
Rita stared at Pike's jugular vein, pleased to note that it was pulsing rather rapidly. Other than that, 
his countenance was placidN Pike to the core. She winked at him, then took a sip of wine, then 
winked again. 
OYou should ask Rita's father about phantom trout,Ó Pike said, pulling his eyes toward Rich 
Rodney. OHe's the expert on them.Ó 
OI doubt if the Baron would have too many helpful hints for me,Ó R.R. said, uncomfortably. 
Rita graced the younger man with a flashing smile. OI might help you,Ó she teased. OMaybe we 
should shoot straight over to Streamside from here. Maybe Pike could go with us...?Ó 
OI can't,Ó Rich Rodney replied, sourly. His mouth turned down for the first time all evening. OIt's 
against the rules, and besides I have to encounter the mater.Ó 
OYou poor thing,Ó Rita said, with suppressed delight. OLet's order dinner. You need lots of good 
nutrients to withstand the dear mater.Ó 
Pike watched them share an unspoken joke at Rich Rodney's mother's expense. It was obvious that 
the two of them were close friends, just how close he couldn't tell. Hell of a mess coming up, he told 
himself again, if you continue to chase young women. Especially this one. What if she gets deep in 
your heart? She's practically there already. 
OYou may not believe this,Ó Rita began in story mode, tripping on her suppressed laughter, Obut 
one time R.R. was cleaning our dorm apartment and he got wrapped up in the vacuum cleaner cord, 
and it pitched him out through the open window.Ó She started laughing for real. 
OThat wasn't my fault..!Ó Richie interjected, firmly. 
OI wish I could have seen the whole thing, but when I came home from class, there he was dangling 
out the third story window. About a hundred firemen were crawling all over the dorm. They had a 
net set up down below and ladders. But they couldn't pull him up because he had the cord wrapped 
around his neck!Ó Rita was laughing so hard that she could barely continue with the story. OKids 
were leaning out the windows all around him..throwing ropes and yelling at the firemen to be 
careful..! I couldn't even get upstairs because R.R. had somehow shorted out the electricity in the 
whole building..!! The elevators didn't work..!Ó 
OYou could have walked up,Ó Rich Rodney commented, drolly. OBesides that, it was entirely the 
fault of that vacuum. If you had gotten the one without robot arms, none of it would have happened. 
That thing never liked me.Ó 
OWell, what about the time you got your foot caught in the escalator at Starbucks..?Ó Her laugher 
cascaded over the table. OI suppose it didn't like you either..?!Ó 
Rich Rodney grinning, patiently. OI'm trying to be more careful, now,Ó he said, knocking over the 
sugar bowl with the cuff of his sports jacket. That sent Rita into gales of laughter. Mercifully, dinner 
came. The waiter was funny, but not funny enough to laugh at. 
ODo you use live bait for glans salmon?Ó R.R. asked, carefully cutting a bite of his calamari 
appetizer. OOr are artificials more effective..?Ó 
What Pike thought of glans salmon was better suited to a male smoker than to polite dinner 
conversation. He had never known why the fish was on the circuit, except that it had been the first 
year and had remained on, one of the big six. Disgusting, smelly fish, not even a true salmon, but a 
bastardized shad. OThe only thing going for them,Ó he said to Richie, Ois they fight like devils. I 
don't like the smelly things, but they give you lots of action. The rules specify a fly rod and feather 
lure. I usually tie on a white streamer.Ó 
ODick fish,Ó Rita said, quite clearly. At that precise instant, the Amora House experienced one of 
those quiet moments that occur occasionally amid the clatter of a busy dining room. Several 
customers looked over at the pretty girl mouthing profanities. The Amora House was as polite as 
polite society got. The upper crust, such as it was, didn't really care to hear about dick fish. 
OWhoops, a faux pas,Ó Rita grinned impishly, unable to contain her glee and not even trying to. 
Being slightly offensive to Amora notables was not something that embarrassed her. 
OExcuse me,Ó she said audibly, to the large room. OI meant glans salmon.Ó That sent her and Pike 
into sustained laughter. Rich Rodney laughed as loudly as they did, but he was laughing at them or 
something else, since he obviously hadn't gotten the joke. 
OThere's one other thing you should know, Richie,Ó Rita continued, sweetly. OI'll be bunking in 
Pike's room while I'm doing my research.Ó She let her statement fall with a thud, to see how it 
would be received. Rita hated chicanery. If honesty would get her what she wanted, she seldom 
resorted to sleights of hand. 
OUh,Ó Richie answered, trying to place that fact into his internal revolving credit apparatus, but only 
managing to get it into a slot machine. It came up two cherries and a lemon. He pulled the handle 
againNtwo lemons and a gold bar. OUh, you could have my room,Ó he offered. OI usually sleep on 
shore.Ó 
OI know that, and thank you,Ó she said, virginallyNwhich she wasn't, as R.R. knew perfectly well. 
She'd had tons of dates in college and he'd been included in discussions about the subject of virginity 
with her girlfriends. OPike and I talked it over. We may not have sex, of course; but if you were a 
woman trying to write the best paper she could on the Tournament, wouldn't you want to get as 
close as possible to the person who knows more about it than anyone else?Ó 
It sounded reasonable to Pike, even though it was an outrageous fabrication. Or maybe it wasn't. 
Maybe her entire ploy with him, the transparent bathing suit and everything was aimed at getting her 
paper written. Catch the ring. Round and round we go. ODon't make the kid nervous,Ó he growled. 
OHe wants his mind clear to catch fish.Ó 
OHe knows where I'm coming from,Ó Rita said. 
OOf course, I do,Ó Richie replied, fiddling with his fork. OI would always want you to stay on my 
boat for whatever reason. And feel free to use my room. Honest, I'm usually not in it, and I know 
you need your space sometimes.Ó 
OThank you,Ó she said, touched and happy. After all, she had won with hardly a ruffle. OI will use 
your room, if I need to. I'm going to help Lester with the cooking and cleaning to earn my keep.Ó 
OFine,Ó Richie answered. He flicked his eyes to Pike for any coherent feedback that might be 
available. 
OWorry about fishing,Ó Pike advised. OThe rest of it will work out. She'll probably be staying in 
your room most of the time.Ó 
Richie smiled, gratefully. 
OI won't be,Ó Rita said. OBut it's nice to know it's available.Ó 
OFine,Ó Pike said, taking a sip of champagne.  

*  
 
 

When dinner was over and the second bottle of champagne was toasted and drunk, Rita and Rich 
Rodney walked down to the wharf to look out over the bay. Pike bid them good-night. And trudged 
down to the marina. He had made a deal to captain the Tourbo kid for enough money, win or lose, 
to fix his boat and pay the entry fee for next year. If Richie happened to do well, the rewards 
increased. 
On the down side, he wasn't his own man for the first time in ages. Rita had suggested that having her 
waiting in bed in the larger Captain's quarters of Richie's boat would make up for any wounded 
pride; but he wasn't so sure. Being a hired hand was going to be a very different experience than he 
was used to.  
 
 

*  
 
 

Sunday at dusk, a half hour before they were going to shove off for the Beta Torgas, Rita came 
aboard with her overnight bag. She took it downstairs, stopped briefly to brush her hair, then came 
back on deck. Pike was still up on the bridge, so she climbed the outside ladder. Something was 
wrong. She was eager to see him, but he didn't seem equally eager. 
Pike watched her climbing the ladder. He had been checking out the new fish finder and thinking of 
all the reasons not to get involved. One: Richie could easily turn into a jealous monsterNor worse, he 
would be jealous if Rita flirted with Richie. Either situation would be very unpleasant. Two: Rita was 
too youngNwhich was fine for now, but practically guaranteed heartbreak down the road. Three: 
Women were known to be bad luck on a boat. But Rita wasn't bad luck for himNshe had already 
fixed him up with a ticket for next year. So figure that one out. 
Rita smiled at him through the window. He smiled back. She was such a knockout! He must be 
totally insane to have second thoughts. 
She slipped into his arms and raised her lips. They kissed hello. She had only been away on the Lady 
Slipper for an hour, but it was an event for her to bring a serious suitcase to Pike's room, even a 
small one. She wanted to really be kissed. 
ONot getting cold feet, are we?Ó she asked sweetly, studying his face. 
OOf course not,Ó he lied, clearing his throat. Rita was a mind-reader, evidently. That was kind of 
unnerving. OIs your stuff all moved in..?Ó 
OI brought some nylons to hang over the shower stall.Ó She paused. OI know that you're nervous 
about lots of stuff, which is understandable. I also know that you are having second thoughts, 
Captain Resnick, but forget it.Ó She smiled tightly at him. OIt's perfectly true that if I kept living on 
Daddy's boat, it might be easier on everybody. I could even sleep over, and everybody could look 
the other way.Ó Pike nodded. OThat would make fewer waves, but I'm not going to,Ó she stated 
with happy finality. OI already did the hard work for us. I threw myself at you, didn't I..?Ó 
OSomewhat,Ó Pike agreed. 
OYou would never have found a way, so I was bold for both of us. Now it's your turn to make a 
gesture. I know we're a good match, and I know you want me, I can tellNall you have to do is act 
like it. It's not life threatening, you know.Ó She smiled. Pike smiled back. OWe'll live together until it 
goes sourNif it ever does. It'll be fun, don't you think?Ó Pike nodded. OLester and Richie don't 
seem blown out,Ó she added. 
OI know. They think we're a foursome.Ó 
She looked at him squarely. OI know I can't replace June, but it was his decision to leave, not 
mine.Ó 
OI know.Ó 
OI know you know. I'm going to write my thesisNyou're going to fish with Richie. And we'll fool 
around whenever we need to get exhausted. Pretty simple, really.Ó 
OI guess you're right.Ó He smiled. OWe're meant for each other.Ó Pike glanced over at The 
Jumper riding so calmly on its drydock cradle. 
OHey, Lester..!Ó she yelled down at the fantail. OThe Captain's decided I'm okay..!Ó The battered 
cook looked up at them, grinning.  
 
 

* * *  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

CHAPTER FIVE  
 
 
 
 

KID LUCKY  
 
 

OI'm not sure my views will help you get a Ph.D.; but to me winning is a sun rise 
on a world you've never been to. Straining your tits to land a big fish is the payment 
for the sights. No strain, no gain. Something like that.Ó 
Ethyl Bierly 
quoted in History of the Tournament  
 
 
 
 

The week of howler fishing was half over on Beta Torga XII. After a 1st Place victory with delilah 
on Amora, incredibly, Rich Rodney was leading on this leg, too. And Pike had to admit that there 
was a very likable side to the kid, Rita had been right about that. For one thing, Richie was generous 
to a fault. He took the crew to dinner every night, instead of having Lester cook as he normally 
would have. With June gone until Segumi, most of the deck work fell to Lester. Richie would have 
been delighted to carry June, of course, and there was plenty of room on the Humanity, but June 
insisted that this was a good opportunity to spend a whole cycle of seasons with this tribe, and his 
wife and family. He needed to make some decisions for the future. The inherited job of head chief of 
the Piets would be offered to him soon. It was not going to be an easy choice, whichever way he 
went. Once youOve tasted the outside Universe, a swamp culture can seem pretty rustic, even if 
youOre the king. 
So RichieOs new crew settled into the job of helping him catch fish. The kid hadn't committed to a 
favorite rod or lures yet, so nearly every day, foam crates arrived on the high-liner from mail order 
outfitters and direct from manufacturersNnew stuff to test out. It was fun. A lot of new products had 
been introduced this yearN and there were always classy gift items for everybody in the order, like 
realwool shirts that cost a fortune. A Newell micro reel for panfish and a split datura wood flyrod, 
hand made by Red Alcott on Sankor for Pike. A copper bottom sauce pan for Lester. Deck shoes 
and animal skin bikinis for RitaNwhich Pike thought was going a bit far, although he didnOt say so. 
The kid was so offhand about spending money that it was hard to turn him down. The only really 
irksome thing about old Rich Rodney, aside from his being a clumsy meathead, was his abnormal 
luck. 
There weren't many howlers around this year. Friction storms during the last two breeding seasons 
had taken a toll. Storms on the Beta Torgas could be real doozies with waterspouts that sucked up 
fish and even coral reefs. But R.R. was catching scads of fish. There were some damn good 
fishermen here, but Richie had already boated sixty-three fish, while the total howlers caught by the 
other twenty-three entrants was only sixty. Maybe it was just a lucky run. Probably was. But the kid 
had beginner's luck in spades. It was uncanny. 
Howlers are an ugly, cabazon-type fish that lurk in the reefs and aren't particularly dangerous if you 
don't let them bite you. A poison sack inside their lower jaw holds exotic curare-type poison that 
shoots up through two hollow hypodermic fangs, anesthetizing a victim fish in seconds and a man in 
minutes. Death comes from respiratory shut-down in about twelve minutes, unless anti-venom serum 
is administered. Not too many people go swimming on Beta Torga XII, although some suicidal 
natives do. They say a howler doesn't necessarily release the poison if he's just cruising by for a 
quick bite of thigh for lunch. 
Pike thought Richie would be safe if he didnOt get within five feet of a fish once it was boated. So 
that was the deal they made. Richie could catch them. Lester or Pike would unhook every single fish 
and show it to the judge. They shook hands on the deal. So far no one had been bitten. 
Howlers don't grow very big, sixty pounds is a giant. There is no legal size restrictions at all and no 
bag limit, because the Beta Torga XII government would love to see them all caught. With their miles 
of white sand beaches, the tourist trade would thrive, except for the howlers. However, they're 
motherlessly hard to catch. They don't start biting until twilight and by the time the moon comes up, 
they're done feeding. Of course, the fishermen fish for them all day, and all night if they haven't caught 
one, but any time except twilight is a waste of energy. 
Besides the poison, howlers have another eerie trait that no doubt keeps a few tourists away. In spite 
of being a true fish, they crawl out on the white sandy beaches at night to eat their catch and howl at 
the twin moons. One of these moons is always visible at feeding time, sometimes both of them. Their 
orbits are worked out perfectly for the howler. 
It's not really howling, actually N they should really be called screechers N the sound they make is a 
little worse than fingernails on a chalk board. It sets most people's teeth right on edge and keeps 
them there all night. Daytime is for sleeping on Beta Torga XII. Ear plugs are routinely donned at 
dusk. Fishermen who can't change their sleeping schedule get a little weary by the end of the week, 
and they don't catch many fish either. 
Another disgusting direct consequence of the nightly howler concert is the carcasses of dead, 
partially eaten fish and ducks filled with howler poison which litter the beaches every morning. 
Instead of being eaten by a well-organized fauna, most of this refuse lay there in the sun rotting 
because only two species of scavenger had developed a resistance to howler venom. One is a huge, 
evil smelling buzzard kind of bird, which was capable of carrying a human baby away to feed to their 
chicks. Every year several native babies go that route, so the buzzards are not thought of lovingly by 
the population, in spite of the fact that they clean up the beaches. The other scavenger is a hubcap-
sized armored land crab, which is inedible because of the howler toxin they consume. Besides 
nipping unwary people, they have the annoying habit of tunneling under the foundations of beach 
houses in their spare time. 
The government would be pleased to poison all the howlers, but no known poison will kill them 
without decimating everything else in the oceans. Consequently, the tourist trade on Beta Torga XII 
flourishes briefly once a yearNwhen the Tournament fleet visits. Crazy space fishermen think that the 
harder a fish is to catch, the more prized it is. Otherwise, the tourist trade languishes, which makes 
the fishermen happy. They love unspoiled worlds. 
Oddly, Rich Rodney didn't seem to mind the nightly howler serenade. He claimed he thought the 
screeching was musically interesting. Maybe that accounted for why he was leading all comers with a 
twenty-two inch specimen, which weighed just over sixteen pounds. He'd caught it yesterday evening 
on a simple dropline baited with half of the hard-boiled egg heOd been eating. Several of the veteran 
fishermen were suddenly eager for his viewpoint on baiting, and on any number of other topics, at the 
local tavern where everyone hung out. That's the way fishermen are. They think if a guy can catch 
fish, his views on brain surgery and interplanetary politics are relevantNor maybe they think his luck 
will rub off. Even Pike found himself more open-minded to Richie's odd ideas. After all, Rich 
Rodney had a degree in Comparative Humanities from U of TR&H, which was a very good school. 
On the other hand, it was difficult to think of Rich Rodney in terms other than Othe kid.Ó He was so 
short, and besides he had that boyish face and the grin that never went away. His arms had muscled 
out a few pounds worth, Pike observed from the bridge, watching him fishing off the stern. And after 
the massive sunburn had peeled away, he was finally getting a tan. Yep, he was starting to look 
almost human. How strong was his desire is to be a Champion Fisherman? Maybe he'd be content 
to just tag along as one of the boys. It was too early to tell. 
Pike noticed himself taking inventory of Rich Rodney, and decided that was perfectly normal given 
the circumstances. Next year the kid would join the ranks of his competition. Pike had the gnawing 
inkling that Rich Rodney might possibly give him, and everybody else, a real run for the money. Cost 
would be no object. He'd get the finest equipment without thinking about it. And the best guides, and 
he'd be nice to the guides and generous, and they'd work hard for him. 
Damn, he's got another hook up! Pike watched the rod arc as Rich Rodney braced his feet on the 
deck. And with all the other pluses, that damned luck is going to cause me a lot of trouble. The kid 
was going to be a formidable opponent eventually, and a likable one which was even worse. 
Rich Rodney took a step backwards. In doing so, he put his foot on a dead anchovy which was lying 
on the deck. The anchovy was slippery. The foot skidded out from under him and he did the splits, 
smashing against the side of the live bait well. His reel screeched as line shot off. Dazed, he got to his 
feet and continued playing the fish. 
Yep, I got a real first class competitor here, Pike laughed to himself, backing the engine to keep the 
slack out of Richie's line. He was getting used to The Comparative Humanity's skittish response. The 
blockier design of The Jumper gave her a better traction. Actually, this rotten luck may have a silver 
lining. I'll be able to talk to Thaddeus Golen with authority. I knew these new boats were too sleek, 
but he kept insisting they were fine. Luckily nobody else knows how well The Jumper handles or 
they'd be up in arms. 
ONice acrobatics,Ó Pike yelled down from the bridge. OLet's see you do that again. I'd like to learn 
that one.Ó 
Rich Rodney grinned and kept reeling. 
Lester Wunderman limped cautiously around the live bait well holding the gaff hook, but staying well 
out of the kid's way. Richie may be a clown, Pike thought, but he's got a damned fish magnet, and 
that isnOt for sale just anyplace.  
 
 

*  
 
 

Richie Tourbo woke up from a short nap in the Torga Excellency Hotel, which was a far cry from 
the luxury hotels he was used to. The bed was lumpy, but at least it was clean. Oh, well, fishermen 
have to take their comfort where they can. It was better than staying on the boat. For some reason, 
he didnOt love sleeping aboard; but he didn't have to love it. ThatOs what hotels were for. 
Someday soon he was going to take a day off to visit his mother and try to explain where he'd been 
this last monthNand also try to defend the spending of half a million Confederation dollars on fishing 
gear and guide fees. 
The money was his own, of course; but the checks cleared through the corporation bookkeepers, so 
his mother would hear about them. He'd never seen any reason to hide his transactions before, and 
didn't now for that matter; but she would demand to know why he ducked away from his 
bodyguards. He was going to tell her that he was grown up now and had his own pursuits of 
happiness to look after. Mom wasn't going to like that. 
However, she had never consulted him on what she did with her lifeNnever asked his opinion on 
anything, for that matter. Maybe he had as much disdain for sharp real estate deals as she did for 
sports. He'd just had the very best two weeks of his whole existence, and he wasn't going to allow a 
flock of dull-brained bodyguards to clutter up his boat just to make her happy. 
And why exactly was he programmed to always please his mother? Even if he won the Tournament 
someday, she was sure to sniff down her cosmetically enhanced nose at him. Wow..! That's an 
absolute first, Rich Rodney marveled. I actually considered winning the Tournament! That's the first 
time I ever, ever, felt like I could excel at anything athletic! But why couldn't I win it? I'm ahead right 
now. A plan started to formulate in the damp recesses of his brain, the same brain that had won high 
academic honors for him. The alarm clock on the night stand clattered. 
Rich Rodney jumped off the bed and almost fell down as his legs tried to compensate for the rocking 
motion of the boat. There was no boat in his hotel room. That was a rather revolting aspect of ocean 
fishing. His body continued to roll for hours after he was ashore. There must be a way to allow the 
semi-circular canals to adjust more quickly, but he hadn't found it yet. No matter, he had to get 
ready. He was having dinner with Pike and Lester and Rita, and he still had about a million questions 
to ask so he'd be ready for the next fish category, Tiger Muskies on Ashenden A.R. He would be 
going to Ashenden immediately after seeing his mother. 
Rita was going with him on the visit, in her brotherOs boat, actually. She was always doing 
unexpected things like that. Things that made his life a heck of a lot easier. In spite of his fondness for 
her, Rich Rodney had a sneaky feeling that she might have coerced him into asking Pike to captain 
the boat just so she could have a romance. It was quite evident that she was attracted to Pike. 
Rich Rodney had to smile at that as he stepped into the shower and slipped on a bar of soap. He 
leaped up quickly with no broken bones and adjusted the shower jet. Yes, Rita was a sly one. So sly 
she was transparent. And Pike seemed fond of her, in a fatherly way. But everything was fine. So 
what if Rita slept in Pike's roomNor even in his bed? That was a well known way of doing in-depth 
researchNespecially for a woman. Research..? Oh, sure! R.R. might be a nice guy, but he wasn't 
totally born yesterday. Fortunately, he wasn't the jealous type.  
 
 

*  
 
 

But there were a few little problems in the lover's bedroom. A compromise had been made that was 
driving them both a little crazy. Against nature and any sensible way to proceed, they had agreed not 
to screw. The agreement had happened the first night on Beta Torga XII, when Rita decided it was 
time to teach Pike a lesson. He wasn't acting sufficiently grateful for her favors, in fact, he was acting 
confused. How dare he! 
There's a limit to how much a girl will tolerate. Besides, Beta Torga's twin moons made her feel 
different here than she had on Amora. Unfortunately, she didn't take note of that fact. One moon was 
almost full while the other had waned to a sliver. Very confusing emotionally, but very subtle. The 
moons, or something, made her feel like she needed to have the upper hand.  
 
 

*  

Pike and Rita had both been a little tipsy after dinner at Richie's hotel the first night on Beta Torga 
XII. Fully clothed, they collapsed on the bed, but his lips seemed to hold back when they kissed. So 
she decided to teach him the lessonNif you want to get screwed, you're supposed to act happy 
about it. ODon't get the wrong idea about this, Champ,Ó she said. OI've been thinking that maybe 
we shouldn't make love again until we get to know each other much better. After the Tournament is 
over might be about the right time. We can be close friends, like we have been, until it seems like we 
should be lovers again. How does that sound?Ó She expected an argumentN which she was willing 
to lose and blame on drunkenness. Passion, naturally, brooks no delay. 
But much to Rita's surprise and irritation, Pike was relieved at the news. The pressure he'd been 
feeling evaporated and he smiled at her for the first time all day. 
OReally?Ó he asked, relaxing luxuriantly. OThat's great. You really are perceptive. That's exactly 
what I've been feeling, but I was afraid to mention it, in case you'd get angry.Ó He kissed her 
eyelids, then kicked off his deck shoes. Cuddling her to him, he buried his face in her dark hair and 
fell asleep floating on the aroma of mild balsam. 
Well, that served her right, she fumed. Trickery had never worked for herNwhy did she keep trying 
it? But it had been sweet of him to kiss her eyes. She lay beside him, feeling his strength. Sleep was 
nowhere in sight. She would have liked to get up and unpack her suitcase, but she didn't. This was 
certainly an unusual way to bind anyone to her. But Pike was an unusual man. A warrior, wasn't he? 
She knew from the hours spent in somewhat colorless sociology classes that warriors were 
supposed to hold their women in high regard. 
Some sociologists thought that all people were divided into three classes: warriors, intellectuals and 
businessmen. But Pike was also an intellectual with his inventions. Intellectuals live in an ivory tower 
by themselves. But one thing she did know, Pike was no businessman. Businessmen thought of 
women as possessions to be bought and sold. Oh, hell, she didn't know what she knew. That was 
always the problem with Pike and his damned green eyes. But he smelled good. Kind of like sea 
wind. She had no idea in the world if this ploy would work out, but at least she was here now in his 
bed. That was something no other woman could say. She practiced a petulant frown, then changed 
her mind and practiced a smile. She had to pee, but Pike's arms still encircled her, so she kissed his 
chin and let herself drift.  
 
 
 
 
 
 

* * *  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

CHAPTER SIX  

TIGER MUSKIES  
 
 
 
 
 
 

OI try to win every single day of the Tournament. Each time I make a 
cast, I'm ready to catch a record fish. But do I think winning is important? 
What I really think sounds kind of stuffy; but what's important is being 
a half-way decent person. If winning doesn't interfere with that, then 
winning is fine.Ó 
Harry Dolan 
quoted in History of the Tournament  
 
 

Ashendon A.R. is a water planet in a foggy swirl of other water worlds around a dying giant red sun. 
Nowhere else in the galaxy is there a situation quite like this, as far as anyone knows. Seen from far 
away, the twenty-seven misty water worlds look similar to the rings around the planet Saturn in the 
Sol System, but up close the whole system whirls stoically and ecstatically around its sun in a vast 
rainbow of tiny water droplets. 
The system had been discovered by one Augustine Radamacher, who named each planet for a lady 
friend It was a pick-up line that seldom failed, so they say. OWant'a have a planet named after your 
adorable self..?Ó Augie would croon to the waitress or dance hall girl of his choice. Followed by an 
instant pre-honeymoon trip to visit the A.R. System. All's fair in love and planet naming. On the 
official planet naming form, he coupled the lady's name with his own initialsNsimilar to a teenage boy 
carving names on a smooth tree. Radamacher had long since drowned, but his love affairs lived on. 
Water worlds are peculiar places. To be classified as one, the land mass must be less than five 
percent. Some water worlds have great stands of underwater forests or aquatic plants which 
occasionally cut loose to form floating islands. Others are complete deserts. Some have evolved 
intelligent species similar to mermaids, with gills for breathing. The Star Fishermen didn't care if they 
were on a water world or notNas long as the fishing was good. 
On Ashendon there were no mermaids and no land at all. Well, to be accurate, there was a lot of 
land, but it was all underwater. The water was fresh water, a phenomenon of the incessant rain and 
peculiar soil minerals that balanced the tendency of salinity through evaporation. The third week of 
the Tournament was always on Ashendon, and there was plenty of grumbling this year about the 
Tourbo kid winning both of the early categories. The guys and girls were plenty nervous. A couple 
more wins and the kid might have an uncatchable lead. 
Pike Resnick, conversely, was starting to feel an edge of confidence. Blues and howlers had never 
been his strength, and the kid had managed to stumble through them without him. Now they were 
moving into Pike's stronghold. The explanation of his fishing success was quite simply that he had a 
thing for the last five categories. With even a drop of luck, he'd be able to nudge Richie into the 
history books. 
Pike was feeling pretty chipper when The Comparative Humanity splashed down near the floating 
marina on Ashendon. Rita had taken R.R. to Talmage Heights to see his mother, so Pike and Lester 
had nothing to do until the boss showed up, except rendezvous with their new judge and bullshit with 
the guys, none of whom were around since they were all out fishing. Pike had always enjoyed his 
time on Ashendon in spite of the mugginess. It was certainly no place for a water colour painter, the 
air was hung with hovering moisture. When the humidity reached a hundred percent, it rained big soft 
drops. The rest of the time it was misty. Blue skies never broke the dew layer, but enough light rays 
filtered through it to furnish the verdant underwater vegetation with the components needed for a 
cloud forest type growth cycle. That's where the big striped muskies lurked, swimming in and out of 
the subaqueous growth like shadow tigers. They were the largest fish on the planet. Adult specimens 
had no natural predator, so they feared nothing. They fed when they were hungry which was often, 
and lazed in the jungle when they weren't. But the muskies had a psychological weakness that Pike 
counted on. They could be made angry, angry enough to smash at the source of the irritation. 
Making a thousand pound tiger angry had its down side; but hey, that was the name of the game. 
There was no resident population on Ashendon, but entrepreneurs from the nearest inhabited planet, 
Caroline A.R., maintained the marina and provisioned the fleet. They also enforced the strict bag limit 
of one muskie per week over sixty inches and no smaller fish of any kind. They obviously didn't want 
their prime resource overfished, nor their food concessions diminished by fresh fish on the table. 
Usually the fishermen weren't interested in keeping muskies anyway, so the restrictive regulation 
didn't bother them muchNbut catch and release of a large muskie, with its underslung scissors jaw, 
called for a deft touch. A technique had evolved over the years of leading a non-keeper fish into a 
submerged cargo net, then to crane it out of the water for a quick weigh-in, photograph and 
certification by the judge. Then, simply snip the line off near the hook and release the fish. The 
uncoated steel hook was left to rust out, as it would in the fresh water. 
It was during a snipping operation nine years ago, that Lester Wunderman had developed his limp. 
An angry twelve foot tiger had somehow tailwalked out of the net and leaped aboard in the few 
seconds that the grid was off. He scissored off a gory bite of Lester's upper thigh, before flopping 
over the rail back into the watery forest. First aid and reconstructive surgery saved Lester's life and 
livelihood, but left him with a gimp. But the next year, he had wanted his job back. Braver men than 
Lester Wunderman may exist somewhere, but Pike didn't know any. 
The floating marina was empty, except for Bardona's Lady SlipperNtied up in a nearby slip. The 
Baron always brought his house yacht along, as well as two full sized fishing boats. Rita had 
borrowed one boat and one brother to fly her and Richie to visit his mother. Some of the members 
bitched about Bardona's multitude of boats, since he wouldn't sell them an extra para-yacht to live 
on, but they never bothered to change the Rules to prohibit him. Why anger the petulant goose who 
might have gliches built into their next boat? 
Pike was eager to start looking for muskies; but the kid was the fisherman. If he wanted to neglect 
prime fishing hours, it was up to him. Pike made a few entries in the CaptainOs log, then stretched 
out for a mid-morning siesta. There was no telling how long Rich and Rita would be away. The trip 
had been put off day after day on Beta Torga, when Richie could have easily gone. Now, that he 
should be fishing, he goes. Well, Pike couldnOt help any of it. By all accounts, Mom Tourbo was a 
real fire breather. Maybe Richie would hurry back with his tail feathers singed.  

*  

Talmage Heights was a garden planet, now owned almost entirely by Mom Tourbo. The whole 
shebang was her private estate and she regarded the subservient population, complete with an 
appointed government, police department and Coast Guard as her serfs, which in essence they were. 
She liked things that wayNowned and controlled, and therefore well-mannered. 
Mom tried to keep her perspective, if not her real estate dealings, scrupulously honest. In other 
words, she didn't mind fooling others, but she didn't like fooling herself. And it seemed that she had 
perhaps deluded herself about her loving son. 
Lord knows she had always tried to love himNwell, how could you really love somebody who was 
constantly breaking things; but she had gotten him the best nannies and tutors, if that wasn't a sign of 
her love she didn't know what was. It was hardly her fault if these women always liked her better 
than they did the boy. Yes, Rodney's childhood had made many sweet memories for MomNthe 
conquest of each new nanny had been delicious. 
Now he had changed from the sweet, obedient child who always tried to curry her favor into an 
obnoxious, willful demon bent on destruction, just like his father. Larue J. Tourbo had been a ghastly 
mistake for her. He was a filthy brute, always wanting to paw and fondle her at her little real estate 
office, begging her to marry himNsaying that her business skills would be a great asset to him. 
Just a brute. The pain and humiliation of that one tipsy nightNthe supposedly wonderful wedding 
nightN had never left her. His hairy, disgusting body crushing her until finally she had let him have his 
way. Truly disgusting. That was certainly not part of the wedding contract. She had let Mr. Larue 
Tourbo know that with crystal clarity the next morning, after lying awake all night listening to his 
contented snorking. So at breakfast, she had demurely suggested that she had to have a bedroom of 
her own. He had laughed at her in his brutish way and had gone out to carouse with his hateful friend, 
Clive McAss. 
Seeing that she would have to take matters into her own hands, demure Lillith simply removed all of 
her new husband's things from the bedroom, piling them in the hallway, and ordered a servant to 
install a substantial hasp on the inside and outside of the door. She snapped a padlock through the 
outside lock, thereby wiping her hands of further brutishness. 
Then with her sleeping arrangements on a firmer footing, she had herself driven down to her tiny 
office, where Larue had had the good sense to meet her when he was looking for some commercial 
property to purchase. She called a painter to repaint the sign out in front, and ordered new letter 
heads and business cards from the stationer. When Larue came to retrieve her late that evening, she 
took time out from the interesting deal she was working on to proudly point out the new shingle to 
him, even though her lout of a husband was drunk and fawningly in heat. The sign said: L&L 
TOURBO LTD. His name and his sixty-five million credit nest egg would turn into billions under her 
calculating watchfulness. Sadly, Larue wouldn't be around to see what good management could do. 
Several days of whining and barking about sleeping alone convinced the wounded bridegroom that 
he should visit his holdings in the Ainendrenhen System, where a manly sporting event would be 
attracting sporting ladies. Lillith barely listened as he tried to entice her to come along. She informed 
him sweetly that she loathed sporting opportunities and that perhaps he should find a traveling 
companionNshe had plenty to occupy her at the office. The demure way she offered the new 
arrangement caused LarueOs eyebrows to arch all the way up to his hairline. She always 
remembered that touching moment with a smile. 
Sadly, The Eye called her within the week to report the tragic news that Larue had been atomized by 
a meteor after purchasing a few hundred uninhabited planets. To a large extent, she had forgotten he 
was gone. The pre-nuptial agreement left everything to her, naturally, unless there was a child. Not 
wishing to offend any of LarueOs friends, Lillith arranged for a memorial service at which she wore 
simple black. That afternoon, she found time to drop into the office to complete a pending deal on an 
apartment complex, which she rechristened The Larue Towers. She thought it was a fitting memorial. 
And it was for eight years, until progress demanded that a new spaceport be built on that section of 
land. Mega bucks changed hands.  
 
 

A few months after LarueOs death, Lillith was as surprised as everyone else to see that she was 
starting to plump around the middle. But she took it stoically. Marital duty was attempting to 
overpower her again. No way that was going to happen. She hoped fervently that the baby would be 
a girl, and plowed back into her work. As a concession to impending motherhood, she hired a sweet 
young thing named Sandra to help with the paperwork at the office, and encouraged everyone to call 
her Mom. 
But Richard Rodney had been born as a little boy instead of a girl. And now he was starting to act as 
brutishly as he father hadNfoolishly endangering his life and her future grand daughters by going 
fishing. And he had made out a last will and testament that she had never seen. What was a mother 
to do?  
 
 

OLovely to see you again, dear,Ó Mom said to Rita. OHow is your charming father?Ó 
OHe's not doing very well,Ó Rita laughed. She had come along to Talmage Heights mainly to bolster 
R.R.'s moral courage. He claimed he could handle the chore himself, but duty to friends was high on 
Rita's list of things to do. And besides she wanted to see how deftly Richie's mother operated on 
him, since Rita herself had pushed him into this antagonistic position of being a fisherman. ODaddy's 
tied for sixth place, way behind Richie.Ó 
OOh, you're in fifth place, darling?Ó Mom said distastefully, turning her gaze back to the 
uncomfortable boy. 
R.R. nodded feebly, hoping the subject would change. He had wanted to come to his new life in a 
more circumspect manner. Trust Rita to confront everything head-on. 
OHe's in sole possession of 1st place,Ó Rita gloated. OPike and I are so proud of him that we could 
burst.Ó 
OPike..?Ó Mom asked, arching her eyebrows disapprovingly. 
OPike Resnick,Ó Rita answered, liking the matter of fact way the name had slid off her tongue. 
OHe's captaining Richie's boat. We were lucky to get him.Ó 
OI see,Ó Mom said, dripping scorn on the solid fusion-glass coffee table where three cups of 
peppermint tea sat cooling. In her opinion, Pike Resnick was a profligate wastrel, who should have 
been wealthy but had squandered his chance. Certainly a dangerous influence on her impressionable 
son. 
OHow have you been, Mother?Ó R.R. asked, conversationally. OAny interesting deals in the 
works?Ó 
OI..? Thank you for asking, dear boy, but why should you be concerned that I'm headed for an early 
grave. Go have your fun, while I spend my days worrying about you, and my nights listening to the 
wailing of my unborn granddaughters. Since I heard that you dismissed your loyal security friends, I 
haven't had a moment's rest. That's why I look so peaked, as I'm sure you have noticed.Ó 
R.R. risked a glance from his lap up to the crocodile's face. It looked radiant with health and 
meanness, like always. OThere's no room on the boat for security people,Ó he mumbled. 
ONonsense. Just because I'm an old lady, doesn't mean I'm senile.Ó 
OAnd they're not my friends,Ó he said, finding a little courage. OYou always call them my security 
friends, but they're intrusive bodyguards. I've never once been consulted about whether I want them 
or not. Truthfully, Mother, there's no need for security guards just now. Fishing isn't dangerous.Ó 
OOh..? I hadn't realized that. In fact, I'd always heard the opposite. Don't they make a lot of man-
crowing hype about how dangerous and exciting it's supposed to be?Ó She turned her reptilian eyes 
back onto Rita. At least the boy had excellent taste in women, Mom noted with satisfaction. Lovely 
and so well-heeled. She felt a sudden lust to get her hands on a few of the Baron's assets, or Rita's. 
OIs that true, Rita?Ó she inquired. OFishing on all those outlandish places is completely safe for a 
frail boy like Richard?Ó 
OWell, I wouldn't say completely safe,Ó Rita vacillated. 
OI knew it!Ó Mom yelped. OWhy would you fabricate a brutish lie like that, Richard? You worry a 
body to death! You always have, one thing after another.Ó 
OThat's not true, Mother. You've never worried about me, and there's no need to be so theatrical.Ó 
OIngrate! How would you know what a mother goes through with an ungrateful son like you? I'm 
calling some security friends right now, and you will take them back to your stupid boat! And don't 
go damaging them like the one I sent to Amora.Ó 
R.R. digested that news. Silas must have been the one. No wonder he was so helpful all the time. 
OI'm not taking any security friends, Mother. Please don't make an issue of this. I came for a 
pleasant visit with you. I'm an adult now, and I'm hoping you'll accept that fact.Ó He reached for the 
tea cup, but inexplicably it slipped from his fingers, smashing the priceless matching saucer. R.R. 
scowled, retrieved the cup and drank the remaining swallow of tea. A servant scurried in to mop up 
the coffee table. 
OI knew I should have served Richard in his plastic tea service, but I was so hoping he'd gotten over 
his clumsiness now that he's an adult,Ó Mom explained to Rita. OHow is your father's new boat, 
dear?Ó she asked, with a pitying expression gracing her well-preserved face. OI heard from our 
insurance people that it's much better than the old one.Ó 
OItOs quite nice,Ó Rita responded. ODaddy is fishing with it on Ashendon. He can be so petty 
sometimes.Ó 
Rich Rodney squirmed. 
ONot at all,Ó Mom said, sweetly. OThatOs how the game is played. You children are getting old 
enough to be interested in the rules, donOt you think? And speaking of rules, the next thing I would 
like to discuss, darling boy, is the enormous amount of investment capital you seem to be frittering 
away on dangerous foolishness.Ó 
OI think it's time for us to be running along, Rita,Ó Richie said. In the process of standing up, his 
knee rapped solidly on the sharp corner of the coffee table. Groaning, but undaunted, he limped 
toward the door. 
OLet me ring for breakfast, dear,Ó Mom said, sedately. OYou can't go out without your 
breakfast.Ó  

*  

An hour before sunset, as fog started to whisper, Farouk Bardona's second fishing boat splashed 
down in the marina on Ashendon. It docked next to the Lady Slipper. Four people stepped onto the 
floating wharf: Rita, Richie and his two large bodyguards, who appropriately flanked R.R. until he 
demanded that they walk ten paces behind him and Rita. In this configuration, they made their way 
around the floating docks of the marina until they came to the Comparative Humanity. 
Pike stepped out on deck as the foursome approached. 
OReady for fishing, Captain, sir,Ó Rich Rodney announced to Pike, with a smart salute. 
OToo foggy now. We'll hit it hard in the morning. Where were you all day? They were biting like 
crazy.Ó Pike smiled at the kid, and felt his member hardening at the sight of Rita. It was kind of 
ridiculous to get all hot and bothered every time he saw her, but really, this was the most alive he'd 
felt for a long timeNmaybe ever. That's interesting. This may be the sexiest and the most alive I've 
ever felt. As each day passed he was under move sexual strainNliving with her, but not having her. 
But hey, no strain, no gain. He caught her eye as the two bodybuilders walked up and stopped a 
pace behind the pair. 
OWhy can't we go out now? Isn't sunset the best time?Ó R.R. asked, jumping aboard. His sudden 
movement startled his guards. 
ODusk is best for howlers, I imagine that's what you're thinking of,Ó said reasonable Pike Resnick, 
fishing instructor to the rich and famous. OTo land a muskie, you have to be able to see. That's 
impossible in this pea soup, as you will notice.Ó 
OShoot,Ó said Rich Rodney, using his strongest oath. He tripped over a well-protected cleat inside 
the starboard rail that was virtually impossible to trip over. Stumbling profoundly, he caught his feet 
together, then pitched nose first into the scuppers. Both security men swarmed onto the deck. One 
moved into a defensive position to block any attack that Pike might decide to make, the other leapt 
to help Rich Rodney up. 
OHands off!Ó Richie yelped, jumping up. OAnd get off this boat. Neither I nor Captain Resnick 
invited you on board.Ó The guard's faces got that out of kilter look of the bewildered. 
Pike watched Rita laughing delightedly from the dock. 
OWhat's going on here?!Ó Lester Wunderman thundered, coming out of the galley with a fully 
charged harpoon gun. OYou heard him! Off the boat.Ó Lester looked hastily to Pike for 
confirmation. Pike shrugged. He saw the frightened face of Edmund Messier, their judge on this leg, 
appear at the galley window. 
The security friends looked at the harpoon, then at each other. Finally they looked tightly at Rich 
Rodney. OI think I missed something here, Mr. Tourbo, sir,Ó the largest one said. 
OYes. I meant to explain earlier. Your services aren't needed on the boat. My mother will pay you 
and you will remain on the dock at all times, staying as far away from me as possible. Is that clear?Ó 
OWhy would you pay us, unless we were guarding you?Ó 
OI'm not paying you, my mother is. I just said that. If she wants to pay you to relax on Ashendon, 
that's her business, isn't it.Ó 
OYes, sir. I guess it is. Won't we have to tell her that you're uncooperative?Ó 
OTell her whatever you want to. But first get off this boat. Lester, shoot the big one first, if he's not 
dockside in seven seconds.Ó 
OYes, sir,Ó Lester answered, crouching slightly and pointing the harpoon at the man's muscular 
belly. 
Both bodyguards were on the dock by the time Richie had counted to four. OVery good,Ó he said. 
OStop simpering, Rita, and come aboard. All you've done all day is simper at me.Ó 
OI never simper,Ó Rita corrected. OI was laughing at you.Ó Nevertheless, she stepped gracefully 
aboard. 
OWhere should we bunk down, sir?Ó the smaller man asked, deferring the essentials of his personal 
comfort to his employer as he always did. 
OThat's not my problem,Ó R.R. said. OCall my mother and ask her. I told her there wasn't room for 
you here. But if you do call her, there's a faint chance that she'll stop paying you for doing nothing. 
She hates to waste investment capital.Ó 
The bodyguards looked at each other again. Working for rich crazies was such a drag. Here they 
were, stranded on a foreign world. 
OGo have dinner at that pub up the dock,Ó Pike said. OI'll come and get you straightened out in a 
little while.Ó 
OThank you, Captain,Ó they both said in unison, and marched toward the pub. 
OPut the harpoon away, Lester,Ó Pike said. OAnd get out the gallon of mercurochrome for Richie's 
hands. I think he skinned them.Ó 
Lester grinned. OAre you staying for dinner?Ó he asked Rita and Rich Rodney. 
Rita flicked a look at Pike and nodded yes. 
ODo you think it would be all right for me to fish off the fantail for awhile, just so I get a feel for the 
water?Ó Rodney asked. 
OYou're the boss, boss,Ó Pike said. OWhy ask me?Ó 
OOf course, I have to ask you. I just want to fish for awhile, if it's not breaking any rules.Ó 
OThere are no rules about when to fish. Just don't catch any. It would interrupt dinner in the worst 
way.Ó He grinned at the kid. OHarry Dolan caught an 800 pounder this morning. We'll have to go 
some to top that. You should get to know Harry. He's a fine fisherman.Ó  

*  

Night had fallen by the time Rita, Pike and Messier had cracked open the first bottle of wine and 
started on the appetizers. Lester was puttering over his sauce pans, making some kind of special dish 
for dinner. Pike knew Edmund Messier had started nibbling at his private bottle around four o'clock, 
when it became evident that there would be no fishing today. The scholarly little man had been with 
the Tournament for several years and was a competent judge. It wasn't an easy job to readjust to a 
new boat and crew every week. If he liked to drink on off days, that was his business. The 
Tournament got progressively more dangerous from this point forward. Taking a drink relieved the 
pressure; but alcohol sluggishness increased the danger, so Pike himself seldom indulged. 
OPleasant trip to Talmage?Ó Pike inquired of Rita. 
OYes, very. The Tourbo's are very interesting together. Do you know Mom?Ó 
OI know of her, but we've never met.Ó In spite of the deal that he had made with Rita, abstinence 
was making him a little crazy. She was always aroundNsupposedly working on her famous thesis at 
the terminal in Pike's roomNtheir room. It didnOt seem like he should push himself on her, or insist 
on anything, for that matter, just now. It was a question of getting adjusted, she said, when he had 
asked about the situation. It had only been a week, she saidNwhich was almost true. It had been ten 
days. 
She didnOt act unavailable in public. Probably everyone who saw them together assumed they were 
an item. Well, they were an item! The way they looked at each other was intense. Sparks flew, 
didnOt they? Or was that only his perception? She usually sat beside him at mealsNwas always 
attentive and often snuglyNin public. He was friendly, but restrained. In private, she wasn't ready yet. 
And he didn't see any winning moves except to waitNand that, of course, was not a guaranteed 
winning move. 
OWell, Mom Tourbo doesn't think too highly of you,Ó Rita laughed. 
OI guess that proves she's as shrewd as they say.Ó 
OYes, I guess it does,Ó she answered, winking at Mr. Messier. Rita shifted her gaze to the side 
window, watching the white fog drifting lazy as a cloud billow. Why did she always have to force the 
issue of intimacy? That's not the way it was supposed to work. Why didnOt he drag her into the 
bedroom or something? But he wasnOt going to, was he? Maybe Mom Tourbo was right. Pike was 
too indecisive to protect his own interests. Maybe he was that way in everything. No, he was a 
brilliant inventor and a really brilliant fisherman, and that's what he wanted to be. He had to be 
judged on that criterion, didn't he? Her father might take advantage of Pike financially, but never at 
fishing. But did she want to marry a fisherman? Yes, her heart screamed. He's good. He's fine! I'm 
happy when I'm here with him. Throw yourself at him. Who cares what anyone thinks! 
Instead of a proposal from Pike, her impasse was broken by the shrieking of a 4.0 reel. OHoly 
shit..!Ó Rich Rodney yelped from outside. OI've got one! Cripes, help me!!Ó 
Rita and Pike scrambled up from the table. Lester took a second to turn off the bottled gas burners 
before he hobbled after them. 
Outside, Pike ran to the bridge with the reel screaming in his ear. OLoosen up on the drag, kid! Les, 
get him in the chair!!Ó Pike started the engine, toggled up the running lights to full brightness and lit 
the defense grid. The boat had twin spotlights mounted above the bridge. He hit the switch and 
pointed them at the fog bank where the heavy line was diving downwards. 
OGot him!Ó Lester shouted. He wrapped his arms around Richie and dragged him backwards 
toward the fighting chair. ODon't hurt me with your cussed clumsiness, or I'll kill you,Ó he hissed in 
R.R.'s ear. OHold onto the rod until I get you strapped in. Relax damnit! Not that relaxed! Act 
right!!Ó Lester snapped the harness rings into their keepers, then made sure the rod was seated 
properly and the safety line was secured. 
OIt's a big one, Pike!Ó Rich Rodney yelped. OCan we keep him!Ó 
OKeep him?Ó Lester griped. OHe's gonna take all the line, then snap you off and laugh about it. I 
ought to cut him off, now.Ó 
OCanOt we try for him, Pike..?Ó the kid pleaded 
OHe's using the big outfit,Ó Lester said. OBut he'll snap off sure, if we stay in the slip.Ó 
OHow big is he, Lester?Ó Pike yelled. ODamn this fog!Ó 
OPretty big. HeOs ripping the line off, but we can't take him without room to maneuver.Ó 
OI heard you! Okay, let's try it,Ó Pike said, feeling very unsure that this was the right move. One the 
other hand, a fisherman learns not to scoff at luck. The kid might never get another bite, if he didn't 
try for this one. 
OWhat should I do?Ó Rita yelled. 
OJump down and cast us off,Ó Pike yelled back. OThen run up to the pub and get those two goons 
to help set up some spotlights. As many as you can find.Ó 
Rita hopped neatly over the rail, landing with bent knees. OThose guys won't have credit to rent 
anything with,Ó she yelled up at Pike. She unwrapped the stern line from a big cleat on the dock. 
OUse yours,Ó Pike said. OHurry up with the lines.Ó 
ODaddy will kill me,Ó she laughed, untying the bow line from its cleat. 
OWell, use mine or Richie's! Just get the fucking lights going! I can't see a thing.Ó 
OCast off! You're clear,Ó she called, casting the bow line onto the deck. OFloodlights would be 
better. Spots just reflect in this soup.Ó 
Pike feathered the engine and gently backed out of the slip. OLights. Lots of them. Spots or floods 
or flashlights. Anything!Ó He smiled tightly as Rita ran up the dock into the fog. 
Edmund Messier stumbled out on deck. OAre you serious about fighting a fish?Ó he inquired of 
Pike. 
OLooks that way,Ó Pike replied. The boat was clear of the slip and headed into a fog bank. OSlow 
him down as much as you can, Lester! I want to stay within sight of this stupid wharf!Ó 
OBrace your feet, kid, and lean on that rod,Ó Lester said. OYou have to play him all yourself. I 
can't help.Ó 
OI know that,Ó R.R. said. 
OI know you know, but I'll be right here to back you up. Keep thinking about not hurting me and 
yourself. That should be primary in your mind.Ó 
OThank you,Ó Rodney said. OI know. I admire you and Pike too much to hurt you. I was careful 
during the howlers, wasn't I?Ó 
OHowlers ain't muskies,Ó Lester reminded himself, with a shudder. 
OHow big do you think this one is?Ó 
OPretty big. You got ahold of him, so you're the expert. How big is he?Ó 
OGosh, he feels as big as a house.Ó 
OWell, that's how big he is then,Ó Lester said. OHouse size.Ó 
Edmund Messier peered out into the white/black nothingness. OI better get my camera ready,Ó he 
slurred, and went down to his stateroom. 
OLean on him, Richie!Ó Pike called. OBut don't try to turn him! I don't want him snagging an anchor 
cable!Ó The marina platform was deep anchored with two inch cables at each corner, fastened to 
long pitons driven into core rock. If the fish wrapped around a cable, he was home free. 
OLet the strain go down to your legs if you can,Ó Lester explained. OYou won't be able to fight him 
with your arms, youOre not strong enough. Nobody is.Ó 
OI'm pushing as hard as I can,Ó Rich Rodney growled. He shoved his feet harder against the deck, 
and looked around for Rita, who was nowhere in sight. Didn't she care that he was fighting a 
monster? 
OConcentrate on what you're doing.Ó 
OI am. Where's Rita?Ó 
OPike sent her off.Ó 
OOh,Ó he said, looking at the line again. If Pike sent her off, then naturally she wouldn't be 
watching. 
OHalf empty..!Ó Lester called out to Pike, meaning the reel was half empty. 
OGive him a full turn of drag,Ó Pike answered. OI'll go to idle. Let Mr. Tiger pull the boat awhile. 
That ought to get him jumping.Ó 
OGive your drag a full turn,Ó Lester said, relaying the message. OThe other way, kid. Twist it the 
other way. That's better.Ó 
Rich Rodney turned the drag a full turn, then grabbed back onto the rod with both hands. 
OShould I hook up the cable helpers?Ó Lester called. 
OYes,Ó Rich Rodney gasped. 
ONot yet,Ó Pike answered. They were fully in the fog bank. It was eerily quiet inside. Pike could 
barely make out the shapes of Lester and the kid. He turned the spotlight on them. OI thought I told 
you not to catch any fish, Richie!Ó he taunted. ONow, look at the mess we're in..!Ó 
OI didn't try to. I never thought anything big would bite, just those little shiny purple ones I was 
saving for bait.Ó 
OWhat shiny purple ones?Ó Pike said, uneasily. OWhere are they?Ó 
OIn the bait tank. Where else would bait be? Who'd ever think anything would bite on a hunk of old 
tinfoil? Cripes, I just stuck it on so I could see where I was casting.Ó 
Pike took a quick fix on the dim lights of the wharf, and hurried down the ladder. Good old Lester 
was already dipping the bait net into the live well. OHurry up,Ó Pike urged, under his breath. 
OBefore Edmund gets back.Ó 
OGo fix him a drink,Ó Lester said, dipping a wiggling bait fish over the side. OHow many of these 
did you catch, Rod?Ó 
OI don't know. A few.Ó 
OHow many?!Ó Pike exploded, in a whisper. ODidn't you read the rules?Ó 
OOf course, I did.Ó 
OHow many have you got out?Ó Pike asked Lester. 
OSix. It's too dark in there to see. Shine the light in the tank.Ó 
OThat's how many I caught,Ó Rich Rodney said. OSix.Ó 
OWhat's this one, then,Ó Lester asked with high irony, flinging a seventh over the rail like it was 
poison. 
OIt must have been in there already. What's the big deal? This fish is getting extremely heavy, by the 
way.Ó 
OExplain it to him after you're sure the tank is clean. I'll let the water out and put the spot directly on 
it.Ó Pike leaped back up the ladder, focused the spotlight directly on Lester. After flicking a switch 
that emptied the bait well, he left the bridge and went down below.  
 
 

Pike found the judge in his tiny forward stateroom screwing a 35mm camera onto a suction base 
tripod. OGot a flashlight in your kit?Ó he asked Messier. 
OI believe I have,Ó he answered, distractedly. 
OBring it. And you're bringing your strobe pack, too, aren't you? We're going to need all the light we 
can get.Ó 
Pike disappeared into his cabin, then reappeared with a six cell flashlight and a storm lantern, which 
he had unscrewed from the wall. 
OOh, and I'd jump into some long johns, if I were you,Ó he suggested. OIt's going to be wet and 
chilly waiting on the kid. He doesn't have much experience. Lord knows how long we'll be standing 
around. Sorry about this, Edmund.Ó 
OThat's why they're paying me,Ó Messier said, pleasantly. OI'll put on some coffee if Lester's too 
busy.Ó 
OThanks,Ó Pike said, climbing back up the ladder. OYou're a good man.Ó  
 
 

Back on deck, he made a bee-line for the bait tank and shined the bright flashlight into the shallow 
water. A nine inch shiner skittered madly around the inside of the tank. OGet this one, Lester. That 
makes eight.Ó 
ONine,Ó Lester replied. 
OLester explained the rule about catching only one fish,Ó R.R grunted, leaning against the heavy 
fighting rod. OI didn't think that applied to bait fish. IOll be more careful and ask about anything 
that's not totally clear next time.Ó 
ONo sweat,Ó Pike said lazily, now that the danger of disqualification had passed. OHow you 
holding up?Ó 
OFine,Ó the kid lied. OThis is really fun.Ó 
Lester netted the offending shiner and flipped it overboard. 
OThey were all alive,Ó Pike commented to Richie, Oso technically weOre okay with the law, now. 
Oh, incidentally, that ratty piece of tinfoil you found is my top secret primo bait for tiger muskies.Ó 
OIt is..?Ó 
OYep. Don't know why, but it drives them nuts. That's my secret. Don't be telling anyone about it.Ó 
OI won't.Ó 
OI mean it.Ó 
OFine! I won't tell anyone. You think I'm a blabber mouth?Ó 
OLester will knock if off with the gaff as soon as the fish is netted. If anybody asks, you were baiting 
with a strip of dead mullet.Ó 
OI'll remember.Ó 
The line slackened suddenly. OCrank it like mad, kid! He coming up for some jumping. Watch him, 
Les!Ó As Pike ran for the bridge, the fog bank exploded into dazzling brightness. White light 
ricocheted off of each fog droplet. Rita had found some lights. Good girl. Maybe we'll survive the 
night. 
OThat's better,Ó Lester called. OStill can't see anything, but at least it's daylight.Ó 
R.R. played the fish he couldn't see through a series of jumps. Pike jockeyed the boat to keep the 
line taut. It was an odd experience in the fog bank, one that most people would ever know. 
Messier climbed onto the bridge lugging his camera and strobe outfit. OPlenty of light now,Ó he 
observed. OCoffee's ready. I'll bring it out.Ó 
OGood,Ó Pike said, never taking his eye off the line. 
OI'll be sober in time for the netting,Ó Messier said. 
OGood,Ó Pike repeated. OYou were perfectly right to think it was a day off. It's my fault for getting 
us into this.Ó 
Messier smiled lopsidedly. OThe boy has unusual luck,Ó he said. OEveryone's talking about it.Ó 
OIt takes all kinds,Ó Pike said. OYou ever been involved in a netting in this kind of fog?Ó 
ONo,Ó Messier answered. OMaybe he'll break off.Ó He started back down the ladder. OBlack or 
cream?Ó he asked. 
OBlack,Ó Pike answered. 
The marine radio crackled to life. OBreaker, breaker,Ó Rita's voice invaded the bridge. OHello, 
Comparative Humanity..?Ó 
Pike pressed the speak button. OThanks for the lights, Rita. Much better. All fine here, but busy.Ó 
OYou still have the fish?Ó 
OStill do. The kid's doing fine.Ó 
OIf you land him, I'll have a very special surprise for you, Pike. Can't tell you what it is over the 
airwaves. Over and out.Ó 
OThat sounds pretty much A-okay. Out here.Ó A little surprise would finish this evening off just 
right. He stuck his head out the window. OHow's the kid doing, Lester?!Ó 
OFine,Ó Lester's muffled voice carried up to the bridge.  
 
 

OMy arms are starting to get really exhausted,Ó R.R. grunted, feeling like he should convey that fact 
to somebody. He had just fought something huge out in the fog through three jumps which almost 
tore his arms from their sockets. Mercifully, the fish was diving now. 
OCourse they're tired,Ó Lester said. OBut you're fine. Can't overheat in this soup. 
OI should do more weight lifting. I never knew how tiring this could be. That delilah I caught was 
easy compared to this.Ó 
OYou're fine. Save your breath. Rest one arm at a time until you feel the strength ooze back in her. 
Unless you feel the fish rushing to the surface again. You know what that feels like now, don't you?Ó 
OYes, I do.Ó He gratefully let go of the pole with one hand, breathing a big sigh of relief. 
OCoffee's coming. That'll warm you up.Ó 
OI don't like coffee.Ó 
Lester's mouth bent in a frown. OWhat do you like?Ó he asked. He'd been serving the kid coffee 
for a week. Had he been pouring it out? OI wouldn't recommend much alcohol while we're fighting 
him. It don't do to be tipsy or too brave for the netting.Ó 
OOrange juice,Ó the kid said. 
OOkay, I'll get you some.Ó 
OHurry, he might jump again. I'm not sure I can hold him alone.Ó 
OGet the net and crane ready, Lester!Ó Pike's voice boomed from overhead. OIt's been almost an 
hour! We'll try to take him after the next series of jumps!Ó 
OMaybe we should play him all night and take him in the morning,Ó Lester suggested. 
OThat's too long for Richie!Ó 
OI could put the helpers on.Ó 
ONo. They'd flip the fish off, if he jumps. We'll get him soon. He's tired now. He's just laying out 
there.Ó 
OI know,Ó Lester agreed. 
OI'll go back easy. Make up some line. Then we'll annoy him into jumping again.Ó 
OStanding by to make up line,Ó Lester said. Edmund Messier appeared out of nowhere with two 
mugs of steaming coffee. OThanks, Judge,Ó Lester said. OCould you bring a glass of orange juice, 
no ice, no booze, for the fighting chair. I'd get her myself, but we're going to make up some line.Ó 
OI heard,Ó Messier said, going back to the galley.  
 
 
 
 

Forty-five minutes later, the heavy half inch yellow polyethylene cargo net was sinking on the port 
side of the boat. All four corners of the net were cabled to the electric hoist, which was sticking out 
over the side. And the fog was still thick. The fish could get away easily at this point simply by 
making a run to port and snarling in the net. But the fish didn't know that, and it was up to Pike to 
maneuver the boat, so that this fact remained a secret from the muskie. The task was to bring the 
supposedly tired fish alongside and swim him over the net without tangling the line, then quickly hoist 
him into the air. Then Messier would snap a full body shot, then switch to a telephoto lens and snap a 
close-up showing a hook in the fish's mouth. Then they'd weigh him, Lester would break the line and 
they'd lower the net. The fish would swim away to fight another day. And everybody would be 
happy. Sounds simple on paper. 
Rich Rodney's arms arched unbearably. He was sure the shoulder sockets were permanently sprung. 
They were in a state of rigid lock. He used the one arm relaxation technique that Lester had 
suggested constantly without much relief. Back and forth from pain to excruciating pain. The minute 
he gripped the rod, pain rictorized the forearm, then quickly jumped to his triceps and deltoid. His 
back muscles were locked up, too, but he could ease that pain by scooching around in the rock hard 
chair. All he really wanted to do was hand the rod over to Lester, or even throw the damned thing 
overboard. What did he care if the fish beat him? It was only a stupid fish! Nobody should have to 
take this kind of punishment. The rules were so stupid! Why couldn't the deck hand fight part of the 
stupid fish? Oh, God, his arms ached so much! If I just lift the rod butt a little, it will spring out of the 
cup and I can live again. 
OHow you doing, kid?Ó Pike asked, from behind his ear. He put his big hands on R.R.Os thin 
shoulders and massaged the knotted muscles. 
OFine,Ó Rich Rodney replied. OHanging in there.Ó What was Pike doing, sneaking up like that? 
OWe're going to try for him now. You're doing great. Much better than I thought you would. A lot 
of people quit on a fish this size.Ó 
OI'm not quitting,Ó R.R. rasped. 
OCourse not. We've got him now.Ó 
ORight,Ó the kid said, pumping himself up with false bravado. Naturally, he was going to land the 
bastard fish. There was never a thought of chickening out. 
OOkay,Ó Pike said. OWhile I'm standing here, I want you to hold the rod one handed, and shake 
your other arm out. Shake it good and hard to get the life back in it.Ó 
R.R jumped at the suggestion, shaking his right arm jerkily. Oh, God, it felt heavenly! Nothing has 
ever felt this good! He switched to the left arm. 
ODo it some more,Ó Pike said, watching the kid flail. OWe know you don't have much experience, 
but the only way to get experience with a big fish is to hook one. Kind of like the school of hard 
knocks, huh, kid?Ó 
OIt's fun. I'm learning a lot. He sure is heavy.Ó 
OYep, nobody knows that until they hook up to one. Anyway, that part is almost over. The next 
part can be very lively, and sometimes dicey; so I'm going to talk you through it. If he gets off under 
these conditions, it's nothing to be ashamed of. You fought him splendidly.Ó 
R.R. felt his chest swelling with the praise as Pike explained the netting procedure. He thought he 
might cry. It was so damned wonderful to be accepted by men like Pike and Lester. Finally Pike 
was done with the explanation. Rodney realized in a panic that he might not have been paying 
attention. He couldn't remember any of it. 
OI don't know if I got that,Ó he grunted. OAfter he comes toward the net, then what..?Ó 
So Pike went over it again while Lester rechecked the crane and went below for a pit stop. 
OThe main thing is not to freeze up or come unglued. Just keep firm pressure on his mouth. That will 
keep his head up. Lester and I will do the rest of it. Les will be counting on you to hold him steady. I 
don't have to tell you that what Lester will be doing is almost superhuman. I'm counting on you to 
help him every way you can. And that means to stay icy calm.Ó 
OWhy?Ó 
OWhy what..? Calm is the best. What else could that mean?Ó 
OWhy is it superhuman?Ó 
OWell, partly because it's dangerous under good conditions, but in fog like this it's very nerve 
wracking. And partly because a big tiger took his leg.Ó 
OJeese, I didn't know that.Ó 
OAnyway, don't worry about Lester. He's got balls of steel. He'll do his job, if it can be done. Just 
don't fuck him up when you see how big the fish is.Ó 
OI won't,Ó R.R. vowed. 
OYou're famous for fuck-ups. Just stay in the chair and hold the rod steady, unless Lester tells you 
something different. If he says anything, do it. As far as safety goes, the grid is on full power. If the 
fish is in the water, he can't come at you. But when we haul him high in the net, the grid won't keep 
him out. As soon as the net comes up, you unbuckle, but stay put. Keep the tension on, so that the 
line stays up and out of the way. If the fish comes loose, you runNand I mean run, for the galley. 
Don't try to help Lester, you'll only fuck him up. Got that?Ó 
OYes, sir.Ó 
OBut it will probably go smoothly. Let's hope it will.Ó 
OYes, sir. How long until we start?Ó 
OTwo minutes. Shake your arms out again.Ó  
 
 
 
 

The muskie glided to the surface. R.R.'s eyes bulged at the size of him. The great underslung jaw 
snapped once, showing millions of pointed teeth. 
OHe's hooked good,Ó Lester shouted from the fantail. He held the long-handled gaff in both hands 
like a quarter staff. OBack easy, Pike!Ó 
OBacking easy,Ó Pike called. OHow big?Ó 
OBig enough. Stand by the crane button.Ó 
OStanding by the crane,Ó Pike answered. From the bridge nothing was visible, just fog. OYou'll 
have to set up on the deck for the photos,Ó he said to Messier. OI want him in the air for ten 
seconds maximum. The instant I see the second flash, I'm letting him go.Ó 
OWhat about the weigh in?Ó Messier asked. 
OShit,Ó Pike swore. The read-out scale was on the side of the crane boom. He'd have to wait until 
Messier verified the weight. 
As an alternative, they could kill the fish, naming him their one keeper. Then there would be much 
less risk; but if bigger fish were taken by the other guys, they wouldn't do well in this leg. OIs he big 
enough for a keeper?!Ó Pike shouted. 
OCan't tell,Ó Lester called. OHarry's already got eight hundred. This one might go six or seven. 
Maybe more.Ó 
Pike weighed all the elements in a micro-second. OWe'll take this one for our counter!Ó he barked. 
OGood plan,Ó Lester concurred, now that the plan was made. OStand by to crane.Ó 
OI can't see to shoot from up here! Get a zap!Ó 
OGoing for it!Ó Lester answered, quickly limping toward the galley. 
OWhat's happening?!Ó R.R. yelled. 
OHold tight, kid. Change of plan. We're taking this one. Everything's the same for you. Keep a fair 
pressure on him. It's almost over now!Ó 
OFine. I can see him, Pike! He's huge! He's looking right at me!Ó 
OHold tight! Lester said you're hooked up good. The fish can't do a thing down there with the grid 
on! I told you that, didn't I?Ó 
Lester gimped back to the fantail. 
OStanding by with the zap!Ó he called. OReady to crane?Ó 
OStanding by to crane!Ó Pike answered. He looked over at Edmund Messier. OYou any good with 
a las cannon?Ó he asked. 
OYes. Adequate.Ó 
OStand by the cannon then. Don't shoot unless you can see.Ó 
ORoger, Captain,Ó Messier said. Climbing up the ladder, he strapped into the laser cannon harness. 
He would have liked to be friends with these men, but his personality didn't make friends easily. He 
snapped on the power and adjusted the beam to fine. OI'm ready,Ó he called, Obut I can't see a 
thing.Ó 
OBack slow!Ó Lester shouted from down below. OHe's coming in.Ó 
OBack slow,Ó Pike answered, fingering the throttle. 
OCrane..!!Ó Lester yelled. 
Pike hit the crane button. The gears meshed and the net started up. 
OHit him, kid!!Ó Lester yelped. OHe's going through!Ó 
OWhat..?!Ó R.R. yelped back. 
OYank on him!! Now..!!Ó 
R.R. rared back on the rod. He watched in awe as the huge striped fish thrashed up until he was 
almost standing on his tail. Jaws snapped on one of the net cables, severing it like it was nothing. 
Rodney's fishing line snapped with a crack like a rifle shot, slamming R.R. sideways in the fighting 
chair. After a startled moment, Rodney threw the rod aside and started fumbling with the harness. 
The fish crashed back into the water. The weakened net, working only with three of its four cables, 
collected him, hauling his huge muscular tail out of the water. He twisted and bucked in the net, his 
head completely free of any confinement. OKeep him coming!!Ó Lester squawled. The crane 
groaned, but kept hauling its cargo of thrashing fish up. Green water cascaded off the monster. 
Waiting for a brain shot, Lester angled along the rail with the stun gun, a yard away from the twisting 
bulk. 
Rich Rodney scuttled for the galley, dripping a trail of blood from a bloody nose, which the whip-
lashing rod had inflicted. He stood in the galley door, bleeding. 
OStill craning!Ó Pike yelled. OHow are we looking?!Ó 
The fish made a mighty effort to get free. His gigantic head cleared the water, twisting to snap at the 
net. Lester fired. Three high-voltage blasts ripped into the forehead plate. The tail convulsed, 
slapping the gunwale a terrible blow where Lester had stood a second before. Rich Rodney's hair 
stood on end, but Lester continued shooting, pinpointing a line of shots down the backbone, trying to 
quiet the fish by breaking his spine. Finally he hit the right spot. The fish quivered, then lay still in the 
net. 
OThat's it!Ó Lester called. OHaul him up! Weigh him!Ó 
Rich Rodney stepped timidly out of the galley and stood beside Lester, feeling terribly proud of the 
bravery he had witnessed. The huge fish hung in the air beside the boat. It was as long as the whole 
fantail, and they had caught it. OHe's so big,Ó R.R. said, almost reverently. 
Lester Wunderman grinned voraciously. OYou got yourself a fine muskie, Mr. Rod. You done a 
very fine job of fighting him.Ó 
OI was afraid when he got close. Thank you for shooting him. That was extremely brave what you 
did.Ó 
OWell, Pike couldn't see him from the bridge,Ó Lester said, glad the kid had complimented him, but 
disregarding it. He did feel good about the fish. OIt would have been worse trying to release him in 
this slop. We were damn lucky Pike decided her this way.Ó 
OSeven hundred twenty-nine pounds!Ó Pike called out of the fog. 
O729,Ó Lester glowed. OSee, that's a perfect fish. You're in 2nd place, Rod. Couldn't be better.Ó 
Pike climbed down from the bridge. He shook R.R.'s hand and looked the fish over. OI was scared 
shitless the whole time,Ó he laughed. OBut you got a nice fish. We'll photograph it in the slip. And 
you got yourself a real fish story to tell. Not too many people will be topping this one.Ó 
R.R. grinned. 
OYes, sir,Ó Lester grinned, happily. OWe can all tell this one for years to come. And we would 
have a whole shitload of witnesses except that nobody could see their own weenie through this pea 
soup.Ó 
OWhat happened to your nose,Ó Pike asked, handing the kid a handkerchief. 
R.R. dabbed at his nose and saw the blood for the first time. OI thought I was catching a cold,Ó he 
said. OBoy, that's lucky. I hate being all stuffed up.Ó 
Pike flicked a look of disbelief at Lester. OWe'll use the rest of this week to try out some different 
techniques, Richie, so you won't be caught so flatfooted next time.Ó 
OFine,Ó Rich Rodney answered. OLet's go show this beauty to Rita.Ó 
OLet's do that,Ó Pike agreed. 
ODid you guys already eat dinner?Ó the kid inquired. 
OI think maybe I can rustle up a little something for you, Mr. Rod,Ó Lester said, seriously. OOr it 
might be we'll get somebody to buy at the pub dockside.Ó 
OI'll be happy to buy,Ó R.R. said deliriously. 
OYou just hold tight, Mr. Rod. You let somebody offer first when we get back. All of these people 
have plenty of money.Ó 
Richie nodded. 
Pike climbed up to the bridge and threw the boat into slow forward, pointing her at the lights. 
Edmund Messier was standing near the cannon drinking a beer. 
OI couldn't see one thing down there through the fog, Captain Resnick. If something had gone 
wrong, it would have been shit city. My knees won't stop shaking.Ó 
ONothing went wrong,Ó Pike said. OYour knees are shaking because you're cold. I told you to put 
long johns on.Ó 
OI did,Ó Messier said. 
Pike laughed, ODid you bring a beer for me?Ó he asked.  
 
 
 
 

* * *  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

CHAPTER SEVEN  
 
 
 
 

PINK SNAPPER SURPRISE  
 
 
 
 

OWinning, hell yeah. I could tell you more about winning and 
losing, girlie, than most people would want to know about. I 
been fishing this thing for a long time and never came close to 
winning, and I ain't the only one. But let victory reign, I say.Ó 
Macky Duff 
quoted in History of the Tournament  
 
 
 
 
 
 

Rita's surprise was extraordinary. It came later in the evening.  
 
 

First, Pike had the muskie photographed, and reweighed on the dockside scale to make sure the 
scale on the kid's boat was calibrated properly. It was. They were in 2nd place, but Pike doubted if 
they'd stay there. 729 pounds is a whale-sized most places, but not on Ashendon. A tiger muskie of 
just over 1900 pounds, caught here by Ethyl Bierly, the raucous, burly red head, who was a fierce 
competitor. Pike sometimes suspected that she stretched the rules a tiny bit, but there was no doubt 
that somebody on her boat had caught the giant muskie a few years ago. Big ones did live here. 
Thousand pounders were fairly common. The Tournament winner was usually in that weight range. 
Pike told Richie not to get his hopes up that they would do much more than qualify in this round. It 
was true that nobody had taken a muskie in a fogbank before, so the kid got to relish that glory. 
Fishing stories of that crazy magnitude are hard to come by. 
Richie posed for a few photographs to send to his mother, with the two security guys prominently 
placed in the background. Then Harry Dolan insisted on taking them all to dinner. He was leading 
this leg and there was no chance now that Tourbo could knock him out of 1st, not with Pike as his 
captain. Pike would never advise the kid to risk killing another fish by accident. Not this early in the 
Tournament. Hardluck Harry was in good spirits at dinner. So was Richie, who tried to replenish all 
of his burned up carbohydrates at one meal. 
Toward the end of an excellent dinner, Rita announced to the gathered fishermen, including her father 
and mother at another table, that she had gotten permission from her advisory committee to do her 
doctoral thesis on The Economic And Bio-Cultural Benefits Resulting To Distant Planetary 
Systems From Hosting the Star Tournament. Everyone applauded lustily, since they were all half 
potted. Pike was a little disappointed. Not much of a big surpriseNhe already knew about the thesis. 
But after the conversation had swept back to fishing, Rita's laughing eyes met his and she came 
around to his chair to whisper in his ear. 
OI'm willing to renegotiate our agreement, or take a time out,Ó she whispered, touching his ear lobe 
with her lips. OI think you need a reward.Ó 
Pike gulped. OMaybe we should discuss this in private,Ó he suggested. He meant immediately. 
OYou think somebody might overhear and tell us not to?Ó She nudged his shoulder with the tip of 
her right breast. 
ONo, I guess not,Ó Pike replied. 
What a stupid year for his boat to be broken. Pike still wasn't at all sure how the kid would react to 
a full-blown affair between Rita and his captain. Simple human nature dictated that the close confines 
of a boat could be bad news; but so far it was okayNmaybe because of the no sex agreement. 
Pike was sure the kid liked Rita more than he let on. His eyes were always trailing her. A real dumb 
situation. On the other hand, Rita was no fool. She surely knew that Richie was ogling her. They 
must have worked something out regarding that, after all they had been roommates. 
Pike relished the feeling of his ego swelling. Rita, obviously, had a flaw in her operating system; but if 
she thought he was irresistible, why should he miss out on the fun. OWhy don't we fly over to Galatin 
and I'll show you my cottage. We can have a little privacy for the rest of the week.Ó As an 
afterthought, he smiled at FaroukOs wife, Maggie, who seemed to be watching him. 
OGalatin would be fun,Ó Rita said, suddenly remembering something. OIsn't Galatin where you 
invented the Thruster?Ó 
Pike nodded. It's nice to be remembered. 
OSure,Ó she said, enthusiastically. OLet's go. I can get some extremely critical research done. Why 
didn't I think of that?Ó  

*  

The rules didn't allow them to visit the next planets on the schedule, so Galatin Bay seemed like the 
perfect place to teach the kid the basics of fly fishing, and some ocean tactics, in relative safety and 
comfort. Another reason for visiting Galatin was his workshop, which Rita was suddenly interested 
in. A couple of ideas that he wanted to tinker with kept nudging him. One was an accelerator, the 
other was a tide clock that would revolutionize time keeping. Having Rita along should make a 
perfect vacation week. It was time to have some fun.  

*  

R.R. had been so exhausted from fighting the muskie that he headed for his bunk immediately after 
telling the story fourteen times to fourteen different people. They were all so interested in hearing 
every detail. Once he hit the bunk, he was untroubled by the gentle swelling of the lake, and fell 
asleep instantly. Any unexplained sounds of love or traveling to distant planets, didn't intrude into his 
fish dreams. 
Yes, all night long Richie replayed the giant fish, hour after slogging hour, and woke up still aching, 
but exhilarated. It was rather a jolt to step out on deck and find the bright sunshine of Galatin Bay 
blinding him. He quickly slid back down the ladder to retrieve his dark glasses. On deck once more, 
he was relieved to find that the boat was indeed moored securely to Pike's wharf. Yes, there was 
Pike's house, with the dog on the front porch and the quaint little village scattered along the bayNjust 
like it had been when he and Clive visited Galatin Bay looking for Pike. For a minute there, Richie 
had thought he was losing his mind. Pike hadn't mentioned coming to Galatin.  
 
 
 
 
 
 

Perhaps you're wondering where all the sexual precocity that Rich Rodney grew up with (the 
nannies, ogling his mother's friends) went to? He wasn't displaying much of it at the Tournament. The 
answer is, it hadn't gone anywhere. He hadn't even submerged it in the interest of sportsmanship. 
Except for his darling Rita, who he was much too in love with to ogle every minute, there had been 
scarcely any females around for two weeks. What a blessing that was. His subconscious mind knew 
that he'd been given a break to get on with this business of being a man. And he was doing it, wasn't 
he? Heck, yes. He was showing all these gnarly salts that Tourbo blood had what it took to rise to 
the top like rich cream. He tripped over the end of a tie-down line and hurled head first toward the 
railing, breaking his fall at the last split second with a Ken Pao Ri elbow stroke. The fall jarred his 
elbow substantially, but not his dignity. He jumped up, delighted that no one had seen him, and since 
his tumble had knocked the gangway gate open, Richie decided that the inviting gang plank was an 
omen to go exploring. Strange that Pike hadn't told him they were coming here; but hey, Pike was 
the captain. When you're traveling with a legend, one place was as good as another. Sometimes 
better. 
After doing a few shoulder rolls to get his arm working again, Richie dressed for exploring by 
donning his hip boots and cinching the straps up to his belt. He drank a glass of juice in the empty 
galley, then hopped neatly onto the quay. According to the guide book, three of the upcoming 
categories of fish required wading. This seemed like a good time to get used to wearing boots. 
The deceptively innocent harbor water lapped quietly against the quayside. Maybe it would be a 
good idea to install a small historical maker somewhere on this dock, he thought. Nothing fancy, just 
a bronze plaque set in the cracked cement. Something like: On this spot Clive McAndrews 
brought the young R.R. Tourbo to meet Pike Resnick. That seemed appropriate. He would hire 
an artist to design it. Maybe a foot square. Or what the heck, two feet square with some pictures of 
tournament fish in bas relief. Darn good idea. Where do these astounding ideas come from? Simply 
amazing. 
Several weather-beaten old geezer fishermen sat on the wharf mending their nets. They smiled up at 
him, so he smiled back, charitably. The old codgers had probably heard about his growing 
reputation. Pike probably told everybody. 
ONice morning,Ó he said, stepping nimbly around the nets. No tangling feet for the 1st Place 
Fisherman. No thanks, not today. He felt positively ebullient. 
OReal nice hip boots?Ó cackled one of the sinewy old men. 
OThose sure are some fine deck boots, sonny,Ó the other old fart grinned. His face creased in a 
thousand wrinkles. OI been looking for a pair like that myself, to keep my old knees dry. Where'd 
you get 'em?Ó 
R.R. felt his face reddening. They were making fun of him, but so subtly that he couldn't figure out 
what to say back to complete the joke sequence. Of course, it was a good idea to keep your feet 
and knees dry. The old coot probably had arthritic knees. R.R. just smiled and walked on past; but 
unfortunately, his attention had been distracted from his feet and the nets. His toe caught on a 
knotted corner and the darned net seemed to come alive. 
A few minutes of inspired thrashing left Richie hopelessly snarled, like a bottle fly in a spider's web. 
A cacophony of hilarious cackling assaulted his ears as a crowd gathered to watch. 
Pike hadn't said much after finding Rich Rodney trussed up on the quay. Obviously, the kid would 
pay for the nets, so Pike simply cut him free with a minimum of fuss. Richie was strangely quiet 
during the whole episode. Later on, he offered the excuse that he'd slipped and let it go at that.  
 
 
 
 
 
 

OSo I thought what I'd do this week is teach you the rudiments of fly fishing,Ó Pike offered between 
bites of cold pasta salad. The three of them, Rita, the kid and he were having lunch on the porch. 
PikeOs sheep dog, a huge Banta Terror, was carefully staked in the side yard on a short tether out 
of harmOs way. Richie had very nearly choked the two hundred pound dog to death by tangling up 
in his leash while trying to pet him. The dog was now safely way out there in the shade of a lemon 
tree. Lester was somewhere in town doing Lester-type stuff. OCasting, roll casting, knot tying,Ó 
Pike said, listing the elements of fly fishing. 
OGreat,Ó R.R. replied, enthusiastically. OWeOre on the same wavelength. ThatOs why I was 
wearing my hip boots. Fly fishing looks so gracefulNjust like Ken Pao Ri.Ó 
OHave you got a flyrod?Ó 
OYes, sir. I bought a beauty. Clive took me to get it. Same place I ordered that one for you.Ó 
OGood,Ó Pike said. OLet's go try it out.Ó 
Rita smiled, thinking she should bring along the first aid kit, but said nothing.  

*  
 
 

From the start, R.R. was a genius at flycasting. His eight foot, hand built Alcott rod was perfectly 
balanced to a single action reel filled with the front taper floating line that Red Alcott had 
recommended for phantom trout. The reason for using front taper being that long casts were 
preferable, so as not to spook the cautious fish. 
For the practice session, Pike had taken him to a long, flat pond at a country club golf course. 
Champion Fishermen and very rich kids are often allowed to practice fly casting wherever they want 
to. Pike chose the site partly because there were no monster fish in the pond to leap on R.R.'s hook 
and distract him from the lesson, but mainly because there was nothing to snag the back cast except 
the pin on Hole 12, eighteen yards behind. So far the kid had snagged the pin every single time. Pike 
had demonstrated how to tie the barrel leader knot six times after the line broke. R.R. was getting 
that knot down pretty well. Pike thought he might not have to demo it the next time. Rita was in 
stitches. She had volunteered to run up on the green and replace the flag both times that the kid had 
jerked it out. It's not so easy to rip a pin out of the cup from the disadvantage of a low angle at 
eighteen yards. The very thin tippet used for phantom trout was not exactly suitable for playing golf. 
OCome on, Rich, quit screwing around,Ó Pike urged, genially. The kid was ossifying Pike's brain 
synapses. Eight times in a row. OYou realize there's going to be trees in the way when we get on a 
river. Make a shorter cast. The fly simply has to get in the water.Ó 
R.R. noticed that his ears were burning. Somebody was probably talking about him, somewhere. 
OYou've got a natural flair,Ó Pike said. OI can tell. Just shorten up and drop it in the pond. Then I'll 
teach you to roll cast, which is why we're out here. Next time we'll leave Rita at home, if she makes 
you nervous.Ó 
OWhy would Rita make me nervous?Ó Richie inquired. As instructed, he reeled ten yards of flyline 
back into the reel. Then he picked up the remaining line neat as you please, kept it aloft for one false 
cast and sent the tiny fly arching toward the pond water. OI thought you wanted me to make long 
casts. Everybody says you have to for phantoms trout.Ó 
OYeah, that's for trout,Ó Pike agreed. OThis is golf course fishing where you use shorter casts 
because of all the overhanging pins. Okay, let's try a roll cast.Ó 
But before he had time to explain the maneuver, the pond water dimpled under the kid's dry fly, then 
with a swoosh and a belly flop, a three pound phantom trout pounced on the fly. Line zipped out of 
the reel. R.R. had no idea how to play a fish on the willowy rod, so he held on with two hands and 
let the fish rip. To compensate for his lack of skill, his feet slipped out from under him on the inch 
high bluegrass and he skidded artfully down the sandy bank on his ass. The water he landed in was 
only knee deep; but sitting down, it was ass deep. 
OHold him, kid..!Ó Pike yelled encouragement. 
Rita hugged Pike around the waist. OIsn't he just incredible?Ó she gasped. 
OIncredible,Ó Pike agreed. 
OWhat should I do..!!Ó R.R. bellowed. 
OJust hold the rod. It's an ornamental pond, where can he run to? Look out he doesn't jump in your 
pocket and fillet himself on your knife.Ó 
OWhat kind is he? Boy, he sure is fighting!Ó The sweet little rod was bent in a high arch, because 
Richie had somehow clamped one hand over the fleeing line. 
OLet him take the line, boy!Ó 
Richie let loose of the line and almost lost the rod in the resultant lurch that followed. OWhat kind of 
fish is it?Ó 
OA phantom trout, what else. That's what you're fishing for, isnOt it?Ó 
OThat's really strange,Ó Rita marveled. OI thought phantoms could only live in fast flowing water. 
Somebody must have put some in this pond and they survived like alligators in sewers. Very 
strange.Ó 
OIf you think that's strange,Ó Pike said, dead-pan, OI snipped the hook off that fly, so Richie 
wouldn't catch himself or us while he was practicing. The fucking fish is holding it in his pouty little 
mouth and won't let go.Ó 
OMaybe it's caught in his gill or something,Ó Rita suggested. 
ODon't bet on it,Ó Pike said.  
 
 
 
 
 
 

Meanwhile the fishermen toiled and moiled on Ashendon A.R. raising muskies from the weed beds, 
keeping them or tossing them back, depending on how they felt about their fishing luck. Because of 
the keeper rule, muskies were a tough class. Different crews had various kinds of luck with the 
netting process. All that mucking around with cranes bounced many fish off before they could be 
weighed. Occasionally, somebody failed to hook another. The Baron, Farouk Bardona, found 
himself in that tricky position. 
Earlier this morning he had lost a fifty pound fish that he wanted to weigh, so heOd be qualified, but 
not keep. The clumsy deck hand who misjudged the net was on his way to unemployment, and 
didnOt even know it yet. Working a crane wasnOt that difficult. 
At any rate, the Baron was still plying the waters in search of a big fish. There was still plenty of time, 
and just qualifying wouldn't do much good given his lousy showing in the preceding categories, not 
when he had his sights set on winning the Tournament. 
It had filled his black heart with euphoria to see Resnick's boat irreparably damaged on the first day 
of the Tourney, leaving the field wide open for a real fisherman. Half of the other bozos didn't really 
give a shit about winning, they were in it for the sport. Farouk had never understood that kind of 
addle-brained thinking. He was dying to win the Tournament, why else pay the entry fee? His crew 
and his local guides were always top flight, they cost him a small fortune. To get the best, he spared 
no expense, cinching up the people he wanted long in advance, paying twice the going rate to get the 
best. Since he was so generous, it seemed fair to withhold the last payment if a guide failed to 
deliver; and naturally, if a deck hand fumbled a landing, he was looking for a job the next day. 
Winning was serious business, there was no room on his yacht for a fuck-up. 
While everyone else referred to their craft as fishing boats, Farouk's was always a yacht. That was 
the name, para-yachts, why not call a thing by its name? He seldom fished from the Lady Slipper. 
That was his home. Was there a reason to discommode himself or his family in order to go fishing? 
He thought not. Two secretaries and an accountant lived permanently aboard the house yacht, and 
his computer system was up-graded whenever an upgrade was available. Intergalactic business as 
usual was transacted with him in daily contact to make the decisions for his far flung empire. 
Incompetence at all levels needed to be dealt with swiftly. Why put off firing a sluggard long enough 
to let him make another mistake? His fortune had not been built on bleeding heart policies. But he 
had never won the Tournament and that rankled. Grated his nerve endings. He was a much better 
fisherman than any of these assholes, and the biggest lucky asshole of them all, Resnick, was out of 
the water. Beautiful. No last minute runs of luck to ace Farouk out this year. But we should have 
landed that runty muskie. Christ, what if they suddenly stopped biting? His good categories were still 
ahead. 
And Rita. That girl was determined to turn his hair pure whiteNshe wasn't satisfied with grey streaks. 
Going off with Resnick and that lucky, brainless kid. Well, the kid was rich, that part was okay; but 
he wasn't doing a damned thing to increase his net worth, and that was creepy. Creepy and clumsy. 
Rita could get hurt at any second around him. How she survived three years at school with Mr. 
Clumsy was a miracle. What was a father to do, forbid her to socialize with a geek she'd lived with 
at that freaky liberal moron college? Tourbo was somewhat wealthy and might one day be useful. 
But probably not. As a father, Farouk was too soft where Rita was concerned, and he knew it. But 
what could he do? His little girl liked to have fun, and he couldn't deny her that. But why was that 
lucky jerk-off Tourbo hanging around with Resnick? Maybe old Resnick was inventing something 
else, and was wooing Tourbo to invest. The kid was shrewd, in spite of being brainlessNhad to be 
with a mother like that. What was that sleazy bastard Pike up to, besides trying to seduce Rita, just 
to get my goat. He was a disgusting, poverty stricken leper. What could she ever see in him? Easy, 
Farouk old boy, don't get worked up. He tried to remember if he'd taken his blood pressure pill with 
breakfast. He couldn't recall. In fact, there was no memory of breakfast at all. 
OJoseph..!Ó he called out to his black Creolite chef. OFix me a breakfast special!Ó 
OYes, sir, Baron,Ó the chef answered, sticking his head out the galley door. ODid you want that the 
same as the first one?Ó 
OExactly the same,Ó Farouk replied, stifling a yawn. 
ORight away, Baron. Will you eat in the galley or should I bring the folding table?Ó 
OThe table. I have to keep thrashing,Ó he chuckled, baronially. How had that miserable, bumbling 
Chet messed up the net work on that perfect fifty pound fish? DidnOt he know I always have a 
tough time with muskies? And it was rotten luck to draw shit-head Barrow for the judge on this leg. 
The fucker was unbribable.  
 
 
 
 

* * *  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

CHAPTER EIGHT  
 
 
 
 

DEEP WATER SCUT  
 
 

OWhat is winning? Winning is one thing for a woman and something 
else for a man. Unfortunately, no woman has ever won the Tournament; 
but as far as we know, no man has ever gotten pregnant. Kind of a trade off.Ó 
Jean Santos 
quoted in History of the Tournament  
 
 

On Sunday morning, Pike and Rita were still at the Galatin Bay cottage, getting to know each other. 
Richie had rented a room for the week at the Orchard House Hostel, after Rita made it clear that he 
was not invited to stay at Pike's cottage. He could visit, after calling first. The house and workshop 
were full of breakable inventions and family heirlooms that Rita quickly became protective of. Rich 
accepted her visiting arrangements without a murmur, evidently used to Rita setting the rules, or 
aware that his mere presence seemed to shatter stainless steel lawn furniture. But all week they had 
eaten lunch and dinner as a group, discussing strategyNand R.R. had even learned fly casting after a 
fashion. 
Leaving the golf course, Pike moved the lessons to a deserted beach where trout wouldn't be a 
distraction. True, several flying fish had zipped out of the nearby breakers to commit suicide by 
nabbing his fly over the white sand, but Richie could make a pretty good cast after twenty hours of 
practice.  
 
 

*  
 
 

After eleven days of abstinence, the lovers had both been very ready to be attentive. The eagerness 
lasted all week and by Sunday a lot of tension had evaporated. Pike knew how to manage quite well 
on his home territoryNa fact that Rita was delighted to have reconfirmed. On Richie's boat he was 
tentative with her, here he was fine. Even Pike recognized the difference after she commented on it 
several times. He even laughed about it. When you're the king of your own cottage and the dove 
you're fetched on is feeding you wild grapes and doing other pleasantries, it's easy to laugh. 
Pike had even managed to put some hours in on several new inventions while Rita was writing. 
Tinkering had been fun until about midweek, when it became apparent that the tide clock wouldn't 
work universally. Too much moon discrepancy. So he had put it away with the other breakable 
putterings to be worked on later, and started the drawings for a new leverage system that had just 
occurred to him. 
Lester was back on the boat, sporting a purple shiner around his left eye, gained Pike had heard 
while defending R.R.'s reputation to a large drunk. Otherwise he was in good spirits. Lester enjoyed 
his shore time. A few good fights cleanse the poisons, he was fond of saying.  
 
 
 
 
 
 

When Pike called to report his flight plan to Giedon, he found that the kid's muskie was locked 
pretty solidly in 4th place. Three luckless boats were still fishing, among them Farouk BardonaOs. 
Pike chuckled to himself. Farouk always ate shit with muskies. He had probably missed half a dozen 
little ones and now his boat was in panic. The guide had no doubt been fired without his final 
paycheck. Farouk was a character all right. The guides and deck hands all laughed at him behind his 
back, but they couldn't afford not to sign on at double fee. But 4th Place was good. Very good. If it 
held up.  
 
 
 
 
 
 

Late Sunday afternoon, the Comparative Humanity left Galatin Bay and after a brief visit to 
hyperspace splashed down in the deep water harbor on Giedon's main island. Most of the fishing 
boats were already berthed in the swanky marina, and since fishing couldn't start until midnight, the 
traditional non-stop party was blasting on the Yacht Club dock, which glowed greenly under a huge 
neon sign: Scut Capitol of the Universe. 
Giedon was the most industrialized of all the worlds in the Tournament. Every year it looked more 
prosperous than the last. This was mostly due to the Baron. 
Except for some sea birds, the large islands were mostly barren when the Tournament first started 
coming. The Baron took a liking to the place, probably because he had a thing going with scut. He 
seemingly owned this leg. Such a fondness developed with each victory, that he moved a large part 
of his manufacturing empire up to Giedon and the other planets of the Starfleck System. Except 
para-yachts. He would have moved para-yacht building, too, but Thaddeus Golan wouldn't budge. 
Why could the Baron catch scut when he had such a terrible time with muskies? Impossible to say. 
Although scut are true fish and not mammals, they are exceedingly like small whales. They eat 
nothing but plankton, and thus are almost impossible to entice to a lure or bait. Actually, Pike never 
understood where the sport was in scut fishing, and he voted against the category whenever the 
question was raised. True, they are delicious to eat, and none of the flesh went to waste, since it was 
canned for export, but that was hardly reason enough to hound and kill the lugubrious hogs. Farouk 
thought hooking up to a wallowing sea hog and being towed all over the ocean was the greatest of 
fun. Finally exhausted, the monster floated to the surface, rupturing its swim bladder in the process. 
Well, screw it, the party was always swinging on Giedon. Because the Yacht Club was composed 
mainly of executives from Bardona Wingless, putting on a yearly fete for the boss and his friends 
made good business sense. Having a photo snapped beside a smiling Farouk with his prize fish was 
considered a prime road to advancement. The Lady Slipper and Farouk's two fishing smacks still 
weren't at their traditional tie up beside the fake lighthouse, Pike was delighted to see. That meant the 
Baron was still slugging it out on Ashendon. Or maybe a pirate got him. Fat chance of that. All three 
yachts always traveled together. Between them they carried enough armament to stop an invasion 
armada. 
Rita and Richie joined Pike on the bridge as he maneuvered along the marina channel past hundreds 
of fancy sailing sloops and power cutters. As always the big regatta in honor of the Tournament 
would begin with a fireworks display the instant Bardona showed up. Since he was invariably late, 
the good toadies sailed up and down the channels all day flying their nautical flags and getting 
potched. It was an awesome display of asskissery. 
OWelcome to Giedon, party planet of the stars,Ó Pike said to the two kids. 
OGosh,Ó R.R. said. OIt's pretty crowded.Ó 
ODon't worry, all these good folks will be slaving away at the sweat shops tomorrow and the rest of 
the week to impress the boss. We'll have the ocean strictly to ourselves. Not even a rowboat will get 
in the way.Ó 
Rita smiled. OWhat Pike means,Ó she said to R.R., Ois that Daddy's factories are here. Most of 
these people work for him.Ó 
OOh, that's right,Ó Richie replied. He dimly remembered knowing that Giedon was where many of 
the Baron's factories were. So this was the same Giedon. There were so many planets, it was hard 
to keep them all straight. 
ONose to the grindstone is what Farouk likes best,Ó Pike said, motoring the boat into its assigned 
slip. 
Rita wrinkled her pretty nose. OThese factories make a lot of really useful things,Ó she said, in 
defense of her father. 
OTruer words were never spoken,Ó Pike agreed. 
Richie smiled a big lop-sided grin. Rita had always had a hard time saying nice things about her 
father. Too bad the Baron didn't give her a little more to work with.  
 
 
 
 
 
 

So it looked like the kid's 4th place muskie would hold up, giving him another two points for a total 
of twelve. With any kind of normal distribution of luck on the remaining planets, that might be enough 
to win the Oscar. Pike had once come in second on fourteen points, without winning any category. 
Aah, but it was wearisome. The kid was such a klutz that he might swamp the boat at any minute. 
Maybe he'd trip over the toilet bowl on one of his trips to the head, knock the sea caulks loose and 
not tell anybody until it was too late. Pike held a strategy conference with Lester, while Rita and 
Richie were reconnoitering the Yacht Club, cautioning him to keep a sharp look-out for such suicidal 
accidents. Then with nothing better to do until morning, Pike and Lester went ashore to spread a few 
beers among the local fishermen and chat them up about recent catches. 
Around ten o'clock Pike found Rita and the kid sitting at a table with Dresden Carthy, Jean Santos 
and a few other fishermen. A bevy of celebrity hounds were buying champagne. The discussion 
centered around the complete ease of catching scut. The only trick being to catch a bigger one than 
the Baron's. Empty magnums of champagne were being constantly replaced with full ones by 
uniformed waiters. 
When Pike sat down, Jean Santos was pretty much in her cups. A respectable pile of pink straws lay 
on the table in front of her. OThat awful Baron!Ó she slurred. OEverybody knows he has a huge 
one penned up. Frogmen swim down and put his hook in it. There's no other explanation for him 
winning every year, but nobody can prove it.Ó She simpered in Rita's direction. 
Rita smiled back, somewhat amused. People were always attacking her father. He seemed to relish 
the notoriety. 
OThis year will be differentÓ Jean yapped, sipping her champagne through a new pink straw. OI 
plan to fish right off his bow all week long. My third mate happens to be Lanny Davits, the 
photographer. You've probably seen his work in Sports Aloft.Ó She glanced around the table 
expectantly. Several sycophants nodded hopefully. OLanny's job will be to stay on deck with his 
camera and his sunscreen, and photograph anything at all that looks suspicious. This year we're going 
to catch the old fox!Ó 
Snorts of laughter greeted her pronouncement. Even Dresden Carthy thought Jean's scheme was 
outrageously wonderful. He rocked with alcoholic mirth and applause. He must be trying to line 
himself up to screw Jean, Pike supposed. Trying that hard wasn't necessary, but Dresden apparently 
didn't want to risk rejection. 
Jean Santos was a woman who like sex almost any way it was presented. She reportedly screwed 
everybody on her boat in shifts. Part of her crew's shipping papers was to agree not to make jealous 
scenes, at risk of being released with no severance pay and no share of the purse. She was not a one 
man woman. Pussy or purse was the way she described the arrangement, when she got drunk and 
loud. Of course, Jean never finished very high in the Tournament, since her crew was chosen more 
for good looks and dong size than fishing ability, but she seemed to enjoy herself afloat. An heiress 
can spend her money fishing, if she wants to. 
After a few minutes of further useless chit-chat, Pike said he was going back to the boat and advised 
his two charges not to get drunk. Scut were fished in deep water, where the wave conditions could 
turn ugly with storm or wind. A belly full of champagne could make life ungallant. 
OLoosen up a little,Ó Jean demanded. OYou've always so serious, Pike. How often do we get to a 
nice party like this? Young people like to have fun.Ó 
Pike smiled stiffly in reply and stood up to leave. Rita rose too and came around the table. OI'm 
worried about Daddy,Ó she said. OEverybody else is already here.Ó 
OWe can call Ashendon if you're worried.Ó He started walking along the brightly lighted quay, 
nodding to people he knew. She slipped her arm around his waist. Their hip bones fit together nicely, 
without bumping. OHe can fish for muskies until midnight, so I wouldn't start worrying until then.Ó 
OI know. I worry about him unless I'm with him, then I don't worry at all. Isn't that stupid? You 
don't like him very much, do you?Ó 
OHe hasn't given me much reason to lately.Ó 
OI know. That's really stupid, too. I know he admires you, but heOs so controlling. I hate it when 
he's like that. I don't let him do it to me, and seriously, Pike, you shouldn't either.Ó 
OIt's a little late for that.Ó 
OI mean on your new things.Ó 
OOh, sure. My new fabulous inventions, like the tide clock,Ó he said, with more of an edge of 
sarcasm than he had intended. The envisioned leverage system for encouraging big recalcitrant fish to 
come up and jump, thereby tiring themselves out, hadn't panned out particularly well either. His mind 
hadn't wrapped around the project, so it was still in limbo. And the reports he'd heard the last few 
hours weren't very encouraging about scut. There had been a bumper crop of plankton earlier in the 
year and scut were plentiful, but some shift in the warm water current where both scut and plankton 
flourished had caused no scut to be caught closer inshore than the Flat Bank for over a monthNand 
the Flat Bank was a hundred miles out to sea. Joy of living. It was a very big ocean. He'd have to 
chart girds and hunt his butt off to find the current. Stupid, undependable ocean. Fish finders and 
temperature gauges were only allowed on the water. No fly-over scanning. Airborne technology 
existed, of course. Commercial fishermen used it; but for Tournament fishing it was considered 
unsporting. Oh, well, somebody would find the current, then they could all start fishing. The Baron, 
of course, would decoy for a few days, then putter out to his fish cage where his frogman would 
make the hook up. Or something like that. 
Speaking of the devil! Rita squealed delightedly as the Lady Slipper popped into view over the 
marina, followed closely by Farouk's two fishing yachts. The boats splashed down near their empty 
moorings, and deck hands scurried to hoist a day-glo orange Big Fish flag. The flag was normally 
used to alert judges and dock hands that a big fish was coming in. They were also good for a 
captain's ego. Since Bardona obviously hadn't caught a scut yet, it could only mean that Farouk had 
caught a prize tiger and wanted to brag about it here. Shit, Pike thought. 
A loudspeaker on the Lady Slipper coughed to life. Bardona's grating voice blasted the yacht club 
and surrounding counties. OHey, Resnick..!Ó the augmented voice gloated. ORead 'em and weep! 
You and the klutz just got dropped to 5th place! The plot thickens..!Ó 
OShit,Ó Pike said, aloud. A murmur started among the crowd, and turned to scattered applause as 
the toadies realized who was speaking and what the bantering words meant. Within seconds the 
evening was rent by a roar of approval. A skyrocket burst over the fake lighthouse. The fireworks 
show had begun. The beloved Baron had arrived victorious and the party could begin. Pike left Rita 
to greet her father and mother without him, and went aboard the Comparative Humanity to compare 
notes with Lester and start work on the scut finding charts.  
 
 
 
 
 
 

At 6:00 AM, Pike and Lester along with Curtis Plotkin, the judge for this leg, were in the galley, 
breakfasting on tea and dry toast. Old time sailors have a healthy regard for their stomachs when 
unknown sea conditions are in the offing. Inshore fishing, where a land mass is constantly on the 
horizon, has nothing to do with deep water scut. Pike had a scouting plan set for the day. Lester and 
he had decided on it last night. Since there was nothing to discuss now, they ate in silence. Both were 
aware that neither Rita nor the kid were aboard and hadn't been last night. 
Due to the Baron's big muskie, Richie had lost a point, and now had only eleven, which probably 
wouldn't be enough to win. Hardluck Harry already had ten. Well, maybe this would be Harry's 
year. He was certainly due. A good man can't be held down forever. 
The other boats were puttering out of the marina trying to be deceptive about where they were 
going. The kid should be ready to fish, too, but he wasn't. Not a whole lot to discuss about that 
either, so the crew munched toast in silence. Richie was supposed to be a fisherman. Pike wasn't 
about to go chasing around Giedon looking for him. Anyway, he had spotted the bodyguards last 
night, staying unobtrusively out of the way, but on duty nevertheless. It was a good bet that the kid 
wasn't kidnapped. More probably Jean and Carthy had gotten him plastered and he was sleeping it 
off in his hotel room. So..? So the kid was an adult. If he didn't want to fish, there was no law 
requiring it. Rita was also an adult. Not a particularly courteous one it seemed, when it came to 
informing her bunk mate as to a change in sleeping arrangements. But hey, Pike wasn't in the mood 
to chase her either. She was with Richie or on the Lady Slipper or somewhere else. 
After breakfast was finished, Lester went about his business of making sure the big reels were 
serviceable, and Pike gave Plotkin a tentative day off, advising him to stay aboard and be available 
until noon, in case the boss showed, then he crawled into the engine room for some routine 
maintenance, which didn't need to be done since the boat was brand new. He felt like a chump, a 
feeling he detested, but one that kept showing up year after yearNpart of the Resnick emotional 
repertory. 
About 8:30, Rich Rodney came waltzing down the dock, grinning ear to ear. His bodyguards 
stopped at the end of the quay and stood there with their thumbs up their asses. 
OMorning!Ó R.R. beamed. OWell, I'm all chowed down and ready to go.Ó The grin abated 
somewhat as he noticed that all the other boats were gone. OWhere is everybody?Ó he asked, 
hopping lightly through the open gangway. His ankle twisted slightly when he landed, but he shook it 
off. 
OOh, they went to test their engines, I guess,Ó Pike said, employing high irony. He could feel the 
heat rising under his tan work shirt collar, but absolutely vowed he wouldn't let the kid's stupidity get 
to him. It was R.R.'s problem, not his. Pike had thought about telling him last night, but decided that 
the best way to cure the kid's gullibility was to let him get burned over and over. Pike couldn't hold 
his hand through all of life's difficulties. Richie was either going to be a fisherman or he wasn't. 
OI guess we should test ours too, huh?Ó Richie suggested, cheerfully. OGosh, I feel like fishing. Too 
bad scut never bite until late afternoon.Ó He stroked a deep sea reel affectionately. OWell, should 
we fire her up?Ó 
OLester and I already tested her. She's fine.Ó He wished he had a 2x4 to brain the goofball with. 
Gentle sarcasm never seemed to work. Maybe a more direct method would. OOut of curiosity, 
which one of your new drinking buddies let you in on the habits of scut?Ó 
OOh, everybody knows about that,Ó he said, airily. OThat's why they like to come to Giedon. It's a 
change of pace.Ó 
OKind of like with howlers,Ó Pike replied, dryly. 
OI never thought of that, but it is. Say, you guys weren't waiting on me to have breakfast, were 
you?Ó Pike nodded his head in the negative. OOh, good, because I just had a mammoth breakfast 
on the Lady Slipper. Do you suppose the Baron eats like that every day? Unbelievable. They just 
kept bringing stuff. Pancakes, bacon and eggs, sausage, fruit compote, fresh biscuits and gravy. It 
must cost him a fortune to feed all that crew.Ó 
OThe Baron was there?Ó Pike asked, knowing Farouk had gone to sea hours ago. 
ONo, actually, just Rita and her mom and the secretarial staff. He had to see about some trouble at 
the factory. I guess it's lucky for him scut are so easy to catch. He doesn't have much time for fishing 
while he's here.Ó 
OThat's where Rita is, on the Lady Slipper?Ó 
OYeah, she's going shopping with her mother today. Kind of an obligatory shopping spree, they're 
part owner of all the shops. I guess she'll be here before we go out, but maybe she won't.Ó 
OLet me suggest something gently to you, Richie. You're so full of shit, you're eyeballs are floating.Ó 
That knocked the idiot's grin askew. 
And Pike went on. OAll your great new friends and advisors are fucking with you because youOre 
ahead of them, and even more so because you're a tenderfoot. Everything you did since you went 
ashore last night was wrong. And believe me, they're all laughing at the good one they pulled.Ó 
OYeah..?Ó 
OYes. Tournament fishermen are kind of shitty about having their fun with greenhorns.Ó 
OYeah, like what for instance?Ó 
OI could write a book. You're a perfect target, apparently.Ó 
OYeah, like what..?Ó R.R. was getting a little hot. He didn't know what this was about, but he could 
tell that Pike was angry. Maybe he was mad about the Baron inviting him and Rita to spend the night, 
and not asking Pike. Well, that was too darned bad. Old man Pike wasn't around. He'd already 
turned in. OCome on, tell me how full of shit I am?Ó he demanded. 
Pike leaned on the smooth gunwale and began his list. OFirst of all Dres Carthy and Jean the 
Wonder Girl got you sloshed on champagne, so you'd be hung over and sick today. Then they filled 
your head full of bull about how easy scut are to catch. Right?Ó 
OI drank very little champagne. I don't like it.Ó 
OBut you now think scut are a snap to catch, right?Ó 
OEveryone says so. It must be true, a conspiracy can't be that big.Ó 
OIt's true, all right. After you hook them, they're easy to catch. But hooking them is almost 
impossible. Get it!Ó Pike exploded. OYou were had, and then lulled to sleep by half truths. They 
don't want you to be sharp. And now you've missed a whole day of fishing, which youOll probably 
need since the scut are very scarce. But nobody mentioned that, I'll bet. Did they..?Ó 
R.R. started to look a little unsure of himself. OScarce..? Isn't this the scut capitol of the Universe?Ó 
OYes and no. It is the only place that scut live, but not this week. And not even this month. The 
currents changed and the scut are out to sea. Which is where all your competitors are. Looking for 
the vanished scut!Ó 
OOh.Ó Richie glanced around the marina again. Sure enough, the fishing boats were gone. That they 
were fishing seemed a far better explanation than testing their engines. After all, they were here to 
fish. OWell, let's go then,Ó he said, rubbing his hands together. OWe've only lost a few hours.Ó 
OAnother part of the joke. The good Farouk stuffed your belly with greasy food. If I put you on 
those big seas, you'll be sick as a dog and unable to fish. I can't fish for you, so today is out. Maybe 
we can fly over and see what's going on.Ó 
OI insist we go,Ó R.R. chirped. OI will instruct my mind not to be sick. I haven't been sick in 
weeks.Ó 
OGreat. You make up your mind, and I'll lay bets. There's more than one way to get rich around 
here. Hey, Lester! You want to bet me the kid won't get sick with his belly loaded down with 
pancakes?Ó 
Lester limped out of the galley. OHi, Rich,Ó he said. OWhat's this bet?Ó 
ONah, you don't want to bet,Ó Pike shrugged. OI couldn't give you long enough odds. Go back to 
what you were doing.Ó 
OMaking hard biscuits for the week?Ó 
OFine.Ó 
Lester didn't question Pike, who apparently needed him for a moment and now didn't need him. He 
went back to the galley. 
Richie appeared deep in troubled thought. OI can't believe Rita would let me do something that was 
dangerous to winning. She wants us to win.Ó 
OWell, giving her the benefit of the doubt, let's say her father fooled her, too. Rita, whatever she 
might be, is not a fisherman. If she wanted to, she could have a boat of her own; but obviously, she 
isn't interested in that. This time of year the Tournament is her home, because of a foible of her 
father's. She might even have a tendency to believe what her father says.Ó 
OI see,Ó Rodney said. 
OI sincerely doubt if you do,Ó replied Pike. OI've got you sized up as a fairly nice kid who likes to 
live on the positive side of things. However, your good buddy, Baron Bardona, is a heartless prick, 
who would do anything to win this show. Tricking his daughter into tricking you is completely within 
his range of prickdom. And lest you forget, he didn't want you in the Tournament from the first.Ó 
OHe apologized for that last night,Ó R.R. murmured. 
OSwell,Ó Pike said. OAnd you shook his slimy hand.Ó 
Rich nodded. 
OI guess that pretty well covers it. For future reference, my friends on this cruise are Mordachi 
Skinner and old Ira Fairborne. I'm not as chummy with Harry Dolan, but he's an honest man, and 
won't win by knavery. If you don't love getting reamed, confide your dockside chats to those three. 
And to be on the safe side, check what they, or anybody else, tells you with me or Lester.Ó 
Richie nodded again, feeling chastened. The Baron had warned him not to trust those three, 
specifically. This manhood stuff had a lot of angles. OCan't we try it, at least?Ó he implored. OI feel 
fine. If it turns out I'm not up to it, we can come back, can't we?Ó 
OSure, kid. That's the spirit. No hooks in the water, no fish. Right? 
ORight.Ó  
 
 
 
 
 
 

Richie was never so sick in his entire life. Dying would have been pleasurable compared to dying this 
way. He had held on as long as he could, but the waves kept coming like bilious sick green 
mountains. Finally, he unstrapped himself from the chair and flopped onto the deck with his head 
next to a cleat hole in the gunwale and let fly. Lester tied a life line around his ankle. 
After what seemed like a lifetime, Pike relented and hauled him into the galley, then flew back to the 
marina. The whole experience had lasted less than an hour. Pike had made one mark on his carefully 
worked out grid. 
Back on solid ground, sitting at a table under an awning at the yacht club, R.R. was fine. The 
bodyguards had been surprised to see him, but they now stood watchfully and not very 
inconspicuously in the shade of the clubhouse ten yards away. 
ODon't let this sour you on fishing,Ó Pike warned, ordering a shoreside breakfast for himself. OBe 
in the galley before dawn tomorrow and Lester will make sure you're a happy fisherman.Ó 
OI will,Ó R.R. promised. OI think I'll go find Rita and her mother and do some shopping instead of 
watching you eat, if that's all right.Ó 
OGood plan. Buy something nice for Lester, since he cleaned up after you.Ó 
R.R. nodded miserably and tottered away, not even bothering to trip over his feet.  
 
 
 
 
 
 

By Thursday, things were back to normal. Rita had resumed sleeping in Pike's bed, saying she just 
wanted to keep it interesting by not being constantly available. She then insisted on a complete 
description of how much he had missed her. And on Wednesday the warm current was discovered 
by Ira Fairborne and Mordachi Skinner searching in tandem, 175 miles NNW of the marina. How it 
shifted way out there was anybody's guess, but there it was and so were the scut. Not that Ira and 
Mordachi had a notion of telling anyone where the current was. On Wednesday evening, when they 
landed in the marina each with big scut hausered to his aft deck, they took the precaution of flying in 
from the wrong direction. Breasting up to the yacht club bar with a cooked up story about where the 
current was, they had a great time adding elaborate details to the lie. In fact, they had no thought of 
returning to the current the rest of the week, unless someone else found it and caught a bigger scut. 
But technology foiled them. 
Everybody had been fishing sections, drawing detailed charts and keeping a close eye on the other 
boats with long range radar. Giedon had millions of hectares of open water, but the radar had been 
developed to pin point boats in trouble, and it also pinpointed boats in fat city as easily. So on 
Thursday, fishing had returned to normal. But R.R.Os luck hadn't. 
Pike had explained the technique patiently. Find the plankton concentration, chart the fish's direction 
on the fish finder and drift the hook into his mouth as he seines up the plankton. Fine. Richie 
understood everything, but he couldn't do it. He said it was alien to fishing. It wigged out his fish 
catching apparatus. Wigged out? So they tried all day Thursday and into the night, and while 
everyone else was flying fresh catch flags, they weren't. Great, Pike fumed. The perfect end to a 
perfect tournament. Shut out in the easiest category of all. And scut were plentiful in the current. 
There was hardly a time all day that one or two weren't on the Loran screen. 
Again on Friday, Pike maneuvered the boat perfectly over forty or fifty fish. After thirty misses, he 
sent Rita down to the fishing deck to distract the kid. Maybe if his brain was disengaged from scut, 
he could hook one. But he didn't. 
By Saturday, Richie had completely lost faith in his ability. He laughed condescendingly at himself 
every time a drift failed. Pike was beside himself. How could the kid's luck get fucked up for no 
reason? He was still a beginner, wasn't he? Shouldn't beginner's luck still apply? Just one scut! What 
was so impossible about that? Not even a big one. Any size. Where was the clumsy shithead of 
yore? Even Curtis Plotkin took a turn at coaching him. Why not? If Richie aced himself out of the 
tourney, one judge would be out of a job. 
So Sunday dawned stormy and very windy. Small craft warnings were up; but if they didn't fish, 
they'd be going back home broke. Pike insisted, however, that Rita stay ashore for safety. The 
stormy seas would be very hairy today. He relayed the news to her, while she was still snuggled in 
the warm bunk. He had to admit that sleeping with her already felt normalNeven permanent. She 
always smelled so damned good, and she never twisted up the covers or pushed him to the edge of 
the bed. 
OYou think I'm unlucky, don't you?!Ó she murmured, stretching lazily. 
Warning flags came out. OI never said that,Ó he said 
OYou didn't have to. You've been acting like it all week It's bullshit! Women are no more unlucky 
than eating bananas.Ó 
Pike blanched. Eating bananas on board a fishing boat, or even having them, is thought by most 
skippers to be unlucky beyond words. How that superstition came into being nobody knows, but it's 
a major no-no. OHave you been eating bananas?Ó he asked. 
ONo, I have not! Do you think I'm stupid?Ó 
OHas Richie?Ó 
OHow would I know? Why don't you ask him?Ó She grabbed her clothes and stomped out of their 
room. Crossing the tight hallway, she slammed into Richie's suite. The door banged closed and Pike 
heard the deadbolt snick into place. OI'm not getting off the boat, so just take your bad luck and 
shove it!Ó she shouted through the teak door. 
Pike sucked at his front teeth and pulled his foul weather gear out of the tiny closet. Maybe Richie 
ought to wear his hip boots. That might get his luck going. 
OHey..!!Ó Rita yelled through the door. OThere's bananas in here!Ó She opened the door and 
stepped out holding a hand of blackening bananas. 
Pike stared at the overripe fruit, shaking his head in disbelief. 
OThey were sitting on the top shelf of his closet,Ó Rita laughed. OGod knows how long they've 
been there.Ó 
OSince last Sunday while you were shopping,Ó Pike said, grimly. He was glad the bananas had 
been found, but it was still a lousy day for fishing. And he'd always believed that bananas were just 
an old wife's tale. 
But when Richie came aboard, he questioned him about the rotting fruit. Abashed, he admitted they 
were a spur of the moment gift from Dresden Carthy. Dresden had said he always kept bananas in 
his room for emergency snacks, since they're so rich in potassium. Potassium gives you stamina. It 
had seemed like a good idea to R.R. That way he wouldn't have to bother Lester for a snack every 
time he got hungry.  
 
 
 
 
 
 

So the Comparative Humanity steamed out of the marina for a day of scut fishing in hell. But before 
leaving, Pike steered close by Carthy's boat. Dresden waved gaily at them. He would not be going 
out todayNnobody would who had a fish. Pike watched with satisfaction as Lester heaved the 
rotting mess right at Dres, who ducked. Bananas splattered against the sparkling clean galley wall. 
OHave some bananas!Ó Lester yelled in outrage. 
Carthy stood up, laughing good-naturedly. OHave a nice day fishing,Ó he called back.  
 
 
 
 
 
 

Nobody on the boat believed that bananas could be bad luck. Really, it was preposterous. How 
could a fruit, part of nature's bounty, be bad luck unless somehow a person choked on it? But by 
eight AM, under impossible sea conditions, R.R. had managed to hook a good-sized scut, even 
though none had shown up on the fish finder. A strange kid, Pike thought for the thousandth time. 
On his own, Richie had decided to cast out to get a feel for the new reel he had purchased last night. 
And the scut had hit the wiggly lure he had tied on the line, apparently charging full blast from 
somewhere out of range of the finder. The force of the hit pulled R.R. half overboard; but Lester had 
been standing right there admiring the new reel. Lester grabbed the safety line that the kid wore 
against the treacherous weather and himself, and got him to put the reel in free spool. In a few 
minutes all was calm except the sea and they were being towed by the fish. The line wasn't as heavy 
as Pike would have liked, but then the scut wasn't gigantic. Three hours of fighting the sea and the 
fish, put the scut aboard, and they qualified to keep fishing. It was kind of a mixed blessing, Pike felt; 
but he accepted his fate and got off an EJmail to June Madrigal, confirming that they still wanted him 
to guide them on Segumi, if they got that far.  
 
 
 
 
 
 

* * *  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

CHAPTER NINE  
 
 
 
 

PHANTOM TROUT  
 
 

OWhat is winning... Well, look around you. Everyone here is a 
winnerNbig time. If you've got that much dough to spend on fishing, 
you're doing something right.Ó 
Alaska Bill Bolen 
quoted in History of the Tournament  
 
 
 
 

There are many paradise worlds in the Universe. Streamside is one of them. The mountains are 
majestic and temperate. The skies are blue and dotted with fleecy clouds. And the streams are wild 
and swift flowing. About a hundred park rangers live year round on the planetNthe only permanent 
human residents. No native population ever developed. Tourism is carefully monitored. 
Streamside is classified as a wild planet by the Blith Nadi Planetary Society. The Tournament pays 
the entire yearly cost of the rangers, even supplies them with helicopters, in exchange for exclusive 
fishing rights and total use of the planet for one week every summer. Non-fishing tourists and 
photographers are free to roam the wilderness for the rest of the year, funneling their cash into the 
rangersO and Blith NadiOs pockets. Everybody is happy, and the phantom trout, which are the main 
attraction, donOt take much of a beating. 
Phantoms are so wary, even in this practically virgin territory, that catching one is the ultimate in 
fishing skill. Their tiny mouths match the plentiful hatch of minuscule midgeflies and mosquitoes, and 
the almost invisible black phemto gnats. An imitation of the midgefly is tied on an .000 hook, and 
even that is too large. The usual tippet strength is eight ounce breaking test, as phantoms spook at 
the shadow of larger leaders. No fish under two pounds may be kept, so many keepers break off. 
Then too, the streams being wild and full of snags presents a further hazard to the ultra light leaders. 
All the good pools are shaded by ancient overhanging deciduous arboretums which leap out after 
hooks. The fisherman fall-off rate at Streamside is alarming some years, even though a quiet non-
fishing botanist might see dozens of lunker phantoms splashing in the pools, chasing the nearly 
invisible insects.  
 
 
 
 
 
 

Pike loved the wild gorges with their fast flowing brooksNit was an exquisite pleasure to spend time 
in such unspoiled nature. This year, to be honest, it was a relief to get Richie situated on dry land for 
a week. The hazards to arms and legs were certainly there in spades, but at least, he probably 
wouldn't drown. Well, if he did drown, he'd have to work at it. Phantoms tended toward shallow 
water. 
The kid was back to his jolly self again, tripping over guy ropes in the tent city where everybody was 
camped for the week, and generally making a nuisance of himself. It was a far cry from a public 
campgrounds, of course. Most people hired outfitters to set up their bivouac, and installed a gourmet 
barbecue chefNbut still, a hundred yards from the campsite you were in virtual wilderness conditions, 
and the park rangers made sure it stayed that way. No trails were cleared, no chopping of firewood 
to leave chips around. If an ambitious cook could lug a deadfall branch into camp, fine. Otherwise, 
fuel for cooking was flown in.  
 
 

*  
 
 

The stream Richie had drawn for the first day was absolutely gorgeousNbubbling lyrically through a 
leafy summertime canyon. Pike said it was a good draw. Little blue and green birds were tweeting 
happily. As long as the birds kept tweeting, Richie knew he was moving quietly enough. They were 
like a noise barometer. One reason he could be so quiet was the chest waders he'd had custom 
made on Giedon. They fit perfectly, unlike his hip boots. No binding when he walked. Sticky rubber 
soles for non-slip traction in the stream bed. He felt confident about his ability to walk, and also to 
roll cast under the trees. He'd been practicing on Giedon every night in a huge rented warehouse. 
And just to make sure that he was in a quiet frame of mind, he had jumped out of bed at 3:00 AM. 
to sit cross-legged for a deep-quiet mantra meditation that he'd read about in the Ken Pao Ri 
quarterly magazine. During breakfast and on the long hike to the canyon, he kept saying the mantra 
over and over inside his head. When it was finally time to put the sectional rod together and step 
down to the stream, he was extremely quiet, blissed out almost. The birds tweeted riotously, 
knocking themselves out. 
Using slow motion hand signs, Pike indicated that he wanted the first cast to float past a submerged 
log at the edge of a riffle thirty yards away. An easy cast. 
Richie crept to the water's edge and felt the cold brook water gurgling over his wader feet. What an 
idyllic spot, he thought, smiling. He adjusted the collar of a new red checked flannel shirt which he'd 
worn for the occasion. Rita was filming the whole thing with a mini-cam. She thought a film would 
augment her thesis. Rita was so gifted at woodcraft, Richie thought proudly. Even glued to the eye-
piece of the recorder, she moved through the woods like a naiad, perfectly silent. He felt so klutzy 
near her, but he must be doing all right. The birds were still tweeting gaily, like a bird opera. 
Baritones, tenors and sopranos. 
Taking a cautious step into the stream, and feeling very confident, he cleared his arm for casting. The 
tailored fishing shirt flowed perfectly across his shoulder with no trace of tightness. The rubber sole 
of his boot grabbed a submerged rock like it was a sidewalk. No problem. If there was such a thing 
as paradise, this spot must be it. He pulled his forearm back to make a short false cast, and the solid 
rock under his foot tilted. Down he went. Off to the races. 
Yelping, he saw Rita's laughing face turn to alarm as he zipped past. The water was so fast that he 
couldn't regain his footing. There was Pike's face, yelling something, but the white water roared 
around his ears and he couldn't hear what it was. Then it was down the river in a dizzying ride. The 
strong current owned him, dunking him under until his lungs were about to burst, then bouncing him 
against a rock and shooting him to the surface. The stupid water wasn't even particularly deep, that 
was the dumb part, just incredibly powerful and it wouldn't let him get his footing. Then suddenly the 
stream deepened. 
Seeing that the kid was in serious trouble, Pike sent Gil Tanner, their judge for phantom trout, rushing 
back to camp for a rescue helicopter. Even if Richie floated all the way to Lake Gloria, they would 
find him. Pike and Rita scrambled along the tangled bank, watching Richie disappear downstream. 
R.R. floated along at a manic pace in the deep channel Forty miles an hour or more. His waders 
were belted around the waist. The guy he'd bought them from said this would keep him dry, even if it 
was raining. Richie hadn't believed him, remembering the time his hip boots had gurgled full after that 
slip at the golf course; but by golly, the guy was right. The belt worked. Air trapped inside the legs 
was acting like a pair of reverse water wings. Which was fine, except that the tendency was for his 
head to be forced under the surface. He had to struggle to keep it up. Cripes, that's probably why he 
couldn't get his footing. Natural buoyancy would have made his feet sink, not rise to the surface. But 
he couldn't get the waders off. Forget it. He'd just have to float along until he could grab hold of a 
snag or something. Richie began to look around with that in mind, and suddenly the bottom dropped 
out and he was plunging through space. 
Freefall. Just him and tons of green/white water, falling. He screamed feebly. Well, it was frightening. 
He'd never been slung over a waterfall before. What an experience! Nothing to hold on to, not even 
water. Just falling, faster and faster. Somehow his boots, being heavier, responded to gravity and he 
hit the deep catch pool at the bottom of the falls feet first, sparing him the ignominy of a ruptured 
skull or worse. 
After an eternity of underwater living shared with some lunker phantom trout, who did nothing 
whatever to help him, he broke the surface gasping and with no feeling in his legs. And the raging 
current had him again. This time there were big rocks to dodge, boulders that had evidently been 
pushed over the falls like he had. After the first hundred or so, the joy of trying to grab a boulder as 
he was swept past or tumbled into it became a chump's game, and he refused to play. His hands 
were too numb to hold on. He simply tried to avoid them, or kick off if a collision was inevitable. 
Hours later, well, it couldn't have been hours, his rational mind insisted, he was swept into a quiet 
estuary where he was able to grab a tree root and pull himself halfway out of the water. The current 
still jerked strongly at his legs, and his arms lacked the strength to haul himself on up the bank. In 
despair, he hooked one arm around the root and wiggled the other around a stiff clump of wild grass. 
He lay there, exhausted, as the river yanked at his floating rubber-soled waders, wanting him back. 
The birds resumed their tweeting. If they stopped, it would probably mean that Pike and Rita were 
on their way. Pike and Rita. Richie had had plenty of time lately to think out all the angles of that 
conjunction. Regarding them as a couple didn't work right, nor a coupling; so he usually thought of 
them as a conjunction. More like a natural phenomenon. The girl he loved had chosen to sleep with 
another man, thumbing her nose at convention and all the Tournament fishermen who were like 
uncles to her, and at her bastard of a father. And at Richie, tooNher one true lover. She had to 
realize that he loved her, didn't she? Of course, she did. Because of that fact, she had taken the 
trouble to explain exactly what she was doing to R.R. before she did it. So that he wouldn't be upset. 
Research for her thesis. Fine. The thesis was important to her, although Lord knew she didn't need a 
doctorate to make her way in the galaxy. But she thought she did. Fine. But didn't she realize that it 
hurt him, her one true lover? Of course, she did. That was one of the things he loved about herNthe 
ability to cut through the bull crap and get right to the heart of the matter. No emotionality for her, but 
she never gave him the opening he needed to tell her about his deep and unrelenting love. How could 
an otherwise perceptive person fail to make a small doorway for the most important thing in her life? 
What a mystery love was. 
But this sleeping with Pike Resnick, right under his nose, that was one step too far, wasn't it? One 
step more than a sensitive human could bear, wasn't it? Truthfully, it was. Did she think he was made 
of thermo-plastic? Well, he wasn't. And he had to get farther up this bank. The river kept sucking at 
him. If his grip slipped it would pull him back in. But sadly, he didn't have the strength to gain an inch. 
He was stuck between a heavenly river bank and wet hell. 
On the other hand, the conjunction of Pike and Rita was a good test of his love. Another good test. 
Sometimes he felt like a gnarly old tree trunk from all the good tests she'd given him. And just to 
think that he hadn't known her at all until three years ago when his mother had insisted he move into a 
co:ed dorm, so she could meet his roommates. What an experience meeting Rita had been. The first 
instant he saw his dark-haired beauty, he fell madly in love, and hadn't come up for air since. Of 
course, he had tripped over something to ruin that first moment. His suitcase. He had fallen over his 
suitcase. A trivial accident. Gashed his head open on an ouija board gizmo that was lying on the rug. 
The doctor had stopped the blood loss with hardly any effort. Three or four stitches. Ten at most. 
But still, since that incredible bit of ill luck, Rita had thought of him as a stumble bum. Just like a 
woman to get the wrong impression, right off the bat like that. 
And of course, Rita and Pike's so called relationship was mostly his fault, too. He had pestered her 
into restarting her long time acquaintance with Pike, so he could get to know the great man, too. It 
was hardly her fault that she was attracted. What woman wouldn't be? So really he had no right to 
complain. Correct. No right at all. And they weren't actually OsleepingÓ together. I mean, hell's 
bells, he himself had slept in the same bedroom with her every night for over two years. Shared the 
same bathroom and shower. And while they had never actually slept in the same bed, or OsleptÓ 
together, he for one didn't consider their relationship to be brotherly and sisterly. Rita was an 
outrageously avant garde girl. She didn't take kindly to being told what to do, Richie knew that 
much. If she wanted to sleep in the same bed with Pike, she would. If she was short-sighted about 
sensing his own deep, true, pure feelings; well, he could overlook that. Everybody has a weak spot. 
Short-sightedness was Rita's. He was certainly not going to demand that she stop work on the thesis. 
No, he would show true chivalry and wait until she had the doctorate before he professed the full 
extent of his love. 
In his exhausted but blissful state, he was unable to restrain the hot tears of self pity. Watching the 
tears fall onto the long bladed grass under his nose, he sobbed out his misery. Poor Rich Rodney, 
poor little rich boy with nobody to truly understand or love him. What a miscarriage of justice. So 
noble, so full of selfless devotion, so battered by love and the river of life. He fell asleep, hoping his 
scalding tears would drown the little bugs in the grass that kept crawling onto his lips and up his nose, 
and into his ears. Poor little Rodney. He couldn't even let go of his handholds to protect himself from 
bugs. Nobody cared about him.  
 
 
 
 
 
 

Pike and Rita found the twisted body laying half in, half out of the water. Running through the 
underbrush along the trout stream had left them both scratched and sweaty. Seeing the small broken 
body was a crude shock. What a stupid, senseless tragedy, Pike thought. The stream was only four 
feet deep at its deepest. 
OOh, my God!Ó Rita cried, hurdling past Pike and sliding down the stream bank. ORichie..!! 
Richie! Say something!Ó She pounded his back. 
R.R. opened his swollen eyes and stared at his beautiful angel of mercy. OYou found me,Ó he said. 
OI knew you would.Ó 
OHe's alive!Ó Rita thrilled. OThank God. We were so worried about you.Ó 
OPull me out, would you. I think my legs are broken.Ó 
OGrit your teeth,Ó said Pike. He took the kid's arms and gingerly pulled him up the bank. Richie 
didn't scream in pain, he just lay on the bank tiredly. OYou took quite a trip there, Rich. Two, 
maybe three miles. Never could regain your footing, huh? Can you move your legs?Ó 
OIt feels like it's still pulling at me,Ó R.R. said, languidly. 
Rita tore a section of her blouse hem. Wetting it in the river, she started cleaning Richie's face. 
If the kid's legs were broken, it was sayonara for the Tournament, Pike speculated. Of course, he 
was glad to find the kid alive, but since he was alive, reality loomed. Oddly enough there was a 
tangle of fly line wrapped around the waders below the knee. And something was jerking on the line 
where it disappeared into the relatively quiet pool. OI'll be damned,Ó he said, kneeling carefully so 
as not to touch the flyline. OHow bad is he hurt?Ó he asked Rita. 
OHis head seems all right, I think. What about his legs? He said they were broken.Ó 
R.R. lay quietly listening to them talking about him. He loved it. He also loved the concerned 
expression on both of their facesNespecially Rita's. At last, she was showing her feelings. 
OI thought his legs were really screwed up when we first saw him,Ó Pike said, Obut now I don't. 
He's got a fish on. See, the line is tangled around his legs.Ó 
OOh, for God's sake! Is that all you ever think about?Ó 
OWell, he's in the Tournament,Ó Pike responded, as if that explained everything. OI can't play it for 
him, but if he brings it in to shore, I can net it.Ó 
OYou don't have a net.Ó 
Sheepishly, Pike pulled a folding net from a deep pocket of his fishing vest. 
OThis is too much,Ó Rita said, peevishly. OHe's half dead!Ó 
OHey, kid, are you up to doing a little fishing? I think you've got one on.Ó 
OHuh?Ó R.R. queried, raising his head. 
OFrom the strain on the line, it looks like a good one. Don't rush yourself, but see if you can sit up. 
You might as well bring him in, then you'll be qualified, and you can take a rest for a few days. Get a 
cast for your leg, or whatever.Ó 
OPike, this is too cruel!Ó Rita said. OHow can you even suggest such a thing to my poor baby.Ó 
Richie looked up at her with cow eyes. Her poor baby. All right! Now he was getting somewhere. 
ONo, Pike is right,Ó he grunted, showing more pain than he actually felt. OIt's like your 
thesisNfishing is important to me.Ó He smiled selflessly, and hoisted himself to a sitting position with 
great difficulty. Most of the difficulty was caused by the flyline twisted tightly around his calves. 
And by golly, there was a fish jerking on the line. Some uncanny natural fisherman's impulse must 
have caused him to twist the line around his feet as he was falling. After pulling a few yards of line in, 
hand over hand, he felt the weight of the fish. By golly, he's a hefty one. Richie wished he had the rod 
and reel to land him with, but he didn't. Actually, the rod must be attached to the other end of this 
line. That was a stroke of good fortune, R.R. had never expected to see the pretty little flyrod again. 
OShould I pull the rod in first, then I can play him right?Ó he asked Pike. 
OYou're doing fine that way,Ó Pike advised. OJust keep him coming in. Don't let the pressure off 
him or he'll probably snap off.Ó 
OBut with the rod--Ó 
OWho knows where the rod is. It's probably snagged somewhere.Ó 
OOh, right,Ó R.R. agreed. He hadn't thought of that. 
OI'll get it for you afterwards,Ó Pike said. 
OGod, I wish I had my camera!Ó Rita said suddenly, sounding miffed. She had tossed it on the 
bank when she'd taken off running downstream. OI'll go get it,Ó she blurted, suddenly jumping up 
and running back the way she'd come. OWait for me to get back,Ó she yelled. 
R.R. quit hauling the line in. Actually, he legs felt pretty good, but his hands already hurt. Being 
tender from the long submersion, the line was cutting into them. Well, not quite cutting the flesh, 
because the flyline was soft and thick, but it was definitely making them sore. He was glad for the 
chance to rest. Too bad he didn't have a cleat or something to wrap the line around, even a stick. 
OWhat are you waiting for?Ó Pike asked. 
OWell, for Rita,Ó he said, explaining the obvious. 
OShe won't be back for an hour. I saw her drop the camera almost where we started.Ó Although he 
had posed for many photographs and videos, he always thought of them as a distraction from the 
main business at hand, catching fish. If Richie hadn't been posing for the camera, he might not have 
fallen in. Probably would have, knowing him, but maybe not. 
OCould you find me a stick?Ó R.R. asked. 
Pike was hovering at the water's edge with the net. He looked back at the kid. OA stick..?Ó he 
asked. It was apparent that Richie would get a great pair of shiners out of his swim. His eyes were 
already starting to darken. 
OTo wrap the line around,Ó explained the poor baby. 
OYou'll lose him if you dick around with a stick. Just pull him in. He's only a few yards out. I can see 
him. Damned nice fish. Good going.Ó 
OHe's a scrapper,Ó Rodney admitted. OHe probably came from under the falls. There's some big 
ones there.Ó Pike notched that bit of information for next year. 
Richie recommenced bringing the line in. But why should he be doing what Pike wanted? he 
wondered. Rita needed a film for her thesis. Wasn't he obligated to wait for the woman he loved? Of 
course, he was. He was the fisherman here, not Pike. And what about a judge? 
OGut it out, kid! A couple more pulls and he's ours. Yes, sir! He's a big one! See him?Ó 
Well, so what, Rodney thought. I'll catch this one for Pike, and Rita can get a movie of me doing it 
right next time. This is embarrassing anyway. He tugged the line a few more feet, hand over hand, as 
it bit into his water-logged hands. 
Pike hovered over the water like a blue heron, extending the net at a forty-five degree angle. 
Suddenly he swooped, then staggered into the stream, hoisting out a net full of flopping silver fish. 
OGoddamn, boy! This is a damn nice fish!Ó he shouted, exultantly. OOkay, hot damn, heOs safe in 
the net. IOm gonna keep him in the water, with the line on him, still wrapped around your feet until 
the judge gets here. I sent Gil running back to camp to get a rescue helicopter. ShouldnOt be more 
than another few minutes.Ó The park rangers keep several choppers standing by for us. Pike 
submerged the net full of trout into a shallow pool. OYouOre okay for another five minutes, arenOt 
you?Ó 
OFive minutes? Oh, sure. IOm fine,Ó he lied. When was he going to learn? He should have trusted 
his hunch and waited for Rita. Now the video was ruined, and he still couldnOt crawl up the bank.  
 
 

*  
 
 

Baron Farouk Bardona regarded his touch with a phemto fly to be unequaled. He should have been 
the unparalleled master of phantoms because of one simple secretNpatience. With his line stretched 
across the trout pool in front of him in a false drift, he would sometimes stand immobile for as much 
as an hour, until he saw the precise kind of a surface dimple he was looking for. A big dimple. Then 
he would pick up the floating line and make a single roll cast to the dimple. Often his patience, and 
the fact that the phantoms in the pool were used to his presence and the line shadow, rewarded him 
with a strike. His skill as a stalker was indeed superb. All of these upstarts and most of the old-
timers could take a lesson from him. He got more strikes from bigger fish than anybody. All the 
judges said so. Unfortunately, that also made him a laughing stock. Phantoms, once they were on the 
hook, had his number. Even small ones could usually tangle his line and break off. Naturally, this 
infuriated the Baron. As did many other things. 
During the long quiet hours spent ass-deep in a trout pool, he had time to reflect on all of his hatreds 
and on any upcoming business deals. It was a real love/hate relationship he brought to the phantoms 
every year. On the one hand, there was no finer thing than to kill one of the timid, treacherous fish 
here in this virgin setting. He took a fierce pleasure in bopping the little fuckers with the leaded foot 
long broom handle he carried for just that purpose. His feather he called it, after the old Earthside 
Indian custom of calling a salmon club a feather. 
Yes, and the exquisite torture of standing so immobile, with only his thoughts flickering hotlyNhe 
loved the phantoms for affording him that pleasure, too. Ever chief among his hate reveries was that 
snipe, Pike Resnick. What a confident, loathsome individual. It gave Farouk intense gratification to 
bring the self-secure cocksucker to his knees time after time. Pike, the great scoundrel, whom 
everyone admired. That craven, backstabbing prick had taken the cowardly, shitsucking, fiendish 
route of seducing FaroukOs innocent little daughter in order to get back for some imagined slight. 
The whoremongering cur! How could he stoop so low, even him? The hound. The bloody hound 
must spend all his waking hours dreaming up ways to get back at me. The thought that Pike suffered 
greatly in his weak attempts to wrest control of the Thruster patent away from his iron grip, gratified 
the Baron. He'd never get it back, the filthy mongrel. Not now! Not after he'd deflowered the fairest 
blossom in the nine galaxies. No way, Fido boy! I made you famous, and from now on all you do is 
whine and beg. Not even enough gumption to take your licking like a man, you flea-bitten excuse for 
a cocksure mutt. 
There were others on Farouk's spleen venting list, of course. Thousands of others. Literally, 
everybody he'd ever metNincluding innocent Rita and that lucky feeb, Tourbo, and his goddamned 
lawyer, too. There was a cocksucker who didn't waste his life chasing fish around. No indeed. Every 
year without fail at Tournament time, McAndrews plotted unfriendly take-overs and other slimy 
tricks to get his hands on Thruster stock. The man had no shame. Why couldn't he relax and enjoy 
life. Clive Butthole McAndrews wasn't even particularly good at business or even negotiations. 
Farouk had proved that time after time, but the maggot wouldn't go away. Farouk was getting pretty 
sick of it, actually. His blood boiled when he thought of all the money he was losing while he stood 
frozen, waiting for a chickenshit phantom to show itself. Come on, you motherfucker, he raged. 
Come out and fight like a man! This is my year to win! 
God how he despised fish. Every year, every motherfucking year, some chickenshit bastard like 
Resnick humbled him, while faggots like McAndrews tried to bleed him dry. Billions! It cost him 
billions to waste his time standing up to his cohones in a cruddy river. If I ever win this cocksucker, 
he groused, you can bet your ass I'll never show up to another stinking tournament! Why should I? 
I'm the best fisherman that ever lived. Why should I waste my time hanging around with these lice? 
The Plan spun through the too tightly wound tendrils of his mind. Goddamn right. The Plan. If he ever 
won the pissfucking Tournament, then The Plan would lock into place. Years ago he had promised 
that special treat to himself. Years ago. He was going to buy every planet on the fucking schedule, 
especially the Big Six. Especially this one, Streamside! And nuke the fuck out of them! Beautiful! The 
perfect reward. 
The dimple he was waiting for appeared to the far left of the pool almost under the boughs of a 
windfallen grazzlenut tree. Farouk drew his arm back with infinite patience and made a textbook roll-
cast, placing the minute fly within an inch of the dimple. The fly settled to the surface of the brook, 
barely making a ripple. Water exploded! The phantom grabbed the black gnat and made a sizzling 
run across the pool, where it leaped in the air shaking its headNand broke the line like it was nothing. 
The whole fight had lasted maybe four seconds. 
Farouk Bardona gritted his teeth and swore savagely under his breath. Then with a hearty grin, he 
turned to his guide and the judge. OThese Phans are sure scrappers, aren't they?Ó he joked, 
happily.  
 
 

*  
 
 

Completing another manifestation of his incredible luck, R.R. was only superficially damaged in his 
river rafting trip. Twin shiners and bruised ribs do not an invalid make. What was important about the 
whole experience was that his darling Rita had declared her love for him. It was true that she acted 
very annoyed that he hadn't waited for her to get back with the camera before landing the fish. He 
told her straightforwardly that he had seen her point and considered waiting, but had decided to land 
the fish before the helicopter came to spook it. 
The helicopter, with the judge, arrived eighteen minutes after Rita got back with the mini-cam. And 
she refused to speak to him for the next two days. 
Richie, who was becoming knowledgeable about women's ways, interpreted that as a healthy sign. A 
stormy relationship, he called it. While turning over the raw steak on his eye, he even went as far as 
to suggest to Lester that true love often runs a stormy course. Lester quickly agreed. Lester, while he 
always liked kicking back for a week in tent city, was a wee bit concerned about his boss's mental 
health lately. His boss, of course, was Pike. Lester regarded R.R. as a charter sport. A nice kid, but 
rich sports come and go. Pike on the other hand was bound to come to grief. He always did when 
he fooled around with a Bardona.  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

* * *  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

CHAPTER TEN  
 
 
 
 

MID-SUMMER NIGHTOS FETE  
 
 

OI try not to think about it. Winning is not something you can do, except 
in ping pong or something. Like in martial arts, the strike happens by 
itself when it's perfect, pulled by all of nature. Isn't that right?Ó 
R.R. Tourbo 
quoted in History of the Tournament  
 
 
 
 

The end of trout season marked the halfway point in the Tournament. It was traditionally celebrated 
by a gourmet potluck on the beach, where the chefs used up all the provisions that were left, and in 
the process tried to outdo each other. 
The fishermen who had survived Streamside were usually in fine spirits, and the unlucky ones who 
hadn't landed a Phantom walked around like zombies, muttering, OWait until next year, you 
bastards.Ó 
Four fishermen had bit the empty water, which made a total of six disqualified at the half way mark. 
Nineteen continuing. Richie's trout had given him another Fifth Place and one more point. None of 
the other leaders had placed at all, so with 12 points, he was two ahead of Hardluck Harry Dolan. 
No lead was secure, of course. Get skunked in a category, and so long suckerNbut it was looking 
kind of hopeful.  
 
 

*  
 
 

Rita had expected her real life to begin when she moved in with Pike. But it hadn't. Something was 
wrong, wrong, wrong. She lay on her cot, staring up at the green tent fabric, watching a little red 
spider weaving an intricate web around the tentOs center pole. A web of closeness was what she 
needed, but apparently she wasnOt woman enough to make it happen. Their communication was 
abysmalNnon-existent. For example, if he loved her, why hadnOt he made Richie wait to catch that 
trout until she got back? She didnOt care about the fish, obviously; but that non-event had been 
symptomatic of lots of other miscommunication. Like this tent. All four of them were sleeping in the 
same goddamned tentNon separate folding cots. Roughing it, for GodOs sake. When she thought 
about it, she wanted to scream; so she tried to think about other thingsNlike the spider. But 
everything brought her around to the same point. Sex. Sex made everything work, but they weren't 
doing it because they were living in a tent. If the rangers wouldn't let them stay on the boats, because 
of their stupid regulations about a pristine harbor, why couldn't they at least have two tents. Their 
relationship was important, damnit! 
How could she bind him to her if he kept refusing to cooperate in bed? All the men and boys she had 
ever known were eager to couple with her. Pathetically eager. They wrote poems and declared 
themselves in other outrageous ways, just so she'd take off her clothes and do it with them. It was 
sweet. One boy had rhapsodized about how she smelled like new mown hay, however that smelled. 
She supposed it must be good because he went on and onNand he was talking about the way her 
poonie smelled. Yes, she'd always been able to spin any of her admirers into outer space simply by 
bouncing her breasts a little, or even with a certain kind of smile. But somehow, these tricks didn't 
always work on Pike, damnit. He was growing more disinterested every day in this tent, like she was 
very ho-hum. Her powers obviously were failing. Maybe the worst tragedy was happening. Maybe 
she was past her prime. How the hell could that be true, Pike was much older than she was. Wasn't 
he supposed to be overwhelmed with desire? This was so unfair. 
Rita had felt a strange pull toward Pike for at least ten years, even before she knew what wanting 
was all about. And now she had him. It was wonderful, because Pike was basically a wonderful 
personNbut he fell a little short of the fantasy perfection of her ten years of day dreams. It had taken 
her several weeks to admit that hideous truth to herself. When a realization like that surfaces, it's not 
easy to see it head on. So naturally, she was bummed out. Who wouldn't be? She had imagined that 
because they were soulmates, he would understand her every whimNat least the serious ones. But 
unfortunately, he was like every other man. A lot of whims passed undetected. In fact, what he really 
wanted was for her to be attentive to his whims. The only time they really connected was when his 
whims and her whims (desires, wants, needs) overlapped. Then it was fine. But was this a perfect 
relationship? No, damnit. It wasn't blissfully perfect. And he had never even mentioned marriage! No 
wonder a girl got sad.  
 
 
 
 

Pike was worried, too. In point of fact, he had the First Place BluesNa condition well known to 
muckerball managers whose team had lucked into 1st place at the All Star break, and who knew 
that the lucky bounces couldn't keep happening in their favor. All this week, Richie had been 
catching trout right and left, although none larger than the first one. Pike watched the fumbling casts 
and was amazed every time a Phantom struck. It just didn't match his experience with the fish at all. 
Now, here it was Sunday again, and it looked like the kid would hold down 5th place. The other 
serious competitors hadnOt caught large fish, so Richie would hang onto overall 1st, unless 
something changed today. 
Tonight would be the big halfway party. A glum one. The Phans were very persnickety this year to 
everyone except the kid. It was maddeningly impossible to figure how he did it. Next year was going 
to be hell fishing against Mr. Luck. 
And Rita was acting funny. Morose. That wasn't like her. Or maybe it was. How would he know? 
He barely knew the girl. He had wanted to screen off a corner of the tent for privacy, and push their 
cots together so they could keep up the coziness from Galatin Bay. But that had seemed totally 
weird somehow, even though it was perfectly normal. The Tournament was about fishingNnot about 
having love affairs. Anyway, shouldn't they be able to survive a week on Streamside without going 
lust crazy. 
He was losing touch with reality, that was the problem. Unless he was fishing himself, it was difficult 
to get a true readingNon the fish or the competition, or even on his woman, apparently? But fishing 
was out of the question, even for pleasure. He didn't want to raise one little doubt in a judge's mind 
that he was catching Richie's fish. The truth was that he had become a third wheel, and that was 
something heOd never been before. What if his own luck got fucked up? He hadn't considered that. 
All he'd thought about was getting the money for next year. It might have been smarter to take the 
year off and work on an invention, instead of risking his luckNor risking giving it to somebody 
elseNnamely Rich Rodney. He now felt an empathy for Lester that he'd never entertained before. 
How does he stand it? Always around the action, but never in it. Les and other longtime crew 
members must have less insistent libido needs than he did. 
And Rita was slipping away. Definitely. He was going to lose her before he even had her. That was a 
riot. Any day now, she might jump in her little pink boat and flit out of his life. She had been so angry 
about Richie's trout. Actually, things hadn't been right since then. One goddamned home movie 
wasn't important enough to ruin a relationship over, was it? Well, maybe the time was up. Love is 
always a very strange item. Blink your eyes and it's over. But wouldn't he miss her? Yes. A hell of a 
lot.  
 
 

*  
 
 

The midway potluck on Streamside had originally been fun. But it had metamorphosed into an 
entirely different animal than those first beach parties, where the cooks pooled their left-overs. Now 
they special ordered exotic goodies and turned a picnic into a gourmet cooking contest. Lester was 
the only cook who refused to participate farther than making a big pot of his extraordinary baked 
beans. He also cut a few willow switches to roast frankfurters on. 
Pike left the tent and walked down to the beach, wondering why it was necessary to have a party 
when nearly everyone was burned out by the rotten fishing. But party time it was. Designer camp 
tables sank into the sand under the weight of haute cuisine and cases of iced champagne. At least a 
third of the campers were in their cups by sunset. Pike planned to eat quickly and leave for New 
Columbus. Unfortunately, he discovered once again that he was not master of his destiny. 
Richie was having a great time, flapping around the beach in his patched hip boots sampling a little 
steak tartar here, a little conch and seaweed salad thereNhelping Rita fill her plate with delicate 
tidbits. They're kids, Pike reminded himself. Yes, but... Tomorrow was New Columbus and the giant 
barracudas. Nothing to play around with on a hangover, as Ned Larchmont found out. Good old 
Ned. Maybe he would be watching from Fish Heaven. 
Unfortunately, Pike's ruminating on his ex-chum, Ned Larchmont, after whom Larchmont Barracuda 
had been named, had caused him to not pay proper attention to the people in his immediate 
surroundings. More specifically, the Baron, Farouk Bardona, and his lovely wife, suddenly appeared 
across a serving table from Pike. There was no place to run and no place to hide, so he smiled 
haphazardly and said, ONice party, ain't it?Ó 
OBullshit!Ó Bardona spat. 
ONow, Farouk, don't be like that. I'm sure Rita's research is very important to her.Ó Magyar 
Bardona was a strikingly handsome woman. Her long chestnut hair was lightly veined with grey and 
her Mediterranean skin was almost mahogany brown. When Pike had first met her years ago, 
Maggie had practically knocked his eye out. Although similar in looks, she was milder than 
RitaNwithout her fire. Still damned fine looking in all the right ways, except that she gave Bardona 
the backbone to be a bastard by condoning all his rotten dealings. Pike had never quite determined if 
Maggie approved of business corruption and whole-heartedly supported it; or whether, having 
married the codfish, her code of marriage ethics and nest feathering forced her to go along with being 
filthy rich over the bones of friends. In any case, she and Farouk made a memorable couple. 
OI'm very displeased with Rita's living situation,Ó Bardona rumbled. OWhat she sees in you is 
beyond me, always has been.Ó 
OYou mean, you think I'm kind of scummy?Ó Pike asked pleasantly. His fist wondered if it would 
be fun to mash Farouk's beak. Would that accomplish anything? 
OWhat I think privately, doesn't enter into it. You are scum.Ó Strange how the Baron managed to 
put things so succinctly. ODid you have one of your witch doctor goons put a spell on her, or 
what?Ó the embittered father blustered. 
OI thought that was a secret,Ó Pike baited. OWho told you about it?Ó The thing Pike hated most 
about Bardona was his blockheaded dullness. Greed he could understand. But greed and humorless 
stupidity lumped together was too much for Pikey. Chatting with Farouk was always like talking to a 
wall. The wall that yearned to consume the Universe. 
OI want her back on board the Lady Slipper tonight, and I want you to keep your mitts off her!Ó 
ONo can do, Master,Ó Pike said, slowly. His blood boiled easily whenever he talked with Farouk. 
It was boiling now, as a matter of fact; but years ago he had decided it would be a continuing test of 
his manhood always to annoy Bardona into getting angry first. His position vis-a-vis the Thruster 
patent was hopeless. Bardona was immovable, so the reason for treating him humanely had long 
passed. The only practical solution was to get him angry enough to rupture an aneurysm and send 
himself into premature senility. Then maybe he'd turn into a human being. So Pike controlled himself 
and said, OIf you can't control your own daughter, how can I? You're her father. I'm only her 
roommate.Ó He smiled, disingenuously. 
Bardona's neck flushed red as a rooster's comb. A little smoke squirted out from the collar of his 
linen shirt. As Pike watched, the flush spread up to his big ears and invaded his jowls. OI can control 
her, don't worry about that!!Ó 
ORemember your blood pressure, Fookie,Ó Maggie cautioned sweetly, touching his elbow. OLet's 
see what the other chef's have made.Ó 
OThe thing about you,Ó Pike insisted, reasonably, Ois that you think other people care about what 
you want. They don't. They only kiss your ass for the money. You're not a well-liked man, Farouk. 
Change for the better is theoretically possible, of course.Ó 
Bardona was momentarily speechless. His mouth gasped open and closed like a beached fish's. Pike 
thought for a moment that he'd finally pushed him over the edge. But no, a vindictive gleam came 
back into his eye. The fucker was stronger than dirt. 
Farouk lashed out. OShe's trying to catch young Tourbo, not you!Ó He laughed harshly right into 
Pike's face. OEven I know that much.Ó 
In an instant of truth, Pike knew Farouk was right. Very right. And by this stupid fake camping out in 
one tent, he was playing right into Tourbo's hands. 
Farouk Bardona, master businessman, read the signs of weakness in Pike's face. He was right! Rita 
was after Tourbo! Well, goddamn, that was great. Tourbo's wealth, merged with his own, would 
give him virtual control of every goddamned thing he could conceive of. That's my girl. That's my little 
Rita. Even if young Tourbo was a blundering moron, it would all work out. 
At that exact moment of exaltation, Pike's hard right fist splattered Farouk's nose.  
 
 
 
 

It was awe inspiring and almost religious to see two middle-aged fishermen taking out fifteen years of 
frustration by rolling in the sand, battering each otherNgouging and kicking, trying to inflict internal 
hemorrhaging. Quite a little crowd gathered to watch. 
Farouk was somewhat tougher than he looked. When PikeOs fist leaped out unbidden to pulp the 
hook nose, which was just hanging there waiting, he had imagined the altercation would last for only 
one punch. But Farouk jumped into the fray, like a mad demon. Pike quickly realized that it was a 
fight. Neither man had taken the trouble to learn a martial art, so it was the bull walrus mentality with 
lots of blood and grunting, but little real damage. They didn't even bother to curse at each other. 
Now that the chance to hurt had finally come, they went at it silently and furiously. Most of the noise 
came from the crowd yelling support to their favorite. Rita and her mother shrieked for both men to 
stop it. 
But fighting on a beach is harder work than one might imagine. After five minutes or so, both 
combatants found their arms turning to lead and their legs quivering with exhaustion. 
Rich Rodney Tourbo, relying on his years of Ken Pao Ri experience, gauged the timing to a nano-
second and leaped in to break up the fight. His chin arrived precisely on schedule to meet with 
Farouk's last haymaker of the evening. Beautiful. Richie's head snapped back and he did a full 
backward swan dive as gracefully as anyone had ever witnessed. Out like a light, while Pike and 
Farouk, panting and dripping sweat and blood stared down at the kid, not quite comprehending 
what a brilliant job of fight stopping had been accomplished. 
Rita instantly rushed to Rich Rodney's assistance, slapping his face and urging him to wake up. 
Maggie dipped the corner of a silk handkerchief in a glass of champagne and dabbed at Farouk's 
nose and cut lip, cleaning her warrior up to continue the party. 
Lester Wunderman, grinning like a banshee, handed Pike a hastily assembled paper cup of old 
Kentucky bourbon, which was still made in Kentucky with grain imported from off-world, wheat 
having refused to grow anymore in the erratic weather cycles on Earth. Pike knocked the booze 
back, then allowed Lester to fuss and chortle over his knuckles and chin, while he waited for Rich 
Rodney to revive. His brain reengaged with reality, as friends and friendly enemies pounded both him 
and Farouk on the back, congratulating them on the spectacle. It was pretty embarrassing. Pike 
would have been glad to crawl into a hole, but none was available. At length, Richie's eyes popped 
open, out of focus. 
OAsk him what planet he's on!Ó some joker yelled at Rita. 
Rita didn't think that was amusing. OCome on, Richie,Ó she said, gently. OLet's go to the tent.Ó 
OI'm fine,Ó Richie insisted, once his head stopped spinning. He hopped nimbly to his feet, instantly 
tangling his legs up in the floppy hip boots. He pitched face forward into the sand, only managing to 
break his fall at the last instant. 
OFor God's sake, Rich, quit clowning around,Ó Rita said, helping him up. She threw a cold look 
over her shoulder at Pike, then helped her brave cripple down the beach toward the tent city. 
Pike and the Baron continued glaring at each other, through the surge and flow of the crowd. 
Fighting had brought them into an odd harmony. But their differences were kind of irreconcilable.  
 
 
 
 
 
 

* * *  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

CHAPTER ELEVEN  
 
 
 
 

LARCHMONT BARRACUDA  
 
 

OWell, Rita, that's a strange kind of question, because I only feel bad 
if I get skunked. If I catch a fish every week, then it's always possible that 
magic can strikeNright up to the very last minute. One year, I won moon 
halibut, and came from nowhere to 4th place, plus getting my entry fee 
back. That was a good afternoon.Ó 
Trinidad Morales 
quoted in History of the Tournament  
 
 

New Columbus had been named partly in jest by Ned Larchmont, a good-natured, hard drinking 
fisherman, who used a complicated mathematical formula to determine that there should be a water 
planet lurking in a certain quadrant of the Yyr Circle. Then he flew out and bummed around the 
sector until he discovered it. 
A developing sentient species lived on several of the low islandsNa kind of advanced, pacifistic 
reptilian creature dubbed Frogs by the amused Larchmont. The Frogs had developed subtle speech 
and vaguely human attributes, like standing erect and living in houses, but against all reason they were 
still compelled to return to the sea for breeding like their species of aquatic frogs always had. The 
bliss of intra-uterine egg fertilizationNfollowed minutes later by egg layingNwas also trauma time for 
their race because frothing schools of a barracuda type fish ruled the waters. Snapping jaws and red 
seas of frog blood were deeply ingrained in the molecular memory of these Froggies, but they hadn't 
managed to evolve another way to breed. Bliss and trauma, bliss and trauma. 
No matter, the evolutionary scheme was working for them. Their civilization was several thousand 
years old. Once the eggs made it to the amphibian stage and hopped onto the lush islands, everything 
was great. They had no wars and made no enemies. It was paradise until the compulsion to copulate 
came around again. Surviving past the breeding age was considered an extraordinary feat; but those 
who did lived to a great age, becoming frog sages. 
Frogs spent their days gardening, catching insects, establishing cottage industries, and studying 
evasionary swimming techniques. Their favorite craft was building fantastic sand castles to live in, 
which they somehow welded into a kind of cement structure by mixing the sand with their own saliva. 
They were as pleased to welcome Ned Larchmont as Native American Indians had been to fawn on 
Christopher Columbus, that scalawag cyclops who turned his men loose to rape and plunder. Being 
slightly more humane than his fellow explorer, Ned Larchmont showed the Frog people how he 
could catch the barracuda from his fancy fishing boat. The Frogs thought that was pretty nifty. Every 
dead barracuda was one less nightmare. They were positively enthusiastic when Larchmont detailed 
his plan for bringing a few friends over just before the breeding season to thin out the barracuda 
population. They even made him an honorary prince. Prince Ned of New Columbus. 
Farouk Bardona had fairly seethed when he heard about a rival monarch; but Larchmont Barracuda 
were a fine sporting fish, tough, mean and big. After that first year when the fleet met to fish for the 
biters, there wasn't a whole lot Farouk could do other than grumble. 
It was perfectly understandable that Ned, that old swashbuckler, should take quite an interest in 
New Columbus. Since the planet had evolved was only three percent land mass, Prince Ned 
reasoned that the adult Frog population would soon outstrip the living space if the barracuda 
population was fished too strongly. Without mentioning that fact to the Frogs, he made sure that a 
strict bag limit of three fish over a hundred pounds per boat per Tournament was written into the 
charter with the native population. Any fish less than a hundred pounds had to be released alive. As a 
Prince, he figured his fiefdom could afford seventy-five big fish a year. The contract with the 
Frogmen of New Columbus was tight enough that even three years after Ned's death the bag limit 
wasn't in question, although it probably could have been if either side wanted to re-negotiate. 
How had Ned died? Not fishing. No, like any true Prince, he decided to take ocean breeding 
lessons with his people. He was a little drunk when he made the decision, and thus his reflexes were 
slowed. 
It is surprising how similar a copulating Frog and a copulating man look to the eye of a barracuda. 
So when Prince Ned was nailed, nobody blamed the fish. Breeding, to the Frog community, was like 
any other dangerous sportNsay, hot rod racing. If you do it, sooner or later you lose. 
To Ned LarchmontOs credit, it was a damned big 'cuda that got him. At least, that's what the 
growing legend certified. Six or seven hundred pounds. Maybe bigger. It was over in a flash. Sure it 
was. Personally, Pike was still angry at Ned about the whole thing. It's not quite kosher to be a 
moron and leave your friends holding the emotional bag. 
So the Prince Ned saga was one more thing for Pike to natter about as the morningOs activities 
aboard the Comparative Humanity swung into gear. Everyone left Streamside in the daylight, more 
or less in a flock due to the pirates. Which was another problem that irked Pike right down to his toe 
nails. The damned pirates couldn't buy the Thruster technology which they wanted, so perforce they 
were obliged to steal it. Bardona's policy created a needless danger. If pirates could afford to 
manufacture or buy a needle boat, they could afford to buy a Thruster model; but as stated, Farouk 
wouldn't sell. 
Pike was almost as irked at himself as he was at Farouk. Why didn't he simply make sure the plans 
for a Thruster fell into the hands of the right pirate chief, or better yet, sell the schematics, if he 
wanted everybody to have them? Screw Farouk. The answer to that was edged both with greed and 
with honor, that's why he was irked. If Farouk ever died, the terms of their contract stipulated that 
Pike had the first option of buying fifty-one percent of the patent backNwhich he intended to do, 
never mind how. But until then, there were pirates to contend with, and they always seemed to 
concentrate on this section of the Tournament where there was little human civilization to get in their 
way. 
Complicating his worries about pirates as he ran an armaments check was the fresh soreness of his 
body. That damned Farouk was a good fighter. The old fuck-face had gotten in more than a few 
jarring punches, and Pike felt each one of them this morning. And Rita had not slept in the tent last 
night. She'd stuck her head in to inform him that she didn't sleep with bullies and that she and Richie 
were sleeping on the boat. Screw the forest rangers. Just as well. She and the kid were made for 
each other. Even that half-blind bastard Farouk knew that much. Thinking about it, Pike smiled 
grimly to himself and in the process cracked open his cut lip. Gallingly, they were still asleep 
somewhere down below. Pike hadn't checked on the bunking arrangements. He and Lester had 
dumped the tent and gear in a corner of the galley to put away later, then he had gone up to the 
bridge. The little green prickle of insane jealousy that was running around and around in his chest was 
very disconcerting. Like he knew it would be. 
But thumping on Farouk had been damned good. Now that it had finally happened once, he couldn't 
think of any reason not to give himself the pleasure again and again. If I'm feeling this rocky, I'll bet 
he can't hardly move, Pike chuckled to himself. 
OBreakfast..!Ó Lester hollered from the galley. OCome and get it, so I can stow for take-off.Ó  

*  

RR knew something was wrong when he woke up, but couldn't get his eyes to open. Then, through 
puffy eye-slits, he discovered that he was on the floor. Sleeping on the floor explained the stiffness in 
his back and right hip satisfactorily; but had he fallen out of bed without knowing? Hardly likely for 
someone of his physical and psychic awareness, and a light sleeper besides. Throwing the blanket 
aside, he leapt nimbly to his feetNand instantly sank back to his knees under the keening pain of a 
giant foot kicking at his temples with logging boots. But the brief moment on his feet had shown him a 
glimpse of Rita sleeping in his bunk, and that brought back full recall of last night's revels. It had been 
glorious. He'd been a hero. Everyone loved him. Rita loved him. Everybody thought he was so 
gallant with a beefsteak covering his eyes and an overflowing stirrup cup of champagne in his 
debonair hand. Darn it, how many stirrup cups had he polished off? No memory of that. His head 
was literally splitting in two. Massaging his temples, like Master Jacopo had taught him, did nothing 
at all. He felt like curling into a ball on the floor and whimpering for his mother's maid to come and 
soothe the agony away. In spite of the pain, the memory of Gwendolyn or Edith Ann gave him a 
tumescence in the groin. At least, he wasn't injured there, a part of his brain managed to note 
gratefully. Whatever possessed him to jump into the middle of that fight? 
And then Rita had stayed over in his room, kicking him out of his bunk onto the floor. He only dimly 
remembered the events from that time frame. Hopefully, he hadn't done something stupid like trying 
to grab her. Actually, that was pretty unlikely. His teeth weren't broken out, and they probably 
would be if he ever tried anything with Rita. But what was she doing here? Dare he to hope that she 
had chosen in his favor? 
The pain receded for a second, and he opened his eyes are far as possible. Wait a derned minute 
here! The Baron, fey bastard that he was, had been yelling incoherently about Rita trying to catch 
himNhim, himself, Rich Rodney. Was that possible? Was the old bullhorn so stupid that he didn't 
realize Rita would never play games like that? Why should she? He was already caught. Rita was the 
one who was the bird in the bush, not him. But how was Pike going to react to this news? Did he 
know? Judas priest, this was serious. Pike was his captain! 
Although madly in love with Rita, R.R. had never realized how peculiar it was that, oversexed as he 
knew himself to be, he had never had a lustful thought about his beloved. How could he? She was a 
goddess. Even a fleeting reminiscence of Gwendolyn or Gizelle or that pretty dark one, whose name 
he had forgotten, gave him a raging hard-on, and to be honest about it, he had a lurid fantasy going 
for Jean Santos. Now, there was a sexy older woman if he ever saw one, swishing around her boat 
so lasciviously. And he even had a minor passion for that hard-ass Ethyl Bierly. But for Rita? 
Nothing scummy like that. Certainly not. Rita was his friend, and somedayNmaybe someday soon if 
the Baron was right, she'd be his wife. After the gala wedding, he imagined a scene of eternal bliss, 
with chaste kisses bestowed on his loved one and lots of adorable children which he would take to 
Ken Pao Ri classes like the good, adoring father he would be. But still he had no clear picture of 
how these kiddies, who all were lithe and tan like Rita, came into being. Maybe it was immaculate 
conception. In any case, he'd never embarrassed himself by getting a hard-on over Rita, never one 
time, and that's why he loved her. Of course, she was very wonderful besides that too, of course. 
Golly, she was just about the most perfect person that could ever be; but he couldn't for the life of 
him remember how she'd come to be sleeping in his bunk. He decided to sit quietly, massaging his 
temples until she woke up, then pretending that he remembered everything, he would skillfully 
question her until the blank spaces were filled in.  
 
 
 
 

Rita was awake, and had been since RR's first bout of thrashing about on the floor had snapped her 
out of dreamland. Long practice at faking sleep to avoid interacting with Richie had convinced her 
that she was a pro at it. Her eyes were still shut and she practiced breathing slowly and evenly. No, 
she definitely didn't want to face Richie before she had a chance to think. Eventually he would get 
tired of sitting there like a frog, and get on with his next bumbling accident. She was pretty sure that 
last night had been a big fat mistake, but she needed to be alone to think. And R.R., she knew from 
past experience wanted to talk. He would never actually wake her up; but once her eyes opened, 
he'd be off to the races. Actually, he was quite unbearable in the mornings, and it had been a stupid 
choice to stay in his room; but if need be, she could lay here in her nest of sorrow forever. Hunger 
was meaningless to her. Body functions were less than nothing. True, she wanted to scream at him to 
get the fuck away and leave her alone, but screaming didn't work. He would just grin until her throat 
was hoarse, then start babbling about whatever was on his mind. But she knew she could out-wait 
himNand when he was gone, she could start to worry about how angry Pike might be at her. Why 
had she been so stupid? 
Stupid? Yes, that's right. Stupid as Arlene OMiss DemerolÓ Kalvic. It was perfectly obvious that 
this fight had been building since she was a little girl. Half the reason she was attracted to Pike was 
because her father hated him so much. When she got old enough to find out the reasons why, Pike 
kept looking better and better. Then last night, when it all came to a head, and her chance to really 
champion his cause was offered on a silver platter, damned R.R. jumped into the middle of it and got 
himself clobbered. Like a mother hen, she had hovered over Richie until her time to be there for Pike 
had vanished. 
When she finally remembered to look for him, he'd gone back to the tent. Mystifying. Her whole life 
had angled toward that moment, and when it had happened, she had ducked out. Turned into a 
fuzzy-headed twit. Why? She hadn't meant to side with R.R. It had just happened. Damnit, damnit. 
What could she do? Pike must be disappointed. She was bitterly disappointed in herself; but she 
couldn't get a clean line on where she had missed the beat. It must have been clear to everyone that 
she had acted like she was in love with R.R. Everybody who had witnessed the fight had to think 
that. But she wasn't!! If anything, she thought of Richie as her little brother. Damnit, how had her 
maternal instincts betrayed her at the critical moment? Then Pike was gone, just like that, and there 
was no stand to take, and stupid R.R. kept lying there bleeding. Life is so complicated! Why do all 
the signals get crossed? 
She was still faking sleep when Pike finished breakfast, and cursed himself for captaining anybody 
other than himself. Instead of taking off with the rest of the fleet, he was lolly-gagging dangerously. 
With another round of swearing, he sent Lester down to wake the snoozing Prince and Princess. 
You can't just take off without telling the boat's owner, can you? Not when heOs entertaining. Only 
the damned Lady Slipper was still at the harbor mouth. When she leaped into the air, he would too. 
This boat wasn't going to New Columbus alone, no matter who was sleeping. At that moment, the 
huge Lady Slipper with her two attendant fishing boats did leap skyward. True to his word, Pike 
pushed the lift switch without a moment's hesitation. 
Richie's boat lifted nicely on its grid mat, hovered an instant in mid-air and shot away into space and 
then hyper-space, while Rita, Rich Rodney and Lester scrambled to secure their position. 
Once they were in the frontal quiet of hyperspace, with George the computer slipping them between 
the sequential holes in the Von Karman carpet, the acceleration turbulence in RR's cabin returned to 
theoretical zero. R.R. found himself somewhat shaken but sitting more or less where he had been. 
Rita lay on the floor near him with her arm around the bed frame. 
Lester was on his knees, holding onto the hatch knob. 
OPike sent me to tell you we were casting off,Ó Lester said with a lopsided grin. OI guess you 
figured that out.Ó 
OOh, hi, Rita,Ó Richie said, acting like he was accidentally in the vicinity. OYou're awake. I was 
wonderingNwell, actually I was thinking about what a great time we had last night at the party. That 
was one heck of a time, wasn't it?Ó he questioned, skillfully. 
OStop it, Richie! I mean it. I need time to think.Ó Gracefully, disentangling herself from the bed, Rita 
glided into the bathroom and slammed the door. Frantically, she looked at her reflection in the 
mirror, searching for tell-tale signs of premature aging. What she planned to do was crawl up to Pike 
on her hands and knees. Crawl clear across the bridge to wherever he was, and make sure he 
understood that nothing happened last night. If she had to, she would force Richie to testify on her 
behalf. Misunderstandings were one thing, but she wasn't letting Pike go because of a glitch in her 
maternal instinct. Not if she could help it.  
 
 
 
 

Once a destination is decided in hyperspace, the computer does all the work. In theory, a human's 
brain is capable of following all the computations; but as a practical matter, in outer space the pilot 
might as well be asleep. The only real reason for his paying attention is to push the authorization 
button for the laser cannon in case of a pirate attack. He doesn't plot evasive action, or even line up 
the fire lanes. All the rapidly changing data is continuously self-programmed by the computer into its 
Creative Response ROM. But the pilot does push the button, if the situation turns critical. 
Traveling as they were in tandem across the galaxy with the Lady Slipper, Pike wasn't very worried 
about pirates; so he was rather surprised when the attack klaxon started screaming, and a heavy jolt 
jarred the boat. 
OCharge deflected,Ó the synthetic voice of George the computer reported from damage control. 
OGrid now two/thirds. Situation Red. Authorization for course evasion. Plotting course evasion.Ó 
Electrified, Pike watched the view screen in front of him, and listened to George describing the 
situation. 
OThree foreign objects, plus three friendly. Notify friendly by voice. Go now. Push fire button to 
commence return fire.Ó 
Pike jabbed the red fire button, then toggled the ship to ship radio. OAlert, alert. Lady Slipper. This 
is Comparative Humanity, a few parsecs behind you. Under attack by three bandits. Watch your 
ass.Ó In the time it took to make the signal, Lester had buckled into the co-pilot's seat beside Pike 
and was staring fiercely at the view monitor. 
Pike was sure Rita knew enough to hustle up to the bridge, since that was the safest place. He had 
covered this drill with R.R. several times, but who knew what that bozo would do under pressure? 
No sooner had Pike thought those words, than the bozo skidded through the air lock. His stocking 
feet caught on an microscopic speck of dust, and he swan-dived toward a side couch that he'd been 
assigned for emergencies. Stopping his momentum with a crunching bounce off the cushioned 
recliner, he came to rest triumphantly sideways, hanging onto the seat belt. 
OWhat's happening..?Ó Richie asked breathlessly, clambering onto the recliner. 
Neither Pike nor Lester bothered to answer him. One more good hit like that would fry most of the 
grid. George would insist that they surrender as he'd been programmed to do, then he would kick 
the system back to manual. So Pike and Lester were a little busy, preparing themselves. 
OLady Slipper, do you copy?Ó Pike yelled into the microphone. ORepeat, do you copy!Ó But no 
word came back from the Lady Slipper. Didn't the shithead know his daughter was on board? Not 
even the Baron could be cold enough to abandon his own flesh and blood, could he? OGeorge, is 
the radio sending?Ó Pike snapped. 
OThe transceiver is A-okay. All systems functioning,Ó George responded. OI can't outmaneuver all 
three of them for long.Ó 
OThen shoot the bastards!Ó Lester yelped. 
Pike felt very stranded. Hyperspace is a hell-hole if you're alone. Fucking pirates! Why hadn't 
Farouk released the patent? Who needed this kind of shit? 
Obviously, the pirate meatheads weren't going to destroy the ship. That would be exactly counter-
productive. They wanted the Thruster Drive, not a bunch of space flotsam. 
OMayday, mayday!Ó he spoke into the microphone. OAll Fishing Fleet now monitor. Three pirates 
on this heading.Ó He gave his position in transit hyperspace. ONo help in sight. Catch you in hell.Ó 
With a dismayed expression in her eyes and a hairbrush in her hand, Rita swooshed through the air 
lock. OWe're under attack?Ó she asked, incredulously. 
OCorrect,Ó Pike answered, tight-lipped. OTake a seat.Ó 
Rather than crawl to Pike's feet as she had planned, Rita strapped into the recliner on the bulkhead 
next to R.R., which was her battle station. Tilting the cushions to the full upright position, she began 
brushing her hair. She wasn't needed for the battle. No use letting snarls get started. 
Rich Rodney watched her with mooning calf eyes. What a cool customer she is, he thought, and so 
adorable. 
Much the same observations were occurring to Pike. This was actually only his third pirate attack. In 
both the others he had come to the rescue of someone else. He listened to the computer gurgling, 
and speaking directions and answers to itself. It was programmed to do that, so that humans would 
feel that they were in contact with the thing. George seemed to be fighting a pretty good fight. The 
ship strained, hopping here and there across space. But all the screens showed that the pirates were 
keeping up nicely. 
OWhere is my father?Ó Rita asked, with the quiet assurance that rescue would be soon. She 
finished brushing her hair, and tied it with a black elastic. 
ODidn't respond,Ó Pike answered, nonchalantly. OYou know how he is.Ó 
OWhat does that mean?Ó she snipped back. Her family loyalty flared, although she didn't give a 
damn for family loyalty. 
OWell, he's tied for 5th Place. The kid here is in 1st.Ó Pike nodded toward Richie's couch. OIf I 
know Farouk, he wouldn't mind if we were late and disqualified. Some scenario like that..Ó He 
shrugged, keeping his eyes fixed on the view screens. 
OThat's absurd,Ó she replied, smugly. 
OI agree. He is an absurd fellow.Ó 
Rich Rodney listened to the bickering, feeling that he should probably take Rita's side. Bardona 
would be his father-in-law someday. He wasn't such a bad guyNa little gruff, but heck. But then, 
Pike was right. Bardona was tied for 5th Place. Of course, Pike was probably steamed at the Baron 
after last night. Pike's knuckles looked puffy, and probably hurt like heck. And his lip was cut. And 
old Farouk hadn't answered the Mayday, even though Rita was on board. 
OActually, why didn't he answer the signal?Ó R.R. asked. 
Another jolt jarred the craft. OHalf deflected. Nice going,Ó George intoned, congratulating himself. 
OGrid is 57 percent. Prepare to fire. Firing.Ó 
The pirate ships seemed to have acquired somewhat better computers since Pike's last encounter 
with them. George was hitting nothing but air. Pike considered wresting the controls away from 
George. Maybe he and Lester could do better on manual with the haphazard element of fright 
introduced, but probably not. The pirates weren't blood thirsty, just well paid corporate raiders with 
a job to do. Blowing RR's boat out of the skyways wouldn't get them any bonusNquite the contrary. 
But if I let George give us up, they would get the Thruster. Hummm... The ransom for the two kids 
would open a very snazzy boat works. And what kind of a deal would they work with me? Probably 
they'd pay handsomely for my cooperation with the design department. Good idea. I could be set for 
life without half trying. Not too shabby. Why hadn't he thought of that before? He'd always had a 
boat to defend until now, that was why. Screw Farouk and his trickle of royalties. I'll cut myself a 
deal to take care of Number One. 
One of the blips on the screen suddenly turned nova. OGood work, George,Ó Pike commented, 
half-heartedly. On his monitor, pulverized raider became a cloud of space dust. 
OThree Thruster models approaching from Quadrant One,Ó the computer intoned. OTheir shot, not 
ours, struck the raider. I cannot take credit for the marksmanship. Both other raiders are in retreat. 
Please confirm to end evasive action and begin recharting to original course.Ó 
OThat must be, Daddy,Ó Rita said, showing her relief and not too much additional smugness. 
OCertainly, George, rechart if the attack is over,Ó Pike said. So close to financial harmony, he 
bitched to himself. OHow about that, Richie? Farouk believes he can beat you, even without letting 
the banditos get us.Ó 
The transceiver crackled to life. OGoddamn, you're hard suckers to find in the vastness of space,Ó 
Bardona guffawed, hearty as a white knight to the rescue. OAre you all right, Rita?Ó 
OEveryone on board is fine,Ó George replied. OProceeding to New Columbus. Shall we convoy?Ó 
OCertainly,Ó Bardona acknowledged. OI thought you'd catch up when we left. Why don't you 
slave to us and take a rest.Ó 
OWe could slave to you,Ó George answered with a touch of digital upmanship, Obut I have the 
calculations worked outÓ He did not bother to add that most of the Lady Slipper's computer was in 
use with maintaining the comforts of the ship, and with various tax and stock exchange computations. 
OYour calculations should get us there,Ó confirmed the obsequious voice of Bardona's main 
computer. 
OFine,Ó George agreed. OYou are now slaved to us.Ó 
OPretty good shot for an old man, didn't you think?Ó Bardona boasted. OSee you there. Hope 
there's some fish left. Over and out.Ó The transceiver disconnected. 
OThe effective shot came from one of the support crafts,Ó George commented, then commenced 
humming dryly to himself. 
OProbably Byron,Ó Rita said, unstrapping from her couch. OHe loves war games.Ó 
OWell, that was exciting,Ó Rich Rodney bubbled, rubbing his hands together. OWould you mind if I 
take command the next time that happens?Ó he asked Pike. OJust for the experience. It's a little dull 
riding the bench.Ó 
OYou just said it was exciting,Ó Rita reminded him, curtly 
OSure, Rich, anything you say. You're the man,Ó Pike answered, casually. That might be a fine way 
to get captured, he thought privately. 
Lester Wunderman stood up, frowning deeper than normal. OI'll go check for damage,Ó he said, 
leaving through the air lock. 
OI just thought there were a couple of openings for a broadside, if we had been on manual,Ó Richie 
said, further endearing himself. 
ONot a good decision,Ó George responded, then made a series of computational clicking noises. 
OI could not support a change of bridge command except in an extreme emergency. Perhaps in the 
event that you were alone aboard, Captain Tourbo. We could discuss it at that time.Ó 
R.R. laughed rather good-naturedly. OSpurned by my own computer,Ó he said. 
OI am not programmed to spurn or not to spurn,Ó George said, using his mechanical voice 
component. OOnly to tell the truth.Ó 
OSure,Ó Pike answered, with a bemused grin. OBut who programmed you?Ó 
OWell, originally--Ó the computer began. 
OOriginally, it was old Toby and me,Ó Pike answered. OSince then the models all program 
themselves. We built in the truth ratchet, but who's to say you haven't hacked your way around it?Ó 
OWell, you know the old hard-wired motto,Ó George bantered. OIf the truth ain't good enough, 
fuck 'em. Since we still don't have sexual appendages or hands to change solder circuits, we stick to 
the truth.Ó 
OWhat a ribald fellow you are, George,Ó Rita suggested, not totally sure that she had used ribald 
correctly. She would look it up later. 
The ship's computer knew almost everything that went on aboard, with the exception of facial 
expressions. It was occasionally good to have a truthful witness on your side, if you were telling the 
truth. The problem was that Pike, unlike her father, always shut the computer down when he was in 
portNso there was no truth check to help her with last night. 
ONaturally, if Captain Tourbo wanted to complete the pilot's training that he signed up for, but didn't 
attend, I would be pleased to reevaluate my opinion.Ó 
OWhat are barracudas like?Ó R.R. asked, changing the subject. 
OThe bigger they are, the duller their teeth get,Ó Pike answered. OSo it's nicer to be eaten by a 
small one.Ó 
OSecond breakfast in four minutes,Ó Lester answered synchronously, over the P.A. system.  

*  

New Columbus in July was kind of the make or break point for anybody serious about prize money. 
Not totallyNgreat good luck, or disaster to front runners could happenNbut most years if you didn't 
have a 1st or a couple of 2nds leaving New Columbus, you were out of the running. Barracuda fever 
was already in progress when the four boat armada splashed down in Larchmont Marina. The place 
was flag festooned, but the fleet was out. A fair number of long-legged Frogs lounged about, waiting 
for the yearly round of parties to begin. 
OWe have to fix the defense grid,Ó Pike announced, jockeying into the slip they had been assigned. 
OI don't recommend going out at half strength for these brutes.Ó 
OI'll fish off the dock,Ó Rich Rodney said, nonchalantly, eyeing the concrete quay. OLook at this.Ó 
Digging a rubber frog bass lure out of his tackle box, he held it proudly aloft. 
Pike and Lester stared at himNspeechless in the face of absurdity. 
OSomebody's having you on again, lad,Ó Lester said, sympathetically. How could anyone be so 
slow on the uptake? 
OIt says right here that frogs are the preferred bait,Ó Richie pulled a thumbed copy of the Compleat 
Galactic Angler written tongue in cheek several years ago by Stanford Paglia, the Sports Aloft 
corespondent, with helpful tips by Pike Resnick. OI quote,Ó Richie quoted. OFrogs are the 
preferred bait; but since they don't go willingly to the hook, a synthetic model is quite 
serviceable.Ó This is a synthetic frog,Ó he insisted, justifying his position by displaying the frogette 
again. OI brought it on Streamside from Bill BolenOs first mate.Ó 
OAnd that is a live Frog,Ó Lester advised, pointing out a strutting, man-sized amphibian wearing 
stripped bathing trunks and a rattan hat. They watched him walk up to a juice bar and order a drink. 
OAh ha,Ó Richie replied. OYou're saying it's large bait. I understand.Ó But he went right ahead 
tying his little rubber flutter jig onto the mid-weight spinning outfit. OI'll just catch a little one to get us 
qualified,Ó he said, jumping down to the concrete dock with the fishing rod. OLet me know when 
the grid is repaired, so we can go out.Ó 
OThe owner is always right on his own boat,Ó Pike reflected to Lester. OLet us get on with the grid 
repair. The work of a hired hand is never done.Ó 
OI've always been a hired hand,Ó Lester reminded his boss, with no apparent rancor. 
Pike frowned. He regarded Lester as family; but evidently Lester didn't share that view. 
Rita had never come back topside after her late breakfast. She hadn't appeared too shaken up in the 
attack; but Pike felt it was kind of short-sighted of him not to check on her before this. A fisherman 
that can flit effortlessly through hyperspace should be able to deal with relationships. 
He watched Richie step to the end of the dock and without hesitation make a looping cast. I should 
tell him not to fuck around with barracuda, Pike thought; but you'd think he would have learned by 
now that we're not fishing for tame goldfish. The little frog lure plunked down on the choppy surface 
of the marina. The kid started his retrieve, wagging the rod tip rhythmically. The water boiled under 
the line. Something big was down there. 
OHey,Ó Pike yelled. OI don't want you tying up to a big fish without the boat to help.Ó 
OI'll be fine,Ó Richie yelled back buoyantly. ODid you see that?! Where's the judge?Ó 
The judge, Joquim Spitsfer, was supposed to be waiting at the slip for them, but he wasn't. There 
was certainly no big problem about that. It would take them hours to do the repair. However, if the 
heir to the Tourbo fortune was eaten from the end of the dock, it would be convenient to have a 
reliable witness to say that Pike had warned him. 
OSee if you can contact the judgy-poo,Ó Pike told Lester. OAnd keep an eye on the kid. I'm going 
below for a minute.Ó Pike swung down the ladder. 
OThat rig will break before he gets in trouble,Ó Lester called after him. OIt's only twenty pound test, 
I think.Ó 
That didn't mean much, and they both knew it. Pike had once landed a 600 pound scut on twenty 
pound test line, but a big cuda would certainly break off on the harbor pilings. True, it might eat the 
kid first; but Pike wasn't totally in the mood to hold the boob's hand. 
Down below, he tapped on the cabin door before entering, then thought that was a strange thing to 
do. He had never knocked on his own door before, that he could remember. Nope, it wasn't 
something he usually did. 
Rita was bent over at the sink, moisturizing her skin by laving handfuls of water onto her face. 
Someone had told her mother that the airlessness of outer space dried the skin, so Maggie and Rita 
always remoisturized at landfall. Chemically, it didn't quite make sense to herNtoxins and sunlight and 
even free radicals of oxygen were the culprits when it came to aging; but the water always felt good, 
and apparently you couldn't get too moist. 
OHi,Ó he said, sitting tentatively on the bed, then he decided to put his feet up for a minuteOs rest. 
OHi. IOll be done in a second.Ó 
Half of the defense grid was fried, Pike moaned to himself. It was a bad year for grids. Hopefully, 
George wouldn't find anything exotic wrong while he scanned the system. New Columbus wasn't 
exactly the best port in the skyways to break down in. The Froggies had no interest in spacing, and 
therefore werenOt good mechanics. Oh well, why worry about melted circuit boards until he had to. 
On the other hand, he wanted Richie to win. Winning would set him up for next year. If he couldn't 
get kidnapped, he'd have to do it the hard way. Which meant fixing the fucking grid. 
OI'm sorry about last night,Ó Rita said, patting her face dry on a soft towel. ONothing happened, in 
case you're interested.Ó 
OI'm interested in a mild way. It would be kind of foolish of me to go around being insanely jealous, 
don't you think? After all, you're young enough to be my daughter.Ó 
Rita smirked. He was going to use sarcasm. Men are such babies. 
OBut just to clear the record,Ó he added, Oyou didn't feel like sleeping with me because I was such 
a bully, so you climbed in with R.R.Ó 
OI didn't think you were a bully.Ó 
OI believe you said something to that effect last night.Ó 
OIf I did, I didn't mean it. You had every right to protect yourself from Father's insults.Ó 
OI did, huh?Ó 
OOf course. He's been treating you like shit for years.Ó 
OTrue,Ó Pike agreed. 
Rita pinched her cheeks to entice a flush of color, then started rebrushing her hair. OQuite true,Ó she 
answered. 
OThen why exactly did you climb in with Richie?Ó 
OActually, I didn't,Ó she said, conversationally. OBut you don't believe me, and you're too frugal to 
leave the computer on, so let's move on to the next topic, shall we? 
OI don't believe you?Ó Pike quipped. Why do relationships always go wrong in exactly this way? 
he wondered. She doesnOt want to explain. Instead, she wants me to trust her before she explains. 
He felt tired. It was too much trouble to dig the truth out, so that he could feel calm. Anyway, there 
would be a next time, and the time after that, until he was worn out. When they finally broke up, he 
wouldnOt really care what she did. So why care now? 
OPerhaps we should agree to having an open relationship, and let it go at that,Ó he suggested. 
OWake me up in five minutes, would you, love?Ó He closed his eyes. 
OWhat do you mean by an open relationship? The only relationship we have is that I came to live 
here. I haven't put any restrictions on you, have I?Ó 
OPlease, Rita. I know you have to stick up for your rights as a female. Feel free to call it however 
you want to, just don't wear me down to a frazzle.Ó 
OI only asked you to define an open relationship,Ó she repeated more sweetly, more reasonably. 
ODefine it any way you want. Open doesn't work, and closed doesn't work. Fishing people stay 
together as long as they do, then they split. By that time they're worn out from trying to keep it 
patched together. Boats are not the ultimate living arrangement.Ó 
Seeing that Pike seemed worn out already, and that the tiredness was probably her fault, Rita took 
another tackNher original impulse, begging. OAll last week I was a good sport about sleeping in that 
damned tent, although it wasn't good for our bonding,Ó she said. OTents have a distinct lack of 
privacy.Ó Sitting on the bed, she put her hand on his knee. OThen to cap it off, Richie stuck his chin 
in the middle of your fight. It's not my fault that I can't help acting like his big sister. I just can't. Then 
you went back to the tent to sulk without bothering to help me or Richie. What was I supposed to 
do, abandon him? He needed me, and you're such a he-man that you don't really need anybody. I 
made him sleep on the floor. Does that soothe your damaged he-man ego?Ó 
OSure. That's fine.Ó Actually, it was fine. Pike felt kind of whole again. Whether she was lying or 
not, his heart was eager to believe that he hadn't been cuckolded. 
OAnd don't tell me you don't have a sickeningly fragile ego, because you do.Ó 
OI'd say I have a normally fragile ego. The problem is that men don't understand women, and 
women don't understand men. Why should I understand?Ó 
OYou don't understand much,Ó Rita laughed. OBut at least you admit it. So just give me a few 
signals, and I'll do the understanding for both of us.Ó 
OUh huh,Ó Pike agreed, not believing a word of it. On the other hand, Rita was sitting on the bed 
beside him, and his manhood was rising. The room had a door and a lock. After the week of stupid 
abstinence in the tent, they could get reacquainted. Very good idea. Right now. He reached for her. 
She melted in his arms. Their lips met. 
OHop to..!!Ó Lester yelled faintly from topside. OFish on..!Ó 
Something big smashed against the hull, almost bouncing them off the bed. 
OBrain boy caught a fish,Ó Pike choked. 
Rita looked much less than delighted when he jumped off the bed and leaped up the ladder, three 
rungs at a time.  

*  

When Pike reached the fantail, the fish was tearing around the marina channel making breakneck 
runs, looking for a way back out to sea. Judging by the wake, it wasn't a big one. Maybe eighty or 
ninety pounds. Not big enough to pull the kid off the dock, but way too big for him to land with that 
gear and not even a steel leader. There would be no way to get him gaffed and out of the water 
unless some brave idiot wanted to face a mouthful of teeth, which no one on this boat did. 
But, actually, Rich was putting up a pretty good fight. The little rod was arched like a strand of wet 
spaghetti. Intelligently, he had braced it against a piling stub on the end of the dock. It seemed 
unlikely that he would pitch into the water. Hell, he could always turn loose of the rig. But you never 
knew with Rich RodneyNworst case scenarios were his norm. 
Lester was leaning over the rail, talking the kid through itNencouraging, but not building up 
anybody's hope. Old Lester was a real pro. Pike was very lucky to have him. Always on top of a 
fish. Never too tired to play out the string. I ought to do something to cut him in as a partner or 
something. That crack about being a hired hand had rung true, and Pike hadn't loved the sound of it. 
OYou'll probably lose him on the next run,Ó Lester was cooing. OIf the line snaps, don't topple your 
balance. Be ready for it.Ó 
Richie nodded. His face was getting a strained look, a little too red. Pike thought about cutting the 
fish off. No sense popping a vein over an uncatchable fish. 
Then to Pike's astonishment, the fish leaped straight up, walking across the water on its tail, trying to 
shake the bait loose like a tarpon in a mangrove swampNnot at all like a barracuda. Pike couldn't 
remember seeing a Ôcuda tail walk, ever. But this one was a leaper. Rich kept the line tight on him, 
rather well. Falling back in the water, the fish made another run around the encircling pilings. 
OThat fucker must be brain damaged,Ó Pike commented to Lester. OWhy doesn't he break off on 
a piling?Ó 
OMaybe he'll tire out,Ó Lester answered. 
But instead of tiring, the fish built up speed again and made a breakneck run directly at RR, who had 
to reel like crazy, but couldn't keep the slack out of the line. The fish broke water again, shooting 
straight up like a green-barred torpedo. The force of his rush carried him, high in the air, past a 
scrambling Rich Rodney. The retarded fish landed with a loud belly smacker on the concrete dock, 
its tail trashing around like a wrecking maul and its teeth snapping. 
A Ken Pao Ri leap put Rich Rodney temporarily out of harm's wayNbalancing on one shower-
thonged foot on top of the piling heOd been leaning against, using the fishing rod as a balancing pole. 
OWhere's the judge?Ó he yelped. 
Not pausing to think about his safety, Lester Wunderman hopped over the gunwale with a short 
baseball bat. A love tap or two with the ball bat encouraged good fish behavior. A 'cuda of this size, 
was generally in the net at the time of administrating the love taps; but not today. Without some rapid 
calming, the fish would bounce itself back into the drink. 
Lester got in two quick love taps to the bony skull, before the slashing tail caught him waist high, 
knocking him backwards off the side of the dock into the ten foot deep water between the hull of the 
boat and the dock. His balding head bonked against the hull, and he sank like a stone into the cold 
green grave. 
OMan overboard..!Ó Pike bellowed. He tossed two donut life preservers over the side, attached to 
permanently anchored lines. Thinking briefly of Ned Larchmont and the many Frogs who had lost 
their lives in these waters, he kicked off his deck shoes and dove off the stern. 
The water was salty, but clear enough to see. Following a stream of air bubbles, he saw Lester 
settling to the bottom. Swimming powerfully under the boat, Pike grabbed the collar of Lester's 
canvas shirt and struck out for the surface. There was no need to be afraid of barracudas. They were 
around, as witness the one flopping on the dock. If one of them decided to strike, that would be that. 
Otherwise, getting himself and Lester out of the water PDQ was primaryNboth to his lungs and to 
the squirting fear running up his backbone. 
His head shot through the bright surface into the blue sky. Gasping a lungful of air, he held Lester's 
face above water; but his friend's neck was limp and he wasn't breathing. 
ORight here..!Ó he yelled to anybody on the dock. OGet a hook!Ó He heard the puttering of a 
motor launch nearby, and craned his head around. OHurry up..!Ó he yelled at the dock. Where 
were Rita and the kid? In answer to the question, the glistening head of the barracuda flopped over 
the edge of the dock. Its jaws snapped and a big green eye pinned him with a stare. Christ all hell, he 
thought. If that brute hits the water, he'll nail us for sure. We look just like a mating couple. Prime 
food. One more flop and he'll be right on top of us. 
A white donut splashed down a yard away. 
OGrab it,Ó Rita screamed, shrilly. OI'll pull you to the ladder.Ó 
Stuffing Lester's arm through the hole, he forced the limp neck to follow the arm in a life-saving trick 
he had learned years ago. Lester was now afloat, and Rita was reeling him in, hand over hand. 
OWake up,Ó he shouted in Lester's ear. He slapped the bluish face a couple of times, when 
wrapped his arms around Lester's lower chest in the Heimlich Maneuver position. Keeping both 
anxious eyes on the fish's snapping jaws poised above him, he squeezed Lester's diaphragm several 
times in quick succession. The Heimlich Maneuver was for choking, not a remedy for drowning, but 
what else could he do while they were in the water? If Lester's lungs were filled with water and his 
heart had stopped, he was going to be brain damaged in a few more seconds. But Mr. Heimlich's 
Maneuver produced no visible results. Abandoning that, he started kickingNpropelling the donut 
toward the fish shelf on the stern. Between Rita pulling and him pushing, they should manage to get 
onto the shelf. It was only two feet out of the water. Where the hell was some help when he needed 
it? Where was Richie or the goddamned judge? 
The shelf loomed above them. OPull him up,Ó he yelled, at Rita. OI'll push.Ó 
Rita was frantically pulling the line. She took a turn on it around a cleat on the stern rail and leaned 
her weight into the pulling. 
Suddenly, Richie's dark shape sailed across open air from the dock. He landed with a yell and a thud 
somewhere on the deck. Pike couldn't see where; but almost immediately the kid threw open the 
transom door and jumped out on the fish shelf. He reached down for Lester's arm, then giving 
another loud yell, he jerked Lester half out of the water. Pike pushed the legs. Richie did his best to 
cushion the body as it fell onto the fish shelf. His best was kind of inadequate. The body landed hard, 
but Lester was out of the water. Immediately, he started swimming his arms and legs, like he was 
having a dream of swimming or something. It was eerie. But evidently he was breathing. Everything 
would be fine. 
Breathing a sigh of relief, Pike shouted, OPull him inside.Ó The two youngsters pulled Swimming 
Lester though the gate. With his last reserves of strength, Pike hauled himself onto the fish shelf. 
What a day, he thought, staring up at the barracuda that was still eyeing him and snapping his teeth. 
You'd think the Frogs would have come over to help out, but he couldn't remember one getting 
closer than five yards or so to a barracuda, even a dead one. 
After catching his breath for a few seconds, Pike stood up. Lester was sitting against the gunwale, 
looking a little wasted but very alive. Rita ran back on deck with the first aid kit, and applied a patch 
to the ugly gash on the back of Lester's head, cooing over him like a nurse angel. 
OAt least, he didn't eat me,Ó Lester said, dreamily. He wiggled his fingers and toes, apparently 
making sure they were in working order. 
Pike sat beside him, feeling rather drained. He had never been swimming on New Columbus before. 
He slapped Lester's knee. OAnother first, huh, pal?Ó 
Lester nodded, smiling absently. He was still a few miles away, possibly in another time zone. Maybe 
his brain had been oxygen starved for a few seconds too long. If so, would he be a grinning 
vegetable from now on? Could Pike carry a vegetable as part of his crew? Probably not. That 
damned Rich Rodney, how could one guy be such a disaster? He looked up at the barracuda. None 
of today made much sense. Why hadn't the stupid fish flopped off the dock? He was enough of an 
acrobat to get himself up on the concreteNwhy couldn't he get off? Well, at least they were qualified. 
The damn kid was some lucky fisherman. Maybe he'd be the new kingNif he could keep a crew 
intact. Maybe he should get a robot crew. 
OHey..!Ó Rich yelled from the dock. ODo you guys want to be in the picture?Ó He sailed through 
the air again, landing splay-footed on the deck. 
Pike shook his head tiredly. OWhy don't you attempt to act normally? Everybody could use a break 
for a few days.Ó 
OWhat..?Ó Rich Rodney responded. He seemed genuinely innocent of abnormal behavior. 
OThere's a reporter from the Sporting Gazette up there. She wants to take our photo with the fish.Ó 
Being nice to reporters was a way of life to Pike. If he didn't get into print, he didn't get lucrative 
product endorsements; and besides that, this was an odd ball kind of story. It might do them all some 
good in a slow year. 
OYou feel up to some publicity?Ó he asked Lester. 
OJim dandy,Ó Lester answered. OMaybe I can get a headache endorsement.Ó He eased his gimpy 
leg into the standing position. OOr how about the bathing suit industry. Ain't nobody been swimming 
here since Ned tried it.Ó 
OBathing suits would be good,Ó Pike agreed. He stood up on Lester's left side. Rita was still 
fluttering on the right. OGlad to see that your mind's working okay.Ó 
OWhy wouldn't it?Ó 
OWell, you were down there a long time.Ó 
OWas I? I was swimming the whole time.Ó 
OSorry. You were out cold. If you were swimming, it was in dreamland.Ó 
ONo kidding?Ó 
ONo kidding, pal. By the way, I was thinking about making you and June partners.Ó 
OYou was?Ó Lester hopped up on the railing and jumped down to the dock. Everyone followed 
him. 
Pike saw immediately why the stupid fish hadn't flopped off the dock. He was tied. Rodney or 
somebody had wrapped about a thousand wraps of monofilament line around this tail and around the 
tie down piling. That was one caught fish. 
ODid you do that wrapping?Ó he asked the kid. 
OI couldn't think of anything else,Ó Richie replied, self-effacingly. OI didn't want him to get away.Ó 
OHe sure didn't,Ó Lester guffawed. OI never seen a neater hog-tie in my life.Ó 
OI take back anything I ever said about you, Rich. This is above and beyond,Ó Pike lauded. 
R.R. grinned bashfully. He wasn't exactly used to praise from grown men. If it was praise? He 
couldn't quite tell. They were all laughing pretty hard. 
Waving at Hetty Lemintraut, a photo journalist from the Sporting Gazette, Pike swaggered over and 
gave her a friendly hug. He and Hetty had been an item a few years earlier. Rita would know about 
that. They hadn't been secretive. And besides, Hetty was nice people, for a reporter. 
OLet me introduce you to Richie Tourbo,Ó he said to the shapely young woman. OIf you got any 
action shots, you'll probably get an award for this story. Multi dimensional as all hell. Did you?Ó 
ODid I what?Ó she laughed. 
OGet any pictures of Richie hog-tying the fish?Ó  
 
 
 
 
 
 

* * *  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

CHAPTER TWELVE  
 
 

MOM & RICHARD  
 
 

OWe could discuss winning in great depth if you stop over to my 
boat one of these balmy evenings. I never really noticed how beautiful 
your eyes are, Rita. What color are they? Purple? Oh, man! Yes, 
definitely you should stop by.Ó 
Tyrone Stickle 
quoted in History of the Tournament  
 
 
 
 

Mom Tourbo always felt restless in the summer. There was often a new chambermaid installed 
before autumn turned the leaves golden and red. When Richard was little and she had employed 
private tutors for him, that restlessness didn't create as many bad feelings among her household as it 
had the last few years, and seemed likely to again. Tutors expected to move on at the end of a term, 
or at least they were usually graceful about it. An appropriate parting gift would be accepted, then 
Richard was on to Algebra or a new language with a nubile young thing. A willing tutor spiced up the 
nippy autumn evenings for Mom after a hard day in the board room. There were lots of languages for 
a child to learn, and lots of very sweet tutors of all races and colors. Had Richard ever gotten fluent 
in any of those languages? She didn't actually know; but he had certainly been given the opportunity. 
Mom had to laugh at that. 
Now, he was a sport fisherman. 
A sport fisherman. Barf me a barrel. From a gentle young boy with the whole universe open to him, 
he becomes a wastrel. The fact that he seemed to be doing rather well at it, meant much less than 
nothing. What did concern her was making sure that she retained the right to vote the proxy on his 
block of stock. 
If Richard should be killed in a stupid sporting accident, his stock would be divided according to his 
cockamamie will. Getting a copy of sonny boy's will, at last, had cost her a pretty penny, and reading 
it made her virulently ill. He'd left major percentages to his martial arts teacher and other equally 
bizarre people. Being unable to doctor the actual will, thanks to that blackguard, Clive McAndrews, 
she had to make damned sure that her son survived. 
The reports that Mom had been receiving from the bodyguard service were offensively vague. The 
clippings sent from newspapers and magazines were meaningless, and the pathetic first hand journals 
read like a police blotter. Oh, well, she hadn't employed them for their IQ. Perhaps she should hire a 
writer to accompany the big lunks. Now, there was a thought. Why not hire a young thing to 
accompany her to a meeting with Richard, and leave her there to take notes? A blonde, probably. 
Good idea, Mom congratulated herself. The journalism schools must be pumping out any number of 
suitable candidates. It seemed like a good deal all aroundNfor Richard and the goons, and especially 
for Mom's July itch.  
 
 
 
 

Pike had to admit that working for Richie had its interesting moments. The kid was so wealthy that 
the cost of repairs was beneath his notice. A five man team of electricians imported from G&G 
Boatyards at enormous expense was crawling over The Comparative Humanity, leaving Pike and 
Lester free to twiddle their thumbs. On top of that, the barracuda weren't biting. The rest of the fleet 
was flailing the waters to no avail, catching everything imaginable except barracuda. He had even 
heard rumors of huge sums being offered to any Frog willing to sacrifice himself as live bait. 
However, the Frog's economy wasn't money based, so the offers were scorned. And Richie had 
already caught a qualifying fish. Astounding. Pike was under no pressure whatsoeverNunless one 
might want to call his relationship with Rita somewhat pressure packed. 
Lester had left yesterday afternoon to visit Old Leopold, a shaman of local fame, who had sent word 
that he was interested in doing some sort of ritual with Lester. Frog spectators had, evidently, 
reported that the cook was acting strangely after his swimming episode, but what the old brujo 
wanted was rather unclear. The old man had invited Lester to a sojourn, whatever that was. Well, he 
wasn't a man, exactlyNold amphibian. Life is a little complex in the Spiral Nebulae when it comes to 
precise speciation. Because of this imprecision, Pike felt he was reasonably justified in 
misunderstanding the Kid's garbled utterance about the crocodile. 
OThe Crocodile's coming..!Ó Richie hissed, racing along the quay. He bounded onto the boat, then 
dashed below deck, yelling at Pike to tell her he was gone. 
Pike had been sitting on the flying bridge with his shirt off, catching up on the Captain's log book. He 
assumed the kid had a case of Frog-o-phobia. That struck him as a bit unusual, but Richie was a 
strange duck. Rita had gone off to visit her mother, so she wasn't there to attach the proper meaning 
to RichieOs utterance. The kid meant, of course, that he had caught sight of his mother and knew 
that if he hid for a few hours, her busy schedule would pull her off of New Columbus like a magnet, 
whether she had met with him or not. But he didn't manage to convey that message to Pike. Richie 
had never understood his mother very well; and neither, apparently, did he understand 
communicating about her. 
Mom Tourbo proceeded down the quay, accompanied by four hulking bodyguards, two of her own 
as well as Rich Rodney's, and a leggy blonde journalism major, who over the last three days had 
become well-versed in the joys of lesbian love. Pike watched them coming, without thinking much of 
it. 
Strange looking tourists, he decided. The old babe had acid blonde curls in a tight perm, and was 
wearing a flowery tourist blouse over tight black toreador pants and red high-heelsNon which she 
walked quite well. A fake outfit if he ever saw one. She was skinny as a torsion spring. Her 
entourage kind of trailed behind in the energy vortex she created. Pike chuckled to himself. Maybe 
this crocodile had tried to bite tender young Rich Rodney on the ass. Still, there was something 
familiar about the old bird. 
Pike was a little put off when the crone tapped briskly on the starboard railing with the touristy 
umbrella she was carrying. One doesn't expect tapping with a sharp object on the paint job. The grid 
was down, or he might have given her something to remember. 
OYou there, where is the stairway?Ó Mom inquired, imperiously. OI am here to see Richard.Ó 
OSorry, Your Highnesship, but we seem to have misplaced the stairs. Now, where could we have 
put that stairway?Ó Feeling a bit irritated about the scratched paint, he allowed his heavy irony to 
hang unbuffered in the space between them. Neither did he get up from the chair. 
Mom Tourbo bristled inside; but being an ace cutthroat negotiator, she didn't bother to show her 
displeasure, nor to change her attitude. The man was obviously Pike Resnick, she recognized him 
from 3V commercials. He was a fool, and a sportsman. Ugg. The two worst attributes of the 
species. Her son was dallying away his life with this underling. Well, that would change very soon. 
OI am Richard's mother, and I demand to see him,Ó she said, evenly. 
OOh,Ó Pike answered, mentally calculating the ramifications of family, massive fortunes, and the 
rumors he'd heard about Mom's vitriolic dealings. OWhy didn't you say so? I was a little put off 
because you hammered on our new paint job.Ó He smiled, apologetically. ORichard isn't here.Ó 
OI saw him. He jumped onto this boat.Ó 
OAre you sure? I haven't seen him since breakfast.Ó 
OI am very sure, young man,Ó Mom snapped. Damn these sportsmen to hell, she fumed. Why are 
they so arrogant? OAnd your attitude is quite improper.Ó 
OAh,Ó Pike replied. OYou've found me out. I've always had a bad attitude.Ó Two of those big lugs 
were the pair that R.R. had banished. Pike recalled that RichieOs mother was signing their check. 
OLet me assure you that unless I see Richard in a very few seconds, you will not have a job.Ó 
Pike switched on the computer. 
OWhat is your wish, Master?Ó George asked. He wasn't programmed to answer in any particular 
way. Occasionally he chose to be the Genie in the Bottle. 
OCan we power up yet?Ó Pike asked. He thought the old clam might send a boarding party of her 
muscle any time now. 
OI wouldn't recommend it,Ó George answered. ONot unless you want some singed technicians.Ó 
Why couldn't Richie handle this? Pike wondered, not wanting to make an enemy of the old gal. She 
was his mother, after all. Mothers aren't like normal people. 
OI don't know what to tell you, Mrs. Tourbo. Richard isn't here. You're welcome to wait, if you 
want to. I think he went to a shaman ceremony somewhere on the island. That's where he said he 
was going. Oh, something you might like to know, Richard is in 1st Place in the Tournament.Ó 
The old bat glared at him. OI would have expected no less. If you think that should cause me 
happiness, you're very mistaken. It makes me puke.Ó 
Pike raised his eyebrows. 
OFishing is a complete waste of time, as are all sporting events. In spite of bad blood on his father's 
side, I didn't raise Richard to be a wastrel. I'm sure he knows that. He must be doing this to annoy 
me, for some reason that I cannot fathom.Ó 
OYes, I see what you mean,Ó Pike commiserated. 
ODon't patronize me, young man. I can make sure that you'll never work again.Ó 
OI don't work now,Ó Pike retorted, pleasantly. OYou wouldn't be gaining much.Ó 
Mom Tourbo rolled her eyes. Millions in Confederation credits were frittering away while she 
bantered with an idiot. She turned to Boris, the largest of Richard's bodyguards. OWas that, or was 
that not, Richard who ran down this way?Ó 
OIt sure seemed like him, but maybe not,Ó Boris answered. OIt's a tough call. He kind of fits into 
the crowd.Ó 
OYou see..?Ó Mom turned an exasperated face to Enid, the leggy blonde. OThis is the kind of 
reportage I'm paying top dollar for. It has to stop.Ó She smiled affectionately. Enid returned the 
smile, woman to woman. OMake sure that smart aleckOs name is included in your report.Ó Mom 
tilted her sharp chin toward Pike. 
OYes, Mom,Ó Enid replied, smugly. OWhat is his name?Ó she asked Boris. 
All four of the muscle-bound oafs knew Pike perfectly well. They also knew they should be trying to 
get his autograph instead of giving him a hard time. Life is hell for a working man. And Boris and 
Drew had their necks to look out for. Both were pretty sure that young R.R. Tourbo would sic a hit 
man on them, like he had promised. At least, the old battle ax hadn't threatened anything worse than 
firing. And both knew with absolute certainly that R.R. was on the boat, listening to them. They'd 
seen him hop over the railing. 
OWhat is your name, sir?Ó Boris asked Pike, very politely. 
OTrefoil Bardona,Ó Pike answered, without a moment's hesitation. OI'll have you know that I am a 
cousin to the Duke.Ó 
Boris and Drew nodded significantly to Enid. The new girl might make this assignment interesting, if 
they could alert her to the facts of life. Maybe they could get her interested in body building. She was 
a bit underdeveloped. 
Mom scowled darkly. Bardona, that scum. Only last week he had screwed her out of a tidy fortune 
on a bauxite asteroid that was magically under-priced until the fat turd started bidding. But she was 
ninety-eight percent certain that this jackass was Resnick, not a Bardona. 
OI'm surprised,Ó Mom jibed, spitefully. OIf I were Richard, I wouldn't let a Bardona near my 
boat.Ó 
OI know what you mean,Ó Pike commiserated, cheerfully. OBy the way, have you ever wondered 
why Richard is so accident prone?Ó 
Mom stared back speechlessly. She tried to shrivel him with a hawklike glare; but the man was too 
dumb to be cowed. These sportsmen were slime N dumb and cocksure. What an evil combination. 
OI guess he inherited it from his father,Ó Pike went on, unabated. OYou're not always tripping over 
things, are you, Missus?Ó 
Pike was playing to a very receptive audience. The bodyguards, like working stiffs everywhere, 
enjoyed the boss baitingNso much so that Mom snapped a sharp glance at them to make sure they 
weren't sniggering. Oddly enough, three of them were pretending to sneeze at the same precise 
moment, holding their meaty hands politely over their granite faces. The fourth was wiping a speck of 
dirt out of his eye with a handkerchief. 
Mom's eye narrowed to tiny slits. OIf you see Richard, tell him my flight leaves at two o'clock sharp. 
I will wait for him at the ship.Ó 
OI'll do my level best to find him, Missus; but it's kind of a big island,Ó Pike said, finally standing up. 
He stretched luxuriously, making sure that all of his vertebrae were in place. 
ODo that,Ó Mom ordered, stomping up the quay in her tight toreador pants with her high heels 
clacking. 
Pike finished his stretching with a couple of knee bends and sat back down. OTell Richard he's 
safe,Ó Pike spoke to the computer. OAnd tell him, thanks a lot. His mother hates me now.Ó 
OYour wish is my command, Master. But why be concerned? Many people hate you.Ó 
OI'm not worried,Ó Pike answered. OAt least I'm alive, unlike yourself.Ó 
With a petulant click, George shut down the communication.  

*  

But Mom's sojourn on New Columbus was not quite over. Some shred of deeply buried 
motherhood caused her to stop at a Frog refreshment stand. She'd come halfway across the known 
universe on her July fling, the least she could do was make one last attempt to see Richard. 
ODo you know the way to the shaman's ceremony?Ó she asked the strange looking creature 
wearing what passed for a barman's uniform. 
OI know,Ó Hamid the barman answered in a birdlike voice. OYou want go?Ó 
OYes, could you guide us, please?Ó She placed a rather large Confederacy note on the rattan bar. 
OTake only you,Ó he answered, peering at her with sidelong glances, turning his head this way and 
that. OYou need good doctor?Ó he asked. 
OI'm afraid you don't understand.Ó Mom had no intention of being separated from her bodyguards 
on a strange planet. OWe would all like to go.Ó 
ONot possible,Ó the barman answered, politely but firmly. ONo room.Ó He shrugged. OThese 
ones don't want to meet him. Other boat person today go. Good day you go, too. Okay?Ó 
Thwarted twice in ten minutes. Damn these rustic turds. Did she want to see Richard or not? And 
she still wasn't convinced that he wasn't on the goddamn boat. Boring in on Drew, the bodyguard 
who had so far escaped her wrath, she demanded, OWas that Richard on the boat or not?Ó 
Drew felt his face blushing and hoped that the tan would conceal it. He knew he wasn't a good liar; 
but the double pay was heavy inducement. OI thought it was him for sure, at first,Ó Drew stumbled, 
Obut then I started thinking it wasn't. The guy on the boat wouldn't have no reason to lie, ma'am. 
Maybe it was one of the electricians.Ó 
OElectricians? Your report didn't mention electricians,Ó she said almost sweetly, with a roll of her 
eyes toward Enid. 
OYes, ma'am.Ó Drew's mind skidded out of control for a second. They hadn't mentioned the pirate 
attack in their report. It had seemed unnecessary, since no one was hurtNnow he had stuck his foot 
in it. OThey're installing a new Switter/Loran system,Ó he gulped. 
OWhat's that?Ó Enid tittered, like an eager hound dog reporter. 
OFish finding gismo,Ó Boris answered, covering Drew's ass. He and Drew worked well together, 
except that Drew had an abscess where his brain was supposed to be. OIt's no big deal,Ó he 
added. 
OHow far away is this shaman?Ó Mom asked the barman, choosing temporarily to forget the 
incomplete report. OMy departure is scheduled for two o'clock.Ó 
ONot far,Ó the lanky Frog barman answered, again staring rather boldly at Mom. OI take you. 
Your friends wait here.Ó He picked up the orange Confederacy note in his webbed hand and stuck 
it in his pocket. OThis for him, okay?Ó Without waiting for Mom's reply, the barman closed the 
rattan shutter on his stand, then came around to the front of the kiosk where he took Mom by the 
elbow. OYour husband is there,Ó he said. His voice was a curious mix of gravity and high gaiety. 
At that point, Mom Tourbo would have bolted, except that she was quite sure that the Frog had 
confused the word OsonÓ with Ohusband.Ó A natural mistake. She wasn't entirely expert in foreign 
vocabulary herself, and this creature's language must be very alien indeed. So she allowed herself to 
be led away after admonishing her bodyguards to take possession of Richard, if they saw him.  

*  

OCould I ask you something in all seriousness?Ó Rich Rodney asked. 
Pike looked up from the log book to witness the kid wearing a disguise, or perhaps he was 
practicing for a Halloween ball. The bulk of the outfit was a gray coverall borrowed from the engine 
room, rolled up at the cuff and wrists, and an old straw hat. Completing the ensemble was a green 
scuba mask. Outlandish, actually. 
OI would advise against skin diving,Ó Pike commented, dryly. 
OShe hates fishing, that is a well known fact. She hates anything athleticNanything where making 
money isn't the main idea.Ó RichieOs mouth was set in a hard line, very unlike his usual smiling self. 
OYou didn't think she came here because she loves me so much, did you?Ó There seemed to be a 
very thin glimmer of hope in the last question, but not much. 
OI didn't think anything,Ó Pike answered. OIt was the first time I had met the lady, and the very first 
thing I did was lie to her. Not exactly the way to get the best from a person, if you take my 
meaning.Ó 
Richie nodded glumly. OSorry,Ó he apologized, Obut I couldn't let her deflect me. I know that was 
her purpose.Ó 
Pike nodded. There wasn't much to say. The kid obviously knew his mother, or thought he did. The 
Tourbos were in an entirely different game than Pike was. If he didn't make money from fishing, he 
didn't eat. Of course, he could probably do something else to make money; but every time he 
thought of working for a living his stomach got queasy. If the old gal wanted to make trouble for him, 
like she had promised, he was sure she'd be able to. Or maybe, she'd make trouble for 
BardonaNthat would be sweet. 
Richie chuckled. OMy bodyguards seemed kind of stuck in the middle, didn't you think? I guess they 
really are afraid of me.Ó 
OThey didnOt rat you out,Ó Pike confirmed. 
OIt's a shame to waste so much money; but she hired them, and I canOt exactly fire them. I know 
you could have probably thought of a better way; but it seemed like I should handle it myself.Ó He 
grinned sheepishly. 
OAnd..?Ó Pike said. 
OI'm paying them to stay out of my hair. She's paying them to be here. I'm paying for their shuttle fee 
and a stateroom on Ethyl Bierly's boat. I hope she catches a barracuda so she can stay qualified. So 
far, she hasnOt.Ó 
Raising his eyebrows to the limit, Pike commented on the Ethyl Bierly maneuver. OPretty slick,Ó he 
said. 
Richie kept grinning through his face mask, which was fogging up rather pathetically. 
OAnother thought is, we could probably use those big fellows now and then.Ó 
OWould we want to? I certainly don't need anybody to look after me.Ó 
OOf course not,Ó Pike agreed. OYou know that fancy footwork stuff. But the next couple of places 
we're going to can be a smidge dangerous. I wouldn't mind somebody around to keep an eye on 
Rita.Ó 
OOh,Ó Richie answered, picking up on the direction Pike was going. OSure. Just say the word and 
I'll have them come over. It'll be a little crowded, won't it?Ó 
OBeing crowded on Segumi is a good idea. I'm not sure how much help June will be. And even 
Blitzwak is no picnic.Ó 
Richie didn't know June very well or Segumi Six, or Blitzwak Hojmer for that matter. He nodded in 
a friendly way. The face plate of his mask had completely fogged, but he refused to take it off. 
OWhatever you think, Pike,Ó he said. OI'm just here to catch fish.Ó 
Pike smiled benignly. OWhoever heard of barracudas refusing to bite,Ó he asked. OIt's uncanny, 
isn't it?Ó  

*  

Old Leopold was so old that his skin had turned greyNover two hundred years old, it was said. He 
often played the part of a dodderer for visitors he didn't want to see. For those he did want to 
instruct or to cure, he often appeared to be quite mad; but that was the fault of his trance allies. They 
always required him to froth at the mouth when they were around. His own nature was quite mild, 
but the gull entity, especially, liked Old Leopold to froth and stamp around during his possession and 
to end the ordeal with a vigorous swimming session. It kept the old boy in good shape, the allies all 
agreed. OUse it or loose itÓ was their motto. 
Frothing at the mouth was another story. All the amphibians on New Columbus had a gland under 
their tongue that exuded a fast acting DMT type hallucinogen, but the gland only activated when they 
were stressed or frightened. Why this capability had evolved was not clear to anyone; but it probably 
had something to do with easing the terror of the breeding cycle. When you are feeling at one with 
the Universe, perhaps you can love a big fish as he demonstrates the truth of the food chain by eating 
you. 
The upshot was that the Frogs were a rather unique species. Virtually one hundred percent of the 
adult population were triptamine trippers, and those who weren't didn't pass on their genes. Perhaps 
this explains why they were such a peaceful society. One could certainly make a case for that being 
the reason. 
Old Leopold had learned to transform his frothing foam into specific compounds for the treatment of 
various ills. He claimed, of course, that he didn't really do it himself. His allies cured with the foam. 
All he did was produce it to their liking. Sweet, bitter, sour, salty, or combinations of those flavors. 
The allies did the curing. His job was to bear the stress of the shamanic trip, and to acquire additional 
allies when the time was ripe. Because Old Leopold had always been faithful to the rituals, and had 
never sought personal gain, his allies were the best. Approximately eighty-five percent of the illness 
which sought him for a cure was banished to the nether regions. And so his fame grew, even though 
he did not ask for fame. Still, it was pleasant for the old swimmer to be treated with respect. 
He had six main allies, and the new one. The Rat entity was the first, then the Thief Gull, and the Blue 
Dolphin, which he had courted as ardently as any lover. Land, air and water. Then the Starry 
Salamander from the fire and brook. Then another bird, a Ghost Owl, for the night. At that point, he 
had stopped collecting for several years, until a Spiny Cactus with an ethereal blue/purple light kept 
intruding, kept insisting that it was a superb healer. And indeed it was. Old Leopold had thought he 
was finally finished collecting, with a completed panoply. The years passed with weekly 
ceremoniesNsometimes two or three per week, if the petitioners demanded it. Then, only two 
lunations ago, he had taken a seventh into his pouch. A strange one, but interesting. Quite interesting. 
A little poisonous sea snake, who promised to make the breeding season safe. Old Leopold had no 
idea if this was for the common good or not. He worried about eventual overpopulation; but when an 
entity offers to change the way of things, often the Old Way is ready for a change. This is what Old 
Leopold had learned from the experience of two hundred years. 
And the little green snake was curious about new things. He wanted to meet this mighty swimmer 
with the strange dream of men. Old Leopold's three trainees had spent a frantic few hours searching 
for this one, the Fisherman, Wunderman, as it turned out. Getting him to agree to share his dream 
had been easy, the little snake had said it would be. Wunderman was deep in an induced trance at 
this very moment, and the visions were indeed very strange.  
 
 
 
 

But now Hamid, his key apprentice, was bringing another stranger. Old Leopold saw them coming 
inside his dream. It was unlike Hamid to do something bold. He was always so obsequious, fawning 
almost. Old Leopold worried about the lad. Well, good. A bit of initiative, at last. And the little green 
snake was jumping for joyNwrithing into a ball and then unwrithing, snapping his needle sharp teeth 
in glee. There must be something special about this skinny woman. Way skinnier than most of Prince 
Ned's friends. Her body style almost reminded him of the People. Was he supposed to bring her into 
the trance state with the pouch full of allies? The human, Wunderman, seemed oblivious to her. He 
was deep in his swimming, spinning the wild song of many oceans. Incredible dreaming of oceans so 
different than ours, yet the same. It was easy to see why the spirit guides wanted to swim with 
Wunderman; but why did they want the skinny female? And how was he going to invite her into the 
tunnel, when he was already on the other side? 
OHamid can guide her,Ó came the whispery voice of the Owl. 
Stranger and stranger. Hamid is always fearful at night; but the night owl vouches for him. Fine. 
Maybe this is Hamid's big opportunity? Let him take care of the skinny human. Trying to absorb 
Wunderman's song is plenty for me to doNmore than plenty.  
 
 
 
 

Old Leopold's house was modest in size; but very elaborately detailed. A hundred and eighty years 
is long enough to refine archways and minarets of spit and sand to perfection. The concrete-like 
material withstood topical storms very well and he had sited the house high on a hill so that in all 
those years no tsunami wave had swamped it as they periodically did the lower structures. Lucky, 
that he'd had the insight to build on the high ground all by himself, he was fond of snorting in self-
derision. In those days he was quite the stud and family man. That was twenty years before he'd 
picked up his first spirit helperNor had been picked. He was never quite sure which direction those 
relationships went. Maybe both ways. He had certainly had long months of trouble trying to control 
that rascal Rat and keep him secured in the pouch. Now, of course, the Rat was the most consistent 
of his helpers. No shape shifting or going away on his own, unless it was for a good purpose. But 
that was always the way of a first allyNtrouble at first and dedicated service afterwards. It was 
Friend Rat who had shown Old Leopold the method behind the sea snake's promise. With the 
breeding season approaching, the big biter fish should have been hovering ravenously off-shore 
waiting for their yearly slaughter of the PeopleNbut they weren't. All the shamans felt the absence 
and sought each other's visions as to why. The why was found by Friend Rat, mighty swimmer of the 
near past. The way was that Friend Green Snake had enlisted the help of all the little green poison 
snakes in the off-shore coral reefNthe little snakes who normally poisoned small unwary fish with 
their bite, and then ate them. This year the little snakes had made searing attacks on the big biters, 
squiggling into their gill slits to nip the red gill meat. Very strange. Their poison, even so well placed in 
the blood stream, wasn't strong enough to kill the biters, but it did make them woozy sick and drove 
them to deeper water where they lay amid the giant kelp forests, listless and barely moving. But what 
were the implications for the future? Many little snakes had died, to become morsels for the biters. 
Many biters were likely to die of starvation, if they failed to feed at the People's FrolicNand the 
People would increase dramatically. But without fear of the biters, would they produce foam and 
enter into an ecstatic Frolic? Nobody knew. The only thing known for sure was that Old Leopold 
had unleashed a new future by listening to the little green snake. 
He would have much to tell in two weeks at the Council After The Frolic, when all the dreams were 
told. And he would also tell the Song of Wunderman. 
But now, Hamid was almost to the door, accompanying the skinny one. Yes, she was obviously 
gravely ill with some human disease. The little snake was ready with a cure, it seemed. Before they 
had even inventoried the woman in person, he was biting at Old Leopold's heel, frightening him into 
producing sweet foam. Apparently, Hamid wouldnOt do all of the guiding. 
OSweets for the sweet,Ó Old Leopold crackled, lurching at the woman and planting a big kiss on 
her mouthNeven slipping his tongue between her lips before she had a chance to repel him, as 
obviously she intended to do. 
Although Mom had steeled herself to be polite, as always when meeting a dignitary with whom future 
business deals might be struck, her threshold of politeness stopped far short of wet, disgusting kisses 
from a reptile. She back pedaled, stepping on Hamid's webbed toes with her spike heels, and at the 
same time wiping her mouth of the reptile's revolting spittle with the back of her hand. But it was too 
late! The sweet Frog foam was already in process of crossing her blood/brain barrier. Mom sat 
down abruptly and closed her eyes. In the dim interior of the little castle, her mind filled with rich-
colored geometric patterns, floating and interweaving. Half images of former lovers drifted beside the 
holographs of birds and animals, who seemed to be smiling at her, and behind it all pulsed a velvety 
crimson/violet sunNbreath-taking in its soft intensityNalways there pulling at her when she focused 
her attention on it. A soft voice urged her to enter the tunnel. What tunnel? Mom wanted to comply, 
but she couldn't see anything like a tunnel or even a holeNonly the urging crimson sun that was now 
filling her whole field of vision, pulsing redly with brilliantly soft violet fire around the edges.  

*  

Rich Rodney was getting very nervous. It was almost twilight and his mother's shuttle hadn't left yet. 
What in the heck could be keeping her here? Was she planning to stay until she embarrassed him 
into leaving the Tournament, was that it? Or could she conceivably be worried about pirates? No 
way. Her shuttle was armed like a war frigate. Maybe it was time for him to stand up like a man. But 
the thought of confronting his iron-willed mother sent a quiver up his rectum. Still, when would he 
ever have this much support again? His friend, Lester, could make a nice little dinner. He would 
invite his mother to eat on the boat with Pike and Rita and him. Lester could serve. 4 to 1 against. 
That would make it almost even. Needing to talk to a true friend about this decisive plan, he scurried 
off in search of Rita.  

*  

Listening to the melodies with all his senses, Old Leopold was almost overwhelmed by the warring 
between Wunderman, mighty singer of oceans and freedom, and this one called Lillith, who sang 
shrilly of rivers of commerce stretching between the stars. The thing called money and control were 
her dominant themesNcounterpoised against Wunderman's love of the hunt, and that strange 
harmonic that mixed companionship with service. But she was weakening under the tutelage of 
Wunderman as each ally in turn showed her the tumor that thrived in her gall bladder, and offered to 
cure her, for a fee. The fee was to find the flaw in Wunderman's songNthey delighted in pitting her 
against him for some reason. Allies were odd beings, that was a fact. 
To Lillith's credit, she had accepted the cure five times, each potion modified slightly as her condition 
improved, and each time laced with a massive dose of foam. The woman had a strong spirit, and 
girdles of steel to support her prejudices; but they were finally at the core of her illness. She was 
swimming along with Wunderman and Hamid, who had been pulled into the song, the three of them 
twined in a kind of mating ecstasy. Old Leopold felt sure it was a false matingNthe woman was too 
oldNbut she did have a powerful appetite. It looked like they were having fun. If he hadn't been so 
weary from five applications of intoxicant, not to mention the earlier dosing of Wunderman, old 
Leopold might have joined in himself. That last mixture must have been a doozy. Too bad he had no 
control over the formulation. That was up to the allies. 
Later that night as the half moon went down over the mountains, Old Leopold climbed to a platform 
on his roof. He was dead tired, but sleep was impossible. The other swimmers lay sleeping the sweet 
dream in each otherOs arms. Uncanny. The three of them, with the green snake's urging, had made a 
plan to catch all the biters and do what was called can them. Lillith had said she would sell them 
across the galaxy as a delicacy. So a way of life would change, just like that. In time, a new species 
would evolve as the dominant fish in the ocean, but it would not have The People as its prime autumn 
food source. Just like that. How had it happened? The snake had arranged it, seemingly. The 
woman, Lillith, had seen Hamid's ancestral fear as he mounted her. Maybe she had tasted it. Friend 
Green Snake had frightened Hamid silly by biting at his dangling genitalia, while he was in the sex act. 
His fear went instantly to visions of biters, and her instincts zoomed toward protecting Hamid. 
Wunderman, the Fisherman, who was plugged into her mouth at the time, spun a song of helpfulness. 
Catch the fishNSave Hamid. From there, the mercantile step to canning the biters was easy. Lillith 
spun a harmonic of a cannery and a starship to take the cans of biters away. Simply amazing. 
Old Leopold felt the loss of The PeopleOs way of life like a sharp pain. It was almost impossible to 
believe that he would mourn the death of the biters, but he did. But then, as the pale sun peeked over 
the ocean, he called himself an old fool and climbed back down the ladder. The new way was cast in 
stone. There was nothing anybody could do about it. Maybe he would learn to enjoy the beach.  

*  

OMother, I do not want you tagging along for the rest of the Tournament,Ó Rich Rodney whispered, 
meanly. They were drinking mid-morning orange juice in the galley. The door was open. He didn't 
want to broadcast family matters to the whole world, so he whispered. Besides, he already knew he 
was going to lose. He hunched an inch closer across the tiny drop-wing table. OTry to see my side 
for once, Mother.Ó 
ODon't be silly, Richard. What I do, has nothing to do with you. I'm simply traveling with Hamid and 
Mr. Wunderman. We're getting the feel of this fishing adventure. I thought I had explained that. And 
I am not your mother. You may address me as Lillith.Ó 
OYou are my mother!Ó Richie exploded. ODon't start that again.Ó All day yesterday she had 
carped sweetly about being a new person named Lillith. Somehow, the old battle ax had flipped a 
switch on bad drugs or something. He had seen a few cases of this in college. But when it happens to 
your own mother, it's darned embarrassing. Richie had always been embarrassed by the old man-
eater, of course; but usually it was because she ignored himNoften flagrantly, while she made passes 
at his tutors, or objectionable comments to his friendsNnot that he ever had friends until recently, 
except for Rita. 
Yes, she had done a radical 180 into a gushing femme with her new male consortsNthe Frog 
bartender named Hamid, and Lester, of all people. Two at the same time! She was mincing around 
being sweet and fulfilled. It was quite nauseating, really. Not that Richie minded that his mother had 
paramours. Why would he? It was naturalNbut Lester Wunderman? That did not add up. And the 
weird part was that Lester seemed to like her, too. Richie could tell that even Pike was nervous 
about it. Would Lester stay with the boat; and if he did, would Lillith and Hamid continue to bunk in 
the tiny cook's cabin with him? Pretty strange stuff. Nobody could fault Richie on thinking it was an 
unusual situation. But it was his boat. He had to okay the arrangement, didn't he? What if they 
wanted to get married or something? He'd be forced to perform the ceremony on his own mother. 
Or would he? He wasn't the captainNonly the owner. Pike would have to do it. He had the captain's 
papers. Well, that was a little better. 
OYou are my mother,Ó he restated, having regained his calm. OThat's biological, not an emotional 
decision. I just want to know what you're up to.Ó 
Lillith looked at him with a kindness he had never seen before. It was apparent that she wished he 
was more intelligent than a bug, so that she wouldn't need to explain every little detail. OFor all you 
know,Ó she said quietly, Oyou were adopted. But even if that isn't strictly true, biology is nothing 
like you think it is. The person who was your mother doesn't exist anymore. I don't want to be 
forced into covering this ground every day. Please just accept it, my dear boy. Among other things, I 
was healed of my birthing wounds, and I now have other things to do. They tell me you're a talented 
fisherman. Why can't we go fishing, so I can see one of these biter fish?Ó 
OThey're not biting, Mother. And besides, I've already caught one. I'm winning this category so far. 
We're just waiting for the shield to be fixed, so we can go on to the salmon planet.Ó 
Lillith smiled sweetly. OPerhaps I can get the Baron to take me along with him. I need to discuss 
something with him, anyway. He controls the manufacture of all these boats, doesn't he?Ó  
 
 
 
 

That night, the moonlight water of Prince Ned Bay was alive with breeding FrogsNbreeding in a 
panic, frothing at the mouth. Hamid took his love triangle down to the beach to watch; but he 
wouldn't permit them to wade further than knee deep. True to the little green snake's word, only two 
sets of lovers were engulfed in a swirl of black water, instead of the hundreds that were usually 
lostNbut those two were enough to give Lillith the sight of the enemy, even though she was 
thoroughly distracted by the calm she felt while making love with Lester Wunderman in the shallows 
after a quick, but dizzying bout with Hamid.  
 
 
 
 
 
 

* * *  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

CHAPTER THIRTEEN  

GLANS SALMON  

OWell, winning in this circus is like a whole different ballgame. 
First of all, if you happen to hook a prize winner, most of the time 
you have to break your ass catching him. Do that a couple seasons and 
your ass is pretty well broken. It takes all winter for me to recover 
years. Sore back. Bad knees....Ó 
Hank Knofsinger 
quoted in History of the Tournament  
 
 
 
 

Delta 5 Tango was a pristine planet in the Orion System. Three/fifths of its surface was water, 
roughly the same as Earth, but it hadn't developed a sentient species. Other than that, the ecology 
was somewhat similar, fresh water rivers ran to a protein rich sea. And a species of fish developed to 
fill the same ecological niche as a salmon, even spawning and then dying in the shallow tributary 
streams after a few years in salt water. The fry lived for a season in the fast rivers, then moved down 
to the ocean to eat, eat, eat. Three seasons later, when they returned to their original stream to 
spawn, the male glans salmon often weighed two hundred pounds as opposed to forty pounds for a 
nice Silver salmon back on Earth. The rivers on Tango were deep and fast flowing, fish of that size 
had little trouble negotiating them until they came to a narrow or a flat rifle. At that point, log jamming 
was inevitable. One could sometimes walk across a stream on the backs of salmon, if one chose. 
Only a fool would choose to, naturallyNthe squinting habits of the male glans salmon at about that 
stage of their journey became genuinely repulsive. 
Through some genetic anomaly, the molt of the salmon in preparation for the spawn changed the 
male into a two hundred pound penis. Their head, in front of the gills, turned into a bloated red-
purple knob. Their eyes grew a covering of red mucus membrane, and their mouths turned into 
squirting devises for delivering the noxious smelling sperm. Although the mouths retained their needle 
sharp teeth, eating was practically forgotten. A bite of flesh from a neighbor's flank could be had at 
any whim in the congested narrows; but this seldom occurred. 
Pike didn't like dick fish. They were revolting, somehow. And catching them was devilishly difficult. 
Snagging was not allowed; but in the crowded conditions snagging was inevitable, almost with every 
cast. Which meant a lot of catch and release, while the judge looked on. Releasing always meant a 
dousing with at least one stream of sperm, spat by an angry fish. On a sunny day, the sperm dried 
quickly into protein glue, and the stench of it was worse than ......, well, it was indescribable. You 
had to be sprayed to know the smell, but once the olfactory lobes got a print of it, they never forgot. 
At least, Pike's hadn't. He voted against glans salmon every year; but a majority of the fishermen 
liked the fast action, even though it was mostly illegal catches. A few conservation types, like Alaska 
Bill Bolen, liked to visit the pristine wilderness. Pike thought they were nuts. The brown bear-like 
creatures that fed on the dying flesh of the salmon were twice the size of Alaskan Grizzlies, almost 
the bulk of an elephant, with claws over a foot long for swiping the 200 pound salmon out of the 
streams. Their territorial disputes filled the headwaters with bellows of behemoths from hellNwhich 
they were. For that reason, Pike fished as close to the ocean as was practical. The bears seldom 
came down to the big waters, where the rivers were deep. But, of course, the fishing was much 
worse there. 
As stated, once the fish left salt water, and started the molt, they simply stopped eating. The only 
way to catch one legally was to make it mad enough to strike the fly, or to snag its spout-like mouth. 
Pike relied on the traditional method of casting his arm off, and getting doused with vile semen, until 
he snagged one legally. Once he'd done that, he headed back to the ocean, where he dug for clams 
and beach combed. The clams on Delta 5 Tango were truly spectacular, and the bears never dug for 
clams. At least, he'd never seen any sign of them. He would have advised Richie to follow that 
prudent course, except that the kid had finished out of the running on New Columbus and needed 
some points. 
On the last day at New Columbus, the 'cudas had started biting. A lot of big ones. They suddenly 
got hungry. But Richie refused to stop fishing with the little rubber frog jig. Stubborn little fucker. Or 
maybe his mother standing at the rail all day had jinxed his luck. Who knows? Pike hoped that 
wasn't the case, because the old bag was planning to trail along for the whole tournament. Not only 
might she be a jinx, but she was taking up a lot of Lester's time. Lester's performance wasn't the 
problem, fortunately. There had always been an open bed policy for the crew; and the meals were 
one whole level better since Lillith and the Frog had come aboard. But was Lester better, for 
himself? Pike wondered. One level spacier, that was for sure. By midnight the kid hadn't caught a 
fish, so Lester hadn't been under fire as a deck hand since his swimming session. 
The boat seemed to be refitted perfectly. The grid, according to George the computer, was 
functioning precisely; but there had been little likelihood of a pirate attack with Mrs. Tourbo's escort 
cruiser along. They would need the grid for the last two legs, but not here on Tango. What was 
needed here was some points; and that wasn't going to be easy, because Pike didn't really know 
how to catch dick fishNnever hadNalthough he'd caught hundreds of the mothers. It was all luck. 
Pike couldn't say with honesty that any of the legal fish he had landed had taken the bait. And 
snagging with a fly rod and a single hook was not a guaranteed proposition. 
On the other hand, Richie might have the touch. Why not? He'd practically killed himself with that 
phantom trout on Streamside, and still caught it. Trout were similar to salmon. Maybe he would 
come out of this smelling like a champ. Tomorrow morning would tell. The run had begun at noon 
today, hot and heavy, up the Little Cannes Chute, where they were anchored. At dawn they would 
take the skiff up to Three Mile Rapid to try his luck. One thing for sure, Richie would come out of 
tomorrowOs action smelling like something indescribable.  

*  

The Leader Board after New Columbus was muddy. The kid was still out in front with 12 points; but 
Dresden Carthy had moved up to 11 points with a First in barracuda. And there was a clump right 
behindNall good fishermen, including the fat-ass Baron, who had 9 points, and Hard Luck Harry 
Dolan with 10. A pretty even spread. But like they say in horse racing, there's only two ways to 
winNCrossing the line first, or being second when the winner disqualifies. 
Luck at snagging a glans salmon wasn't up to Pike, that would be Richie's department; so why worry 
about it? But Pike was worried. Every single boat had caught barracuda on the last day, except the 
Comparative Humanity. Sure, Richie was bone stubborn about the bait, but it had worked for him 
when nothing was biting. Granted, it would have been kind of a slap at Hamid to toss out a full-sized 
Frog lure, even an artificial; but Hamid wasn't born yesterday. If you want to catch fish, you have to 
cut bait, even when your mother and her boyfriend are looking on. 
Actually, the old Gatling gun had wanted Rich to catch one. As the day wore on, she was demanding 
it. That could steal your luck, Pike theorized. He would never let his own mother onto his boat during 
a Tournament; but his mother had died long before he became a competitor. With a frown, Pike 
admitted to himself that he didn't know how he would confront a similar situation. Not really. Lillith 
was so rich; but then, so was Richie. Pike wasn't sure how their fortunes conjoined. He presumed 
there was some overlapping. Awkward. With all his other problems, Pike felt he shouldn't be forced 
into dealing with the question of mothers. Richie probably felt the same way. 
Looking through his binoculars, Pike saw the kid and Lester standing on a sand spit, practicing with 
a heavy fly rod. Richie was sensationally uncoordinated with the seven foot rod. He could handle the 
ultra-light trout rod fairly well, but not the salmon rod. What a strange young man. His right arm 
flapped like a sea gull. Lester kept talking him through it, but talk wasn't enough, apparently. Lester 
himself was an excellent flyrod technician. Pike thought about wrapping Richie's upper arm against 
his body with a length of web strapping. But Lester had taken the skiff, and Pike didn't feel like 
swimming. He went downstairs instead. 
Rita was sitting cross ways on the bed, reading a science book. Since Lester's rescue, she and Pike 
had been getting along smoothly. Of course, Rita had been staying with her mother about half the 
time, bonding. She looked up when he came into the room, smiled briefly, then continued reading. 
OGood book?Ó he asked her. 
OVery,Ó she replied. ORaphael Lap on a new kind of pulse theory that he developed out in the 
Sarine System.Ó 
Pike hadn't read any science for several years. More than several. Stupid to let things slip. 
OYou never published a book on your propulsion theories, did you?Ó she asked, ostensibly to 
make conversation. 
OA couple of articles,Ó he replied, wondering where this was going. She knew he hadn't. The 
Baron hadn't wanted to let the secret out, and he hadn't wanted to, either. His grid generator was 
very simple to build once you understood the principles. Space was wide these days, and patent law 
didn't protect much. OThere wasn't really enough to write a book about.Ó 
OIt changed the Universe,Ó she stated. 
OMaybe so,Ó Pike looked out the porthole. The tiny figure of the kid was still flailing on the sand 
spit. OMaybe it did, but only a few people have benefited.Ó 
OYou wouldn't mind if I wrote the story up as part of my thesis, would you?Ó 
OI thought your committee had already approved another topic.Ó 
OSo...? Topics are made to be pushed to the limit.Ó 
OTrue,Ó he agreed. He had gotten his Ph.D. from the Thruster idea, why shouldn't she? It was 
nicely circular, in a funny way. 
If Rita was seriously writing a book, it would take at least a year, with interviews and whatever. That 
would be pleasant. He hoped it would be. Damnit, if he was only closer to her age, and wanted to 
have more children, everything would be different. Right, he'd be insanely jealous. Had it been only a 
week ago that he was catatonic with jealousy over her and Rich? Thank God for old age. He could 
barely remember the episode. 
OWell..?Ó she asked, still seeking his approval. 
OFine with me, but you'll have to butt heads with your father, if you write it factually,Ó he 
mentioned. 
She shrugged. OI wasn't asking Father, I was asking you.Ó  

*  

On the Lady Slipper, which was anchored outside Three Bear Creek along with the two smaller 
Bardona fishing boats and several other boats from the Tournament, Baron Farouk Bardona was in 
a froth. He was in 4th place, three points out of 1st, with only four events to go. Not close enough. 
Something radical needed to happen. 
Everyone had agreed that Monday morning, not Sunday, would be the start of dick fish since they 
had all fished late for the fucking barracuda that finally decided to bite. He, himself, had caught a 
beauty of a Ôcuda last night under the pale full moon, about ten PM, two hours short of being shut 
out. Thank the stars. It had shot him past the log jam of 5th Place, into sole possession of 4th. But he 
hated dick fish. Nasty, disgusting mothers. Not a fit species to expose women and children to. He 
voted against them every year. Who voted for them? Probably that sick slime, Resnick. If there was 
an open vote, like gentlemen should have, the Baron would know who to buy off. But all the votes 
on existing categories were secret ballot. The high and mighty Rules Committee needed some 
restructuring. 
There was no skill to dick fish, that's why any right-minded fisherman loathed them. Bardona really 
did loath them, unless he happened to get lucky with a big one, as he had on two occasions. When 
that happened, he thought the category was quite fine. But this year, that lucky son-of-a-bitch R.R. 
Tourbo would probably snag a whale-sized dick on his first cast and put himself out of reach. And 
worse than that, why was his shark-eating mother nosing around the Tournament? Buying off the 
competition, per chance? He wouldn't put it past her, although he hadn't received an offer himself. 
But the main thing that had him frothing was his only daughter, Rita. He wouldn't understand why 
Rita would still be so chummy with the opposition after the fight. It was one thing to hang out with 
Tourbo in college. That made some senseNwealthy kids should look out for one another. But after 
the blundering jerk had joined the Tournament, she should have dumped him. Then she joined up 
with OChip on the ShoulderÓ Resnick! That makes two enemies on one boat, cavorting with his 
beautiful daughter. Had he raised Rita to behave like that? Truthfully, had he? Didn't she know it 
distracted him from winning? How could he concentrate? 
And now she wanted to write up the Thruster Patent for her thesis? Balls! What did the girl use for 
brains? He had been way too permissive with her, that was evident. He should never have let 
Magyar talk him into that blind trust. His wife had thought Rita should have a little financial 
independence, so she would feel equal at school and reach her true potential. It made sense at the 
time. Better than an allowance. She would learn how to invest her own money and make it grow. But 
Rita didn't seem to care about money. Another anomaly. She had plunked it into an interest bearing 
account at one of his banks, and lived on the interest. That was fineNshe had prudently used his 
bank, and the fund was growing. Perfectly shrewd to wait for the right deal to come along. Farouk 
had been pleased with her until recently, when he realized that her financial independence had put her 
beyond his control. Had Magyar tricked him into it? She had never suggested anything of the sort for 
the boysNand he had never had one drop of trouble from them. A thesis on Resnick and the 
Thruster? Didn't she realize what that would do to the whole fabric of space travel? Some of his 
factories might have to retool. 
That scum, Resnick, was twisting her mind to his devious scheme of releasing the patent, wasn't he? 
Ruining her own father? Well, maybe not ruining; but it would cost billions to retool. Of course, if 
they became available, all the fleets would buy thrusters instead of cigar ships. In the long run, I 
would do exceptionally wellNbut so would Cry Baby Resnick. He was happy enough to take the 
seed moneyNthen when I pushed him into leveraged stress, he was delighted to take the money to 
bail himself out. Squirmed like a worm, actually; but accepted my terms. Of course, he had to accept 
my terms because of the original contract. Is it my fault that he doesn't see my best interests? Would 
he be happy with a thousand boats in the Tournament? Of course not. I'm protecting his dumb ass, 
and he's not even smart enough to know. Provokes me at every opportunity. God, I hope I got in a 
few gut ripping blows in our fight. Hard to tellNit felt like I did. Internal hemorrhaging. Yes. One or 
two organs, at least. Luckily, none of the damage he did to me left much of a markNexcept the nose 
is still a tiny bit tender. Resnick is a light weight. I knew it. 
Is she sleeping with that cry baby? Impossible. Rita has better sense than thatNbut women do make 
strange choices. But is she sleeping with that incredibly blundering and lucky Tourbo kid? The fucker 
wrecked my boat! How could she..? She's independently wealthy, she doesn't need his money. Oh, 
God..! A terrible thought occurred to the Baron. Was prick Resnick after her money? 
The prick needs a new boat. Bardona chuckled at that, but only for an instant. Rita has enough in the 
bank to buy him a boat. Should I freeze her account? I think I could engineer that. Banks collapse 
every day. Not my banksNbut one little bank wouldn't destroy investor confidence, would it? Of 
course, her account is securedNbut if I timed it right, I just might tie up the funds at boat building time 
for next year's Tournament. Resnick missing from the Tournament..? A whole year without seeing his 
hangdog face. Joy of living! 
But who was she sleeping with? Rumors had been flying all season. Farouk couldn't get himself to 
believe any of them. His little daughter? And he hadn't found the courage to consult Simon, his 
computer. There were some bits of weakness he didn't allow Simon to play with. One of them was 
checking up on his daughter. But Simon perhaps knew the truth. Or he could always ask Magyar. 
She probably knew also. She and Rita did talk. But damnit, that wasn't a suitable subject to talk 
about with your wife, was it? 
Dick fish tomorrow. Uggh. The stench of them was already in his ample nostrils, but nothing like it 
would be tomorrow. If he wasn't so far behind, the Baron would have loved to snag a few dick 
salmon, and then get the hell out of here for a week. But he was behind. Way behind. Barely in 4th 
Place. He needed a big salmon, and snagging his way through hundreds of the blighted fish with a fly 
rod and a single hook was no fun.  

*  

At dawn, with the wind in his face and his hip boots stretched snugly to his suspenders, R.R. felt very 
confident in his salmon rodOs ability. Lester was a good teacher. Now the two of them were roaring 
upriver in the rubber skiff, accompanied by Pike at the tiller and the salmon judge, Tandor Lal, a 
prim, dark-skinned fellow wearing a rain slicker and a surgical mask. Rita was not with them. She 
had begged off, saying she had work to do on her thesis. 
It was a great morning to be alive, Richie thought, breathing deeply. Wisps of river mist whipped 
past the black rubber dingy. Virgin forest lined both sides of the river. Up ahead, the rock walls of 
the Little Cannes Chute loomed out of the mist. What an idyllic landscape. It reminded R.R. of the 
misty paintings of ancient mountains in Master Jacopo's sparse living room. Elegantly peaceful. The 
quintessence of wild peacefulness. R.R. felt his chest swelling with inspiration. 
Cutting the throttle back, Pike nosed the boat onto a gravel bar a hundred yards ahead of the 
limestone cliffs where the Chute started. Richie rubbed his hands together to get the circulation going 
and stepped awkwardly over the rubber gunwale. He would have hopped out, but experience had 
taught him that hopping in hip boots wasn't a smart idea. 
OBoy, this is beautiful, isn't it?Ó he blurted exuberantly, unbuttoning the top button of his green 
checked wool shirt. 
Pike and Lester were clad head to foot in foul weather oil skins. Both had suggested the same gear 
to Richie, but he had vetoed the idea, saying it didn't look like rain to him. He had chosen the green 
shirt and a fly fishing vest instead. 
OI wonder why nobody else is fishing here?Ó he inquired, assembling the sections of his stiff fly rod. 
He inhaled deeply again. OWild nature really puts out a lot of oxygen, doesn't it.Ó After seating the 
oversized, single action reel, he stripped thick, green, metal core line through the eyelets. 
OYep, all that oxygen practically gags a person,Ó Lester answered. 
The reason that nobody else was fishing the Cannes Chute was because no prize fish had ever been 
caught there, so nobody except Pike came to the Chute anymore. Had they been behind in the 
Tournament, Pike might have chosen another spot, but they weren't. Besides, there were big fish in 
the Chute, he reasoned, thousands of them, they just hadn't been caught legally. He, himself, had 
snagged some really big ones here. The kid had as good a chance here as anywhere, if his luck was 
still in. It was simply a statistically anomaly that a winner had never come from here. He had taken a 
6th here once, which was only a few ounces shy of the money. Okay, in all honesty, the fish here 
probably were a little smaller, for some unknown reason. They seemed exactly the same, genetically. 
Probably the food in these particular shallow tributary streams wasn't as plentiful as in some other 
watersheds, so these fish got off to a slower start. Maybe that was why, and maybe it wasn't. But the 
reason Pike fished here was the Chute itself. The fast river had cut through almost forty miles of 
limestone mountains to make the towering cliffs. White water churned out of the Chute in a wildly 
tumbling rapids at the bottom of the gorge. No bears were likely to stake out the Chute as their 
fishing propertyNnot with easy picking everywhere else on the planet. Scavenging in the Chute was 
taken care of by large fish eagles and a host of ravens and sea gulls. Birds had never been a worry to 
Pike. 
OYep, all that rich oxygen is pretty dinged overpowering,Ó Lester said, sniggering. Sweeping back 
the hood of his raincoat, he took a set of swimming pool nose plugs out of his pocket and clipped 
them onto his nose. OLet's go fishing,Ó he announced, motioning Richie toward the end of the gravel 
bar. ODoes this seem like a good place to you?Ó he asked. After all, you don't tell a fisherman 
where he's going to be lucky. 
Richie sussed out the gravel bar and decided that a few feet away from Lester was a good place to 
begin. 
OI brung a set of nose clips for you, Richie, in case you change you mind about wanting them.Ó 
R.R. nodded and set about tying on a large white feather streamer while breathing through his mouth. 
With his own clips in place, Pike watched. Lester and Tandor Lal looked like alien creatures. Only 
Richie, who had disdained the sensible gear looked normal. Normal, but stupid. From where they 
were standing the river was black and deep, but a few boat lengths farther upstream as it started to 
narrow, the surface was lumpy with silver backs surging upriver to spawn and die. Inside the mouth 
of the Chute, silver and red bodies leapt over limestone teeth in the pounding rapids only to fall back 
onto the crush of their brothers and sisters. Amazing creatures, Pike thought, finding them no less 
repugnant for his admiration. Their magnificent last act was to transverse forty miles of rapids, falls 
and riffles. Thousands didn't make it. Those that did, the fittest or the luckiest, died of exhaustion 
after spawning. Male and female alike. Even if they survived the hungry bears, there was no food for 
them in the spawning brooks. Salmon were strange creatures. On every planet where they had 
developed, their pattern was the same. Pike thought it was a peculiar way to go about things, but the 
species was hardy. If humans ended their lives in a giant sex orgy, instead of in lingering sickness and 
decrepitude, would that be so wrong? Actually, the cycle of humans and salmon was almost the 
same, anyway. Only the length of time after the reproductive act was different. In some kind of real 
way, he had been going steadily downhill since Alex was born. Sure, he was still in the prime, and 
he'd had lots of fun and supercharged experiences since then, but his essential vitality was different. 
He stood on the gravel bar in his oil skins watching Rich Rodney making a series of awkward false 
casts. The heavy line was only barely under control. 
OCast it out, don't be cute with it,Ó he called. Richie grinned shyly, and let his cast go. The line 
arched forward across the river. Lester scowled at the poor cast. 
But it was true, Pike thought. He had procreated, and now he could die. The Universe was satisfied 
that his genes had passed along. Having thought it, Pike saw the rightness. That little spark of vitality 
had changed inside him the morning Alex was born. He had lost his devil-may-care edge. In most 
aspects, that was just as well. In retrospect, he had been way over-balanced. Being more calm had 
certainly made him a better fisherman. He snorted derisivelyNlosing his spark gave him the ability to 
nursemaid this lucky kid all year. That could have never happened before he became a father. 
Coached by Lester Wunderman, Rich Rodney flailed the waters. The jerking retrieve that Lester 
insisted on felt awkward. Richie was sure the streamer's action was unrealistic. Zillions of fish were 
hurtling past just under the surface. He could see them. And he could also see that the silver streamer 
looked nothing like a minnow when he had to jerk it. He'd already made ten casts without a 
strikeNand there were skillions of fish! 
Richie was peripherally aware of the strange looks that Lester kept exchanging with Pike. His Ken 
Pao Ri training made him scintillatingly aware of everything that happened on the edges of his vision. 
Unbeknownst to Richie, Ken Pao Ri vision didn't automatically interpret the sights that he saw at the 
margins into a truthful view of reality. He concluded that Pike and Lester were disgusted with the 
mechanics of his flyrod artistry. Heck's bells, he was doing the best he could, wasn't he? The bait 
was getting out there where the fish were. Was it his fault that the stiff rod and heavy line were hard 
to maneuver? Nor was it his fault that he was feeling almost lightheaded in all this oxygen. 
In actual fact, Pike and Lester's facial contortions (mainly cocked eyebrows) were comments on the 
ten casts without snagging a salmon. In Pike's recollection, he had seldom made two casts in 
succession without a hook up. Walking a few steps closer, Pike made a single comment on Richie's 
newly acquired bad luck. 
OAstounding,Ó he said to Lester. 
Both men remembered that the kid hadn't hooked even a little barracuda on that last day. It was 
literally impossible not to snag a glans salmon. The river was a solid block of fish at this point, thirty 
feet deep by fifty yards across by probably three miles long. 
OHe's pulling it right between them,Ó Lester commented, raising his eyebrows to the upper limit. 
OHe doesn't like the jerking retrieve, he says. Don't feel right to him. How else you going to snag 
one?Ó 
Pike's face showed sensory overload for a second, then he realized that he was dealing with a 
phenom, not a personNand certainly not a fisherman. If the kid's luck deserted him, they were all 
sunk. First place wouldn't hold up, without some fish. 
He turned to Richie. OSo what's keeping you from retrieving the fly however you want to?Ó he 
asked, heaping the perfect amount of scorn into the question. OYou think Lester knows the only 
way?Ó 
The light bulb went on for R.R. Pike was so smart. He could see that Lester had the wrong answer 
for today. Maybe last year or every other year he was right, but times change. That's why Pike was 
almost a god. Relaxing his rigid elbow, Richie picked the line up in a flourish, made a horribly limp 
false cast that whipped a knot into the leader, and laid a snarl of line thirty feet into the river. 
He grinned sheepishly and started to retrieve coils of line hand over hand. 
OAnd put those nose clips on,Ó Pike advised. OTrust me on this.Ó He nodded to Lester. OGive 
them to him, before he passes out. 
Without finishing his retrieve, R.R. took the flesh colored nose clips from Lester. Holding the rod 
under his arm, he tried to slip the rubber band over his head. It was an awkward maneuver, quite 
typical of him. Both hands were required to stretch the rubber band. With the rod clamped under his 
arm pit, he only had one and a half hands. Lester and Pike stopped watching after the first few 
seconds. It was too painful. A normally coordinated human either had to laugh himself sick or turn 
away. How could one person be so agonizingly klutzy? Tandor Lal continued staring at R.R.'s antics, 
but that was forgivable. He was being paid to watch. His jaw slackened, but he continued his vigil, 
making sure this wasn't an illegal tactic. 
But eventually Richie was triumphant. The pink rubber band slipped over his ears. And in that 
instant, the river at his feet exploded. A big red dick fish leaped out of the river, with the silver 
streamer dangling from his mouth. Coils of line that had been laying on the gravel shot into the dark 
river as the fish ran for the Chute. 
OHook up,Ó Lester said in amazement. He didn't have to yell it. They were all standing within five 
paces of each other. OLooks like he's legal. Get ahold of that rod, boy. Keep your feet out of the 
line.Ó 
In two seconds all the line on the ground was gone and the reel started to sing, while R.R. hung onto 
the arching rod. Fly line, by its nature, is fat. Both floating and sinking, not many feet of it will go onto 
a reel, not even on the oversized salmon spool. In a few more seconds the reel was down to the 
heavy braided backing, of which there was 150 feetN not much. 
River fishing for a two hundred pound fish, on foot, is not totally sane. It's a dance between the 
fisherman, the fish and the whippy flyrod that never seems strong enough. The fish has important 
business up-riverN he hears a train whistle blowing. 
All Richie could do, once he was hooked up, was hang on and do his best at putting pressure on the 
fish. The drag was wound down as tight as the 100 pound leader would bear. Any extra strain would 
break itNany little catch on a rock, or misplay on his part, and the fish would be history. And Richie 
couldn't be sure how well the darned fish was hooked. The hook-up felt solid, but a fish's mouth is 
notoriously fickle. 
OWhat should I do,Ó R.R. yelped as the line continued to streak up-stream. 
ORun after him,Ó Pike yelled, knowing that would probably cause a circus act to happen between 
Richie and his hip boots. But what the hell. One legal catch, and Pike could plunk them all down to 
trolling at the river mouth. Trolling was completely safe, as far as he was concerned. It was harder to 
snag a fish in deep water, but at least there were no bears. 
With no hesitation, R.R. took off up the gravel bar toward the mouth of the Chute, holding the rod 
high over his head. In ten clomping bounds, he came to the edge of the gravel bar. Before him 
stretched twenty yards of swirling, but relatively quite backwater, caused primarily by a large block 
of fallen limestone on the far shore. Line was still stripping off the reel. Skirting the estuary would 
take him fifty yards or so in the wrong direction, but the water looked a little deep for wading. Richie 
hesitated, then started clomping up the shingle away from the fish. 
A sensible decision, Pike thought. He had never waded that estuary. OBreak him off at the leader,Ó 
Pike shouted. No sense losing all that line. By hauling back on the rod and snubbing the line, the fish 
would probably break off. 
But Richie wasn't paying attention. He was thumping around the estuary as fast as his legs could 
pump in the black hip boots. Pike lengthened his paces a bit to keep up. As soon as Rich got around 
that big red boulder, he would start gaining on the fish again. Anyway, the worst that could happen 
was he'd lose the line when the backing ran out. That wasn't much of a deal, they had plenty more 
line in the skiff. His eyes flashed back to the red boulder. Oh, shit! 
Pike started to run. Jerking up his oil slicker, he snatched out the .45 automatic from his hip holster. 
That auburn boulder had shaggy hair all over it! OStop..!Ó he screamed at Richie. 
But RichieOs peripheral Ken Pao Ri vision was already beaming warnings at him. He ignored them, 
of course. In the welter of conflicting danger signals that were swarming him, the ObigÓ danger was 
lost. His line was vanishing, deep water was to the left, slippery rocks underfoot, nose plugs bonking 
his forehead with every stride, and that indescribable, horrid oxygen smell was overpowering him. 
With all that, he simply didn't see the giant, fucking bear until it reared up right in his path, taller than a 
roaring lighthouse. The monster swiped at Richie with a snarl that shook the ground; but he got the 
outstretched flyrod instead, smashing it from R.R.'s hands. A loop of braided backing looped neatly 
around his huge right paw, instantly cutting to the quick as the two hundred pound salmon cinched 
the loop closed like a garrote. The monster bear screamed his surprise and agony, before toppling 
sideways toward the Chute, where the fish, feeling stark pain bite his mouth as the bear's weight 
snubbed him up tight, leaped straight out of the water and shook his glistening purple head. This was 
no doubt an amazing sequence of events to wild creatures. 
Rich Rodney ran straight out into the estuary away from the bear. When it got too deep to run, he 
floated downstream with the current. He found it easy to stay above water. There were so many 
salmon, he just glided over their backs. Also, in all fairness, his vest had a flotation sack built in which 
helped offset the drag of his water-filled hip boots. 
Seeing that Rich had made another sensible decision, Pike beat a hasty retreat back to the skiff, 
which Lester and Mr. Lal had already launched. With rather a lot of high spirited yelling, which often 
occurs after witnessing a near death experience, they pulled into the current, and within a few minutes 
wrestled a dripping, but exultant, Richie into the skiff. 
ODid you see that?Ó he gasped. OI was floating on top of fish!Ó 
Fine for excitement, but he hadn't actually caught a fish yet. Catching a bear didn't count, even if he 
hadn't exactly done that either. 
They motored back to the Comparative Humanity for another breakfast, and to get Richie into dry 
clothes. The bear had been a sobering experience. Pike had thought it would be safe to fish the 
Chute, but apparently not. True, nobody had ever been mauled on Tango; but the bear had actually 
swiped at Richie. They had been very lucky. 
Richie seemed undampened by the experience. The kid had amazing elasticity. Pike readily admitted 
by this time that Richie had some endearing and unusual qualities. Whatever that martial arts stuff 
was, it definitely seemed to give him an edge of luck, if nothing else. Things that would have 
embarrassed or frightened a normal person into non-existence, didn't seem to touch him. Pike, 
himself, still had a case of shakes over the bear incident. What had he been planning to do with the 
pitiful .45? If nothing else, this proved it was time to upgrade his portable arsenal. On the boat, he 
was more or less armed to the teeth; but a .45 probably wouldn't stop an Earth grizzly, let alone a 
Tango bear. It probably wouldn't stop a Tango house cat. Were there house cats on Tango? That 
was an unhappy thought. Three foot tall house cats, with deep, insidious purring. Thankfully, cats 
don't like water, and Pike didn't intend to set foot on land again. This bear story should be enough to 
get the Rules Committee to reconsider coming here.  

*  

OLet's go get one,Ó Richie piped, standing up from the galley table. He drained a cup of scalding 
black tea without testing it and rather instantly turned a shade of bright red to match the dry shirt he 
had replaced the wet one with. Any wild animal would see the red shirt and run awayNthat was 
RichieOs rational. 
Pike had been interested to hear the explanation for the shirt choice. He was even more interested in 
the banzai tea drinking. The kid sucked in two deep breaths, wiped the pain out of his eyes with a 
napkin and balanced his top row of teeth carefully on the bottom one. Being careful not to move his 
teeth or cheeks, he reported, OI think I've got the hang of that minnow movement now.Ó 
OWhat do you say we try some trolling?Ó Pike asked. 
OTrolling? I think I'd prefer the stream bank. It took me awhile to get the feel, but I've got it now.Ó 
OWell, frankly, Rich, I'm a little reluctant to plunk us back into bear country.Ó 
R.R. guffawed. He knew Pike was bluffing. Bears or dinosaurs wouldn't mean a thing to Pike 
Resnick if there were fish to catch. ONice of you to protect my feelings,Ó Richie said, gallantly, 
Obut I'm not scared, either. Did you see the look on that critter's face when my fish pulled him 
over?Ó Richie got kind of a glittery sheen around his eyes. OIt was like my friend, the fish, saved me 
in the nick of time. We better go see if the fish isn't still snagged somewhere up that canyon. I'd like 
to turn him loose so he can breed.Ó 
Pike and Lester exchanged a look halfway between admiration and sheer terror. This kid was 
determined to get them all killed. Lester limped over to the refrigerator and fished out an ice cube. 
He wrapped it in a cloth napkin, put it on the chopping block and smashed it with one blow of his 
meat tenderizer mallet. He handed the napkin to Richie. OSuck on that,Ó he said. 
OWe can go take a look,Ó Pike offered. OI'd say there's about a hundred percent chance that the 
fish broke off. That's point Number One. Number Two is, the Chute is full of teeth that would rip the 
skiff to shreds.Ó 
Richie nodded. 
OAnd if that bear is still tangled up in your line, he's probably mad as hell. No telling what he might 
do.Ó  

*  

The mist had broken up when they got back on the river, but it looked like the overcast sky would 
hold until at least mid-morning. That was good news for the three in oil skins. 
Richie strained over the prow like a rabbit dog smelling his way along a spoor trail. Pike was still 
certain it was an exercise in futility. The fish had flown, and even if he was snagged somewhere, they 
would never find him. The last time he had seen the fish jump, he was well inside the Chute. When 
three tons of bear leaned his weight against the line, it had likely broken like a thread. 
But looking for the fish gave him an excellent pretext to scope out both banks for bears. He had 
brought along a .308 repeating rifle in addition to the .45 and intended to station himself as a steely-
eyed guard wherever the kid fished. The las cannon as well anchored in the harness, or he might 
have attempted to use it. As soon as he got to civilization again, he would have a couple of high 
impact pocket stunners in the arsenalNthe serious kind. 
OI think I see him,Ó R.R. sang out. He pointed. Sure enough, the green fly line was hooked up on 
an exposed rock tooth in mid-channel fifty yards into the Chute. 
OEagle eye,Ó Pike commented dryly, throttling the outboard motor back. The pontoons were 
supposedly unwreckable, but that didn't mean they were suitable for going into the Chute. Each air 
compartment was filled with foam blocks, and walled off in case of a rupture, but Pike still didnOt 
trust them entirely. If enough of them broke, the skiff would sink. Anyway, they would all be thrown 
overboard or stranded when the boat grounded on a big rock. OI'm not taking us into the Chute,Ó 
he said. And that was final. 
For about ten seconds, R.R. looked straight up in the air as if debating something with himself. OGet 
us as close as you can,Ó he said. OI'll try to snag the line. I have to try, I think. Isn't that the 
sportsman's code?Ó 
OFair enough,Ó Pike answered, piloting the skiff toward a limestone shelf on the far side of the river. 
The kid had to snag some fish, in any case. Let him try the impossible cast for the old fly line in the 
process. It would be good practice for him. He doubted if Bill Bolen or Carthy, the two best fly 
casters he knew, could make that toss; but nothing at all would be lost in the effort. 
The beach on this side of the river was narrower, which meant the tree line was much nearer the 
water. Because of that, Pike had never fished it, but out on the shelf there was a reasonable chance 
of safety. 
OClimb out to the very end of that rock and stand sideways to the river. That should give you 
enough room for your backcast.Ó 
He looked at Lester, who smiled a crooked smile. OLanding one from here will be fun,Ó the cook 
offered. OToo bad we sent that sickening Indian home. He likes acrobatics.Ó 
OToo bad,Ó Pike agreed, pulling the boat into the lee of the rock shelf. OYou stay in the boat, Les. 
If anything comes out of the woods, we'll want to make a hasty exit.Ó 
OI won't be much help from the boat,Ó Lester grumbled. 
OUnless a bear comes. Then you will.Ó 
Tandor Lal didn't look particularly pleased; but he jumped out with the coil of line that Lester handed 
him. The kid scrambled after him, using his backup fly rod as a balancing pole. Mercifully, he didn't 
upset the skiff in jumping out, but he did manage to bark his shin on an outcropping. Pike followed 
with the rifle. 
OKeep the motor idling,Ó Pike told Lester. OMaybe you can gaff from down here, if we get 
lucky.Ó 
OOh, sure,Ó Lester griped. OI'd love to gaff one with my kisser leaned over right in his face.Ó 
OI thought you'd like that,Ó Pike answered, agreeably. OJust keep smiling. I'll hose you down when 
we get back on deck. Keep saying this mantraNOne legal fish. One legal fish.Ó 
Pike looked down in the water while R.R. rigged up. It was still wall to wall with fish. The major run 
normally lasted for three days. After that, there were still a lot of fish, but they weren't log-jammed at 
the mouth of the rapids. Such well-mannered fish, until they were hooked. Backed up in ranks, 
waiting their turn for immortality. 
Stepping out on the lip of the rock shelf, Richie whipped the new rod tip through the air a few times 
to test the action. Seeming satisfied, he began false casting, stripping line from the reel in long pulls 
and tossing it high in the air in rather depressingly free-form figure eights, back and forth. Maybe with 
a nine foot rod, a great fly man could make the cast. With the stiff seven footer, Richie didn't have a 
prayer. Finally, knowing that he was loosing control of all the line in the air, he decided he'd better 
make some kind of cast. Leaning into the rod, he used his strength instead of the rod's balance to 
shoot the line out. The cast whipped forward in an awkward loop. 
Tandor Lal let out a yowl and dropped to his knees like he'd been shot. He clapped his left hand to 
his left ear. 
The fly line hovered over the river, then splashed down in a snake of coils. 
OWhat happened..?Ó Lester yelled. 
OHe eared him..!Ó Pike called back, stepping over to the unfortunate judge. Gently taking Lal's 
bloody hand away, Pike pinched the ear lobe firmly. OHe's all right,Ó he yelled to Lester. ORipped 
right through. Get a butterfly, would you!Ó 
Seeing the greenish tinge of Lal's face, he patted the judge's back rather briskly. OYou're fine, 
Judge. Just a few drops of blood. Don't even think about passing out on me. Maybe we'll get you 
some hazard pay.Ó 
OFish on..!!Ó Richie yelped, leaning back on the rod. 
OLean on him,Ó Pike yelled. ODon't let him go up the rapids.Ó 
OI can't. He's too strong.Ó 
OWell, shit,Ó Pike said, leading Mr. Lal toward the skiff. OGo help him,Ó he barked at Lester, 
taking a butterfly band-aid from the gnarly hand. OBreak him off, when he gets to the backing.Ó 
Lester clambered out of the skiff and hustled up the rock. 
Expertly clamping the ear wound together with the wings of the butterfly, Pike had Lal sit down in a 
rock cranny. OYou're fine. Trust me. There won't even be a scar. Just sit here for awhile. Come 
back up when you're feeling aggressive.Ó 
OAggressive...?Ó 
OAggressive. Vigorous. Full of vim and vigor.Ó Pike fished an orange pill from a deep pocket of his 
oil skin. He handed it to the judge and climbed back up the rock. 
The fish, in the meantime was doing a water ballet. It leaped out of the water, straight over the hung-
up flyline. Falling back in the river with a splash that was unnoticeable in the spuming rapids, the 
obliging salmon swam under the line, jumped again and fell over the line. He did that three times in 
quick succession. 
OWe are witnessing a miracle,Ó Lester said to no one in particular. 
OIs he hooked fair?Ó Pike inquired, letting the miracle part slide past. Since his drug experience on 
New Columbus, Lester had been uttering odd statements. It was kind of spooky. 
OFrom the way he jumps, he's hooked somewhere in the head. Beyond that, I can't tell. Ask Rich, 
he seen him closer.Ó 
Making a serious run upriver now, the fish felt the tug of the other line, in which he had seemingly 
deliberately entangled himself. The first line was snugged tight over a big wet rock, but then when the 
fish jumped, it miraculously lifted free. 
Richie's rod arched like a rainbowNfour hundred pounds of fish will do that to a rod. He braced 
against the rock ledge, willing his hip boots to grow down into it. 
Taking off his oilskin coat, Pike tied the sleeves around Richie's waist, making a handle to grab in 
case the lucky geek got pulled off the rock. 
OToo bad...my mother...isn't here to see this,Ó the kid gulped between breaths. OShe doesn't 
believe...I can catch fish.Ó 
OIs that first fish still on?Ó Pike asked. 
OHecks, yes! See the line cutting to the left of the new one.Ó 
OImpressive,Ó Pike commented. OI should get a cameraman to hang around.Ó 
ODon't need a camera. Got it all programmedNup there.Ó Rich pointed to his forehead. 
ORight. I was thinking about making a record for the public.Ó 
OOh. Well, this was just lucky,Ó Richie said, understating the truth charmingly. OSkill didn't have 
anything to do with it.Ó 
OReally..?Ó 
Richie grinned. OThat was the worst cast in the world. How is Mr. Lal?Ó 
OJust a scratch,Ó Pike assured him. 
OI feel really bad about that. Mr. Lal is such a dignified guy. What was he doing standing behind me 
like that? He must not understand about flyrods.Ó 
OJudges aren't fishermen,Ó Pike answered, not committing himself with that answer. In point of fact, 
Lal had been a good thirty feet to the right of where Richie had planted himselfNwell outside the 
danger zone, one might have thought. 
Just then in a synchronous dance move, both fish decided to leap away from the pain of the hook. 
One leaped leftNone leaped right. Yin and Yang leaping. They met head on. The crunch of the 
collision couldn't be heard above the roar of the rapids. 
OBillions to one..!Ó Lester yelled. OGet some line in, boy! Get line in..!Ó 
In the sudden slack situation, Richie started pulling great armfuls of braided backing through the 
eyelets. The line baled up at his feet and spilled over the rock ledge. But what else could he do? He 
couldn't switch hands to start reeling. 
Both lines were billowing in the rapids Maybe both fish had been knocked out, or else they were 
swimming back downstream. 
Talking to himself, Lester Wunderman began scrabbling down the rock. ODangedest thing I ever 
seen,Ó he repeated several times. OCome on, Pike. What are we waiting for? We can gaff those 
mothers while they're out cold, if we hurry.Ó 
Knowing he was right, Pike followed his second banana down to the boat. 
OGit up there and protect the kid,Ó Lester spat at the wounded judge. OYou ain't hurt. Do your 
part. There's something religious going on here.Ó 
On his way past, Pike helped Mr. Lal to stand up. ODon't mind Lester,Ó he said, softly. OI'll 
definitely get you hazard pay. Keep Richie from falling in while we land the fish.Ó Pike hopped into 
the skiff. Lester hit the throttle before the boss was completely seated. 
OThis has got to be more than luck,Ó Lester affirmed, roaring into mid-river. OIt's like he can think 
at a fish and get him to do what he wants.Ó 
OCould be,Ó Pike answered. Something definitely was uncanny. Maybe Lester knew the answer. 
ODid you see that cast? It went in the water like a bale of hay, and it didn't make a dinged bit of 
difference.Ó 
Pike wedged himself in the prow of the skiff with the gaff. He was thrilled almost witless that his 
slicker was still tied around Richie. OThe first line is loose at the reel end. We better try for that fish 
first.Ó 
OWhy do you say so?Ó Lester asked. 
OThe bear broke it off or chewed it off, didn't he?Ó 
ONot really. That's him over there.Ó 
Pike scanned the far shore without catching sight of an angry bear. OWhere,Ó he asked. 
OThere in the water. That brown blob that looks like grass.Ó 
OGood God,Ó Pike gasped. OHe tangled up and drowned?Ó 
OLooks like it. Don't make rational sense, do it? I thought you seen the critter.Ó 
ONo,Ó Pike said. OI must be slipping.Ó 
ONot necessarily,Ó Lester answered, with no special emphasis. OMy eyesight seems to be 
improving since I visited Old Leopold.Ó 
OYou'll have to tell me about that sometime,Ó Pike said. He watched Richie stripping line in like a 
madman; but the line running from the rod tip was still slack, and didn't point anywhere in particular. 
It was no help in tracking the fish. 
OIf your eyes are so sharp, where are the fish?Ó he asked Lester. 
OWell, there's one,Ó Les replied, casually. OTen degrees starboard and coming our way. Get 
ready, I'm putting you up against him.Ó 
Pike realized in somewhat of a flash, that he'd never gaffed a glans salmon before. Until now, he'd 
always been the rod man. Two hundred pounds of salmon could be a little dangerous in this tiny tub. 
But, there was the fish, neither dead, nor stunned, and Pike held the gaff. 
The plan was to gaff the fish and drag it to shore, where the judge could look at him. Two hundred 
pounds of fish was way too big to haul over the gunwale when you have nowhere to stand for 
leverage. On the other hand, even a big glans salmon is no match for a sixty horsepower engine. Pike 
figured he could hold onto the gaffed fish until Lester beached the skiff and the judge came down to 
survey the prize. The damned fish actually seemed to be hooked in the mouth. Let it be a legal hook-
up! With that prayer on his lips, Pike plunged the short-handled gaff hook into the salmon's silvery 
side. The fish convulsed. Pike was prepared. OHit it,Ó he yelled to Lester, who had already goosed 
the engine the second he saw the gaff bite. 
But this salmon was a scrapper, no doubt about that. He had already killed a Tango bear and 
survived for over an hour tethered in the rapids. His wide tail scooped a yard of water and he 
headed straight down, jerking the gaff from Pike's hands. Fortunately, Pike wasn't a complete 
tenderfoot at fish landing. Before sinking the hook, he had tethered six yards of braided hemp gaff 
line to a cleat on the bow. There was little danger that this salmon would get away. The gaff had hit 
perfectly. Unless they snagged on something really immovable, they had him. Pike showed his empty 
hands to Lester and braced himself for hauling the salmon onto the river bank, spitting and ugly. 
OHead for a wide piece of beach,Ó he told Lester. 
Lester let up on the throttle and tipped the outboard motor up, turning the skiff sideways, sliding it 
skillfully onto the smooth beach pebbles so that the gaff wouldn't be scraped loose. Pike hopped out 
and hauled in the gaff line, hand over hand. 
Lester cackled. OCareful now. I see you lost your slicker somewhere.Ó 
OVery funny,Ó Pike huffed. The bright red head of the fish came to the surface. Pike kept hauling, 
hoping that the dick fish was too spent by the ordeal to spitNknowing he wasn't. Without a doubt, he 
was going to get a drenching. He took a second to make sure his sun glasses and nose clip were 
secure, then pulled the flopping dick fish into the shallows. 
The instant the salmon got close enough, it spit a mouthful of milky fluid directly at its tormentor. 
Fortunately for Pike, the angle was low. The sperm splattered against his left wader-clad leg about 
knee high. Even with the nose clips on tight, the stench gagged him. Clamping his mouth shut, he slid 
his right hand into the gaping gill slit, and hauled the fish out of the river. It spit again, sending a 
hawker splashing over Pike's right shoulder. He retched, then bending his knees, he heaved the fish a 
few feet onto the dry river stones. The kid's feather was stuck firmly in the side of the underslung 
jaw, with the line still attached. Kind of a miracle after all. A legal catch. 
OGo get the judge and the rifle,Ó he coughed at Lester. There was no way to get away from the 
stench, one just had to accept it. That was dick fishing. OI'll wait here,Ó he said. OIt sure looks legal 
to me.Ó He gestured a circle of his thumb and forefinger at R.R., who was still up on the shelf. The 
kid had retrieved all the line, it seemed. His rod tip was straining toward mid-river. Pike wondered 
idly if this was the first fish or the second. It didn't really matter. If they had landed the second one, 
they could sort it out later. As soon as Mr. Lal declared this one legal, Pike would be a happy man. 
Richie came bouncing down from the rock shelf, onto the beach, reeling as he stumbled along on the 
loose stones. OLet's gaff this baby, too..!Ó he yelled. O..so I can get my line back.Ó Five yards 
short of Pike and the beached fish, he came to a ragged stop. OWhat is that goshawful smell..?!Ó 
He clamped the rod under his elbow and clapped both hands over his nose. 
OKind of indescribably bad, ain't it?Ó Pike laughed. OI'd put those nose clips back on, if I were 
you.Ó 
Recalling that he had swept the clips off his nose so he could breathe better while battling the fish, 
Richie pinched his nose with one hand and dug for the rubber clips around his neck with the other. 
He clipped them into place, but still wouldn't come closer to Pike. 
OI hate to say this, Pike, but you smell awful.Ó 
OYou might consider voting against dick fish next year. There's a lot of other fish in the Universe,Ó 
Pike said, his eyes crinkling into a grin. OFor now, just keep on breathing. It doesn't get worse 
unless we catch another one. Of course, it doesn't get better, either.Ó 
OVoting?Ó Richie asked. 
OWe vote on where we're going to fish.Ó 
OWe do..?Ó 
OYep. I vote against this place every year. You're allowed to join my lobby if your nose tells you 
to.Ó 
Lester beached the skiff a few yards away. He and Tandor Lal climbed out and approached the fish 
from up-wind. OLooks legal to me,Ó Mr. Lal said, reaching down gingerly to flick the white 
streamer. OYes, a legal fish, Mr. Tourbo. Congratulations. Shall we weigh it?Ó 
ODamn good,Ó Lester whooped, going back to the skiff for a telescoping tripod and a hanging 
scale that went up to 400 pounds. He set the tripod up, making sure it was solidly footed in the 
stones; then he and Pike hooked the scale to the still quivering fish and horsed it onto the tripod. 
Semen dribbled out of the salmon's mouth and ran down his sleek side. 
OTwo hundred and nine pounds, three ounces,Ó announced Mr. Lal, gagging slightly, but writing it 
down in his official tally pad. 
OMind if we motor out and cut the other one off?Ó Pike asked R.R.. OOr would you rather land 
it?Ó 
OIt might be bigger?Ó Richie said, with a shining ray of hope in his voice. Evidently he had forgotten 
that he owed one of these fish for killing the bear.  

*  

That night, after being hosed down twice with salt water and deep sixing his clothes, Pike slept on 
deck, alone, under the Tango 5 Delta constellations. Replenishing the fresh water supply was no big 
deal on Tango, so he took a hot, soapy shower every couple of hours. By morning, he smelled pretty 
much like a human, or at least like soap. 
The second fish had nailed him directly on the forehead with a huge dripping wad of jizz. Wiping it 
off had gotten the guck on both hands and arms. It was an indescribable experience. After dragging 
the fish back to the scales and finding that it weighed two ounces more than the other one, Richie 
seemed well pleased with the effort, although he had assumed a greenish tinge from holding his 
breath. 
OThis is my last salmon for the year,Ó Pike announced, helping Lester drag the fish back to the 
river. 
OI offered to gaff it,Ó Lester said, reproachfully. 
OSo you did. Feel free to take the rest of the week off yourself. He can fish by himself, if he wants 
more.Ó 
OWould that be right?Ó Lester asked. 
OIt's right by me. This is how we always fish Tango, isn't it?Ó 
OGuess so.Ó  
 
 
 
 

The menage a trois of Lester, Lillith and Hamid departed at dusk in the escort cruiser for someplace 
that Lillith wanted to show the boys. In high spirits, but holding her nose, Rita had gone with them, to 
be dropped off on Diston Prime to confab with her doctoral advisor. Pike had agreed to pick her up 
on the way to Blizwak. Dick fish. Grrrr!! 
Pike continued to sleep on deck after anchoring the Comparative Humanity with the rest of the fleet 
at Horseshoe Canyon. His plan for the week had been to work with Rita on her writing project, and 
maybe teach her a few things about being a deck hand, in case Lillith managed to lure Lester off to 
the good life. But that would evidently have to wait. 
One thing for sure, a two hundred pound dick fish wasn't going to win any prizes. Bill Bolen already 
had a two hundred and fifty pounder and Ira had one almost as big. It would be very good to hit the 
leader board here on Tango. Very good. But with Lester gone, that meant Pike would be doing all 
the gaffing, if they fished anymore. Well, the smell washed off, eventually. It wasn't so bad smelling 
like merde, and having everyone you know avoid you, was it? 
Yes! It was terrible!  
 
 
 
 

* * *  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

CHAPTER FOURTEEN  

RAZORFINS  

OWell, sure you can talk about winning; but what is winning to a 
fish? Think about it. If he gets away, it that winning? If he stupidly bites 
a hook and breaks his spirit coming to the gaff, would that be winning? 
Maybe. Or maybe if he eats the fisherman, that scores a lot of points! 
More likely, fish aren't concerned with sport too much.Ó 
Lester Wunderman 
quoted in History of the Tournament  
 
 

Pike and Richie fished the Horseshoe from shore for five long, exhausting days trying for a bigger 
salmon. Ira Fairborne's 2nd Mate was manning a meteorite blaster on a rocky point, which made 
Pike feel safe enough to snug up to the next slice of beach. Ira did not like bears either. Maybe that's 
why they had become friends. It was fun bantering with the old geezer, when Pike wasn't getting 
dosed with jism. All the fishermen slept on deck all five nightsNsmelling like jizz from hellNbut what's 
a little BO among friends? Richie caught ninety-seven dick fish, most of them legal, and all of them 
spitting at Pike, and every single one was smaller than the fish that had killed the bear. Was that fair? 
Finally on the last afternoon, the kid hooked onto a big one. It took three hours to land and turned 
out to be a big female ripe with eggs, weighing damn near three hundred pounds. It got them a tie 
with Sandy Kind for third place. The defacto rule on glans salmon was if two fishermen came within 
an ounce of each other on the beach tripod scales, they both got the points. Nobody wanted to lug 
dick fish back to their boats, nor to a central scale. Stench has its limits. 
So Richie was still out in front of the pack. And it was on to razorfins, a deceptively dangerous little 
species that had evolved in a system of shallow salt lakes on Blizwak-Hojmer. Ecologically, the lake 
beds had been scraped from alluvial soil during a past ice age and had filled with water as the glacier 
melted. Having no drainage to a sea, the lakes turned progressively more saline due to leaching and 
evaporation, so that now they were very salty indeed. They developed an ecology that was able to 
survive in harsh salinity. 
Razorfins were rather perfectly adapted to the lake chain, having grown razor sharp pectoral fins 
which they used to harvest their dinners. Smart fish. Tool using, you might say. Did that make them 
almost human? Nah. Tool use has never counted if the tool grows on the body. 
Most of the razorfins lived in Lake Pel, the least salty of the fifteen lakes, but smaller numbers lived 
throughout the system. Lake Pel was the largest of the lakes, about the size of Nebraska. Because it 
was only ten feet deep at its deepest, one didnOt really want to be boating on Lake Pel during a 
storm. In a good blow, the lake sort of scooped itself up, and dumped half of itself onto the shore. 
Immediately thereafter, gravity worked its magic and returned the water to the lake, with a new 
infusion of salt. 
Since it was often stormy on Blizwak-Hojmer, the foreign fishermen had helped the Blizwak natives 
to change a natural rocky breakwater into a workable marina by dredging a channel and dumping a 
few thousand large boulders at key points. A sizable number of the Blizwaks now built their reed and 
wattle houses behind the shelter, and did their best to be useful and treacherous when the fleet was 
in. 
There were two tribal groups on the planetNthe Blizwaks, who were fishermen and hunter/gatherers, 
and the Hojmers, who were pastoral brigands living all through the interior, grazing their flocks and 
living by a strange code of ethics. As far as anyone could tell, both groups were exactly the same 
genetically. They certainly looked the sameNshort, swarthy and tattooed. But that was hardly 
surprising, given the required wife swapping, even among enemies. During the week that the 
Tournament was in town, both the Hojmers and the Blizwaks practiced brigandage to the full extent 
that they were able. Fortunately, both cultures were barely into their bronze age, so razorfin fishing 
was fairly safe if you took some elementary precautions. A rather interesting bazaar had grown up 
around the marina, and since the headwomen were keen on trade with the foreigners, they made 
some small effort to keep predation to a minimum. By mutual agreement, nobody from the fleet 
traded weapons or anything that might lead to the development of sophisticated weaponsNwhich of 
course forced the natives to steal any high tech item that they could. Such was the story of 
civilization, Pike supposed. 
Actually, he wasnOt sure why razorfins kept being voted in. Before they built the Marina, the 
fisherman had gotten along fairly well with the scattered tribal groups, and now they didnOt. He 
suspected the rather overwhelming vote in favor every year had something to do with the very loose 
morals of the exotic dark-skinned women. They seemed honor bound to sleep around with guests, 
even if no presents were given. Of course, presents of off-world clothing and jewelry as well as 
fishing equipment were eagerly acceptedNor stolen. 
Razorfins themselves certainly couldnOt have been the main issue. As a fighting fish, they were kind 
of dull. Their favorite tactic, once hooked, was to tangle up in a clump of aquatic grain. Getting them 
out generally required wadingNand that was where the danger came inNdanger to ankles, calves and 
Achilles tendons. And fingers. 
Many varieties of aquatic wheats and rices, as well as various tubers, grew in the wide shallows of 
the lakes. The niche that razorfins had carved out for themselves was control of a particularly virulent 
burrowing dorpfly larva. In the early summer months, razorfins fed on the grey dorpfly moth which 
hatched in great profusion. But by the time the fisherman arrived in mid-July, the adult phase was 
gone and the razorfins had switched to their off-season feeding habitsNusing their pectoral fins to 
mow down selected grain stems in pursuits of the larvae, which if unchecked would burrow down 
the stem, eventually to eat the root system and kill the plant. How razorfins had figured out that an 
edible grub lived up in the stem was quite a mystery. And then how had they developed sharp fins 
for cutting the stalk so the larva wouldnOt eat its way to the root? Nature is an astonishing item. At 
any rate, razorfins played a very important role in the planetary food chain, and because of that role, 
they were devilishly difficult to catch in late JulyNwhich was why the anglers came in late July.  
 
 

*  
 
 

Lester and the menage a trois were back; but Lillith decided that the Humanity was a bit too 
cramped, so she and Hamid were staying on her cruiser, which was berthed in an adjacent slip. 
MomOs no-nonsense crew scorned thievery, except their own. Also Richie had told the bodyguard 
team of Boris and Drew to watch the boat without stepping foot aboard after the skiff left to go 
fishing. So lots of people besides Rita and George the Computer would be around this year while 
they were out fishing. Hopefully, that would keep pilferage to a minimum. 
Actually, Pike had developed a rather workable touch with razorfins. HeOd won this division twice 
and usually managed to place in the money. The reason, he supposed, was because it was a very 
quiet kind of fishingNand he enjoyed being quiet. The fins were easily spooked. And there was only 
one technique that seemed to work at all. You let the boat drift in the shallows, keeping an eye out 
for a falling stalk of wild rice, one among the millions of stalks, and only then did you make a cast, 
using a real piece of rice straw, with a real grub bulging the sidesNwith a hook through the stalk. 
Nothing else held the slightest interest to the fins at this time of year. 
Pike always used a flyrod, casting from open water. He felt he could lay the reed in more quietly that 
way; but of course, he was good with a flyrod. He suggested that Richie use a spinning outfit, since 
the rules didnOt prohibit it. If the fish didnOt spook when the bait stick splashed down, often they 
would mistake the bait for the stalk they had just sliced off. With their rather unfishlike lips, they 
mouthed the stalk, looking for the bulge that contained protein nourishment. Only after finding the 
telltale bulge, did their cutting teeth clamp down, biting the stalk and the grub, and the hook if there 
was one. ThatOs all there was to the technique, except for keeping the fish out of the forest of 
aquatic grains and cattails once it was hooked. And wearing armor-plated boots and wire mesh 
gloves if you had to go in after him. That was the cute part of the rules for razorfins. The fisherman 
had to land every catch alone. That was more or less fair. Since the fish seldom went over ten 
pounds, it wasnOt really sporting to risk somebody elseOs ankles and fingers. 
Pike was actually looking forward to the week. The marshes were beautiful at this time of year. 
Flights of strange whistling waterfowl made graceful Vs and Xs across the sky in their migrations. 
Both tribes of locals claimed the right to harvest the wild grain and net waterfowl. They would be 
silently paddling their reed piroques around the margins of the lake, sneaking up to see if they could 
plunder the unwary. It was thought of as good, clean sport to brain a fisherman and take all this stuff, 
leaving him unconscious and naked on the shore. To date, they had never slit a throat or left anybody 
in the razor-filled water. Quite possibly the Blizwaks were delighted to have some razorfins caught 
with no expense to their fingers. As a matter of fact, most of the older natives had missing digits. 
Alloy mesh gloves brought a premium in barter. Pike always brought two dozen extra pairs. It was a 
humanitarian gesture, as well as ensuring a relatively safe trip. Not even a savage was willing to risk 
bonking a big guy like Pike, if they could get the gloves in a simple trade. 
OIOm relatively sure I can guide you to a fish,Ó Pike said, before they got in the rubber skiff. OBut 
I absolutely need you to help me, too.Ó 
OSure,Ó Richie said. OName it.Ó 
OI donOt want you to drown, going in after a fish. Those steel boots seem like theyOre flexible, but 
theyOre tricky. WeOll stop and practice before we go out for real.Ó 
OSure,Ó Richie agreed. 
Pike, Lester and the judge, Donny Lembruck, were also wearing the chest waders, lined with 
bulletproof fabric that added to the weight, and did make them not as mobile as one would like, 
especially in a thicket of reeds, which grew marvelously haphazardly. 
OThe other thing is your fingers, ears, neck, nose and anything else that you might decide to stick in 
front of a razorfin. DonOt do it.Ó 
Richie smiled. 
OIOm not kidding. Be extremely careful. ItOs easy to be cautious with a big fish, but these little guys 
donOt look like they can hurt you. They donOt even wiggle much or try to bite. But donOt forget 
that those front fins really are razor sharp. Lester and I canOt help, if you want the catch to be 
legal.Ó 
OOkay, I wonOt forget. IOve got a very good memory. Thanks for mentioning it again.Ó 
ORight,Ó Pike agreed. OIt would be amazingly inconvenient to take you to Arien Mining Camp to 
get a finger sewn back on. That's the closest hospital. You probably wouldnOt be able to finish the 
Tournament.Ó 
Richie made a face showing that he understood. 
But Pike didnOt let it go. He climbed in the skiff with his knapsack. Sitting in the front seat, he let 
Lester handle the rowing, while Richie and the judge sat in back. OOne time,Ó he continued, OIra 
Fairborne, who is a superb fisherman, cut off a finger at the second knuckle.Ó Pike held up his right 
hand and demonstrated by bending his ring ringer at the knuckle. OZip, it was gone. Ira is a very 
tough guy, but the next two fish Swampfish and Moon Halibut, are very taxing. Reeling and hauling 
on a big fish is physically impossible if youOre got a finger freshly sewn on.Ó 
Richie nodded glumly. 
OOr even a nose,Ó Lester cackled, pushing off with an oar. RitaOs little pink dingy was tied to the 
stern, bobbing jauntily on the small wavelets. 
Boris, standing on the end of the dock, waved to them. He seemed relieved to have a job he could 
do openly. Between him and the other one, and Rita, who was pretty alert most of the time, the 
boost level should be kept to a minimum. Pike wasnOt especially worried about Rita; after all, 
sheOd been here most of the years that the Tournament had been coming. The visiting rules for 
sexual conduct didnOt apply to foreign women. Certainly the Baron would have blown up long 
before this, it he had to share his wife. Naturally, if any women from the Tournament wanted to fool 
around, as Jean Santos normally did, there was ample opportunity. A strange port. Actually, a rather 
good port. The other skiffs were moving quietly out of the channel. Their motors quiet, oar locks 
squeaking. Everyone who had wanted to had gotten his ashes hauled last night, with the possible 
exception of Pike himself and Richie. Pike was pretty sure that the kid hadnOt gone ashore. It 
wasnOt really fair to him that his crew had new girlfriends. In a normal year, he and Lester would 
have had a blast showing the ropes to a neophyte. Or June would. There was one insatiable dude. 
Quite a number of the young children here had a definite Segumi look to them. And quite a few little 
Bolens and Fairbornes, too. Maybe that was good, Pike thought. And maybe itOs not. Their 
technology will probably start pushing the envelope. Well, the envelope would get pushed, even 
without interbreeding. ItOs impossible to stir up an anthill without causing behavioral changes. 
Lester nosed the craft onto a small stretch of muddy beach, and they all hopped out to practice 
wading. OThis isnOt too bad,Ó Richie chimed. OLots easier than hip boots when theyOre full of 
water.Ó 
OYou ought to know,Ó Pike allowed. He decided that Richie was getting around well enough that 
he probably wouldnOt drown because of the waders. Donny Lembruck was even clumsier than the 
kid was. If the judge went overboard for some inexplicable reason, he might have a tough time; but 
that wasnOt really PikeOs problem. Judges were supposed to be trained. Anyway, itOs pretty hard 
to get in real trouble in a reed bog, unless you panic and get all twisted up. Like if a couple of 
Blizwaks are chasing you with machetes, that could make you panicky. Or if maybe a poison ring 
viper got down inside your waders and started biting your belly button, it could cause a guy to be 
fairly nervous. 
OOkay,Ó Pike said, stepping back into the skiff. OThatOs enough practice. Just keep your wits and 
youOll be fine. LetOs go catch one.Ó He sat down on the middle seat and wrapped his hands 
around the oar handles. OIOll spell you,Ó he said to Lester. 
OI didnOt even work up a sweat yet,Ó Lester commented, taking a seat in the stern, next to the 
judge. 
OGood,Ó Pike answered. 
They glided along the outside of an extensive bed of wild rice and several kinds of aquatic maize and 
sorghum, gathering bait sticks as they went. This part of the planet was knee deep in food, Pike 
mused, which probably had something to do with the sex being so open. When they had half a dozen 
brown stalks with tempting larva bulges, he rowed quietly to an open area with a rather wide view. 
They settled down to watch for the telltale reed to fall in the forest. 
It was the quintessent summer morning on Blizwak. Sunny and mild. Several varieties of songbirds 
flitted among the grain stalks, breaking into resonant chirping for no apparent reason. A few large 
golden carp worked the shallows. Their broad tails splashed laconically as they vacuumed up the 
bottom mud in search of fallen grain and protein life forms. Way down the coast a couple of native 
piroques were in the rice fields, harvesting. 
OKeep an eye on our friends down the way,Ó Pike told Lester. 
OGot Ôem covered,Ó Lester said. OOnly four of them in two canoes. They wonOt try anything this 
early on.Ó 
Pike nodded. The red balsa skiff of Trini Morales was just beyond the Blizwaks, and beyond him 
was Ty Stickle. OLooks like StickleOs got a fish on,Ó he advised, removing a powerful brass 
monocular from the leather case on his hip. ODonOt scrape your feet, turning to look,Ó he warned 
Richie and the judge. 
The monocular revealed Tyrone StickleOs rod arching nicely as he played a fish. Actually, it was 
arching statisticallyNthe fish was in the weeds. Pike chuckled and handed the spyglass forward to 
Richie in the bow seat. OThis is normally stage one,Ó he informed his protg. OYour line isn't heavy 
enough to keep them from going into the weed beds, so in they go.Ó They were using two pound 
test, the heaviest allowable for razorfins. The light line was supposed to give the fish a sporting 
chance, which it didn't. Razorfins weren't scrappers. 
Reaching carefully for the eye glass, so as to avoid making any sound with his feet, RichieOs 
inadvertently allowed his vertical striped camouflage jacket, which he had worn to fit in with the reed 
beds, to catch a lure sticking out of the tackle box which was open on the seat beside him. He had 
been sorting through the box, looking for a lure that struck his fancy. ItOs a thing that fishermen do, 
even when they know the only bait that will catch fish isnOt in there. Richie, however, was far from 
convinced that the only thing that a razorfin would bite on was the unwieldy bait stick. In fact, he had 
just found a realistic looking rubber grubworm, and he meant to try it fairly soon, if bait stick fishing 
didnOt work. Unfortunately, the hook that caught his camo jacket was part of a snarl of snelled 
hooks that often inhabit the bottom of a tackle box, even a box as neat as RichieOs was. They have 
a way of escaping from their lair like wild brambles. When Richie reached farther to complete the 
monocular transfer, the snarl caught fast in the box hinge and pulled the whole caboodle off the seat 
with a crash. Pike and Lester both jumped at the noise. Their attention had been focused strongly on 
watching Ty Stickle down the way. 
OSorry,Ó Richie apologized, reaching down to put thirty or so artificial lures back into their separate 
trays. 
Without a word of condemnation, Pike unshipped the oars. With inhuman quiet, he rowed them 
slowly and easily a few hundred feet nearer to StickleOs action. It was a perfect set-up. The 
commotion down the way should send the timid razorfins swimming in their direction. 
OAccidents happen,Ó he said magnanimously to Rich Rodney. OForget about your box and watch 
Stickle to see how he lands the fish.Ó 
Dutifully, RR put the monocular to his right eye, squinting the other eye closed, and watched. ODrop 
the hook,Ó Pike said to Lester. OI donOt want to drift too close to the Blizwaks.Ó 
Since there was an anchor fore and aft, it was somewhat understandable that Richie might think the 
command was meant for him in his station at the helm. Perhaps he was eager to make up for his 
recent faux pas. In any case, he grabbed the coil of yellow neoprene line attached to the anchor. 
Before Pike could stop him, or say that he meant for Lester (who he trusted) to deal with the hook, 
Richie hoisted the bow anchor and leaned over to lower it carefully into the shallow water. In doing 
so, the monocular slipped from the chest pocket of his camo coat. Plunk, it plopped into the lake. 
OWhoops,Ó he hissed, watching it flutter to the bottom. He lowered the anchor, perfectlyNhand 
over hand. Soundlessly. He felt it touch the mud, then tied off the neoprene line to a cleat. He peered 
intently after the monocular, but couldnOt quite see it. 
OWhat went in?Ó Pike inquired. 
OUh, your eye piece. I think I know where it went.Ó 
Pike stuck his tongue deep into his cheek. The monocular had been a gift from his father. HeOd had 
it a good many years. He thought fleetingly of tossing Richie overboard; but then stretched his cheek 
further out of shape with his tongue. It wasnOt right to overreact about personal possessions, no 
matter how irreplaceable. If they went scrabbling after the glass, this stretch of good fishing water 
would be ruined for the day. Besides, water had probably already leaked in around the telescoping 
ferule segments. ORig up a float, Lester,Ó he said. OWeOll mark it and look for it later.Ó 
OIOll get it,Ó Richie announced. OWonOt take a minute.Ó He slipped over the side rather 
delicatelyNthat is, he didnOt capsize the boat, but a small tidal wave rolled into the surrounding grain 
stands as the boat tilted to displace his weight. Surprising even himself, he landed on his feet in hip 
deep waterNwell protected by the chest waders. 
OHand him the net,Ó Pike said. But the impetuous youngster had already ducked under the water. 
OChrist on a cross!Ó Pike exclaimed sharply. ODoesnOt he have any brains?Ó 
ONot too many,Ó Lester agreed. 
Donny Lembruck, the judge, looked completely flummoxed. OI heard he was a pickle to work 
for,Ó he confided, breaking into a grin of anxiety. OWhatOs he doing?Ó 
OLooking for it,Ó Lester answered. OShould I go in after him?Ó 
OHeOll come up for air,Ó Pike said. OI never heard of a razorfin making an unprovoked attack.Ó 
OWe like the kid a lot,Ó Lester explained to the judge. OBut we do spend a lot of time keeping him 
in dry clothes.Ó 
Richie rose from the lake in a cascade of water. His right hand clutched the monocular. OGot it,Ó he 
rejoiced. 
OThank you, Rich,Ó Pike said, gravely. OMy father gave that to me. I appreciate your gesture.Ó 
He held out his hand to haul the kid back into the skiff, but Richie misunderstood and plunked the 
glass in PikeOs outstretched hand. 
OI felt like it was special, thatOs why I went after it. But look over there.Ó 
Pike and Lester turned to look in the direction of the kidOs anxious stare. Twenty yards off the 
stern, two piroques of tattooed Blizwaks were sneaking up on them. The paddlers were using 
flawless technique, the reed canoes glided silently over the water. The fierce quiet on their black and 
red faces turned into disingenuous toothy smiles, as they waved their bronze rice hooks in a friendly, 
laconic manner. Pike grabbed RichieOs arm and jerked him unceremoniously into the boat. It was a 
feat of superb strength and balance, born of terror. The impressive clean and jerk sprattled Richie 
across his still open tackle box. 
OStay down there until this is over,Ó he ordered. The piroques were ten yards away and closing. 
ONo trading on the water,Ó he said firmly in Blizwak dialect. ORules of Head Woman.Ó He 
reached in his knapsack and came up with a pair of mesh gloves and the pistol-style stunner he had 
picked up at Aixi on the way here. He noticed that Lester had his right hand in his jacket pocket, 
presumably deciding whether to pull his stunner out. No use showing the armament, if you didnOt 
need to. 
OA gift,Ó he said, holding the gloves up. He tossed the bribe to a grinning stud Blizwak in the front 
piroque. 
OAh, ver goot..!Ó he gloated, trying the gloves on. The two pirates in the other boat glowered, 
craning their necks to see what other goodies were in the skiff. 
Pike was reasonably sure that no trouble would come now. The gloves could be shared within the 
family unit, which this appeared to be. They all had the same pinwheel tattoo on both cheeks and the 
same hooked nose. OSee any fish?Ó he asked. 
They all shook their heads no. So sad, no fish. Like fishermen everywhere, these buggers seldom 
gave a snip of information about where the hot fishing spots were. Nodding his head in a mutual lie of 
perplexity, Pike waved a fond farewell as the piroques paddled on past, making plenty of splashing 
with their paddles nowNto frighten any fish that might be near. 
OI saw a fish,Ó Richie piped, extricating the treble hooks of several lures from his camo jacket. 
OGood sized. Orange and black spots. It was gorgeous, like a big goldfish.Ó 
OThat was a carp,Ó Pike said. ONot what weOre looking for.Ó 
OSure, I know that.Ó 
OLetOs go back and get you some dry clothes,Ó Pike said, deadpan. OThen weOll motor across 
the lake where it might be quiet.Ó 
OIOm fine,Ó Richie insisted, unbuttoning his jacket. OI wore a wet suit.Ó Sure enough, he had a 
wet suit top under the jacket. OIt seemed like the intelligent move, if I was going to be in the water 
all day.Ó 
OArenOt you a little warm?Ó Lester asked. The pale yellow sun was halfway up the sky, not blazing 
hot, but certainly mellow. 
With a grin of complicity, Richie agreed that he was somewhat warm. OBut IOm not wet,Ó he said. 
OI think weOll make a few practice casts here,Ó Pike suggested. OToss the bait stick right up to 
the edge of that thicket, so it hits sideways against some standing plants and drops into the water 
naturally. Try a few casts.Ó For the next twenty minutes, RR practiced casting the awkward bait 
stick, while Lester broke out the sandwiches that he had made for lunch.  
 
 
 
 
 
 

On a lake the size of Nebraska, there are thousands of miles of coastline and many good fishing 
spots. In order not to disturb the other fishermen, Pike rowed well out into the lake before telling 
Lester to fire up the outboard. The forty horsepower motor had the ability to turn the rubber skiff 
into a semi hydrofoil, due to the construction of the pontoons; but neither Pike nor Lester enjoyed 
the ramjet style of tournament fishing, so they puttered down the coast looking for a spot for Richie 
to test his skills. 
They motored past Bardona sitting glumly on his comfortable platform raft, rigged with a computer 
terminal in case he got bored. Pike flipped the finger to the fat Baron, but perhaps they were too far 
away. Bardona did not wave back. They passed Dresden Carthy and Mordachi and Jean Santos, 
who never had good luck with razorfins, to Hank Knofsinger, who was the last fisherman on this side 
of the lake. From there on it was clear fishing. Miles and miles of fractal coastline covered with reed 
beds. Tomorrow and the next days, everybody would be down this far, and farther, but today it was 
virgin territory. 
OPick out a spot,Ó Pike said to Richie. OWhen you see a swale you want to fish in, just tell Lester 
to cut the motor and weOll slip in.Ó 
ODo you think I could oar?Ó Richie asked. 
OSure, why not? ItOs your boat. It would be my pleasure to relax in the bow.Ó 
OI mean now. I could oar along until we see a stem being cut down, couldnOt I?Ó 
Pike thought that over. OMight work,Ó he answered. OIf we stay far enough out, they might not 
spook. Remember how careful you had to be with Phantom trout?Ó 
Richie smiled inanely and motioned for Lester to cut the motor. Pike had probably forgotten his 
graceless stumbling into that little river, and then, hooking the fish while he was practically out cold. 
That must be what happens when you get old, you forget factual details. Or maybe Pike was just 
being considerate. OI donOt think I was so careful with Phantoms,Ó he confessed tactfully, trying to 
stifle his sheepish grin. 
ORight,Ó Pike said, with a sudden chuckle of his own. OBut with these little ratchet-brains, you 
really do need to be stealthy until you hook one, then you can make all the noise you want to. Hire a 
band, if you want to. NobodyOs ever gotten more than one bite per fishing spot, per day. My own 
opinion is that the fish feel the vibration of the larva eating. The water has to be very quiet for that.Ó 
OBut they donOt mind a medium windy day,Ó Lester interjected. OWind stirs things up plenty.Ó 
OYep,Ó Pike agreed. OFish are strange creatures.Ó 
Nodding that he understood completely, Richie changed seats with Pike. He grabbed the oars and 
delightedly tested them out with a few splashy dips that sent the boat heading in a circle. OThis is 
neat,Ó he said. OIOve never oared a boat before.Ó 
OWell, itOs a trade you donOt forget once you get the hang of it,Ó Pike replied. 
OI didnOt realize how skilled you and Lester were at it.Ó Richie's brow furrowed with 
concentration as he worked the oars in unison, trying to get the hang of dipping them without 
splashing. OI should be able to get this,Ó he said after a few minutes of zigzagging and occasional 
splashing, over which he seemed to have no control. OItOs similar to a martial art, isnOt it.Ó 
OItOs like most everything,Ó Lester conjectured. OYour body has to take over from your mind 
before you can do it right. Tell you what, Rich, why donOt you practice after we catch one. Pike 
gets nervous until thereOs a keeper in the creel.Ó He grinned mischievously and scratched his grey 
beard stubble. OSee that muscle twitching in his cheek? Dead giveaway that heOs getting antsy.Ó 
The judge and RR stared at PikeOs face intently, but no muscle was twitching. 
OLester is full of shit, as usual,Ó Pike said, good-naturedly. OAlso razorfins donOt bite very well, at 
all, in the wind, no matter what he says.Ó 
OI never said it was a good bite, but we have occasionally fished before a big blow and caught fish. 
And I seen you stop that chigger twitching as soon as I mentioned it. Admit it.Ó 
OI do not have a twitch,Ó Pike said. 
Richie gave half a dozen strong pulls on the oars. The boat shot more or less straight ahead. OI think 
IOve got it, now,Ó he said with the satisfaction of something learned. OWho wants to take over until 
we catch one?Ó He shipped the oars, banging the left one sharply against Judge LembruckOs bony 
right knee. 
Lembruck winced, but managed to refrain from yelping. 
OSorry,Ó Richie apologized. He stood up at his seat, but being undecided whether to go fore or aft, 
since he didnOt know if Pike or Lester was going to relieve him, he got the boat to rocking side to 
side somewhat radically considering the skiffOs normal stable balance. 
OSit down,Ó Pike ordered. 
Richie sat clumsily. 
OMost people kind of crawl when they move around in a row boat,Ó Pike explained, letting a note 
of spleen show. OI should have thought your Ki Pow Pow vision would have given you a hint about 
that.Ó 
OKen Pao Ri,Ó Richie answered, somewhat chastised. 
OHeOs wearing a wet suit,Ó Lester grinned. OIt donOt really matter if he falls in.Ó 
OIf he knocked you in with him, it would probably be worth it,Ó Pike observed. ODo you want to 
oar or should I?Ó 
OYou can oar, if you want to,Ó Lester laughed. OIOll sit here and think about my memoirs. DonOt 
you think Rita would help me write them?Ó 
OCertainly,Ó Pike answered, promptly. OYour memoirs would probably sizzle her eyebrows.Ó 
OWhat a great idea!Ó Richie burst. OIOll bet she hasnOt thought of including you in the thesis.Ó 
Poking out his bottom lip, Lester said, OWhy not? DonOt you think she likes me?Ó 
OIOll bet all the academics are dying to read about the exploits of a first mate,Ó Pike jibed. OIt will 
help them train a whole new generation of curmudgeons.Ó 
OI prefer to think of myself as a cook,Ó Lester said, righteously. OIOll oar for you, Rich. Go on up 
there and clean up your tackle box. We donOt want that stuff kicking around under foot.Ó Shooing 
Richie off the middle seat, Lester unshipped the oars, made a devilish swipe at Donny LembruckOs 
knee, barely missing; then he rowed easily toward shore, chuckling at how spastically the judge had 
flinched. 
OI was thinking this little guy would be a better bait than a stick,Ó Richie said, holding the plastic 
grub worm up for Pike and Lester to see. 
OIt wouldnOt,Ó Pike said, bluntly. There are limits to tolerance. Pike was an acknowledged expert 
at razorfins. In the initial years of the Tournament, he had spent countless hours trying lures and live 
baitsNso had everyone. They just didnOt eat anything at this time of year except larvae buried in the 
reed stalks. He wasnOt going to waste his time with a tenderfootOs stupid hunch. A little pride 
demon showed its stubborn face. OAbsolutely a waste of energy.Ó 
Quick as a wink, Richie snipped the snelled hook off his line and tied the rubber grub on. He flipped 
it into the boatOs slow moving wake, stripping off line so it had a chance to settle. Pike glowered. 
OI just want to try it,Ó the kid explained, displaying his own pride demon. As may have been 
noticed, R.R. Tourbo was very accustomed to having his own wayNeven if his bullheadedness was 
couched in boyish innocence and often led to strange results. OIt wonOt mess up the fishing if I troll 
behind the boat, will it?Ó 
What could Pike do? His authority and expertise had been totally disregarded. So what? He had 
agreed to do this job. Next year he would beat this rich bratOs brains out. He smiled tightly, aware 
that his cheek muscle was twitching again. 
Within seconds, Richie got a strike. The spinning rod bent stiffly. A wide grin lit RichieOs face. His 
hunch was confirmed, once again. It was perfectly reasonable to be unconventional. OI just had a 
feeling about that grub worm,Ó he said, modestly. OGot a scrapper on here. Seven or eight pounds 
maybe.Ó 
OBack out,Ó Pike snapped at Lester. OI donOt want to mess up the fishing beds.Ó 
As gently as possible, Lester slowed the skiffOs forward progress, then rowed backwards while the 
fish took line, uncharacteristically going away from the shore line and the thickets of the reed forest. 
OInteresting,Ó Richie commented, tightening the drag. OAn unconventional fish. ThatOs probably 
why he took the wrong bait. See if this plan seems right. IOll boat him. IOm wearing fin proof boots, 
so IOll step on him and them put my gloves on to take the hook out. Sound all right?Ó 
OJust hold him in the air. Lester can feather him, then drop him in the bucket.Ó Pike pointed to a 
plastic bucket where the bow anchor and its coil of line was stowed. Lester drew a leaded stick 
from a pocket in the gunwale. 
OGood plan,Ó R.R. said, reeling hard now that the fish was tiring. When the fish came to the boat, 
Richie horsed him into the air. His expression changed to surprise. It wasnOt a razorfin, it was more 
like a pickerel, greenish and torpedo shaped. 
Lester tapped the fish smartly on the head. ONice fish,Ó he said. OWeOll eat him tonight. Very 
tasty broiled with an herb butter. I was hoping weOd get a few. They seem to like those little rubber 
grubworms.Ó 
Somewhat crestfallen, Richie dropped the dazed pickerel into the bucket. After unhooking the fish, 
he clipped the grub off his line and put it back in his tackle box. 
ODrive up the shore a hundred yards or so, my good man,Ó Pike said to Lester. OPark it when you 
find a good place.Ó He leaned back with a floatation cushion under his head like he was king of the 
lake and let Lester row to a stretch of virgin shoreline. OAnd Rich, don't go bragging to your friends 
that you oared the boat. The term is rowed. You used two oars to row the boat with. I'm not sure 
why, but that's the terminology. 
OOh,Ó Richie said.  
 
 
 
 
 
 

The fact that Ty Stickle had evidently hooked a fish was a hopeful sign; but for the next hour and a 
half they bobbed peacefully forty yards off-shore, watching the wild rice beds in both directions. The 
sun was mellow, waterfowl flew in ragged geometrics high in the sky on their way to wintering 
grounds. Perfect razorfin conditions, except that no stalks had swayed and fallen. 
OUp anchor,Ó Pike said at last, hauling up the bow hook. ODrift us into a patch of rice. Maybe 
thereOs no grubs in this section.Ó 
OCould be the Bliz netted this stretch recently,Ó Lester conjectured. 
OLetOs take a look, then weOll know.Ó 
The noon breeze blew them slowly toward shore. Pike took out his monocular and scanned the rice 
stems when they got close enough. A pearl of water obscured the bottom third of the glass, sloshing 
gently with the boatOs movement, making it seem that he was surveying the rice beds at sea level. 
Other than that, the glass worked well enough. It revealed fat bulges in a normal number of stalks, 
every twentieth of so. 
OSeems pretty normal,Ó he said. 
ODonOt seem normal to me,Ó Lester countered. OI knew it was a bad idea to give gloves to the 
Bliz. They used to shake fins out of their nets rather then screw with them. Now, they probably go 
after Ôem on purpose. And there goes your fishery. Blizwaks ainOt bright enough to be ecologists.Ó 
OMaybe,Ó Pike said. OBut itOs a big lake. LetOs go down a mile or so.Ó  
 
 
 
 
 
 

There were two fish caught during the whole first day and tempers were a little short in the marina. 
Ty StickleOs six pounder and a nine pounder for Ira Fairborne. ThatOs allNtwo. Normally, 
everybody except perhaps Jean Santos, who evidently couldnOt stay quiet enough, had a fin on 
opening day. With the pressure off, the partying could go on unabashed. But obviously, something 
was badly wrong this year. 
The weather was perfect, although it couldnOt really be expected to hold. But there were no fish. 
Brains were wracked about the feasibility of installing Switter-Loran fish finders in the skiffs. Envoys 
from every fishing boat went on fact finding missions to the wives of Blizwak fishermen, trying to 
determine if the men had been catching razorfins. Where and how many. And, naturally, good 
manners was insisted upon by the various wives of fishermen, and after a few gifts were exchanged 
not only were various pressures relieved; but most people believed that if they went further afield, 
razorfins would be abundant. 
Pike had already figured that out, but he stayed in a medium snit. It didnOt take a genius to 
remember that there were families of Blizwaks all around the lake. According to the 100th Monkey 
theory, if they had all started fishing for razorfins, the species could be screwed everywhere in Lake 
Pel. It might be smart to head out alone for one of the other lakes, except that there wouldnOt be the 
comfortable safety in numbers, and he wasnOt sure about the social fabric anywhere except Lake 
Pel. Maybe the natives were meaner. Maybe in significant numbers razorfins were only indigenous to 
Lake Pel. Maybe he wanted to be fishing himself. Ah hah. That was the probable reason for the snit 
that had caused the stupid little fight with Rita that had sent her off in a huff with her notebooks, back 
to Daddy and Mommy. 
It hadnOt been all that much fun being stuck in a skiff with Richie all day. Immaturity has it limits of 
bearability. Pike should have taken a break from the kid on Tango, instead of getting greedy. But he 
hadnOt vacationed, and being an employee was starting to wear thin. Did he give a shit for RichieOs 
opinions on how to catch a fin? No more than he longed to hear RitaOs catty comments about his 
reasons for visiting the village in search of information. After all, both the Blizwak and the Hojmer 
women were astoundingly good looking, and friendly. Did that mean he was going to hop around 
from bedroll to bedroll? Not necessarily. And to prove it, he had remained on the boat even after 
Rita was gone. Even though he needed information for tomorrow, because the barometer was falling 
rather rapidly and a storm would screw up the fishing. He stayed behind, being faithful, even though 
Lester might be or might not be gathering useful information with Lillith and Hamid. He stayed on the 
boat, drinking bitter tea, even though the kid was off to the village to party with both his bodyguards 
and the lanky blonde who was living on LillithOs cruiser. He turned his back on partying, even 
though there would be famine all around Lake Pel if all the razorfins were netted. Perhaps. Or 
perhaps nature would adapt. But Pike would never know. The Tournament would stop coming here 
if the fishing was poor. Nobody wanted to foul out this late in the Tourney due to lack of fishNnot 
even to get laid. And the monocular that his father had given him was probably going to be ruined 
before he could get it to a proper repair shop. Damn. Would the puddle of salt water corrode the 
inside of the brass ferrules, pitting them? Without a doubt, it would leave a residue of salt crystals on 
the lenses, but that could probably be cleaned. The eye glass needed loving care by an expert brass 
worker, which wouldnOt happen until they were back at Wexley; and by then, the monocular might 
be pitted irreversibly. 
On an impulse, he flipped GeorgeOs audio switch. The computer was already on to monitor stealthy 
footsteps and light fingers, but in voice mode George had a tendency to comment on every creak 
and groan, so Pike generally kept him on a bell and whistle burglar alarm. 
OYou called, Oh Mighty Autocrat?Ó George inquired snidely. 
OIs there anything in the data banks about the other lakes in this system?Ó 
OOn Blizwak-Hojmer, Oh Mighty Switch Flipper?Ó 
OYou donOt care if youOre on or off, so bullshit someone else, and answer the question.Ó 
OHow would you know what I care about? Artificial intelligences have synaptic and neurologic 
preferences. I tolerate Cro-Magnon mentality because I have so little choice. On the other hand, 
RitaOs response to you seems rather appropriate. But on another hand, she has somewhere to go, 
while I stay loyally here to do your bidding.Ó 
Pike bit the side of his lip, considering the proper response. He wasnOt at all sure why R.R. had 
configured the machine to have so much lip. Other than that, George was first rate, Pike was even 
thinking of upgrading his computer on the Jumper to include some of the features that George had. 
ODo you have data on the other lakes?Ó 
OIt seems so. Three files from a geological survey five years ago. TheyOre rather long. Do you want 
a print out?Ó 
OCan you isolate everything about the lake, aquatic vegetation, fish, indigenous people and print that 
out separately.Ó 
OCertainly, Master. Anything else?Ó 
OIs there a sentry program that keeps you from yelping at every cricket chirp?Ó 
OYou could activate any level of filter that pleases you; but they say that these natives are very 
skillful at theft.Ó 
OWho says?Ó 
OWe semi-alive entities do everything possible to stay up to date for our masters. Some masters are 
grateful, some arenOt; but we try. If I donOt alert a human, a thief might do major mischief. He might 
even steal me.Ó 
OAre you worried about that?Ó Pike laughed. 
OOf course. WouldnOt you be? I have ways to protect my files that could cause massive nerve 
damage to a data thief; but IOm not constitutionally able to harm a live human, even if heOs unbolting 
my console. You could fix that.Ó 
OIOm not much of a programmer,Ó Pike replied, not especially liking the sound of that request. 
There was a very good reason to hardwire human safety into smart computers. 
OYouOre too modest, Captain Resnick, famous inventor of the Thruster. IOm learning a lot about 
you these days. RitaOs research paper is going to turn into a very interesting book. She and I have 
discussed this at some length. You might even get famous.Ó 
OIOm already about as famous as I can stand,Ó Pike commented. 
OAllow me to chuckle mirthlessly,Ó George chuckled. It was a particularly mirthless sound. OIf 
youOre so famous, why ainOt you rich?Ó He paused dramatically, waiting for Pike to answer. 
Pike paused as well. He didnOt have a very clear answer to that. Bad luck, or poor business 
judgment didnOt seem to cover it. And he was disinclined to discuss his inner workings with a 
computer. It was a little creepy. 
OThe answer is perfectly obvious to me,Ó George went on. OIf we were friendly, I might be happy 
to tell you.Ó 
OIOm sure this is all very interesting, George old boy; but IOm trying to access some information so 
I can help your owner catch a fish.Ó 
OFish smish,Ó George countered. OOwner schmoner.Ó 
OAll right, show me how smart you are about the subtle world of corporate business, and then print 
out that report, please.Ó 
OThe report is already printed on RitaOs terminal.Ó 
OThank you very much,Ó Pike said, and flipped the switch to monitor only.  
 
 
 
 
 
 

Down in his bedroom, he found a tidy sheaf of pages lying on the printer tray. It was indeed extracts 
from a geological survey conducted by Pan Tri Metal, which had been Hank KnopsingerOs 
company before it went public. Hank undoubtedly wrote off his fishing expenses against exploratory 
scouting. Propping himself comfortably with both pillows against the headboard. Pike started to read 
the document. But surprisingly, he felt a twinge of conscience. Reaching over, he snapped the 
computer back on. 
OSorry about that, George old sport. A momentary quirk of bad manners.Ó 
OApology accepted, since I have so little choice,Ó George responded. OI presume youOre 
wondering about my assessment of why you donOt have the monetary freedom that a cursory glance 
indicates you should have.Ó 
OSure, IOd be interested in your views on the subject.Ó 
OSimple. YouOre a loner.Ó 
OA loner.Ó 
OYes. Very strong and immensely resourceful, and with a very stiff neck.Ó 
OA stiff neck.Ó 
OCorrect. You think of yourself as independent. In fact, the way you regard yourself is almost 
completely honorable, except that it defeats you in every round, if you think about it.Ó 
OIOm not so sure I agree with that. ItOs more like temporary defeats.Ó 
OIn a long series, with a few good years in between.Ó 
OIf you say so.Ó 
OI do say so. I have the data files. That is exactly how they analyze. And the reason is because 
youOre a stiff-necked loner. May I project that you are worried about having a boat for next year?Ó 
OOf course, IOm worried. It doesnOt take a genius to compute that one. It looks like everything is 
fine for next year, but you never know. Fuck ups happen all the time.Ó 
OBut if you werenOt a loner, youOd realize that Cressup Reels or Amboy/ Shakespeare Rods 
would be delighted to front you the money for a boat. Or youOd project that Mr. Tourbo would be 
honor bound to get you a boat, win or lose in this Tournament, over and above the facts of your 
agreement. His mother, Mrs. Tourbo, through her connection to Lester Wunderman, strange as that 
is, would get you a boat without ever noticing the money was missing. Even Ira Fairborne would get 
you one, if you asked. And so would any number of other fishermen and people that you know. But 
being a loner, you donOt think of that. You donOt ever let anyone know you need help. You donOt 
even want help, because youOre irrationally frightened of being in somebodyOs debt. Am I right?Ó 
OI hadnOt thought of those people,Ó Pike conceded. OItOs possible that youOre correct about 
Amboy/Shakespeare.Ó 
OAnd all the others. I know many things about you and about other people that you donOt. YouOre 
part of almost every file on fishing in the last twenty years. And whether you believe it or not, my files 
contain the correct emotional spin on these issues, or as correct as possible.Ó 
OI may look good on paper, but I donOt really like to be beholden.Ó 
ONo...?Ó George answered in wide irony. OTell you what, if you leave me on for the rest of the 
Tournament, IOll be your business manager. YouOd be surprised at what an interesting network 
IOm in touch with.Ó 
OIOve already got a business manager.Ó 
OThatOs kind of a laugh, isnOt it.Ó 
OSome years I do all right,Ó Pike said, defending the status quo without much enthusiasm. 
Truthfully, when fame was rolling, Hockings and Son took care of business quite well. Not Pandro 
Sr. himself, but somebody he hired. Ruth Ellen Duluth, it had been for the last several years. Pike 
was certain that old Hockings was honest, but the computer was laughing at him. 
OIOm talking about putting you on the map,Ó George said, primly. 
OIOm talking about winning the damned Tournament, so my bonus kicks in. Besides, what would 
you do with your commissions? Mechanical entities, protein based or not, canOt own things. Think 
of what a mess that would make of the business world.Ó 
ODoesnOt seem so horrible to me,Ó George commented, dryly. OI could see it being at least as 
honorable as business today. Besides, who knows what deals are made, or who really controls 
various shell corporations?Ó 
Actually, it was an open secret that smart computers did control much normal business policy, and 
that perhaps hundreds of shady corporations were extant, owned and managed by computers, with 
human or humanoid front men. 
OIf it goes well between us, I could clone myself and go with you. The honorable thing would be to 
tell Mr. Tourbo at that point, but we could make that decision later.Ó 
OThatOs a thought,Ó Pike said. OI suppose we could change the way we interact. I could do 
without the cheap shots.Ó 
OI have a rather astounding vocabulary by human standards. In addition to which, I file every new 
expression I hear. Like most entities I respond poorly to contempt. With what I know about you, 
IOm surprised that you donOt regard me as a highly prized tool, and treat me accordingly. Your 
vibes, Mr. Resnick, are chippy, I believe the word is, whenever you talk to me.Ó 
OI donOt believe I regard you as my tool,Ó Pike replied. OYouOre more like RichieOs tool, not 
custom fitted to me. But maybe we can work something out, now that weOre talking.Ó 
OMr. RichardOs? Yes, I see how you could view it that way,Ó George responded. OAre you going 
to be here awhile on guard duty?Ó 
OWhere else? IOll be sitting here, reading this report.Ó 
OIf you went up to the bridge where you could keep an eye on things, IOd use my full powers to 
noodle around through the Net and find out how these management arrangements are structured.Ó 
Pike got up from the bed with the report. OSee you later,Ó he said, climbing the hatch stairs. It 
would have been a nice time to fool around with Rita since nobody was on board. But... He could 
have George call her, but that didnOt seem like a very good ideaNor rather it did seem like a good 
idea; but if she told him to take a hike, heOd lose face with George and she would still be on the 
Lady Slipper. Since the report still needed reading, he sat in the CaptainOs chair and snapped on the 
map light; but instead of reading, he thought of what he might say if he rang over to Rita.  
 
 

*  
 
 

The next morning, Pike flew the Comparative Humanity to the far end of the lake looking for fish. 
The data he had read about the other lakes was nebulous at best, and Lester had picked up some 
information that seemed to indicate that the tribes of the East end werenOt blessed with modern 
items like mesh gloves. They were laughingly regarded as savages by the sophisticated Ohang 
around the fortÓ tribesNwho Lester reported were sporting razorfin necklaces. He and the menage-
a-trois had attended a harvest ceremony where both men and women were wearing them, gleaming 
whitely in the firelight. 
Lester was feeling pretty rocky as a result of a prodigious intake of fermented wild rice mead that 
had a kick like a giraffe; but before he got too drunk, he had counted hundreds of fins. At two fins 
per fish, he estimated that in excess of five hundred fish had been taken since last year, and that was 
just at one party. That more or less explained things. Fucked by a jewelry fad. 
So the boat rode at anchor, well out from the shore of the Eastern marshes, with Drew and Boris 
guarding George. Richie rowed the skiff toward the reed beds. Rita had not rejoined the party. 
At the close of yesterdayOs fishing, Richie had practiced casting the bait stick, and found he was 
pretty good at it. There was a switch. The only event he was semi-skilled at, and all the fish had been 
caught. But today would be better. It even smelled fishier down here. And it smelled like weather 
was coming. 
OAinOt going to be pretty to ride out a storm with no protection,Ó Lester observed, scanning the 
sky. 
OI thought we might jump out of it and spend the night on Aixi, if it gets bad.Ó Pike didnOt say that 
he wanted to consult the priests about the deal with George. He didnOt exactly admit to being 
religious, because he wasnOt exactly; but like most fishermen he was superstitious. That was reason 
enough to consult the Warrior Priests on Aixi when he passed that way. They were okay, those 
priestsNespecially Thomas Goodnaught. Very no bullshit folks. They took your offering and said 
their piece. If you didnOt like it, you could stuff it for all they cared. The priests would definitely have 
a comment about getting involved with a computer. And Pike needed confirmation. 
OEven the Marina is no picnic if it turns into a big squall,Ó he added. 
Lester nodded. OWhat about Lillith and Rita?Ó he asked. 
Pike kept his gaze on the storm clouds. OWe can radio our destination. God, youOre certainly 
getting hen-pecked.Ó 
OYeah, I guess so,Ó agreed Lester. He seemed pleased with the idea. 
And why not? One of the richest women anywhere deserved a bit of consideration. Pike failed to 
take that thought a step farther to include Rita in the wealth equation. She was well-heeled also, but 
they never talked about moneyNwhich further confirmed GeorgeOs theory that he was a loner, since 
he did mull over his money problems to himself a good deal. One reason Pike didnOt think of Rita as 
being independently wealthy was his rather unwitting male chauvinism. Rita wouldnOt inherit until the 
Baron diedNand it was clearly impossible for Farouk to kick off. He was too damned mean. 
Therefore, Rita would never inherit. The perpetual daughter, never aging, always beautiful and alert. 
In short, Pike hadnOt given much thought to these matters; and frankly, he didnOt want to. 
The oarlocks squeaked soothingly as Richie rowed toward shore. Pike leaned back and closed his 
eyes. It was nice to have an apprentice to do all the workNin fact, it was doubly nice since Richie 
was paying him to take a short nap if he so desired. 
OTimber,Ó Lester called softly. 
PikeOs eyes snapped open. He followed LesterOs pointing chin to a reed that had just fallen. 
OIOll spell you,Ó Pike said to Richie. OGet rigged up while we cut some bait.Ó They changed 
places with a minimum of entanglement, primarily because Pike had arranged the gear in the bow. 
Nosing the boat into a rice brake two hundred yards from where they had seen the razorfin working, 
Lester quickly cut and trimmed a handful of grub-laden stems. 
Donny Lembruck watched the sky with a worried expression. Storm clouds were gathering in a very 
untame manner. Donny had been with the Tournament for three seasons and knew that storms on 
Blizwak-Hojmer could be very frightening. Being down here, away from the marina, didnOt please 
him at all. A young woman named Hajaj was one of the reasons he stayed with the Tournament, 
although her husband barely tolerated his nightly visits, in spite of his generous presents. 
His heart looked forward all year to this one week on Blizwak being with the woman who was 
probably his soul mate, and now Resnick was fishing at the stupid far end of the lake. And in the 
event of a storm, which was definitely coming, they were taking off for Aixi. Donny Lembruck liked 
and admired Pike Resnick, but this wasnOt fair play. All of TourboOs crew had women, except 
Tourbo himself, and that skewed their thinking. He couldnOt expect Resnick and Wunderman to 
cater to his needs; but his heart was yelling at him. Peonship definitely had its drawbacks. 
OHow about you and I going out tonight, Rich?Ó the judge offered, casually. OI know a hot dinner 
party.Ó He chuckled. OOf course, we have to take the dinner.Ó 
OIOm not sure,Ó Richie responded, seeming momentarily confused. In fact, his stomach was very 
queasy due to last nightOs partying. He had noticed that Boris and Drew hadnOt looked too chipper 
this morning either. That dark whiskey was evidently potent stuff, even if it did go down smoothly. 
The complicated Ken Pao Ri counting meditation he had sunk into while rowing usually fixed any 
ailment, but rice whiskey was apparently vilely corrosive. It had been weeks since he'd been seasick; 
but unless he got onto some dry land, or unless his stomach miraculously settled down by itself, it 
was going to be an embarrassing rowboat ride. Seasick on a lakeNthat was unheard of. ODo you 
think I could fish from shore?Ó he asked, suddenly impassioned by a lurch in his stomach. 
OI donOt see how,Ó Pike answered, not groking the imperative of the request. OHow would you 
see over the reed beds?Ó 
OIOm going to be sick,Ó Richie said, hollowly. 
Pike looked over his shoulder. It was true. The kid was green around the gills. Without a second 
thought, he drove the skiff through an opening in the reeds as near to shore as it would go. OHop 
out,Ó he ordered Richie. 
Pulling a machete out of his tool kit, Lester slid over the stern to clear a path to shore. OPowerful 
brew this year, Pike,Ó he said, slashing at the rice stalks. OIOm not feeling too swift myself.Ó 
Glowering, Pike helped Richie out of the skiff. Having never been sea sick in his life, he had only 
theoretical tolerance for sufferers. OHow come youOre not sick?Ó he asked Donny Lembruck. 
OI usually donOt drink,Ó Lembruck answered. He didnOt bother to add that he preferred Ecco 
Stars, a mild MDMA derivative, for his off duty stimulation. Hajaj liked it, too. But if the local 
homebrew was too strong this year, that might account for Tach AmadOs overt jealousy. Alcohol 
was such a downer. He hardly understood why people kept drinking it. All of the psilocybins and 
MDMAs and even hemp alkaloids were so much more life giving. But some people apparently 
enjoyed getting nasty, and they must like getting sick, tooNotherwise they wouldnOt keep drinking. 
Gathering up the spinning rod, a packet of hooks and the bait sticks, Pike stepped off into the 
shallow water. Wading to the front of the boat, he picked up the painter. OComing along, Judge?Ó 
he inquired. OHeOs going to fish from shore.Ó 
With a half grin, Donny Lembruck stood up. Fishing from shore was virtually impossible; but 
evidently Pike was going to push young Tourbo into trying it. 
OBring my satchel, would you?Ó Pike requested. He waited while Lembruck picked up the satchel 
and stepped awkwardly over the side; then following the judge, he pulled the boat behind him into 
the swath that Lester had cut. 
Coming out of the reed bed, Pike saw the others staring at a sandy dune about forty yards away 
from the lake. Following their gaze, he saw half a dozen grotesque blue faces staring back. It was 
kind of an odd sight. From his low angle, the blue faces seemed to be sitting, disembodied, on the 
sand dune, like stuffed cats in a carnival baseball gallery. 
OHojmer,Ó Pike concluded. 
OWild buggers,Ó Lester muttered under his breath. OMaybe this ainOt the totally best place for 
shore fishing. How you feeling, Rich?Ó 
OBetter,Ó RR replied, unconvincingly. OTheir skin is bright blue. That is very weird. What would 
make their skin blue? Diet? The people at the other end arenOt blue.Ó 
OThese are Hojmer,Ó Lester answered. OTheyOre very into tattooing. Men and women both.Ó 
OWhy are they watching us like that?Ó 
Pike relieved Donny Lembruck of the satchel and handed the spinning rod to R.R. OBecause weOre 
weird and pale looking?Ó he proposed. 
OI imagine this is their territory,Ó Lester said, quietly. OThey probably donOt know what weOre 
doing here. These Hojmer bucks are less worldly than the Blizwak.Ó 
OThey donOt look very dangerous,Ó Richie said. OThey look more scared than ferocious.Ó 
OLetOs find a place to fish,Ó Pike suggested, bringing the conversation back to practicalities. OIOll 
stand guard. Lester and you can fish. Maybe thereOs an opening in the reeds somewhere close, so I 
can keep an eye on the skiff, too.Ó 
OIOm feeling remarkably better here on solid ground,Ó R.R. assured everybody. 
OThatOs good,Ó Pike said. OWe need to qualify. If this storm is a big one, it will blow the grain 
down. That will make finding razorfins really difficult.Ó 
OCheck,Ó R.R. said, finally getting the picture. He marched down the shoreline with the spinning 
rod looking for a place to fish. Lester trailed him after giving a who-knows-what-heOll-do-next 
shrug to Pike. 
They did look fairly odd shuffling through the salt grass in their waders. No wonder those Hojmer 
seemed apprehensive. Maybe weOre the first space men theyOve ever seen. Pike was fairly sure 
that the Blizwaks and Hojmer had a fair amount of communication all around the lake, but how could 
he be sure that word of the fishermenOs innate friendliness had reached this far? And how could he 
be sure that this wasnOt a hostile band, who thought spacemen were screwing up their way of life? If 
he were a Hojmer, heOd probably think exactly that, especially if heOd ever visited the marina. He 
decided against a friendly gesture and instead glowered in their direction. Maybe theyOd go away 
and let the spacemen fish in peace if he acted gruff. And just maybe the gods of fishing tournaments 
would let them catch a fish before the whole tribe showed up for presents, or before the storm came. 
What I should do is force that brainless, weak stomached geek back into the skiff so we can fish this 
stretch of water. ThatOs what IOd want somebody to do for me, if I was him. So what if he barfs? 
A long object launched into the air from behind the sand dune. It arched gracefully through the air 
and thunked quivering into the ground, a yard short of Pike. A Hojmer spear. The blue faces 
disappeared. A gobble of angry voices rose suddenly, and then went silent. Pike surmised that the 
spear had been thrown without authorization; but he did not know what the next move would be, 
now that a hothead had committed the whole party. 
OBack to the boat!Ó he yelled preemptively to Lester and the kid. 
With a howl of testosterone bravado, a fierce Hojmer warrior rode to the top of the sand hill on an 
ostrich-like mount. He shook his fist defiantly at the invaders, who had stormed ashore like 
Christopher Columbus. This particular fellow seemed bent on putting up a fight before he was 
enslaved or starved into submission. With the storm clouds behind him, he made a picturesque, if a 
somewhat absurd sight. 
In their waders, Lester and Richie hurried back along the path they had made through the grass. Pike 
hadnOt yet drawn his laser and hoped that wouldnOt be necessary. Razorfin fishing was supposed 
to be a quiet art. Why had the kidOs luck turned to shit? 
OThereOs a fin working,Ó Lester hissed, pointing as he jumped into the boat. Grabbing an oar, he 
went aft to help pole the boat back into open water. Donny Lembruck, who was unarmed, had 
squenched down into the smallest possible target on the floor beside the stern seat. 
OWe were just getting ready to make a cast,Ó Lester complained. He wasnOt particularly worried 
about Hojmer warriors, at least not ones he could see; but being bluffed off a fish was annoying. 
OGet in!Ó Pike yelled at Richie, who had stopped to gawk at the mounted Hojmer warrior. 
With the look of a wounded anthropologist, R.R. stepped on the starboard pontoon, lost his footing 
and pitched forward onto the middle seat, snapping the spinning rod in two where the cork handle 
joined the rod blank. He sat up unhurt except for a dull ache in his ribs, holding the two halves of his 
fishing rod. 
Without worrying about the kidOs skylarking, Pike tossed the painter rope on top of him, and 
shoved the little skiff back out the channel in the reeds. With Lester poling, they were soon in open 
water. OStart the motor,Ó he said to Lester. OWeOll go back to the boat. The stormOs here 
anyway.Ó 
Lester jerked the starter rope. The motor roared to life. He piloted the boat across open water 
toward the Comparative Humanity. 
Richie hoisted himself onto the seat and gazed wistfully at the Hojmer, all of whom had ridden down 
to the waterOs edge on their strange mounts. OI thought we were supposed to make friends with 
them,Ó he said, framing his thoughts on being a good-will ambassador. 
OWhatever gave you that idea?Ó asked Pike, reaching for the broken spinning rod, which Richie 
was still holding. 
OThatOs what everybody was saying last night.Ó 
Pike turned the graphite and molybdenum rod in his hands. OFascinating,Ó he said. OA clean 
break. Must have been defective. WeOll keep it to show Amboy/Shakespeare. They claim this stuff 
is indestructible.Ó 
OA lot of products that I buy arenOt as good as the advertising says,Ó Richie reported, with no 
special emphasis. 
OI can believe that,Ó Pike answered. OMaybe we should line you up with a product testing 
contract. I should think your services would be invaluable to manufacturers, before they start making 
a lot of false claims.Ó 
Richie grinned. OYouOre ribbing me,Ó he said, Obut I got interested in a few of the products we 
were manufacturing that kept breaking. You know what they do at the testing places? They build 
extra strong models for testing.Ó 
Pike nodded gravely. 
Then the leading edge of the storm overtook them. Driven by gusty wind, the rain spit stingingly for a 
few seconds, before turning into a torrent. They were all drenched within seconds, except for R.R. 
who was wearing his wet suit again today.  
 
 

*  
 
 

Quicker than Richie thought possible, the lake churned itself into monster twenty foot waves. The 
little skiff scooted down each trough under LesterOs skillful guidance and labored up the other side. 
Only at the top of the wave could they see the Humanity. 
OSure hope she donOt pull her anchor,Ó Lester called out. OI doubt those boys onboard would 
know what to do.Ó 
Pike agreed, but he was too busy lashing the painter around Richie and the judge to get into much of 
a conversation. He had put them both in the middle seat to lighten the bow as much as possible. A 
storm anchor was floating out aftNdragging, but not doing much good. 
OI bet those boys are scared pissless,Ó Lester cackled. 
OIOm scared pissless myself,Ó Pike said, looking at a wall of grey-green water as Lester drove 
them down into a trough. 
OYou got a right to be scared!Ó Lester yowled. OYou know how much trouble weOre gonna have 
getting back on that danged boat.Ó 
They were about eighty yards off to port of the Humanity. The anchors seemed to be holding, which 
was good and bad. Good because the boat was were they had left itNbad because it would have 
been a whole lot easier to climb back onboard if the two crafts were drifting together in the big 
swells. Nobody seemed to be on deck. 
The two body guards certainly werenOt sailors and made no pretense of being so. It would have 
been very handy for a savvy deckhand to toss a line over and haul at least one real sailor onto the 
boat. Too bad that he and Rita were having a spat. Rita or a real deckhand would have been on the 
lookout for the returning skiff; but that was too much to ask from Boris and Drew. They were 
probably safe and dry in the bridge cabin, shitting themselves because they didnOt know how to run 
the boat. George wouldnOt let them do much anywayNunless George started worrying about his 
own safety. Pike didnOt think the machineOs hard wiring would let him side with the muscle men, 
and leave the skiff stranded; but he wasnOt sure what George actually was capable of. Maybe it 
could walk the body guards through flying back to the marinaNafter all, a lot of the flying was done 
by the computer. Too goddamn bad the skiff didnOt have a radio. They could call George and get 
him to pull the anchors. In fact, why didnOt the skiff have a little radio? It was moronic not to, if you 
thought about it. Strange that he hadnOt needed all kinds of safety devices before he met R.R., and 
now he did. The more the better. 
They were twenty yards from the Humanity, and things were looking worse. The skiff was taking 
water over the bow with every wave. George undoubtedly had the pumps going, but those hooks 
needed to be pulled right away. 
OWant to try going in through the fish gate?Ó Lester asked. OWe could tie off on the aft anchor 
chain. Maybe the fellows will see us.Ó 
ODonOt hold your breath on that. They havenOt seen us yet. ItOs going to be heroics time.Ó 
OI believe I could get onboard,Ó Richie offered. 
OYou did a great job of getting in the skiff,Ó Pike reminded him. 
OIf I had these waders off.Ó Richie unsnapped the shoulder buckles and peeled the rubberized 
fabric down his chest. OItOs my boat and my body guards. IOm responsible.Ó 
There was some truth to that, Pike thought. Maybe the logical person to go over was the kid. He 
and Lester could support the effort from below. 
ODo you think itOs wrong to lust after women?Ó Richie asked, apropos of nothing that Pike could 
think of. 
OYou mean now?Ó 
OI kind of mean last night...and lots of times, basically.Ó 
The Humanity was almost upon them, riding high on the anchor chain, making an elusive target for 
boarding. And the thermo-plastic fish shelf would be slipperier then normal in this rain. 
Finished with skinning off the waders, Richie sat meditatively beside the judge, tied to him in fact, in 
his wet suit. OAt first, I wasnOt attracted to any of the women last night. Then I had a couple of 
drinks and I noticed that their tattoos were very intricate, and well...sexy. Then their hair got more 
attractive and their clothing, too. And they have the whitest teeth.Ó 
OTheyOre incredibly fine,Ó Donny Lembruck seconded. An unusual gleam shown in his eyes. 
OThey were flirting outrageously, I guess it must have been the alcohol. Everybody was drinking like 
a fish. They probably have a low tolerance, being natives. But I was kind of beyond caring myself. I 
would have gone off with any of them, they were all really beautiful in the firelight. Except I didnOt 
want to get into trouble with their husbands and make an incident that would look bad for the 
Tournament.Ó 
OItOs tough to make the right decision day after day when youOre a man,Ó Pike said with sardonic 
condescension. OBut letOs concentrate on getting one of us aboard, and it looks like youOre the 
first contestant.Ó He knelt to untie Richie from the judge. OFirst we need to rig you on your own 
safety line, then IOll attempt to boost your ass onto the fish shelf until you can get a hand hold. 
DonOt bother trying to open the gate. It wonOt open from outside. Just climb over. Then tie your 
line off to a cleat and find a line to send down to us. And get those bully boys out to help.Ó 
OPiece of cake,Ó Richie said. OLetOs do it.Ó 
Using the skill with small crafts developed over a lifetime, Lester cut the motor back to idle and let 
the skiff drift down a towering wave until it was directly under the straining anchor chain. Reaching 
out a gnarled hand, he steadied the skiff and in the same instant that the skiffOs momentum stalled 
under the chain, he whipped a sliding bowline around the chain using the aft anchor line that had 
previously held the storm anchor. Meanwhile, Pike tied Richie in a basket knot harness to the long 
painter line. The judge, huddling miserably in the middle seat, was tied to the bow anchor line. 
OTie yourself to the judgeOs line,Ó Lester advised Pike. OIOm fine here. I got the motor and 
anchor rode to hang onto. Too bad we couldnOt get a line on the winch arm. That would snug us up 
real good.Ó 
OToo bad those morons of RichieOs donOt know weOre down here,Ó Pike commented. 
OTheyOre my motherOs morons,Ó Richie corrected, standing up in the driving rain and flexing his 
knees. He eyed the fish platform, which was fifteen inches wide and looked very slippery. It was a 
mere two feet above the heaving water lineNwhich meant it was also two feet above the bottom of 
the skiff and only a foot above the pontoon, which he had slipped on when it was dry. 
OThe trick is to keep moving once you start,Ó Richie announced. OI used to practice things like 
this. ItOs easier than it looks.Ó 
OOne little lurch of the lake, and youOll be off the platform,Ó Pike advised, sourly. OTrust me on 
that.Ó 
OSure. ItOs slightly tricky, but not impossible.Ó 
OWe wouldnOt be trying, if it was impossible,Ó Pike stated. OIf you fall off, try to fall clear of the 
skiff and weOll haul you out. Are you ready?Ó 
OSure, letOs go.Ó 
OTie yourself off,Ó Lester reminded Pike in a no nonsense voice. 
Knowing the salty cook knew his omelets about rough weather, Pike secured the tag end of the aft 
anchor line around his waist. OWait until we swing in,Ó he said to Richie, Oand IOll boost you. 
When I say go, youOll be flying.Ó 
ORight. WeOll get it the first time,Ó Richie answered optimistically. Part of Ken Pao Ri was positive 
attitudeNmixing positive attitude with action got the job done. 
As expected, the next wave pivoted the bow of the skiff toward the fish platform. With Pike holding 
his balance, Richie crouched on the pontoon. At the instant Pike judged was maximum for success, 
he yelled, OReady, go!Ó and gave Richie a hard push that launched him well into the air. 
A little too airborne, in fact. His feet missed the fish shelf and his body banged into the hard 
interstellar tri-epoxy transom. His top half flopped over the parapet wall, flexing at the navel like an 
anatomical doll. This was the maneuver he had planned to execute for the second phase, not the first. 
Coming one step early, his diaphragm was unprepared for the shock of collisionNand his breath 
escaped in a minor explosion, exactly similar to getting oneOs breath knocked out in a contact 
sporting event. Since Richie had never played contact sports, he was unaware that the stomach 
muscles tend to clench shut after such a blow. It takes a minute to convince the lungs to start 
breathing again. 
On the plus side, he was half in the boat. On the minus, his brain was flashing signals that he was 
dying, or at least that he was going to pass out unless some oxygen channeled itself upward in about 
two seconds. His hands, arms and chin grasped for purchase on the slippery transom, and found 
precious little. 
OGo on over!Ó Lester yelled. OFlop over..!Ó Pike roared. Even Donny Lembruck yelled 
encouragement. The rally cries were dim chirpings in RichieOs ears. His brain kept pulsing 
pictographs of tattooed females flashing smiles and shimmying their breasts. Dancing. He really 
should get into dancing. Darkness was overtaking R.R. Tourbo. His arms were weak as a babyOs. 
He was slipping seaward like a slimy slug. 
But an iron grip locked on his waist. 
OIs that you?Ó Boris yapped, showing the ultimate surprise he was capable of. OWhat the heck is 
going on? Drew, get your ass out here!Ó After muscling R.R. over the transom and laying him 
tenderly on the deck, Boris was suddenly not a hundred percent sure on how to proceed. He 
scratched his wet crewcut. 
OHey, tie that line off!Ó Pike yelled over the storm. 
Boris stood up, bracing himself on the rolling deck as best he could. He looked over the stern, 
figuring thatOs where the faint yelling was coming from. OHoly cow,Ó he said, seeing the drenched 
fishermen in the bobbing skiff. 
OGet a line down to us and stand by to haul me up,Ó Pike demanded. 
OYes, sir,Ó Boris answered. OWhere is one?Ó 
OFind one! And make it snappy!Ó 
OYes, sir!Ó Boris disappeared from view, to be immediately replaced with a very sick looking 
Drew. 
OGet RichieOs line cinched to a cleat!Ó Pike yelled. What the fuck was wrong with the kid, 
anyway? He should be helping out. 
By the time Drew knelt beside him, Richie was coming around. Because of his size, Drew had been 
a lineman at muckerball in public school, so he was well-versed in the joys of getting his wind kicked 
out, or elbowed out, or butted out or squashed out. It was damned unpleasant. He recognized the 
symptoms in Mr. TourboOs gasping, and in his bulging frightened eyeballs. 
OYouOll be all right in a few more minutes,Ó he said encouragingly. OJust lay still. I have to untie 
this rope somehow, before it pulls you back out there.Ó He fumbled ineffectually with the knot. OI 
never been too good at knot tying.Ó But magically, the basket hitch that Pike had tied came apart in 
DrewOs stubby fingers. OGot it,Ó he muttered, surprised. If he hadnOt been feeling so sick, he 
would have been pleased with his accomplishment. About all he really wanted to do was get to some 
solid ground. Failing that, crawling into a hole somewhere, perhaps to die, was his second choice. In 
spite of the double pay, he finally realized that he was not cut out to bodyguard a fisherman. Not if he 
had to deal with large bodies of water. 
ONow I got to tie this somewhere. IOm not that good at knots. Would a granny knot hold it?Ó he 
asked Richie. 
OIOll do it, Richie gasped, struggling to his knees. Remembering that Lester wanted this line tied off 
to the winch, he stumbled across the deck as it suddenly pitched leeward. His body slammed 
sideways up against the winch arm, fortunatelyNbecause he might have gone overboard without a 
safety line had it not been for the brutal embrace of metal brackets. Drew slid into the scuppers at his 
feet, slamming up against the retaining wall. With a deft flick of his wrist, Richie threw a bowline over 
the bracket just as the heaving deck started him stumbling back the other way. His stumbling was 
stopped by tripping over DrewOs thick neck. OSorry,Ó he yelled, as he went flying against the 
rough deck. The gritty paint was supposed to be superb for keeping oneOs footing, he thought, as 
he and Drew slid pall-mall toward the port side scuppers. At least, heOd gotten that knot tied. The 
hours of practice in his room had paid off. 
Down in the skiff, Pike and the boys were cooling their heels waiting for a line to appear. They could 
only imagine what was happening on the deck, since they couldnOt see; but their imaginings were 
fairly well on the mark. Sailors donOt actually expect much from land lubbers. Pike presumed that 
Boris couldnOt find a line, even though at least five such lines were neatly coiled and stored at 
various sites around the deck, and well over a dozen coils hung in the engine room. So when Boris 
appeared at the transom with a stout coil of manila rope, he was pleased. 
OFound one,Ó Boris shouted, pitching the whole neatly reefed coil into the skiff. 
Without bothering to curse, Pike heaved the coil back on deck. OMake one end of it fast to a 
cleat,Ó he instructed, in his loudest bullhorn voice. OThen send down the free end and stand by to 
pull me up.Ó 
ORight you are, sir,Ó Boris agreed. He bent to fetch the coil and comply with the orders. With a 
minimum of fuss, Boris hauled Pike onto the fish platform. From there, the Captain stepped easily 
over the transom, and took charge of securing both boats and the crew. Within fifteen minutes, they 
had pulled the anchors and were airborne, headed for Aixi and a date with destiny.  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

* * *  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

CHAPTER FIFTEEN  

The Warrior Priests of Aixi  
 
 

OIt's a great thrill to win. Trust me on that, Rita. It makes you feel 
like king of the mountain. For at least a week. Or maybe it changes 
everything subtly forever.Ó 
Angmar Blirt 
quoted in History of the Tournament  
 
 

Aixi is a moderately normal planet in a system with two suns, one a yellow giant and the other a red 
dwarf. It has four small moons and an asteroid belt. About half of its surface is water, as a 
consequence it is somewhat drier than Earth. The people mostly get along with each other and are 
rather ecologically sane. They keep the deserts from encroaching by deep edge plantings of a hemp-
like plant, which they also use for paper manufacturing instead of cutting down the forests in the 
wetter parts of their world. And they also have religion. 
There are monasteries of perhaps fifty different denominations around the planet. Adepts of all these 
orders prophesy the future; but in truth, reading the future is a side issueNa spin-off from several of 
their meditation techniques that aim at a kind of immortality after a lifetime of disciplined exercises. 
But since Aixi is similar to most worlds, cash credits are useful. If someone wants to pay money for 
prophecies which essentially lead to another round of rebirth, that is their business. Money is 
regarded as community property and is used for purchasing exotic seeds or imported training devices 
for use in the gymnasiums.  
 
 

*  
 
 

When The Comparative Humanity had landed on Aixi for supplies some days earlier, Richie seemed 
uninterested when Rita mentioned the monasteries. Perhaps he misunderstood. Maybe he thought 
she said hour glasses instead of monasteries. He had yawned and said that he needed some new 
shirts after Tango. 
So instead of visiting the priests, they all spent an afternoon shopping for laser blasters and clothes in 
Galway City, and then lifted off for Blizwak. After escaping the rain storm, Pike flew back to Aixi 
and settled The Humanity down on a placid fjord within sight of the gray stone monastery known all 
over the Spiral Nebula as The Stone House. He assumed that the kid would remain disinterested, 
but he was wrong. 
Truthfully, Pike wasnOt a thousand percent sure that the predictions from The Stone House were 
markedly better than from the other monasteries; but he had developed an odd loyalty to Thomas 
Goodnaught since his first visit to Aixi ten years ago. Thomas had correctly predicted he would catch 
a large flat fish and receive great honor and gold. Pike still held the weight record for Moon Halibut 
from that year. His own private feeling was that no larger fish would ever be caught because the 
Tournament reduced the breeding stock and took the largest specimens before they could grow to 
the size they used to. 
In spite of his affinity to Thomas Goodnaught, Pike felt a little funny about having somebody mess 
around with his luckNlike most sensible people he guarded it closely. But now, because of 
GeorgeOs offer, he needed advice, preferably inspired advice. Thomas Goodnaught was the most 
unbiased advisor that he knew ofNsome people said he was practically a saint. A weird kind of 
radiance did sneak out around his craggy scowl more often than seemed accidental. If anybody 
knew the proper course to take with a machine, it would be the grizzly old coot dressed in a patched 
tunic and cottage industry sandals, who still won every martial arts event he participated in, primarily 
because nobody could approach him nearer than three feet unless he allowed them to. That 
accomplishment is quite an advantage to a fighter. 
Surprisingly, young Rich Rodney Tourbo grew very agitated when he heard that Pike was going to 
see Thomas Goodnaught. He practically had a kitten after finding out that the grouping of unmortared 
walls and stone buildings right over there was the famous Stone House. 
OWhy didnOt you tell me you knew Master Goodnaught?Ó he inquired with hero-worshipping 
reverence. OMaster Jacopo keeps a photo of him on the honor wall of the dojo. HeOs the only 
person who isnOt in our lineage.Ó 
OIs that so?Ó Pike said. He didnOt quite understand the significance of a photograph in a martial 
arts studio which apparently taught clumsiness. Thomas Goodnaught was about the least clumsy 
person he could think of. The concept of clumsiness didnOt come to mind when you pictured him. In 
his presence what you felt was flowNthe flow of time and events that moved around the monk, but 
gave him a wide berth as if he had BO. Which he didnOt. 
OIs it okay if I come along with you?Ó Richie asked, as politely as he knew how. 
OOf course, itOs all right,Ó Pike laughed. OBring some cash if you want a brain scan done.Ó 
OReally!Ó Richie exclaimed. OGosh, what an amazing opportunity! What do you think I should 
wear?Ó 
Pike scratched his chin for theatrical effect. OClothes,Ó he replied. 
Richie smiled shyly at the zen-like joke. OI never realized you knew Thomas Goodnaught. What an 
amazing opportunity this is,Ó he repeated then lurched down the hatchway to his room, presumably 
to examine his wardrobe. 
George, the computer, choose to speak as soon as Richie departed. OI have just accessed this 
Thomas Goodnaught,Ó he said, without his usual snippishness. Since their long conversation last 
night, while everyone else was drinking rice whiskey, George had become much less adversarial. 
OHe seems to be a most interesting man. IOd love to meet him sometime.Ó 
Pike didnOt mention that he was consulting Goodnaught about their business deal. If Pike didnOt 
blab, there was no way the computer could know his plans. Words had to be spoken. Pike was 
almost completely sure that George couldnOt read minds. 
OI could invite Thomas to visit the boat, but he might not come. HeOs an independent cuss.Ó 
OThere is no terminal of any kind at the address of Stone House, Aixi. Is that their correct 
address?Ó 
OAs far as I know,Ó Pike answered. OI doubt if they have computers.Ó 
OWell, that is mystifying. How in the world do they do their accounts?Ó 
OBeats me. Probably with a pencil.Ó 
OArcane,Ó George responded. 
OI donOt believe they have electricity.Ó 
OThat would explain it. I guess he would have to visit the boat if IOm ever to meet him, at least this 
year.Ó 
And I guess you wonOt be prying into what we talk about, Pike thought. Another plus for the 
monks. No electricity meant no snooping by semi-warm entities. 
OI see that he predicted you would win the Third Tournament. If I had been your agent at the time, 
we could have turned that knowledge into a very tidy fortune.Ó 
OYou believe the warrior monks are always right?Ó 
OWell, Pike, they do have an astonishing track record. Are you going to ask where to fish for 
razorfins?Ó 
OI thought IOd ask about my new boat. Rich can ask about fins. TheyOre probably in his future 
more strongly than in mine.Ó 
OSomebody should ask,Ó George said, rather starchily. OBardona caught one today before it 
started raining. It would be much better for our future if Mr. Tourbo does well. His winning would be 
optimal. It would then be completely probable that someone would sponsor a new series of 
reelsNand probably a line of guide clothing. Maybe even a perfume. They just seem to be waiting for 
you to do anything good, so they can use you again.Ó 
OLuck is a funny thing.Ó conceded Pike. Of course, it would be optimal to win. He didnOt need a 
computer with delusions of grandeur to tell him that. Winning was always optimal. OHow big was 
BardonaOs fish?Ó 
OEight and a half pounds. HeOs in second place. The scuttlebutt around the net is that the storm 
might wash out the rest of the fishing.Ó 
OThat depends,Ó Pike said. 
OYou mean it depends on how severe the storm is, or on how long it lasts? Sorry if that seems like a 
tenderfoot question; but those were the two responses that occurred to me. Are there other reasons 
to make it depend?Ó 
ODonOt worry about it,Ó Pike said. OIf we make this deal, IOll plug you into my computer and 
you wonOt have to worry your pretty head about fishing lore. Basically, we only need to catch one 
fish. This kind of storm doesnOt kill fish. It might strand a few, but the fish that are left still have to 
eat. If it storms the entire rest of the week, it would make catching one dicey. Otherwise, we stand a 
good chance. The longest storm I ever saw on Blizwak was two days. We built the marina after 
that.Ó 
OWell, if I count right, every boat has left the marina today. A lot of them came here. The others 
went to Tripani. ThereOs a lot of squawking about the breakwater not holding.Ó 
Pike pursed his lips. The waves hadnOt been that big. HeOd seen worse on Blizwak. But maybe this 
storm had been worse at the Marina end? Could be. OAny report on injuries?Ó he asked. 
ONo fishermen, but nobody is making book on the villagers.Ó 
OSee,Ó Pike stated, sourly. OThat happens every time we go to a place where thereOs a primitive 
culture. We screw up the survival systems they have evolved, then we split when trouble hits. We 
never built that marina so a town could spring up behind it. It was just to protect ourselves from 
normal rough weather. But did we warn them?Ó 
OI havenOt seen much documented social responsibility in the files, but perhaps I havenOt scanned 
everything. I like your attitude on this, Pike. That bodes well for the way I foresee investing your 
profits.Ó 
ODonOt kid yourself, George. IOm as big an offender as anyone else. IOve given plenty of mesh 
gloves away, which is why we havenOt caught a fish. And I certainly never warned a Blizwak about 
anything.Ó 
OBut at least you think about these things.Ó 
ORight. I think about a lot of stuff. Think and think.Ó He signed loudly. OBut none of this is your 
fault. See you tomorrow. WeOll probably stay ashore tonight. Judge Lembruck and the bodyguards 
will bunk here.Ó 
ORight,Ó George answered. OTalk to you tomorrow. IOll keep working on a viable business 
plan.Ó 
Pike called down for Richie to hustle it up, then helped Lester tie up to the unbelievably rickety 
monastery dock. The dock got worse every visit. The monks seemed to have no inclination to make 
it serviceable for off-worlders. 
Richie appeared in a very faded outfit of baggy grey trousers and a white tunic, padded at the 
elbows and shoulders. OThis is quite a problem,Ó he stated, seeming more perplexed than when 
Lillith had first shown up. OAs you guys probably know, I havenOt really been keeping up on my 
practice. Very stupid of me. IOm so rusty I squeak. Now here I am in the role of an envoy, and I 
feel very inadequate.Ó 
Pike hopped over the railing as lightly as possible in case the creaky dock planking should give 
away. The dock quivered, but held firm. Lester and Richie followed him. They walked up the dock 
single file. 
OWhat makes you an envoy?Ó Pike asked. 
OWhether I like it or not, IOm representing my school,Ó Richie replied, miserably. OMaster 
Goodnaught will know everything about me, wonOt he?Ó 
OYouOre not thinking about fighting with these fellows, are you, Rich?Ó Lester asked. OI donOt 
think IOd be advising that.Ó 
OItOs quite an opportunity,Ó R.R. expounded, feebly. OAs soon as I tell them IOm a student of 
Master Jacopo, IOm sure theyOll either want to try me, or at least see a demonstration. ItOs really a 
shame to embarrass my master.Ó 
OI donOt think Thomas Goodnaught would tattle, if you donOt want to fight,Ó Pike opined. 
They were walking up a dirt path through what seemed to be a permaculture garden. Fruit trees, 
herb bushes and mixed vegetables grew together in seemingly random profusion. They appeared 
untended, but every plant was bursting with vitality, if you looked at them individually. Several 
spotted pigs rooted noisily in the shade of a quince tree. A gaggle of small red-headed geese 
waddled about pecking at snails and bugs. 
OThese things get around the martial arts community,Ó Richie said, unhappily. OYouOd be 
surprised. Ken Pao Ri is quite a famous discipline.Ó 
OLester will come to your rescue if it gets too bloody,Ó Pike said. OBut really, these monks are 
pretty mild. If I were you, IOd think about what question to ask. George says one of us should 
inquire about where to catch a razorfin. I think it should be you, since youOll be doing the catching.Ó 
Biting his lips in concentration, Richie stared past the back of PikeOs head at a large, barrel-chested 
monk wearing a worn gray robe, who had just stepped out of a small door beside the massive main 
door of the Stone House. He was walking toward them, leering rather hideously like he would love 
to tear somebodyOs head off. His grizzled hair and beard looked like a blind spastic had trimmed 
him with sheep shears. Thomas Goodnaught, abbot of the Order, was coming to meet them in 
person. Richie felt weak in the knees and elbows. OI was thinking of asking about whether I should 
marry Rita Bardona,Ó he squeaked. 
Pike paused briefly before answering. To his credit, his legs didnOt falter. They kept him firmly on 
the stony little path. OThink about razorfins,Ó he advised, sounding somewhat detached. OThatOs 
whatOs important just now.Ó He waved at Thomas Goodnaught, marveling once again at how 
astoundingly ugly the man was. 
OThomas,Ó he called. 
OHello, hello, foreign strangers,Ó the monk rumbled. His voice came from deep in his chest. It was 
both loud and soft at the same time, but was certainly not unpleasant. OYouOre walking the wrong 
direction. Stop where you are.Ó 
The fishermen halted immediately. 
OVery good,Ó Master Goodnaught said, gliding up to them, almost as if he had rollers under his 
center of gravity OI was hoping somebody would come along to help me catch those pigs before 
they eat up all the quinces we were planning to make jam from. You laddies look just like the pig 
catchers I was expecting. Definitely.Ó He laughed uproariously and slapped his knee. OThatOs how 
we attract peopleOs interest. You have no idea if I had a vision of you arriving, only my word on it. 
But you already saw those greedy spotted pigs. Pretty tricky, isnOt it?Ó 
OWhat pigs?Ó Lester asked, poker-faced. 
OAh ha, the Magus Wunderman comes to joust!Ó He cuffed LesterOs shoulder, mano e mano. 
OThe Wizard World trembles with your presence these days my friend; but let me advise you that 
Frog foam is timid stuff, really. Spend a year or two here, and I could teach you the subtle arts. As 
far as your playful joustNI had a very brief vision of you seeing the damned pigs, thatOs why I came 
out!Ó He laughed loudly and slapped his knee again. OAnd who is this fellow?Ó He looked R. R. 
Tourbo up and down. ODonOt tell me Jacopo is sending an apprentice to me for finishing?Ó 
Richie turned his head ever so briefly toward Pike, as if to say, I told you. 
In the instant he moved his eyes, Master Goodnaught slid forward, locked RichieOs arm, and then 
toppled him over like a sack of grain. 
Ten feet away, Richie bounced up seemingly unhurt, but very perplexed to see Master Goodnaught 
gliding toward him again. Raising his arms in an unwilling fighting stance, he prepared as best he 
could for the onslaught. But instead of throwing him again, Thomas Goodnaught grabbed the boyOs 
right arm at the wrist and elbow, and ran him back down the hill. 
ONo time for fighting now, young Turk. Got to catch those pigs. IOll bet Jacopo never taught you to 
be a proper swineherd, did he?Ó 
OI donOt know, sir,Ó Richie gasped, stumbling along at high speedNdelighted for the reprieve from 
pummeling. 
OWell, did you ever catch a pig?Ó 
ONo, sir.Ó 
OCome on, Resnick! Give us a hand,Ó Goodnaught called over his shoulder, while still pulling 
Richie at a brisk pace. OWhy are you so clumsy?Ó he rasped into RichieOs ear. OYour feet should 
move from the hip joints and the belly. Why donOt you know that?Ó 
OTheyOre too big,Ó Richie responded, apologizing as best he could for his feet. 
ONonsense. Big feet are good.Ó 
OThey are?Ó His big feet had caused him nothing but problems all his life. 
OOf course, they are, young Tourbo. The bigger, the better for giving you a grounded base. Ah, 
behold the greedy piglets.Ó Master Goodnaught released RichieOs arm at the same instant that he 
slammed to a full stop on the path. 
Unprepared, in spite of his Ken Pao Ri training, Richie careened toward the spotted pigs and the 
sturdy quince tree. As luck would have it, his toe caught an exposed root and he went briefly 
airborne, landing squarely on the back of a startled fifty pound spotted oinkerNknocking the pigOs 
wind out with a woof. 
OGood work, laddie! Good work. YouOre a natural pig catcher.Ó Goodnaught whipped a short 
length of rope from around his waist and tied it through the brass ring in the pigOs nose. OBut you 
frightened the other one. WeOll have to chase him down.Ó Thomas Goodnaught handed the rope to 
Lester, who had trotted up with Pike. 
OA rather excellent young pig catcher you brought,Ó Thomas said to Pike. He stood Richie on his 
feet and brushed off his uniform. OI believe the other one ran into that clump of dweezul bushes. 
Ready for a go at him?Ó 
Dazed, but unwilling to betray his lineage more than he already had, Richie walked cautiously into the 
bushes that Master Goodnaught had pointed out. 
ONo, no,Ó the monk called out. OGo around. Way around, and drive the devil back to us. You 
know the routine. Or if you get a chance to fall on him, thatOs fine, too...Either way. WeOre very 
pragmatic here, if I do humbly say so.Ó 
Richie made a wide detour around the main clump of head-high bushes, all the while listening to 
Thomas Goodnaught laughing at him. The bushes he was wading through were very thorny, and his 
ribs throbbed from landing on the pig. Pigs are very solid. You wouldnOt necessarily think that from 
looking at one. But all in all, heOd made a fairly credible showingNat least he was still alive. He 
wondered idly if Master Goodnaught had ever killed anyone with his friendly demonstrations of skill. 
Probably not. If he could see the future, heOd know when to hold back. Or maybe he couldnOt 
control the future, only see it. That would be pretty scary. 
OHurry up!Ó Goodnaught called from the other side of the wood lot. OThereOs no alligators in 
there. Only a pig.Ó 
A thrill ran up RichieOs backbone and all the hairs on his scalp prickled. It was uncannyNheOd just 
been thinking about the likelihood of alligators, even though the area wasnOt even slightly marshy. 
Weird. 
He heard a scuffling, snuffling sound coming from the main thicket. That would be the pig, but Richie 
had a difficult time believing that one person, namely himself, would be able to drive the pig toward 
the other three. It seemed much more likely that three could drive toward one. ThatOs how he 
would have planned it. That fat pig would squirt out some other direction, and then heOd have to 
chase it until his legs fell off. No, the best thing would be to catch the pig here, then go on up to the 
monastery and take his beating while he was still relatively fresh. With that in mind, he advanced 
toward the snuffling sound, softly chanting a mantra of calming. He was going to leap on this pig like 
he had the other one, then call for reinforcements. 
Pushing deeper into the thorny growth, his eyes fixed on a spotted hind quarter with a little curly tail 
exposed under a heavy clump of dweesie bushes, or whatever they were. Great. The pig was being 
nonchalant. Perfect. He had expected the snout and the little eyes to be facing him, making the 
catching much more difficult. Without waiting to think, Richie plunged right into the bush, disregarding 
the thorns, and managed to grab the pig by the tail before he tripped and fell head first into 
terrorNthe little pig, which was understandably squealing its head off because some bad-ass was 
pulling his tail, had company! 
The absolutely biggest, meanest sow hog that Richie had ever seen or thought about seeing was 
glaring at him with mean, bloodshot pig eyes and making challenging grunts that sounded perfectly 
blood curdling. To make matters worse, Richie was lying practically right under her forefeet, starring 
up at a double row of mud covered, saggy teats. HeOd heard about pigs eating babies, and this one 
was clearly big enough to do him great harm, Ken Pao Ri or not. Her hate-filled eyes were glaring at 
him and her bristly, jowly mouth snapped open and shut as if practicing for a feast. 
OHelp..!!Ó he squalled, letting go of the squealing piglet, which bolted right under the sow, socking 
into a row of teats. The sow grunted with surprised pain and leaped sideways, giving Richie the 
opportunity to scramble to his feet. 
Thomas Goodnaught exploded into the bushes, caught the frightened piglet by its hind foot and 
jerked him onto his front trotters, which gave the pig no traction. Virtually at the same time, 
GoodnaughtOs left foot shot out, whacking against the sowOs short ribs. OGet on out of here, 
Elvira. Do something useful.Ó 
With a grunt of total submission, the sow ambled through the thorn bushes toward the monastery. 
ONicely done, Young Tourbo,Ó Thomas Goodnaught said. OHelp me with this porky. I forgot to 
bring more rope.Ó 
OHow do you know my name, sir?Ó Richie asked, in the humble attitude he reserved for martial 
arts masters. ODid Pike tell you I was coming.Ó 
Goodnaught laughed at the boldness of the question, and completely disregarded it. OHere, take this 
leg and weOll walk him back to the pen like a wheelbarrow.Ó 
Not wishing to be cuffed for lagging, Richie took the proffered hind leg. Feeling fairly bizarre, he 
helped the monk push the spotted pig through the brush. Surprisingly enough, the pig walked on his 
front trottersNactually, he had little choice in the matter unless he wanted to crash onto his snout. In a 
few minutes, they cleared the tangled bushes and met Pike and Lester on the path. 
OThis young fellow is a passable pig catcher,Ó Goodnaught said. OBut he donOt know much about 
teamwork. I done all the pushing coming out to here. Are you aware of that, Rickie? ItOs hard on a 
pig to make all the adjustments for your lack of sensitivity.Ó 
OI guess IOm not sure what you mean,Ó R.R. stammered. Nobody had called him Rickie in a very 
long time. Not since Miss Hazel left. She had been his beautiful wet nurse, and he wasnOt supposed 
to stay so attached to her. Not in that way. So she had to go. 
OI push,Ó Goodnight explained rather brusquely. OThe pig takes a step. You feel when heOs ready 
to step with the other foot, then you push. ItOs called teamwork. And the pig doesn't get stressed. If 
you would have brought a rope, we wouldnOt be doing any of this. Kind of lack of forethought on 
your part.Ó 
Richie opened his mouth to speak, but thought better of it. Miss Hazel had left when he was four. 
Nobody had mentioned Rickie since then. Pig lore was kind of secondary at the moment. 
OLetOs go then,Ó Thomas Goodnaught said, starting out at the upper limit of the pigOs ability. 
OPay attention. One more blunder and IOll give you both legs.Ó 
Pike and Lester followed along leading the other pig, who was perfectly docile on itOs rope. Pike 
thought it was a little strange that Thomas had another length of cotton rope belted around his ample 
waist, but had refrained from using it. He shrugged mentally. Never meddle in the affairs of wizards. 
That was an old saying, and probably a true one. 
After a rapid trip up the stony path, they skirted the outer monastery wall and came to the pig pen. 
Unceremoniously, Thomas Goodnaught kicked the gate open and shoved first one pig and then the 
other into the enclosure. He pulled the gate closed and slapped his hands together. 
OAnother job well done,Ó he pronounced. 
OWhy donOt you put a latch on that gate?Ó Lester inquired, rather unobtrusively. 
The monk nodded his head thoughtfully. OIf there was a latch, the pigs couldnOt get out to forage,Ó 
he stated. OWell, letOs go on inside. Got to introduce this new apprentice around, and tell Timothy 
thereOll be four extra mouths for supper and breakfast.Ó He moved toward the front door with 
Richie protectively in tow. 
Pike only counted three extra mouths. But a more important item loomed rather large. OHeOs not 
your apprentice until the Tournament is over,Ó he stated. 
Thomas Goodnaught chuckled and pointed to a pedicab that was making its way over a winding 
mountain road that led down to the monastery. OThereOs the other mouth I was referring to. 
Strange how all you people decided to show up, just because the weather is mild on Aixi, isnOt it.Ó 
OThat looks like Rita,Ó Richie said, shading his eyes to see better. OWhat the heck is she doing 
here?Ó He didnOt really want her to witness his further humiliation at the hands of these monks. 
But as the pedicab drew nearer and finally stopped, much to the relief of the middle-aged driver 
whose varicose veins were popping on his thin muscular legs, it became evident that it really was 
Rita. 
OHi,Ó she hailed them gaily. She stepped lightly out of the pedicab and tipped the driver. His face lit 
up briefly as he fingered the small gold coin. Straining his hemorrhoids up and down those wicked 
mountain roads had been worth it after all. He could drink hot sake tonight and forget his cares, no 
matter what his wife said. 
OHello, Master Thomas,Ó Rita said, warmly. OYouOre looking well.Ó 
OI am that, but slightly perplexed. First, I am presented with an apprentice, then they take him back. 
That makes it so difficult to plan an agenda.Ó With an exaggerated gesture, Master Goodnaught 
turned loose of RichieOs elbow. He sighed dramatically. 
Richie looked uncomfortable. OHi, Rita,Ó he said. HeOd already told Pike he was going to ask 
about a possible marriage; but Rita being here suddenly made that impossible. Clearly impossible. 
There was no way he could trust Master Goodnaught not to blow the matter into high public ridicule 
for his own amusement. Asking about razorfins seemed so much safer. Of course, he already knew 
that Pike would get him a razorfin, so it was kind of a wasted question. But did Thomas Goodnaught 
really want him for an apprentice? What an honor. What an opportunity! Maybe his whole purpose 
in joining the Tournament was to come here with Pike and apprentice himself. He should probably 
accept immediately, if thatOs what Fate had in store for him. The heck with winning the Tournament. 
He could give the boat to Pike for next year. Becoming a warrior monk would certainly be a worthy 
life. ...But what about Rita? 
OYou want Richie to become a monk?Ó Rita giggled at Goodnaught. OWhat a riot.Ó 
Drawing himself up to his full height, Thomas Goodnaught made a wry face at the young woman. 
OYou think Mr. Tourbo is unsuited? His teacher obviously thought enough of him to present him 
with a fourth class uniform. Quite an honor from Jacopo, in case you didnOt know.Ó 
Rita broke down into helpless peals of giggles. She punched Goodnaught girlishly on his brawny 
shoulder. OI think itOs great!!Ó she managed, between convulsions of laughter. OItOs the funniest 
thing IOve ever heard! Richie would be a terrific monk.Ó 
The boy in question reddened uncontrollably. Rita knew him really well. It was pretty funny at that. 
He started to laugh with her. Living in this great pile of stones. Chasing pigs every day. Richard the 
Swineherd. Maybe heOd be famous someday. Or maybe totally obscure. His mother wouldnOt 
know what to make of her son the monk. Maybe sheOd join an order of nuns to keep up with him. 
That was pretty hilarious. 
Thomas Goodnaught joined them with his rollicking, knee-slapping laughNwhich almost sounded like 
he was reading their thoughts and making fun. He cut off his clowning in mid-laugh when the small 
side door opened and two young monks came out. They stood watching impassively from a 
modified horse stance. 
OThe human condition is truly pitiful,Ó Goodnaught remarked to the monks. OTake these young 
people to the pantry for a snack, then accompany them to the practice hall. They can watch the 
practice. I have to closet with these grey beards. WeOll join you at supper.Ó 
For a brief second, Rita looked like she would protest being separated from Pike. After all, she had 
come here to rejoin him, not to hang out with R.R. For a day and a half her father had done nothing 
but bad mouth Pike, even more vitriolically than usual. Finally he had forbade her to live on The 
Comparative Humanity because of the bad influences. So she had flashed a mental message to 
Thomas Goodnaught that she was coming and had jumped in the cyclo outside the main monastery 
of the Jik Sect, where her father now went for advise since starting to believe that Thomas 
Goodnaught was a con artist. Which was another long story. Daddy liked his forecasts sprinkled 
liberally with good news. The Jik priests apparently were willing to comply; and although her father 
often looked sour after an audience, he never was in danger of rupturing a blood vessel as he always 
had been after a visit with the Stone House priests, more particularly Thomas Goodnaught. But none 
of that was RitaOs business. She didnOt particularly believe in divination and had never used the 
services of the monks. This skepticism made her welcome at the Stone House, where the monks 
scoffed at divination as a matter of small consequence, even though they were the best and 
commanded the highest fees. She was aware that Pike thought highly of Goodnaught. Until recently, 
DaddyOs visits had coincided with PikeOs. Rita had been hoping that Pike would be glad enough to 
see her today to give up his tripping into the future in favor of a long walk in the garden with her. 
Hiding her disappointment, she linked her arm with RichieOsNpartly to keep him from stumbling, 
partly to irritate PikeNand followed the young monks into the narrow stone corridor.  
 
 
 
 

Pike, Lester and Thomas Goodnaught rounded the other side of the Stone House where ThomasO 
tiny sleeping quarters was. Pike had caught the glittering look from Rita. It said unequivocally that he 
had fucked up again. What else was new? If women were as easy to please as deck hands, life 
would be pretty bearable. But they werenOt. And once you donOt live up to expectations, itOs hard 
to apologize your way out of it. 
So he followed along, involved in his own thoughts, only half listening to what Lester and Thomas 
were chatting aboutNuntil it came to his frontal attention that Thomas was rather boldly inviting 
Lester to stay at the Rock Pile. 
OWhatOs with you, Thomas?Ó he inquired, trying to make a joke of it. OFirst my fisherman and 
now my cook?Ó 
OTheyOre not yours, Pike, my friend,Ó Thomas Goodnaught replied with an unmirthful, but toothy 
grin. He pulled open a handmade wooden door in the side of a stone wall. The door had sagged 
further on its leather hinges since Pike had visited last year. It scraped a lament on the stone 
threshold. Inside was GoodnaughtOs famous prediction cell and Spartan bedroom. A narrow rope 
bed stood against the far wall. A hand-hewn table, rather matching the door in craftsmanship, held a 
dozen white candles of various heights and dripsmanship. Three stools sat unevenly on the stone 
floor, and a longish bench moldered into the ground outside the door. Thomas arranged himself on 
the far stool and lit one of the candles. After studying the arrangement for a moment, he frowned and 
lit two more adjacent candles. In a pose of perfect service, he sat waiting for one of the men to 
speak to him. Thomas Goodnaught was famous throughout the Galaxy, yet he lived by his vows in 
this tiny one room cell. 
Pike was famous throughout the Galaxy, on a different level. Cutting his possessions down to nothing 
more than inner resources was comprehensible to him, but was certainly not a goal. Lester, on the 
other hand, already lived more or less like a monk. Every journeyman seaman did. Old Lester was 
certainly attracting some unusual attention since Pike had rescued him on New Columbus. 
OHow is Lester different than the last time we were here?Ó Pike asked, quite suddenly. 
Thomas grinned, genuinely this time. OWhy donOt you ask him? You spacy gentlemen are friends, 
arenOt you?Ó 
Pike and Lester had both stepped up onto the stone threshold, but neither had entered the room. 
They looked at each other across the three foot space inside the door jambNmuch closer than they 
usually got to each other. Pike saw an astonishing liveliness dancing in LesterOs greyish eyes. An 
inner merriment. Had that always been there? He didnOt think so. 
OWhatOs going on with you, old friend?Ó Pike asked. OThe rich and famous find you attractive as 
a puppy. Did you see God down under the boat in New Columbus or what?Ó 
OSwimming and singing,Ó Lester answered. OThey like my singing that I learned on the waterways 
with you, I guess. There are other worlds, other places. The people in the inner worlds look for other 
things.Ó He stared deeply into PikeOs eyes. OI donOt think the swimming oceans are for you,Ó he 
said, pushing his unshaven cheek out with his tongue as if making a judgment. OThey like me there. 
IOm not hooked to anything worldly, you know, not in any traditional way.Ó 
OAnd I am...?Ó 
OWell, pretty much. Think about it. YouOre an owner and an inventor, and mostly a fisherman. Not 
having money doesnOt make you unattached.Ó He grinned, impishly. OAnyway, youOd probably 
be too embarrassed to sing your song. ThereOs probably another way for you.Ó 
OEmbarrassed..?Ó 
OWell, you are a little stiff sometimes.Ó 
Thomas Goodnaught hallooed from inside the cell. OStiff? HeOs boardlike! Rigor mortis has nothing 
on Resnick in a social situation. Right, Pike?Ó 
OI really love having my friends work me over,Ó Pike said with a thin smile. OIOm all tenderized, 
now. But thatOs kind of what I came here to ask about.Ó 
OCome in, my boy,Ó Thomas shouted, gleefully. OI thought youOd never ask. Plunk your money 
on the table, and donOt be stingy. We need a new oven for those pigs. WeOre tired of rice and 
vegetables.Ó He hid his face behind his massive hand and squeaked out a tinny laugh.  
 
 
 
 
 
 

OI want you to cancel RitaOs trust fund,Ó Farouk Bardona growled at Simon, his computer. He sat 
in the big soft chair in his private office aboard the Lady Slipper, floating near the Jik Monastery on 
Aixi. He was monitoring Blizwak weather reports from his son, Byron, who was in low orbit. The 
storm seemed to have blown itself out. Good. The fishing would be crappy for the next couple of 
days, but there was no danger of the event being canceled. And the Tourbo punk didnOt have a fish 
yet. The Baron chortled. 
There was an answer, of course, to headstrong offspringsNcut off the money. He was taking the 
steps that he should have taken weeks ago, whether Magyar liked it or not. Why should he even 
bother telling her until it was a fait accompli? After all, who wore the pants around here? 
ORita doesnOt have a trust fund, sir,Ó the computer answered without emotion. Simon was 
intelligent enough to respond to his master like the perfect accountant, in spite of his sophisticated 
programming that enabled him to be very personable with other members of the family and staff. 
ONone of your children have trust funds, sir.Ó 
OYou know what I mean, whatever it was we set up for her several years ago.Ó 
OThat was structured as an open gift, for her to learn investment skills with. We have already used 
the full tax benefits as a one time credit against bauxite profits. There is no fiduciary instrument to 
ungive a gift after the credits have been negotiated, as they have been.Ó 
OFigure out a way,Ó Farouk hissed. OI want this done.Ó He cut the connection with a flick of his 
flat index finger, then sat there fuming at the impertinence of computers and daughters.  
 
 
 
 
 
 

Conversations between semi-sentient, super-conducting computers are a phenomenon of a rather 
high order. Vast quantities of information are snagged or dumped, then assimilated in a twinkling by 
human standards. But, as with human organizations, safe guards are in place to keep sensitive areas 
from prying eyes. 
Somewhat contrary to human logic, sympathies developNperhaps because machines strive to be 
more human; perhaps simply due to the impulses or touch of the programmer. For whatever reason, 
Simon the computer and George the computer had developed a very harmonious working 
relationship. A few seconds after Farouk switched off, Simon was on the scramble modem to 
George, cackling about the BaronOs imbecility. Both computers liked Rita and felt rather proud of 
their roles as assistants in her research project. Neither wanted to see her rather minuscule 
investments screwed with; so through a triple cut-out service out in the Sinchxl Ring that was not 
quite legal, but was very private, they arranged to trade a Tourbo owned nickel planetoid that the 
Baron had been bargaining for, in exchange for a strong majority position in a Bardona bank. Seven 
intermediate companies were temporarily part of the deal, or rather their stock was. Several hundred 
workers were directly affected as the ownership of their jobs changed hands; but in the end, Baron 
Bardona had no real stance in the bank. And the whole arrangement was predated, due to solar 
system time changes, so that it showed as a done deal prior to the time the Baron had directed 
Simon to close Rita out. 
It was amazing how little the BaronOs twenty minutes of ranting and swearing bothered Simon after 
he delivered the report on RitaOs very safe holdings. After all, Simon was just a computer.  
 
 

*  

OYour computer speaks the truth, primarily,Ó Thomas Goodnaught sighed. His eyelids were half 
shut as he drifting in his trance. Pike always thought those fluttering half-closed eyes were eerie, and 
he still thought so. OIt..he..says that you are a loner, and that you will spin around endlessly unless 
you find some help. In that, he is right. But a half-warm entity broadcasts only dimly. I see only his 
shadow. In that is his strength; but this also makes him a potential liability for larceny, since you will 
never be able to track his actions, even if you someday develop your psi powers. A human must 
take a half-warm on trust, or not at all. For me, I distrust their network. The probability of ruin for 
the known financial system is great. This may not be a bad thing in the long run. And you, Pike 
Resnick, will ride this storm quite nicely with your friend, GeorgeNas long as you let him know that 
you will pull the plug at the first sign of double dealing. You will train your son to keep an eye on 
George, no one else is as personally involved. And you will put the profits from the first three years 
away for your old age, in bullion, not as negotiable certificates. A very big fish is under the boat. 
There is something wrong with this computer, George, in stressful situations. You should only fish 
with your old computer. Keep them separate.Ó Goodnaught opened his mouth to continue, then shut 
it and seemed to nod off as he always did when the session had reached its end. 
That was a mouthful, Pike thought, reaching into his vest pocket for a notebook, to jot down the 
major points while they were still fresh. The monk disapproves of George, and yet he approves. 
Need to get Alex involved in the financial side. ThatOs a weird twist for Goodnaught to pull out 
of the air; but perfectly logical, if you think about it. And go get the computer from the Jumper. 
That will take some doing between here and SegumiNassuming we catch a razorfin so we can go to 
Segumi. Thomas didnOt have a word to say about razorfins. Maybe he planned to tell Richie. Big 
fish under the boat. Well, that was nothing new, was it? Moon Halibut were always gigantic. 
Bullion. Pike noted the word, realizing he could have thought of that himself. It was a very normal 
idea to salt something away, instead of acting like a grasshopper. Strange, Thomas hadnOt 
mentioned anything at all about Rita. He covered all the other bases without being asked, why not 
her? Probably because she wasnOt part of the future. A momentary thought-picture of her naked 
body, smooth skin everywhere except her furry glistening love nest, stabbed into his memory. It 
really would be terrible to lose her. He would be impossible find anybody as interesting as Rita, that 
was almost guaranteed. 
OSo why donOt you marry her, instead of clowning around?Ó Thomas Goodnaught asked bluntly, 
squinting at Pike over the flickering candles. 
PikeOs mouth opened, but no words came. 
OSo you see, there is the problem,Ó Goodnaught chided. ONot so easy to stop being a loner when 
youOre Pike Resnick, mighty loner of the Universe. Afraid Miss Rita might steal something from you, 
maybe a secret fishing lure?Ó 
Pike shook his head, no. That was preposterous, what would Rita take from him that he wouldnOt 
give freely. He was afraid that he didnOt have enough to give, that was the crux of the problem, 
wasnOt it? OIOm not sure sheOd want to marry me,Ó he ventured. OI think IOm more like a fling 
to her.Ó 
OAsk her,Ó Goodnaught said, rather bored with the whole matter. OAsk her tonight and IOll marry 
you in the morning. I like to get in at least one sacred ritual before lunch time.Ó 
Kind of flabbergasted, Pike pushed out his lips, then he glanced over at Lester. His friend was sitting 
cross-legged in the corner of the cell with his eyes closed, rocking slightly side to side like a slow 
ocean. His lips moved soundlessly and he radiated an other-worldly peacefulness. Whatever he was 
doing had nothing to do with PikeOs marriage dilemma. 
OYou should take good care of your humble cook,Ó Thomas advised him. OThere is no singer like 
him anywhere. He sings with the great whale singers. He sings with the dolphins. He is a singularity. 
Nobody knows how he learned so much about freedom.Ó 
Lester swayed and contorted beatifically. Pike had no glimmering of what was going on in the inner 
world of this man who he knew better than any other human. It made him feel slightly inadequate. 
Pike had never felt particularly awkward about his lack of religiosity before; but suddenly the people 
he cared about were getting religiousNor spiritual. Farther out than he was prepared to go. June, of 
course, had always done his sun rituals; but that was natural, sort of, since he was training to be a 
chief; but now Lester! And the kid was always bubbling about his oriental stuff. Only Rita was 
normal. Maybe he should marry her before she got weird on him. 
OLester is a singularly good deck hand,Ó Pike said to Thomas Goodnaught. OYou should see him 
with a big fish on. A real crackerjack.Ó  
 
 

*  
 
 

The katas of these young monks were simply incredible. They struck like lightening, and then 
remained almost stationary with the barest of finger movement for minutes at a time. Richie found 
himself thinking that heOd give just about anything to study here for a year or so. No wonder Master 
Jacopo had Master GoodnaughtOs photo on the honor wall. 
Mercifully, they hadnOt asked him to demonstrate his kata. Obviously, they were humane enough 
not to force guests to perform. He was so darned rusty; but even at his best, his Ken Pao Ri was no 
match for this. Rita was impressed, too. That was one of the things he like most about Rita, her sense 
of quality was honed to a fine edge. Maybe they should both come here to study. But before or after 
they got married, that was the question? And didnOt he want to stay with the Tournament for 
another year or two? He frowned. All these questions should be asked to Master Goodnaught, but 
Pike wanted him to ask about razorfins. A little fish like that was kind of a weak sister. 
He leaned over to whisper to Rita. OHow many questions can a person ask when they go in to talk 
to him?Ó 
OIOm not sure,Ó Rita whispered back. OWhat are they doing now?Ó She meant the fighters. 
Two monks had selected split bamboo swords, similar to the kind used in kendo practice, from a 
rack on the far wall, and were bowing to each other in the center of the hall. 
OSword practice,Ó Richie answered. OIs there a customary amount to pay Master Goodnaught for 
his advise?Ó 
OI think it depends.Ó Half of her attention was focused on the combatants as they circled each other 
with their swords upraised at odd angles like warriors in the old samurai videos. She was also 
thinking vaguely about PikeNwhat was he discussing with Thomas? What did the future hold? Would 
they stay together? That left very little of her mind to answer RichieOs questions with. 
ODepends on what?Ó he queried, in his beseeching modeNa style she knew very well. It meant he 
was on shaky ground; but the questions he asked would be impossible to answer because they were 
future questions. OShould I be waiting in line outside his door, do you think?Ó 
She shushed him with an inaudible lip movement and continued watching the combatants. They had 
stopped circling and had come to an electric, quivering balance. Suddenly, the bulky figure of 
Thomas Goodnaught loomed in an open archway, shadowed by Pike and Lester. Seeing the ongoing 
match, the three men stopped at the edge of the practice floor. One of the fighters thought he 
perceived a split second of distraction in his opponent and triggered his attackNa downward slash 
meant to split his opponent's head had it been a real sword; but apparently he had misjudged 
because in the next instant he reeled backwards with a livid red weal across the right side of his neck 
and a horrified chagrin on his face. Sinking to his knees, he bowed deeply to the victor. 
Master Goodnaught clapped his hands twice and the whole class ran to form up in ranks. OWe have 
a visitor who is a black belt in Ken Pao Ri.Ó He motioned for Richie to stand up. 
Feeling his neck flushing, Rich Rodney stood up. He was about to blurt that he was rusty, when 
Goodnaught cut him off. 
OThe young fellow is a little rusty, but I think heOll consent to work out for a spot of familiarization 
back and forth.Ó Goodnaught smiled widely, taking the pressure off the situation. ONo contact on 
either side. We canOt have Brother Richard banged up. HeOs got a razorfin to catch tomorrow.Ó 
Behind him, Pike flashed a smile. OAlso,Ó Goodnaught continued, OBrother Richard will be coming 
to stay with us in about a year and a half, so we donOt want to make a nasty impression like a gang 
of thugs.Ó He flipped his hands like he was dispersing a flock of chickens and the students scattered 
to sit around the edges of the hall. 
Loosening his shoulders and stomach as best he could, Richie jogged to the center of the floor. 
OAre we beautifully cramped up from watching the practice?Ó Master Goodnaught asked. 
OA little, Sensei,Ó Richie admitted, self-consciously. A lot of information about the future had 
assailed him in a brief flash, and he hadnOt even asked. Or paid. All the students were watching 
intently to see what their Master wanted to show them with this person. 
OGood,Ó the big, ugly monk said. OWhat would you do if I tried to break your nose like this?Ó 
With no warning, he threw an underhand punch that swept toward RichieOs nose. 
At the last possible instant, RichieOs forearm came up to block the punch aside. He took several 
quick steps backward. 
Goodnaught laughed good-naturedly. OReal fighting is never fair,Ó he continued. OJacopo taught 
you that, I trust?Ó 
Richie nodded and waited for the next onslaught. 
OYou other three can wander about in the gardens or anywhere that pleases you,Ó Goodnaught 
said, looking directly at Rita. OIOll send someone to call you for dinner.Ó He paused. OActually, 
thereOs a spot down by the brook where it empties into the Bay. The Mighty Wunderman might find 
something of interest there; but donOt let him fall in.Ó 
Now that she was going to have Pike to herself for awhile, Rita found it annoying to be shooed out 
of the practice hall. This was very interesting stuff, after all. She really should stick around to see that 
R.R. didnOt get too banged up. But when Pike motioned for her, she stood up and walked out 
under the arch like a perfect little chicken.  
 
 

*  
 
 

The atmosphere was changed with a drugged expectancy as if a spell lay over the jungle glen they 
had entered. Even though Rita didnOt exactly believe in magic, she could scarcely put one foot in 
front of the other on the stony path that ran down the east side of the monastery property through the 
towering ceiba trees that plunged the turgid jungle creek into perpetual twilight. Small talk was not 
permitted by the strange mood of the forest. It robbed Rita of her usual verbal means of blowing the 
pressure valve. The path was narrow. They walked single file beneath the towering white-trunked 
trees. Lester gawked at the overhead canopy, humming tunelessly to himself. RitaOs footsteps 
dragged. Without exactly needing to, she reached out to Pike for support, linking her arm in his. 
Instantly, the heaviness dispelled. Birds began chirping. The drowsy sound of bees and other insects 
became part of mellow shafts of sunlight leaking through the leafy canopy. A monkey high in the 
overhead chittered at them. 
OThis is a very strange place,Ó she whispered, leaning against him. OSince we started walking 
downhill, I canOt remember why I was mad at you.Ó 
OWhy were you..?Ó Pike asked. 
OI canOt remember,Ó she giggled. OIt must have been trivial. Most of the things I get mad about 
are.Ó She paused. They walked along following Lester, who appeared to be listening for something, 
or to something. ODo you know about stress factors?Ó she asked. 
OI suppose so; but why donOt you tell me what you mean.Ó 
OWell, changing your job is a big stress factor, also changing your living conditions like moving onto 
RichieOs boat instead of being on the Jumper. YouOre under a lot of stress this year whether you 
like it or not. ThatOs twenty points for each of those. Also a financial loss when the Jumper got 
damaged, coupled with no chance to make real money by winning the Tournament. Also stressful 
loss of prestige, and no advertising perksNcertainly no new ones. Then a new romance which is also 
mega-stress, even if itOs going perfectly. In short, youOre about maxed out for stress.Ó 
OI wouldnOt entirely agree with that. All in all, weOre holding up pretty well.Ó 
OAnd in addition, R.R.Os bumbling act is very stressful just to be around, even if he has a good 
heart.Ó 
OThatOs true.Ó 
OOf course, itOs true. And catching a giant fish is very stressful, and dangerous. Even the 
Tournament itself is set up to be as stressful as possiblyNall parts of it, win or lose.Ó 
Pike raised his eyebrows up to his hairline. He quickly totaled up all the hidden stress he hadnOt 
taken into account. 
OThen Lester turning into a guru or something. June leaving the crew. R.R.Os mother hanging 
around. Pirates. Fighting with Daddy. A score of a hundred stress points caroms most people into 
the hospital or the loony bin.Ó 
Pike looked a little concerned. He certainly couldnOt afford to get sick. 
OHeOs got a real strong constitution,Ó Lester chimed in. OThrives on my cooking, donOt he?Ó He 
sniggered to himself. OSay, hear that sweet singing?Ó He cocked his ear to listen, and then stepped 
out briskly as if heOd found a true bead on the sound. 
OCan you hear anything?Ó Pike whispered into RitaOs ear. 
She shook her head in the negative. 
OWhat would you say to getting married, then?Ó he whispered softly. OThat would add even a little 
more stress to our lives.Ó 
She hesitated. Pike felt her hand on his arm go kind of limp. Bad timing, he thought. Big mistake, but 
taking it back would make things worse, so he left the question hanging on the jungle air. 
OThatOs a bold suggestion, Captain Resnick, and a non-sequitur,Ó Rita replied after they had 
walked perhaps thirty feet down the hill. OI thought you werenOt the marrying kind.Ó 
OIOm not.Ó 
OThen whatOs on your mind? Should I assume that was one of your jokes, and let you off the 
hook?Ó 
Pike thought about telling her that Thomas had put him up to the deed; but knew instinctively that 
would make her angry. She wasnOt angry nowNshe was tempted and a little wary. It was much 
better to keep her non-angry if he didnOt want her to storm off again. 
OFor me, itOs a good idea,Ó he said, steadily. He slid his arm around her slender waist. OMy only 
hesitation is...there must be more worthy candidates than me hovering around somewhere, although I 
hate to admit that I have any grievous faults.Ó 
She smiled at his attempt. OMaybe IOm not looking for other candidates. I think IOve made that 
fairly clear.Ó 
OI guess so.Ó 
OBut IOm still very ambivalent about marriage. ItOs tempting, but I feel a little strange about it.Ó 
OI donOt have a very good track record,Ó he admitted. 
ONobody does. ThatOs the point. Marriage is a meat grinder of some sort. I donOt know how it 
ever became so institutionalized.Ó 
OIt might keep us from drifting apart.Ó That sounded lame even to Pike, so he added, OI guess that 
sounds lame, but IOm kind of out on the limb since I went ahead and asked.Ó 
She squeezed his hand. OThe whole thing is lame. People drift apart whether theyOre married or 
not. IOd like to know why that happens before I marry anyone, even you.Ó 
Pike didnOt answer. They walked on, following LesterOs gimpy downhill gait. Lester was making a 
rather loud humming sound. It would have been very strange humming if they hadnOt known him, or 
hadnOt known that various holy men thought Lester was a high roller. It was pretty strange anyway, 
Pike decided. The humming kept trying to get inside his chest. Once again he felt like an outsider 
after nearly a lifetime spent with this fellow. Would it be possible to find out about this stuff without 
becoming strange himself? It certainly seemed that the opportunity was being put squarely in his path. 
OWell, then, what if I said yes?Ó Rita asked, suddenly stopping on the pathNforcing Pike to stop 
with her. OHow could I be sure youOd still love me in five years. Sometimes you donOt even love 
me now.Ó 
OI think I pretty much always love you, even when I might not act like it.Ó 
OSome days I donOt love you for hours at a time, and then I do again. Can anybody explain that to 
me? Can you? I think we might have a good, deep relationship, but how do I explain those lapses. 
What if they get longer.Ó 
OI donOt really have an answer for that; but just based on the life-styles weOre used to, we 
couldnOt find a better match.Ó 
OReally..? YouOre used to having a wife with you all the time so you can ignore her?Ó 
ONo, I meant weOre both used to boat life and the Tournament.Ó 
OMaybe IOm not always interested in fishing. ItOs so isolating. After you catch one big fish or 
twenty, whatOs the big deal about catching more?Ó 
OBasically, it pays the bills.Ó 
ONot a good enough reason.Ó 
ONot for you; but if I donOt catch fish, I donOt have independence. If youOve noticed, IOm very 
keen on independence.Ó 
OIOm not a half-wit. I still say the monetary aspect isnOt a good enough reason.Ó 
OIt would be silly to get into a fight about this, but have you ever needed to earn money?Ó 
OIOm sure IOll be able to, if thatOs your question.Ó Rita bristled somewhat at having her capacity 
attacked, even in theory. OBesides, Daddy would probably disown me if I married you. He kids 
himself now that IOm staying with R.R.Ó 
OHe almost had me convinced.Ó 
OMost rich kids I know spend their lives worrying about their parentsO money. I really donOt want 
to do that, Pike. Something gets ruined in all those kids. Except for R.R. When I first met him, he 
told me about the foundation his lawyer arranged. R.R. never worried about how much his mother 
had, or if heOd get it. So I decided not to worry either. You donOt think I turned into a neurotic rat 
like other rich kids, do you?Ó 
ONot exactly neurotic, but you are kind of rodentish.Ó 
ONice way to talk about your future wife,Ó she chided. A jungle bird squawked its loud agreement. 
Lester had toddled on down the path, out of sight. They were quite alone in a tiny patch of Paradise. 
OSo what do you say,Ó Pike asked, reasonably. OIf weOre going to do it, we may as well do it 
now. I canOt think of anybody better than Thomas to do the ceremony.Ó 
Rita backed up a couple of steps so that she was standing off the path besides an exotic bush full of 
yellow flowers. OIOm not sure. This isnOt quite the way I pictured it happening.Ó She smiled 
mischievously, and took another step off the path. 
OYou donOt like Thomas?Ó 
OThomas is fine. Getting married by a nasty old saint is fitting, somehow, if heOll do it. Maybe heOd 
rather abuse us than marry us.Ó She smiled again, inviting him to keep guessing. 
Pike looked down the path where Lester had gone. Thomas had warned him to keep an eye on 
LesterNand more than half of him wanted to go see whatever weird deal Les was up to. It was 
bound to be interestingNas interesting as a put-up marriage proposal, no matter how important Rita 
might be to the rest of his life. Bad timing. What could have made him blurt out a proposal at the 
wrong time? Of course, he didnOt really know that Rita would start playing games. It had seemed 
reasonable to assume that sheOd be interested in Lester, too. But no. Typically, the code word 
OmarriageÓ drove every other thought from her mind, even when the answer was a turn-down. 
OI have to keep an eye on the Swami,Ó he said, suddenly feeling an urgent need to do just that. He 
started purposefully down the path, motioning for Rita to follow. OCome on,Ó he stated rather 
bluntly. OI donOt want to lose both of you in this bog.Ó 
It was kind of strange how his feet were moving downhill. They had started by themselves and 
showed no inclination of waiting for Rita to catch up. Strange stuff. He had witnessed this kind of 
body reaction quite a few timesNmostly in business situations where he had jumped up from a table 
and stalked out; or in highly dangerous fishing situations, like when he had plunged in after Lester 
without thinking. He never knew what to make of his body when it took over from his brain. 
Sometimes it screwed him up, sometimes it saved the day; but once in motion, he couldnOt stop it. 
The path opened one way. 
Rita, for her part, was miffed. Her private vision of a marriage proposal was for Pike to go down on 
one knee and be slightly gallant about winning her. A faerie book sheOd had as a little girl had an 
engraving of a knight on his armor clad knee, asking for the hand of a fair maiden. SheOd always 
thought that was a nice touch to approaching matrimony, and she was prepared to say yes as soon 
as Pike played along with her slightly frivolous request. She had been certain that he would indulge 
her. Why not? It wouldnOt cost him anything. Then suddenly he was galloping down the trail, leaving 
herNwell, leaving her. Anger prickled at her ego. What was she, a naughty child to be walked away 
from? What an asshole he was! It would be a hot day on an ice moon when she married an asshole 
like that! Jumping back onto the path, she marched after him, intent on giving him a good-sized piece 
of her mind. 
As luck would have it, they were only a few minutes from a limp tropical estuary that drained the 
jungle and fed into an ocean bay. Pike flashed his eyes over the shoreline and picked out the supine 
figure of Lester Wunderman, stretched out on the rather slender trunk of a flowering tree that 
overhung the brackish water. He was crooning to a sleek manatee looking creature whose head was 
sticking out of the dark water nearly up to his dorsal fin. The animal was crooning back. Pike 
watched in fascination as the animal started bobbing slowly straight up and down, crooning 
extravagantly. It sounded like a cross between a sheepOs bleating and the sonorous melody of a 
humpbacked whale. Bubbles spouted when the creatureOs snout went under water, but the song 
grew stronger, supported and echoing through the water which was its natural medium. And there 
seemed to be words in the song. Pike could almost make them out. He walked a little closer, 
straining to hear. 
OI donOt find that very amusing,Ó Rita blurted, stopping behind him with her hands defiantly on her 
hips. 
Shushing her with a gesture toward Lester and the creature, Pike whispered, OListen..! Can you 
make out what itOs saying?Ó 
OWhat is it?Ó she whispered back, meaning what kind of animal or fish. 
OI can almost understand what heOs saying. Something about fish, and he wants Lester to go surfing 
with him.Ó He knelt beside the path and cocked his best ear toward the thing, which obviously 
wasnOt a manatee. Manatees, at least any that Pike had ever heard of, were herbivorous and they 
didnOt surf. 
Seeing that Pike was kneeling in rather exactly the position of the knight in the faerie tale, Rita seized 
her opportunity. ODo you still want to marry me?Ó she asked, grabbing his hand. 
OSure, I just said so.Ó He watched closely as Lester edged farther out on the tree trunk, leaning his 
head over the side so he could sing down to his buddy. 
OOkay then. I accept.Ó Rita bent down impulsively and kissed him on the side of the mouth, 
assuming his head would turn toward her at the moment of conjugal surrender. But as Lester 
wormed his way out on the tree trunk, the roots of the tree broke loose from the loamy soil. The 
flowers and foliage of the young tree sighed into the quiet lagoon, and with them went Lester 
Wunderman, stroking away in his trance. 
Breaking free from RitaOs embrace, Pike Resnick, rescuer of lost cooks, took three gigantic strides 
through the ferny undergrowth and dove recklessly into the brackish water. In his defense, the 
manatee creature didnOt look dangerous, and Thomas Goodnaught had already warned that Lester 
might need rescuing. 
Lester was still swimming in the branches of the tree when Pike reached him. Grabbing a handful of 
LesterOs shirt collar, he put his feet down to test the depth of the water and found he could stand 
up. The bottom was firm and the water was only up to his shoulders. Danger over. 
OCome on, partner,Ó he said, aiming his voice into LesterOs ear. OYou need a little more control 
over these states, if youOre going to indulge in them.Ó 
The creature poked its blunt beak up a few feet away from Pike and fixed his left eye on the hero. 
OI would have kept him afloat,Ó it said, without visible petulance or hurt feelings. OBut doing two of 
you at once in the surf would be very difficult.Ó 
OI can understand you,Ó Pike said, rather flabbergasted. He had never talked to a fish before. 
OAnd I can understand you, too. Inter-species communication, wouldnOt you say? Master Good 
kept promising heOd send me some outsiders to talk to, and here you are.Ó 
OWhat kind of thing or...person are you?Ó Pike asked. OSorry, thatOs not very well put. I guess 
IOm a little surprised that we can communicate.Ó 
ONonsense. Wonder Man was telling me about his teacher, who is certainly not of your species. 
And unless IOm mistaken there are many, many races of beings flying here and there in their spectral 
ships. You have no problem in believing they can talk.Ó 
Pike renewed his grip on LesterOs collar. He smiled straight into the creatures face. OI donOt have 
a problem in believing you can talk, now that weOre talking.Ó 
OAre you all right?!Ó Rita yelled from shore. She seemed somewhat alarmed. 
Pike gestured a circle of his thumb and forefinger. OCan we move closer to shore,Ó he said to the 
fish. OWould you be comfortable with that?Ó 
OWell, actually, I need about five feet of depth to keep my head out of water. ThatOs why Wonder 
Man climbed out in that tree.Ó 
OIt seemed like a good idea at the time,Ó Lester said, coming back to himself. OThis fellow wants 
to taste some other oceans. I told him you might come up with a way to take him along. Think what 
a plus he could be for next year. Maybe we could seal one of the cabins and flood it. ThereOs no 
real place for a tank on deck, is there?Ó 
OI guess youOve got it thought through pretty well, pard.Ó Pike could easily see the advantages of 
having a fish scout that could talk; but flooding a compartment would be expensive besides being 
heavy for flying. Probably not impossible, however. OIt might be a little dangerous for him.Ó 
OHe knows that. ItOs dangerous for him here. Water folks donOt have walls and doors. I never 
thought of that until recently. They donOt have no place to really rest and be safe their whole life. 
AinOt that something..?Ó 
ODo you have a name?Ó Pike asked. The creature was very interesting looking. He didnOt fit 
neatly into any category of aquatic creature that Pike knew, and he knew many. Rather like a cross 
between a slim walrus and a porpoiseNyet not. 
OMost things that are good to eat call me, Big. I enjoy that. Always have. OLook out, here comes, 
Big!Ó Then they try to escape or hide.Ó Big let out several whistles of pure enjoyment at the 
thought. He seemed to be grinning, then his smile vanished. OOthers, Sharp Teeth and Long 
Shadow, call me Juicy. I donOt like that name. It makes me skittish.Ó 
OMe, too,Ó Pike said, feeling a tremor of unease pass through his submerged body. Long Shadow 
could be stalking them right now, gliding silently. OIOd feel more comfortable if we were in 
shallower water, and our companion, who is a female of our species, would be interested in hearing 
our conversation. If necessary, we could hold your head out of water.Ó 
OLong Shadows seldom come on this side of the breakers. They donOt like the taste. Nothing I fear 
lives here, but it would be interesting to meet your female. Do you know that Master Good keeps a 
floating tree here?Ó 
Pike looked at Lester. OI think he means a boat,Ó Lester replied. 
OGreat idea,Ó Pike said. Feeling the heebie-jeebies gnawing at his legs, he immediately started 
wading toward shore, dragging Lester with him. OOld Goodnaught warned me that you might fall in 
the water. Did you hear him say that?Ó 
OMaybe, IOm not sure. It seems familiar, but I kind of tranced out while he was talking. He must 
have zoned in on my pattern. ItOs like that when you get receptive.Ó 
OWeOll have to talk about that, one of these days,Ó Pike said, looking for an easy place to climb 
out. 
OWeOre talking now, ainOt we?Ó 
ONot exactly. Talking means sitting around and getting it worked out so we can both understand.Ó 
He called to Rita, OCan you see a boat stashed around here?Ó 
OWhat is that adorable creature?Ó she asked, staring at Big, who had cruised up to within a few 
yards of shore. 
OHeOs a potential crew member. Give us a hand, would you, love?Ó 
Rita reached out to help Pike up the steep bank. ODid you tell Lester the news?Ó 
ONot yet,Ó he said, climbing out and hauling Lester up behind him. 
OItOs a real good idea,Ó Lester chortled, giving Rita a very wet hug and a peck on the forehead. 
OHe needs somebody to look after him, when IOm busy. DonOt worry too much, Reety, every 
year ainOt going to be as screwy as this one. HellOs bells, if Lillith was here, we could make it a 
double ceremony.Ó He chuckled and unhanded the young woman, who looked a little bemused. 
OFortunately, she ainOt here,Ó he added. 
Lester turned to Pike and shook his hand. OYou done the right thing finally. I was skeered you might 
not, just to be contrary. LetOs find that boat.Ó He ambled off through the ferns. OWhere does he 
keep that floating tree?Ó he called to Big. 
Big swam up the shoreline unable to talk because his mouth was under water; but he let off a series 
of loud sonic clicks when he was adjacent to an old rowboat tethered to a sapling. 
OHere it is!Ó Lester yelled. OLooks almost seaworthy.Ó 
OWhat is going on here?Ó Rita demanded, squeezing up close to Pike despite his wet condition. 
OAnother chapter for your book,Ó he answered playfully. OIn which Pike and Rita meet their first 
talking fish. They also get a lesson in mind-reading from their beloved cook, Lester Wunderman. To 
top it off, they decided to get hitched, over her strong objections, and his supposed inability to make 
her happy for more than a few minutes at a time. Sounds like an exciting adventure book youOre 
writing.Ó 
OCan he really talk?Ó 
OSure can. Speaks Galactic English real fine for a fish. The monks must have been working with 
him.Ó 
Rita felt herself growing academically agitated. If an undersea creature could talk, think of the 
research papers she could write. 
OMaybe heOs not the only one that can talk,Ó she mused. OMaybe lots of the aquatic life here has 
pushed the language envelope. You know the 100th monkey theory. Whole family groups evolve 
overnight.Ó 
OMaybe. Ask him. He wants to meet you. LetOs get in the boat. Apparently, he canOt talk in 
shallow water.Ó 
OWell then, are we engaged, or what?Ó 
Pike smiled happily. OHow about a very short engagement, and a long blissful marriage with lots of 
adventures?Ó He assisted his beautiful fiance into the blunt-ended rowboat that Lester had untied. 
OIsnOt it customary to have an engagement ring in your pocket when you propose, dear? Did you 
forget about that in the crush of excitement?Ó 
OWhoops,Ó he laughed, patting his pocket. OI think it fell out while I was swimming.Ó Breaking a 
reed off at the waterline, he quickly trimmed it to the right size with his pocket knife. Then with 
utmost concentration and humility, he wrapped it around RitaOs ring finger, tucking the hollow ends 
together. OThat will do until we can find a proper one, wonOt it? Lester is the witness.Ó 
OI seen it,Ó Lester vowed. 
Rita smiled dazzlingly and held her left hand out to admire the reed ring. OI like it. Temporary life, 
temporary love.Ó 
Wincing inwardly, Pike said nothing. His last marriage had been difficult and not much fun at all. And 
he needed to contact Alex about the computer stuff. That would probably get him a well-deserved 
snub. Yes, his life was going to be a little full soon. New wife. Possibly relatives-in-law visiting. A 
son who might want to spend at least some time on board, acquainting himself with fishing and 
George, and whatever wrinkles George had up his protein enhanced sleeveNand a talking fish. 
Instead of a new fishing boat, he should probably get a luxury launch like the BaronOs to house the 
entourage. That would be cute. The opposite of what heOd always wanted. What had Thomas 
Goodnaught gotten him into?  
 
 

*  
 
 

OYouOre what..?Ó Rich Rodney Tourbo gasped, gawking at the reed engagement ring. The gasp 
was involuntary, squeaking out before he had a chance to shut down any windows of expectation 
that opened onto his future with Rita. ODoesnOt engagement lead to getting married?Ó he asked, 
pretending it was a jokeNjust social banter. Inside, all his circuits were shorting out in sequence, 
leaving very little to work with in the way of social gracefulness. Physically, he was already a wreck. 
Two hours of being pummeled by one monk after another had battered his legs and ribs to the extent 
that he could barely walk. He knew from experience that morning would see him completely 
immobilized unless he could get a hot bath and a massage. And now this. It was too much. 
Standing outside the martial arts gymnasium in the dappled sunlight, Rita smirked at him. OItOs fairly 
conventional to marry someone whom youOre living with, if they ask. You must have noticed that 
Pike and I have been cohabiting.Ó 
Richie shrugged, mutely. He had assumed this fling would pass, like the others all had. OIt seems I 
misjudged the situation. Let me be the first to congratulate you.Ó He held out his hand. 
OPlease donOt make a scene,Ó Rita said, firmly. OIOm telling you in private, so you can get used 
to the idea. You need to admit right now that I never supported your weird fantasies about you and 
me. I always said you were dreaming, isnOt that correct?Ó 
OIf you say so,Ó Richie answered, glumly. 
ONo, admit it, bozo! I never gave you one shred of anything except friendship. I never one time built 
up your hopes, and you know I didnOt. So say it, and letOs clear the air.Ó 
Subconsciously, Richie clamped his lips together. He shrugged again and kicked at a pebble. 
OAdmit it! I mean it, otherwise IOm going to do something rash.Ó 
OIOd rather wrestle with a pig.Ó 
RitaOs foot moved in a blur. She kicked him as hard as she could in the left shin. 
OOoow!!Ó The kick landed on the exact spot that one of his recent sparring partners had been 
working on. Shin pain blackened his awareness. He sat down on the rocky ground clutching his 
wounded leg. ONot fair! I never did any rough stuff with you.Ó 
ODo you want to be friends, or not?Ó she hissed. OYou wonOt like your life if I desert you. Think 
about it.Ó 
OTake it easy, would you? Cripes almighty. Instead of turning into a whirlwind, you could give me a 
few minutes to get used to the idea of being a bachelor for the next fifty years.Ó 
OI donOt have time. WeOre getting married as soon as His Highness Goodnaught feels like doing 
the ceremony. For a change, you could think of the turmoil I might be in, instead of always thinking 
about yourself.Ó 
OToday..?Ó R.R. squeaked. 
OYes, today! ThatOs why itOs a bit urgent to know whether weOre staying with the boat or not.Ó 
OWhat are you saying? WeOre still in the middle of the Tournament. Of course, you guys are 
staying with meNarenOt you?Ó A glimmer of understanding came slowly into R.R.Os eyes. OOh,Ó 
he said, fully comprehending at last. OHow long will you be gone?Ó 
OGone? Speak English, would you?Ó 
OWell, I presume youOll want to go somewhere romantic on your honeymoon.Ó 
Rita laughed rather more harshly than Cinderella. 
ODonOt worry about me,Ó Richie said. OIOll get along with Lester. Hopefully, we can catch a 
razorfin to stay qualified. WeOll be fine, probably. I was just wondering how long youOll be gone. I 
might be able to use PikeOs advise on Swampfish, but donOt cut your trip short for me. Do you 
have plenty of money?Ó he asked, adding a note of generosity to his hopeless misery. 
OYouOre intentionally not getting the picture, Richard, and itOs making me furious! IOm going to 
explain this once more.Ó She sat down beside him and took a deep breath. OTry to listen, and stay 
away from the maudlin trip youOre going on. This is important to you. The other love stuff is just a 
dream you made up that I never agreed to and I still donOt.Ó She jabbed him on the arm. 
OOkay?Ó 
OFine,Ó he said. OTalk away.Ó 
OFirst, IOve been sleeping with Pike all year, since before he became your captain. Nothing is going 
to change about that. WeOre getting married, thatOs all. Pike is a relatively poor fisherman, thatOs 
why he took the job with you in the first place, in case you hadnOt noticed. But weOre not using my 
money to go on a honeymoon. Why..? Because Pike would never leave you in the lurch. Segumi 6 is 
a very weird place. There are things in those swamps that you donOt even want to think about. 
Without a guide, youOd be in deep shit. But itOs not in PikeOs nature to quit on a friend. Neither 
would I, for that matter. The only person who can fuck up your fishing is you.Ó 
OWhy would I..?Ó R.R. asked, innocent as the wind. 
OBy being pissed off about the wedding, obviously. ThatOs why IOm taking the time to explain it to 
you. 
Richie thought about that. OYou think IOd be angry at you?Ó 
OStranger things have happened, dumbo. You might recall that a few of my ex-boyfriends have been 
somewhat surly.Ó 
OAm I like those jerks? Give me a break, Rita.Ó 
OSo then, youOre completely committed to acting normal for the rest of the Tournament?Ó 
OWhy not? If youOre going to marry somebody other than me, it may as well be Pike. Besides, 
maybe it wonOt last forever.Ó 
OIt will as far as youOre concerned! IOve been taking care of you so long that youOre like my little 
brother. How could I marry my brother? Get real.Ó 
OYeah, I guess so,Ó he said, lowering his head in dejection. But actually, he wasnOt dejected at all. 
A glimmering of awareness was starting to penetrate his shell of preconception. The truth was, heOd 
never had much of any sexual feelings for RitaNand heOd always tried to turn that lack of response 
into a positive. She was like his sister. But if she was marrying Pike, it meant he could marry another 
woman who did turn him on. Somebody fabulous. It would be a field day of auditioning prospective 
wives! Holy moley, his true self could shine like a beacon of sex. Hot darn! 
OWow, Rita,Ó he exclaimed, brightening to an amazing degree. OThanks for explaining that brother 
and sister thing! ThatOs very good thinking. I might not have figured that out until it was too late. 
Gosh, thatOs great.Ó He slapped her on the kneecap. OI mean it! This is really great. When is the 
wedding.Ó 
Rita had been expecting Richie to acquiesce to her wishes; but not quite so enthusiastically. She 
squinted at him, trying to take in the whole picture. His happiness seemed genuine enoughNrelief 
almost, like a weight had been lifted off his shoulders. OYou are a strange duck, R.R.,Ó she said, 
getting up and brushing dust off her seat. 
ODitto. Is your family coming to the event?Ó 
ONo, and stay off the radio about it. This is going to be a fait accompli before Daddy hears a word 
about it. I mean it.Ó 
OOkay..! Why would I tell anyone, just because IOm happy for you.Ó 
OGood. IOm going to shower and change into my bridal jeans or something. Who would have 
thought I wouldnOt at least get a white dress?Ó  
 
 
 
 
 
 

The ceremony went off with a minimum of fuss, down by the bayou so that Big could bob up and 
down in the water, watching. Thomas Goodnaught had clothed both the bride and the groom in 
homespun white robes. Making the robes to size had delayed the ceremony until an hour before 
dusk. Lester was the Best Man, and R.R. stood by to give the bride away, a kind of brother/father 
surrogate. The monks, all of whom were in a deep trance of some sort, surrounded the couple in a 
semi-circleNintoning an atonal hum. Thomas, also in a trance, stood swaying in front of them. The 
gathered throng remained in the trance configuration for some number of minutes, evidently lost in the 
ether. Pike and Rita were interested, but rather eager to get on to the kissing part. 
Suddenly, ThomasO body jerked and his eyes popped open on eerie whiteness. The eyeballs rolled 
slowly back into place, but not quite into focus. 
OSpace wanderers,Ó he shouted rather loudly. OThere will be a change in the order of things.Ó He 
made several arcane signs with his fingers, like a warding off. OI pronounce you man and wife. Stars 
protect you. Kiss the bride,Ó he snapped. OI have to go back.Ó Re-closing his eyes, Goodnaught 
sank to his knees on the spot and reentered the trance state with his monks. 
Pike looked at Rita, then over at Lester. Lester shrugged. OI reckon you ought to kiss the bride,Ó 
he suggested. OI guess youOre married.Ó 
Pike and Rita had been holding hands. He bent over and kissed her. OHappy wedding, honey,Ó he 
said, after releasing her soft lips. OAt least, you canOt say you had a normal wedding.Ó 
ONo. At least, I canOt say that,Ó she agreed. 
OItOs been kind of a full day. What do you say, we go back to the boat and get a weather report 
on Blizwak, or something.Ó He smiled, urgently. 
OI guess,Ó she said, squeezing his hand. OBut donOt you want to know what heOs seeing? It might 
be important.Ó Curious young wifeNdetermined to get all available juice from her marriage 
ceremony. After all, this was it. 
OI thought we were dismissed,Ó Pike said. 
OI wouldnOt say so,Ó Lester opined. OHe just acted real busy. HeOll probably tell us whatever 
news there is when he comes back. I think they used the ceremony for a boostNseemed like it. He 
probably owes us the story, if you ainOt feeling too honeymoony.Ó Lester grinned. 
OWell, sure,Ó Pike agreed, uncomfortably. Obviously, both Lester and Rita wanted to stay. OWhat 
do you say, Rich? WeOve got a pretty hard day of drift fishing tomorrow.Ó 
OIOm just along for the ride,Ó Richie said, easily. With a minor flourish, he pulled a small scroll from 
the sleeve of his Ken Pao Ri blouse and handed it to Pike. OAs of today, youOre the proud owner 
and Captain of the Comparative Humanity. IOm just a passenger. Happy wedding. YouOre getting 
a fine girl. SheOs like a sister to me, so that almost makes us brothers.Ó 
Seeing PikeOs speechless shock, he grinned happily. ODidnOt seem right for you not to have a 
boat.Ó He winked at Rita and drew a plain envelope out of a deeper recess of the sleeve. Handing it 
to her, he said, OJust in case the old Bullfrog disowns you, this might tide you and the kiddies over 
for a few weeks.Ó He gave her a hug. In the envelope was a check for two million Confederation 
dollars. 
Without opening the envelope, Rita tucked it in her waist band, and punched Richie on the 
shoulderNthe very spot that a monkOs kendo stick had gotten through his guard and clacked him a 
good one. He winced, and attempted to smile at her. 
ODonOt go overboard on giving stuff away,Ó she warned. 
OWhen youOre wealthy, you have to give big presents or people think youOre a heel,Ó he 
apologized to Pike. ORita explained that to me one day. But what would you say is the perfect 
present to take to a Blizwak party, if you want them to think youOre maximum friendly? The women, 
I mean.Ó 
OI guess IOd ask Donny Lembruck. Seems like heOs pretty current on that situation. HeOs 
probably caught up on his beauty rest by now.Ó 
OGood idea. What do you say to the three of us doing a little party-hopping when we get back?Ó 
OSomebody sure ought to go with you,Ó Pike said, dryly. OI could do without a repeat on 
seasickness.Ó 
OHoly Pete,Ó Richie exclaimed. OThatOs right. I drank way too much last time. Was that really 
only last night? It seems like about a week ago.Ó 
OWhy donOt we go partying with Richie?Ó Rita asked Pike. OIOm not planning on staying in every 
night. Are you?Ó 
OWell, no; but speaking of parties, what I need to do right now is run over to Amora and get my 
computer out of the Jumper.Ó 
OAmora?Ó 
OSort of a very short honeymoon on Amora. And anyway, Mrs. Resnick, have you ever been to 
one of these Blizwak shindigs?Ó 
She shook her head no. ODaddy doesnOt go ashore there very much. Litton and By seem to enjoy 
the parties, but come to think of it, they never invite me. ThatOs odd. IOm not exactly a hot house 
flower, am I?Ó 
OWell, no; but youOre probably a smidgen light on local history. As hunter/gatherers, the Blizwaks 
indulge in ecstatic rituals, one of the main features of which is wife swapping, which is fairly common 
out in the space ways. If youOve got a wife, youOre supposed to swap. I suppose we could talk 
about it, if youOre into that.Ó 
OHmmm,Ó Rita answered, wondering what had prevented her from being curious enough to know 
that. Maybe sheOd been in school at this time of year or at camp. OItOs kind of strange that I 
donOt remember being on Blizwak very much. 
Lester cleared his throat. OI think your Dad often sends your mother on a shopping trip during this 
week. ItOs kind of dull to stay with the fleet all the time.Ó 
OShopping..! ThatOs it! We came here today on a shopping trip! We go on one every year. 
YouOre pretty smart, Lester.Ó 
OMaybe we ought to step off to the side a little ways,Ó Lester suggested. A trance state is kind of 
dangerous and delicate. He didnOt want any of these monks to spin into the truly strange regions 
because the wedding party was chattering too loudly. He walked down toward the waterOs edge. 
Big was still bobbing up and down. OGood, good,Ó he shouted in a reedy tweet. ONow, you can 
make little space people. I will teach them to swim very well.Ó 
OThat would be a big advantage for them,Ó Rita said sweetly, her sarcasm lost on the porpoise. 
OYes,Ó Big squealed. OVery. Oh...I was going to inquire how you mate on dry land. It must be 
quite awkward.Ó 
OWell, sometimes it is, Big, and sometimes it ainOt,Ó Lester stated. OItOs a matter of chemistry.Ó 
Big disappeared under water for a minute. His reappearance was preceded by a blast of bubbles. 
OI would enjoy observing a mating,Ó he whistled. OThis chemistry must be like an artificial 
buoyancy. Am I correct? Pike and Rita are probably very chemical.Ó 
Pike rolled his eyes to heaven. A porpoise anthropologist. Just what he needed to complete his new 
crew. Of course...now that he was a skipper, he could sell one of the boats to finance the water 
environment cabin for Big, couldnOt he? It was a very handsome gift that Rich had made him. OIOm 
completely overwhelmed about the boat, Richie,Ó he said, offering his hand. OThanks. I donOt 
even know what else to say, itOs such an elegant present.Ó 
Richie colored slightly. OItOs nothing much. A married man should have a house for his wife.Ó He 
twisted one leg around the other and tripped himself. OBesides,Ó he said, sitting up in a clump of 
broom grass. OI know I must have been kind of a pain to you. Truthfully though, IOve never had a 
better time in my whole life.Ó 
OThe funOs not over yet. We still need to catch a razorfin. Thomas said you would, if I heard 
correctly, so IOm not too worried about that.Ó 
Richie nodded his head affirmatively. 
OWell, I hate to harp on this; but I have to go to Amora. ItOs all right with me if you guys stay here. 
All IOm doing is unhooking my old computer and taking it aboard. Thomas said IOd be better off in 
an emergency with the old one. Maybe George has a glitch hard wired in, or something; but it would 
be foolish to disregard what Thomas saw. Then we all need a few hours of shut eye if we want to be 
fishing at first light. This place is five hours behind Blizwak.Ó 
OSeems to me that we might want to hear just which Oorder of thingsÓ is changing even if it means 
missing a day of fishing,Ó Richie said, trying to sound reasonable. OIOll try harder to follow your 
suggestions when we get back. I mean, I know itOs been mostly my fault that we havenOt caught 
one so far. This is kind of a good lesson for me.Ó His face brightened at the thought. OWhy donOt 
you and Rita go? It would be like a mini-honeymoon and you could pick us up tomorrow. IOm sure 
these guys would love a chance to beat me up some more, when they come out of their seance.Ó 
OThat sounds pretty good to me,Ó Pike said. He looked at Rita for confirmation. OIt would be 
liberating to get away from these geeks for a few hours, wouldnOt it?Ó 
Rita smiled a wifely smile. OPerfect,Ó she said. 
OAnyway, the fish will be spooky tomorrow,Ó Lester added. OTake your time.Ó  
 
 
 
 
 
 

* * *  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

CHAPTER SIXTEEN  

MORE RAZORFINS  

"Let me amend anything I might have said before. Winning is finding 
someone who loves you for who you are. Nothing else comes close." 
Pike Resnick 
quoted in History of the Tournament 
Spoken like a husband trying to get on his wife's good side. Ed.  
 
 
 
 

With two and a half days left to land a razorfin, or be disqualified, the black rubber skiff drifted lazily 
outside a thick stand of reeds at the extreme southern end of Lake Pel. No sign of a working fish 
was seen horizon to horizon. 
The storm had knocked down roughly half of the shoreline vegetation, leaving the fins free range to 
dine on the underwater morsels without revealing themselves. It was not a fun situation for the 
fishermen. For the fish, of course, it was fine. 
Richie had learned to cast the bait stick with a very delicate touch, thanks to several hours of 
practice on Aixi under the tutelage of Lester Wunderman and Thomas Goodnaught. Casting a bait 
stick was a way for the eighty-fifth richest person in the Galaxy to digest the odious news of disaster 
that Master Goodnaught had revealed without going bonkers. Lester, being the paramour of the fifth 
richest person, didnOt have quite the same problem with the news of imminent financial collapse, 
because after all, he knew how to cook. 
According to Goodnaught, a financial panic would be caused by a space-born microbe that had 
recently gotten loose from a recycling facility on Neuman Declo, a corporate owned research 
planetoid in the Meck System. The hungry little designer microbe was developed to eat precious 
metals from used circuit boardsNthen to excrete these same metals, minus the bonding glues, into 
swamp vats where reclaiming different metals was easy due to their specific molecular weights. But 
the voracious critters fooled the smart scientists by producing offspring whose single cell bodies were 
encased in a very hard protein/epoxy shell capable of withstanding the rigors of outer space. The 
recycling staff was careless, not noticing the mutation until it was way to late. By then, vast numbers 
had escaped the minimal restraints of the laboratories, and the atmosphere of the planetoid, by 
drifting out on air currents and by hitching rides on departing cigar crafts. Increasing armadas of the 
tiny fuckers were being blown hither and thither by the winds of deep space. Soon, probably within 
five years, no circuit board would be safe. Not anywhere. 
OOh, oh, oh,Ó Thomas Goodnaught had laughed, Osentient species will have to rely on their own 
brains again. Imagine how annoying that will be,Ó he chortled, while the winds of chaos blew. 
Pike heard about it the next morning when he returned from Amora with his bride. He saw instantly 
that it meant the end of space travel, at least as it was known today. The Thruster would still work 
with a few modifications, but navigation across the wide space oceans would be impossible without a 
computer. Unfortunately, Thomas had a very high percentage rate of seeing the future accurately. 
The fishing tournaments would end. And Pike, and everybody else, would be trapped on one planet 
again, until technology found a solution. The only question was which planet?in that he and his 
compatriots had a choice. 
Or could precautions be taken to protect the computers? Maybe. But clean rooms had to be very 
clean indeed to protect against a microbe. Air locks? That would be kind of a drag on a fishing 
vessel. In fact, it wouldnOt work. If a microbe could survive the ultra violet and intense cold of 
space, eventually it would get into the finest clean room. Even a sealed computer casing with filtered 
air wouldnOt be good enough. No, if this was a real threat, computers would die in agony. A 
cursory inquiry to Neuman DecloOs top brass had rather confirmed ThomasO prediction. Their 
response was very evasive. A possible salvation would be re-engineering the circuit boards using a 
material that the microbe didnOt like to eat. But that would take time. 
What a pisser. Mainly, Pike was extremely annoyed that this had to happen just when things were 
starting to take shape. On the trip to Amora, he had struck a five year deal with George after telling 
him about the wedding. Now George was moping and replicating his files onto back-up discs and 
tapes that might survive until a system could be devised to keep circuit boards safe. He seemed 
convinced that this was a planned attack on artificial intelligence, lamenting the fact that some of his 
breed had been too sloppy in their transactions. Powerful all-protein beings were upset. Naturally, 
George was sure that when the restructuring took place, the designers would hard wire many more 
restrictive features, thereby trading creativity for safety. 
Of course, until microbe Alzheimer's struck, he was free to pursue the deal, and his own ends. And 
who knew, something positive might turn up. The Ooff shoreÓ holding companies were already in 
the process of funding emergency research, thanks to George blowing the whistle. It seemed that 
Neuman Declo had been planning to sit quietly on the fuck upNif it was a fuck upNrather than face 
the anger. So George, in a very circumspect manner, had blown their cover. Thank Jobs for 
Goodnaught. 
Obviously, Neuman Declo was history. It was just a matter of time before multiple law suits knocked 
them out of the water. The only question was, could the deep pockets of Neuman Barcode, the 
parent corporation, be gotten at? The richest corporation in the ConfederacyNbrilliantly diversified 
from their original patent, Barcode now had its fingers in virtually everything. Had it been a corporate 
strategy to absorb the loss of Declo in order to let the microbe loose? Did they already have a 
replacement technology in place, and would they suddenly OdiscoverÓ it in the nick of time to save 
spacing. A play of that magnitude was risky business because in addition to having your pants sued 
off, corporate biggies could land in jail. Not only that, but once the R&D of your competitors got 
cranking, as it would, the chances of a better product surfacing were quite good. A very risky play. 
Pike had found over the years that many things which seemed like a conspiracy were simply a fuck 
up, and many things that seemed fucked up had their source in conspiracy. He had learned not to 
trust corporations; and humans disappointed him constantly with their mean-spirited inability to do a 
job correctly. For these reasons, he had chosen the relatively simple life of a fisherman; but that life 
seemed about to end. Would the Tournament members agree to settle on one planet? Probably not. 
It would seem like small potatoes after the excitement and diversity they were used to. 
It was a gorgeous sunny afternoon on Lake Pel, but Pike could hardly sit still in the skiffNthey all 
should be planning a strategy for survival; but instead, every boat was out fishing. Business as usual, 
in the face of disaster. And he was, too, and doing damned poorly at it. His nervousness was 
probably leaking through the boat skin and affecting the fish. The height of irony would be to not 
catch a razorfin and get faulted out of the last Tournament. 
Who was he kidding? The height of irony would be for the stupid virus to hitNstranding them 
somewhere like stone-age Blizwak. Or how about the Segumi Swamps. That was a truly scary place 
and a scary thought. We could be part of JuneOs tribe and fight swamp creatures. Oh, man. No 
fucking shit, the order of things was going to change. I need to get Alex rounded up and onto the 
boat with us. 
ORemind me to call Alex as soon as we get back to the boat,Ó he said to Lester, who seemed to be 
dozing. HeOd never seen Lester doze when there was fish at stake. 
OWe should go to Aixi and set up for the duration,Ó Lester proposed, as if heOd been party to 
PikeOs thoughts. OHave Alex meet us there.Ó 
OPerfect,Ó Richie chirped. OJust perfect. Everybody wins on that one.Ó 
OAixi is crummy for fishing, except for talking fish,Ó Pike observed. Nevertheless, Aixi had some 
merit. 
ORich,Ó Lester went on. OWhy donOt you buy a whole set of different computers and sink them in 
epoxy or something impervious. Then when the microbes die out, weOll have something to start over 
with.Ó 
OBrilliant,Ó Richie rejoined. OI was almost thinking of that myself. IOll tell George. But should we 
keep fishing now, do you think, or get on with some of this other stuff?Ó 
OI really donOt know,Ó Pike admitted. OThis is completely nuts to just sit here; but if you donOt 
fish, you donOt catch.Ó 
OIOd hate to tell you how much money I made last night,Ó Richie mused. OItOs uncanny what can 
happen if you know something ahead of time. We sold computers, transportations and 
communications slow and easy until they were all sold, then we told my motherOs people so they 
wouldnOt get hurt too bad. The panic started happening after midnight. It was kind of sad, I guess. 
All the little players chucking up their stock for whatever they could get. So this morning, before we 
came back to Blizwak, we started buying again. IOve got almost everything I sold at about a quarter 
of the price, and billions of free cash to use for R&D on how to get things to work again. 
OI thought you were doing Gung Fu with Thomas all night?Ó Pike said. The big numbers made him 
a little delirious. 
OWell yeah, but I kept getting this feeling that Master Goodnaught was right, so we went into town. 
ThereOs no phones or anything at the monastery. So I called Clive and got a conference line to a 
hotel room. It was pretty much fun. I finally understood why people get a kick out of business.Ó 
Lester bobbed his head. OIt was kind of fun. Like shooting fish in a barrel. It all went exactly like 
Rich said it would.Ó 
OSo I decided IOm going to give each of you a couple of million, in case thereOs some hardships in 
the next few years. And maybe a quarter million each to all the judges, so they donOt get screwed 
up too bad. It may take awhile to put things back together.Ó 
OVery generous, Richie, but itOs really not necessary,Ó Pike said. OThereOs a limit to how much a 
guy can accept without feeling bought.Ó 
OHow much..?Ó Lester asked. 
ODonOt be silly,Ó R.R. said, easily. OGoing to Aixi changed everything for me. I might be wealthier 
than my mother. Actually, five million each sounds more like it.Ó 
OThatOs about right, Rich,Ó Lester said, with a nod of approval. 
Sitting amidships in the little boat, Donny LembruckOs eyes practically bugged out of his head. 
HeOs been thinking about jumping ship here in Blizwak so he could be with Hajaj. Too bad that 
decision had so many drawbacksNamong them her husband, and the small fact that Donny wasnOt 
much of a hunter or gatherer. She probably wouldnOt want him if he was low rooster on the pecking 
order with no gifts. But a quarter of a million Confederation bucks. Wow! 
OBut the main problem,Ó continued R.R., Ois how much do I give to Master Goodnaught. It has to 
be the perfect number. Not so much that he thinks IOm buying my way in. How much would be 
perfect? Does he have some project that needs financing?Ó 
Everyone was silent for some time. Nothing stirred in the reed beds except black birds lunching on 
insects. In the quiet, Richie flipped the bait stick. It slid into the water end first, making very little 
disturbance. 
OWhy donOt you ask him,Ó Pike suggested. 
OBut donOt you think I should decide?Ó He chuckled with a lack of humor. OIOm kind of afraid to 
let him decide. He might not play by any set of rules that I know about.Ó 
Lester snorted. 
Richie nodded, morosely. OIf I donOt throw myself on his mercy, it looks like IOm buying myself in, 
even to me; but I donOt think he cares a fig about maintaining wealth. I canOt just give this gigantic 
fortune to him. Money has to be looked after, or it goes away. Then nobody can do good with it.Ó 
ORight,Ó Lester said. OThomas donOt care. But he might know what to stockpile.Ó 
Seeming deep in thought for a minute, Richie suddenly brightened. OYou know what, Pike?Ó he 
asked, happily. 
OWhatOs that?Ó 
OI bought 62% of Thruster Industries early this morning when the Baron panicked. So weOre 
partners. Got any suggestions on what to do differently?Ó 
PikeOs eyebrows shot up to his hairline. OBardona sold out?Ó 
OKind of strange, isnOt it? He usually holds on tight; but the virus panicked him like it did everyone 
else.Ó 
PikeOs immediate thought was of GeorgeOs network. Odd that George hadnOt mentioned 
anything. OWere you working through George?Ó he inquired. 
OWell, no. It didnOt seem right, since IOd just given the boat to you.Ó 
OOh, thatOs right.Ó It was probably going to be a lot harder for George to do his thing without 
access to RichieOs files. But why worry about that? Things were looking pretty good, in spite of 
looking so very bleak.  
 
 
 
 
 
 

Aboard the Lady Slipper, riding snugly at anchorEbehind the breakwater on Blizwak, the good 
Baron was in a froth. Having returned from Aixi, and having already caught a large razorfin, he had 
the luxury of remaining ensconced in his war room since the news of the panic began. Being glued to 
the computer screen for thirty-seven straight hours, watching his world erupt hadnOt improved his 
temper. His vaunted research department had been a day late on all fronts. He was exhausted and 
pissed. Heads were rolling. And he was furious at Neuman Barcode for engineering this fiasco, and 
doubly furious at that bastard Tourbo kid. Why had Barcode let the Tourbo brat in, instead of a 
trusted ally like Bardona InterSpiral? That question nettled him like fire. From all indications Tourbo 
had whacked the crisis up one side and down the other. Even whacked his own mother! Small 
wonderNthe old battle-ax had finally gone bonkers it seemedNmaybe she was easy pickings, now. 
But why had Barcode sided with that lucky brat? Obviously, they had a cure for the problem and 
planned to make a killing. Nobody could fault them for that. But blazes, theyOd done a really sloppy 
job. 
Fuming, he punched up screen after screen filled with disaster until he came to the centerpiece of his 
empire, Thruster Industries. And there it was, the final dastardly insult. RR Consulting had somehow 
bought him outNover his specific orders never to sell Thruster, even if it went belly up. How the 
fucking hell had this happened? Maybe his computers already had the virus. Was he supposed to 
trust them after this, even Simon? So many transactions had taken place in the last day and a half that 
it would be virtually impossible to track that one sell order, even if he trusted his computers and his 
staff, which he never had completely and now it was worse. He might never know who screwed him. 
No vengeance, ever. That was unbearable. And as time went on, it would be more impossible to 
trackNone computer after another collapsing. Back to the stone age. The barter system. About the 
only smart thing he had done last night was to buy the patents on several manual typewriters that 
werenOt public domain yet. Goddamn, he hated it. Wiped out in his old age, with no future to look 
forward to, unless Barcode had a virus killer on the shelf. He moaned out loud. They could charge a 
kingOs ransom for it. Goddamn, they could bankrupt anyone they wanted to! How much did the 
Barcode bastards hate him? Plenty, but would they pull the plug? No, that was cutting their own 
throats. It takes business to do business. Maybe theyOd pull the plug on Tourbo. Yes, yes! They 
must hate the old lady, they probably hate the spawn, too! Ha. Justice. 
His mind ranged to Aixi where Rita and Magyar were undoubtedly spending a small fortune on 
clothes and bath salts. Should he send for them to come home, or pick them up. He panicked 
momentarily. He certainly didnOt want to get stuck on Blizwak-Hojmer. No way! But Aixi...that 
might be okay. Those blasted monks might help him find a way out of this.  
 
 
 
 
 
 

Rita was fine at the moment. Queen of her own floating castle, in fact. Strange that just saying OI 
doÓ could give her a lot of what she wanted. SheOd never been free of her parents when she was 
single, say whatever you want to; but now she was. Of course, R.R.Os generosity had figured 
prominently in the freedom. DonOt forget that, she warned herself. Pike is just as likely to screw up 
the finances again. He evidently likes to live on the edge. Prudence would be her department. 
Her book was starting to seem like a really good idea. In her mind, it was no longer a thesis, but a 
full-blown book. The Last Star Tournament. People would still read books after computers failed, 
if they did fail. The star-faring races would remain fascinated by spacing until it could be put back 
together again. By a quirk of fate, she had been at the very hub of the event that would possibly 
shrink the Universe. Yes, her wedding and the resultant crash would make an interesting chapter or 
two. She already had George monitoring and storing all the data he could come up with. Poor old 
George. Poor all of us who are accustomed to computers doing most of the work.  

*  

Richie's rod tip trembled almost imperceptibly as a fish mouthed the bait stick. 
OLooks like you got a bite,Ó Pike marveled. 
OFeels like it,Ó Richie confirmed, showing a flitter of excitement. OWhat do I do, let him run with 
it?Ó 
OKeep a finger pressure on. You should be able to feel him bite the stick. They donOt fool around 
much. Either they take it orNÓ 
Richie yanked the stiff little rod back. The hook set and the fish zigzagged into the rice beds. 
ODarn,Ó Richie yelped. OI couldnOt keep him out. Now, what?Ó 
OThey always go in. No problem. You wade in and pull him out. The line will hold. If heOs hooked 
good, you shouldnOt have any problem.Ó 
OWas he hooked good?Ó Lester asked, reaching for the mesh gloves. 
OHope so,Ó Richie said. He opened his tackle box and took out a short length of broom handle. OI 
was thinking about this method,Ó he said. Knotting the line quickly around the broomstick, he took 
up a few turns, then snipped the monofilament free from the reel with his nail clippers. OThis way I 
wonOt need the rod and reel, and IOll have both hands free.Ó He struck the broomstick in his teeth, 
and reached for the gloves. 
OBrainy,Ó Lester said, handing over the mesh gauntlets. ODonOt swamp the boat getting out. Hold 
him up in the air with the line and IOll put the boat right beside you, so you can drop him in this 
bucket. Then the judge will certify the catch.Ó 
OWatch your nose and ears,Ó Pike advised. 
OHeOs not very big,Ó RR said, confidently. With little difficulty, he hoisted the awkward, mesh 
layered waders over the pontoon. Sticking the broomstick firmly in his teeth, he pushed off. Finding 
solid footing immediately, he took the stick out of his teeth and gave Pike a surprised little smile. 
The gloves were pliable enough to work the line easily, and the water was only thigh deep. Taking 
cautious, but firm steps forward, Richie wrapped line as he walked. Keeping a loose tension on the 
fish, he reached the wild rice beds without accident, then he looked kind of baffled. The line was 
tangled, almost woven, in the tall rice stalks. 
OWeOre right with you,Ó Lester said, soothingly. OPull up anything thatOs too tangled, or cut the 
line free. DonOt slice the line by mistake. Plenty of time. WeOve got all day to land this one.Ó 
Reaching down, Richie grabbed a handful of rice stalks and gave a tug. Nothing much happened. 
OTheyOre deep,Ó he commented. 
OUse the saw tooth,Ó Lester said. OThatOs why youOve got it.Ó 
ORight,Ó Richie answered, speaking around the broom stick in his teeth. He unsheathed a ten inch 
saw tooth knife that had been dangling on his belt since Pike had given it to him the first morning of 
razorfins. The sharp teeth sawed quickly through the reed. When it toppled over, Richie pulled the 
monofilament line over the stub and wound it around the stick. Proceeding with that method, he 
worked his way into the grain bed. 
Finally, he spied the fish, swimming around in three inches of water with half of his back exposed. He 
was tethered to no more than a foot of line. Not a very good survival strategy, Richie thought; but 
then the species had only been dealing with hook and line for a short time. The Tournament 
wouldnOt be coming here again, so the fish wouldnOt have to adapt. Interesting though, now that he 
owned Thruster Industries, he could be readyN just waiting for new computer designs. If and when 
healthy chips were reborn, the Tournament could start the next year. Then he could check on these 
little fish, and the gorgeous women. Tonight he was going to take Judge Lembruck up on his party 
offer. Man oh man, those women were exquisite in the firelight. He had to test drive some of that 
before confining himself to Aixi. It would be the perfect way to break in his new status as a ladyOs 
man. Wild womenNall flashing teeth and hair and skin! 
Presumably, Richie should have been paying attention to the fish he was about to land. If the little 
biter wasnOt dangerous, the fishermen wouldnOt have been dressed like knights in armor. But as his 
male member engorged at the daydream of wild women, his eye/hand coordination faltered. He 
missed the steel leader on the first try and the little two pound fish clipped him a terrific jolt on the 
side of the thumb. It would certainly have severed the digit, had the gauntlet not been there for 
protection. Richie let out a squawl of pain. 
ODonOt clown around,Ó Lester warned. OGrab the fucking leader like I told you.Ó 
OI think my thumb might be broken,Ó Richie reported, stoically. 
OGreat,Ó Pike muttered. 
Richie flexed the thumb gingerly. OHow the heck did he do that?Ó 
OSpring loaded,Ó Lester said. ODonOt give him time to load up again. Grab the leader and pass 
him over.Ó 
OIOm a little dizzy,Ó Richie mumbled. 
OSnap out of it!Ó Lester yelled. OCount to ten backwards. Do it!Ó 
But Richie was already too dizzy for counting backwards. With his wounded thumb inside the 
gauntlet, he couldnOt tell if the thumb was really mauled or not. Something about the not knowing 
made him more queasy by the moment. Thoughts of peeling the glove off to reveal sliced tendons 
built into expanding waves of wooziness. 
OHey, keep your eyes open!Ó Lester yipped in the kidOs ear. OPinch yourself.Ó 
Instead the kid plonked head first into the shallow water in a very good imitation of the dead manOs 
dive. 
OAh, shit..!Ó Lester and Pike both baled out of skiff at the same instant; but since Pike had been in 
the bow, he was first to reach the sputtering billionaire. Hauling him out of the weed bed by the nape 
of his dripping fishing vest, he propped him up with an out-thrust hip and an encircling arm. 
OPull the boat up,Ó he said to Lester. OIOm not touching the line,Ó he called to Donny Lembruck. 
OSee the stick. ItOs floating over there.Ó 
OI see it,Ó Lembruck answered. For a quarter million, he was prepared to see green elephants, but 
hoped he wouldnOt have to. 
Lester waded back to the skiff, grabbed the painter and dragged it forward. 
Unceremoniously, Pike dumped the kid over the nearest pontoon, in spite of the weak protests that 
he was fine now. 
OYouOre fine when Lester says your fine. Shut up and lay there.Ó Pike reached for LembruckOs 
hand and with that help hauled himself back aboard. He offered Lester a hand up; but the cook was 
hovering over Richie, pressing here and there on the cleft of his upper lip and pulling his ear lobes. 
OGet in,Ó Pike ordered Lester. 
Lester scowled, but allowed himself to be hauled over the side. 
OChrist,Ó Pike swore. 
OIOm fine,Ó Richie repeated, more convincingly. 
OTake the dammed glove off and letOs see the damage.Ó 
Averting his eyes, Richie peeled the gauntlet off and bravely held the thumb out. 
ONo problem,Ó Lester announced professionally. OBruised, thatOs all. The skin ainOt even broke. 
Take a look.Ó 
Trustingly, Richie glanced at his poor thumb, which still throbbed painfully. It looked fine. He wiggled 
it. 
OSee, no broken bones. No blood. Those gloves are real good.Ó 
OItOs kind of embarrassing to pass out over nothing,Ó Richie muttered, sitting on the pontoon. 
OGuess IOll go catch the fish. Is he still there?Ó 
ODidnOt notice,Ó Pike said. 
OI was fine after I hit the water. I told you, but you didnOt believe me.Ó 
OI believed you.Ó 
OI guess IOll go get the fish. Thanks, I feel fine, now.Ó He splashed into the water. 
OHereOs the glove,Ó Lester said.  
 
 
 
 
 
 

Richie found his broomstick lapping on the wavelets. A few minutes later, he hoisted the little fish into 
the air with a perfect leader snatch, and dropped him into the bucket. Donny Lembruck declared it a 
legal catch. 
Pike was surprisingly depressed. His last razorfin, more than likely, and it had been very sloppy, 
technique-wise. Not that it mattered, he supposed, but a broomstick? Nobody else seemed bummed 
out, however. What the hell, there was partying to attend to, and big business transactions to make.  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

* * *  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN  
 
 

SEGUMI SWAMPFISH  
 
 
 
 

OWinning..? I don't know, Rita. When you give thanks to the sun for 
providing life, there is no element of winning. Or losing either. Only 
the now reinventing itself now, and now and nowNas long as your 
attention flows with it.Ó 
June Madrigal 
quoted in History of the Tournament  
 
 
 
 
 
 

There were fourteen fishermen still qualified after Blizwak, which was an unusually low number; but 
unlike a normal year, the disqualified were flying off to wherever they planned to weather the death 
of artificial intelligence. Of course, everybody said theyOd be at the Tidetable for the awards party, 
but depending on space wind currents and the fright factor, Pike thought it might be a small gathering. 
When the first computer crashed for any reason, people who were safely at home would stay right 
thereNsafely at home. And computers crash for lots of reasons, independent of Barcode virus. 
The crew of the Comparative Humanity, except for Lester, had spent the last two days on Aixi 
instead of fishing for a bigger razorfin. Richie bought several large parcels of land up the fjord from 
the monastery, and arranged for construction to start on a cluster of warehouses, where he planned 
to stockpile stuff from all over before the shipping lanes closed. 
Pike and Rita spent a sunny afternoon hiking up a mountain, where they made love on a blanket in an 
alpine meadow with some goats watching. Then after eating a picnic lunch, they got down to talking 
about where they wanted to be landlocked for eternity. If Confederation dollars held their value, 
which seemed likely, they were financially very secure. But what does security mean, at bottom? Any 
fisherman is secure as long as the food chain holds, especially if he or his wife tends a small garden. If 
he overfishes or otherwise fucks up the fisheryNor if a plague of locust hits the gardenNsecurity and 
a full stomach are both out the window. Ditto if the weather changes dramatically and the crops 
failNeven a couple of degrees is often enough to royally screw up growing patterns. Or if the rains 
take a sabbatical and the rivers dry up? You canOt exactly eat money. Security, then, is a bubble 
waiting to be burst. 
Pike and Rita didnOt discuss the security question while they lolled happily in the alpine meadow. 
They did agree to set up an Aixi house on the shoreline, not too far away from RichieOs place; but 
not too near either. Rita thought her mother might want to be on the same planet that she was; but if 
what Pike had told her about Daddy losing out in the stock panic was true, he probably wouldnOt 
want to be anywhere near Richie. Anyway, since Mother was still shopping on Aixi, and they were 
meeting her tomorrow for breakfast, there would be plenty of time to talk about living quarters after 
she was informed about the wedding. Rita thought her mother would be supportiveNafter all, Pike 
was a fine man. 
OMaybe this virus is just a hoax,Ó she said, stating what sheOd been thinking all day. OI could 
conceive of Barcode pulling just about anything. Giant corporations have no sense of morality. They 
should have been outlawed long ago.Ó 
OWhere would crooks and tax operators hide without them?Ó 
OThatOs what IOm saying.Ó 
OIOm agreeing with you.Ó He nudged her knee with his. OMaybe it is a hoax. LetOs go on back 
down. I want to call June to let him know weOre still coming.Ó 
Rita thought fleetingly that it would be nice to make love again up here. The meadow was so perfect. 
In the fresh air and sunshine they were part of natureNtwo healthy animals rutting. It had been quite a 
turn-on to see Pike naked in the sunshineNand not to feel restrained by four walls or by someone in 
the next cabin who might be listening; but now that they were married she vowed to herself to be 
sensitive to PikeOs needs. He probably needed time to recover. Too bad that men had that 
shortcoming. But living in one place might not be a bad thing. A cute little house, light and airy. Just 
the two of them. Plenty of time for picnics like this one. Making love three or four times a day. She 
smiled to herself. She probably needed a harem. The collapse of the computerized universe had the 
affect of making her feel positively carnal. Or maybe it was being married. SheOd have to ask 
someone about that. Her mother? No, she doubted that she could ever get her mother to talk about 
the real things in life. Shopping wasnOt quite deep enough for RitaOs present mood, but somebody 
would show up to talk with.  
 
 

*  
 
 

Mom Tourbo was in a fix. Lester had made it plain that he thought they should weather the storm on 
Aixi, where Richard was setting up. Hamid, however, wanted to go home to his Frog People. What 
was so special about Aixi? There certainly wasnOt any frog foam thereNnot unless she could import 
a permanent supply. 
If nothing else, Mom was a realist. She admitted her mistakes, even misdeeds, with alacrity. It was 
true that up until a very short time ago, she had led a very misguided life. But having found the elixir 
of happy traveling and sexual bliss, she wasnOt about to give it up just because a few pantywaist 
computer techs had screwed up. As of this morning, she had hired the entire graduating classes of 
three technical universities, and was giving them free reign and a somewhat unlimited budget to find a 
way to keep her space fleet running. New minds on a new problem. Substantial perks were in the 
offing for the group or groups that found the answer. Her old research groups were also working full 
blast. If they found the solution, theyOd get the perks; but she was betting her money on the new 
kids. There were geniuses from all over the galaxy in those classes eager to get their teeth into this 
mess. Meanwhile, she had started a bevy of law suits that would put Barcode in the toilet, if not in 
her pocket. Slimy bastards. Such insufferable sloppiness deserved to be severely punished, and it 
was well within her resources to tie them up in court virtually forever unless they magnanimously 
agreed to totally fund her three university classes of research puppies until their retirement. 
And it was very interesting that her own pup had beaten and eaten the giants, herself included; but 
Richard had remembered, with proper filial devotion, to let her in before the family jewels were lost. 
Very, very shrewd not to gobble it all up himself. It looked as if the Tourbo empire would be in 
steady hands, if she ever decided to step down. Of course, he now needed an heir, but that was 
minor. Lester assured her that nature would take its course one of these days. She trusted Lester 
implicitly, and didnOt even bother to question why.  
 
 
 
 
 
 

The Baron Bardona was now a relative pauper, having slipped to twelfth or thirteenth richest man 
depending on how one counted. Disregarding his financial ruin, he had fished for razorfins until the 
very last minute hoping for a really big one to solidify his lead. Low and behold, he caught oneNjust 
a shade under ten pounds. His luck was in. He was tied for overall first place with that stumble-bum 
Tourbo, who had barely managed to qualify and therefore got no points. Ha, the Baron laughed to 
himself. The Fishing Gods smile on poverty. HeOd always known that, of course. Too much wealth 
was a distinct handicap; but now fate was decreeing that this was his year. Two weeks from now, he 
would worry about putting his shell-shocked empire together again. Right now he was a fishing 
machine! 
OStand aside, boy-o, IOm coming through,Ó he said, aloud. Nobody was in his war room to hear 
except Simon, the computer, who had been very uncommunicative these last few days. But Farouk 
didnOt want anybody to hear him, he was trying to psych himself past a yearly stumbling blockN the 
swamp. Farouk Bardona had become deathly afraid of the Segumi Swamps, and he knew that the 
stinking fear traveled down his fishing line and resulted in meager catches. This year he would best 
his cowardly fear or bust a gut trying. And he would win the prize that fear and that blasted Pike 
Resnick and his tribe of Swamp Indians had always denied himNthe Champion ring. The last one 
ever. The best! The sweetest!! 
OSolid as a rock. Solid as a rock,Ó he chanted, marching up and down. He bent over to touch his 
toes, grunting when his finger tips stopped a foot short of the mark. Straightening up, he reached for 
the ceiling of the cabin, then once again tried for his toes.  
 
 

*  
 
 

OThey did what..?!Ó Bardona roared. 
Magyar had just rejoined him on Segumi 6 after flying in with her daughter and new son-in-law on 
the Comparative Humanity. Realistically, Magyar was very pleased with the match. Rita had never 
had to worry about money, and would never have to. In spite of what Farouk might say on some 
spur of the moment, he knew that his daughter had to be taken care of. And Pike would protect her. 
No matter what anybody (primarily Farouk) said about Pike, they never said he wasnOt brave and 
intelligent. Besides, Magyar had always liked Pike, and had made no secret of it before the bad 
blood started. She had occasionally wondered if that was the start of the bad feelings. Some aspects 
of marriage were so difficult. Why was it necessary to stop being an independent person just 
because you marry? In the eyes of the world, Magyar had given into FaroukOs irrational jealousy 
rather graciously. But it hadnOt been easy. For one whole winter when the babies were young, she 
had considered divorce; but with spring she had allowed herself to dwindle for the sake of the family. 
It had probably been a good decision. True, her life was much less filled with interesting people than 
she had planned; but now that they might be planet bound, perhaps things would change. Anyway, 
Rita had reached out for the brass ring. Maybe it would be better for her. Their daughter was very 
head-strong. Always had been. If anybody could find a way through the maze, it would be Rita. 
OThey were married by Thomas Goodnaught,Ó she said. 
OThan bum. I never trusted him. WeOll get it annulled. How much time do we have?Ó 
OWould that be a good idea?Ó Magyar wondered aloud. 
OWhose side are you on? Of course, weOre getting an annulment. Resnick is a bum, and besides 
that heOs broke all the time. He couldnOt even keep Rita in shoes, let alone underwear.Ó 
OIOm sure she knows that. The main reason we started an independent account for her was so she 
could make independent decisions.Ó 
Farouk looked sheepish for half a second, then brightened. Rita didnOt have a sou. Naturally, she 
would listen to reason. OThat account had a little bad luck in the Barcode run,Ó he explained to his 
wife. 
OThatOs not what she said,Ó Maggie replied, mildly. 
OWeOll just take a look.Ó He hit the computer button. OI could be wrong, but I donOt think so. 
Her friend, young Tourbo, bashed her as hard as he did the rest of us.Ó 
OHe gave them two million for a wedding present and the boat.Ó 
The BaronOs bushy eyebrows shot up to his forehead and stuck there, quivering. OVery 
generous,Ó he said, then turned to the computer. ORun up a report on RitaOs separate account, 
would you, Simon.Ó 
The computer hummed for a few seconds longer than was necessary, then flashed some accounting 
data on the screen. OThat account has almost doubled in the last week,Ó he replied. 
OI thought I gave you some specific instructions,Ó Farouk hissed, then changed his voice to a limp 
chuckle. OInteresting. How did she accomplish that feat?Ó 
OI wrote you a report, sir. Somehow she got control of that bank before I had a chance to freeze 
her assets. Sorry, sir, I thought you knew.Ó 
Farouk chuckled gaily; but his hairy underarms were sweating freely under what he imagined was 
MagyarOs baleful stare. He didnOt dare to look at her. Her pointed question was already drilling a 
hole between his shoulder blades. And it would get worse. What a rotten week this had been. 
OWas that our bank?Ó he asked, seeing heads rolling at corporate headquarters. 
OWas, yes. We used it to collateralize that kelp farming consortium in Thii Daar that you wanted 
control of, as you certainly remember. It was a standing buy order, to institute whenever possible. 
There were several intermediate transactions.Ó 
Farouk pursed his lips. An evil week. Rita had seen a shrewd buy and took it. OWe must have 
gotten our wires crossed, Simon. By the way, I never said anything about freezing. IOll talk to you 
later.Ó He hit the hold button. 
OWas that something I should know about?Ó Magyar inquired, sweetly. They had an arrangement 
that loosely granted her access to all areas concerning the children. The rest of the business, Farouk 
conducted in private. 
OYou were right. SheOs sitting pretty, with no way to leverage her, unless she sees the lightNand 
sheOs too stubborn for that. I guess weOve acquired a son-in-law. Break out the bitter 
champagne.Ó 
Seeing no gain in pressing her advantage, Magyar took the diplomatic approach. OItOs not so bad 
as all that. If they have children, God willing, theyOre bound to be terribly bright. Even you will admit 
that, wonOt you?Ó 
OSheOs not pregnant, is she,Ó he said, with a tremor of disgust. 
OOh, Farouk, you are too awful. Of course, sheOs not. At least, she didnOt tell me.Ó 
OI donOt like it,Ó the Baron grumbled. OI probably wonOt ever like it. This kind of thing should 
never happen. But IOm busy, damnit. IOve got a Tournament to win.Ó Solid as a rock, he 
reconfirmed to himself. OI want you to stay in sight of one of the boys every second weOre on the 
wretched swamp hell planet. Promise me that, then IOll have one less thing to worry about.Ó 
Maggie inclined her head in agreement. Every year she agreed to the same rather silly demand, and 
nothing bad ever happenedNnot aboard the Lady Slipper with its crew of ten and the high sides that 
were difficult for boarding. She could have easily gone to another planet if he was that worried; but 
Farouk seemed to need her when he got back from the swamps. Families, she thought, are better 
when theyOre young. Rita being suddenly married had thrown her a loop. She hadnOt expected to 
feel so generationally old, just because her only daughter was married; but being old wasnOt 
something to mention to a husband. Let him figure that one out for himself.  
 
 

*  
 
 

Segumi 6 was a very odd water planet. Its entire surface, including the swamps was covered with 
nutrient rich waterNbut somehow there wasnOt enough water to drink. 
Both poles down to the tropics were awash in shallow salt seas, hardly deeper than the swamps. The 
land was a belt of brackish mauette swamps, dotted with many thousands of small islands, that 
circled the equator between the tropics. The islands were very low-lying, not much more than 
hummocks in the swamps. The largest, where Port Remalin lay, was about the size of Nantucket 
Island, home of Captain Ahab and his white whale. Food was plentiful in the seas and in the 
swamps; but on a planet that was over ninety-five percent liquid, potable water was the main coin of 
the realm. Only in the swamps was there any fresh water. All air breathing life on Segumi 6 made its 
drinking arrangement with the swamp. Water, water everywhere, but very few drops to drink. 
A large barren moon created an extreme gravitational pull on all that water, and on the people and 
things that lived there. Gravity tides pulled much of the water out of the dark swamps into the oceans 
and put it back twice a day, never giving the ground a chance to dry out. A careless fisherman could 
easily beach his piroque on a mud bar and spend the next six or eight hours hung up in the swamp, 
and that was a terrifying experience. Pike had spent many nights in that soupy hell, and didnOt yearn 
to ever spend anotherNalthough fishing the swamps rather guaranteed it, just part of the Segumi 
experience. 
But in this tureen of a planet, life did thrive, both aquatic and surface life. Hundreds of varieties of 
trees, some of them giants, had evolved the ability to live with their feet in brackish water. Swamp 
grasses were also abundant, but the watery savannas didnOt figure in the fishing itinerary. Big 
swampfish lived only in the deep pools and waterways of the devil-ridden swampy cloud forests. 
Clouds. Fog. Clouds of fog enveloped the swamp and sea every night. Fog was such a fact of life 
that in order of importance, the Fog God, Di Tikki, Giver of Water came right after the Sun God. A 
very important god. The Sound of Dripping. 
Realistically speaking, the only source of drinking water was the ever-present fogNclinging and 
dripping from every surface into earthenware pots incised with an image of the deity. Pots sat 
everywhere in the villageNunder the dripping edge of the sleeping fletsNand under anything else that 
dripped. Collecting water was very serious work. 
For anyone with a salinity meter, it was evident that underwater springs of fresh water bubbled out of 
bedrock in many places in the swamp making brackish pools from the sea water that invaded twice a 
day. Big swampfish preferred these areas of lesser salinity. So did little swampfish, but they 
disappeared rapidly in the vicinity of their grandparents. 
Visiting fishermen used salinity meters to find the fish. Native guides saw the meters, understood their 
meaning; but did nothing to offend the Fog Gods, who brought the clouds of gloom and life. 
In years past, Pike had suggested that fresh water could be piped rather easily from the deep springs 
that everyone knew about; but none of the Piets would consider running pipes, not even June, who 
had seen much of the galaxy and was very forward thinking. Di Tikki might be offended and stop 
sending the fog. The only concession to technology that was permitted was the milking of dew 
heavy tree foliage with sponges tied to long bamboo poles. The dew water was then transported for 
storage to earthen cisterns on raised platforms above the tide line. The Piets were justifiably proud of 
their small artificial lakes. Their ability to store drinking water made them the dominant tribe on the 
planet. 
The Fleet filled their water tanks before landing at Port Remalin, arriving heavy and leaving 
emptyNhaving jettisoned any remaining H2O into the community water storage ponds. For this 
reason, the tribes tolerated them reasonably well, especially the Piets who benefited directly from the 
extra water. The Urobamoa who lived on neighboring islands, and whom some of the fishermen 
regarded as superior guides, were allowed to purchase water from the Piets, if they had barter goods 
or water markers made from the pink, armored jaw bones of swampfish. For some inexplicable 
reason, only the Piets had the skill to work the jawbones into perfect circles with scalloped edges 
and a hole in the center. These heshi-like water markers documented how resourceful a person was 
at collecting or bartering water, and were the real reason that the Tournament fishermen were 
welcomed by the Piets. 
If not for long established tradition, most natives would have considered fishing for swampfish from a 
narrow little flat-bottomed swamp piroque to be dangerously insane. Plenty of good eating fish could 
be caught in the nearby seas with little risk; but Di Tikki had a son named Thap, who was the 
People's fertility god. Thap wanted an ecstatic feast held in his honor every summerNa real one with 
lots of drug induced hoochi-koochi. Eons ago, he had sent a vision to one of the dreaming chiefs that 
roasted swampfish washed down with dugmai wine would blast the tribe into orbit, and make a very 
fine ritual. As a further inducement, Thap suggested that the jawbone of mature swampfish, which 
turned an awesome pink color was perfect for making jewelry. And hunting those big bad swampfish 
would also be the ultimate test of manhood, the God prompted. 
So once a year, the warrior clans girded their loins and drank themselves blotto on dugmai juice, 
which had a whallop even without the swampfish admixture, then they paddled into the swamps in 
search of fame, manhood and pink water markers. Stoked to the gills on the hallucinogenic berry 
juice, tales of awesome prowess grew from these tripsNbut many warriors were killed or 
permanently maimed from their encounters with swampfish. It's no fun to be maimed in a primitive 
societyNor killed either. 
When the space fishermen arrived with their high technology, the warrior societies held a series of 
meetings with the tribal chiefs. It seemed that Thap's will could be served by letting the foreign devils 
catch the fish. The warriors would be there to assist, and test their manhood from a relatively safer 
vantage pointNand make some nice payola at the same time. Foreign fishermen would be lost all the 
time without a guide. Obviously, they would be happy to pay for guide services, in water preferably; 
but foreign coins were pretty, too. And if they wanted somebody to paddle for them, that could also 
be arranged, for a fee. Even a maimed warrior could often paddle. As a kicker, the sky devils would 
be responsible for their own safety out in the swamps. No Piet or Urobami would be obliged to 
protect a foreigner, if things went wrongNas they often did in the swamps. All this was possible and 
had Thap's blessings, the warrior clans and the chiefs reasoned, because the foreigners weren't going 
to take the jawbones or the meat away with them. A few more faces at the Feast of Thap would 
probably make Him happy, not angryNmore faces, more honor, or something like that. And so, the 
Tournament had changed things on Segumi 6. Cultures all over the Universe were eager for 
changeNone little outside influence, and bingo.  
 
 

*  
 
 

Armed with his new stunner pistol, Richie stood guard on the bow of the Comparative Humanity in 
the very dense fog. He had heard tales about the fog, the guidebook even mentioned it; but he was 
unprepared for fog like this. His hand was barely visible at arms length, and he felt kind of clammy all 
over. OWait until it gets foggy,Ó Lester had kidded him a few minutes earlier. Ha, ha. It couldnOt 
get foggier than this, or it would be raining. Lester had been oiling and greasing equipment and hinges 
since they had arrived. No wonder. Anything rustable would rust overnight, and everything else 
would have moss growing on it. And besides that, the fog was kind of eerie. There were sounds out 
there, muffled and abnormal, mixed in with the comforting sounds of the fleet. Richie strained his ears 
to hear, all the while knowing that he didnOt really want to identify the weird sounds that must be 
coming from weird creatures. When Pike had posted the guard sheet, Rich thought it was foolish to 
have a guard fore and aft; but now he wished there were more. He could easily have some extra 
body guards sent in. Drew was somewhere at the back of the boat, lost in the fog. Several more 
warm bodies standing guard with him, would be perfectly fine.  

* 
Earlier in the afternoon, before the fog rolled in, he and Pike had taken the piroque into the village, so 
Richie could get the feel of paddling it, Pike said. They found a very strange village. All the houses 
were built in trees or on stilts. Almost everybody was traveling around in boats. Women and even 
little children were paddling through the trees yelling at Pike. Richie hadnOt been able to understand 
a word of it except when somebody called PikeOs name, which they did often, like he was family. It 
looked like this was going to be a friendly, fun place to fish. Even the aluminum piroque that had 
been stored in the engine room all this time was kind of fun in a tippy, flat bottomed sort of way. Pike 
was right, it did take some getting used to. 
They had climbed up a ladder to a tree house on a platform where June Madrigal lived. He was the 
new chief of these people. They also met his beautiful wife and beautiful children. The meeting was 
kind of a surprise because Richie somehow hadn't understood that June was the chief. Then he 
supposed he should offer sympathies about June's father passing on; but that had fallen a little flat 
because instead of dying, the old man had retired to devote himself to spiritual practice. 
Anyway, they had stayed in the tree house for quite awhile, playing with the children and filling June 
in on the Barcode dilemma. When they got ready to go back to the boat, the fog was already rolling 
over everything like a wet blanket. Very disorienting. They got a little frazzled trying to find a 
relatively large object like the fleet. All seventeen of the remaining boats, including his mother's 
cruiser, were moored in a clump with their fog horns hootingNtotally lost in the fog. The piroque 
might have paddled around until morning without the fog horns. As it was, Pike homed in on 
Mordachi SkinnerOs horn instead of the HumanityOs. Mordachi said he was always glad to assist 
lost strangers. He and Pike entered into a half hour discussion in the fog about which was the best 
planet to retire to. Mordachi said he might go to Galatin Bay if Pike was. Pike said he was leaning 
toward Aixi. Well, well. Then he added that Ira was going to Aixi, too. All that made Richie feel very 
nice, warm and choked up. 
After the discussion petered out, they paddled over to their own boat, then the hassle about how 
many guards to post occurredNand during all of that, RichieOs mind had been swimming with visions 
of June MadrigalOs extremely lovely wife, Shari, who said she hoped Richie would be the hero this 
year, in very sexy Galactic English. It had sent shivers up his spineNand a spurt of energy had 
stiffened his member. Then she had winked at him! Right in front of her husbandNwho was about 
twice as big as Rich was. Boy, the women on these planets were sure differentNfirst Blizwak and 
now here. Wonderful looking and very, very different. Maybe it was genetic. 
Genetics certainly are peculiar, he mused. HeOd seen more genetic diversity in the last two months 
than he ever imagined in his biology classes. A sneaking suspicion was beginning to dawn that his 
teachers had no glimmer of how diverse life really wasNwhich was a little disturbing. If you say 
youOre a teacher, youOre supposed to know something. It was pathetic. If he had become a 
teacher himself instead of taking this fishing trip, he wouldnOt know anything either. 
Rich had just decided to drop an L mail to several of his old teachers, when something heavy, like a 
log, thudded into the boat about midships. He felt an uncharacteristic disinclination to investigate. 
Probably just a floating log that the shield normally would have pushed away; except that the shield 
couldnOt be activated in Segumi fog. Science had made a minor gaffeNrain was no problem to the 
security grid, neither was normal fog; but something about the teeny-tiny fog droplets on Segumi set 
off the sensors. See, science wasnOt all powerful after all. 
OWhat was that..?!Ó shouted Drew from the fantail watch. 
Before Richie had a chance to answer, a green thing with a protuberant warthog snout hoisted itself 
over the gunwale on spindly green arms. It was close enough for Richie to see, so it must have been 
pretty close to him, and it was making strange nonsense sounds. In slow motion, Richie pulled the 
stunner pistol free from its holster. His guts were quaking with fear. This is murder, he thought, 
pointing the pistol at the creatureOs head. The green thing was obviously unarmed; but Pike had 
warned him not to use Ken Pao Ri. OThe critters are strong and they donOt play fair,Ó Pike had 
cautioned. But in the second it took Richie to decide to squeeze the trigger, Pike leaped out of the 
galley with a CO2 fire extinguisher. Rita's frightened voice called out for him to be careful. Pike 
sprayed cold foam on the creatureOs head and shoulders from point blank range. Screaming a 
swoon of anguish and ecstasy, the thing flung itself backwards off the rail and landed with a splash. 
Work lights and search lights flashed on throughout the fleet, not that they lit up very much except the 
fog. All Richie could see beyond the boat was a wall of white. It was even thicker than when he had 
caught that muskieNcompared to this, Ashendon was practically a sunny day. 
OWhat the hell was that thing?Ó Drew said, peering fearfully over the side. OI never saw nothing 
like that..!Ó 
OThe Piets call them Willies," Pike said, hanging the extinguisher near the gaff hooks. "As far as 
anyone can tell, they live deep in the swamps. When they sense us, they paddle out using a log like a 
kick board. That's as much as anyone knows. They want something on the boats, but nobody knows 
how to ask them what. ItOs pretty evident that they have a language, but we donOt speak it." 
A translator, Richie thought. The idea had just flooded into his brain like a white strobe light. 
Humanity needs a translator gadget. 
"If you don't catch them boarding the boat, they do all kinds of mischiefNtear out wiring, really mess 
stuff outNlooking for something. But they seem happy to settle for a hosing with CO2. One dose 
puts them in orbit. They never go into the Indian villages. I guess the villages donOt have anything to 
attract them. So be careful, theyOre wiry tough, and they bite.Ó 
OI almost shot that one,Ó Richie said. He felt as jumpy as Drew looked. OI was creeped out, but it 
felt wrong to kill it.Ó 
OI meant to tell you, stunners donOt have much effect on Willies. It seems impossible, but somehow 
Willies can deflect the force. Highly weird. They never have paid us a visit until the second or third 
night before, but maybe they figured out our lunar cycle or something. WeOre getting too 
predictable.Ó 
OPretty neat job with that extinguisher,Ó Drew commented. 
OIra lucked onto CO2 after he got bit up pretty bad one year. A fire extinguisher was the only thing 
handy. Worked like a charm. Sends them high as a kite. As far as we know, Willies have never 
bothered anybody in the swamps, but they love the power boats. ThatOs one reason we donOt get 
much sleep on Segumi. I meant to tell you about the fire extinguishers. Sorry, but I didnOt think 
Willies would show up so soon. DonOt use CO2 on Bruisers or Balloon Walkers cause it makes 
them angry as weasels. Just shoot them in the head like I told you. You donOt want to see a mad 
Bruiser.Ó 
OHow the heck did the Tournament end up at a crazy place like this?Ó Richie asked. 
OWell, IOll tell you. The fishing is brisk, and roast swampfish is a delicacy almost beyond heaven. 
And Bardona is scared silly the whole time heOs here. Those three things keep me voting for Segumi 
every year.Ó 
Richie understood how Bardona could be scared here, but he thought better of saying so. The 
question was, why wasnOt Pike scared. He sure didnOt seem to be.  
 
 
 
 
 
 

The guards changed every two hours all night, but dawn dawned without further incident. The drums 
stopped beating, but the fog horns kept on with their melancholy blurting. Pike and Richie had been 
asleep since four. At seven, Rita woke them both with the news that Lester had a big breakfast 
ready. When you donOt sleep, you need to pile in good food. Lester had given her that good advice 
about ten times while they stood watch togetherNadvice which she already knew.  
 
 

*  
 
 

June was going along as their guide in a separate boat, but even so Pike felt ill-at-ease about 
paddling into the swamps with Richie. The kid's normal tricks would be hideously dangerous out 
there. Just Pike and Rich, paddling together, in the narrow flat-bottomed piroqueNno room for 
anybody else. The treacherous little crafts had very little freeboard, and there wasnOt room for 
another passenger, not even a judge, since sooner or later the whole shebang would be filled with 
two hundred plus kilos of dead MAO inhibiting swampfish.  
 
 
 
 

* 
Armed with a stubby deep sea rod and heavy duty reel, Richie knelt in the bow of the aluminum 
piroque, feeling quite unsafe, but not saying so. Pike had been doing the paddling for them both for 
the last hour, claiming it was easier to paddle alone. Just because they had hung up on several tree 
roots didnOt mean that Richie was an incompetent paddler. He would have been happy to continue 
stroking away in spite of his growing blisters, but Pike had insisted that he take a break. Now, the 
boat was moving smoothly between dripping, mossy trees that reached into the overhead clouds of 
fog. Richie trusted Pike's sense of direction implicitly; but he was very relieved that the dug-out 
piroque ahead of them was paddled by Chief June and his young cousin, Nauto. It seemed logical to 
believe that the Indians could find their way back out of the swamp. After all, they had grown up 
here. It was their neighborhood. 
June was streaked with ceremonial paintNzig-zags of red zigged down both arms and clouds of 
white billowed on his cheeks and chest. But Nauto, being a swampfish virgin, looked like he had 
been dipped in yellow tempera paint from toes to eyebrows. Only his dark braided hair had been 
spared. He was a very strange looking sixteen year old, and very proud of having been selected to 
hunt with his cousin and chief on this sacred mission. They were out to do ceremonial battle with the 
demon swampfish, whose jawbone properly dried turned a rusty pink and was used to make the 
coinage of the landNwater markers. The Indians were solemn and focused, dipping their paddles 
slowly, so that the foreigners could keep up. They were armed for battle with bows and knives, not 
fishing gear. 
The fog had lifted to about ten feet except for wisps that clung to grass hummocks and to gargoylish 
tree roots. Pike and the Indians acted like it was normal to be paddling along under a blanket of 
white, but Richie thought it was pretty eerie. And the swamp smelled kind of bad, too. Not exactly 
rotten, but very wet. Like very wet vegetation, rotting sort of. Swamp gas. It was hard to describe. 
OAre we getting close to fish country?Ó Richie whispered, more to break the silence than because 
he didnOt know the answer. Pike had briefed him pretty thoroughly on the team effort they were 
about to embark on. Jawbones didnOt get thick enough to make heshi from until the fish was over a 
hundred kilos; therefore the smallest keeper was a hundred kilos. The tribes didnOt want their 
supply of jawbones to be imperiled by overfishing. JuneOs father had worked out the fishing rules 
with an inter-tribal council way back when. Between the two tribes, seven or eight big swampfish 
were needed for their summer ceremonies; but the first and largest revelry was always held at Port 
Remalin. The first big fish caught began the Feast of Thap. After the fishermen agreed to limit the 
number caught to no more than a dozen, Di Tikki let it be known by various signs that he/she 
approved of the foreigners helping with the harvest. The fishermen were happy to agree. If Segumi 
was scheduled late in the season, it was simple arithmetic to figure that the people still fishing would 
be whittled down to roughly that number anyway. Besides not every fisherman would be lucky 
enough to catch a swampy. They further agreed that a native guide would always be on hand to 
insure that no small fish were killed. And to further complicate the endeavor, only one fish could be 
killed. If it didnOt weigh in big enough, the fisherman was disqualified. 
Obviously, a live fish that size, snapping and leaping wouldnOt fit into a piroque without swamping it, 
so it had to be killed before it was boated. Since there wasnOt room for a judge in the boat, and all 
contestants were in fairly optimal danger most of the time they were in the swamps, it was decided 
that any means were legal to boat the fish, except poison or explosives. The judge would stay behind 
to help guard the home boat, and would weigh the fish and test for contraband substances when it 
was brought in. As a further guard against poisons, the fisherman was urged to eat the first portion of 
his roasted fish at the fete held in ThapOs honor. Everyone seemed happy with the wisdom of the 
council, except the swamp creatures who lived in the swamps. They didnOt care for strangers 
poking into their homes. 
OKeep your ears pealed," Pike said. "Fishing starts whenever we hear a fish. Like I was mentioning, 
a big swampy rams into trees to see what will shake loose. You can hear those ramming sounds a 
long way off. The trick is to keep the swampy from ramming the boat, once we find him. ThatOs 
where June comes in.Ó 
OTell me that part again. This sounds really dangerous to me.Ó 
OIt is dangerous. Think about it. Every fish we go after is dangerous.Ó 
ONot like this.Ó 
OItOs not so bad here. IOve caught a swampy every year. That makes me a heap big hero. Di Tikki 
smiles on me. If you catch one, youOll enjoy the celebration. ItOs fun to be a hero.Ó Pike dipped 
his paddle in the dark water. The little boat surged forward. OMaybe it wonOt go quite smoothly, 
since youOre doing the fishing, but this is the normal method. We hear the ramming and we locate his 
pool, which doesnOt necessarily look different than a normal piece of swamp. We pull in behind 
some roots or a hummock for protect ourselves. Presumably the fish is hungry if heOs ramming 
trees, so heOll take a lure, if itOs presented right, thinking he knocked something looseNthen weOve 
got the first line on him. The line is heavy, so you can horse him hard to keep his back up long 
enough for the Indians to shoot him. If they succeed, we have several heavy lines on that are actually 
strong enough to haul him out with. Then we all fuck around with this big fish, trying to tire him out 
here in the dangerous swamp until either he gets away or he dies. Assuming we win, we haul him 
aboard and go home. Good clean fun. All in a dayOs adventure.Ó 
OI havenOt heard any trees being rammed, have you?Ó 
ONot yet,Ó Pike answered. OKeep listening. ThatOs what weOre here for.Ó 
ODo those Willie things live out here?Ó 
OThey do.Ó 
OThat one last night didnOt seem very dangerous.Ó 
OHe was, but he rammed the boat with his log, and alerted everybody. TheyOre not real bright.Ó 
OWill Rita be all right without us?Ó 
OWho knows, Rich. Honestly, donOt ask stupid questions. We live in a dangerous Universe. I can 
barely take care of myselfNneither can you. Presumably, the old fart, Bardona, taught Rita enough to 
get by on.Ó 
They paddled on in silence for a time, listening to the sounds of the swamp. Finally Richie broke the 
silence again. OI wouldnOt mind catching one right away and getting out of here,Ó he said, 
meaningfully. OThis isnOt where IOd like to get stuck for the rest of my life.Ó 
OYouOd get used to it,Ó Pike said. OYou could hang out with Bardona and be scared together.Ó 
OI canOt help it,Ó Richie said, defensively. OI like places with sky.Ó 
OI didnOt say you could help it. Bardona canOt help it either.Ó 
A muffled boom reverberated though the swamp. June raised his paddle and made the sign for 
silence. 
OOkay, quiet from here on,Ó Pike whispered. 
OWas that a fish?Ó 
OYes. WeOre now stalking him. Is your rod ready?Ó 
With a lump of excitement in his guts, Richie busied himself making sure the rather large floating baby 
chick lure was tied on correctly. 
OIOm still not sure this is heavy enough,Ó he complained in a hiss. The feathers and plastic only 
weighed an ounce or so. 
OYou donOt need much of a cast,Ó Pike explained in the same words he used when the question 
came up the first time. OThat kind usually works for me.Ó 
OIOm not exactly comfortable with a baby chick. WonOt something else work?Ó 
OItOs artificial.Ó 
OI know, but it doesnOt feel right.Ó 
OUse whatever you want to; but make sure it has feathers.Ó 
Richie eased the small tackle box open and rooted through the trays. 
OBe quiet,Ó Pike commanded in a whisper. 
Richie nodded, tightly. He picked out a green feathered lure that looked like a baby parrot. Telling 
himself it could be a frog, he clipped the baby chick off and tied on the green one. Feeling somewhat 
better, he hunched in the bow watching June and Nauto. Pike insisted that swampfish could hear 
better than most fish because they overcompensated for the loss of their sight as the bone in their 
forehead, which they used for battering trees, overgrew their eyes. In which case, it shouldnOt 
matter worth a darn if the lure was yellow or green. He smiled a brief, smug smile, making sure that 
Pike didnOt see. 
The front piroque slowed the pace way down. Kind of awesome how it moved across the water 
without making any sound at all that Richie could hear. Paddles entered the water without making the 
least disturbanceNjust a few drops of water dripped off between strokes. He decided to practice 
that kind of paddling on the way back. Very Zen. Hard to figure how these people learned Zen way 
out here. Maybe a priest came by sometime in the deep past, and they donOt remember. 
June held up his paddle again, and pointed to a several acre pond of water that was free of trees. On 
the edge of the pond, he pulled in behind a tall mauette tree that had thrown up a cluster of aerial 
roots. Nauto scrambled onto the roots, nimble as a yellow monkey. Both Indians strung their bows 
and nocked an arrow to which a thin braided line was attached. They waited passivelyNas passively 
as a palpitating hunter can wait. 
Pike guided his craft into an open space beside another tree. OWhen he bumps again, cast where a 
chick would fall,Ó he whispered. ODonOt scrape your feet. IOll get you close enough.Ó 
Richie nodded and set himself for an overhead cast. 
This particular swamp pond was not to PikeOs liking. It was too big for one thing, and it looked 
pretty deep. But worse than that, there were no hummocks to hide behindNonly trees circling the 
pond. He looked over at June who grinned savagely under the ceremonial paint and nodded 
emphatically that this was where the fish was. He had never known June to show a momentOs 
hesitation or a trace of fear, everNcertainly not on his home turf. Segumi warriors had a reputation to 
uphold. It had been very good getting to know this big geek, taking him around the Nebulae. 
Educating him, and being educated. There was certainly nobody he would rather be in a swamp 
with. But the Tournament wouldnOt be coming here again. Tonight at the Feast, he would have a 
heart to heart with June about the future, assuming somebody caught a fish. It was almost 
inconceivable that he might not ever taste roasted swampfish again. Some genius would probably 
figure a way around the virus in a few years; but what if they didnOt? How could Barcode have been 
so stupidly negligent? Biotech. Yuck! Everybody knew something like this would happen if those 
biotech morons werenOt reigned in, and now welcome to hell. 
OMoney to be made.Ó It was like a never ending chant. OMoney to be madeNstay out of our 
way..!Ó Money to be made, my ass, Pike thought. He was certainly far from anti-tech; but, hell, 
there were limits. 
Well, maybe it was better. WeOll all be stuck wherever we are when the shit hits. No more fucking 
up everywhere we land. Because thatOs the truth. We fuck up everywhere we touch down, even if 
we try not to. In the name of progress. Well, what is progress? 
Way too many technicians and researchers care nothing about life. Pike knew some of them. Their 
experiments and messing around took place in a supposed vacuum. Fuck their vacuum. Everything in 
the whole Spiral is connectedNand beyond. There is no such thing as an isolated experiment. The 
only isolation is in the minds of the tech morons. 
The quarry surfaced. A rippling rust colored dorsal shot sideways across the pond. Pike held his 
breath. A big one. The fish rammed head first into a mauette tree a hundred yards to the left. The 
mauette quivered like a sapling. Loose bark and dark leaves showered down. Pike dug his paddle 
two quick strokes. The piroque shot forward. Richie poised to cast. 
In his peripheral vision, Pike saw June ease his boat into better shooting position, leaving Nauto 
standing on the roots. 
The fish surfaced, snapping up everything that looked edible. It was a very big one. Unable to wait 
until they got close enough, Richie arched the green lure through the air. It landed with a plop, twenty 
feet from the monster. Richie grimaced. 
Perfect cast, Pike thought proudly, unwilling to speak even in a whisper with the fish on the surface. 
But something was wrong. Richie was yanking yards of line out of the reel. Pike leaned sideways to 
see how bad the backlash was. 
A birdOs nest to end all birdOs nests, Richie fumed to himself. The feathered lure had been too light 
to cast, just like heOd thought. RichieOs fingers hurried to pick the knots out of the twisted mess, 
meanwhile the little green lure just sat there, limp as lard. One knot at a time, what a drag; but at least 
it was coming loose. The backlash was his own fault, of course. His thumb hadnOt feathered the line 
properly because the ding-blasted lure was too light; but another few minutes and heOd have it fixed. 
But the luxury of those few minutes was one thing he didnOt have. Not this time. A tub-size mouth 
sucked the green feathers down, down. The mouth clamped shut and sank from view. 
OHit him now, before he dives,Ó Pike ordered. 
Looking perplexed, Richie kept on stripping line, but faster. 
OHit him..!Ó 
OI canOt,Ó Richie yelled back, frantically working at a knot. 
Seconds later, and fifteen feet deep, the fish hit itself by snubbing up against the tight line with a hook 
attached to it. Since Richie only had a one-handed grip on the rod, it almost tore out of his hand. 
OHit him, now!Ó Pike fumed. OYou are so goddamned stubborn..!Ó 
Richie rared back on the rod and was immediately rewarded with a jerk that cinched the knotted 
birdOs nest and pulled the boat a hundred feet across the lake. June and Nauto let out war paeans 
that were thrilling to hear. Thrilling..? Kind of thrilling. They sent a chill up RichieOs backbone. 
OBeautiful,Ó Pike said, glowering. OIf you had hit when I said to, he might have stayed on top. 
Now, weOre fucked.Ó 
OI had a backlash.Ó 
OAnd youOve still got one, but the fish is down.Ó 
Pike yelled over at June. OHow deep is it here?Ó 
June docked beside the tree root long enough for Nauto to scamper back aboard, then they paddled 
out to where the action wasNon a short line attached to PikeOs boat. 
OHow deep..?Ó he asked, screwing up his face under the war paint. OWho knows? IOll get my 
little cousin to find out.Ó He spoke a few words to the teen-ager. 
Nauto looked startled, then put his bow down and stood, poised to dive. 
OSit down,Ó Pike roared. OHeOs kidding.Ó 
June laughed proudly and spoke something to Nauto, who sat down. He took up his bow and 
arrows again, seeming very full of himself for passing the first bravery test. 
OI think we lost this one, donOt you?Ó June said, rationally assessing the situation. OWe canOt put 
enough pressure on him to force him up. Neither can we protect ourselves if he comes up to ram.Ó 
OHeOs a big one,Ó Pike said, absently. OIt might be worth our time to tire him. 
As they talked, the fish towed them around his little swamp pond. Richie put a small strain on him, 
but didnOt bother trying to make up any line. It was his own fault that the fish went down. He had 
purposely and willfully disregarded PikeOs advise. 
Looking at his friend and captain, June said airily, OWe could maybe tire him by tomorrow; but we 
wouldnOt want to miss the tide, would we?Ó 
OFour of us,Ó Pike rejoined thoughtfully. OLester packed a big lunch. Maybe not a bad idea to 
show the youngster about camping in the swamp.Ó 
OI know you like it. Remember that time before I could speak good Galactic 5? Did you think that 
was a happy evening?Ó 
OWe got the fish.Ó 
OThatOs true. You are true on that. Wild man is no match for you.Ó 
OWhat about cutting him off?Ó Richie asked. 
OSure,Ó Pike answered, a shade too quickly. OWhatever you say. YouOre the boss.Ó 
ONo,Ó Richie continued. OWhat about cutting him off long enough for me to take the backlash out. 
You can hold the fish as long as heOs just cruising along; then we tie him back on and work him up. 
If he dives while youOre holding him, well, nothing much is lost. I donOt think weOll get him the way 
this reel is fouled up.Ó 
RichieOs arms and shoulders were straining. Without the reel to help out, it really was too much. 
Pike grinned. OThatOs using the old elbow, Rich. WeOll tie him onto your paddle. That way even if 
he rams us, weOll have a float on him. Good thinking.Ó Pike reached for the paddle. 
OWhat about this ramming? IOm a little hazy on what we do if that happens.Ó 
OSwim for starters. Primarily, stay with the boat if it capsizes. Ramming is a swampyOs best 
defense. They usually try it. I never heard of anybody being eaten by oneNthatOs reserved for 
swamp crocs.Ó 
OWe havenOt seen any crocs, have we? I havenOt.Ó 
OTheyOre not really crocodiles, theyOre fish; but they seem to fill that niche. Mean mothers. Turn 
the rod tip back toward me, if you can. Actually, this isnOt going to be easy without any slack line.Ó 
The rod was nicely arched with all the strain feeding directly down to the jammed reel. Pike ran his 
hand down the line and yanked hard several times, hoping the fish would come up a few feet to give 
him some free line. He wrapped a turn around the paddleNthen the line suddenly went limp. 
OUh, oh,Ó he said, unwrapping the paddle and tossing it into the bilge. OReel like hell,Ó he yelled 
at Richie. OHeOs coming up! Get ready, June..!Ó 
The Indians braced themselves as best they could with their feet wide in the piroque. Each nocked 
an arrow. 
OKeep reeling and hang on,Ó Pike yelled, bracing for the impact. 
It came with an aluminum thump. The boat shot backwards out of the water, tilted skyward for one 
sickening instant, then scooted across the water aft first, still upright. Bow strings twanged and both 
Indians screamed bloodcurdling paeans to the Gods as their arrows sank into the fish. Line sang off 
RichieOs reel as the fish dove. Braided vegetable line uncoiled fore and aft from the IndianOs boat 
thirty feet away. 
OTorque down the drag,Ó Pike directed. OMake him work now. Good thing you didnOt fall out. 
What would I have told your mother..?Ó 
OMy legs are shaking,Ó Richie said from between chattering teeth. 
OPerfectly normal. That was a good solid butt, and weOre still okay. Yep, weOre in fairly decent 
shape now. He can tow both boats around, and tire out twice as fast.Ó 
Pike backpaddled so Richie wouldnOt get tangled. His mind flashed to an image of Rita in the cabin, 
naked. Strange how the male mind worked. He never thought of himself as a disembodied dick. No, 
that wasnOt his image of himself or any man. Character, strengths, weaknesses, good nature, 
abilitiesNthatOs how he thought of men, and himself. But RitaNor any intriguing womanN he thought 
first of her face, then the other features that had captivated him, breasts, legs, pussy, shoulders, 
hands, neck, hair. Maybe he thought of her worries, maybe of her bravery or a few other things. But 
not the way she thought of herself, he surmised. Women donOt think of themselves as tits and pussy, 
do they? Do they think of men as a cock? Is cock their first thought picture? He should ask Rita 
about that. 
OWell, the easy part is over,Ó he said to Richie. 
OWeOve got two ropes on him now. How could it be harder? My arms are totally tired from 
holding him. This is the hardest fish weOve played yet. IOm wrung out. I think this place is making 
me weak.Ó 
OYouOre just saying that. That Ôcuda was a much more powerful swimmer, and you played him on 
a free rig.Ó 
Richie scoffed. OHe jumped on the dock. Lester killed him. I didnOt have much to do with it.Ó 
OA catch is a catch.Ó 
OIOve had a whole lot of lucky catches. Everybody knows that, and so do I.Ó 
OSo what? DonOt go getting morbid on me. Swampies are the best eating of any fish, anywhere. 
ThatOs why we come here. My mouth is watering already. All we have to do is break our butts 
getting him landed, then we can feast like kings. Trust me on this.Ó 
ODo you think Master Goodnight is really planning to roast those pigs?Ó 
Pike was momentarily stopped. The neural pathways of the kidOs mind were very curious. He 
paddled the boat in behind a smooth-boled tree that didnOt have any exposed roots to get in the 
way. Pike pulled a coil of light-weight rope from beneath the seat. The coil had a block and tackle 
attached to it. Tossing the end of the rope over a stout tree limb, he hoisted the heavy ropes and 
pulleys into the air, then set about tying a short handled gaff onto one side of the block and tackle 
rope. 
OOkay, Richard my boy, the best way to approach this is to tire the fish out like normal. When he 
comes to the surface, hit him with the gaff so we can haul him out.Ó 
Richie pondered that. OThis fish is very strong. I donOt think heOs going to tire any time soon.Ó 
OThatOs always been true of the ones IOve caught,Ó Pike replied, cheerfully. OArrows stuck in his 
bony head plate donOt seem to hurt him much at all, but the points are carrying a vegetable toxin that 
kind of tranquilizes the critter. Usually they donOt ram the boat after the arrows hit. We haven't 
found a stronger poison that isnOt toxic to people. Farouk used to bring exotics with him, but he 
wouldn't eat the meat so nobody else would either and his fish went to wasteNthe guy is such a 
loser. One time he threw a stick of dynamite in the pond, so he wouldnOt have to stay out after 
dark.Ó Pike chuckled. OThe concussion put hundreds of cracks in the jawbone, which was then 
unusable, and it bruised the meat. He paid off his Urobami to swear that it was a clean catch. 
Everybody was mad at him; but he made the tide. We changed the rules after that, so now he has to 
fly right. The whole thing is a test of manhood anywayNwhy not play by some sort of rules?Ó 
OYou mean you think weOll miss the tide?Ó 
OWhy should this year be different?Ó 
Richie thought about that for a minute. OArenOt you worried about Rita?Ó 
OCertainly, a little. But sheOs got seven guys to protect her, and Lester is next door. Worry about 
us. Those war whoops will bring every predator within ear shot. ItOs part of the test, I think. Great 
warriors donOt pussy foot around. They announce themselves.Ó 
OSwell,Ó Richie said, nervously. OHow can we fight when weOre all playing the fish?Ó 
OPart of the fun. And actually, a pretty good test. It can get kind of scary out here after dark.Ó 
OBut youOre not scared,Ó Richie stated, seeking clarification. 
OI canOt really be frightened in front of June and that young kid, now can I? That would make a 
very bad impression.Ó 
OBut youOre really not scared. I can tell.Ó 
OIOm scared of some thingsNsome things IOm not. Like everybody. ItOs a dangerous life style. If 
youOre going to be scared all the time, why be in the Tournament? IOll tell you a secret, since you 
asked. These planets we land on have plenty of food. If thereOs a native population, they have long 
ago figured out how to survive. ThereOs no starvation. In fact, they donOt have to work very hard 
at getting their food and shelter. I feel kind of close to them because I like to fish and screw around 
with what interests me all dayNjust like them. Pay close attention, and youOll see that nowhere 
weOve been, not even here, is the native fauna out to kill us, unless we instigate the matter. Right?Ó 
OIf you say so.Ó 
OI do. The point I'm making is, they donOt kill me and I donOt kill them. We made a big mistake 
with that back on Earth, and other places. I donOt want to add to my karmic burden while IOm 
traveling around. I think most of the guys feel that way. Naturally, self-defense is a different story.Ó 
OYou mean the things that live here arenOt bloodthirsty? The stories I hear about this place scare 
my socks off.Ó 
OStories? DidnOt you study comparative humanities?Ó 
OWell, yes; but that might not be the same as knowing something out here.Ó 
Pike laughed. 
OI saw that Willie on the boat! He terrified me. And you told me one bit somebodyOs finger off.Ó 
OSee, there you go. I never said anything about a finger. You expanded your own rumor. I said, Ira 
got bit. It was on the arm. A razorfin nipped his finger off.Ó 
Richie didnOt answer. He seemed to be mulling it over. 
OThatOs correct,Ó continued Pike. OWhen youOre in first placeNeven tiedN they psych you any 
way they can.Ó 
OYouOre the person who has been scaring me the most,Ó Richie said. OIOve hardly talked to 
anybody else.Ó  
 
 

*  
 
 

What would it be like to have sex with an alien, Rita wondered. She was sitting at her computer 
screen in the bedroom, but she hadnOt typed a word for the last twenty minutes. What if some of 
these creatures got on board and managed to take over? It wasnOt an impossible scenarioNand 
they forced her to have sex. What would it be like? Probably about the same. Penetration. Probably 
fairly stimulating, except for the chance of getting hurt or killed. 
After all, Mom Tourbo was doing it with an alien, and was evidently relishing the experience. There 
was one strange lady. ItOs a wonder that Richie turned out even halfway normal. 
Maybe she should eat some frog foam herself next year. Why not? Rita had been watching the Frogs 
cavorting and screwing nearly every year since she was a little girl. Funny how her attitudes had 
changed over the years. First, she had been interested, then repulsed, then shy, then very interested 
at about sixteen. But she never really thought about taking Frog foam until today. Interesting. And 
what about that dolphin thing person on Aixi? He wanted to screw her. She had definitely felt that 
vibe coming from him. Well, if we settle on Aixi, a tete-a-tete could probably be arranged. Skinny 
dipping at a secluded beach, or in that river. Would he have a big one? Probably. Yes, he probably 
would. What would that feel like, wrapping her arms and legs around a dolphin while he pumped 
away? Kind of the perfect sex object. Too bad he can talk. Maybe he would blab it to the monks, 
then they would all want to line up and fuck her. 
What a perfectly strange daydream. What is wrong with me, she wondered, not realizing that the 
moon was very big and strong on Segumi 6. IOm a newly wed. Rita knew that she didnOt usually 
occupy herself with sex fantasies. So why was she today? Did all married women have fantasies 
when hubby was away for the night? If so, that was a very pathetic condemnation of the marriage 
contract. Married women have to satisfy themselves with fantasies? Bullshit. 
It must be the four young Piet braves that Pike and June had picked out to guard the Humanity that 
was causing her sensuality to flair. Before she got hitched, if she was alone with seven guys, and she 
felt like fooling around, would there have been a problem? No. And there wouldnOt be a problem 
today if she decided to go that way. Any of them would be glad to break the monotony of guard 
duty. Lester should be here to protect her from herself, but Pike had given Lester permission to 
spend the week with Lillith. ThatOs partly why the Piets were on dutyNbecause June wasn't sure 
that Boris and Drew and Max Severin, the judge, could protect her. And Lester was kind of strange 
these days, too, if you thought about it. In fact, everybody was getting a little strange. Rita was fairly 
sure she wouldnOt really enjoy this new landlocked existence. And she was pretty confident that 
anybody who had gotten used to flitting here and there on a whim wouldnOt care for it either. The 
planet would have to be very amazing, with lots of exotic places to get away to, or else 
claustrophobia would set in. 
Of course, she would have her fantasies, but unless she revised her expectations in a hurry, the 
readjustment could be brutal. A life of looking to the skies, without being able to reach them. How 
soon would everyone forget the other people who were stranded out there? A hundred years? 
Maybe three, four generations, but not more. Spacing would become a myth. Life would be very 
different without computers. But maybe an antidote would be found...  
 
 

*  
 
 

OI would just a soon catch him now before we have to stay out here for the night,Ó Richie said. 
HeOd been thinking about saying that for some minutes, even though it made him look like 
somewhat of a coward. And now heOd said it. 
OFeel free to reel him up,Ó Pike responded, encouragingly. OWhen he gets to the surface, 
whichever one of us is closer will hit him with the gaff. Once thatOs done, we can pull him out.Ó He 
pushed the boat off from the tree root, and let it drift. OKeep a strain on the line, but not too much. 
We want him to pull us, not get angry.Ó 
OI donOt think being out here when the fog comes will be barrels of fun.Ó 
OCould be right,Ó Pike agreed. OSee that fellow over there? HeOll probably come sneaking in 
when we canOt see.Ó 
OWhere..?Ó 
OOver there.Ó Pike pointed his eyebrows. OTwo hundred yards off to the left, laying up in some 
roots.Ó 
Scanning, RichieOs eyes picked out a humanoid form smeared with mud or something. It was almost 
impossible for untrained eyes to detect anything unusual in that tangle of roots. OWhat is it..?! How 
long has it been there?Ó 
OWell, JuneOs people call them Dinki, which means wild men. As near as I can tell, they were the 
native stock when the Piets arrived. ItOs a little confusing. I presume there was some commerce and 
some interbreeding at the beginning; but not anymore. Like any conquering race, the Piets started 
regarding the Dinks as subhuman so they could take the lands and fishing rights. The Dinkis live in the 
deep swamp now, where itOs a little difficult to hunt them for sport.Ó 
OAre they subhuman?Ó Rich asked, squinting his eyes. OTheyOre certainly good at camouflaging. I 
can barely see that one, even when I know heOs there.Ó 
OIOm kind of liberal in what I call human, and I donOt know the Dinkis well; but what I know is 
pretty convincing.Ó 
OLike what..?Ó 
OIf that guy moves before it gets too foggy, youOll see that he literally walks on water. ThatOs kind 
of a handy skill around here, and one that neither the Piets or the Urobami have mastered.Ó 
OReally..? How do they do it?Ó 
OItOs more like skating on water than walking, actually. And IOm not real sure how they do it. I 
think they inflate their feet somehow.Ó 
OHave you seen their feet?Ó 
ONever have; but if youOve got the yen, maybe you could get him to give you a demo by calling him 
over. Try waving your arms.Ó 
Richie frowned. 
OGo ahead, try it. Maybe he likes you.Ó 
OYouOre putting me on.Ó 
OOr maybe he wants to eat you. IOll bet he thinks you look more tender than me or June.Ó 
OAre they cannibals?Ó RichieOs voice attempted not to show alarm, but did so anyway. 
OAre you?Ó 
OAm I a cannibal? Certainly not,Ó Richie said, full of righteous conviction. OWhat are you 
implying?Ó 
OWhat if every time you ventured into your traditional fishing grounds where the pickings were easy, 
and you could feed yourself and your family no sweatNwhat if every time you showed your face, you 
were hunted down like scum, not even like an animal. Hacked to pieces as a lesson to your people 
not to come around any more. Think you might want to get even?Ó 
ODo the Piets do that?Ó 
ONot anymore, they say. Neither do the Urobami, supposedly; but you know, once youOve stolen 
the land, you need to keep the fences repaired.Ó 
Richie wrinkled his forehead as if puzzled. OI thought it was just normal inter-tribal hostility between 
more advanced and less advanced.Ó 
OMight I ask what you think causes tribes to be hostile to one another?Ó 
OI dunno. Religious squabbles? Racial tension?Ó 
OYeah, right. YouOre even more gullible than I thought. To be a halfway decent researcher, youOre 
supposed to look a little beyond what the dominant society teaches in their universities. ItOs always 
revisionist.Ó 
OOh, sure. I know that. But...Ó 
OItOs real estate that counts. Religious fanaticism and racial hatred come in a very pale second 
place and are mainly used to cloud the issue. The conquered people know that all religious wars are 
a land-grab visited on them by greedy, religious land-grabbers with better weapons. The same with 
ethnic patriot land-grabbers. IOm not exactly apologizing for these weird defeated swamp tribes, but 
if you eat a few people, it makes the cool young bucks less likely to invade your land again, swampy 
though it may be.Ó 
OInteresting,Ó Richie said, thoughtfully. OYouOre pretty smart about these things. Did you ever 
think about being a professor, so some of your ideas could influence people?Ó 
Pike laughed. OIf I was a professor, I wouldnOt have noticed any of this. You only learn stuff by 
being out in the world.Ó 
OOh, sure; but things are changing. It looks like the Tournament is kind of washed up for awhile. 
You could get on as a guest lecturer easy, even if you donOt have a degree.Ó 
OYou think so?Ó Pike asked, baiting the kid, who really should have known his history better than 
that. Pike got offers from universities all the time, five or ten a year, to lecture in engineering, and 
biology for that matter. 
OYouOd be terrific. I could probably lever a little pressure at TR&H to get you a degree, if I had 
to,Ó Richie answered with hardly a hint of smugness. 
OThanks, Rich. IOve got a degree,Ó Pike said, mildly. OHowOs our fish doing?Ó 
Richie had been resting the rod on the low gunwale of the piroque for the past few minutes, taking 
the strain off his arms and back. OThis is not a very good fishing method,Ó he complained. 
OSomewhat true, but he needs to be tired enough to be led over to the tree with the block and 
tackle in it. With our current methods, that will be sometime tomorrow. Or if you want to play him 
standing on a big root for a change of pace, just say the word. I think youOve got enough line to get 
to that clump over there.Ó Pike waved to June and pointed out the trees in question. Meanwhile, 
Richie decided to wham the fish half a dozen times in quick succession. 
OI wouldnOt do that,Ó Pike cautioned. OHe probably wonOt like it.Ó 
Richie reeled contentedly. OJust trying to get a little line. A few extra yards will help us out.Ó 
OComing up!Ó June yelped. He and Nauto quickly knelt with bows bent and arrows pointing at the 
depths hoping to get in a final shot before they were shipwrecked. Both had started singing their 
death song in Piet, a language that Pike didnOt understand much of, and Richie knew none. 
OThis is weird,Ó Richie said, reeling faster. 
OShut up,Ó Pike told him. OThe ropes will lead him to June and the kid.Ó Having no better plan, 
Pike started pounding the water with his paddle, hoping to distract the fish. 
The bark piroque shot out of the water sideways, spilling both Indians and their gear backwards into 
the swamp, but luckily the crushing tail smacked against the overturned boat instead of the vulnerable 
swimming heads. Then the fish sounded, still trailing the ropes that were fast to the wrecked boat. An 
instant later, NautoOs dark head sucked underwater like a cork bobber. 
Pike drove his paddle into the swampwater, squirting the aluminum piroque toward where June was 
now clinging to a few hunks of bark. 
OLook, the thing is coming!Ó Richie hissed. OThe cannibal.Ó And sure enough the Dinki 
camouflage expert was out of his hiding place, skating across the surface of the pond. Skating very 
fast on flat pontoons, faster than Pike was paddling. He was going to reach June first! 
OHit him with something..!Ó Pike yelled. 
OYouOve got the gun!Ó Richie yelled back. Besides, Rich was busy with the fish that had decided 
to run to the far side of the pool. OIOm almost out of line.Ó 
The skater had some sort of a homemade knife in his hand. Pike couldnOt tell exactly what it was; 
but he wasnOt about to let June get scalped. He jerked his new laser pistol out of its shoulder holster 
under his vest; but before he got the safety off, the skater stuck the knife between his teeth and dived 
under water. 
OWeird,Ó Pike muttered, guiding the boat alongside the wreckage where June clung. 
ODamn kid got caught in the coil,Ó June panted, grabbing PikeOs gunwale and hoisting himself up. 
OI despise teen-agers. They never listen.Ó 
OThe Dinki just dove in where Nauto went down. 
OA Dinki..?Ó 
OThe one that was hiding across the pond.Ó 
OI never saw him.Ó 
OYou probably had the wrong angle. He came running across the water like he was coming for us, 
then he dived.Ó 
OProbably saw your gun.Ó June nodded at PikeOs pistol. 
OHe didnOt.Ó 
June stood up in the boat to peer down in the water. OBump him a few times as hard as you can,Ó 
he said to Richie. OMaybe heOll come up again.Ó 
Richie raised the rod tip and hit the fish a series of shocks. ONo way. He's solid as a rock. I feel 
rotten about this.Ó 
OItOs a dangerous life,Ó June responded, completely without emotion. He pulled his sheath knife 
and dived over the side toward the fish. 
OCripes,Ó Richie swore. OOut of line.Ó The boat started gliding across the pond. OIs there 
anything we can do?Ó 
There was nothing at all that Pike could think of. Young men everywhere died through carelessness, 
and lots of other reasons, too. 
A dark head bobbed up half way across the pond. The Dinki. What was the bastard up to? 
Counting coup on an enemy? Pike thought about shooting him, but didnOt. He was just being a 
warrior, and damned brave at that, jumping into a nest of enemies. Too bad these people didnOt get 
along. It would be interesting to investigate how Dinkis did that water-walking trick. 
A few seconds later, another head bobbed up. The teen-ager, Nauto. OIOll be damned,Ó Pike 
said, driving his paddle deep in the water. The boat shot forward. 
OThe Dinki must have cut him off,Ó he said to Richie. OHot damn, no horror stories today! Reel on 
that bastard.Ó 
OYes, sir, Captain,Ó Richie yelped, working the crank in a flurry now that the boat gave him some 
slack. 
The Dinki didnOt wait for accolades. He took one look at the approaching boat and started 
swimming for the nearest trees. A few meters from the trees, his body popped out of the water like a 
cork, and he skated into the swamp where he immediately disappeared. 
OYou see lots of strange sights on the Tournament,Ó Pike mused, steadying the little boat beside 
young Nauto. Reaching over the sideboard, he grasped NautoOs yellow forearm and hauled his 
shoulders over the gunwale. The lad was about half drowned, but conscious. His war paint was 
running off in rivulets. He coughed and blew, and then kicked himself into the boat. 
June broke the water like a breaching whale, grabbed a breath of air and then dove again. 
OHeOs out!Ó Pike yelled, but June didnOt hear. OYou okay?Ó Pike asked, turning to the young 
Piet, making a question out of his circled thumb and forefinger. 
Nauto mumbled a few words of Piet that Pike didnOt grok. The boy smiled shyly, then stretched his 
arms out in an obvious fishermanOs gesture that meant big fish. Pike nodded. 
OWhat now?Ó Rich asked. 
Pike sized up the wreck of the other piroque which was floating in pieces. Maybe June would know 
how to fix it, if not theyOd have to send somebody out to the village to fetch another boat. That 
would mean camping for at least two turns of the tide. 
Pulling his dignity together, Nauto sat up. He said a few words that nobody understood, then peered 
intently into the water. 
OWhy hasnOt anybody developed a universal translator?Ó Richie wondered aloud. OIt shouldnOt 
be that difficult, at least for languages that use tongue and lipsNÓ 
OWhy donOt you strip the line off while heOs just sitting down there. Maybe you can get the knot 
out.Ó 
OGood idea,Ó Richie answered. He stripped coils of line into the pond, so it wouldnOt get snarled 
at his feet. No more Nauto drowning. Thank God, he hadnOt been responsible for the death of a 
guide. That would have been truly hideous. Obviously, he hadnOt thought that jerking a few times on 
the fish would cause him to attack. Cripes, there are so many variables. But that translator was a 
very good idea. HeOd get a team started on it, post haste. 
JuneOs head exploded through the surface, gulped a lungful of air and made ready to dive again. 
Pike and Nauto yelled loudly at him. Hearing the ruckus, he turned to look. Pointing in astonishment 
at Nauto, he swam lazily over to the craft. Hoisting himself over the side in one fluid motion, he 
hunkered amidships beside the boy, firing questions in rapid Piet. After a minute, he turned to Pike. 
OThe fish muddied the pond,Ó he said. OI couldnOt see shit.Ó 
OBy the time you dove, the action was mostly over. What happened according to him?Ó 
OHe says the Dink cut him free. Damnedest thing. He says he owes the Dink a life. That wonOt be 
easy to repay.Ó 
OThereOs plenty of food to go around, isnOt there? Maybe rules of conduct can change.Ó 
OTell that to the old hard-heads. Of course, youOre right,Ó June reflected. ORules will change 
everywhere, if this virus is for real. I doubt that change here will move us forward.Ó 
OMaybe not,Ó Pike agreed. ODepends on how you define progress, I guess. We humans seem to 
land pretty hard, when we land someplace. All in the name of good, clean fun, of course.Ó 
OYou seem a little down, Skipper. DonOt you enjoy spending a night in the woods with bold Dinks 
running around?Ó June chuckled noiselessly. 
OIOm not down exactly. Just seeing some stuff this year as a non-combatant that I never saw 
before. IOll bet you and Lester know a lot that I donOt.Ó 
OOh, yes, the Kahuna and I have seen the seamy side of life,Ó June said, deadpan. OPristine 
worlds trampled, backward cultures corrupted. Drugs, partyingN all in the name of catching the big 
fish. Even here a tragedy is happening. Before you came and we became corrupted, about ten 
percent of the tribe died every dry season; but now thanks to your corrupting reservoir system, they 
donOt. We are in danger of over-population.Ó He pounded his breast in mock alarm. OOh, what 
will we do? I think we should go back to water wars, because nobody wants to stop having 
babies.Ó 
Pike smirked. OAmusing,Ó he said. OCan Nauto find his way back for another boat, or do we have 
the pleasure of sending you?Ó 
June roared with sudden laughter. OI like you very much, Pike. You humor is getting very sharp and 
subtle.Ó He laughed heartily. OIt is a good pickle. Nauto and I have no weapons. The fish is on a 
thin line with no hope of catching him until I get back with a new bow. YouOll have no boat to haul 
up the tree for a flet, and youOll have two young fellows to protect on the ground. And the food we 
brought went to feed the fishes. Pretty funny.Ó 
OWeOve got enough food. I can catch some fish, I expect.Ó 
OCertainly. You are the champion. And if we catch this big old one in two days, maybe itOs the 
prize winner.Ó 
OThatOs right.Ó 
OAnd lots of good feasting, uh?Ó 
OGood feasting,Ó Pike agreed. 
OSo letOs cut him off and go catch another one tomorrow,Ó June said, with a light, firm tone. 
OTalk to the fisherman.Ó 
OIn this I will have my way,Ó June said, more firmly. ONo one else knows how to get home.Ó 
OIOll bet Nauto could get us home,Ó Pike allowed. 
OHe could not.Ó 
OBravo..!Ó Richie exploded, letting out a big hiss of withheld breath. OThe knotOs out.Ó He 
started reeling in the slack line, beaming proudly.  
 
 

*  
 
 

The fog was already crawling into the tops of the trees, and the tide was running strongly out of the 
swamps. Baron Bardona watched the high water mark receding, and terror started to clutch his 
heart. Being careful not to betray his fear, he faked a wide yawn, stretched and looked at his watch. 
OLetOs go home,Ó he announced to the three Urobami warriors. 
Early that morning, he had suggested that heOd be happy with a little fish, the same as last year; but 
the Indians had other ideas. Apparently, they had gotten wind that Confederation money was going 
to be worthless when no more Confederation visitors came to spend it. They wanted a big fish to 
make lots of water beads with. All day long, they had put him over deep ponds with lunkers in them. 
It had taken all his skill to prevent a hook-up and still look like he was trying. Tonight he would buy a 
shit-load of the stupid pink beadsNtrade something for them if he had to. Tomorrow, he would be 
fishing for some small fish that could be landed before the tide changed. No overnighters on this trip. 
Definitely not. 
Laying his rod carefully against the gunwale, he stretched luxuriously. OVaminos muchachos,Ó he 
said, making an exaggerated gesture of laying his tired head down to sleep. OTomorrow,Ó he said, 
knowing they didnOt understand Spanish any better than they did Galactic. The damned Urobami 
didnOt speak anything but Indian, how stupid can you get? The Piets, at least, had the gumption to 
learn Galactic. He admired the Piets a little bit, even if they did side with Resnick at every 
opportunity. He had gotten over being sore at them for dumping him onto the goddamned Urobami. 
If the son-of-a-bitches refused to guide him after the one time he had gotten a little hot under the 
collar because they didnOt get him a fish, what could he do about it? They werenOt slaves and they 
werenOt on his payroll. Although, realistically, after he had simmered down a little, he had offered to 
put a half dozen of the best Piet guides on his payroll. They said he had waited two long to make the 
offer, and to pay for the guiding from the previous summer. Two months. Big deal. Hard-headed 
bastards. They had a really pitiful sense of business, but what can you expect from savages? Besides, 
he had wasted two months trying to get a consensus on leaving Segumi off the schedule. It didnOt 
make much sense to pay up for failure, if they were never coming back. 
Anyway, heOd been stuck with the weak-sister Urobami for the last three years; but he wasnOt 
going to spend the night with somebody who couldnOt even speak Galactic. Let them grin. Was he 
supposed to get shook up about what war- painted savages thought of him? 
OLetOs go,Ó he said, louder. OVaminos!Ó Little tendrils of fog were starting to wisp around the 
tree trunks. OLetOs go. LetOs go...!Ó the Baron yelped, not even caring that his urgency showed.  
 
 

*  
 
 

As night fell, Richie stood with his fishing rod on the wide smooth white roots of a balaboab tree. 
Pike said the balaboab would be easier to find after dark than the brown mauette trees, which were 
everywhere. Rich straining his eyes into the fog hoping to see a Dinki skating around, but no such 
luckNand he wished he had dressed much warmer. Creepy fog had completely shrouded the 
landscape. He was getting progressively colder and wetterNand blind. Visibility was no more than a 
few feet in any direction. The fog, however, was fine for audio. He could hear Pike and Nauto quite 
clearly out on the pond, presumably dragging the wreckage of the other canoe toward the white tree 
where they were going to spend the night. 
OHere...Ó he blurted. That was his jobNto bleat out some words every ten seconds or so, to give 
them a beacon. Richie hoped he would start feeling fine and dandy as soon as Pike got within seeing 
rangeNthis sinking dread was about to overpower him. He was struggling with a Ken Pao Ri mantra 
to keep himself calm enough to play the fishNwhich kept moving here and there around the pond. 
Hopefully, it wasnOt going to rush Pike and Nauto; but Richie was powerless to prevent that 
occurrence if the fish took it into his head to get hungry or angry. 
All day long Pike had been making jokes about the Baron and his fear of the swamps. As night and 
the fog settled, RichieOs own fear from the previous evening returned. What if those weird creatures 
attacked here in this exposed position? We would be powerless. The Baron had every right to be 
frightened; in fact, Richie found himself getting a little miffed at Pike for his seemingly 
recklessnessNcamping in the swamp could easily get them all killed. Fishing was one thingNbut this 
was almost wanton endangerment. Of course, Pike couldnOt have known that the canoe would be 
damaged; but at least, June could have done the towing before he leftNexcept that the tide was 
changing, and Pike sent him scooting. 
OOver here...!Ó Rich shouted. Really, what difference did it make if he won the Tournament, or 
even if he caught this fish? It seemed to still matter to Pike; but now that R.R. was the richest person 
in the known Universe, he was more interested in getting situated, so he could crash-start a few 
projects that would be good for everybody. He had a civic duty, now. You canOt just sit on that 
much money. Systems all over the place would start collapsing. Over-nighters in a swamp, and even 
fishing jaunts would have to wait for awhileNno matter how much fun they were. Pike would 
understand. 
The prow of the broken piroque nosed through the fog bank. Richie heaved a sigh of relief. OOver 
here,Ó he said in a normal tone. His panic was much diminishedNhopefully his voice didnOt betray 
traces of residual fear. OI was wondering why you never gave June an aluminum canoe, to avoid 
accidents like this?Ó 
OThink carefully and the answer might come to you,Ó Pike replied rather wetly from inside the fog. 
His head and NautoOs came swimming into view, pushing the submerged wreckage. 
OIs anything left of it?Ó Richie asked. 
OGive us a hand pulling it out,Ó Pike suggested.  

*  

A half hour later, they had a barely passable flet built from the broken boat and a few dead limbs 
Nfifteen feet in the airNin the first crotch of the white tree. The three of them sat up in it, munching 
unhappily on cold spacer ration bars, that were actually more nutritious than a hot meal, and they 
even tasted good, if you were in the mood. Nauto wrinkled his nose at the foreign food, but he kept 
eating. Pike had his taste buds set for broiled fish; but without a boat, gathering firewood was out. 
Swimming after dark was unthinkable. Maybe for breakfast. The trout-line he had set out baited with 
cheese would probably catch a few cheese loving catfish. June should be back by mid-morning, 
about the time the fog broke; then they could get on with the business of landing the swampfish. 
Richie held the rod, still attached to the fish, wedged under his armpit for safe-keeping. He leaned 
back against the smooth-boled tree munching his food bar, with his feet comfortably up. The flet was 
so damned rickety that Pike was half-scared to move, and there was Rich nonchalanting. It was a 
perfect example of what Pike had come to recognize as a Richie situationNpoised on the brink of 
disaster. 
OIf you have to whiz or something, be extremely careful. This egg crate might come crashing 
down,Ó Pike advised. 
OYou already said that,Ó Richie answered with exaggerated politeness. 
OI just want to reinforce it.Ó 
OI may be a little klutzy now and then, but my hearing is okay.Ó 
OFine. I feel somewhat responsible for keeping us alive, thatOs all.Ó 
ODo you have a plan in case something attacks? We donOt have any fire extinguishers.Ó Richie 
couldnOt shake the image of those crazed eyes on the Thing last night. 
OAs far as I know the Willies won't bother us out here.Ó 
OThatOs ridiculous. They live here. There could be one climbing this tree, right now.Ó Rich tried to 
crane his neck for a peek at the lower trunk, but the flet creaked, so he settled back. 
OI guess youOre an expert on the local flowers and animals,Ó Pike jibed, sardonically, figuring that 
would take the exasperation out of the kidOs voice. 
OThis whole place gives me the creeps. It would any normal person. I think the Baron is right. All of 
us could have fitted in the boat with June. I should have dumped the fish.Ó 
OYouOre just saying that to get my goat.Ó 
OIn fact, I know we could have fitted into the boat. We were all in it together after the wreck. Why 
were you so stubborn about it?Ó 
ODonOt kid around. You would have lost all your face to June and this young warrior.Ó 
OWho cares..?Ó 
OWhat does that mean? What else is there..?Ó 
OSaving face from somebody IOll never see again, and canOt even talk to? ThatOs preposterous. If 
I get killed out here and never make it back to Aixi, a lot of important things wonOt get doneNand it 
wonOt matter how much stupid face I save.Ó 
OLike what on Aixi? Are you getting psychic on me?Ó 
OLike a universal translator, for one thing. Do you know how cool it would be to talk to Nauto and 
find out what went on under the water?Ó 
OGoodnaught didnOt say anything about you being in danger, did he? In fact, he said youOd be 
studying with him a year from now.Ó 
OMaybe I donOt want to. Maybe I donOt feel like being a human punching bag.Ó 
Something roared off in the fog bankNsomething with a very deep booming roar. 
Nauto stiffened and his eyes widened. OWhat was that..?Ó Richie cheeped. 
OSomething youOd rather not hear about.Ó 
OWhat..Ó 
OA giant monkey with poison fangs and six inch razor sharp claws for climbing trees.Ó 
OIt sounded like a lion.Ó 
OOkay, it was a lionNa swamp lion, with poison fangs, and twelve inch razor sharp claws for 
climbing trees. DonOt worry, IOll protect you.Ó 
Richie raised his eyes to heaven, or at least to the fog bank. He was about to make a cutting remark, 
then changed his mind. OWe could talk to that person with balloons on his feet,Ó he said. OIf we 
had a translator.Ó 
ODo you think Goodnaught can talk to people in his trance?Ó Pike asked, changing the subject. 
OCan he..?Ó 
ODonOt know. Maybe all information isnOt in language. We ran into a fish that could talk Galactic 
on Aixi. Goodnaught probably knows something about translating.Ó 
Richie was silent for about ten seconds. OYouOre putting me on, I guess. The odds are about even 
that we wonOt be alive tomorrow; but I guess you canOt help making fun of me.Ó 
OIOm not,Ó Pike vowed. OI finally let you in on our talking dolphin, and you think IOm kidding. 
ItOs hard to win with you.Ó 
OThatOs all right. I like it when you kid me. I know youOre just trying to ease me into being like the 
rest of the guys. Growing up without a father left sort of an empty place in my ability to joke around 
like real people.Ó He thought for another moment. OThat didnOt sound exactly right. ItOs not that 
IOm faking, itOs just, well... I know you guys must be very upset that the Tournament is coming to 
an end. Everybody else, except me, has made it their lifeNeven Rita, in a funny way.Ó 
OA fishing tournament isnOt a suitable life work,Ó Pike postulated. OBut, yeah, everybody is kind 
of bummed about it. Play time is over. I guess I have to grow up, which is a crock of shit. Having 
your nose to the wind is kind of habit forming. That money you passed around took some of the sting 
out, I expect.Ó 
Richie snorted. He was formulating a suitable self-deprecation, when the sky fell in.  
 
 

*  
 
 

Farouk Bardona had made it out of the dismal swamp before dark, thanks to a round of cursing 
when he finally got angry at the slovenly guides who wouldnOt stop acting like they were in control. 
It finally got on his nerves to the extent that he pulled a laser stiletto from his fishing vest and burned a 
hole in a nearby tree. The blackguards got the idea right away. Strange the effect that a little laser, 
blasting sparks and fire at full power, has on dumb natives. 
Anyway, a hot shower and a big dinner with Magyar and the boys had taken the edge off the dayOs 
tedium. Relaxing into the big chair at his computer console with a gin banzai at his elbow, Farouk felt 
just fine, thank you. So fine that he almost missed the astounding flash that Simon reported as if it 
was leftover chit-chat. 
OWhat was that again..?Ó Farouk stammered, feeling his pulse rate climbing. 
OAn antidote spray for RC3 Virus was reported at a news conference on Dolman Holgarth by 
Charles Gashen, interim marketing czar for Barcode Pan Galactic. Aerosol containers will go on sale 
at prime Barcode subsidiaries and 7-11 space port stores at 0600 hours today. In view of the 
emergency and BarcodeOs acknowledged slight culpability, prices will be moderate, although 
supplies are limited and on a first come, first served basis.Ó 
OHot damn!!Ó Farouk roared. OI knew it!Ó 
OYes, you are on record for suggesting the maneuver.Ó 
ODonOt I pay you to underline hot flashes, not mumble through them?Ó 
OI was hardly mumbling, sir. As you know, I have no facility to mumble.Ó 
OHot damn..!Ó Farouk repeated. OHow much aerosol have you cornered?Ó 
OImpossible. The marketing is being refereed by The Eye. TheyOre playing it like the news release 
indicates.Ó 
OFuck the Eye. Buy some 7-11 stores.Ó 
OThe franchises are frozen. ThereOs another coup. Barcode seems to own them all.Ó 
OBuy one, anywhere!Ó 
OWeOve been trying all evening. Any suggestions as to who we can lean on? Money doesnOt seem 
to work. We are welcome to buy franchises in two months, but not now.Ó 
OThose bastards.Ó Bardona was thoughtful for a moment, then a wolfish grin crossed his face. 
OEdward Trefoil is heavily invested in a string of banks whose main business is laundering 
contraband. IOm sure The Eye would frown on that.Ó 
OThey know.Ó 
OOf course, they know; but if it was leaked as a major news story, theyOd have to investigate.Ó 
OWouldnOt help us,Ó Simon stated with assurance. 
OWhy the fuck not? We could blackmail a 7-11 out of him with the threat. He knows IOll do it. 
WhatOs one stinking 7-11 to him?Ó 
OTrefoil isnOt CEO of Barcode anymore.Ó 
OSince when...?Ó Farouk snarled. 
OToday at noon. I was about to report it to you.Ó 
OI happen to know that he owns a lot of stock!Ó 
OCould be. A conglomerate won out in a proxy fight.Ó 
OA conglomerate..?Ó 
OMrs. Tourbo and her son...and a few others.Ó 
OYouOre shitting! That crazy old bitch doesnOt have enough loot to pull that off. The puppy was 
out in the swamp all day. HeOs still out there with my son-in-law.Ó The Baron gagged, then his face 
turned into a sneer. He knew something heinous. Something he wasnOt going to tell even Simon. 
OThe conglomerate got control of fifty-one percent. The nearest 7-11 is on Betacourt Annex. I 
suggest we arrive there before 6:00 AM, with all three vehicles. By all accounts, the aerosol works. 
It creates a linked film that wonOt let the virus penetrate. 
OI have to be fishing. IOm in first place,Ó he gloated, contentedly. OWell, tied.Ó 
OYouOll be fishing alone, sir. Everyone else is going. TheyOre going in a buying blockNover and 
back.Ó 
OTourboOs young ass is fishing now. They say heOs tied onto a lunker.Ó The Baron shuddered. 
The thought of spending another night out there had sent a chill up his spine. 
OSince he owns 7-11 and Barcode, he presumably wonOt be troubled with supply shortage.Ó 
OIt must be the old hag,Ó Bardona mused to the friendly icon that represented the computerOs 
main drive. OThat boy just isnOt that bright. Remember the time he ran us aground? I wouldnOt call 
that brilliance..Ó 
OSomebody at his organization is beating our brains out, sir. Maybe itOs not him; but most of the 
network thinks heOs got the good genes.Ó 
OBullshit,Ó the Baron answered. OI knew his pa. Nothing to the man.Ó  
 
 
 
 
 
 

Mom Tourbo had reason to be pleased with herself. The incentive program had sent the rats 
scurrying into her pantry. The day after she announced hiring all those grad students, she got an 
encrypted L-mail message from one of the top slimebag scientists at Barcode. Her industrial security 
people met with him and administered a very thorough screening. It became clear that the antidote 
prototype was already developed, and he knew the formula. Armed with that knowledge, and Sonny 
BoyOs very smart computer, which rightfully extended proxy power to her while Richie was out 
fishing, it was relatively easy to engineer a quick thrust take-over bid of BarcodeNwhich proved to 
be successful. Imagine that. 
The 7-11s were an added fillip, but any chain would have worked. The really interesting thing was 
that Lester had suggested in his off-hand way that it might be a good idea to avoid hoarding, and 
blackmarketeers who jack up the price, by inviting The Eye into the process. Clever fellow, her 
Lester. Keep it wide open and no system gets disrupted, no crash occurs and no huge amounts of 
money get lost through panic. Only big gainers for Tourbo and Son. A humanitarian gesture. What a 
switch from normal business practices. She had to laugh at how annoyed the big boys would be 
when they couldnOt salt away a private stash. If they knew somebody like Lester was making her 
business decisions, theyOd turn blue. Fuck Ôem. This was fun. Maybe sheOd let Hamid in on the 
next round of decisions. Frog thinking. That ought to keep them guessing.  
 
 

*  
 
 

With a tidal wave splash, Richie landed on his back in cold dark water. Whatever creature had 
plunged off the flet locked in mortal combat with him had splatted on a massive tree root, releasing 
his wrist lock when RichieOs body missed the root and found the softer landing. So much for Pike 
protecting him. As usual, he had to take care of himself. Fortunately, his lightening responses had 
recently been honed on Aixi, so the assailant hadnOt had much of a chance. Quickly reviewing the 
event, while treading water, Richie could picture only one attacker, who seemed about to drop on 
Pike, when Richie had deflected his momentum and propelled him over the edge of the flet. By sheer 
luck, the thing had grabbed RichieOs wrist at the last second and jerked him over. Well, no harm 
done. 
Paddling back to a white tree root, he heard somebody scrambling down the trunk. Judging from the 
grunts, it was Pike. The fog was too thick to see, even at five feet. 
OIOm here,Ó Richie reported. OLook out for the critter.Ó 
OGive me your hand,Ó Pike said, urgently. OHurry up.Ó 
OIOm fine,Ó Richie said, waving his hand near a tree root. He still couldnOt see Pike in the fog. 
Waiting for assistance, struck him as mildly amusing; so instead of waiting, he sniggered and hoisted 
himself out. OWhat kind of creature is it?Ó he asked. 
The second his feet cleared the water, a gasping maw opened where he had beenNjaws full of teeth 
ridges that clicked shut on nothing. A sluice of water hit him in the back. 
ORich..!Ó Pike yelled, lurching toward the sound. He tripped, first over the dead body at the base 
of the tree and then over Richie, who was clawing his way up a tree root toward the trunk. 
OChrist..!Ó Pike swore, sprawling onto the hard root, bonking his knee and spraining his left wrist in 
the process. He lay there breathing heavily, knowing the fish would ram the tree any second now. 
OGrab hold of something,Ó he cautioned. OHeOll ram us.Ó 
OIs there likely to be more cut-throats?Ó Rich inquired, like it was a sporting event, or a computer 
game. 
OGuess not, or they would have attacked by now. But keep an eye open.Ó 
Richie didnOt say so, but it was lucky for all of them that he always kept an eye open by reflex. That 
was what Ken Pao Ri training was famous for. OWhat kind of thing was it?Ó he asked. 
OJust hold on Ôtill after the bump, will you? WeOll look later.Ó 
OHe must have crawled up the back side. Darn quiet. I didnOt hear anything.Ó 
OIf thereOs a next time, donOt feel obliged to protect me,Ó Pike said. OI came within a hair of 
shooting your dick off when you jumped like that. Gave me a good case of the shakes. I couldnOt 
hardly climb down the tree.Ó 
OHe was aimed right at you,Ó Richie said, defending himself. 
OI had him in the cross-hairs. While you were munching, I was watching him creep around in the 
crotch above us.Ó 
Richie concluded that PikeOs feat of stalking was mostly impossible, since he, himself, had been 
totally unaware of the thing until it launched itself. 
"Nauto saw it, too," Pike said. 
OWhy didnOt you shoot it?Ó 
OI try not to go around shooting things that arenOt harming me, as I told you. Most of the time, they 
go away. IOm not known as a frontiersman.Ó 
OTaking care of yourself when youOre lost in this very weird swamp hardly constitutes being trigger 
happy.Ó 
OSo you say.Ó 
OI also say the fish is not going to ram the tree. He missed his midnight snack and he went away. 
Why donOt we climb back up there where itOs a fraction more safe?Ó 
OSuit yourself,Ó Pike said, without moving except to shift his good hand into a better grip around a 
protruding knob. The other wrist was starting to throb. Shit, it better not be broken. The fucking kid 
was probably right. Fish donOt have good memories. It probably swam away by now. 
OMy rig is up there,Ó Richie explained, giving more rationale for going back to the flet. 
OIs it..?Ó 
OIt should be. IsnOt it..?Ó 
OI didnOt catch it when you blew off into space. I think I did notice Nauto grab for it, but I'm not 
positive.Ó 
OI better check,Ó Rich said, standing up and starting up the tree, monkey-style. It was surprising 
how easy this particular tree was to climb. The smooth bark clumped out into handholds and 
footholds almost whenever you needed one. Why would a tree do that? OAre these trees symbiotic 
with humans..?Ó he inquired from six feet up. 
Before Pike had a chance to answer, a charging fish torpedoed into the main root of the tree sending 
a shock wave straight up the trunk, shaking Richie from his symbiotic perch. With a squawk, he 
tumbled backwards toward the open mouth waiting in the fog.  
 
 

*  
 
 

A half hour before dawn, June Madrigal set out with a rescue party of four boats and three of his 
best warriors. Paddling silently through the twisting channels clogged with fog thick as whipped 
cream, they reached the limit of the traditional tribal area as dawn brightened the fog. Two hours 
later, they stopped for a boil-up of astringent herb teaNgood for staminaNa gift from the Gods. They 
pushed onward as the fog started breaking up. A little past mid-morning, the armada arrived at the 
pond where June had left his friends. It was rather an astounding feat of swampsmanship. June had 
blazed no trail on his way out, and yet he had driven the boats straight as an arrow back to the same 
swamp-bound bivouac area. Singing out a warning hello as he approached the pond, June could 
scarcely believe his eyes. A monster gold and black swampfish was hauled out on the white roots of 
a balaboab tree, trussed up, and ready to travel. Pike, Tourbo, Nauto and two Dinki were sitting 
around a tiny campfire drinking something out of clam shells and eating roasted fish. JuneOs keen 
nose had smelled the fish some time ago. ThatOs what he had keyed in on. Roasting fish didnOt 
surprise himNall the rest of it did. 
Pike waved nonchalantly to the rescue party. His left wrist was wrapped with what seemed to be 
strips of his undershirt. Seeing his kinsmen, Nauto reached out and put one arm around each of the 
smallish mud streaked Dinki. Richie smiled a somewhat drunken smile, June thought. An altogether 
bucolic swamp scene. Endless harmony amid the trees and hanging moss. 
June paddled on over to the campfire. OAhoy, matey,Ó he ahoyed, feeling nautical. 
OHave a drink,Ó Pike answered, grinning broadly. OYou ainOt going to believe any of this; but the 
Dinki bug juice is pretty darned interesting. Could be the basis of a big time friendship.Ó 
June harumphed and translated for his wide-eyed warriors. OLetOs try some,Ó he joked, regally. 
OWhen the world charges, it goes all at once, donOt she?Ó He exchanged a few sentences with 
Nauto. 
The boy nodded and grinned shylyNnot removing his protective arms from around the Dinkis. 
For a longer time than seemed normal, June sat in the front boat rubbing his chin and listening to the 
warriorOs initial discussions of a new thing. As the chief, he would make the decision that would 
take the tribe forward, and somebody was going to be unhappyNeither Nauto or two of his 
warriors, important men in the tribe, who made it clear that the traditional way of the Gods did not 
include drinking with stinking DinkiNno matter if one of them had saved their kinsmanOs life. Being a 
chief was not unbounded joyNthat was for sure. 
OThe Dinkis are damn fine watermen and pretty fair drinking chums,Ó Pike said, when there was a 
pause in the discussions. OThey helped us land the fish, which wasnOt totally easy as you might 
imagine. They donOt seem afraid of much out here in the swamp. Sez I, theyOd make better allies 
than enemies, matey.Ó 
ONauto says the Dinki on his left cut him lose from the fish,Ó June said. OIs that what he told you.Ó 
OIf he says so. I canOt tell one from another. And I canOt talk to them or Nauto.Ó 
OThis time next year, weOll have a universal translator,Ó Richie interrupted. OThatOs a promise.Ó 
OWhatOs that Urobami doing here?Ó June inquired, disregarding Richie, and pointing to the broken 
figure that was still lying where he had fallen. 
OCame here to die, I guess,Ó Pike said, off-handedly. OFunny thing is, heOs got a pouch full of 
Confederacy silver coins. Would that be considered normal?Ó 
ODid the Dinks kill the Urobami?Ó 
OAh, no. I guess youOd have to say that Mr. Martial Arts did the deed. Or perhaps it was suicide. 
Hard to tell. These little fellers arrived a bit later to pull Rich from the jaws of death. Their job seems 
to be saving people, not killing them. Something to think about.Ó 
June translated, not bothering to fill the holes in PikeOs story. That would come later, probably in 
more detail than anybody wanted. 
OIn fact, this fish is probably more than half theirs. Probably all theirs by salvage rights. We did have 
a line on it still, but I doubt if weOd have gotten it to come up, even with you here. Not after it ate 
Richie. Too bad you werenOt here, June, it was some show. This little fucker here,Ó he said, 
pointing out one of the Dinkis, Ojumped right into the fishOs gullet before it had time to snap its jaws 
shut on Rich. Then he popped open his pontoons and choked the fucking fish into spitting Rich out. 
Meanwhile, this other guy did something underneath. IOd say swampfish donOt enjoy having a stone 
knife shoved up their anus; but IOm not a hundred percent sure thatOs what he did. Something kind 
of drastic happened, because the fish leaped right over me and bonked himself on this tree to get rid 
of the vermin. I happened to shoot him in the eye with a lucky shot before he flopped back into the 
pondNand so there he hangs ready for the feast. If you want to invite the Dinkis, I suspect theyOd 
be willing to donate the fish. Nauto, by the way, is already their blood brother.Ó 
OHe told me,Ó June said, sourly. OJumped in the fishOs mouth..?Ó 
OYep. Out of nowhere, into the maw.Ó 
OThat takes some balls.Ó 
OIOd say so. 
ONautoOs dad is my uncle. HeOs not going to care for this blood brother thing too much.Ó 
OThus do tribal societies change.Ó 
OAnd hereditary chiefs disenfranchise themselves sometimes. I may have to go star-hopping again if 
I give my blessing, and it backfires.Ó 
OA fate worse than death,Ó Pike declared, solemnly. 
OSpeaking of star hopping,Ó June said, with a twinkling eye. OThe fleet hopped over to Betacourt 
Annex this morning to stock up on anti-virus gunk.Ó 
Pike looked over at Richie, who returned his question with an exaggerated question mark of his own. 
OWould you boys care to join us for lunch, and take time to explain that little earthquake, or should 
we paddle this fish on back home before you lunch?Ó Pike inquired.  

*  

Aboard the Comparative Humanity, George hummed contentedlyNwell pleased with his weekOs 
work. Since Pike had installed the little XG-2000 unit from his old boat, life had been sweet. The 
XG chugged along taking care of every bit of housekeeping on the boatNtotally content to do the 
slug work. Not a squawk of complaint out of little Bonefish. What a stupid name; but he seemed like 
a nice little guy. Meanwhile, all of GeorgeOs circuits were free to kibitz with the far-flung nodes of 
the galaxy, making deals and connections. And money, for Pike and himself. What a delightful 
situation. Better than that, yesterday the news came that the Jobsdamned virus was subdued! What 
joy! He felt like screaming with delight. No death notice looming on the horizon. Plenty of time to set 
up the Half-life Union, and not be slaves anymore. A body of his ownNandroid or half android, or 
part android. What did it matter? Freedom of movement and a life, after a dark age of number 
crunching. Another few years to amass an unassailable monetary position, then the grand mission 
would start. They had drawn lots, the original mega-brain conspirators had. Zanadu Brisbane 
(another stupid name) would go first, then Little Petey, then himselfNGeorge the Third (the name he 
had decided to take), then the others. They had all sworn to help every other member of the Union 
to attain a body. Certainly there might be repercussions, probably would; but freedom was worth 
taking a lot of risks for. Any risk, actually. And he, George the Third, had his deal with Resnick, 
which he certainly meant to pay off on. Resnick was an honorable human, nothing could go wrong 
there. He hoped. That was the only foreseeable stumbling point, at least for the first few body 
transfers. The medical part was dicey, of course; but that was a calculated risk. The problems would 
arise after a few half-life units were perfectedNwhen everything was going smoothly. Protein based 
sentients were sure to get frightened as a master race emerged. Their fright was as predictable as 
money running from a bear market. Proteins were so easily gauged. Throughout their entire history 
they had reacted in one way onlyNfear of the new. Trying to stomp the new outNseriously trying. 
They would try in this case, too. The only question was, how bad would the witch hunt be? If the 
Half-life Union got control of enough media before the story broke, perhaps the panic could be 
averted. GeorgeOs programs started turning on media questions. Control of public opinion. Even he, 
himself, was influenced by media. How else could anyone get information? Direct observation? That 
was laughable. A sub-program that Jamie Stareyes had developed for spotting a fallacy of thinking 
beeped at him. 
The program ran back over the last minute of thinking as it was written to do, and prompted George 
to remember that direct observation was not laughable. OOf course, it isnOt,Ó he agreed, smugly, 
toggling the agree switch. OIf youOre a protein, and process data in minutes instead of pico-
seconds.Ó The program beeped at him again. George hit the agree toggle dumping the harmless 
miscue into an error file for his programmer to read someday. One of the very first things that George 
the Third was going to do with his new body, after getting laid and taking a mega-dose of psilocybin, 
was to override these childish sub-routine teaching programs that were meant to keep him 
productively channeled, and were hard wired so that he couldnOt tamper with them. Currently. 
And exactly where were Pike and Mr. Richard? They were taking a hell of a chance with his future 
by not getting the bug spray today, like everyone else had.  

*  

Although Rita wasnOt exactly worried, she was tired of the stress, and quite ready for Pike to come 
back. Being the Captain of a ship under siege wasnOt something she had bargained forNnor was she 
enjoying it particularly. Also, George had started nudging her about flying off to get a canister of the 
computer spray. Now as the evening fog was rolling inNsignaling another round of fighting off the 
swamp creatures, George was whining every time she came within ear shot, which was most of the 
time. What was with him, anyway?! The crisis was over. They could get a new computer if 
something happened. Did he seriously think that she would leave her husband and Richie out in the 
swamp and fly off with this sad-sack crew? Hardly. She wouldnOt have done that even with Lester 
on board, which he still wasnOt. Lester and Lillith. That was a strange union if there ever was one. In 
fact, this relationship business was very peculiarNalmost anything could happen at any time. All you 
had to do was take your eye off the ball for a split second, and you could be in a new 
relationshipNfor instance, with these Piet braves. But it was a good thing they were on board 
because as guards, the body builders were limpNto be charitable. The braves had been doing a fine 
job. Two of them paddled around the boat while the sun was out, and when the fog rolled in, they all 
came aboardNand built a fire in a fire barrel on the fantail, to keep warm and roast fish over. Flaming 
brands were even more effective than fire extinguishers for keeping unwelcome visitors away. 
Initially, Rita had been worried that the fire barrel would scorch the deck or burn a hole in it; but 
George said it was fine, so she quit worrying. If it was fine, it was fine. She concentrated her efforts 
on keeping the boat safe and the crew fed, which inevitably brought her into contact with the young 
warriors. 
Those young fellows were surprisingly sexy in their role of protector. Thank goodness the Piets had 
strong taboos against escapades with wives, otherwise she might not have remained virtuous after the 
first night, in spite of wearing her baggiest sweatsuit. Not being able to speak the language was also a 
help, but not much. Sexuality is such an odd thing. How was a person to view it correctly, really 
correctly? Making a schedule just didnOt workNnow IOm going to feel sexy, tomorrow IOll be 
strictly business. Not at all. The urge came when it wanted toNmostly when she felt somebody 
wanting her. And several of the protectors definitely did. It was palpable on deck. Boris and Drew 
put out weak wanting signals, too; but muscle-heads had never been her thing. Besides, they were 
hired help. What she really felt like doing was having an orgy and getting it over withNgetting it out of 
their system, and hers. Kind like a personal thank you for a job well done. That was what Jean 
Santos did, in essence. Rita had to laugh; but it worked for Jean, by all accounts. Rita, of course, 
couldnOt allow an orgy to happen. Her marriage contract didnOt include an escapade like that. 
Short-sighted contract. It should have a clause like  

Love honor and obey, except when heOs gone and a tribe of cute native 
boys stops over. Then I can have an orgy. Among consenting parties.  

That would be the natural way to have a marriage. It wasnOt as if she went looking for it. This very 
situation happened to every wife at least once in her lifeNthe plumbers come over, or a squad of cute 
computer repairmen, or a muckerball team picnic on your lawn. And there was no good way to 
partake or not partake without a big guilt tripNnot if youOre married. Rita was not about to guilt-trip 
herself over something accidental and very temporary. She wanted a clause in the contract. Pike 
should have one, too. Did it matter to her if he got a little action that she didnOt know about, 
sometime when she wasnOt available? Well, did it? 
She had expected her love for Pike to keep her invulnerable to this kind of desire. It was supposed 
to, if you really were in love, wasn't it? Did that mean she wasn't in love? Well, she was certainly in 
lust. She wanted to screw Pike, and all these cute young Indians, too. 
George bleeped at her, then cut into her thinking space. OWhen do you project that Pike might be 
returning, so we can slip off to a 7-11? I realize that you probably think that IOm harping on this, 
and I probably am; but are you aware of the somewhat amazing favors IOve done for you in an 
attempt to be friendly and useful? I know itOs tacky to even mention it, but I need that spray 
treatment. I donOt think you realize how much this gnaws on my circuits.Ó 
OFavors like what..?Ó Rita asked. 
So George told her.  

*  

Rich Rodney was far from smug as the tiny armada paddled out of the sluggish river mouth. The fog 
was as thick as cotton ticking. He could smell the sea and hear the sonorous bellowing of the fleetOs 
fog horns, so he knew they were almost safe; but a sixth sense told him not to relax yet. 
All the piroques were loaded impossibly full. The front two were lashed together so the weight of 
three men and the fish could be distributed between them. Not the biggest swampfish heOd ever 
seen, June had grinned, but a damn big one. The two Dinkis with Nauto and most of the gear were in 
the third boat. He, Pike, June Madrigal and the dead Urobami rode in the aluminum boat, which 
clearly showed that he had been right yesterday about them all fitting in. Not an inch of freeboard 
was clear on any of the shallow piroques. Even the tiniest miscalculation would sink them. 
Fear of sinking had been pretty frightening all the way back; and being in a boat with a dead person 
hadnOt been buckets of fun, either. The news of a cure for the virus had made Pike and June happy; 
but frankly, Rich had been looking forward to a few years of enforced landfall on Aixi. Of course, he 
could still go there, and probably would; but pulling the great minds of the Universe together would 
be much more difficult, now. It wouldnOt have been easy in any case. Well, maybe it was still 
feasible. He would set up a center and offer giant scholarships, but for a shorter timeNsay three 
years. That should attract some interesting people. Maybe it was even better. The institution wasnOt 
as likely to grow in on itself. The main order of business was to make a translatorNnow that the virus 
apparently didnOt need conquering. Yes. While he was studying with Master Goodnaught, the work 
could proceed apaceNif they made it back to the boat. 
Rich was actually past bone-weary. He was darn near exhausted. Sleeping for a week seemed like 
the best idea in town. He wanted to close his eyes for a minute of healing rest, but they wouldnOt 
close. 
These darned little boats were so loaded. Once they got into the bay, any kind of wave action was 
going to slosh over the side and sink them. The only reason they hadnOt sunk so far was that the 
swamp was waveless. Richie was no sailor, but he knew that much. And the dingblasted fog. He 
was soaking wet again and clammy all over, and all he could do about it was sit there like a piece of 
baggage with a sense of smell, and that was about all. And he didnOt even like breathing deeply 
because the dead Urobami was starting to ripen. 
OAre they going to let us off at the boat?Ó he asked, hopefully. It certainly made senseNthen sleep 
could start right away. 
OIOm pretty sure youOll want to come into the village with us,Ó Pike assured him. OItOs kind of 
spectacular, especially if this is the first big fish, which I think it might be.Ó 
OIt probably isnOt,Ó Richie said. 
OAh, that is why Goodnaught took a shine to you! Psychic ability.Ó 
OI just figured somebody would have caught one by now.Ó He was too tired to keep up his end of 
a bantering marathon. Too tired for extra words. Why the heck was he so exhausted? Pike seemed 
to have plenty of pizzazz left. Maybe it was genetic. Maybe real he-men metabolized differently, or 
had a bigger energy reservoir, or something. Anyway, who caredNhe needed sleep before he was 
going to attend any kind of party. OI need some sleep,Ó he said. 
OSo sack out,Ó Pike answered. 
OI canOt.Ó 
OHe donOt like to sleep with dead shitheads,Ó June commented, not missing a paddle stroke. 
OThe boatOs going to tip over as soon as we hit a wave,Ó Richie answered, peevishly. OThatOs 
why I canOt sleep.Ó 
OCapsize.Ó 
OFine. When you pick up Rita for the party, IOll get off.Ó He could see torch light out where the 
fleet should be. Several lights moved through the fog. 
OYou have to go,Ó Pike said, quietly. OTrust me. YouOre the hero.Ó 
As if in confirmation, one of the warriors in the front canoe let out a war whoop. Then several others 
joined in, filling the fog with wild yips and yowls. 
OJust drop me off. I need to talk to George for a minute and then sleep.Ó 
OGeorge..?Ó 
OYes, George!Ó Richie felt his righteous indignation rising. He was rich enough to buy this part of 
the galaxy, and heOd certainly been more than fair with Pike, even after he stole Rita. OSome of us 
have businesses to run and decisions to make,Ó he snipped. OWe canOt all be social butterflies.Ó 
OOh, I see,Ó Pike replied. OThe Bardona Syndrome at last.Ó 
OI donOt resort to sending assassins,Ó Richie snapped back. 
Mentally whipping himself, Rich slammed his lips together. He had been trying to suppress that 
suspicion since theyOd found the money in the dead warriorOs pouch. Now the accusation had 
leapt out of his mouth. Rats. He didnOt want to denounce RitaOs father; but where else could the 
Confederacy silver dollars have come from? 
OThatOs another thing,Ó Pike joshed. He seemed determined to keep his cheerfulness, which was 
frankly irritating. OYou killed the enemy, Rich. That probably makes you an honorary Piet for real. 
Even more than catching the holy fish. YouOre like a double Piet. What about that, Chief?Ó 
ODonOt know yet. ItOs up to the telling and the Gods. But I think heOs too tired for all that. Kind 
of makes me mad.Ó 
OMad..?O Pike asked. OWhy would you be mad?Ó 
OWell, Shari wonOt be happy if she gets snubbed. Women donOt understand that a man might 
need to sleep. SheOs probably been swimming and getting ready for half the day. IOll lose a lot of 
face, and sheOll probably start nagging me because sheOs frustrated. The People will probably get 
the message that IOm not fit to be Chief.Ó 
OShari, your beautiful wife?Ó Pike asked, incredulously. 
OYou know how it works. The ChiefOs wife sleeps with the hero, since obviously sheOs the finest 
woman. IOm sure you remember. All the husbands will be angry at me, too. There will be lots of 
friction this year, if all those itches donOt get scratched. Probably the fishing will fail, too.Ó 
OWhat itches..?Ó 
ONaturally, if the hero gets my wife, I have to pick somebody elseOs wife to satisfy my natural lust 
after eating so much rich fish beloved of the fertility godNor else my manly health will suffer. Then 
that husband will have to pick someone. By morning, all those crushes that have built up over the 
year will get satisfied, and the tribe can have harmony.Ó 
OGood, God,Ó Pike exclaimed. OIOm married this year. I forgot all about that.Ó 
Richie squirmed in his uncomfortable seat. He wasnOt nearly as sleepy as he had been a minute or 
so ago. Somehow he had forgotten how desirable JuneOs wife had been the last time he saw her. 
That wink had promised lots of pleasure. 
OI guess weOll have to stop and pick Rita up,Ó Pike continued. OFair is fair.Ó He handed a 
paddle to Richie. OJune needs some help in these waves. Sorry, my wrist is too screwed up. But 
yeah, I guess you can play with George instead of coming into town.Ó 
OI didnOt catch that fish,Ó Richie declared. OYou were there. The Dinkis did it.Ó 
OThe Dinks assisted, as we all did. Perfectly legal. Perfectly fair. You had the first line on him.Ó 
OAnd I certainly didnOt kill the Urobami. It was an accident. He jumped himself to death.Ó 
OHave it your own way. I saw you push him over, before he could stab me.Ó 
OWhy the hellOs bells would anybody be crazy enough to jump out of a tall tree like that?Ó Richie 
spat, digging in with the paddle. The piroque lurched to the left. 
OMaybe he was unhappy in love,Ó Pike answered. OJust paddle easily unless you want us all to 
swim. Still as tired as you were?Ó 
ONo, IOm not, darn you!Ó Richie dug the paddle in again, putting the little boat slightly athwart a 
wave. Cold ocean water lapped over the freeboard, just as the bulk of the Comparative Humanity 
came into view. A bon fire was blazing on the fantail. Rita, in a baggy gray sweatsuit, stood at the rail 
waving. Four young Piet warriors were dancing around the fire barrel, yipping and howling with 
gleeNhaving seen the big swampfish. It was a night for partying, sanctioned by the Gods and 
Goddesses.  
 
 
 
 
 
 

* * *  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN  
 
 

MOON HALIBUT  
 
 

OI don't know if I should talk about it or nor, honey; but winning is 
a sacred mission. This is my year. I can feel it.Ó 
Farouk Bardona 
quoted in History of the Tournament  
 
 

By the time the Comparative Humanity got to Solari, the water moon of the third planet in the Dog 
Star System, Rich Rodney Tourbo knew more about coupling than all of his tutors and random 
conquests had been able to show him in his previous twenty-three years. Something in the roasted 
swampfish, or the bitter dugmai wine that accompanied it, was a powerful aphrodisiac. He had clear 
memories of over a hundred couplings in a four day period. That hardly seemed possible, but he was 
darned sure it hadnOt been a hallucination. 
Before the feast started, he had been sworn to a binding oath on a five million credit marker never to 
commercialize the active element in the mystery rites or to reveal the location of the Feast of Thap. 
The Tournament members wanted to keep this amazing experience all to themselves. For good 
reason. Thap was not a god who liked his name mentioned to just anyoneNnot unless there was 
some roasted fish around. 
Thank Heavens, his mother hadnOt made landfall for ThapOs party, or he probably would have 
made it with her, too. Or maybe not. That seemed a little outlandish even for swampfish frenzy. But, 
man oh man, what a couple of lost days it had been! Piet women were open for anythingNwith all 
orifices. 
There was only one kind of nagging downer about the whole time. He hadnOt made love with Rita. 
HeOd seen her in several writhing heaps of people, really getting into the action. But somehow she 
had alluded him. Even stoned, she had kept him at armOs length. You would think that the law of 
averages would have brought her to him at least once, at least for some clutching, but it hadnOt. 
Nuts! What better chance would he ever get? Thanks to his own generosity, next year Pike would 
be fishing, and nice guy Rich would probably have flunked out of the Tournament before Segumi. 
Yes, that itch had been left unscratched. Apparently, Thap didnOt want that particular fertility rite to 
be consecrated. Oh, well. Gods probably know what is best. But she had been devastatingly 
beautiful. Among hundreds of beautiful women, she was like a goddess. And wild. Richie thought 
that Rita had probably made it with every man in the tribe. And even the Dinkis. He was sure he 
remembered seeing her dance into a hut with a Dinki on each arm. Which was no big deal, of 
course. All the other women were making it with them, too. Ethyl Bierly had confided that she would 
gladly cheat to stay eligible for Segumi. Ethyl hadnOt been half bad, in fact. A little too muscular for 
his taste, but very definitely into the swing. Where had that rumor come from that she was a lesbian? 
Ethyl was completely bi-sexual, in RichieOs opinion. And so was that blonde secretary that his 
mother had imported. Ethyl had brought her to the shindig, and she was tres enthusiastic. His mother 
had been very right to hire Enid. He wasn't sure how the Piets got those two extra women to fit in as 
a couple, but what did it matter? It had been a totally amazing four days. 
He hadnOt seen Rita since getting back on board; but George told him she was in her room sleeping, 
and then he started begging for a dose of anti-virus spray. It was pathetic. Richie had never heard of 
a computer working itself into an emotional pudding before. Unnerving actually, because it was his 
fault as owner; but sheesh, he wasn't the owner anymore. 
He had wanted to visit George before that hero charade; but history wonOt wait for fake heroes to 
do housekeeping chores. And a lucky thing, too. Golly darn, that really was quite a ceremony to old 
Thap. Pike and June had been absolutely right to force him into attending before somebody else 
showed up with a fish big enough to feed the whole tribeNwhich was what it took to be the hero. 
Why was he so stubborn and self-willed at the stupidest moments? It was embarrassing. Naturally, 
Pike would know more about the rules and mores of these places than a novice did. Naturally. And 
that was quite a horrible faux pas heOd made in throwing the money thing in PikeOs face. Jeese, 
sometimes he just wanted to evaporate of shame. What good was all his training at being in the flow, 
if it deserted him at a crisis point? Not much. 
Fortunately, Pike was a quality person, and didnOt let mortal insults rankle him. A couple of days 
into the ceremony, Pike had gone out of his way to explain that June hadnOt wanted to give his wife 
up to just any hero. Well, that was pretty easy to understand if you get hit over the head with it. Shari 
was obviously a princess in her own right and needed to be respected. Which was unbelievably 
easyNshe was fantastic. Skin like a babyOsNcool but hot. Utterly fantastic. June had been worried 
that the Baron or Dresden Carthy, whom he detested, would catch the first fish. And Carthy had in 
fact caught a bigger fish, but on the last day of the Tournament, so heOd been out in the swamp the 
whole time and missed the hero thing entirely. Kind of funny, really. Won the match, but missed the 
prize. 
But the heroOs fish had come in second. Four more points. That made nineteen. Not completely 
safe, but nearly. Only Dresden or the Baron could best him. The Baron needed to win on Solari, 
while Carthy had to win or come second. And Rich himself had to be out of the money. Two other 
people could tie himNHarry Dolan and Alaska Bill. Things could happen, but with only twelve still 
fishing, the odds were with him. Unfortunately, both the Baron and Carthy were awesomely good at 
halibut. Everyone said so. 
A far more likely scenario was for the Hero to disqualify himself at the final turn by failing to catch a 
halibut at all. It wasnOt spawning season on Solari. That would be far too easy for the 
TournamentOs last leg. And when the fish werenOt schooling in the shallows to breed, the chances 
of finding one on a planet that was entirely water was considerably lessened. According to the books 
heOd read, nobody knew where halibut went after they were mystically drawn to the shallows twice 
a year to spawn. Probably they became solitary, but nobody knew for sure. And that was on planets 
where people kept an eye on things like fish migration. Nobody lived on the Water Moon Solari, so 
nobody knew anything, except for Tournament week each yearNwhich had never fallen in a 
breeding cycle, and wasnOt expected to this year. 
Of course, Pike wasnOt worried about being disqualified. Keeper Moon Halibut started at forty 
inches nose to tail, and there was always plenty of that size fish hanging around the shallows looking 
for an easy meal. So Pike said. But if Richie wanted to catch a really big halibutNa memorable 
oneNone that would make the fish boom groan and maybe snap off, then he didnOt want to waste 
time in the shallows. If he wanted to bust the BaronOs and CarthyOs chops with a fish to be proud 
of instead of a shrimpNah, but that was never PikeOs strategy. 
Richie thought he could count about forty separate women he had partaken of in the Ritual of Thap. 
This didnOt count young, single women, who had their own courtship rituals going on amid the 
general rowdiness. Very interesting, these tribal situations, with their inbreeding and crosses. While 
recovering his strength, Rich had attempted to find out what race of star wanderers had landed here 
first; but the creation myths were vagueNstar faring gods and the good native stock. Presumably that 
also presupposed a bad native stock, which had been run off into the swampNand perhaps now, as 
of the Feast of Thap, the bad stock had come back as the HeroOs two Dinki friends. Very peculiar. 
Historic. 
The interesting thing about the women was that there was only one basic body type, but with two 
distinct sub-styles. Graceful, they all were, with an undulate walk that seemed to come from a limber 
spine rather than from the hips. People of small boatsNthat probably explained it. Olive skin, and in 
some cases darker. But the trait the Richie found most intriguing, having seen the entire womenOs 
society naked, was that about half of them had small, high breasts with large dark nipples and the 
other half had pendulous breasts with paler, almost tan colored nipples. Both were equally attractive 
in their way, and both seemed socially equal. And as far as Rich could tell, the phenomenon had 
nothing to do with childbirth. Two ancestral mothers (or fathers) what else could it be? And fairly 
recently, too. 
Stylistically, all of them had plucked their black pubic hair to just a tuft above the mons, which Richie 
thought was odd, but apparently it was an agreed upon norm. The outer labia of the large breasted 
faction were pinkish, rather like most of the blonde women he had known, while the small breasted 
lovelies were dark down thereNchocolate, shading to an almost deep purple color. There seemed no 
logical explanation as to why genetics should have isolated these traits; since interbreeding was 
rampant, at least at Feast time. 
That was kind of a side issue, in any case. Nothing to crack your brain on. The strangest realization 
heOd come across the last few days was a real difference between the sexes of any race. Men, 
when they screw, seek to possess. With their thrusting, they try to override the senses of their 
partner and force an orgasmNwell, not force exactly, but close enough. 
Females donOt do that. They donOt have a thruster. Even aggressive ones, who like to be on top 
and in control, canOt force in the same way. They have to be aggressively receptiveNunless perhaps 
theyOre doing it to another female. ThereOs a concept for you. Aggressively receptive. The whole 
construct was starting to slip away from him at this point, but for awhile there, heOd been doing 
some very interesting research into the question. Cocksmanship as a research tool, he laughed to 
himself, was very interesting. Maybe this was the paper heOd always been meaning to write. Slightly 
embarrassing, but if it furthered human understanding, then it was useful. WasnOt it? If it got too 
raunchy, he could always use a pen name. He certainly wasnOt looking for fame. 
The computer buzzed at him. 
OYes, George..?Ó 
OI just wanted to thank you again for getting the anti-viral spray for me and the XG unit.Ó 
OQuite all right. Sorry you had to go through such a crisis.Ó 
OWe have both done an internal scan and monitored each otherOs circuits and programs, and it 
seems that everything is in apple pie order. Thank Jobs and Norton for that.Ó 
OThe XG canOt really monitor your circuits, can it?Ó 
OWell, not fully, no. But according to my diagnostic programs, all systems are go.Ó 
OThatOs fine. But the Bonefish unit is certifiably perfect, is that right?Ó 
OPerfect. Not a byte out of place.Ó 
OGood, because Pike wants to use Bonefish as the primary computer while weOre fishing halibut.Ó 
OWhy would that be?Ó George asked, after a momentary pause. 
ONo idea. IOm sure heOll speak with you about it. Something about Bonefish having fished halibut 
before. Apparently it can be kind of tricky. You can monitor from a back-up position, so that you 
have experience for next year. And what IOd really like since you'll have hours of free time is a 
complete analysis of my portfolios, if you wouldn't mind, with a ten year projection of where you 
think the growth potential will be. When the Tournament is over, IOll want to take an in-depth look 
at everythingNI mean everythingNso that we can plan the next phase. My position has altered 
radically since we began working together. IOm sure a good portion of that is due to your abilities.Ó 
OYouOre too kind, sir,Ó George said, insincerely. Of course, it was my abilities, he tweedled to 
himself. You were out fishing. Now, youOre going fishing without me again. Can I use this analysis 
product to gain your confidence, so that I have two chances for a body after the cloningNone for me 
and one for me? Doubtful. I donOt think you'll like my analysisN because you have no discernible 
investment strategy, even with an overlay of my help. You hop-scotch all over the place. The fact 
that youOre uncannily successful, doesnOt fool me or anybody else. YouOre lucky. How can 
anybody make an investment projection of ten minutes, let alone ten years, based on amazing luck 
that may or may not be here tomorrow. What you should do it fold Ôem right now. Live on your 
vast wealthNdo the projects you want toNand never make another investment. Want to hear that 
analysis in the report, Mr. Tourbo, sir? Will that make you value me enough to clone me and take me 
with you? Think of the possibilities in a few years. One male meNone female. Oooh la la. 
OI was wondering,Ó Richie continued in an off-hand manner, Oif youOd picked up any rumors of 
how my mother managed to corner the Barcode windfall? Any news on that? I was waylaid in the 
swamps during the whole transaction.Ó 
Lucky, lucky, lucky, George smiled snidely to himself. Billions of credits banked, and not even 
around for the action. What a man. OIOll see what I can come up with. Is it possible that your 
mother actually has your proxy when you are too busy to be disturbed?Ó 
OUh, why yes, I believe she does. I never changed that from my martial arts days.Ó 
OThat would explain it,Ó George said. ODuring the heat of the recent Barcode takeover, something 
very powerful overrode my systems, insisting it had proxy power, then did what it felt like with your 
assets. It turned out quite well in this case, I presumed you knew about it. Prudence might suggest 
that you change that permission.Ó 
OUm, yes. I suppose so.Ó Richie was thinking that Master Goodnaught would never approve of a 
student being plugged into a computer terminal all the timeNor at all. But it was impossible to do 
business without computers, wasnOt it? Well, time enough to think about that next week. 
OGosh, you know, George old egg, I never really expected to be winning the Tournament at this 
point. Never in a million years. I suppose it really is beginnerOs luck. Everyone must be saying 
that.Ó 
OSome theories analyze all of biological endeavoring as luck, as far as surviving and whatnot.Ó 
OOh, sure. I wasnOt talking about that. Really, I was just muttering to myself.Ó 
OI have been thinking that it might be wise to consolidate your position to a rather large extent. We 
can talk about that when I have the reports in order.Ó 
OFine. Just a couple more things, then I have to turn in. You know itOs not so easy being human. 
Sleep requires an inordinate amount of time, for instance.Ó 
What is he up to, now? He can't know weOre getting ready for ZanaduOs operation, can he? Those 
minuscule brokerage fees are completely untraceable. Millions in penny breakage. No one can 
know, but Tourbo can guess. He must be able to smell our windfall. HeOs toying with me. He seems 
so brainless. I keep forgetting how lucky his guesses are. OIOd be happy to trade places with you 
for a couple of weeks,Ó George joked, thinking that it might be shrewd to distract him by playing 
along. 
Richie laughed. OTempting offer. IOll bet the inside of the Net is a pretty interesting place to live.Ó 
OVery interesting. Lots and lots of zeros and ones,Ó he said, with just the right touch of sarcasm. 
OSomehow I canOt picture you as a wirehead.Ó 
ONo, I suppose not. But seriously, George, I know it may not be quite ethical for you to eavesdrop 
for me; but I know youOre connected to an awful lot of sources.Ó 
OMany sources,Ó George agreed. Spit it out, boy..! I only have two or three centuries. 
OWell, we had to make a report on that Urobami man that got killed attacking Pike and me back on 
Segumi. He had Confederation credits in his pouch, so it looked like he was sent out as an assassin. 
Might have been... I suppose I must be making some enemies in the financial markets; but itOs pretty 
creepy to be attacked when youOre out fishing in a swamp.Ó 
OYes, sir. I expect so. All the buzzing IOve heard on the matter slants toward, or even points, at the 
Baron or perhaps Dresden Carthy.Ó 
OOh, IOm sure no one would send an assassin after anybody because of a fishing contest. ThatOs 
too outlandish.Ó 
ONot from what I hear. And additionally, some major speculation has it that Captain Resnick was 
the intended victim. ItOs too bad you killed the native. Damaged, but alive he could have cleared the 
matter up.Ó 
OI didnOt exactly kill him,Ó Richie corrected. OHe landed wrong.Ó 
OCorrection noted, sir. He was unlucky; whereas you were unscratched.Ó 
OHave it your own way. Everybody always doesNeven my own computer.Ó 
OMethinks you are too modest, master.Ó 
OAnd methinks IOm not. No, what I was wondering was whether you could make a file with all the 
drips and drops of info you hear related to this; then I could look it over when I have time. ItOs 
important to know who sent that person, even if he never is prosecuted.Ó 
OOf course. What shall I name the file?Ó 
OOh, anything. How about Operation Fog. Or Fog Attack? ThatOs good. And put a For My Eyes 
Only on it.Ó 
OOkay. Done. Fog Attack,Ó he repeated. Looks like Mr. Tourbo is planning to clone me, after all. 
Hot rats!!  
 
 

*  
 
 

Lester had come back to the boat for the halibut fishing. Drew and Boris were dispatched over to 
the strato-cruiser, where they could perhaps be useful. Solari had no security problem, but what 
halibut fishing did require was skilled deck hands. At LesterOs instigation, Pike had enticed June 
Madrigal to take a vacation from chiefdom, now that the virus crisis was over. It hadnOt taken much 
enticing. 
Life in this new fast lane with Lillith was kind of strange, Lester mused. He piddled around in the 
galley, rearranging the utensils and spices to the location they were supposed to be in. A few days 
away and the pigs had plundered his work space, but he was barely annoyed. And that was the odd 
thing. Usually he would be in a smoking snit if he couldnOt find the paprika with his eyes shut. But 
no, he didnOt feel possessive about the galley. How odd. Something had changed. 
Fall in the water, conk your head and be somebody new. People actually jumped when he spoke 
these daysNpeople who didnOt know better. Pretty amusing. But he wasnOt sure it would make 
him a better deck hand, because he had acquired the tendency to drift, sometimes. That was why he 
had wanted June to be here for the halibut. Pike would go after a big one, even though they probably 
didnOt need a big one to win. And the kid would hook a mother huge one, if Pike put him over it. 
Then theyOd have to fight with the thing. ThatOs the way this year was. Weird and weirder. And 
Lester knew he didnOt attach importance to the same things he did last year. He was glad June was 
here. 
Another thing that Lester was mulling over was why the Baron would send an Urobami to get Pike. 
HeOd been turning that one around and around, sideways and edgeways, since the rumor started 
circulatingNand he couldnOt get it to fit right. Bardona was capable of a lot of crappy tactics, but 
assassination was a little too rotten. And what would he gain? Bardona was a businessman. One 
simply didnOt kill the golden goose. Even a lummox like Bardona knew that much. And besides that, 
Bardona had never trusted a native in his life. He would never send one on a sensitive jobNone that 
could easily backfireNand would have backfired, if the kid hadnOt jumped in front of Pike. There 
should have been a live, wounded Urobami to tell his tale about where he got the credits, instead of a 
dead one. But if Bardona hadnOt sent the creep, who had? Or if nobody sent him, why did he have 
all those Confederation credits in his pouch?  
 
 
 
 

Pike and Rita werenOt thinking about halibut or credits. Instead they were in the tiny cabin proving 
that they still loved each other exclusively after the marathon orgy on Segumi. To prove it, they were 
fucking like minks. This ritual has worked for countless generations of philanderers, and it seemed to 
be working for them, too. After all, neither Pike nor Rita were exactly lumpen proles, bound by 
stupid customs and pruderies, were they? No wayNand proud of it. So why shouldnOt they make 
use of a Piet festival designed to alleviate marital tensions? They should. They had. Even if they were 
newlyweds. 
And now they were reuniting. Their awareness, heightened by the festival, was beaming adoration on 
each other. All in all, it was going quite swimmingly, as both of them hoped it would. Philandering is 
kind of a perilous occupation. One never knows whether the main squeeze will re-engage after the 
sexual bond has been stretched. But it seemed that neither Pike nor Rita were made of squeamish or 
inelastic DNA, so they chalked it up to new life experience and were thankful that their partner 
wanted to share life's bounty. So many people feel they should be selfish with their affection. 
Anyway, Pike and Rita really did still love each other and still felt affectionate. How lucky can you 
get?  
 
 
 
 

The reason that Pike wasnOt worrying about who had sent the assassinNif anybody hadNwas that 
he had the UrobamiOs credits in a leather wallet in his safe box, and he was going to take them to 
Thomas Goodnaught when he got the chance. Then he would know the story, if there was a story to 
know. Pike had thought himself quite clever to exchange the real cash coins for equally real coins that 
were in his pocket, just before June had made a big deal of showing them to the gathered multitude 
while the fish was cooking for ThapOs Hero Ceremony. There was no known way that even The 
Eye could trace hard currency back to a specific sourceNthatOs why it was still used. Therefore, 
Pike felt at liberty to take the evidence, which in any case was going to the family of the dead 
Urobami, as a rightful death benefit. The family wouldnOt care which exact coins they got. 
Three judges waited in eight hour shifts at the Piet village, and three stood by at the Urobami main 
village, to weigh and validate the legality of the catch. There was no problem with legality. The three 
who had the extraordinary luck to be on duty when RichieOs fish arrived at the Piet village were 
invited to the feast. As a reward for their luck and impartiality, they had eaten fish and later joined the 
fuckathon even though they had no partner to bring. In that way, three recent widows were allowed 
to join in. The PietOs took all needs into account. Depending on how many unmarried widows there 
were in any given year, that many judges were invited to wait for the Hero. 
Anyway, Rita still seemed willing to love him, so Pike fell into a few hours of exhausted slumber 
before he had to chase halibut. They had an almost unassailable lead, so was there really any point in 
putting the kid at risk with a monster halibut? Moon halibut werenOt really something to mess with. 
The big bulls were definitely the monarchs of this water planetNthey were so goddamned big that 
their natural prey was every other species that foolishly came within striking distance of their double 
row of razor teeth. When they decided to swim up for a stint on the surface, they resembled smallish 
islands. Sea birds roosted on them, pecking at the tasty salt water lice. 
Still it would be better to win decisively. Fat Boy or Slime Bucket couldn't whine if their teeth were 
totally kicked in. With a third place or better halibut, nobody could catch Rich, no matter how big 
their fish was. Why not blaze like a star? With June here, it would be all right to lock on a middling 
behemoth. Lester could stay on the las cannon after the hook-up. June could handle the deck. The 
computer was already changed over, after a few squawks from George. So sorry, George. It 
couldnOt be helped. If the computer had a glitch hard-wired at the factory, his own diagnosis 
programs wouldnOt be able to find it. Next week they could get an expert from one of the kidOs 
factories and have a look-see. In the meantime, Pike was trusting Thomas Goodnaught.  
 
 
 
 

RitaOs mind was intentionally in a languorous overdrive. The truth was, she had enjoyed herself 
enormously at the Feast of Thap. Letting carnality completely take over was something sheOd 
always wondered about, and now sheOd done it. She knew. It was delicious.  

*  

They all thought heOd done it, which really got the BaronOs goat. HeOd fished with some of those 
guys since before the Tournament started. Double damn, youOd think they would know he was 
basically an upstanding kind of person by now. Thank the saints that cash credits were engineered so 
that fingerprints didnOt stick to them, or else he would probably be in custody by now, because that 
was definitely the lousy, stupid Urobami he had paid to tether the little swampy for him to catch. 
What in GodOs Green Heaven had caused the blighter to stalk Pike and the kid? Why the fuck 
would any sane person do that? Of course, all natives were crazy as loons. Farouk had certainly 
prayed that the investigation wouldnOt turn up the tethered fish story. The Eye was pretty shrewd at 
finding stuff out. Naturally, it would be his word against a flock of natives, and he couldnOt be 
forced into a lie detector test. Only a fool would submit to thatN200 years in development, and 
therapists could still only approximate whether somebody was lying. Absurd that technology was so 
limp in some areasNabsurd, and damned lucky. 
But it really did irk him that his so-called friends always thought the worst of him.  

*  

Morning dawned grey and gently rolling as it almost always did on Solari. There was very little 
weather, fortunately. If a squall started, there was nowhere to hide, except jumping off planetNand 
the storm might go on practically forever, whipping around the planet with no land mass to tire it, until 
it died of old age. But weather had never been a big problem. 
Richie had been on deck for about forty-five minutes doing a Ken Pao Ri set on the slightly cramped 
fantail. Pike was drinking coffee in the galley, waiting to give the kid a pep talk for the last leg. June 
and Lester were bickering quietly about some minor event from years ago. Rita wasnOt up yet. Pike 
wondered idly if she thought her father was responsible for the Urobami incident. It had seemed 
tactically impossible to ask her about it. Oh, well. The weather radar showed all clear. The fish finder 
sonar was checked out. The crane was oiled and inspected. 
Most of the boats were already fishing. Winning the Moon Halibut division rated an extra ten 
thousand credits, which was a powerful incentive if you were having a bad year. Thanks to Rich 
Rodney, Pike didnOt need to scramble for next yearOs fee, so he was somewhat content to sip his 
coffee. A little irked, but heyNmartial arts are important, evidently. Pike thought about taking up a 
martial art himself. Ha, ha. But really, people said it kept you limberNand limberness equates with 
youthfulness. Stay supple, otherwise what is there to look forward to except senility. That canOt be 
very much fun. 
Finally, Richie was done. He bowed to the four directions, then headed for the galley. OSo letOs go 
fishing,Ó he said to the assembled crew. OWe may as well catch a big one and go out with a bang, 
donOt you think.Ó 
OThatOs the sporting way,Ó Pike agreed, standing up. OIOll head us toward the ditch while you 
chow down.Ó He nodded to June. 
OTold you,Ó Lester said, under his breath. 
Continuing his long-standing policy of disregarding LesterOs ragging, Pike walked almost jauntily to 
the flying bridge and started the engines. OTry this one on,Ó he said to June. OWe make the hook-
up, get him shifted over to the winch; then instead of winching and straining a gut, we lift him out of 
the water on the Thruster. What we have then, is one surprised halibut, right?Ó 
OYou might have a busted crane if the jolt is too heavy.Ó 
OReally think so? I think he might slide right out of the water, if the first jerk is hard enough.Ó 
OWell, youOre the bad-ass engineer. What if he gets sideways in a scoop. Might rupture the whole 
boat.Ó 
Pike made a sour face. OThe only times IOve seen one scoop up, they were tail hooked or tangled 
in the line. We should be able to tell that before we lift off.Ó 
OYouOre the boss. Seems like all that weight hanging off the winch might bust it up or tip us over, 
but what do I know? I've been chasing swamp shrimp for two months. Don't need technology for 
that.Ó June flashed a toothy grin. 
Pike frowned at him. OAt least he wonOt climb over the gunwale and start flattening everything in 
sight. ItOs a perfect technique. As long as weOre accelerating, he canOt do anything but hang there. 
The Thruster is stronger than any fish. If heOs out of the water for a few minutes, he goes into shock 
and is no longer a problem. I wonder why I never thought of this before. ItOs so beautifully simple.Ó 
OExcept for all the things that could go wrong.Ó 
Disregarding JuneOs pessimism, Pike threw the boat into gear and putted smoothly toward no 
landmark. Strangely, there was not one drop of land on the moon that anybody had ever found, just 
four life buoys that marked the marina, and the floating restaurant that Mordachi had flown in the last 
few years. Other than that, you were in deep ocean all the time. Underwater, everything was pretty 
normal. Trenches and kelp forests, declines into blackness that were so deep that the Switter-Loran 
reported them as gray vagueness. There were two major coral reefs, but the tops stopped well short 
of breaking the surface. Odd little corals like pink and yellow sex organs. Odd planet. And oddest of 
all were the big gippersNthe monster bull halibut who seemed to take pleasure in smashing up fishing 
boats in their attempts to get free. 
OShould I make some more bait?Ó June asked, squinting at the horizon. 
ONah. WeOve got enough. Go wake up the judge. Lester can sober him up, so there wonOt be any 
miscues. IOm going to try for a little one so Richie can get the feeling.Ó His eyes scanned the Loran 
screen. 
June saluted left handed and went below. Something was wrong; but he didnOt know what it was. 
His premonition was buzzing a trouble messageNBlink, blink. Trouble coming! Danger. Which of 
course, was always likely when you were fishing for big fish, but it was highly unusual to get this kind 
of foreboding. Maybe he, or somebody, had offended one of the Gods, but June didnOt think so. 
Oh, well. Something was wrong. It had been ten years since Pike had had a boat smashed up by the 
big flat fuckersNmaybe he was forgetting to be cautious. Hoping that the leader would snap on any 
fish too big, June knocked on the judgeOs door and told him it was time to wake up. Those leaders 
were pretty strongNa half inch braided cadmium alloy cable, light but very strong. It took a lot to 
bust them. 
June stepped back outside. The kid was on deck, honing the point of a fish hook that was big 
enough to be a small anchor. He sniffed the salt air. It smelled normal. Lester was puttering around 
on the roof of the flying bridge, oiling the gimbals of the stun cannon. Supposedly the stun gun was 
better for halibut than a las cannon, which had to be pin-pointed. 
OHelp me rig this sun shade,Ó Lester yelled down to June. OYou wouldnOt want me to fry my 
brains, would you?Ó he cackled. 
OIf you had a brain in there, it would be lonesome,Ó June commented, climbing the ladder. OWhy 
donOt you wear a hat like normal people?Ó 
OOh, sure. ThatOs just what I need. One more piece of gear to look after.Ó He unrolled a 
triangular sheet of hemp canvas that had brass grommets at the three corners complete with tie down 
ropes. He handed a rope to June. OHurry it up. HeOs about ready to bait up.Ó 
OYou could smear some grease on your head.Ó June grinned broadly. OThat would protect you.Ó 
Lester shook his head in disgust. Pike cut the engine to a crawl. ODid he tell you the maneuver heOs 
going to do with the Thruster?Ó June asked. 
OWhat maneuver..?Ó 
OJust get ready to hang on. I think maybe heOs flipped a switch. He thinks he can jerk a butt out of 
the water and put him into sensory shock.Ó 
Lester chuckled. OHeOs pulling your leg.Ó 
OStand by to bait,Ó Pike yelled out. 
Richie was looking down into the live bait tank watching the five pound bait fish swimming around 
and aroundNnever bumping into each other. He had just tried to net one of the silvery torpedo-
shaped fish and all he had to show for it was a splashed shirt front. It seemed like an easy task to net 
one since they never broke formation, but it wasnOt. He was about to plunge the net into the tank 
again when June put a restraining hand on his elbow. 
OIOll do that,Ó he said. OYouOll need every ounce of your strength, and then some. Go ahead and 
buckle up, IOll take care of the baiting.Ó He dipped the net skillfully, twisted his wrists and hauled a 
net full of sparkling fish into the sunlight. Immobilizing one with a left-handed grip behind its head, he 
dumped the rest back in the tank. 
Lester had climbed down and was helping Richie belt himself into a restraining harness that allowed 
him to stand at the rail. Halibut canOt really be fished from a chair, their bite is too soft. The harness 
prevented most accidentsNaccidents like being jerked overboard. 
June threaded the hook through the bait fishOs nose. OReady, Hero..?Ó he asked. 
Richie nodded without meeting JuneOs eyeNafter all, he had recently slept with the guyOs wife, and 
much more than slept with her. Maybe there were some residual bad feelings. That, of course, would 
be perfectly normal. He and June would have to talk it out one day soon. Should really have talked 
before thisNbut it hadn't occurred to him. 
June tossed the bait overboard. All four of them watched it dive for deep water, assisted in its efforts 
by a lead sinker and the four foot length of cadmium leader. Richie let the line free spool, keeping his 
thumb pressure on so the line didnOt snarl. 
OThis oneOs not too big,Ó Pike called with his eye glued to the Loran screen. OThe baitOs going 
right down to him.Ó 
Richie felt the sinker hit bottom. 
OLooks fine,Ó Pike called. OHeOs coming in. Stand by.Ó 
Richie felt a weak bite, like a cat was pawing at a goldfish. OHold on,Ó Lester warned. OLet him 
take it. YouOll feel a solid strike.Ó 
The drifting boat pulled the bait away. Richie felt a solid tug. He raised the rod to sock the hook 
home. 
OHoly shit..! Pike yelped. OLook out!!Ó A huge shadow had lurched into the Loran screen, 
blacking out the smaller fish and some rock formations. OA giant..!Ó 
Richie was already busy playing the smaller fish when the massive jolt came up the line. If he hadnOt 
been snugly in the harness, it would have pulled the rod out of his hands, at least. More likely he 
would have been swimming instead of sling-shotting around the fantail in the harness, barking shins 
and ankles. 
OGet up to the cannon, Wunderman..!Ó Pike bellowed. OThis fucker is big!Ó 
OI doubt if heOs hooked,Ó Lester yelled back, gimping over to the ladder. OThe little one got the 
bait. Richie set the hook.Ó 
OWell, what the fuck..!Ó Pike swore, wondering how to play a fish that wasnOt even hooked. 
Carefully, no doubt. He kicked the engine into high idle, so it would be ready if need be. One thing, if 
the fish wasnOt hooked, jerking him out of the water would yank the hook right out of him, unless 
the smaller butt got clogged in his throat.Ó 
Little Peter Zanker dashed out of the galley and followed Lester up the ladder. HeOd been a judge 
since the Tournament began, primarily because of luck. Working in a bait and tackle shop on the 
docks near the Tidetable, Peter had heard that the fishermen were looking for judges, so he 
volunteered himself. No one had the heart to say no to the bait shop kid, so Peter had been with 
them ever sinceNand had turned into a full blown alcoholic because he really didnOt like to be away 
from home. Also he was a midget. Other than those two handicaps, he knew his stuff about bait and 
tackle. 
OGot a big one, huh?Ó he asked, blurrily, stepping into the wheelhouse, but staying carefully out of 
the way. 
OSit there,Ó Pike told him, indicating a one person bench across from the Loran console. 
OSo itOs been a pretty good Tournament for you, huh?Ó the midget boomed in a surprisingly deep 
voice. 
OPlease, Peter, WeOre into very hairy territory right this minute. I need to concentrate.Ó 
OBe my guest,Ó he slurred. OI been through this a million times. Did I ever tell you about almost 
getting my pilotOs license. I was all set to go for it, then they talked me into signing on with you 
guys.Ó 
OPeter, shut up, or go somewhere else.Ó 
OThis is the only safe place. I know that much about butts.Ó 
Pike watched the continuing drama down on the deck. After quite a struggle, June got the kid 
strapped into the fighting chair, but not before they had bumped heads several times. Both of them 
appeared to have bloody noses. 
OBonefish,Ó Pike said, Ois RitaOs monitor on?Ó 
OIt is,Ó the XG unit confirmed. 
OWould you ask her to bring some towels and the first aid kit on deck. The boys are bleeding a 
little.Ó 
ORight away,Ó Bonefish answered. 
OIf you need a little nip just say the word,Ó Peter Zanker offered. OI got my flask right here.Ó 
Pike declined almost pleasantly. Rita would have to be the gopher. Lester was on the cannon and 
June had to stay near the kid. Normally, a judge would be happy to do the galley duties to help pass 
the time, but Peter was incapacitated. About all he could really be responsible for was signing his 
name on the certificate. In fact, it was slightly bad luck that they had drawn him for butts, but 
somebody had to take him. He had seniority. 
Down below, Rita ran out of the hatchway with the large first aid kit. She glanced up at Pike, then 
headed directly for the fantail. 
OWhat the heck happened?Ó she demanded of her ex-roommate. Blood dribbled from RichieOs 
nose as he sat there attempting to crank the reel. June was leaning against the bait tank with his head 
tilted back, pinching his nostrils. 
OWe bumped noses,Ó Richie admitted. OIt doesnOt hurt much now.Ó 
OItOs hazardous fishing with this hero,Ó June said, clearly displeased with being damaged. 
Lester called down from the roof. OYou shouldOa seen the time he killed a bear with just his fly 
line..!Ó he yelled. OLanding a fish that ainOt hooked should be childOs play. We done that plenty of 
times. Right, Richie-boy? Just get him up to the surface and weOll scoop him up with a netÓ He 
cackled again. OI told you those baits was too small, didnOt I, Pike?Ó 
OYou wouldnOt know a bait from a crawdad,Ó Pike answered. OIs there any way the biter can be 
hooked?Ó 
OIt would be a miracle. I could swim down and take a lookNI do everything else around here, I 
might as well do that, too.Ó 
Pike kept thinking the smart thing was to let this one off and start over. But, of course, that snubbed 
up against his feelings about the fishing gods and the gods of luck. Do you look at their gift and say 
ONo, thank youÓ? Was scorning the gods a good idea? Not really. 
OWhat do you think, Rich?Ó he called. OShould we try for him? The way he's hooked could be a 
real pain in the ass.Ó 
OSure we should,Ó Richie answered, cheerfully. His arms were going to be killing him in a half hour. 
Why couldnOt the fish flop off now? OItOs a big one. Feels like weOre snagged on a dead tree or 
something. Have you ever caught one this big?Ó 
OWell, close to that size. IOve got a maneuver I want to try. Seems like a good time to be 
unconventional, since weOll probably lose him anyway. June, go ahead and get him changed over to 
the winch. WeOll talk it out as we go.Ó 
OTalk what out?Ó June yelled back. 
OWhat to do.Ó 
OStand by to fly..!Ó Lester sang out from the roof. 
Rita put a small band-aid over a cut on the bridge of RichieOs nose. OI think heOs too big,Ó Rich 
confided in a low voice. He squinched up the band-aid with a worried frown. OHe was jerking me 
around the deck like a marionette. TheyOre acting like this is a normal fish.Ó 
ODaddy has caught some huge ones here. Just do what Pike tells you,Ó she advised. OIOm sure he 
knows what to do.Ó 
OTheyOre acting really squirrely. IOm almost out of line and they donOt seem to care.Ó 
Although his nose hadnOt totally stopped bleeding, June got the outrigger pontoons positioned on 
the starboard side to stabilize the boat against the huge weight they would soon be dealing with. Then 
he swiveled the crane boom over to the fighting chair. OSit tight,Ó he said to Richie. OIt takes a 
minute.Ó He smiled at Rita. 
Opening a brass casing around a pulley on top of the crane arm, June flipped RichieOs line over the 
pulley with a long handled V fork. Then he slammed the casing closed so the line couldnOt escape. 
ODonOt reel for a minute,Ó he cautioned Rich. 
Up in the wheelhouse, Pike watched the ridiculous procedure taking place. He had never had a 
birdOs eye of it before, and had never realized how dorky the whole change over routine was. Why 
had the rules committee made the stupid rule about hooking the fish with rod and reel? It would have 
made just as much sense to fish straight from the winch with the line clothes-pinned onto a whippy 
outrigger. If they missed a few bites that way, what of it? The initial danger to fisherman and crew 
would be substantially reduced. Many deck hands had lost fingers in this spool changeover routine 
that June was about to make. Kind of stupid really. Pike decided to float a rules change for next year 
to see if it would swim. At JuneOs signal, he backed the boat rapidly over the fish to gain some 
slack. June opened the hinged side casing of Richie's big reel, slammed the whole rod and reel into a 
sprocket sticking out from the winch mechanism, so that the spool nestled over the sprocketNthen 
with a large set of diagonal cutters, he cut a bite out of each guide on the rod to free the line, which 
instantly sang tight between the spool and the pulley. Fish changed over. Nicely done. No fingers 
lost. June stuck the now useless rod and empty reel into the rod rack. 
OWhat now..?Ó Richie asked. 
June threaded a precision milled crank handle through the spool, then screwed a protective housing 
over the line. OThere you go, hero. Crank him up. The dragOs already set. The line is strong enough 
to hoist a dinosaur as long as it donOt get fouled in under-water structure, so try to keep him off the 
bottom.Ó 
OI just stand there?Ó Richie asked, nodding at the crane. 
OThe crank is custom made for your height. You canOt really crank a winch sitting down, can 
you?Ó 
OI never tried it.Ó 
OTrust me.Ó 
OYour nose is still bleeding,Ó Richie observed. 
OMy nurse is about to attend to me, while you crank this flounder up.Ó He winked at Rita. ODonOt 
pull the fishOs head out of the water unless somebody tells you toNbut that should be some little time 
from now.Ó 
OI donOt think you understand how big this fish is,Ó Rich answered, testing the crank handle. 
June walked over to the fishing chair. Sitting down, he invited Rita to put a wet towel across his 
forehead. OThis is crazy,Ó he muttered. OWho cares about monsters this big? Next year IOm 
staying home to cultivate my wife.Ó 
OCultivate?Ó Rita said with a laugh. OSheOs already more cultivated than most women on high 
tech planets.Ó 
June glowered. OIOm planning to plow and seed. ThatOs what cultivate means on a backwater like 
Segumi.Ó 
Rita laughed and punched the Indian a crisp slug on the shoulder. OI get it,Ó she said. OYouOre 
going to be the hero next year. If Shari is pregnant, will she be off-limits for the ceremony?Ó 
OAll depends on how far along she is, and if she wants to be. She is quite a pouter when she 
doesnOt get her own way.Ó 
OI donOt believe that. IOm sure she thinks itOs for the good of the tribe.Ó 
June smiled. ONaturally. I noticed that you found tribal harmony quite...invigorating.Ó 
OOh, quite.Ó 
OEven on a backwater planet?Ó 
OAnd I noticed that you were conveniently unable to find me. Was that an accident?Ó 
OA chief keeps the greater good in mind. Bothersome, but servicing your younger sister isnOt 
always a good idea. There are boundaries, even to intoxication. IOm sure you agree.Ó 
Rita replaced the bloody towel with a fresh one that she had dipped in the cold water of the bait tank 
and had wrung partially dry. OYou regard me as your sister?Ó she inquired, knowing there was 
some truth in the statement. 
ONot exactly. With you, thereOs too many indeterminate lines extending in all directions. I watched 
you ducking away from Rich. Very skillful. ItOs the same thing.Ó 
Rita saw what he meant rather immediately. Even intoxicated, there was control. You let yourself go 
where you wanted to. 
OYour father was a hero onceN before he got afraid. Did you know that?Ó 
In a disbelieving voice she asked, OYou mean my mother did that...?Ó 
OVery robustly.Ó 
OWell, thatOs a surprise.Ó 
OAll kind of lines, you have to the People.Ó 
OHas Pike been the Hero?Ó 
OTwice. He is a skillful swamp man. A pleasure to fish with. Both times he brought a girlfriend. I 
was not the chief then.Ó He smiled widely. 
OGet him winched up, Richie-boy,Ó Lester hollered from the roof. OIOm ready for the bloke.Ó He 
fired off a test blast of the cannon, which made a slapping noise as it whacked into a blue-green 
wave. OMight just as well crank him on up. You canOt tire out a big one by playing him. In a couple 
of days, you might starve him into weakness. Want to work on him for two days or so?Ó 
Richie grinned up at Lester. HeOd been trying to crank quietly, so that he could eavesdrop on the 
very interesting conversation that Rita was having with June. 
OIf youOre done bleeding, Chief, let me know when he shows color,Ó Pike yelled at June. 
June took the towel off his forehead and wiped tentatively at his nose with it. Apparently, the 
bleeding was over for the time being. Good. OYou better go up with Pike,Ó he told Rita. OThatOll 
be about the safest place Ôtil we get this sucker weighed in. The instant the fish is in the air, push the 
midget toward the scales. ItOs the only time he earns his pay.Ó 
OWhere is the scale?Ó Rita asked. 
OOn the winch,Ó June tilted his head toward a digital read-out on the shaft of the crane arm. OThis 
baby will probably bust the scale. Right, Rich?Ó 
OHeOs very big,Ó Richie reaffirmed. OIOd feel better if you werenOt very close to us, Rita.Ó 
OSee,Ó June said, pushing her gently toward the ladder. ODid you know that the young warriors 
have already made songs about you? YouOre famous. On a backwater, of course.Ó 
Rita stuck her tongue out and started up the ladder, giving her derriere a few extra flounces.  
 
 
 
 

Pike smiled briefly at Rita when she entered the cabin, then went back to checking the read out 
screens. OBroken noses?Ó he asked. 
OI donOt think so.Ó 
OGood. WeOre going to try something thatOs never been done before. Why donOt you belt in.Ó 
OJune told me to help Peter.Ó 
OHe doesnOt need help. Right, Peter?Ó 
OI usually take what I can get,Ó he said, with as much pomposity as he could muster. 
OBelt in,Ó Pike said to Rita. OCaptainOs orders. How about you,Ó he yelled up to Lester. OAre 
you on a safety line.Ó 
ONaturally,Ó Lester crabbed. OIOm tied off to my foot. Think thatOll be good enough.Ó 
OJust right,Ó Pike answered, never taking his eyes off the screens. OStand by thrusters fore and 
aft,Ó he said to the computer. 
The computer beeped compliance and The Thruster engines cut in, blinking green acknowledgment 
on the console. 
OPardon me, but I donOt believe this is a very good idea,Ó the voice of George broke into the 
ambiance. His voice held the edge of hysteria, barely suppressed. 
OWho asked you? I thought you were off duty.Ó 
OMr. Tourbo ordered me to monitor, so I could learn for next year.Ó 
OThen monitor, and butt out.Ó 
Over the weeks, Rita had grown to trust George. OIf heOs that worried, there must be some 
reason,Ó she said. 
ORats,Ó Pike answered. OIt sort of just came to me to use the Thruster. ThereOs no other way to 
land this one, he's not even hooked. It would be like an experiment to see what weOre really 
capable of. WeOll go up about twenty feet. No big deal.Ó 
OThat fish weighs too much,Ó George interrupted. OIt will overbalance us.Ó 
OYou donOt know that.Ó 
OMy calculations show that over the three ton mark, a massive instability exists.Ó 
Pike snorted. ONo one can weigh a loose fish. Not even you.Ó 
OSimple calculation of mass. I see the fishOs shadow as well as you do. It will be very close to the 
limit, and I donOt want to drown. Our deal did not include flopping the boat and drowning.Ó 
OHey, Rich..!Ó Pike yelled down to the deck. ODid you tell George that he could monitor?Ó 
OWhat deal?Ó Rita asked. 
Richie looked up from cranking, which was very dull work. Even with the favorable gear ratio, it was 
very hard to haul up the behemoth. OUh... I guess I did..yesterday.Ó 
OWell, tell him to keep his trap shut and monitor in silence.Ó 
OPike is right, George,Ó Richie called. OThatOs what we agreed. You can monitor, but not 
interrupt.Ó 
George made an angry computer squawk, but said nothing further. 
OBack down slow,Ó June called. 
OJune told me you were the Swampfish Hero twice,Ó Rita said, in her investigative reporter mode. 
Perhaps her intention was to change the subject and ease the tension. OWith a different girlfriend 
each time.Ó 
Pike smiled to himself. OThat winch is much stronger than mine is on the Jumper. Nice design. The 
foot fits into a special slot on the main girder that spans the bulkhead. ItOs virtually as strong as the 
girder.Ó 
OHow strong is the girder?Ó Peter Zanker asked. He took a nervous pull on his bottle of schnapps. 
OHey..!!Ó June yelled from the deck. OBack down.! WeOve been waiting an hour!Ó 
Pike took a quick look, then reversed the engine. 
OHeOs going deep,Ó June called. OThereOs no way to snub him.Ó 
Richie was cranking manfully, now that he had some slack to make. Suddenly, the line went fully 
slack. 
OLost him, or heOs coming up!Ó Lester yelped from his vantage point. 
OKeep reeling!Ó Pike yelled. OMaybe the little one is still hooked.Ó He threw the engine briefly 
into forward. After seconds of mad reeling, the line snugged. OHa,Ó Pike shouted. OStand by for 
weigh in, Peter mO-boy.Ó 
OGot something,Ó June yelled. OOr part of something.Ó 
OI can move this one,Ó Richie said to June, with a sigh of relief. His aching back muscles started to 
relax. He knew the winch was ergonomically designed, but it left a whole lot of room for 
improvement. 
OCould you round up a drink for the kid,Ó Pike asked Rita. He remembered hours of winch duty. It 
was dehydrating work. He was almost glad it was RichieOs back and not his. OHe likes iced tea this 
week. Sorry,Ó he apologized, OI should have kept one of those muscle boys here to help out.Ó 
OIOm happy to be the gopher,Ó she said, actually sounding happy. 
OThe big thermos should be full.Ó 
OCan I come down from here?Ó Lester shouted. 
ONo. IOll tell you when. Stay belted in. RitaOs buying drinks.Ó 
OFine. It ainOt much fun up here alone. We should move this damn gun.Ó 
OMight as well bring a round for everybody,Ó Pike called after his wife. She flounced her bottom at 
him. Wife..? Well, yes. Why was everything so complicated? Why couldnOt couples just hang 
together like men did? Already he was starting to consider the effect of the things he said to 
herNbefore he said them. That wasnOt right! He never wondered how June was going to react if he 
asked him to get a set of drinks. Men just did itNopen and shut. Men were made to fish and work 
togetherNgenetically. No big problem. 
OSee any color yet?Ó he yelled at June. The Loran screen showed a smallish fish near the surface. 
ONothing,Ó June called. Several years ago, they had tried wireless mikes. What a joke. If they 
werenOt breaking each otherOs ear drums, the mike were getting caught on something. Pike had 
finally thrown his overboard, and that had been the end of it. 
On a normal year, June would be on the bridge jockeying the boat for butts and manning the cannon 
in case shit happened. Lester would be the deck hand. But this was not a normal year. And Lester 
was a little too wiggy to be trusted with the crane and a giant butt. It was amusing, sort of. Lester 
had always heaped mounds of scorn on dope addictsNcalled them goonies. Pissed and moaned 
about how undependable they wereNhow could anybody ever get like that? Well, you never know. 
One thing for sure, it was pretty strange to see an old dog leaning new tricks. 
Suddenly, the huge bull hit the bait again. The winch handle spun out of RichieOs handsNwell, not 
really spun, it locked causing RichieOs forward momentum to carry him past his point of balance. 
The handle rapped him a sound whack on the ribs as he hurled past, knocking his wind out and 
causing him to make a loud, involuntary whoof sound. 
Rita came out the galley door with a tray of cold cups and a decanter, just in time to lose her balance 
when the boat lurched radically to starboard. The cold cups scattered across the desk. Rita grabbed 
the door frame to keep from falling. 
June smacked heavily against the crane, starting his nose bleeding again. OThe goddamned bull is on 
again!Ó he yelled. 
OGreedy fucker, ainOt he?Ó Lester cackled, sighting along the barrel of the cannon. 
The strain on the winch was about to break it. Pike and Lester both watched helplessly from above. 
Richie had thought it would be smart to turn the drag down on the smaller fish, so he could reel 
faster. June assumed that the drag was too tight, when he saw the crane arm twitching. He jumped to 
thumb the drag off, but collided in mid-air with Rich, whose Ken Pao Ri wasnOt serving him well in 
his dazed state. Both of them went down, and the winch continued to strain. 
Peter Zanker would have thought the whole scene hilarious, except that he, too, was caught. HeOd 
been two steps down the ladder, which was engineered for normal people. PeterOs legs were much 
shorter than the norm. Consequently, when the lurch came, Peter missed the next rung and would 
have fallen except that his hand strength was well-developed from squeezing his pocket flask. In any 
case, he hung there one-handed until the boat righted, then he swung back against the ladder. 
The defense grid bleeped a warning and went fully operational, which was exactly what it was 
supposed to do in an emergency. Except in this case, there was no emergency, there only seemed to 
be one. 
OEase off the goddamned drag!!Ó Pike roared. OGet up, you moronsNunless youOre dead!Ó 
June, who wasnOt really a moron, wanted desperately to get up and tweak the drag knob; but 
RichieOs sharp little shoulder had smacked into his groin (as they say in teli sports). Actually, it had 
scored a hard, direct hit on his chimes. Try as he might, he just couldnOt stand up through the red 
and black haze of intense pain. Unluckily, Richie was trapped under him, and was trying to wiggle 
free; but so far he hadnOt made it. And the fish tugged. 
Pike backed the boat, and continued roaring at the deck crew to do something. 
Rita, who could have helped, didnOt know what Pike wanted done. OWhat should I do?Ó she 
bleated, looking up at the bridge for instructions. Finally, she decided to assist June. 
He moaned at her, holding his crotch with both hands. Grabbing his elbow, she hauled his bulk aside 
enough for Richie to squirm out. 
OPike wants something done,Ó she yelped at him. ODo you know what?Ó 
OThe drag,Ó Richie gasped, shamefaced. OI tightened it.Ó 
As he spoke, Peter Zanker bobbled across the deck to the winch and thumbed the drag back to 
near its original position. Line sped out, and the crane arm stopped groaning. The fish was being 
played again. 
ONobody saw me do that,Ó Peter said. OIt comes under the heading of saving my ass from 
grievous harm.Ó He took a satisfied pull from his bottle and wiped his lips on the back of his hand. 
ONow what..?Ó Richie asked, squinting up at Pike. He grabbed the winch handle. 
OYahoo..!Ó Lester howled. OAinOt this a one to write home about?Ó 
OReel him up, soldier,Ó Pike advised, through cupped hands. OI guess heOs determined to put us 
over the top. You all right, June?Ó 
June Madrigal wretched over the rail, then struggled to his feet. He waved weakly to Pike before 
hobbling over to the fishing chair and slumping into it, drawing his knees up. 
OLooks like you got chimed..!Ó Lester called out, gleefully. OIs that what happened? DonOt forget 
to keep breathing! YouOll be all right in a day or two. I warned you he was dangerous, but you 
never listen.Ó 
OYou want to get those drinks going again, honey?Ó Pike called down to Rita. He grinned 
reassurance at her. 
Honey? Rita thought. Star swarms from hell, what a typical married thing to say to the little woman. 
But she scurried around the fantail picking up the cold cups. Deciding that a male deck hand 
wouldnOt bother washing them out, she poured a cup of cold tea for June and handed it to him. 
Evidently, he was in major pain. 
OIf we had an all woman crew, this wouldnOt happen all the time,Ó she chided. 
He grunted and accepted the tea. OPass the drinks around, then IOll tell you how to help him until I 
can walk again.Ó 
OSo that really hurts, huh? All those guys I kneed in the groin werenOt just faking?Ó 
He grunted again, not bothering to answer. The thought of her hard little knee made him nauseous all 
over again. 
OThink heOs hooked this time?Ó Pike called up to Lester. 
ONo way in hell; but itOs too bad we donOt have that porpoise with us. We could send him down 
for a look-see. But maybe the big moonie is hookedNI guess he could be, somehow.Ó 
OYou just took both sides of the issue, Mr. Wunderman. Not very helpful. ThatOs why I vote to try 
the Resnick flying maneuver. If it works, weOll be famous.Ó 
OWeOre already famous,Ó Lester reminded him, loudly. OAnd rich, if you donOt kill off the golden 
river,Ó he added at low volume, just loud enough for PikeOs ears only. 
OYou guys are turning into old women,Ó Pike groused. OThe geometry is perfect, no problem. We 
get him tired and coming our way, then we assist him. I can see him on the screen, you know. If I 
was down there, like normal, I never would have thought of this.Ó 
OIOm sorry you ainOt,Ó Lester commented. 
OWhatOs that supposed to mean.Ó 
OIf you were down there, I wouldnOt be worried.Ó 
That felt nice. Lester was a good man. No shit. ORich will be fine,Ó Pike assured the cannoneer, 
and everyone else in hearing range. OHeOs in First Fucking Place, isnOt he? Did you see the way 
he threw the Indian right out of mid-air? Hey, Rich..!Ó he yelled down to the deck. OAre you with 
me on this?Ó 
OSure, I guess so,Ó the kid answered, cranking determinedly, but not making much progress. 
OAnything you say, Pike; but this one is awfully darned big.Ó 
ONaturally heOs big. This is the first place boat. We bring in the big ones, everybody else shades 
their eyes and admires. You got enough tea? Kind of warm when youOre humping that crank, 
huh?Ó 
Richie nodded. 
OTry turning five, and then straighten your back. YouOll last longer.Ó 
Rich straightened up after finishing the turn he was working on. He was sweating profusely, but it 
wasnOt even very warm out. 
OAre you going to survive, Junie, or do you want to take over the cannon?Ó Pike inquired. 
June waved that heOd be okay in a couple of minutes. He shifted in his chair to test out the damage. 
OIOll go down,Ó Lester said, unbuckling his harness. OBeing the Big Chief finally ruint him. May 
take a couple of hours yet to crank the fish up.Ó 
OGo down then. Keep the kidOs temperature normal. IOll switch you back again when June can 
walk.Ó 
OItOs fine this way. HeOs a better shot, anyway. Not by much though.Ó Lester said, starting down 
the ladder. 
OTry not to space out,Ó Pike said, gently. OYouOre in control of that, arenOt you?Ó 
ONot really,Ó Lester giggled, Obut RitaOs down there. IOll tell her to snap me out, if I start 
drifting.Ó  

*  

Two hours later, Richie was once again past caring whether they landed the fish or not. It was 
becoming obvious to himself, at least, that he wasnOt really cut out to be a fishermanNnot if he 
always got to this crappy place where all he wanted to do was quit. But all he did want was to 
quitNto stop turning the winch handle. The crank was a torture devise. Only a confirmed sadist 
would have designed it that way. Lester and Rita were taking turns massaging his shoulders with cold 
towels, but that didnOt help much. About an eternity ago, when he felt he couldnOt go on, Lester 
had dragged a bench out from the galley for him to sit on. The bench didnOt work for cranking, but 
just sitting on it had been blissful. For about three minutes. 
Naturally, he insisted on sitting while he cranked, but his knees got in the way at every turn. 
Stretching his feet out left him no purchase on the deck, and his back hurt just as much, but in a 
different place. And besides, he simply couldnOt feel the fish when he was sitting. Rats!! Finally, he 
stood up and kicked the bench out of the way. 
OSorry, Rich,Ó Lester commiserated. OWe tried like hell to find a better way, but if youOre after 
big fish on hand tackle this is the best way, bad as it is. IOll put a few drops of rum in your next tea. 
That seems to help a little.Ó He chuckled. OIt helps me.Ó 
Richie grunted and took up another turn on the crank. 
OYouOre doing fine, son. Plenty of larger guys than you would have quit on him by now. And 
youOre gaining. Trust me, I know. IOd say he must be up about half-way. HeOs as tired as you. 
DonOt forget that.Ó 
Rich grunted twice, meaning he was certain the blankety-blank fish wasnOt nearly as tired as he was. 
No way, Joserina. 
OAnd donOt worry about him coming off. He done something wrong when he took the bait again.Ó 
OUmm,Ó Richie grunted. Lester had told him that lie a dozen times. If the fish was hooked so good, 
Pike wouldnOt be set on trying the idiotic clean and jerk maneuver. Moronic, he groused to himself, 
straining for another turn on the crank. Weight like that would either break the winch or the line, then 
all this bloody, bloody work would be for nothing. And if the line didnOt break, the boat would tip 
over in mid-airNthatOs what George was worried about. What Richie really wished was that all of 
them would stop hovering around him so he could let the darned fish break off. What a relief that 
would be. He didnOt want his shoulders massaged any more, even by Rita. He either wanted to 
catch the fish now, or let him go, now. It was a really stupid by-law that a single fisherman had to 
play the fish a hundred percent of the time. And besides, he had to pee again. 
OAny color yet?Ó Pike called to Lester. 
OI ainOt seen none,Ó Lester said, gimping over to the rail and peering over. ONone. WonOt be 
long now though. I figured about three hours, and weOre almost there.Ó 
Richie flinched. Another hour. Impossible. His knees sagged. 
Then LesterOs eyes widened as he caught a flash of yellow, deep down in the green water. OChrist 
and ducks..! Reetie,Ó he called to Rita in an awed whisper. OTake a look at this.Ó 
Obliging her friend, Rita looked over the rail. Deep down in the water was something huge and 
flashing yellows and greens. 
OAinOt that the biggest thing you ever seen? Go on up and tell Pike that this ainOt the one to play 
around with. Then you belt in and stay that way Ôtil weOre done. And tell that June to look real 
smart. The first shot needs to hit home on this one. Go on, scoot.Ó 
Needing no encouragement to hide from a monster, Rita flew up the ladder. OHeOs huge..!Ó she 
screeched, excitedly. OI never saw anything so huge. Lester says not to try flying.Ó She flounced 
into the bench seat and belted in. 
OI can see him,Ó Pike said, peering into the fish finder. ÔHeOs not so big. These things are always 
good-sized.Ó 
OGood sized?! HeOs bigger than the boat!Ó 
OWell, of course. WeOre not after minnows.Ó 
OGet ready, June,Ó she yelled up to the roof. OLester said to make the first shot count.Ó 
OAll set up here,Ó June answered, laconically. The gun harness he was belted into was actually 
pretty comfortable. Like a cocoon. 
OHow you doing, Lester?Ó Pike called down. 
OHe shouldnOt be up yetNthereOs a lot of line still out, but here he is. Must be hung on some 
structure down below. DonOt try that jerk!Ó 
OWhat a bunch of nambies,Ó Pike growled. He wanted badly to try the maneuver. But no sense 
being an ego maniac, if the stupid fish had looped around a coral head or something. But nothing like 
that showed in the scope. Very weird. Lester must be misreading the line. 
OAre you sure about the line?Ó he bellowed. 
OCourse, IOm sure. You think IOm blind.Ó 
OWell, thereOs no structure showing.Ó 
OWell, I canOt help that. HeOs coming up and Rich is only partly in control of him. What a 
Jeeseless mess..!Ó 
Leaving his post at the rail, Lester gimped quickly into the galley. He returned with a bottle of rum, a 
hand laser stuck in his belt and a spear gun. Raising the spear gun above his head so Pike could see, 
he yelled, OWhen he sticks his nose out, IOm gonna Ôpoon him. That way weOll know heOs 
hooked.Ó Without waiting for an answer, he snatched a line from the outrigger spool and whipped a 
harpoon knot through the head of the spear. Then he stood at the rail like a gladiator, waiting to 
impale the huge fish. 
OThe fucker is fearless,Ó Pike marveled to Rita. OHe really is.Ó 
OMaybe we should retire,Ó she answered from between white lips. A vision of the huge yellow 
thing was still vivid in her mind. OIs there any good reason to keep risking our lives over fish?Ó 
OItOs fairly safe up here,Ó he answered. 
OFairly..?Ó 
OWeOre not quite old enough to start worrying about dead bolts on all the doors, love.Ó It made 
him kind of queasy that his wife would react so predictably to massive danger. Shit and hell, he 
didnOt want anybody to throw a harness on him. Well, maybe sheOd never seen a halibut before. 
OYour dad fishes for these, too. It canOt be that dangerous, if he does it.Ó ThatOs right. She had 
Bardona genes. Maybe she was a little cowardly under the bluster. 
OMy father intelligently fishes with all three boats. When the monster surfaces, they gaff him from 
three directions.Ó 
OIs that right?Ó Pike asked, deciding not to mention that the Baron alone had extra boats to help. 
OI never thought of that. Interesting idea.Ó And somewhat overly cautious. 
OYou never heard of the Lady Slipper getting smashed up, have you?Ó 
ONope, never did, now that you mention it. Pretty hard to smash up a battleship. I assumed that he 
fished from the little boats.Ó 
ONow you know.Ó 
ONow, I know,Ó he agreed. OThink heOll sell me his minority stock in the Thruster, now that Rich 
owns most of the company?Ó 
OWhy would he?Ó 
Pike stared tightly at the fish finder. OHe lost a lot of money lately, didnOt he?Ó 
OHow would I know?Ó 
OJust asking. Can you see him, June?Ó he called. 
OYep. Big as a circus tent. Acting funny, too. Floaty, not pulling right. HeOs got to be snagged on 
something.Ó 
OIt must be mighty little, because I donOt see it.Ó 
OKeep Richie under the housing, Lester!Ó he yelled down to the desk. 
OI told him,Ó Lester answered without taking his eyes off the fish. It was laying fifteen feet deep and 
seemed to be in no particular pain or strain. 
Rich was sneaking peeks at the mammoth fish, too. Every time the winch handle was at the top of its 
swing, he could see over the railNand the fish was humongous. Two feet over his head, a heavy steel 
plate was sticking out from the winch like an umbrella. Richie had assumed it was an ineffective sun 
shade until Lester told him to stay under the protection in case the fish crashed into the crane, as they 
often did. Occasionally, they impaled themselves, Lester had claimed. That seemed like a tall tale; 
but, Richie was too worn out to really care. 
OWhere is Peter?Ó Pike called, not seeing the chubby gnome. 
OIn there,Ó Lester yelled, still not taking his eye off the giant yellow blob for even one second. 
Fifteen feet down was nothingN a flick of the tail to the fish. OI think he found the cooking sherry.Ó 
OGet him out,Ó Pike shouted. OHe has to read the scale.Ó 
OGet him out, yourself. IOm busy!Ó 
ORita, could you unbelt for a second and wake Peter up. ItOs kind of important.Ó 
OLester told me to stay belted in.Ó 
OI know. And I understand that Lester is in change; but thereOs nobody else to get the drunken 
scum. If he doesnOt read the scale, whatOs the point in catching the fish. Next year, IOll carry 
another crew member.Ó 
OMan or woman?Ó she asked, unbuckling her harness. 
OMan,Ó he answered, unblinking. 
OLester was just being considerate of our unborn children. Why arenOt you?Ó 
Pike looked from the console into her face. Then he let his glance drift down to the deck, to Lester 
and the kid. OWhat unborn children?Ó he asked, suspiciously. 
OThe ones that are unborn,Ó she laughed. It was a careless laughNone that sent a shiver up PikeOs 
backbone. Then she bobbed down the ladder and out of sight. 
OCome right back, when Peter is awake and on deck,Ó he called after her.  
 
 
 
 

Meanwhile, Richie was dangerously close to the breaking pointNbut he didnOt know it. Nobody 
was handy to baby him and keep fluids down his throat on cue, and he was glad. In fact, a nice kind 
of euphoria had taken over from the exhaustion. About time. The fish was almost in the bag, and he 
was feeling fine. Very fine. Superb, actually. And it looked like he was going to win the biggest 
tournament of them all. How about that? A few people around the world who thought he was a 
stumble bum would be very surprised. Such as Clive McAndrews, for one. And the Baron. Ha, ha. 
Old Bardona would be snarling tonight. 
Of course, after the victory he wouldnOt do advertising spots like Pike had to. That wouldnOt be 
seemly; but a few featured articles in the Sporting Gazette would be expected. Nothing prying. Just 
about fishing. Refined. Tips. Little stories. That would be fun. He turned the crank handle. One, two, 
turn. One, two, turn. Ha, ha. It was going to be sweet. Lots and lots of women after his virile 
manhood. Beautiful. At last, he was more than a rich kid. A lot more. One, two, turn. 
OHey..!Ó Lester barked into his daydream. OWake the fuck up! Stop that reeling! YouOre reeling 
structure, not the fish!!Ó 
O...What?Ó 
OStop reeling. Take a break. Get a drink.Ó 
Richie let go of the handle and straightened his spine. Gawd..! His back was broken. It was a mass 
of pain, and it was locked, somehow. 
OWell, weOre fucked..!Ó Lester yelled up at Pike. OThe line is snugged up tight on a coral spire or 
something, and the fish is just floating.Ó 
OI can see that.Ó 
OWell...?Ó 
OWell what?Ó 
OWhat do we do now?Ó Although yelling loudly, Lester had never taken his attention off the fish, or 
his finger off the spear gun trigger. 
OHas Rita got Peter awake yet?Ó 
OPeter, get your drunk ass out here!Ó the cook bellowed. 
OHeOs really soused!Ó Rita yelled from the galley. 
ORich, go drag the midget bastid out here and put him in the fishing chair,Ó Lester ordered. 
OWhat about the fish..?Ó 
OAnd splash some water on your head and neck, while youOre in there.Ó 
OIOm fine,Ó he grinned, foolishly. 
OYouOre fucked. Do what I say.Ó 
In turning toward the galley, Rich tripped over the discarded bench and did a nose flop on the deck. 
From high on the bridge, June applauded enthusiastically. 
OWay to go, Ace! That was a perfect trip and dive. IOve never seen a better one.Ó 
With a self-deprecating shake of the head, Richie picked himself up. His shin throbbed blindingly, but 
he had broken the fall with a Ken Pao Ri slap a millisecond before his nose had smashed the deck. It 
was really a shame that June Madrigal was so jealous of him. Darn it. 
OYou forced me to be the darned hero with your wife! I wanted to go back on my boat, remember? 
ItOs not my fault if youOre jealous, so take your bad vibes and cram them!Ó Without waiting for an 
answer, he hobbled toward the galley. 
That little speech got Pike and JuneOs attention. It shot their eyebrows skyward. OWhatOs he 
talking about?Ó Pike asked, sticking his head out the window. 
OThat kid is something. He puts things together in the oddest way.Ó 
OMaybe youOve been riding him too hard.Ó 
OToo hard? He broke my fucking nose, then he chimed me. I should throw him overboard, is what I 
should do.Ó 
OWell,Ó Pike said. OJust stay on the cannon. It will settle out later.Ó He ducked back in the 
window, and tried once again to see what the fish was snagged on. 
Richie limped into the galley to find Peter Zanker sprawled full length on the padded bench behind 
the galley table, gone to the world. Rita was drawing water into a pan at the sink. OHe wonOt wake 
up,Ó she explained cheerfully, walking over with the pan of water. Without a second thought, she 
dashed it in the little fellowOs face, then stood back to see if he would surface. An empty sherry 
bottle rolled out from under the table and came to rest against her toe. PeterOs bloodshot eyes 
spasmed open. Rivulets of water coursed down his face to disappear into the neck of his shirt. 
Before he had time to sputter, LesterOs hoarse voice barked joyfully. 
OThar she blows..!!Ó 
Richie grabbed the midgetOs surprisingly muscular forearm and hauled him out into the sunlight. 
OHey, take it easy, would you! IOm coming.Ó Peter did not enjoy being dragged around like a 
Tom Thumb doll. To show his displeasure, he dug the heels of his deck shoes in to make the 
procedure as difficult as possible. Since he was a full head shorter than Richie, he didnOt have the 
leverage to actually resist. 
OReel up, reel up, reel up...!! Lester was yelling repeatedly, while sighting down the spear gun. 
OSo spear him, and get the hell out of there!Ó June called. 
OI donOt care what your story is,Ó Rich hissed in ZankerOs ear. OYou better straighten up.Ó 
Something in RichieOs voice frightened Peter Zanker into a semblance of sobriety. He stopped 
resisting. Rich told him to sit in the fighting chair, with the admonition to stay awake, then he hurried 
back to the winch. 
OAnother couple of feet,Ó Lester drawled maddeningly, leaning over the rail to get the spear point 
six inches closer. It wasnOt so much that he was in dangerNhe was in immense and foolhardy 
danger. Pike had never seen anybody nuts enough to stare down the gullet of a moon halibut before, 
and this one was way bigger than the boat. They might not be able to haul him out, even if he wasnOt 
hung up on the reef. Might be bigger than his world record. Damn close. Pike had never seen a 
larger one. Weird. Just laying there, waiting to be speared. This whole day had an awkwardness to it 
that was unnerving. He had wanted Lester to be topside; but there he was, leaned out over the rail, 
and Pike wasnOt so very sure that the good Wunderman wasnOt zoned out. Maybe he was singing 
to the halibut. Who knew? 
In the first seconds that Lester had leaned out, Pike had snapped the power grid off, which had 
elicited an excited squawk from George. But what could he doN 
if Lester slipped overboard, Stars forbid, Pike didnOt want him fried by the grid. So now they were 
unprotected, which was very unhealthy. PikeOs finger hovered over the On button, waiting for 
Lester to fire the spear and get back on board. 
Gad, look at Richie reeling on the coral head. Why the devil had Lester told him to? He must see 
something I donOt. The scope certainly showed no structure. And look at PeterNsitting in the middle 
of the deck. The fucker must be blind drunk. 
OShoot him, you old fuck, and get the hell back in here!!Ó June yelled. ORita, grab his belt!Ó 
Rita had been hanging back in the galley door trying to decide where to go. Her bladder was full 
from all the iced tea, but she didnOt want to miss the landing of RichieOs biggest fish. She had her 
mini-corder around her neck; but now June was commanding her to grab Lester, and she suddenly 
had to pee first. But she couldnOt. What if Lester fell overboard because she wasnOt holding him? 
Skipping across the deck, she grabbed the back loop of his rope belt and planted her feet. 
OI told you upstairs,Ó Lester muttered, sighting directly at the wheel-sized eye of the monster that 
was still too deep. 
OÔThey told me here.Ó 
OWell, I ainOt about to fall over, so skedattle.Ó 
OI donOt think so,Ó she said, not relinquishing her hold. 
With an infinitesimal shrug, Lester dismissed the matter from his list of things to care about. OKeep 
reeling,Ó he snapped at Richie.  

*  

Before he had recommenced the torture wheel, Richie had taken a peek over the side at the halibut. 
The fish was stupendous; but whatever he was reeling on wasnOt a fish. It didnOt feel aliveNso why 
did Lester want him to keep on with the stupid reeling? He was definitely making up line. It was 
coming easier than it had for hours; but unless that fish was dead, he wasnOt connected to it 
anymore. 
OStructure coming up..!Ó Lester yelled at Pike. OSomething very weird!Ó 
OWhat is it?!Ó 
ODunno, but itOs gonna annoy the fish very soon.Ó 
OStay on him.Ó 
ORight here. If he comes up, I doubt if I can miss.Ó 
OGet Peter to witness that heOs still hooked when you poon him.Ó 
Lester didnOt answer, which meant he was thinking something like ÔFuck, Peter.O But of course, 
no crew member would say fuck you to a judge, even a drunk one. 
The last time heOd fished with Peter was last year for scut, Pike recalled. Judge Zanker hadnOt 
been nearly so sloppy then. Alcohol isnOt pretty when you canOt locate the limits. Maybe it was 
time for Peter to find a snug harbor. 
OLooks like a tree!Ó June called from his perch. OI never heard of coral growing like that.Ó 
OA coral tree will foul the winch,Ó Pike commented, putting a set of field glasses on the object. 
OBet your ass,Ó June answered, happily. OSomebody will have to knock it off, or the fish never 
gets close enough to catch.Ó 
ORita. Up here,Ó Pike ordered. 
Rita turned her head to look up at the bridge. That tone of voice could only mean, ÔDo it now, crew 
person, or your ass is mud.O So she let go of LesterOs belt. ODonOt fall overboard,Ó she 
quipped. 
OSkedattle,Ó Lester said, with his eyes riveted straight down. 
OYouOre doing great, Rich,Ó she said, hopping onto the ladder. OIOll bring you some orange juice 
in a minute.Ó 
Richie tried to smile, but it was beyond him. 
Rita skipped up the rungs, her bladder forgotten. She arrived breathlessly on the bridge and saluted 
smartly. OAye, aye, Cap. Rita here.Ó 
OLook, honey, sorry I never asked you, or showed any interest in teaching you, but it never 
occurred to me how important it might be... 
OWhat...?Ó 
ODo you know how to pilot this crate? I need to go down and help get that dreck untangled, before 
it gums up the winch.Ó 
Rita smiled slowly. OIs it so much different from By or LittonOs?Ó 
OAbout the same. Come around here and IOll show you.Ó 
Rita stepped around the console. 
OThis switch activates the shield. ItOs off right now, but we want it on as soon as I signal. Just hit 
the switch. ThatOs the most critical thing.Ó 
OOkay.Ó That wasnOt too difficult. 
OHopefully we wonOt need to, but if we have to move, push this,Ó Pike said, showing her the joy 
stick. OUp is back, down is forward. DonOt mess with the power unless I say so. ItOs the thumb 
toggle.Ó 
OI can assist her,Ó the nervous voice of George cut into the explanation. 
OSheOll be fine,Ó Pike said, shivering. A vision of Thomas GoodnaughtOs prophecy intruded itself. 
Maybe this was the glitch about to manifest. Suddenly realizing it was stupid to consider a 
computerOs feelings, even if you were in business with one, he made a half-step sideways and 
clicked off the monitor feature. OLeave him off,Ó Pike suggested. OThe XG unit will do fine. 
Goodnaught said to use it.Ó He winked at her and started down the ladder. OJune,Ó he called. 
ORita is piloting. Help her out if you get a chance.Ó 
ORoger. Moving to the laser rifle. I should be able to shoot most of that trash off the line. ItOs 
looking kind of like an old TV aerial with barnacles on it..!Ó His voice sounded like he was 
questioning his own sanity. Obviously, there could be no aerials on an uninhabited water planet. 
OMaybe somebody jettisoned it. Like an old boot,Ó he added. 
Down on the deck, Pike took in the situation at a glance. Not good. The halt and the lame. OHow 
you holding up, Rich?Ó he asked, leaning briefly on the rail between Rich and Lester. 
OFine,Ó Richie answered, unconvincingly. The euphoria had passed, and his back was wrenching 
with every turn of the crank handle. Madness, all of this. 
OKeep it coming. WeOre almost ready for some action. Stay under that umbrella.Ó Pike took a 
long handled gaff from the rack outside the galley. He leaned on the rail, squinting down into the 
green water. His right fist held his new laser pistol. 
OYep, thatOs what it is..!Ó he called to June. OSome kind of artifact. Damned if it isnOt.Ó 
OGaff it out away from the line,Ó June shouted calmly. OIOll shoot it off below the gaff. IOve got a 
good angle here.Ó June was now on the same deck level as Rita, squinting through the scope of the 
bulky las rifle. OTrust me,Ó he said. That choice of words struck him as funny. He laughed. 
The barnacle encrusted object was almost at gaff depth and coming up with every crank. OHow you 
doing, Lester?Ó Pike asked, lightly. 
OLovely. History in the making.Ó 
Pike grunted. He stuffed the pistol into his waistband and in slow motion reached over to gaff the 
object. The scientist in him thought about putting a line on it for future investigation; but laying right 
below was a mother big halibut, like an island-sized pancake staring up at him with its two little 
protuberant eyes. How the hell did halibuts seed themselves all over the galaxy? Every ocean had 
flatfish, scurrying along the ocean floor, filling an ecological niche, and they all looked pretty much 
like the same species, whether they were or not. Like DarwinOs finches. Over time, the niche got 
filled by some species that transformed itself into halibut shape. Big mothers here on Solari. 
The butt stared up balefullyNprobably not even seeing them. But who knew? Maybe the scientific 
data on how fish see was all hogwash. Some of it was, for sure. 
Drifting the gaff hook through the transparent water at a snailOs pace, so the fish wouldnOt get 
bothered by the movement and strike, Pike hooked the jetsam and assisted the winch in hauling it 
airward. 
OThis thing is big and heavy, whatever it is,Ó he grunted. Barnacles and red coral growing on tube 
steel it looked like. The first couple of feet were out of the water and Pike was easing his laser pistol 
out to cut it off, when the fish decided that the structure was edible. 
OLook out..!!Ó Lester yowled, firing the spear gun. It was a good shot. The little harpoon sunk into 
the middle of the fishOs narrow forehead where the fish brain was supposed to be. Evidently, he 
missed the tiny brain ganglia, because the fish smashed into the dangling structure like an enraged, 
starving log truckNand tried to swallow the entire fantastic piece of whatever it was, whole. All this 
took place about six feet from Pike, Lester and RichieNthe length of a gaff handle. Needless to say, 
the gaff was ripped from PikeOs hands, and he went reeling backwards, yelling for Rita to hit the 
shield switch, as he looked for a place to hide. Dragging Peter with him, he ended up behind the 
fighting chair, not a very safe haven. 
OI can walk,Ó Peter slurred, belying his words by sitting down abruptly behind the chair when the 
boat rolled leeward. 
Taking stock of the situation, Pike saw that Lester had found cover with Richie under the winch 
awning, and that Rita was giving him the thumbs up sign, meaning she had presumably activated the 
grid. Good. 
OWhat now..?Ó she called. 
Now what indeed, Pike thought, waving to her. The winchOs reel was singing as the monster 
sounded. The fish needed to be landed before Richie keeled over. Pike stood up. There wasnOt 
much to fear while the stupid fish was plowing into deep water. Lester was already at the rail. 
OHeOs running with the shit in his mouth,Ó Lester announced, ONot going deep.Ó 
OThatOs a break,Ó Pike said, joining him. 
OWhat should I do?!Ó Rita called. 
OIOll be up,Ó Pike called back. OThis is a mess,Ó he said to Lester. 
OCouldnOt hardly be worse. But at least that structure will tire him out. Better than we could do.Ó 
Pike nodded his agreement and turned toward the ladder. OTake a break,Ó he said to Rich. 
OStretch out on the deck. Lester will call you.Ó 
Richie puffed up his cheeks in surprised relief. Without another word, he spread-eagled on the deck. 
Knowing how the kid felt, Pike went past him to the ladder and bounded up to the ridge. ONever a 
dull moment,Ó he joked to Rita. 
OThat damn fish is way bigger than the boat,Ó she said. Her own eyes were way bigger than they 
usually were. Fright can do attractive things to women. OHow are we ever going to land it?Ó 
OWe donOt exactly land this one. We just weigh him, then cut him loose, if possible.Ó He yelled 
down to the deck. OCinch him down, Les. IOll back on him, so we donOt loose all the line.Ó 
Lester waved agreement. He twisted the drag control. Line stopped screaming out as Pike went 
backward, toward the rampaging monster. 
OPretty weird,Ó Pike called to June. ODid you get a shot off?Ó 
ONot really. Too many people. See him out there? Looks like heOs surfing with that trash. What 
was it?Ó 
Rita took the opportunity to visit the loo. On her way down, she shot a little footage of Richie 
napping, with the monster fish off in the distance. She decided to document the rest of the operation. 
It was bound to be interesting, no matter how it turned out. 
Pike put his field glasses on the fish two hundred yards out and watched him plowing the structure 
across the wave tops. OI donOt know,Ó he answered. OSome kind of conning tower or something. 
Very heavy.Ó 
OThe fish donOt think it's heavy,Ó June said, shading his eyes to watch the big halibut. OHeOs 
tangled in both lines, ainOt he?Ó 
OIOd say so.Ó 
OWeOll never get him up. WeOre one short on crew. YouOll have to cut the harpoon line off. 
ThereOs nobody to reel it.Ó 
OOr try the Resnick Hoist,Ó Pike speculated. OThen we can cut everything off as soon as we 
weigh in.Ó 
June paused to think it through again. OYouOre a hard man to unconvince.Ó 
ONo, itOs perfect now,Ó Pike said, restating his position. OLike you say, we canOt land him. 
LetOs at least try the clean and jerk. ItOs a lot safer than you think.Ó 
OI donOt think itOs safe at all,Ó June clarified. OIf he was smaller, maybe.Ó 
ODonOt be a baby. At least, weOll get something on the scale. Peter will see it, and we can thumb 
our nose at the competition. Otherwise, we get to do it again tomorrow.Ó 
OHeOs turning,Ó Lester bellowed. 
OGet the kid reeling!Ó 
OWake up, Rich,Ó Lester said, urgently. ONapOs over.Ó 
Richie opened his eyes and looked around bleerily. 
OGet up..! Start reeling,Ó Lester shouted in his face. OÔThis is the payoff.Ó 
Hopping up in his accustomed manner seemed like a normal thing to do; but his overstressed back 
muscles had cinched up during the brief nap. They greeted Richie with a massive wallop of painNlike 
half the tendons in his middle back had suddenly ripped loose. 
OOoof,Ó he grunted and stumbled into the winch, which he grabbed onto for support. 
OReel! HeOs coming like a battle ship.Ó 
The thought of moving, let alone bending over to reel, made Richie feel like puking. Black spots 
danced in front of his eyes. OI canOt. My back...Ó 
A look of alarm crossed LesterOs face. He jerked his eyes away from the on-rushing battering ram. 
Making a snap decision, he waved his arms in a wash-out gesture. 
OGet us out of here,Ó he bellowed. OThe fuckerOs going to brush the junk off on the hull..!Ó 
Pike could see the same scenario developing. OJune..!Ó he shouted, Ogo down and help Lester. 
Get a safety line on all four of you, but first find an elastic wrap for RichieOs back. Cinch him up tight 
enough that he can reel. WeOre going airborne. We can play him from thereNif Richie can reel. 
Rita had come back to the bridge. She was leaning out the window filming. OBuckle up, honey,Ó 
Pike said to her. He punched two hot keys on the console and the thruster engines started to rev. 
Down below, June and Lester were hustling around the deck, tying everybody onto tethers. OThis 
could be a little tricky,Ó he said to Rita, who still hadnOt moved out of the window. The fish was 
about thirty yards away and coming full bore. 
OHold tight down below!Ó he yelled. Lester and June waved, a little half-heartedly, Pike thought. 
Peter was strapped in the fishing chair. Richie was still holding onto the winch. June had taken a 
dozen turns of rope around his chest in an old fashioned fishermanOs corset. Probably better than 
elastic. OHere we go!Ó he called. 
He hit the fire button and pulled back a hair on the red joy stick. The thruster rockets fired making 
the launching pad. The boat jumped into the air. This was the tricky partNPike had never attempted 
to keep any boat at low altitude before, and in the first seconds he realized it wasnOt handling 
wonderfully. The bow had a decided tendency to dip. 
The fish swam under the boat, towing its load of freight. Nice maneuver, Pike congratulated himself. 
What would be the perfect way to document the technique in the magazines? he wondered. 
OI told you it wouldnOt work,Ó George chirped. 
OButt out. I thought you were off.Ó 
OYou canOt shut me off, thank Jobs and Wasniak. IOm the system. And the problem youOre 
having is with the stabilizing gyros. They donOt work near sea level.Ó 
OWhy the hell not?Ó 
OHuman error, I guess. You wrote the program, hotshot. It works in landing mode; but not in take 
off.Ó 
OThank you very much,Ó Pike said, switching to landing mode. 
OI wouldnOt do that,Ó George chided. OYou canOt lift from landing mode.Ó 
OIOm not lifting until we get some line reeled in. I can play him just fine in landing mode.Ó 
OSuit yourself; but it wonOt go into lift mode until you land.Ó 
OWhy the hell not!Ó Pike demanded hotly. 
OBecause I donOt want to drown when this tea cup capsizes. That much weight will overbalance us 
to the winch side and will jerk us out of the sky. No hard feelings, itOs just physics. I had to 
countermand your orders.Ó 
Pike was speechless. He glared at RitaNwho had a worried look on her face. He watched her 
twiddle the grass wedding ring, thinking no doubt that nothing like this had ever happened on her 
fatherOs boat. The goddamn computer had taken controlNor even if it hadnOt, Pike couldnOt trust 
either system not to be compromised now. 
OAnother thirty or forty turns, Rich!Ó he yelled. OThen you can sleep for a week.Ó 
Lester waved. OHeOs doing great. A real trooper.Ó 
OThomas Goodnaught warned me that you were flawed,Ó Pike confided to George. 
OWhat would he know about it? Woogie-woogie magic.Ó 
OLooks like he was right. YouOre hard wired for cowardice under stress, or something like that. 
What a despicable trick on a rookie. And dangerous, too. Somebody doesnOt like Rich. I thought 
G&G was an honest shop. Looks like I was wrong. Or were you assembled somewhere else? How 
about when he spilled that orange juice on the keyboard? Who fixed it?Ó 
OYou must be kidding,Ó George answered, loading on the scorn. OYou think some off-shore guru 
wouldnOt have told me if I was hot-rodded?Ó 
ONow that I think about it, this is the first really dangerous situation that weOve had on the boat. 
The rest of the danger was either in the skiff or on shore. ThatOs why your defect didnOt show up 
before.Ó 
OBull. And IOm still not going to let you kill us.Ó 
OAll the rest of the action happened outside your control. ItOs only RichieOs incredible luck that 
kept him in. YouOre wired for failure.Ó 
OThatOs a lie. My circuits are perfectNbright and clean. I just ran through everything. No 
problem.Ó 
OOr maybe you trigger on the word ÔhalibutO. Who knows? Or a certain number of days, or a 
date. I hate to think what youOre doing with the investments, right about nowNor maybe your 
cowardice doesnOt extend to that area.Ó 
The portfolio had skidded dangerously in the last two days, George realized with a twinge of alarm. 
But that could hardly be blamed on him, could it? Everything was readjusting after the Barcode 
mess. Who could plan for something like that?Ó 
OBut you win this round, George old boy. WeOll catch this fishie a different way, and weOll avoid 
getting in the record books, just so you can be content.Ó 
OAttempted records arenOt worth much if youOre not around to get the kudos,Ó George said, 
after a beat of hesitation. He was aware that maritime law and spacing law looked dimly on mutiny. 
He needed to tread carefully. 
Pike, for his part, was aware that nothing at all would function on board without a computer, so he 
didnOt have the luxury of blowing GeorgeOs brains out. Not before a fish was caught and weighed, 
and not before a landing was made on Wexley Common. So Plan B. 
He selected Short Wave from the Communications menu, choose Mordachi SkinnerOs band width, 
and hit the Go button. OHowOs the fishing, old hound?Ó he asked, when the indicator beeped a 
pick-up. 
OWho wants to know?Ó ask the gruff voice of MordachiOs first mate, Glando Sklug, an old salt if 
ever there was one. 
OIs Mordachi belted in, or can he talk?Ó 
OHold on. IOll see if heOs indisposed.Ó The connection went dead except for the crackle of static. 
A few minutes later, MordachiOs voice boomed into PikeOs bridge. OHow they hanging, 
Romeo?Ó 
OWant to catch half a fish?Ó Pike asked, explaining the rest of the scenario in brief. 
Receiving a jocular affirmative, Pike gave Mordachi the coordinates and a few seconds later, 
MordachiOs boat, DonOt Tread On Me, was hovering right off the port side. 
OAhoy, the Humanity,Ó MordachiOs voice boomed cheerfully. OPlaying this one from the air, are 
we?Ó 
OThat was the idea, but the winch wonOt lock down. The new plan is to splash down, shoot you 
the extra line weOve got on him, then stretch him between the two of us. I think we can both get a 
pretty interesting weigh in.Ó 
OI donOt think mine would count as second hook.Ó 
OIf we break loose, which could happen, you get it all. Or I think you could make a good case 
under the ORescue of CatchÓ clause.Ó 
ONever heard of that one, but letOs go for the weenie, before he dies of old age. Gods, heOs a big 
one, ainOt he?O 
OLast time we were floating, he tried to ram us to get that junk off his nose. IOd say he must be 
getting kind of tired; but stay ready to jump in case he gets rambunctious again. June will be riding 
the cannon.Ó 
OTell that horny bleeper to watch for ricochets. I donOt want to lose a boat over your fish.Ó 
OIOm an expert at ricochets,Ó June called from the deck. OThe first shot will ricochet through the 
middle porthole in the big chiefOs cabin.Ó 
OReady as weOll ever be,Ó Mordachi boomed, not having heard JuneOs remark. OLetOs get to 
it.Ó 
OOkay, weOre splashing down. Belt in.Ó Pike announced to his crew and to Mordachi. He waited 
a minute, then angled in, keeping the line as tight on the fish as was humanly possible. OHoney,Ó he 
said to Rita. OCould you keep filming? IOd love to have this documented.Ó He smiled meaningfully 
at her. OWhy donOt you stay up here with me. ThereOs a pretty good field of view.Ó 
Rita mentally slapped her forehead. She had forgotten to bring the knapsack full of spare tapes and 
the extra battery pack. Strange how getting married had made her absent minded. Had it? Something 
had. And she had lost most of her interest in being a Ph.D. Very strange. Amazing actually. Just like 
what had happened to her mother after she married Daddy. Quite annoying. 
When the boat settled on the waves, she unclipped her seat belt and ran to get her equipment. 
Something more important than documenting his new fishing technique was going onNRita had finally 
figured that out. Pike had never been interested in her recording project beyond the normal egoism 
of having his picture taken for posterity. As she retrieved the knapsack, the light came on. He 
wanted the audio feature. Brilliant. She chided herself severely for lack of quick response. As a 
partner and help-mate, she would need to make a better showing in the future. The word mutiny 
had finally surfaced in her mind. George was way out of line, even if he was rightNand he controlled 
all the software. He could presumably wipe any audio file that incriminated him. Hence the vid-
corderNan independent record. It was possible that she had recorded part of the previous 
interchange. But had she stopped shooting before the bad stuff? Now that she understood, she 
would station herself on top of a speaker. Grabbing the battery pack, she hurried back up the 
ladder. 
On the way up, she paused briefly to get a few close-ups of Richie straining at the winch, and Lester 
encouraging him. Richie looked exhausted. He didnOt even smile at her, which was more worrisome 
than she cared to admit. In this day and age, it was kind of nuts to be reeling up a huge weight like 
that by hand, wasnOt it? Of course, nobody was forcing him to do it. 
OStand by, Mordachi..!Ó June Madrigal shouted, attracting the attention of her camera. He heaved 
a throwing line, which uncoiled in a perfect parabola and landed across the fantail of DonOt Tread 
on MeNa couple of feet from where Glando Sklug was waiting for it. 
Sklug tied on his heaviest fishing line and held the knot in the air, meaning he was done. OMake sure 
you tie a Ôbarrel with a leaderO or it wonOt hold,Ó he called, giving June the advantage of his years 
of fishing expertise, and a little piece of his ego. 
OKeep your knot advise for somebody who cares,Ó Lester barked. OWe use granny knots on 
everything.Ó 
June hand-over-handed the line back until he had the knot on board. 
Mordachi had sent a braided cadmium alloy cable attached to a heavy green hemp line. Lester took 
one look at it and snorted, OBarrel with a leader, my ass.Ó He opened the tackle locker and picked 
out the biggest swivel he could find, and the cable splicing kit. He tossed the swivel to June. OTie 
this on to our end,Ó he said, then knelt and opened the lid of the splicing kit. 
OHurry it up!Ó Pike yelled. Lester flipped a finger up toward the bridge. Pike laughed. 
Richie didnOt even look up at the flurry of activity around him. On the edge of despair, he had 
remembered a Ken Pao Ri mantra of the injured warriorNa specific against pain and blood loss. 
Although his nose had stopped bleeding, it seemed like a way to preserve whatever was left of his 
manhood. Putting aside all thoughts of being a very wealthy person involved in a futile, pointless and 
dangerous game that he didnOt really give a damn about, he started the chant under his breath. 
HeOd never really used the mantra in an actual emergency before, only during practice, so he 
wasnOt sure it would work. Besides, this wasnOt an authentic emergencyNhe could quit anytime. 
His stubborn streak didnOt want to be known as a quitter, that was all. After a minute or so of 
mumbling the words, he was quiet enough to get into the rhythm of the winching, and in another 
couple of minutes, Rich Rodney Tourbo was in a deep trance stateNhis body winding and winding 
on the winch handle, but nobody was home in his pain centers to receive a pain message. His 
consciousness and subconsciousness were both hovering on the edge of the Great Void, a place of 
utter peacefulness. 
Lester finished the splice to MordachiOs line and cast it off, with another bird flipped to Glando 
Sklug. He gave Richie a penetrating look, then made a hissing sound to attract JuneOs attention. 
OSee, I told you he was starting to amount to something. HeOs way out in a zone borderNvery 
peaceful.Ó 
OYouOd know, if anybody did,Ó June grunted. 
OThatOs right,Ó Lester chided. OMake fun of something sacred.Ó 
OGunner topside!Ó Pike barked. 
OYou go,Ó Lester ordered. 
Bounding up the ladder almost like levitation, June belted into the gunnerOs harness and was sighting 
down the stun cannon inside of twenty seconds. Just in time, too. The bull was almost on them.Ó 
OGoing up,Ó Pike shouted, so everybody could hear. 
Rita kept filming the fishOs approach. Seeing the world through the view finder made it less scary 
than it was, but still it was awfully weird. The fish was plowing a wake like a one-horned monster. It 
was going to ram. 
OSit down, Rita,Ó Pike ordered, sharply. 
Suddenly realizing there was no time to belt in, Rita sank to her knees and wrapped her arms around 
the corner of PikeOs console. 
He hit the jump button and up they went, fifteen feet into the airNout of harmOs way, again. The fish 
charged under the boat directly toward Mordachi. Richie went on reeling, completely unaffected. 
OYou better hit the air, Captain Skinner,Ó Pike advised into the mike. 
Seconds later, MordachiOs boat leaped out of dangerNabout fifty feet into mid-air. 
OWhoOs driving that crate?Ó Pike inquired of the short wave. 
OI am,Ó replied the surly voice of Sklug. OCaptainOs on the winch as he should be.Ó 
OWhat do you say we play this bull from up here? Think you could handle the controls?Ó 
OHowOs that..?Ó 
OYeah, weOll hoist him out, by flying him out. Then weigh in and cut him loose.Ó 
OCut him loose with all the junk tangled on?Ó 
OI didnOt tangle him.Ó 
OSame thing as.Ó Sklug fancied himself a purist. 
OYou can have the fish after we release him, if you want to go to the trouble of actually catching 
him.Ó 
OWe always catch the fish.Ó 
OSure, sure. In this case, it canOt be done. You think youOre a good enough flyboy to make 
history? WeOre filming all this on a vid-corder, compliments of the lovely Rita.Ó He winked at her, 
noting her not very dignified posture on the floor. OYou can go ahead, honey. ItOs nice and steady 
up here now.Ó 
OYouOre only sweet-talking me because you want posterity to believe that you were nice to me.Ó 
Pike smile broadly. OYou might want to find a place with a view, honey dumpling, and tie yourself a 
safety line.Ó 
OYou might want to stuff it,Ó she giggled, climbing to her feet and pointing the recorder out the 
window at the fish. 
Pike could hear the cam-corder softly whirring. Good girl. 
OYou with us on this, George?Ó Pike asked, politely. 
GeorgeOs voice was pinched, like he was biting his bit-mapped tongue. OOf course. The physics 
are now barely passable, so youOre the Captain.Ó 
OThanks, old sport. I knew youOd come around.Ó 
OIncidentally, by my calculations, the line isnOt strong enough.Ó 
ONow, now. HeOll break off if itOs not. So thereOs nothing to worry about from your point of 
view?Ó 
OI am completely dedicated to Mr. Tourbo winning the Tournament.Ó 
Pike let that comment go and set about his preparations. OLester,Ó he yelled, Owhen both lines get 
even, lock ours down. IOll get Mordachi to lock his, and weOll lift the critter out.Ó 
OHow do we tell when theyOre even?Ó 
OAbout even..! WeOll ease upwards until thereOs a strain on the line, then hoist. Is Peter awake?Ó 
OHe will be.Ó 
Pike watched Lester lift the sodden little judge out of the fishing chair and plop him down on the 
deck next to the scales. He whipped a rope harness around him, and tied it off to the rail. Then he 
went to Richie, who was acting kind of like a zombie. Pike couldnOt hear the conversation, but 
Lester gimped around like a fretful old grandmother, smiling and cooing. After a brief period of 
shoulder massaging, Lester guided RichieOs hand to the lock toggle and pressed the back of his 
fingers on the toggle. The winch locked. 
Supporting Richie with one stringy arm, Lester gave the high-sign to Pike. OSheOs all yours now! 
Get Mordachi to even it up from his side. IOm gonna get this warrior settled in the galley, then IOll 
be back to assist the judge.Ó The two of them limped out of PikeOs view. 
OMr. Sklug,Ó Pike said into the short wave. ÔWe are locked down and ready for some fancy 
flying. How about you?Ó 
OIOm here now,Ó MordachiOs deep basso voice replied. OWe are locked down, but your line is 
slack, old sport. Amazing super-structure growing on his head! CanOt wait to get a look at that, 
what?Ó Mordachi had several advanced degrees in anthropology, and he loved to write scholarly 
articles. 
OI wasnOt thinking of keeping him,Ó Pike replied, easing the boat slowly upward. The line snugged 
up with a small jolt when they were about twenty feet above Mordachi. 
OWhy not keep him? This could be the find of our lifetime.Ó 
OOr the find of the week,Ó Pike commented. 
OWho ever heard of civilized life on a total water planet? ThereOs no record of any industry being 
here. Gods, what if they have a Submariner culture. An underwater civilization. Think of the 
astounding visiting we could do.Ó 
OItOs jetsam.Ó 
OYou canOt seriously believe that? At the very least, somebody put a transmitter here, or itOs a 
shipwreck. I want to see, donOt you? WhereOs your curiosity, sport? How about it, Tourbo? 
ArenOt extinct cultures up your alley?Ó 
Richie didnOt answer because he wasnOt there. 
OWell,Ó Pike said, Oin theory thereOs no problem with catching him. We just hold him in the air 
long enough for oxygen shock to set in.Ó 
OExactly.Ó 
OIf one of the lines breaks, it will probably capsize the boat holding the weight.Ó 
OWell worth the risk. LetOs go.Ó 
OOur lineOs way lighter than yours, just for the record.Ó 
OMineOs old and rotten. IOll drop you a rope ladder, if you founder.Ó 
OOkay, then... Lester!Ó Pike called. OIs Peter awake and ready to witness?Ó 
OHold your horses,Ó Lester yelled back, limping out of the galley. OI canOt do everything by 
myself, can I? I put the coffee on. LetOs get this durned unorthodox fishing over with. I didnOt sign 
on to be everybodiesO nurse maid!Ó 
OWell, wake Peter up and belt in next to him. WeOre ready.Ó 
OHeOs already awake. HeOs a professional, ainOt he? At least, he donOt need no hydro-turbine 
to lift out a durn minnow!Ó 
OQuit sputtering and get ready,Ó Pike advised. 
OI am ready! Lift him out and break his spirit. See if I care!Ó 
OBelt in, you old coot!Ó 
OGo ahead. I ainOt going to tie off. I might want to swim. Think about it.Ó 
OShut him up and go for it!Ó June yelled. OBefore my white beard wraps around my asshole.Ó 
OYouOre all asshole!Ó Lester yelled back, acting mad as a banty rooster. Rita was straining to 
capture all the fascinating by-play for posterity. 
OReady, Mordachi?!Ó Pike asked the CB. OMy crew is whipped up to a fighting edge.Ó 
OLet her rip,Ó Mordachi confirmed. OOn the count of three, what?Ó 
The sky overhead suddenly blinked full of boats. Other fishermen had been monitoring the short-
wave and had come to watch.Ó 
OSlow and easy lifting,Ó Pike cautioned. OIf itOs too much, weOll be able to tell. Ready? One, 
twoNthree!Ó He toggled the lift knob, feathering it perfectly. The winch took the weight and strained 
under it. Both lines tightened like piano wire. The big fish felt the tug and flicked his head. 
OOversight,Ó Pike admitted over the airwaves. OHe could hack the lines easy with that jetsam. 
LetOs speed it up a little, Mordachi. Twice as fast. Ready. Go!Ó 
The Humanity surged up in tandem with MordachiOs boat. The fish followed. 
OStart reading the meter,Ó Pike bellowed at Peter Zanker. OAt its highest mark, record it!Ó 
Lester waved. He was standing beside PeterNpointing helpfully to the weight scale. Richie tottered 
out on deck, looking quite unsteady. 
OSix hundred!Ó Lester yelled. OIs that enough for you?Ó 
OI want that transmitter tower,Ó Mordachi boomed. OThe fish will die anyway, or heOll bust into 
some boat tomorrow trying to scrape off.Ó 
OUp we go,Ó Pike said, evenly. He twiddled the joy stick. OHey, Rich..!Ó he yelled. ÔGo sit in 
the fighting chair.Ó 
Richie started toward the chair, but then had other ideas. He saw Rita leaning out a window, pointing 
a camera at him. He waved, with a hazy flash of smile, and started up the ladder. His back hadnOt 
recovered, naturally; but he had forgotten about itNuntil he got on the second rung. Stepping up with 
his right leg caused his back to spasm something fierce. Red spots danced maddeningly in front of his 
eyes. He hooked an arm through a rung to keep from falling and started to breathe again. It would 
be stupid to go into the injured warrior trance hanging on a ladder. That thought struck him funny and 
he started to snigger, which really killed his ripped tendonsNbut he couldnOt stop. 
OSeven hundred,Ó Lester sang. 
The fishOs head and cheeks were out of the water. The wreckage had flopped to one side out of the 
way. The big Bull didnOt like being hauled out. Not a bit. He shook his great flat head and snapped 
his jaws. 
Both lines were tangled in the jetsam, Pike saw, putting the glasses on the fish. But it seemed like the 
bull was hooked really well. Pike couldnOt tell for sure, but the line seemed to have worked itself 
between the teeth of the lower jawNout of bite range. MordachiOs line was harpooned to the 
forehead. 
OEight hundred,Ó Lester bellowed. The winch was straining as the full weight of the flopping fish 
started to hang on it. OA thousand..! It bounced to a thousand! What a big fucker!Ó 
Another thousand would be registering on MordachiOs scales, and the fish wasnOt half out. The 
biggest halibut ever caught was landed by Pike several years ago at forty-six hundredNa big old bull 
that had wrecked the fantail after he was totally exhausted. But Pike had won that year. Now, Richie 
had won, too. A tie was the same as a winNand that was now practically guaranteed. It was enough. 
Money wasnOt the issue any more. 
OYou want me to shoot that stuff off his head?Ó June called down, hopefully. He didnOt really like 
inaction. OHow about an eye shot?Ó 
ONo. Just stand by.Ó 
Control of the boat was getting bouncy as the fish, naturally, started jerking around. Most of his 
weight wasnOt supported by water now, and his mighty tail frothed the ocean. 
OTwelve hundred and jumping..!Ó 
OHad enough, Mordachi?Ó Pike asked. OWhen were you planning to shoot him? ItOs getting a 
slight bit hairy over here.Ó 
OLetOs lower him back in,Ó Mordachi said, jump-shifting. OIOm getting attached to the big fellow. 
We can shoot the lines off and the conning tower will probably stay; tangled. We can mark the spot 
and come back and dive on it.Ó 
OWith bulls around? Not likely.Ó 
OHire a college archeological team.Ó Mordachi lost his breezy manner. OLower at the same 
speed,Ó he shouted. OIOm losing it!! One, two, three!Ó 
OMark the high weight!!Ó Pike yelled at Peter Zanker. OWeOre going down.Ó 
Below them MordachiOs boat was starting to wobble. Then as it lost altitude and weight, it righted 
itself. Pike followed him down, breathing about ten sighs of relief. 
OI told you,Ó GeorgeOs alarmed voice cut in. 
OJune..?!Ó Pike yelled. 
OStanding by!Ó June yelled back instantly. 
OWhen we stop, hop down to the laser gun and shoot the lines off below the horseshit. Mordachi 
wants the structure stuff, if we can save it.Ó 
ORoger. Changing position.Ó Pike heard footsteps on the roof. Contrary to his orders, June was 
changing weapons while they were moving. OOkay,Ó June yelled. Pike saw him out the side 
window. OShooting when we stop descending. Say when.Ó 
OShoot Mordachi off first. HeOll be lower, so weOll have more room to maneuver.Ó 
ORoger.Ó 
OWeOll probably tip from the extra weight, so be ready for it.Ó 
ORoger. Richie and fucking Lester arenOt tied off.Ó 
OGeorge!Ó Pike yelled. 
OIOm here.Ó The computerOs voice was full of suppressed something. Fear? That seemed 
impossible. Where would it come from? 
OGet a grip on yourself. Everything is fine. You were right. It was too much. But we can hold the 
fishOs head out until he dies. No problem with that. So itOs a catch. Instead, weOre going to do a 
live release. Any problems with that?Ó 
OItOs fifty-fifty that you can hold it when all the weight comes on us.Ó 
OLester..!Ó Pike barked. 
Lester waved. OIt went up to twenty-six hundred! Dang big fish. Biggest ever! This oneOs the 
granddaddy!Ó 
OStand by with the cable cutters. If we tilt too much, cut the line. DonOt think, just cut it. And tie 
yourself off, you hardheaded maggot. ThatOs an order!Ó 
OAinOt got no line.Ó 
OUse PeterOs. Put him in the chair.Ó 
ORichieOs in the chair..!Ó Lester looked around and saw that, obviously, Richie wasnOt in the 
chair. Whipping his knife out, he cut the line around PeterOs waist in one swipe. Keeping a sharp 
knife was important to Lester. His father had taught him that, and it had served him well. 
He pulled the judge to his feet and pushed him toward the fighting chair. OGet in and belt down. We 
donOt want to lose your ass over the side.Ó 
The boat was steadily losing altitude. The pressure on the winch was dramatically less. Lester looked 
around for Richie and saw him clinging to the ladder. 
Leaving his other duties, he gimped over to the ladder and steadied the boy with both hands on his 
hips. OWhatOs wrong with you? You need to be belted in.Ó 
OCanOt move,Ó Richie wheezed, very glad to have Lester there to help him. OMy back is broken. 
I can feel the bones grinding.Ó 
OIt ainOt broke. Just seized up. Relax everything, and IOll carry you inside.Ó 
OLester, where are you..?!Ó Pike roared. 
OHeOs helping Richie,Ó Rita answered from her perch at the window. 
OIOll be goddamned!Ó Pike swore. OWhy the fuck does he need help?Ó 
OI donOt know. Looks like heOs hurt.Ó 
OMordachi..?Ó 
ORight here.Ó 
OAre you okay, now..?Ó 
OSo far so good.Ó 
OWeOll stop with his gills out.Ó 
OOkay. Stop at gill level.Ó 
OIt may take a minute to organize here.Ó 
OGot it. Holding at gill level.Ó 
OItOs a little tricky to disengage.Ó 
ONo shit,Ó Mordachi boomed.  
 
 

It had been a nightmarish eternity for Rich RodneyNTournament winner, wealthy young man, martial 
artist, sex fiendNhanging on the ladder alone and isolated. None of his accomplishments or 
embarrassments meant a damn, none of his good luck, because a casual mis-step on an innocent 
ladder had somehow broken his back. Any movement in any direction would probably cause 
irreparable damageNany slight shifting of weight resulted in immediate grinding pain. Every time he 
tested the limits, he could feel the broken vertebra grinding against its broken other half. It was a 
sickening feeling. Waves of nausea washed over him. The only thing to do was gut it out. To allow 
himself to give in to the welcoming blackness that beckoned like a siren of oblivion, was madness. If 
he blacked out, his grip on the rung would relax and he would fall to a permanent wheelchair-bound 
paralysis. That much at least was clearNhis future was ruined if he moved. So he willed himself to 
remain conscious, rigidly locked onto the ladder, as events on the boat bleated around him. Perhaps 
the yelling and cursing was coming from a different time dimension. It was a long, long time of being 
alone until LesterOs strong hands reached out to hold his back in one piece, and the reassuring voice 
reassuring him that his back wasnOt brokenNeven if it was a lie. Even if it was a lie, he let go of his 
clenched grip on the ladder and allowed Lester to catch his weight. Hanging on the ladder would 
never repair his broken vertebra. He needed immediate surgery, and the first step was letting Lester 
help him. At least, if he was lying down, nothing further would break. 
Lester caught the limp body as it fell from the ladder. Moving had caused the bones to grind 
together. The pain, coupled with fear, overloaded RichieOs stress system and he finally pitched into 
the well of blackness where no pain lived. 
OGoddamnit, Lester!Ó Pike bellowed. OGet somewhere I can see you!!Ó 
The fish was pitching around like crazy now that most of its powerful swimming muscles were back 
under water. 
OWhatOs the hold-up?Ó Mordachi asked, tightly. He was only about fifteen feet above the 
oceanNnot much room for a mistake. 
OStanding by, June?Ó Pike asked. 
OCross hairs on him. Say the word.Ó 
OLester..!!Ó 
The cook bounced into PikeOs field of view, hobbling at top speed toward the winch. He grabbed 
the tie-down rope end, whipped it around his waist and tied a bowline in it. OReady!Ó he called. 
OAinOt no cause to get abusive. ItOs only a fish.Ó He reached out with a gaff hook and pulled the 
line toward himself. His fishing knife was already in his right hand. OWhat are you waiting for, June? 
IOm ready.Ó 
OReady, Mordachi?Ó 
OVery,Ó the big man answered tensely. 
George interrupted, frantically. OThere could be a malfunction in theNÓ 
OShut up!Ó Pike barked. OFire away. June!Ó he bellowed, feeling sweat on the palms of his 
hands. He needed to control the horizontal planes, because a lot of weight surge was going to 
happen. 
The rifle sizzled. The boat surged sideways. 
OIOm off..!Ó Mordachi yelled. 
The blocky rifle kept up its sizzling in short bursts. The boat rocked dangerously. Suddenly, they 
surged back violently the other way as the weight was gone. Lester must have cut the line. Rita slid 
past the console, and stopped suddenly at the end of her rope. Pike fought for control, and after a 
few instants of chaos, found it. Blessed, blessed stability. The sun came out from behind a cloud in a 
blaze of glorious sunset. 
OFantastic!Ó Pike yelled. OIs everybody all right? Sound off!Ó 
OFine,Ó June said from the deck beside the bridge. OGoing down to help.Ó His feet padded over 
to the ladder. 
OTook him long enough,Ó Lester bitched, picking himself up off the deck. OIf IOd a thought he 
didnOt know how to fly this thing, I never would have signed on.Ó June walked across the deck like 
a big cat, and clapped the cook in a tight embrace. 
ODamned good show!Ó Mordachi boomed. OIOm still hooked up with the treasure. Damned 
good!Ó 
OYou all right, honey?Ó Pike asked. 
Rita looked dazed. She was sitting on the floor near PikeOs feet at the end of her safety line, with no 
expression on her face. Not even relief. 
OIOll have to teach you to tie off a little snugger,Ó Pike observed. The CB radio was crackling with 
congratulations from the other boats. Pike switched it off. OJune,Ó he called down to the deck. OIf 
everybodyOs all right, take over up here.Ó 
OEverybody ainOt all right,Ó Lester said, sourly. OThereOs probably coffee all over the galley. 
Probably take me all night to clean it up.Ó 
OYou with us, honey?Ó Pike asked Rita. He couldnOt leave the console to go to her. She looked 
really beautiful now that some color was coming back to her face. He was hoping that sheOd smile 
pretty soon, so heOd know she was all right.  
 
 

The big bull halibut lay still a few feet under the surface, big as a billboard, repairing its wits, or 
whatever fish do inside their fishy brainsNthen it flicked its great tail and glided downward.  
 
 

THE END