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CHAPTER 20

“In the event this goes bad,” Jason said, “the Alfred’s primary job is to get me back to camp.”

The idea was simple. Use the Alfred to drive the boat while dropping various sorts of traps into the bay. Along the way they could get a bottom profile. The flexmet boat was composed of an entire container’s worth of flex with ballast of rocks gathered from the island.

The problem was, as far as he was aware, nobody had ever tried this. It should work. Flex was lighter than water and he’d included bubbles in the flex that were designed to add to the buoyancy.

Then again, it might either capsize or just sink. He wasn’t a maritime engineer.

“It’s going to work,” Jewel said. “The engineering is sound.”

The boat was pulled up on the sand shore. The sandy beach—most of the area was black mud—was another reason to put the camp there. He pulled out from the shore and . . . motored into the bay, staying in the calm water off the island.

The boat settled a bit but not much. That there was no open area in the hull was part of his trepidation, it was solid flex filled with containers of bait and weights.

He kept half an eye on where he was going, controlling the movement with a couple of joysticks he’d extended from the flexmet, and the other eye on the sonar. As another squall of rain started, he extended a cover above his head and finally just built a cabin. Better. He was going to have to find some heavy glass or equivalent somewhere.

The sonar profile at first showed a cut-up rocky bottom as far as he could tell. The big problem was all the sea life that was cluttering up the image. The bay was alive with fish.

He silently motored out about a hundred meters and spotted a flat area that appeared right.

“Crab trap away,” Jason said.

They’d discussed this and designed it before they left the station. There were a variety of different types of traps for maritime species. Though all the bait was going to be the same, offal from harvester teams, they had studied fish traps as well as traps for crustaceans. By designing the right trap, you would somewhat specify what got trapped. Fish traps had different openings and exits than lobster traps, which had different openings and exits than crab traps, et cetera.

The flexmet, controlled by Jewel, obediently cut a chunk of offal, put it in a container in the trap, added one hundred kilos of steel weight then extruded the completed trap off the back of the boat. A length of flexmet based on the sonar depth plus ten percent followed it into the depths, then a “balloon” was attached to the end by opening up the flexmet like a flower and trapping air.

The balloon splashed into the water and, once the trap was away, the mass of the boat reduced by the equivalent of all the material.

After two hours he’d deployed all the weights and most of the offal. He’d also set out a variety of sizes of gill nets to find what fish were on the bottom. He’d braved the waves opposite the narrower north opening and the boat had handled it fine. He’d expected some queasiness but apparently vertigo and motion sickness were something else the Cybers had tooled out of humanity.

“Okay,” Jason said, pulling a rod out of a coffin. “Time for some fun. See if a drone can spot those salmon.”

“Southwest,” Jewel said. “Near the south entrance to the bay.”

That was a long run but he could mostly cross still waters. The problem was he had to cross the rough water and currents by the north entrance.

“Here goes nothing,” Jason said. The boat was heavy with flex when he’d crossed it the last time. The lighter boat was going to jump all over the place.

“The boat has a low enough mass the Alfred can fly it,” Jewel said, predicting his issue.

“Just fly?” Jason said. “Okay . . . ” He considered the controls he’d made and retracted them. “Make it so.”

The entire gray boat lifted into the air and soared across the bay giving Jason an even better view. It was totally worth it. It also gave him an idea.

“Does an Alfred have to stay upright to fly?” Jason asked.

“No,” Jewel replied. “Tractors use the contragravity plates just as the coffins and conexes. But they have them woven on all sides. So, they can counter gravity on their side or upside down. And the lift and drive system could lift and drive them well enough even without the contragravity. Just takes more energy.”

“Hmmm . . . ” Jason said as the flying fishing boat approached the target area. “Make a note to remind me of that when I’ve got some free time.”

He could see the large school of salmon feeding at the surface.

“Don’t fly over them,” Jason said. “Land about a hundred meters this side.”

The fish were apparently feeding on anchovies in the wider south opening and the waves and currents looked . . . fun.

“Careful on landing,” Jason said, subconsciously extending a length of flexmet to his waist as a precaution. He looked the boat over and shaped it mentally to have stronger transom and bulkheads and more internal space. They’d discussed hull forms and he adjusted that to those found on deep sea fishing boats found in northern coastal waters.

The waves were rough and the little boat rolled from side to side.

“We need more ballast,” Jewel opined. “It will be doable. The Alfred isn’t going to let it roll over or sink but it needs more ballast. Also, you needed to include self-bailing ports. I got it.”

“You’re a jewel, Jewel,” Jason said as the boat shipped water and a wave splashed him in the face. “Well, it will be an aqueous experience . . . ”

* * *

“Aqueous experience or not, this rocks!” Jason shouted as the salmon caused his reel to scream. He’d programmed the course so he could stay on the rod and now removed it from the rod holder and set the hook. The salmon slammed into the strike and started a hard run to starboard, circling the boat. “Hold up, Jewel. Let it run.”

“Will do,” Jewel said.

Jason had conformed the boat to a forty-foot, high-side, open-console design to handle the conditions. The greater length reduced the waves splashing over the front, the high sides prevented shipping water and the length handled the waves better. With the open deck he moved forward to the bow to fight the fish, occasionally grabbing the bulkhead rails to keep from tripping.

It took about thirty minutes to land the fish. Jason walked it back to the stern of the boat, formed a gaff and gaffed it over the side.

“That’s a salmon,” Jason said as the silvery fish flopped on the deck. It threw the lure and he tossed the line back over the side then set the rod in the rod holder. He held the fish up by the gills as it flopped. “Did the drones get pics?”

“They did,” Jewel noted, a tone of doubt in her voice.

“What’s wrong?” Jason asked, tossing the fish into a stasis container.

“Before you close that, let one of the drones get a genetic sample,” Jewel said. “While it appears to be a salmon, the species is not familiar.”

“Get a sample,” Jason said.

One of the hovering drones dropped down and extended a probe into the fish. Then the stasis container closed.

“As suspected, it is not any terrestrial species of salmon,” Jewel said a few moments later. “It’s an evolutionary descendant of rainbow trout.”

“Trout?” Jason said. “Salmon and trout are very similar genetically. Are you sure?”

“You’re asking an AI if it’s sure about something as simple as salmonoid genetics?” Jewel asked tautly.

“It just seems a little strange,” Jason said.

“Hypothesis,” Jewel said. “As you noted, there were attempts to introduce salmon into various biomes that should have supported them that failed. Correct?”

“Yes,” Jason said.

“I hypothesize that the Cybers did not introduce salmon,” Jewel said. “They introduced trout. Notably, at the very least, rainbow trout. The species from which this salmon derived.”

“So . . . how’d they become salmon?” Jason asked.

“Brown trout have been found in oceanic littoral areas in the Atlantic,” Jewel said.

“That’s a new one on me,” Jason said. “Really?”

“Really,” Jewel said. “In freshwater streams and rivers that were trout bearing and met the ocean, trout would occasionally be caught in the inshore areas. They were capable of surviving in salt water and if the prey was more numerous in the ocean than in the streams, they’d move into the ocean to feed.”

“Flash forward a million years,” Jason said. “And rainbow trout have adapted to a nearly entirely oceanic life. But do they still breed upriver?”

“They would have to,” Jewel said. “It’s unlikely that their spawn are survivable in salt water any more than terrestrial salmon. But this is an entirely new salmon species from a different evolutionary track. Naming time.”

“What’s Sheila’s oldest son’s name?” Jason asked.

“William,” Jewel answered. “He goes by Billy.”

“Billy’s Salmon,” Jason said. “We need to get them down here at some point. Put it on the to-do list.”

“Will do,” Jewel said. “Also sent a note about it to Sheila and Billy.”

“Good,” Jason said. “Now, to work! Alfred, cruise through the school again.”

It had taken a few tries with different lures to find something the salmon would hit. They were hunting anchovies and it turned out a simple silver spoon was the best bet.

Just as the second salmon hit, the phone chimed.

“Billy’s asking if you’ve got a second,” Jewel said.

“If he doesn’t mind talking while I’m fighting a fish,” Jason said.

“Hey, Uncle Jason,” Billy said. “Thanks for naming a fish after me. Nice salmon, by the way.”

“You’re welcome,” Jason said, struggling with the fish. “I’ve already got another one on the line.”

“Fishing on this planet has no sport,” Billy opined.

“You’ve been down?” Jason asked.

“I work for you,” Billy said after an awkward silence. “I mean, I work for Brandywine. I just started my solo in inland Chindia.”

“Eek,” Jason said. “I hadn’t . . . I am horrible about keeping up.”

“Don’t worry,” Billy said with a chuckle. “So am I. I only know you’re the boss because Mom mentioned it. She’s working in the accounting department. Dad’s working in shipping and receiving and Terry and Chuck are both going through training right now as harvesters.”

“Good to hear,” Jason said, working the fish around the port side of the boat. “How’s it going? Jungle? Forest?”

“Plains,” Billy said. “Lots of ungulates. Lots of lions. Lots and lots of megalions.”

“Please tell me you’ve got a big enough rifle,” Jason said. “I’ll get you one if you don’t.”

“It’s standard to take a loan with Derren now,” Billy said. “The story about you and your trusty .30-06 has gotten around. I got my hands on a Safari fairly cheap. Just will take about three jobs to pay it off.”

“I could have gotten you one,” Jason said then thought about it. He’d have to check with Gil. He’d already paid James back for the Safari.

“And for Terry and Chuck?” Billy replied. “We’re okay. Just glad to have a job. And be in the fresh air. I’m pulling in tons of protein, so a few trips should pay it off with plenty left over. Not so much on the mushrooms around here. But we’ve found some types of wild wheat that might make flour.”

“How’s the fishing?” Jason asked.

“Until I get the crocs cleared from the local river, I am unsure,” Billy admitted. “I’m a little leery about taking a fishing pole down to the river at the moment. Ask me in a week. Or, possibly, given the number of crocs, a year. The hunting is fantastic. I took an eland already. I just couldn’t loop it.”

“Keep drones up, keep an Alfred around and stay out of the long grass,” Jason said. “I don’t need to explain to your mother why you got eaten by a megalion.”

“I will ensure I don’t get eaten,” Billy said. “Rachel would kill me if I got killed.”

“Girlfriend?” Jason asked. He’d put a pole base on his stomach with flex and now extended a tendril to hold the pole up and released to rest his arms.

“Wife,” Billy replied. “You’re not even sure how old I am, are you? I was thirty-two with two kids when we transferred.”

“I probably should have named the salmon after one of your kids, then,” Jason admitted. “I hadn’t even spoken to your mom in years until we got transferred.”

“Mom barely mentions Granddad and I’d only met him once,” Billy said. “Terry and Chuck never have. I’m the oldest, then Terry then Chuck. And don’t worry about naming it after one of my kids. My second is named Billy. I’ll tell him it was named after him.”

“Jewel, try to make that official,” Jason said, reeling in a few inches. The salmon wasn’t having any of it and did another run, bending the pole practically in half.

“Entry amended,” Jewel said. “The species Salmo billyus or ‘Billy’s Salmon,’ is named after William ‘Billy’ Randolph Hansen, great grandnephew of the discoverer Jason Edward Graham. How’s that?”

“Sounds fine,” Jason said, trying to reel in again. Nope. “Billy, we need to get the family together some time. And we’ve got to get your kids down here. Somewhere it’s safe, mind you.”

“That means not around here,” Billy said. “But I agree.”

“Jewel, put that in the to-do list,” Jason said. “And with that, I’m out.”

“I’ll name a crocodile after you,” Billy said.

“That would be appropriate,” Jason replied. “Out here.”

“He’s about to find there’s already a crocodile species named after you,” Jewel said.

“There is?” Jason replied. The fish was starting to tire and he reeled in a whole foot and a half before it decided it was having none of that. Again.

“When Storm realized you hadn’t bothered to name the croc species that nearly ate you, she named it Crocodylidae grahamus,” Jewel said. “And a species that is genetically distinct in Kush is named Crocodylidae jasonus. Then there’s the Graham River in Chindia, the Jason River in Chindia and the Graham Mountains in Europa. You’d better name something yourself after yourself before it’s all used up.”

“So how many of my employees have been trying to curry favor?” Jason asked. The fish was finally tired enough to start bringing it to the boat.

“In some cases, it’s currying favor,” Jewel said. “But I think the crocodiles are more of a joke. Storm doesn’t seem like the type to curry favor.”

“Agreed,” Jason said.

“And the crocodile in Kush was named by O’Callaghan. He’s definitely not the type to curry favor.”

“Agreed again,” Jason said.

“Mostly, it seems to be people are having as much trouble naming things as you are,” Jewel said. “I won’t bother to list the number of plant, insect and reptile species with either Wilson or Graham in their names. And those don’t seem to be intended as insults, any more than naming a river after one of you is currying favor. More like recognizing that they wouldn’t be there if it wasn’t for you and Tim.

“Looking at the species and place names that are being named by Brandywine prospectors, it looks as if they’re mostly just finding any name that they can. Most things are named after their kids or family. Billy has already named three new species of antelope after his kids. A type of flower after his wife. Rachel’s Rose. That sort of thing.”

“Makes sense,” Jason said. “There are a bunch of species to name.”

He got the salmon alongside, gaffed it over the transom and straight into the stasis case.

“The school appears to have disappeared into the deeps,” Jewel said.

“Then we’ll head over to the delta,” Jason said, setting his rod into the rod holder. He stumbled as another wave hit. He’d forgotten how much energy you used on a small boat just keeping your feet. “And let’s fly, shall we?”

* * *

“That’s a lot of protein,” Jason said as masses of waterfowl took to wing. The shadow of the boat was obviously a huge aerial predator and they weren’t sticking around.

The various ducks, geese and swans numbered in the hundreds of thousands at a guess. Millions, possibly. There was definitely something like snow geese in the mix. And the noted swans. There were mostly various versions of ducks and coots.

“If I had a shotgun, I could probably chase some down on the wing,” Jason said, looking around at the flocks.

“If only you’d brought a shotgun,” Jewel said.

“I did,” Jason pointed out. “It’s just back at the camp. Plenty of time for duck hunting. I need a dog.”

“That’s a new one on the to-do list,” Jewel said. “Labrador retriever?”

“More like a springer spaniel,” Jason said. “Issue. I’ve never trained a bird dog. And I’m still spending a good bit of time on the station, which is a terrible place for a dog. I don’t need one going hying off after a squirrel and getting eaten by a leopard. And some of the areas we go into are sort of dangerous even for a well-trained dog. Put it on the long-term to-do list.”

“Will do,” Jewel said. “One trained springer spaniel for bird hunting.”

“Let’s head to the barn,” Jason said. “I missed lunch and working a small boat works up an appetite.”

* * *

Jason had prepared meals and loaded them in stasis cases while still on the station. He probably should have brought one with him on the boat.

As it was, he sat down at his table, opened the case and extracted one of the flexmet containers therein before closing the case again.

“Not even sure which one this is,” Jason said. “Don’t peek, Jewel.”

“Wouldn’t think about it,” Jewel said as Jason opened the flex.

“Ah, good choice,” Jason said.

The revealed lunch was a roast wild pork loin with roasted wild potatoes and canned asparagus.

People, Americans particularly, tended to have stuff stashed away. Food they’d picked up at one point intending to use and never gotten around to it. Frequently it ended up going out of date. The Cyber Corps had replaced the out-of-date or nearly out-of-date foods with new along with repairing or replacing anything found in damaged condition.

Jason wasn’t sure how old the canned asparagus was. He didn’t remember buying it. But it made a nice accompaniment to the otherwise Bellerophon-acquired meal.

“Tim’s calling,” Jewel said.

“Already?” Jason said. “Put him through. Hey, Tim, you’re just in time for lunch.”

“What grand foods are you eating now?” Tim asked.

“Hey, with all the ground teams, you have more access than I do,” Jason said. “And this was a meal I made on the station, so there.”

“No new foods down there?” Tim asked.

“Got the traps, lines and nets out,” Jason said. “Lots of waterfowl. Lots. Tons of protein on the wing. Just got to figure out how to catch them and slaughter en masse. Probably not this season. Also, outside our lease. Definitely salmon, though not a terrestrial species. Jewel thinks it separately evolved from rainbow trout after the terraforming, which is interesting. New species of abalone. New species of sea bass. The fishing is—”

“No sport at all,” Tim said. “I’ve heard it before.”

“Spoil sport,” Jason said, taking a bite of pork with potatoes. “You called this meeting. What did we miss in all the other meetings?”

“I’ve got a project manager working on Brandywine’s,” Tim said. “There are various issues to discuss and since it’s your idea, I’m throwing them at you.”

“Discuss away,” Jason replied. He loved “discussions” about “issues.” Not.

“Décor,” Tim said. “The interior has all the usual flex-screen technology. Nice enough. But . . . everywhere has that. We’re trying to figure out some better look using what’s available.”

“Table for now,” Jason said. “I’ve got an inkling of an idea, already had it, but table for now.”

“Furnishings,” Tim said with a shrug. “Ditto. We’re looking at buying stuff off the market. People who had multiple homes had multiple sets of furniture, dining room tables are available going cheap. But none of it will match.”

“Table,” Jason said. “Probably falls into the same issue as décor.”

“Table settings and silverware, same issue,” Tim said. “Stuff is available for sale. Rarely does it match.”

“For table settings, plates and so on, what we need is plain bone china,” Jason said. “Either round or square. I’m betting that we can find enough bone china that matches closely enough that we can stock the venue. Silverware may be harder. How many plates are we looking at?”

“For the venue size, five hundred,” Tim said.

“Jewel, can you find five hundred matching sets of good quality, undecorated, circular bone china available?” Jason asked.

“Yes,” Jewel said.

“That’s the china out of the way,” Jason said. “Matching glasses, silverware, will be harder. White tablecloths shouldn’t be an issue. The décor and the furniture . . . we okay with wood and leather?”

“I’d be okay with wood and leather,” Tim said. “What are you thinking?”

“I’m thinking I need another metric ton of flexmet, another Alfred and probably two small electric motors. Then let me see if I can do something with that. Hold off on the décor plans. Although . . . get someone to design a wood and leather interior. A designer I am not.”

“What sort of design?” Tim asked, confused.

“I dunno,” Jason said. “Just get it designed. I’ll see if I can match it. I’ve got some ideas on how to do it but I want to experiment. If I can’t match it exactly, I’ll talk to the designer about changes.”

“Doing wood and leather with flexmet?” Tim said.

“Wood, yes,” Jason said. “At least I think so. I’ll start working on it. The leather has me flummoxed but give me a bit to think about it. That’s my part of the partnership, right?”

“Which was why I pitched it on you,” Tim said, grinning. “If you can come up with something, it’s off my plate.”

“I’ve got to noodle on it,” Jason said distantly. “We good?”

“We’re good,” Tim said. “Out here.”


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