"Alan Dean Foster - Humanx 2 - Cachalot" - читать интересную книгу автора (Foster Alan Dean)

An occasional flash of awkward lightning illuminated
the dark underbelly of the storm, forming drainage sys-
tems in the sky. The flare made candle flames of the
wave crests. He knew there was more heat than fury in
the discharges. Then" frequency told him the storm
would not last long. Nor was it the season of the heavy
rains.

Occasional drops continued to wet him. He was
alone on the dock. Thirty minutes, he thought, and the
sun will be out again. No more than that. Perhaps then
I will have more luck.
So he stayed there in his shorts and mustache and
waited patiently for a bite. Some thought the pose and
activity undignified for the town's computer-planner
emeritus, but that did not bother Mustapha. He was
wise enough to know that madness and old age excuse
a multitude of eccentricities, and he had something of
both.

A few deserted gathering ships, sleek vessels wide of




4 CACHALOT

beam, were secured two docks away from him. A cou-
ple of magnetically anchored skimmers bobbed off to
his right. Their crews would be on their week of off-
duty, he reflected, home with family or carousing con-
tentedly in the town's relaxation center.

An affectionate but uncompromising type, Mustapha
in his early years had tried life with two different
women. They had left more scars on him than all the
carnivores he had battled in the name of increasing
the town's catch.

His reverie was interrupted by a new, stronger tug
at the line. His attention focused on where it inter-
sected the surface. The tug came again, insistent, and
the antenna pole curved seaward in a wide arc, its far
end pointing like a hunting dog down into the water.

Mustapha held tight to the metal pole, began crank-
ing the homemade reel. There was a lot of line, and it
was behaving oddly. It was almost as if something were
entangled in the line itself, not fighting the grip of the