In another bank of screens he could see the permanent residents boarding at the stem, nine hundred feet away. Their ramp went up to the loading area on the Sports Deck; it was an insult to the integrity of the hull to have the passenger entrance so low, but that was not the only compromise the designers had made.
He turned to the guest beside him. “Well, what do you think of us so far?”
Captain Hartman smiled noncommittally around his pipe. He was another ex-Cunard man, retired now, traveling on a courtesy pass. “Impressive,” he said.
“The size, you mean. She is the largest passenger vessel ever built, let alone the biggest submersible vessel—or ever likely to be built, if you ask me.”
“You don’t think they’ll go on with the programme? You’re meant to be a prototype, aren’t you? Isn’t that what the P in POSH is for?”
Bliss grimaced slightly. “Prototype Open Sea Habitat, yes, somebody must have thought that was funny once, but not anymore. We call her Sea Venture, or CV for short. What she is is a bloody raft.”
“Boarding completed, Chief,” said the First Deputy, a handsome young Midwesterner named Ferguson.
“All right. Signal the tugs.”
“How many tugs?” Hartman inquired.
“Six. They’ll take us out about seventy miles, until we can catch the southbound current; then we’re on our own. Tugs brought her all the way across the Pacific two years ago from the Kure Yards where she was built. The hull, that is; the fittings and interior work are all American.”
“You’re proud of her really, aren’t you? 1 should be.”
“Oh, well, you know,” said Bliss. He was watching a screen on the console in front of him, the one that displayed a view of the reception lobby. Following his gaze, Hartman saw a passenger, an alert-looking young man with short dark hair, turn as he moved toward the desk and look directly into the camera.
His real name was Sverdrupp; he was born in Stockholm, educated in France, Germany, and England, trained in Israel and Central America. At the moment he had an American passport. For the past ten years he had been employed by a certain international organization which gave him occasional jobs to do and paid him very well. Two months ago he had been summoned to a meeting in Rome, in the course of which it appeared that he was being lent to another organization, not named then or ever, which required his services for this occasion only. His body was deceptively slender; his clothes were new and expensive. He had a boyish, open face, useful to him in his profession.
John Stevens, as he called himself now, gazed around with calm interest while the moving ramp carried him up into Sea Venture. He did not see the man he was looking for, but he did see several other celebrities: the video star Eddie Greaves, a former U.S. senator, a beer baron, the widow of a Greek shipping magnate. There were also several very pretty girls.
Stevens knew that his quarry had reserved a suite on the Signal Deck at the top of Sea Venture; he himself had booked a single cabin on the deck below, in a section which gave him privileges at the restaurant used by more exalted passengers. He rode decorously up into the reception lounge, presented his ticket, and followed a Filipino steward to his cabin. He investigated every comer of the room almost without thinking about it, sniffed the air, put his hand on the sweating side of the ice-water carafe, then sat down before the computer console at the far wall.
In the printer tray beside it was a little news sheet, the CV Journal. “WELCOME TO THE WONDERFUL WORLD OF SEA VENTURE!” it began, and went on, “If you would like to know some fascinating facts about Sea Venture, press the ‘CV’ button on your personal computer terminal.” He did so, and found to his satisfaction that there was a program for deck plans.
On the wall screen a skeletal outline of the vessel appeared in 3-D. It rotated gently at his command, and he saw that the view he had had from the island, huge as it was, had given him a misleading impression. Seen from above, Sea Venture was an oval shape more than three-quarters as wide as it was long, wider than eight ordinary ships lying side by side.
He gave the computer another command, and saw a red dot with the legend YOU ARE HERE. He summoned up other dots for the Liberty Restaurant, the Signal Deck Lounge, the card room, the casino, the theater; the computer obligingly drew yellow lines from his cabin to each one. He blanked the screen, well satisfied. Then he turned on a commercial channel and sprawled in comfort against the headboard of the bed to watch “Wild Annie and Bill.”
3
A powered wheelchair approached the moving ramp at the stem of Sea Venture, under the sign that read, permanent residents only. In the chair was a very small gray-haired man; behind it was a large young man with an expressionless com-fed face. As they entered the ramp, a young woman in a yellow pantsuit ran up beside them. “Professor Newland. I’m Ann Bonano of the Toronto Star."
“No interviews,” barked the large young man.
“No, that's all right, Hal.” Newland said in a surprisingly resonant voice. “I know Ms. Bonano—we met at the convention in Los Angeles, what was it, four years ago?”
“I didn't think you’d remember,” she said, smiling. “Professor Newland, it’s funny to find you here, and even funnier to find you going into the permanent resident section. Surely this doesn’t mean—”
“No, no." said Newland, “just trying to make your job harder. Sneaking aboard, to put it bluntly. How did you know I was here?”
"I was having lunch with a friend and forgot the time, and then I was in such a hurry that I got out at the wrong gate—and I looked up and saw you. One of the breaks.” She took a notebook from her yellow bag. “As long as I’ve trapped you, why are you here? Have you changed your opinion about Sea Venture and the ocean habitat program? "
“No. not exactly, but I thought it would be educational. You know."
She hesitated. “Professor Newland, let me put it another way. Our people in Washington tell us the space colony bill is going to be voted down again this year by a substantial margin. Does that mean you think it's time to give up? Do you see the ocean habitats as a viable alternative to L-Five?”
“I wouldn't put it that way,” Newland said easily. “You know, this year or next year, it doesn’t matter, we’ve got to go into space. The L-Five colonies are going to be built, there's no doubt about that; the only question is when.”
She scribbled a note. “But in the meantime," she said, “if Congress continues to fund the ocean habitat program, don’t you think that will make them less and less inclined to give you any money for L-Five?”
“We'll have to wait and see. I think Congress usually does the right thing, sooner or later. I know you've followed my lectures, and 1 don't have to tell you what the reasons are. By going into space we’ll be opening up brand-new territory, not just using up more of what we’ve already got. And not only that, we’ll be gaining vast new sources of energy. That's vital. We’ve got to have the energy, for six billion people. And you can't get that energy from the ocean.”
“Some people are talking about thermal plants along the habitat lanes.”
“Well, that’s what I like to call a deep-blue-sea project.”
She made another note. “Professor Newland, there have been rumors for over a year now of some kind of split between you and the rest of the L-Five leadership. Is there anything to those rumors?”
“We’ve had our disagreements, over the years. That’s not surprising.”
She paused. “You said you thought this trip on Sea Venture would be educational. What do you hope to learn?”
“Who knows? I’m always ready to learn something new. Talk to me again after Guam, and maybe I’ll tell you.”