"Get a trident, Simms!" he bawled over the fury of the storm, and the man obediently lifted one of the implements from its rack. Simultaneously a net tender climbed over the rail and, clinging to the mesh, lowered himself hand over hand. The man with the trident looked gravely on. Kort felt himself flush, yet hesitated to order the other man back. Possibly the thing in the net was familiar to the others, its disposal a simple matter which his interference might make difficult.
The tender leaned down, chopped at the white monstrosity with a heavy knife. There was a solid thunk of metal as the edge bit chain mesh. Kort would almost have sworn that the thing moved. It was incredible that the man could have missed it otherwise.
Suddenly uneasy, Kort drew his electro-gun. With a grimace the tender leaned farther over, raised his knife again.
Before it fell, before anyone could move or shout warning, the white trunk flashed out, magically freed itself from the net, coiled about the man, and in one convulsive movement vanished with him beneath the sea. There was a single sharp splash, muted by the drumming rain.
Kort had not dared to fire. Incredulously he stared at the spot where the thing had been enmeshed an instant before. The undamaged net, slimy with the detritus of the sea, hung empty under the ship's stern.
It was still raining, but, as though some oceanic deity had accepted a living sacrifice, the Mermaid's luck had changed. Nets came up laden with the Molo Ivrum's rampant life. Sorters tossed the edible, bulbous gwai upon conveyor belts for the cannery machines to clean and pack. The remainder of the catch was thrown back into the sea. The finless, two-mouthed gwai alone was wanted for its incredible nutritive value, twice that of the finest synthetic foodstuffs, which had made this tiny denizen of Venusian seas a staple article of diet wherever supplies had to be taken in concentrated form.
Kort watched the work somberly, feeling himself responsible for the tender's death. Even Pratt would have ordered the man back. The men were right; he was a gold brick, not worth his salt aboard the Mermaid. He'd have to get off. Not that there could be any going back to the passenger runs for him, after the tragedy of the Corinthia. They allowed a man only one mistake there. He had made his by failing to report a brother officer unfit for duty.
A steward brought his lunch—fried gwai, native tapioca, and strong synthetic coffee. While he was eating Hodge entered. The first mate poured himself a cup of the brew and dismissed the idle helmsman with a nod. The Mermaid lay becalmed in the downpour.
Kort felt the mate's eyes upon him. Hodge was a grizzled giant of a man, at least thirty years older than he.