Howard Frayberg looked around the gray landscape of Riker's Planet, gazed out over the roaring black Mogador Ocean. "Sam, I think there's a story out there."
Sam Catlin shivered inside his electrically heated glass overcoat. "Out on that ocean? It's full of man-eating plesiosaurs—horrible things forty feet long."
"Suppose we worked something out on the line of Moby Dick? The White Monster of the Mogador Ocean. We'd set sail in a catamaran—"
"Us?"
"No," said Frayberg impatiently. "Of course not us. Two or three of the staff. They'd sail out there, look over these gray and red monsters, maybe fake a fight or two, but all the time they're after the legendary white one. How's it sound?"
"I don't think we pay our men enough money."
"Wilbur Murphy might do it. He's willing to look for a man riding a horse up to meet his space-ships."
"He might draw the line at a white plesiosaur riding up to meet his catamaran."
Frayberg turned away. "Somebody's got to have ideas around here...."
"We'd better head back to the space-port," said Catlin. "We got two hours to make the Sirgamesk shuttle."