lay in an equipment fault, not in a total absence of fish.
For some reason far beyond his rudimentary technical
knowledge to fathom, the fish-finder refused to signal
anything closer than the bottom of the sea. With mad-
dening precision it delineated on its circular screen the
profile of the rocks three hundred feet below his keel,
but it wouldn’t even show the big plastic bucket he was
trailing as a sea-anchor.
Transistors were expensive, and it was impossible to
tell by merely looking at them whether they were in
functional condition or not. Accordingly, he couldn’t
say whether those he had salvaged at various times and
popped in the spares box were better, or worse, than the
ones installed in the fish-finder already. He could merely
try every possible combination until he had exhausted
the last permutation, and since there were altogether six-
teen transistors in the fish-finder and seven in the spares
box, it was proving an impossibly long job.
At least, however, it was ridding him of some useless
junk. Two of the spares had put the fish-finder com-
pletely out of action, and these he had tossed overboard
with annoyance.
The son was baldng hot, and the sea was completely
featureless. His trawler, shabby and paint-peeling, was
the only sign of life as far as he could see. On the after-
deck, in the exiguous shadow of a torn plastic awning,
he sat with legs crossed, using the front plate off the
fish-finder housing as a tray for the loose parts. He was
very lean, and the summer had tanned his naturally-dark
skin to the colour of old rich leather. His hair hung
around his shoulders in thick braids, and a shiny but
sea-tarnished chrome ring was threaded through the
pierced lobe of his left ear. Anyone with a knowledge of
the culture of Cyclops would have placed him instantly,
even without stopping to consider his off-white loincloth
and elastic sandals: a fisherboy from one of the sea-hemi-
sphere ports, most likely Grarignol, and doing rather
badly this year.
Correct. Morosely, Bracy discovered that another
transistor was worthless, and that made three over the
side.
At least, he promised himself, he was not going to turn
for home before he had exhausted all possibilities for
self-help. Even then.. .
His stomach churned and his mind quailed at the pros-
pect of going home with an empty hold. Better, surely,
to cruise at random until his nets chanced on something
for the family to eat, even if he found no oilfish. Oilfish
were the only salable species in this part of the ocean;
eating fish could be got by anyone, simply by casting a
few lines with bait. Oilfish travelled in vast schools of
eight to ten thousand, but because the schools were so
big they were likewise concentrated, and without a fish-
finder one might hunt for weeks and not cross the path
of a single school.
. If only he belonged to a different family . . . ! If he
were one of the Agmess boys, for instance, six brothers
of whom two had sufficient technical skill not merely to
do their own electronics repairs but actually to build
equipment for other families’ boats . .. But by the same
token, they guarded their knowledge well. He would
have to go home and pay for their assistance, or pay
someone elsewhat with, after a fruitless voyage?
Agmess boats had radio, too, and in the event of a break-
down they could signal for help, whereas he was on his
own, in charge of the boat which supported his four sis-
ters, his grandmother and his eight-year-old younger
brother.
He was himself seventeen years old. He had been the
breadwinner of the family since the great storm of the
winter before last during which his parents had been
drowned in the capsizing of a lifeboat put out to rescue
a damned fool.
Add me to the list, Bracy told himself sourly. My
parents would be dreadfully ashamed, to see me in this
stupid mess!
He paused in his thankless task and cast a casual glance
over the bumished shield of the sea, not expecting to see