With Friends Like These... Part 9

Fowler rose. He had only a single sheet of notes in front of him, and he rarely referred to it. He had no need to. He had made this speech many times before, He spoke about the history of the North American Fisheries Control, now concluding its first decade. For the first time, Canada, Mexico, and the United States had organized together to properly manage and exploit the living resources of the sea. He related how excess heat and water from offsh.o.r.e and onsh.o.r.e fu- 110.

A Miracle of Smatt Fishes sion and fission plants had been used to drive nutrients from the ocean floor up to the surface, thus generating controllable and unprecedented population booms among commercially valuable surface-dwelling fish.

He told how the Alaskan king crab industry, once in danger of being fatally overfished, had been managed to the point where it could now support the hungry fleets of six nations and would still increase year by year.

How the cost of Maine lobster had been cut to sixty cents a half-kilo, while lobster fishermen made more money than ever. How the neglected waters off the Yucatan Peninsula now supported the largest natural sponge industry in the world.

And finally, he outlined how the research at Fisheries Control had advised him that the world's largest yellowtail fishery could be created off the Bahia Sebastian Vizcaino only if enough food fish could be provided to meet the tuna as they were herded northward.

"And to do this," Senator Petterson concluded for him, "you propose to sacrifice perhaps a hundred thousand tons of one of the finest food fishes in the world, the California sardine."

"Not sacrifice, Madam Senator. The sardines would spark the first artificial sp.a.w.ning area for the most popular food fish in America. We can improve existing yellowtail fisheries, but the production from one managed and controlled by us from its inception would be a dozen, eventually perhaps a hundred times greater!"

"How much will your dream cost the consumer, Mr. Director?"

"Research postulates at most a slight rise in the cost of basic sardine and sardine products."

"Slight!" Petterson's gray hair bobbed. "Mr. Fowler, do you have any idea how many people in my home state alone exist on minimal incomes? People for whom 111.

a 'slight' rise in food costs translates into a catastrophic effect on basic nutrition. People for whom seafood- in particular the sardine-is the only source of bulk protein?"

"Chances are good that none of them would ever be affected, Senator."

"Chances." She nodded knowingly. "Now we come down to it. I will not gamble with hungry people's bellies."

She smiled magnanimously, a smile which had come to be quite familiar to Fowler.

"But I tell you what, Director. I'm willing to take a reasonable risk. I like to be considered progressive. All you have to do is guarantee this committee a ninety-percent probability of success for your tuna ranch, and I'll vote aye with the rest of 'em."

"You know our agency isn't experienced enough to guarantee a ninety-percent chance of success, Madam Senator, but-"

"Then that's done with! I won't risk the well-being of thousands of humans on a radical new plan concocted by idle scientists who've probably never eaten an algaeburger in their overpaid lives." She grimaced with distaste and looked past Fowler to the placid form of Wheeling. "Not for anyone!"

She looked around the table. "And neither, I venture to say, will any of my fellow committee members."

There was a long pause. Fowler glanced down at his single paper. When he felt the senators were about to fidget, he resumed, a calculated note of anger just coloring his tone.

"Then if you won't do this for me, Senators, and you won't do it for the men of Fisheries Control, maybe you'll do it for Josefa Flores."

"Josefa Flores?" echoed Petterson, looking wary. "Who, pray tell, is Josefa Flores? I'm afraid I don't know the lady."

"That's not surprising," continued Fowler. "She 112.

A Miracle of Small Fishes doesn't exactly wield strong influence in Congress. Or in the Canadian Parliament or in the National a.s.sembly. You see, she's only nine years old.

"Her grandfather is a fisherman-or was, until in our combined wisdom we took away his livelihood, and..."

Wheeling perked up, sat straighter on the hard bench. This promised to be more entertaining than the b.u.mblebee. For the first time the young school-children stopped squirming and paid attention. The pair of newshawks woke up and hurriedly restarted their recorders, leaning forward intently like wolves who've just crossed a new scent. Wheeling could almost see little neon lights flashing: Human interest- human interest!., Fowler told the committee about little Josefa Flores, about her dying grandfather and the fish that didn't come anymore-and about her one wish: that before he died, her grandfather should enjoy one last taste of his youth by taking an honest day's catch of the sardine. Here was a story that even survived Fowler's unabashed emotional embroidery. He kept telling it until the banging of Senator Petterson's gavel drowned him out.

"Will you sit down, Mr. Fowler?" she finally shouted.

Smiling, Fowler sat.

"Now, then," the lady senator began firmly, attempting to regain control of the meeting, "you may, of course, say whatever you like in support of your proposal, Mr. Fowler. It is so stated in the rules. But we are apparently now dealing with private lives and personal experiences of absurdly emotional overtones, which should not casually be aired in public. I therefore declare that the committee should recess for private consu-"

"Never mind, Dee," interrupted Senator Kaiser. He jerked his head toward the back of the room. "They've already left."

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Wheeling looked down to the seats vacated by the departed reporters.

Petterson sighed slightly, then directed an unhappy glare at Fowler. He looked back innocently, for all the world a balding cherub in a sharkskin suit. A similarity, Wheeling reflected approvingly, that clearly went deeper than the weave.

"I confess I fail to understand your insertion of high school melodramatics into what is, by your own admission, a matter of science, Mr. Fowler. Your statements do not reflect credit on your department."

"Your pardon again, Madam Senator, but may I remind you that the department had nothing to do with fixing a location for the sardine catch, and therefore it bears no responsibility for this elderly gentleman's sad existence. As a matter of fact, it was your committee-I beg your pardon, its ancestor-that settled on the U.S.-Mexican border. A decision which should have been made on the basis of solid scientific evidence, but which in actuality was decided by the insertion of melodramatics hi the form of political maneuvering."

Petterson watched him finish, then commented dryly, "I'm not entirely satisfied that your description of this person's situation is all that you make of it, Mr. Director."

Fowler crossed mental fingers and blessed the air conditioning. "It can, of course, be verified, Senator. Any independent news team investigating-"

"Oh, I hardly think that's necessary," put in Senator Kaiser with admirable speed. "We all have great confidence in the accuracy of Mr. Fowler's research people."

Fowler knocked wood with those mentally crossed fingers, said quietly, "Then may I propose that that ability be put to a vote, Senators?"

"Oh, we can do that tomorrow, or even next week," continued Kaiser. "No need to take up with such a small matter now."

114.

A Miracle of Small Fishes "Excuse me, Charley," said Minister Stanislaus, "but I do think there is need."

Petterson stared around the table, examined each face individually. "I see. Very well. You all know my views on the matter, gentlemen. You've heard Mr. Fowler's-yet again. I think a simple show of hands will suffice.

"All those against?"

Two hands shot up, Petterson's and Kaiser's. They stayed up a long time, millennia it seemed to Fowler. But no third hand joined them.

Petterson kept her hand up while she bestowed a motherly smile on each of the three unvoting congressmen-a motherly smile that held promises of murder and total destruction if at least one other palm didn't expose itself. To their credit, the three remaining senators sat firm.

Finally she caved in-her arm was getting tired- and tried one last ploy.

"Abstentions?"

No hands went up. She didn't even bother to call for the affirmative vote.

"Congratulations, Mr. Fowler. Your proposal for a five-minute gate in this year's California take is hereby approved by vote in committee. Five minutes and not one second more. Rest a.s.sured the gate will be independently monitored." She rapped the table once, formally, with the gravel.

"This committee stands adjourned until tomorrow at one o'clock, at which time appropriations and additional business will be discussed and considered.

"And off the record, Mr. Director," she whispered out of earshot of the recording secretary, "I hope for your sake that the researchers in your department are more accurate in their predictions than the political pollsters who have been predicting my defeat in every congressional election for the last twenty-five years."

When the children had finished applauding and the 115.

tourists and senators had left, Wheeling walked down to join his young friend.

"Ready for a drink, Marty?"

Fowler let out a long sigh. "Now there's a prediction I know I can fulfill. But first I've got to call the Coast and then make a stop at the office and tell the staff in person. They've worked for this even harder than I have. It's a great thing."

"Sure," said Wheeling. "Tell me, was that sob story on the level, or something you cooked up?"

Fowler grinned. "It was and it wasn't. I had to rely entirely on the information in that friend's letter. But I think it's probably legit, though I had a bad moment when Petterson seemed ready to press for more facts. Anyway, this fellow isn't in a position where one has to make up stories to get by."

They rounded a turn in the hall, started down the well-worn stairs, smoothed and polished by the shoes of hundreds of lawmakers present and past.

"Frankly," Wheeling confessed, "I didn't think you'd pull it off. Dramatic appeal and all."

"I wasn't sure, either. But it helps if you've got a story to work with that you'd like to believe in."

"That's a fact," agreed Wheeling. "Also a help that Brand and Stanislaus are up for re-election this year. And the timely appearance of those two fellows from the Post and Time."

"Sure, all that contributed, Dave," agreed the director as they turned down the next hall and nearly b.u.mped into a Secret Service man. "But frankly, if you had come to a hearing before now, I might not have had to wait ten months to push this thing over."

"Sorry, Marty. You've got to remember that I'm retired, and I don't like to be accused of meddling. Not my place, even from a distance. But that letter was something different. Figured it couldn't hurt to sit in the back of the bus and smile a little in the right places.

"Now, you make that phone call and we'll have that drink. And then I'll beat you another eighteen holes."

116.

A Miracle of Small Fishes "Not today," replied Fowler, cracking a broad smile. "I feel so good that I don't think I'd even have any compunctions about walloping an ex-president."

He took from his coat pocket the little communicator that linked him with his office and beeped for his aide.

"Sherrie, get me Papadakis."

Aristophanes Papadakis paced the outside bridge of the factory purse seiner Cetacean and surveyed the darkness. Occasionally a smoke-serpent appeared around the stem of his meerschaum and vanished wraithlike into the crystal Pacific night.

The lights of the fleet formed uncertain trails of light on the calm black water. For a change, the Pacific seemed inclined to live up to its name.

When the School came through tonight, fishing conditions would be perfect.

He tried to pick out the other ships of the flotilla. The San Cristobal, Quebec, Typee, Carcharodon, Scrimshaw--the pride of the fishing fleets of three nations. Each vessel a food-processing factory in itself, dozens of them, scattered starboard, port and aft in orderly rows. As flagship the Cetacean rode point, awaiting the southern charge.

And best of all, here was a great armada that would meet a charge with no guns, and fought only hunger.

"Captain?"

"Eh?" Papadakis turned from the floating city. "What is it, son?"

"Sir, sonar reports that they're inside the kilometer mark." The young officer's voice held barely repressed excitement.

"Be here soon, then. Good! Are all the other captains informed of my instructions concerning the gate?"

"Yes, sir," replied the other. "The communications mate on duty said to compliment you on your final instructions, sir. Said they were explicit and evocative beyond the call of duty."

"Did he now?" Papadakis smiled around the pipe stem. Mitch.e.l.l and he had come up together, fishing 117.. ..

off the munic.i.p.al pier for rock cod and an occasional gift of halibut.

"Any man who closes his seine before the gate has been run gets packed in olive oil and shipped off with the first catch."

He turned away, stared back down into the secretive waters. Wondered how Fowler had been able to pull it off. Sardines were fine to catch, and good eating, but yellowtail-now that was a n.o.ble fish. After a while he became aware that the new officer was still standing in the floorway.

"Well, come in or out, son. Can't salt half a peanut."

"I'm sorry, sir," the youth replied, coming outside, "but this is my first actual catch-outside academy drills, of course. Tell me, can you see them when they goby?"

Papadakis made a sound, chomped hard on the pipe.

"Nope. More's the pity, too. Oh, the caravaners can, they and their porpoises. But they're so busy chasing off sharks and groupers and other predators that they've got no time to spend admiring things. Got better uses for their lights. Trying to cut a blue shark out of a school at night in this plankton stew is near impossible even with sonar. Couldn't do it without the porps."

A voice came from within the bridge. "Two minutes, Cap'n." Papadakis acknowledged this information by grunting louder than usual. "Isn't it exciting, sir?" "Exciting? Just fish, son."

The youth stayed quiet for a minute. Then, "Sir, I know what the book says-it seems silly-but can you really feel them?"

"Oh, sometimes, sometimes not. Doesn't happen too often. Depends mostly on surface conditions. Then too, they've got to pa.s.s fairly close under your keel. The Cetacean and her cousins are big. Conditions got to be just about perfect."

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A Miracle of Small Fishes "They're just about perfect tonight, aren't they, sir?"

"Yep," Papadakis spared an inquiring glance for the moon. Full. Good! Tonight they could use all the light they could get. Course, the moon was always full for the catch. Migration set it up that way. The crews would be working till daylight.

"You know, sir, it's still kind of mind-boggling when you think of it. I mean, a half a year's preparation and driving, all leading up to a single night's catch." The ship rocked to port, shifting gently back to starboard. Water patted at the waterline. "It's overwhelming, sir."

Papadakis sighed, looked at his watch. He knocked the dottle from his pipe and fed the sea dead tobacco.

"Odd sort of wave, sir. Must be getting rough further out."

"That was no wave, sonny." "Pappy" Papadakis bit firmly into the well-worn stem. "That was a million tons of sardine racing south and eating like n.o.body's business."

He turned and headed for the interior bridge, checked his watch again. "Let's go. In five minutes you're going to start the busiest night of your life. And wait till the main School gets here. Then you better grab something and hang on tight."

The sun mixed paint with the ravines and peaks of the Sierra San Pedro Martir. Josefa Flores walked down the slight slope toward the old pier.