"Linda Nagata - Hooks, Nets & Time" - читать интересную книгу автора (Nagata Linda)

the light breeze against its adjustable fins, and a solar-powered engine. Its collecting tentacles trailed a
hundred meters behind it: some on the surface, some searching out the depths below. Most of them were
laden with a motley collection of old plastics, netting, glass, metal and organic debris bound for the
station's recycling bins.

Zayder slowed to watch the trawler come in. At the same moment a white-noise explosion of water
erupted from the pen, scarcely a body length away. Startled instinct slammed him backward as the
geyser of white water lunged toward him. A solid shape appeared as the pearly water fell away. He
recognized the massive, lead-gray profile of a great white shark, its fins fully grown and its maw open, its
upper jaw thrust forward to expose rows of triangular teeth. Tiburon!

Spray washed over Zayder as he threw himself back, a split second before the five-meter shark slammed
onto the deck. The whole structure shuddered. Fracture lines bloomed in the photovoltaic panels beneath
Tiburon's belly. The shark fixed him with its manic black eyes. It thrashed on the deck, jaws snapping in
an effort to get at him. He felt the rush of air as the teeth closed within centimeters of his ankle.

"You bastard!" he screamed. He jumped back again. The shark thrust forward. Its torso was draped on
the deck, but its great tail was still in the water, fanning the surface into a violent foam. "Back in, you
fucker!" Zayder screamed.

The shark snapped twice more, then grew still. Its eyes still fixed on him, it slid silently back into the
water.

Zayder stood on the deck, his shoulders heaving, a torrent of curses spilling from his mouth. Tiburon was
the oldest, biggest monster in the pen. Zayder had harvested his fins five times, each time salving the
wounds with a regenerative balm that forced the valuable fins to regrow. Five times he'd nursed Tiburon
in the recovery channels, where pumps forced a steady torrent of water over the helpless shark as it
writhed on the bottom of a narrow steel chute.

"I'll take your fins again this afternoon," Zayder growled. Cautiously, he stepped forward, to peer over
the edge of the deck. Tiburon was a skulking shadow a fathom down.

Suddenly the shark turned, cruising slowly out about fifty meters toward the center of the pen until
Zayder lost sight of it. A moment later Tiburon reappeared, still a fathom below the surface, his great tail
flailing as he charged the wall of the shark pen. Zayder got ready to dodge a second lunge. But Tiburon
had his own designs. He rammed the wall of the pen with his snout. The blow shook the structure.
Zayder stumbled, swaying to keep his balance. He almost went down.

What the hell was going on? Was the damn fish trying to knock him off the deck?

Tiburon took off again for the center of the pen. Zayder turned, ready to run for the shed and his
tranquilizing harpoon, when a low moan reached his ears. "Help, man. Help me," a tired voice croaked.

It came from the ocean side of the deck. Zayder glanced over his shoulder. Tiburon had turned. Quickly
Zayder dropped to his knees and leaned over the decking to spy a young man -- probably no more than
twenty -- adrift in the light swell, a few meters outside the steel mesh. The sun shone full in his pale face
as his bare feet tread the water in quick, frantic strokes. His dark hair floated like an ink cloud around his
shoulders, blending imperceptibly with his black shirt. He sputtered, his eyes pleading with Zayder for
help.