I'm a baitman. No one is born a baitman, except in a French novel whereeveryone is. (In fact, I think that's the title, _We are All Bait_. Pfft!)How I got that way is barely worth the telling and has nothing to do withneo-exes, but the days of the beast deserve a few words, so here they are.

The Lowlands of Venus lie between the thumb and forefinger of thecontinent known as Hand. When you break into Cloud Alley it swings itssilverblack bowling ball toward you without a warning. You jump then, insidethat firetailed tenpin they ride you down in, but the straps keep you frommaking a fool of yourself. You generally chuckle afterwards, but you alwaysjump first.

Next, you study Hand to lay its illusion and the two middle fingersbecome dozen-ringed archipelagoes as the outers resolve into greengraypeninsulas; the thumb is too short, and curls like the embryo tail of CapeHorn.

You suck pure oxygen, sigh possibly, and begin the long topple back tothe Lowlands.

There, you are caught like an infield fly at the Lifeline landingarea--so named because of its nearness to the great delta in the EasternBay--located between the first peninsula and "thumb." For a minute it seemsas if you're going to miss Lifeline and wind up as canned seafood, butafterwards--shaking off the metaphors--you descend to scorched concrete andpresent your middle-sized telephone directory of authorizations to theshort, fat man in the gray cap. The papers show that you are not subject tomysterious inner rottings and etcetera. He then smiles you a short, fat,gray smile and motions you toward the bus which hauls you to the ReceptionArea. At the R.A. you spend three days proving that, indeed, you are notsubject to mysterious inner rottings and etcetera.

Boredom, however, is another rot. When your three days are up, yougenerally hit Lifeline hard, and it returns the compliment as a matter ofreflex. The effects of alcohol in variant atmospheres is a subject on whichthe connoisseurs have written numerous volumes, so I will confine my remarksto noting that a good binge is worthy of at least a week's time and oftenwarrants a lifetime study.

I had been a student of exceptional promise (strictly undergraduate)for going on two years when the _Bright Water_ fell through our marbleceiling and poured its people like targets into the city.

Pause. The Worlds Almanac re Lifeline: "...Port city on the easterncoast of Hand. Employees of the Agency for Non-terrestrial Research compriseapproximately 85% of its 100,000 population (2010 Census). Its otherresidents are primarily personnel maintained by several industrialcorporations engaged in basic research. Independent marine biologists,wealthy fishing enthusiasts, and waterfront entrepreneurs make up theremainder of its inhabitants."

I turned to Mike Dabis, a fellow entrepreneur, and commented on thelousy state of basic research.

"Not if the mumbled truth be known."

He paused behind his glass before continuing the slow swallowingprocess calculated to obtain my interest and a few oaths, before hecontinued.

"Carl," he finally observed, poker playing, "they're shapingTensquare."

I could have hit him. I might have refilled his glass with sulfuricacid and looked on with glee as his lips blackened and cracked. Instead, Igrunted a noncommittal.

"Who's fool enough to shell out fifty grand a day? ANR?"

He shook his head.

"Jean Luharich," he said, "the girl with the violet contacts and fiftyor sixty perfect teeth. I understand her eyes are really brown."

"Isn't she selling enough face cream these days?"

He shrugged.

"Publicity makes the wheels go 'round. Luharich Enterprise jumpedsixteen points when she picked up the Sun Trophy. You ever play golf onMercury?"

I had, but I overlooked it and continued to press.

"So she's coming here with a blank check and a fishhook?"

"_Bright Water_, today," he nodded. "Should be down by now. Lots ofcameras. She wants an Ikky, bad."

"Hmm," I hmmed. "How bad?"

"Sixty day contract. Tensquare. Indefinite extension clause. Millionand a half deposit," he recited.

"You seem to know a lot about it."

"I'm Personnel Recruitment. Luharich Enterprises approached me lastmonth. It helps to drink in the right places.

"Or own them." He smirked, after a moment.

I looked away, sipping my bitter brew. After awhile I swallowed severalthings and asked Mike what he expected to be asked, leaving myself open forhis monthly temperance lecture.

"They told me to try getting you," he mentioned. "When's the last timeyou sailed?"

"Month and a half ago. The _Corning_."

"Small stuff," he snorted. "When have you been under, yourself?"

"It's been awhile."

"It's been over a year, hasn't it? That time you got cut by the screw,under the _Dolphin_?"

I turned to him.

"I was in the river last week, up at Angleford where the currents arestrong. I can still get around."

"Sober," he added.

"I'd stay that way," I said, "on a job like this."

A doubting nod.

"Straight union rates. Triple time for extraordinary circumstances," henarrated. "Be at Hangar Sixteen with your gear, Friday morning, five hundredhours. We push off Saturday, daybreak."

"You're sailing?"

"I'm sailing."

"How come?"

"Money."

"Ikky guano."

"The bar isn't doing so well and baby needs new minks."

"I repeat--"

"...And I want to get away from baby, renew my contract withbasics--fresh air, exercise, make cash..."

"All right, sorry I asked."

I poured him a drink, concentrating on H2SO4, but it didn't transmute.Finally I got him soused and went out into the night to walk and thinkthings over.

Around a dozen serious attempts to land _Ichthyform LeviosaurusLevianthus_, generally known as "Ikky", had been made over the past fiveyears. When Ikky was first sighted, whaling techniques were employed. Theseproved either fruitless or disastrous, and a new procedure was inaugurated.Tensquare was constructed by a wealthy sportsman named Michael Jandt, whoblew his entire roll on the project.

After a year on the Eastern Ocean, he returned to file bankruptcy.Carlton Davits, a playboy fishing enthusiast, then purchased the huge raftand laid a wake for Ikky's spawning grounds. On the nineteenth day out hehad a strike and lost one hundred fifty bills' worth of untested gear, alongwith one _Ichthyform Levianthus_. Twelve days later, using tripled lines, hehooked, narcotized, and began to hoist the huge beast. It awakened then,destroyed a control tower, killed six men, and worked general hell over fivesquare blocks of Tensquare. Carlton was left with partial hemiplegia and abankruptcy suit of his own. He faded into waterfront atmosphere andTensquare changed hands four more times, with less spectacular but equallyexpensive results.

Finally, the big raft, built only for one purpose was purchased at anauction by ANR for "marine research." Lloyd's still won't insure it, and theonly marine research it has ever seen is an occasional rental at fifty billsa day--to people anxious to tell Leviathan fish stories. I've been a baitmanon three of the voyages, and I've been close enough to count Ikky's fangs ontwo occasions. I want one of them to show my grandchildren, for personalreasons.

I faced the direction of the landing area and resolved a resolve.