see, we picked this limb out of the
Equatorial current. As you know, Varnel Island is situated right at the
western termination of the current. We don't get much littoral stuff
unless it comes from the Islands or West Beta. And as far as I can
figure the islands are the best bet. These spat probably came from the
Piralones, that island group in the middle of the current about halfway
across."

I nodded. "It would be a good bet. They're uninhabited. If Harl wanted
an isolated spot to conduct oyster planting experiments, I couldn't
think of a better location. Nobody in his right mind would visit that
place willingly. The islands support the damnedest assortment of siths
you ever saw."

"If that's where it is," Bergdorf said, "we can thank heaven for the
natives' suspicious nature. That location may help us save this world!"

I laughed at him. "Don't be so grim, Heinz--or so godlike. We're not
going to save any worlds."

"Someone has to save them."

"We don't qualify. What we'll do is chase this business down. We'll find
out where the oysters come from, get an idea of how bad things are and
then let the Niobians know about it. If anyone is going to save this
planet it won't be a bunch of Confederation exploration specialists."

Bergdorf sighed. "You're right, of course."

I slapped him on the shoulder. "Cheer up, Heinz." I turned to my
appointment calendar and checked it over. There was nothing on it that
couldn't wait a few days. "Tell you what," I continued. "I need a
vacation from this place. We'll take my atomic job and go oyster
hunting. It ought to be fun."

Bergdorf's grin was like a sunrise on Kardon.

* * * * *

I brought the 'copter down slowly through the overcast, feeling my way
cautiously down to the ground that radar told me was somewhere below. We
were hardly a hundred and fifty meters up before it became visible
through the drenching tropic rain. Unless you've seen it you can't
imagine what rain is really like until you've been in the Niobian
tropics. It literally swamps everything, including visibility.

It was the Piralones all right.

The last time I'd seen them was when I led the rescue party that pulled
Wilson Chung and his passengers out of the Baril Ocean, but they were
still the same, tiny deserted spots of land surrounded by coral reefs.
We were over the biggest one of the group, a rounded hummock barely a
kilometer in diameter, surrounded by a barrier