World of Water by James Lovegrove Read Free Book Online

bastard. I almost admire you, the way you went for it with Maddox. I’ve played that game myself. Once. Once was enough. That man has the constitution of an ox.”
    “Trust me, I’m regretting it. Thanks for the Blitz-Go, by the way.”
    “No problem. How are you feeling?”
    “How do I look?”
    “Like crap, frankly.”
    “That’s how I’m feeling.”
    “I imagine the progressive host form deterioration isn’t doing you any favours either. You’re due for another dose of nucleotides.”
    “Fine. If you say so. Did I screw things up with Maddox? You know, by upchucking all over his floor?”
    “As a matter of fact, no. ‘Best laugh I’ve had in ages,’ he said, and then ordered some flunkey to come in and clean up the mess.”
    “Well, that’s a relief. So we have our Marine escort?”
    “Look to starboard.”
    Dev turned.
    “No,” said Handler, “the other starboard.”
    Dev turned again, and there, some 400 metres away, was a naval catamaran keeping pace with the jetboat. Dawn was coming, and the sleek grey ship stood proud against the silvering sky. Its superstructure bristled with weaponry, from heavy calibre guns to missile launchers. Its twin hulls, with forward-projecting keels, sliced through the water like knives. Dev fancied the catamaran would offer a much smoother ride than the Reckless Abandon and kind of wished he was aboard it right now.
    “That there is the Admiral Winterbrook ,” Handler said. “Hunter-killer class attack vessel. Named after the hero of the sea campaign on Kapteyn B.”
    “He went down with his ship, didn’t he?”
    “But not before destroying the Plussers’ submarine-generating facility.”
    “I’m just saying, is it wise to give your ship the name of someone famous for having his ship sunk under him?”
    Handler shrugged. “How should I know? I’m not a navy man. I guess a hero’s a hero, whether he died of wounds in battle or of old age in bed. Probably more of a hero, though, if it’s the former rather than the latter.”
    “Still doesn’t seem all that auspicious, to my mind,” said Dev.
    “Tell it to the Marines,” said Handler, gesturing at the catamaran. “Hey, that was a good joke. Don’t you think? They’re Marines, and I said, ‘Tell it to the Marines.’”
    “Jokes are even better when you explain them.”
    “But you didn’t laugh. I thought you hadn’t got it.”
    “I was laughing. Deep down. Where it counts.”
    “I read that you like wisecracks. It was in your psych profile. ‘Fond of using humour as a means of defusing tension and/or deflecting enquiries into private matters,’ or words to that effect.”
    “I like making wisecracks. Doesn’t necessarily mean I like it when other people make them.”
    “The other thing I read about you is that you give everyone nicknames.”
    “That’s not true. Not everyone. Only if I like you.”
    “So it’s a kind of litmus test. You know you’re in with Dev Harmer if he comes up with a nickname for you.”
    “Something along those lines.”
    “Do I have one yet?”
    “Working on it.”
    The sun breasted the horizon, dispelling the last of the night clouds that were loitering to the west. Dev noted that the two boats were holding a southerly heading.
    “These Tropics of Lei Gong I heard Maddox mention,” he said. “What’s down there?”
    “The name should give you a clue.”
    “Can’t say ‘Lei Gong’ rings a bell.”
    “Chinese thunder god.”
    “Ah. I see. Bad weather. What else?”
    “The greatest concentration of settlers on Triton. Three floating townships: Opochtli, Dakuwaqa and Mazu. All within a twenty-kilometre radius of one another. They’re known collectively as the Triangle Towns region. The Tritonian insurgents seem to be focusing their attention there. Mazu alone has been hit five times in the past month.”
    Handler broke off to emit a huge yawn.
    “Beg pardon,” he said. “I’ve been up all night. It’s starting to catch up with me.”
    “I