Mer-Cycle
A discreet advertisement brings a group of apparently disparate individuals together to a bizarre rendezvous – on the ocean floor.The reasons for their selection are unclear: Don, an archaeologist, chronically shy, Gaspar, marine biologist, suffering from terminal directness, middle-aged Pacifica, and Melanie, whose normal exterior masks a strange genetic inheritance, seem, on the face of it, to have little in common – except their feeling that they are part of a greater plan … a feeling that grows as they embark on their strange odyssey across the bed of the ocean …For the underwater explorers, the mystery of being out of phase with the world above water is heightened by that surrounding the mysterious Eleph – a mystery which is ultimately revealed to be more significant and bewildering than they could ever have imagined …
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PIERS ANTHONY
Mercycle
HarperVoyager
An imprint of HarpcrCollinsPublishers Ltd.
1 London Bridge Street
London SE1 9GF
Published by Grafton 1993
First published by Tafford Publishing Inc. 1991
Copyright © Piers Anthony 1991
Piers Anthony asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work
A cataklogue record for this book is available from the British Library
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Source ISBN: 9780586214510
Ebook Edition © FEBRUARY 2017 ISBN: 9780008249359 Version: 2017-05-03
CONTENTS
Proxy 5–12–5–16–8: Attention.
Acknowledging.
Status?
Four locals have been recruited and equipped. They are waiting for the signal to commence.
They are ignorant of their mission?
They believe they have missions, but none know the true one. They have been given a cover story relevant to their interests. By the time they realize that the cover story is irrelevant, they should be ready for the truth.
Contraindications?
One is an agent of a local government.
Why is this allowed?
The recruitment brought the response of this person. It seemed worth trying. That one can be eliminated if necessary. Such involvement might prove to be advantageous.
With the fate of a world at stake?
We do not know what will be most effective. It is no more risky than the exclusion of such persons might be.
It remains a gamble.
Any course is a gamble.
True. Proceed.
Acknowledged. I will start the first one through the phasing tunnel.
Don Kestle pedaled down the road, watching nervously for life. It was early dawn, and the sparrows were twittering in the Australian Pines as they waited for the picnickers, but nothing human was visible.
Now was the time. He shifted down to second, muttering as the chain caught between gear-sprockets and spun without effect. He still wasn’t used to this multiple-speed bicycle, and it seemed to be more trouble than it was worth. He fiddled with the lever, and finally it caught.
He bucked the bike over the bank and into the unkempt grass, moving as rapidly as he could. He winced as he saw his thin tires going over formidable spreads of sandspur, though he knew the stuff was harmless to him and his equipment. That was because, as he understood it, he wasn’t really here.
Soon he hit the fine white dry sand. He braked, remembering this time to use the hand levers instead of embarrassing himself by pedaling backwards, and dismounted automatically. Actually it was quite possible to ride over the sand, for it could not toss this bike—but anyone who happened to see him doing that might suspect that something was funny. A bicycle tire normally lost traction and support, skewing badly in such a situation.
In a moment the beach opened out to the sea: typical palm-studded Florida coastline. Seagulls were already airborne, raucously calling out. A sign warned NO SWIMMING, for there were treacherous tidal currents here. That was why Don had selected this spot and this time to make his cycling debut; it was least likely to harbor prying eyes. He had been given a place and a time to be there; his exact schedule was his own business.
The tide was out. Don walked his bicycle across the beach until he reached the packed sand near the small breaking waves. Myriad tiny shells formed a long low hump, and he realized that early-rising collectors could appear at any moment. Why hadn’t he thought of that before? Yet when else could he enter the water, clothed and on a bicycle, by daylight? He simply had to risk it.
Beyond the shell ridge, the sand was wet and smooth. He looked carefully, both ways, as if crossing a busy intersection. Was he hoping that there would be someone, so that he would have to call it off?
No, he wanted to do it, Don reassured himself. In any event, his timing was such that he could not spare the hours an alternate approach would require. He had chosen dawn at this beach, and now he was committed. He had been committed all along. It was just that—well, a bit hard to believe. Here he was, a healthy impetuous fair-complexioned beginning archaeologist with a bicycle—and a remarkable opportunity. What could he do except grasp it, though he hardly comprehended it?
