Echoed by the sloping, sun-drenched concrete walls, booming above the high, bony clatter of monorail cranes, shaming the entire fuming, metallic hubbub of Boat Bed 52, the sound might have been the cavernous indignation of some giant beast being dragged zoo-ward from a Bio-Institute boat. It was, however, a voice, singing: Mountainous Rhiannon couldn't remember the last word. The clouded crystal, that was Rhiannon. He killed his buffing-ray and aimed a bellow that not only shivered the eardrums