Zent didn't respond, but Nakano smiled at Bushka. "You'll have to teach me how you do that," he said. "So smooth."

"Sure."

Bushka concentrated on the controls, familiarizing himself with them, sensing the minute responses transmitted from water to control surface to his hands. The latent power in this Merman craft was tempting. Bushka could feel how it might respond at full thrust. It would gulp fuel, though, and the hydrogen engines would heat.

Bushka decided he preferred Islander subs. Organics were supple, living-warm. They were smaller, true, and vulnerable to the accidents of flesh, but there was something addictive about the interdependence, life depending on life. Islanders didn't go blundering about down under. An Islander sub could be thought of as just big valves and muscle tissue - essentially a squid without a brain, or guts. But it gave a pulsing ride, soothing and noiseless - none of this humming and clicking and metal throbbing, none of these hard vibrations in the teeth.

Gallow spoke from close to Bushka's ear: "Let's get more moisture in the air, Iz. You want us all to dry out?"

"Here." Nakano pointed at a dial and alphanumerical readout above Bushka's head on the sloping curve of the hull. A red "21" showed on the air-moisture repeater. "We like it above forty percent."

Bushka increased humidity in gentle increments, thinking that here was another Merman vulnerability. Unless they became acclimated to topside existence - in the diplomatic corps or some commercial enterprise - Mermen suffered from dry air; cracked skin, lung damage, bloody creases in exposed soft tissues.

Gallow touched Zent's shoulder. "Give us the mark on Guemes Island."

Zent scanned the navigation instruments while Bushka studied the man furtively. What was this? Why did they want to locate Guemes? It was one of the poorest Islands - barely big enough to support ten thousand souls just above the lip of malnutrition. Why was Gallow interested in it?

"Grid and vector five," Zent said. "Two eighty degrees, eight kilometers." He punched a button. "Mark." The navigation screen above them came alight with green lines: grid squares and a soft blob in one of them.

"Swing us around to two hundred and eighty degrees, Iz," Gallow said. "We're going fishing."

Fishing? Bushka wondered. Subs could be rigged for fishing but this one carried none of the usual equipment. He didn't like the way Zent chuckled at Gallow's comment.

"The Movement is about to make its mark on history," Gallow announced. "Observe and record, Iz."

The Movement, Bushka thought. Gallow always named it in capital letters and frequently with quotation marks, as though he saw it already printed in a plazbook. When Gallow spoke of "The Movement," Bushka could sense the resources behind it, with nameless supporters and political influence in powerful places.

Responding to Gallow's orders, Bushka kicked the dive planes out of their locks, checked the range detectors for obstructions, scanned the trim display and the forward screen. It had become almost automatic. The sub glided into an easy descent as it came around on course.

"Depth vector coming up," Zent said, smiling at Bushka. Bushka noted the smile in the reflections of the screens and made a mental note. Zent must know it irritated a pilot to read his instruments aloud that way without being asked. Nobody likes being told what they already know.

Cabin air getting sticky, Bushka noted. His topside lungs found the high humidity stifling. He backed off the moisture content, wondering if they would object to thirty-five percent. He locked on course.

"On course," Zent said, still smiling.

"Zent, why don't you go play with yourself?" Bushka asked. He leveled the dive planes and locked them.

"I don't take orders from writers," Zent said.

"Now, boys," Gallow intervened, but there was amusement in his voice.

"Books lie," Zent muttered.

Nakano, wearing the hydrophone headset, lifted one earphone. "Lots of activity," he said. "I count more than thirty fishing boats."

"A hot spot," Gallow said.

"There's radio chatter from the Island, too," Nakano reported. "And music. That's one thing I'll miss - Islander music."

"Is it any good?" Zent asked.

"No lyrics, but you could dance to it," Nakano said.

Bushka shot a questioning look at Gallow.

What did Nakano mean, he would miss Islander music?

"Steady on course," Gallow said.

Zent took over Nakano's headphones and said, "GeLaar, you said Guemes Islanders were damned near floating morons. I thought they didn't have much radio."

"Guemes has lost almost half a kilometer in diameter since I started watching it last year," Gallow said. "Their bubbly's starving. They're so poor they can't afford to feed their Island."

"Why are we here?" Bushka asked. "If they only have low-grade radio and malnutrition, what good are they to The Movement?" Bushka experienced a bad feeling about all this. A very bad feeling. Are they trying to set me up? Make the Islander a patsy for some of their dirty work?

"A perfect first demonstration," Gallow said. "They're traditionalists, hard-core fanatics. I'll give 'em credit for one piece of good sense. When other Islands suggest it might be time to move down under, Guemes sends out delegations to stop it."

Was that Gallow's secret? Bushka wondered. Did he want all the Islanders to stay strictly topside?

"Traditionalists," Gallow repeated. "That means they wait for us to build land for them. They think we like them so much we'll make them the gift of a couple of continents. Keep toting that rock, slapping that mud! Plant that kelp!"

The three Mermen laughed and Bushka smiled in response. He didn't feel like smiling at all, but there was nothing else to do.

"Things would go much easier if Islanders would learn to live the way we do," Nakano said.

"All of them?" Zent asked.

Bushka noted a growing tension as Nakano failed to respond to Zent's question.

Presently, Gallow said, "Only the right ones, Gulf."

"Only the right ones," Nakano agreed, but there was no force in his voice.

"Damned religious troublemakers," Gallow blurted. "You've seen the missionaries from Guemes, Iz?"

"When our Islands have been on proximate drifts," Bushka said. "Any excuse for visiting is a good one, then. Mixing and visiting is a happy time."

"And we're always pulling your little boats out of the sea or giving you a tow," Zent said. "For that you want us to keep slopping mud!"

"Tso," Gallow said, patting Zent's shoulder, "Iz is one of us now."

"We can't get this foolishness under control any too soon for me," Zent said. "There's no reason for anyone to live anywhere but down under. We're already set up."

Bushka marked this comment but wondered at it. He felt Gallow's hatred of Guemes but the Mermen were saying that everyone should live down under.

Everyone living as rich as the Mermen? There was some sadness to that thought. What would we lose of the old Islander ways? He glanced up at Gallow. "Guemes, are we ... ?"

"It was a mistake to elevate a Guemian to C/P," Gallow said. "Guemians never see things our way."

"Island on visual," Zent reported.

"Half speed," Gallow ordered.

Bushka complied. He felt the reduction in speed as an easing of the vibration against his spine.

"What's our vertical relationship?" Gallow asked.

"We're coming in about thirty meters below their keel," Zent said. "Shit! They don't even have outwatchers. Look, no small boats at all ahead of their drift."

"It's a wonder they're still in one piece," Nakano said. Bushka caught a wry edge to the statement that he didn't quite understand.

"Set us directly under their keel, Iz," Gallow said.

What are we doing here? Bushka wondered as he obeyed the order. The forward display screen showed the bulbous lower extremity of Guemes - a thick red-brown extrusion of bubbly with starved sections streaming from it. Yes, Guemes was in bad condition. They were starving essential parts of their Island. Bushka inhaled quick, shallow breaths of the thick moist air. The Merman sub was too close for simple observation. And this was not the way you approached an Island for a visit.