The Pegasus landed on one of the concrete platforms, and Victor trotted down the belly hatch stairs. Eliot Haydon, the Farm's director, was waiting for him, dressed in navy-blue shorts and a baseball cap with the Event Horizon triangle and flying-V logo on the peak.

Victor accessed his personnel profile: forty-seven years old, graduated from Norwich University with a marine biology degree, been with the company nineteen years, appointed as a divisional director five years ago, largely credited with making the Farm a profitable concern. Another of those smoothly professional Event Horizon premier-grade executives. He wondered if Julia classed him in the same category. Probably.

Eliot Haydon shook Victor's hand in a warm dry grip. "Mr. Tyo, not often we get a visit from your office."

"Judy Tobandi is a good officer," he said. "The Farm's never been a problem from a security point of view. If people have their finger on the pulse, don't interfere, I say."

Eliot Haydon smiled, showing four solid gold teeth. "Well now, how about that? Enlightened administration, and at the highest level, too. You must have slipped through the personnel catchment net. What can I do for you?"

"I'm chasing after Royan. Do you know him?"

"Yes, of course. But I'm afraid you're too late if you want to talk to him, he left us three weeks ago. Didn't you check with our management cores?"

"That's part of my problem. We did check. There's no record of him at all."

"What?"

"It's rather complicated, but he's covering his tracks very thoroughly. Can you tell me what he was doing here?"

"Yes, he was researching coral genetics, trying to improve mineral absorption rates." A flicker of unease darkened Eliot Haydon's broad sunny face. "Well, that's what he said. It was a temporary posting, of course. We get quite a few scientists visiting from other Farms and national marine institutes. Now the first rush of competition is easing off, we all find co-operation helpful."

"Did you assign Royan a genetics laboratory?"

"Yes. He wanted one for himself. It's a bit unusual, but his authority rating entitled him. There were a few complaints when we reshuffled."

"What happened afterwards?"

"After what?"

"After he left. Was there any equipment he left behind? Who moved into the laboratory? What happened to his research subjects?"

Eliot Haydon pulled his cybofax out of his shorts pocket and asked it a couple of questions. He consulted the screen, then gave Victor a thoughtful look. "According to our records, his lab is still unoccupied. That isn't right at all, lab space is at a premium in the station. The management cores are programmed to reassign it as soon as it became available again."

Victor had been expecting something like it, resentful of the way he was being led about like a cyborg. "I'd like to see it, please."

The little cylindrical submarine had a transparent hemispherical nose. Victor sat beside Eliot Haydon in the front as the farm director piloted them away from the platform, using a steering-wheel which could have come from a car. It was designed to ferry twenty people down to the Farm's main underwater station, but there was only him and his bodyguard on board.

The water was surprisingly clean. Eliot Haydon explained that the water fruit itself was responsible, its matted root system holding down the sand. A variety Event Horizon's geneticists had developed.

Ripe globes of fruit hung a metre above the sea bed, suspended on a twisted ropy chord, like a squadron of tethered balloons. They were swinging rhythmically in the slow pulse of currents. Thirty Frankenstein dolphins, with long dextrous flippers, swam among the rows. He watched one wriggle underneath a water fruit, its powerful snout cutting clean through the cord. It gripped the globe with its flippers, and carried it to a big net bag at the end of the field, dropping it through the open neck with the accuracy and panache of a basketball player.

The main station loomed beyond the fields, a fat yellow-painted saucer sixty metres in diameter, with portholes round the rim. It stood fifteen metres off the sea bed on three sturdy cylindrical legs. Eliot Haydon steered the sub underneath it, manoeuvring up to an airlock set in the keel. They docked with a loud clunk. Pumps started to whirr.

"We keep the station's internal pressure at one atmosphere," Eliot Haydon said, as he ran the powerdown program through the sub's control 'ware. "That way once we're docked, we stay docked. Opposite of spacecraft."

"What exactly goes on in this station?" Victor asked.

Eliot Haydon stood up and walked back down the sub to the airlock set in the ceiling. He checked the seal display before starting to turn the lock wheel. "Some practical work; investigating sea bed growing techniques, methods of harvesting. Several of the food combine farms use drones to pick the water fruit; we found the Frankenstein dolphins are just as efficient. But mainly it's a genetics research facility. We improve the water fruit species, modify fish. One team is working on coral; we wanted to give the field reefs small caves, like Swiss cheese, so we could breed crustaceans in them. The pilot scheme is quite successful."

The circular airlock opened with a hissing sound. A small shower of water sprinkled down on Eliot Haydon's head. He started to climb up the metal ladder.

The laboratory was GD7, a rectangular chamber on the edge of the station. Three portholes looked out over the fields and reefs, some chemical aspect of the thick material turning them a deep blue-green. Fans of jade light poured in, dancing across the white-topped benches which ran along the wall.

GD7 appeared to be a standard set up. The benches were crowded with specialist terminals and composite equipment modules, long crystalline glassware arrays and culture vats. A rack of empty aquariums stood along the back wall. There was a section given over to an electron microscope. All of it was clean, unused, switched off. Waiting, Victor thought.

Kiley was resting on a pedestal in the centre. An octagonal framework two metres in diameter, half a metre high, its side panels covered in crumbling, grey thermal/particle protection foam. Thimble-sized cold gas thruster nozzles poked out above the foam, along with three sets of star-tracker sensors, a couple of slim conical omnidirectional antennas, tarnished-silver electrical umbilical sockets, and an interface key. Seven corners sprouted a square dull-copper thermal radiator fin. The eighth had a long grapple pin for the remote manipulator arm on Newton's Apple to grab during retrieval.

A metre-high truss structure on top had held the probe's collection flask. It was empty now, mounting points trailing a spaghetti tangle of severed power lines and fibre optic cable. Above that was the communication dish, a gossamer-thin umbrella of silver foil, badly crumpled and torn.

Victor looked round, and saw the collection flask on one of the benches, a titanium rugby ball, split into two halves. Empty. There was a plain white card resting against it. He picked it up.

I'll bet it's you, Victor.

The handwriting was Royan's. He crumpled it into a tight ball. It was a superbly equipped lab. What had Royan done here?

"What is this thing?" Eliot Haydon asked, he was walking cautiously round Kiley, staring. "A space probe?"

"Yes. A Jupiter sample return."

"Gods, what's it doing here?"

"That's a bloody good question."

Open Channel to Julia Evans NN Core. I've found Kiley, or at least what's left of it.

Great. Where?

It's in the Farm's main underwater station, laboratory GD7. That's a genetics lab. But there's nothing else left, he's cleaned it out.