Kitcha kicked upward. Should she ask Kiley to come to her? The whale wasn’t far away. Maybe she’d start by just coming near and then waiting. Her stomach had gone to water. She had to succeed.

About halfway up the tall curve of the dome, Kitha kicked a little bit away, holding the translator ball in two hands so she wouldn’t drop it, being careful not to squeeze it. Who knew how much power it had?

She traded water, her right leg working harder than her left, watching the three whales. She picked out Kiley as much from the shape of the bundles attached to his harness as from anything else.

She watched him, willing him to come to her.

The whales milled. The smallest one started to break up and move away, toward the surface, but Kiley called out to it, a short sweet sound that turned the beast back down. He circled her, keeping his distance.

She squeezed the ball. “ Jersey. What do I do?” Her voice shook.

“I can’t help you. He doesn’t like me.”

Kitcha groaned. What would she want? Heck, what did that matter? She didn’t think like a whale. She was kelp-farmer. The lowest of the low, except maybe the janitors. “Jerzy, do they like you to come to them?”

“Trust yourself.”

Okay. She’d stay put. Show respect.

Kiley circled her again, a little closer; then he turned away, his great tail undulating through the water, lit from the underside by the city’s own interior brightness.

Had she failed? She held her breath, willing him to turn and come back.

The other two whales began to follow him.

She pressed the come button, surrounding herself with sound.

And turned it off. She remembered the last time.

The three whales turned in unison, as if responding to some unspoken command. A water ballet of big, blue creatures. Kitha drew in a breath at the sheer beauty of their coordination. Kiley flicked his tail and moved to the front, swimming so closely by her that she saw the barnacles lining his mouth. She transferred the ball to her left hand, flicked her own tail-her fins-pain shooting up her right thigh. Kitha grabbed a handle on the harness with her right hand. Kiley pulled her gently along. “Tell him thank you,” she said.

Sound belled out from her hand, a long, gentle nosie, softer by far than the come signal.

She looked down. Jai was attaching something to the big girder down below. He’d found a line.

“Ask Kiley to swim over clear ground.” She tucked the translator into her pocket, and then twisted to look at the nets. The latches that held the cargo nets in place were easy to see. She waited while the great whale swam few meters past the dome, then lifted the latches, scrunching close against the whale’s body as the nets fell free, tumbling to the ground, bouncing once, twice, and then resting. She should have had Kiley go slower and lower. Hell, she was learning. Now that he was free of the nets, she slid up on Kiley’s back. She laughed, suddenly deliriously happy. She, Kitha, rode a whale! She must have bumped it, because the translator seemed to laugh with her for a moment. Kiley sped up, taking her up and around the dome, fast, a big circle. She freed a hand and grabbed the translator. “We have to wait,” she said. “Ask him to go down.”

Sound. And instant compliance. Kiley liked her. She wanted to lean down and pet him, but one hand held the translator and the other held fast to the harness. She leaned down and kissed him.

If she was specific, the whale did what she asked. She got Kiley positioned so Jai could tie the free end of the rope to the harness, and then turned the whale. She had to be sure she didn’t damage the lungs or the dome.

Or the whale?

Kiley seemed to understand. He bunched under her, gathering himself, and then he whipped his tail up and down so powerfully that the backlash in the water pushed Jai away. The metal bar rose easily, upending and landing with a puff on empty sea floor.

The lungs lay still and quiet. “Are they broken?” Kitha asked Jai.

Jerzy answered. “You were magnificent. And no. They’ll come on all by themselves. At least the two that aren’t torn. They’ll need to finish running diagnostics.”

“All right. What’s the smallest whale’s name?”

“Penelope.”

Kitha stripped Penelope and then Lisa of their cargo, being more careful to drop it carefully. The whales immediately took off, swimming in unison again, their great tails moving up and down to the same beat. Kitha thought she might never have seen anything more beautiful.

Jai swam up next to her and took her hand, waiting with her until the whales had disappeared from sight.

Behind them, the city drew a deep breath.

She squeezed Jai’s hand and headed toward the dome. Locks were already disgorging people and machinery to finish what she and Jai had started.

Just inside the lock, Jonathan waited beside a tall, smiling red-haired woman who must be Jerzy. He raced into her arms, warm and wriggly. “I’m so proud of you, Mommy!”

A tear dripped down her cheek as she held her son close.

GOOD OLD DAYS by Kevin J. Anderson

When the signal rang, George told the door to answer itself, but the mailbot insisted on a thumbprint signature for the delivery. With a sigh, he was forced to make the extra effort of doing it in person.

“Hello, Mr. J!” said the cheery, buzzing voice of the mailbot. In his metal arms he carried a large crate. “Special delivery for you. Boy, I wonder what it is.”

George pressed his thumb against the scanning plate on the mailbot’s smooth forehead. “Jane!” he called over his shoulder. “What have you been ordering now?”

Jane, his wife, walked up with a bounce in her step. “George, dear, you know I don’t order anything anymore. The catalogs make the purchases all by themselves.”

He frowned. “Well, I certainly didn’t order this.” He stepped aside to make room for the mailbot. “You don’t expect me to carry that heavy thing?”

“Of course not, Mr. J. You can expect service from your postal service.” The mailbot strutted inside and set the crate in the middle of the floor.

Creaking along, Rosie the maidbot wheeled forward, tsking at the condition of the box. “Just look at those smudges and the dust. Very unsanitary.” She bustled about, tidying up the package’s exterior.

George waited for the big crate to open automatically, then realized he would have to do it manually, since the package had no standard automation. He struggled with the flaps and seals. “Whatever it is, we’re not ordering from this company again.”

Inside, he found a sealed envelope (which, again, he had to open by hand) and a sheet of actual paper. Not quite sure what to do, George slipped the paper into a reader and the words spilled out, announcing his name and address and I.D. number in a very official-sounding voice.

“We regret to inform you that your Uncle Asimov has died. These are his personal effects, and you are his only known heir. He has also bequeathed you his property and his home. By accepting his package and reading this letter, you have agreed to the terms of his estate.”

George started to grin at their windfall, but then the letter-reader continued, “Mr. Asimov owed a substantial amount of back taxes and assessments. Your account has been debited to pay off these debts, as well as the delivery fee.”

“Your Uncle Asimov?” Jane asked. “George, dear, isn’t he that crazy old hermit out in the desert?”

“Yes, it was the last place in the country where he could live off the grid. He actually liked that sort of thing.” He looked down to scrutinize the contents of the box, hoping that the value of the items inside would at least pay for the delivery charge. He sneezed.

Rosie wheeled forward like a steel filing drawn to a magnet. “Dust! Real dust! Let me take care of that before you catch some sort of disease.” The maidbot sprayed disinfectant all around the area.