“All right. But there’s another piece I want you to hear.”

The recorded translation was repeated, then went on: “The one ship is not the other ship or the other other ship. The one ship is the ship of the angels. The angels of the one ship send us to the other ship and the other other ship.”

Bony yawned. He had never expected to find the seabed of an alien planet relaxing, but here he was half ready to fall asleep. “It doesn’t make any more sense than what was said to Friday Indigo.”

“Oh.”

“I’m not criticizing you, Liddy. You tried. What did you think it meant?”

“Well, I know I’m not good at thinking. I wasn’t trained to use my mind. From the time I was ten years old I was trained to use my body. But I thought — I guess it doesn’t matter what I thought.”

“It does.” God, was he humoring her? That would be as bad as Friday Indigo. “Liddy, what’s your idea?”

“Well … I wondered at that word, angel . Of all the words the translator might pick, why that one? I suppose it could be random. But maybe the Limbic really meant Angel, like one of the aliens we call an Angel. I know, there isn’t an Angel on board the ship that we were taken to. But if the Mood Indigo is this ship, and the Pipe-Rilla vessel is the other ship, then what’s the other other ship?”

“There were supposedly two alien ships that came to the Geyser Swirl before we did. You think—”

“Isn’t it possible? That one of them, the ship Indigo and I were taken to, has a crew of Pipe-Rillas and Tinkers. But the other ship, what the Limbics call the other other ship—”

“Has a crew of Angels. I hear you. Play it one more time.”

Bony listened hard, concentrating to the limits of his tired brain. At the end he shook his head. “I can’t tell. I see what you’re getting at, that there’s another ship here and it directed the Limbics to us and to the Pipe-Rilla vessel. But this is all guesswork. Even if you’re right, what we have to do next is clear enough. Come on. Grab the tube again, and let’s go.”

The walk across the ocean floor was only a few hundred meters. Say that fast and it sounded easy, but Bony soon learned that forward progress was difficult verging on impossible. The L-shaped section of tube seemed to have a mind of its own, tilting and twisting in unexpected directions. The seafloor pink fingers insisted on inspecting the pipe and were sometimes reluctant to let go, providing extra resistance to movement. The mid-sea rise, hardly noticeable when you crossed it unencumbered, seemed to have become much steeper. Bony’s face-plate began to steam up, reminding him that the suit was designed for space and not for work under the sea. He looked for Liddy, holding the other end of the tube, and saw only a foggy blur. Everything must be just as difficult for Liddy, but she was struggling on without complaint. If she could do it, he could. He trudged on, head down, exhausted and unable to see where he was going.

He was at the end of his tether and ready to call for a break when suddenly everything became easier. The tube seemed to weigh nothing and glided forward of its own volition. Startled, Bony released his hold and looked around him. Four of the bubble people had taken the sides of the tube and were carrying it easily through the water. Their strength was impressive. Just as well that they seemed a peaceful lot.

Did they have any idea where he and Liddy were going? Apparently so. The Pipe-Rilla ship lay straight ahead, encouragingly close. During the final hundred meters, his suit visor lost its fog and his fatigue lessened.

Ten meters from the sunken ship, Bony released his hold on the pipe section and gestured to the bubble folk to do the same. They ignored him. He went across to them and turned the thrustors of his suit on at a low level. He pointed to the exhaust and said, “Dangerous. Don’t stay too close.” They didn’t seem to understand; they didn’t move.

Liddy came across to stand next to him. She repeated, “Dangerous. Drop the tube. Don’t stay too close. Move away.”

After an odd gobbling sound, Bony heard the distorted words, “Not too close. Move away.”

They came from the translator, which he now realized was strapped at Liddy’s side. She had carried it all the way from the Mood Indigo , while still holding up her end of the tube. She had not lied — she was much stronger than she looked. And now the bubble men were drifting away, moving off to a safe distance.

He turned to Liddy, who said softly, “The translator has heard a lot more of me than it has of you. At the moment it’s better at my voice than yours. That’s all.”

“But you thought to bring it with you — I didn’t. I don’t ever want to hear you say again that you’re not smart. Don’t tell that to me, and don’t listen to Indigo when he says it. Because it’s not true. You’re not just beautiful, you’re also intelligent and resourceful.”

“I’ll do what you ask under one condition. Don’t you ever tell me again that you are fat and clumsy. Because that’s not true. You’re well-proportioned and attractive.”

There could hardly be a worse place and time. Liddy had moved very close, but they were separated by the infinite distance of two space-suits. Anything that Bony might have done — if he had dared — would have to wait. He stepped away from Liddy and said, “We’re not finished yet, and the tricky bit is still to come. We have to get this tube up there and sealed to the hull, and it will be just the two of us because I’m afraid our suit exhausts might damage the bubble people. Are you up for it?”

“I’ll manage.”

“Wait until I lift the other end.”

Maybe it was easier to turn the tube than to carry it across the uneven seabed, or maybe experience made the difference. Whatever the reason, they maneuvered the tube without problems up the side of the Pipe-Rilla ship, using their suit jets to lift themselves and direct the L-section into position. The seal was still tricky work and Bony wished — for maybe half a second — that Friday Indigo was there to help. It was a long, tedious, three-quarters of an hour until the horizontal part of the L-section was snugly mated to the hull of the ship. The vertical portion curved down toward the seabed. Now there was one remaining problem. The aliens inside needed to operate the lock. Bony could see no way of doing it from the outside.

“Stay here.” He left Liddy inside the vertical section of tube and descended once more to the seabed. He advanced to the ship’s port, but as before the view within was hidden by the cloak of purple Tinker wings. He swore, raised the gauntlet of his suit, and hammered as hard as he dared on the port.

Nothing. But with a second series of bangs, the cluster of Tinker wings shivered, fluttered, and was suddenly gone. In their place, staring at Bony with big-eyed concentration, was a Pipe-Rilla, lowering her fourteen-foot body with a cantilevering of long, multijointed limbs until she was face-to-face with him at the port.

He gestured and shouted, hoping she could see his expressions inside his suit or hear his voice through the hull. “Up there. At the airlock.” A frantic turning of his hands, as though working a screw. “It’s safe to use, you can operate it. I” — finger pointing at himself — “will go up there” — pointing up again — “and enter as soon as it’s open.”

Did she have any idea what he was getting at? He had no experience with the aliens, no way of knowing how to read their body language. As for facial expressions, you could forget them. The Pipe-Rillas had rigid exoskeletons.

He pointed upward again. “I’m going there now. You operate the airlock.” More turning of his hands. “And I will come in.”

Had there been a movement of the narrow head, a tremble of understanding? Bony watched. At last, when the imagined movement was not repeated, he left the port and rejoined Liddy. She was still waiting by the airlock.