Then a second object splashed through the ripply surface. This one was smaller still, and it took much longer for him to realize that it was simply a buoy, in the form of a short, brightly painted stick connected to another piece of rock by an even thinner cord. Before he had fully worked this out, a third object had entered the water.

This one made much less splash than either of the others. The Hunter was able to recognize a human figure, but not to identify it. This time the diver displayed no difficulty in reaching the bottom, and swam in widening circles for fully half a minute before shooting to the surface for air. At one point, she was close enough to the Hunter to let him see her clearly, and he was pleased to recognize the Teroa girl. He remembered what had been said about her skill in the water, and felt that he was as good as rescued.

On her second dive he was not so sure. She stayed down almost as long, and covered almost as large an area of sea bottom, but she was obviously working away from hislocation.

Presumably she would come back sooner or later, but there was no way of guessing which. There was also so way of guessing Bob's condition, and the Hunter was once again coming as close to panic as his species could.

He wondered how far the girl could see things clearly; he himself could not tell whether she was wearing goggles, though it seemed likely. He hoped so, since human eyes focused so poorly under water. There was nothing he could do about her eyesight, but could he improve the visibility of the tank, or the pipe, or the rope? Failing that, could he do anything to shift the search pattern in his direction?

The lump of coral anchoring the marker buoy was probably movable, but was over ten yards away. Leaving the pipe and traveling to it through the mud would be unpleasant and perhaps risky, but that was irrelevant; the only question was whether he could move the anchor when he got there.

He knew that with this idea formulated, he would' probably not be able to come up with another until he had at least tried it. This was a characteristic he had also noted in human beings. There was nothing to do, therefore, but try it

He had covered three quarters of the distance when another idea did strike him, but by then it seemed better to go on. He finally reached the rock.

It turned out to be one of those annoying in-between things, light enough so that he could lift it, heavy enough to make actual transportation a major project. He spent some time at it, moved it a foot or so, and finally decided that this would take too long. He went back to his pipe and began to implement the second idea.

The hardest part of this was to get the trapped air out of the concrete box, and hold onto it afterward. He could ooze through the space between lid and boy easily enough, though it was supposed to be watertight. Since the gasket had indeed held, the pressure was lower inside, and forcing microscopic bubbles of air against the gradient involved more work-in the literal sense in which the physicist uses the word-than he had counted on. Also, when the volume of gas he had collected began to grow large, he could no longer keep both it and himself inside the pipe. Outside, he had to devote some of his attention to the Hunter-eating zooplankton.

At the same time, he was slowly drawing the broken rope toward himself, until he had the end in reach.

He stopped taking air when the water, which he had had to allow into the box to bring the pressure difference down to something he could handle, came close to the electrical equipment. Wetting this would probably cause even further delay, and the bubble seemed big enough.

Maeta had stopped twice to rest during all this, but was now working far enough away to cause the| Hunter to worry whether even this idea would be good enough. There seemed nothing else to do, however, so when she started down the next time, he released his hold on pipe and box and let his air bubble carry him and the rope upward.

The lifting power of the air proved sufficient for the whole length of the rope, so he came to rest about half way to the surface. The sun was not yet very high-the outrigger had arrived very shortly after sunrise-but the waves were high enough to refract its beams downward at regular and frequent intervals-probably better, the Hunter felt, than uninterrupted light. He kept the walls of his bubble as thin as tactical necessity permitted, and waited. He also wondered whether Bob remembered the item about total internal reflection which they had both read in an elementary physics course.

The flashing reflection from the bubble naturally caught Maeta's eye, though she was more than twenty yards away. She swam over to investigate, since it hadn't been there before and was certainly something unusual. The Hunter saw with satisfaction that she was wearing goggles, and it was obvious that she saw the rope, though what she made of him and his bubble he could not guess. She followed the rope to the bottom, and saw and recognized the equipment.

She returned to the surface for air, then came down again and walked the marker buoy over to the site. While she took her next rest, the Hunter released his air and settled to the bottom; and before the new line was bent he was safely back in his pipe.

Rather to the Hunter's surprise, neither Jenny nor Maeta showed any revulsion at the sight of his greenish jelly soaking into the hand Bob dipped into theopen top of the pipe. They watched only briefly, not because of their own feelings but because the alien could not stand the sun for long.

Maeta offered to stay with them for the day and continue the regular search, but the Hunter wanted to stay with Bob long enough to make a complete check for all the things which might have gone wrong in his absence. This meant thata diver would have to spend most of her time keeping the instrument out of the coral, and this seemed impractical until the Cousteau equipment arrived; and no one yet knew when that would be. Seever, the third paddler, also had a point to make.

"You've been more in the water than out of it for the last hour and more, Mae. I know you don't feel either cold or tired, but take care of yourself. Get some rest before you go in again." The girl laughed. "I could stay in all day. I have, sometimes," she pointed out, looking back at the doctor without interrupting the rhythm of her paddle. "I not only don't feel tired; I'm really not."

"Ordinarily I'd agree with you, young lady," Seever answered, "but this time you've spent a lot of time under water. I know you've trained for that, too, and are probably in better condition than anyone else on Ell for such things-yes, I know all about your reputation; who doesn't? Still, there are things no human body can put up with indefinitely. You take care of that one."

Maeta laughed. "Aren't you going to tell me to put something on to keep the sun off, over this bathing suit?"

"No. I'm a professional trying to do his job, not an old fogey asking to look ridiculous. If my daughter or Bob were dressed as you are, I'd have jumped on them already. I know as well as you do that you don't1 need it. Are you trying to get compliments out of a middle-aged man? There must be better directions to shoot."

Maeta said nothing, nor did Jenny, but the latter looked at her father as teen-agers have been looking at their parents for generations. Bob paid no attention; he was listening to the Hunter's generally favorable report on his own condition, and promising himself that a very careful check of ropes, wires, and other equipment would precede any future operations.

The rope which had failed had been examined closely by everyone. Jenny had suggested openly that Malmstrom had done something to it. Bob had countered with the suggestion that it was the "pest" Andre desChenes. The rope itself failed to support either contention; it had not been cut, quite certainly. There was no obvious, reason why it had failed, and the rather futile argument was still going on when they reached North Beach.