"You do look cool and efficient," I observed.

"I don't feel cool," she said, rising. "Let's go for a swim."

"May I point out that we're making pretty good time?"

"If you want to indicate the obvious, you may. You said you could makeit back to the ship, unassisted. Change your mind?"

"No."

"Then get us two scuba outfits and I'll race you under Tensquare.

"I'll win, too," she added.

I stood and looked down at her, because that usually makes me feelsuperior to women.

"Daughter of Lir, eyes of Picasso," I said, "you've got yourself arace. Meet me at the forward Rook, starboard, in ten minutes."

"Ten minutes," she agreed.

And ten minutes it was. From the center blister to the Rook took maybetwo of them, with the load I was carrying. My sandals grew very hot and Iwas glad to shuck them for flippers when I reached the comparative cool ofthe corner.

We slid into harnesses and adjusted our gear. She had changed into atrim one-piece green job that made me shade my eyes and look away, then lookback again.

I fastened a rope ladder and kicked it over the side. Then I pounded onthe wall of the Rook.

"Yeah?"

"You talk to the port Rook, aft?" I called.

"They're all set up," came the answer. "There's ladders and draglinesall over that end."

"You sure you want to do this?" asked the sunburnt little gink who washer publicity man, Anderson yclept.

He sat beside the Rook in a deckchair, sipping lemonade through astraw.

"It might be dangerous," he observed, sunken-mouthed. (His teeth werebeside him, in another glass.)

"That's right," she smiled. "It _will_ be dangerous. Not overly,though."

"Then why don't you let me get some pictures? We'd have them back toLifeline in an hour. They'd be in New York by tonight. Good copy."

"No," she said, and turned away from both of us.

"Here, keep these for me."

She passed him a box full of her unseeing, and when she turned back tome they were the same brown that I remembered.

"Ready?"

"No," I said, tautly. "Listen carefully, Jean. If you're going to playthis game there are a few rules. First," I counted, "we're going to bedirectly beneath the hull, so we have to start low and keep moving. If webump the bottom, we could rupture an air tank..."

She began to protest that any moron knew that and I cut her down.

"Second," I went on, "there won't be much light, so we'll stay closetogether, and we will _both_ carry torches."

Her wet eyes flashed.

"I dragged you out of Govino without--"

Then she stopped and turned away. She picked up a lamp.

"Okay. Torches. Sorry."

"...And watch out for the drive-screws," I finished. "There'll bestrong currents for at least fifty meters behind them."

She wiped her eyes and adjusted the mask.

"All right, let's go."

We went.

She led the way, at my insistence. The surface layer was pleasantlywarm. At two fathoms the water was bracing; at five it was nice and cold. Ateight we let go the swinging stairway and struck out. Tensquare sped forwardand we raced in the opposite direction, tattooing the hull yellow atten-second intervals.

The hull stayed where it belonged, but we raced on like two darksidesatellites. Periodically, I tickled her frog feet with my light and tracedher antennae of bubbles. About a five meter lead was fine; I'd beat her inthe home stretch, but I couldn't let her drop behind yet.

Beneath us, black. Immense. Deep. The Mindanao of Venus, where eternitymight eventually pass the dead to a rest in cities of unnamed fishes. Itwisted my head away and touched the hull with a feeler of light; it told mewe were about a quarter of the way along.

I increased my beat to match her stepped-up stroke, and narrowed thedistance which she had suddenly opened by a couple of meters. She sped upagain and I did, too. I spotted her with my beam.

She turned and it caught on her mask. I never knew whether she'd beensmiling. Probably. She raised two fingers in a V-for-Victory and then cutahead at full speed.

I should have known. I should have felt it coming. It was just a raceto her, something else to win. Damn the torpedos!

So I leaned into it, hard. I don't shake in the water. Or, if I do itdoesn't matter and I don't notice it. I began to close the gap again.

She looked back, sped on, looked back. Each time she looked it wasnearer, until I'd narrowed it down to the original five meters.

Then she hit the jatoes.

That's what I had been fearing. We were about half-way under and sheshouldn't have done it. The powerful jets of compressed air could easilyrocket her upward into the hull, or tear something loose if she allowed herbody to twist. Their main use is in tearing free from marine plants orfighting bad currents. I had wanted them along as a safety measure, becauseof the big suck-and-pull windmills behind.

She shot ahead like a meteorite, and I could feel a sudden tingle ofperspiration leaping to meet and mix with the churning waters.

I swept ahead, not wanting to use my own guns, and she tripled,quadrupled the margin.

The jets died and she was still on course. Okay, I was an oldfuddyduddy. She _could_ have messed up and headed toward the top.

I plowed the sea and began to gather back my yardage, a foot at a time.I wouldn't be able to catch her or beat her now, but I'd be on the ropesbefore she hit deck.

Then the spinning magnets began their insistence and she wavered. Itwas an awfully powerful drag, even at this distance. The call of the meatgrinder.

I'd been scratched up by one once, under the _Dolphin_, a fishing boatof the middle-class. I _had_ been drinking, but it was also a rough day, andthe thing had been turned on prematurely. Fortunately, it was turned off intime, also, and a tendon-stapler made everything good as new, except in thelog, where it only mentioned that I'd been drinking. Nothing about it beingoff-hours when I had the right to do as I damn well pleased.

She had slowed to half her speed, but she was still moving cross-wise,toward the port, aft corner. I began to feel the pull myself and had to slowdown. She'd made it past the main one, but she seemed too far back. It'shard to gauge distances under water, but each red beat of time told me I wasright. She was out of danger from the main one, but the smaller port screw,located about eighty meters in, was no longer a threat but a certainty.

She had turned and was pulling away from it now. Twenty metersseparated us. She was standing still. Fifteen.

Slowly, she began a backward drifting. I hit my jatoes, aiming twometers behind her and about twenty back of the blades.

Straightline! Thankgod! Catching, softbelly, leadpipe on shoulderSWIMLIKEHELL! maskcracked, not broke though AND UP!

We caught a line and I remember brandy.

Into the cradle endlessly rocking I spit, pacing. Insomnia tonightand left shoulder sore again, so let it rain on me--they can curerheumatism. Stupid as hell. What I said. In blankets and shivering.She: "Carl, I can't say it." Me: "Then call it square for that nightin Govino, Miss Luharich. Huh?" She: nothing. Me: "Any more of thatbrandy?" She: "Give me another, too." Me: sounds of sipping. It hadonly lasted three months. No alimony. Many $ on both sides. Notsure whether they were happy or not. Wine-dark Aegean. Good fishing.Maybe he should have spent more time on shore. Or perhaps sheshouldn't have. Good swimmer, though. Dragged him all the way toVido to wring out his lungs. Corfu should have brought them closer.Didn't. I think that mental cruelty was a trout. He wanted to go toCanada. She: "Go to hell if you want!" He: "Will you go along?"She: "No." But she did, anyhow. Many hells. Expensive. He lost amonster or two. She inherited a couple. Lot of lightning tonight.Stupid as hell. Civility's the coffin of a conned soul. By whom?--Sounds like a bloody neo-ex....But I hate you, Anderson, with yourglass full of teeth and her new eyes....Can't keep this pipe lit, keepsucking tobacco. Spit again!