Tigrallo flipped over on his back and started corkscrewing the other direction. Looking like a mad impressionist painter's idea of a cross between a dolphin and a manta ray...

Well, why not? "I have chosen a name, Counselor," Raimey said. "I wish to be called Manta."

That is not a proper name, Latranesto said. You are a male. You must choose a proper male's name.

"But I am not only Qanska," Raimey reminded him. "I am also human. I contend it is proper that I have a name that is unique among the Qanska."

Latranesto rumbled something. Someone from the group of Qanska underneath him rumbled back, and the discussion was on. Raimey tried to follow along, but his efforts quickly ended in a dead end.

The conversation seemed composed almost entirely of nuances, with none of the tonal words he recognized. Either this was a different dialect from the one he'd been taught, or else they'd been enunciating things very slowly and carefully up to now.

It seemed to go on forever, but eventually the rumblings began to die away. Very well, Latranesto said at last, switching back to something Raimey could understand. From this day until the passing into the Deep, you shall be known as Manta.

The passing into the Deep. That one definitely sounded ominous. The Qanskan version of till death do us part?

I must now leave you, Latranesto continued. Once again, in the name of the Counselors, and the Leaders, and the Wise, I welcome you to our home. Use your time and abilities with courage and strength and wisdom.

"I will do my best," Raimey said. "I hope we shall meet again."

Perhaps, Latranesto said. Until that day, may you swim in peace and contentment.

The Counselor gave an elaborate ripple of his fins, which was apparently the signal the lifting Qanska had been waiting for. In unison they ducked out from under him and swam clear of his bulk.

Latranesto dropped like a stone, quickly sinking out of sight in the swirling mass of atmosphere below.

Come.

The voice had come from behind him. With an effort, Raimey managed to turn himself around.

Tigrallo was hovering there, his fins flapping rhythmically with smooth but powerful strokes. Your first task is to learn how to find food, the Protector said. You do like to eat, do you not?

Raimey was suddenly aware that whatever passed for a stomach in this new body of his was feeling extremely empty. "You bet," he said. "Let's go."

Faraday flipped off his microphone and stretched the tension out of his fingers. For the moment, at least, things seemed under control. "Well," he said to the room in general. "Evaluations?"

"Nothing like a good heart attack to get a project up and running." Hesse grunted. "That one was just too damn close."

"I seem to remember it was your idea to boost his oxygen flow," Milligan pointed out, an edge of scorn in his voice. "If we hadn't done that, he wouldn't have attracted that Vuuka in the first place."

"Excuse me, Mr. Milligan, but I thought it might be nice to keep him from suffocating before he was even born," Hesse shot back, his face reddening noticeably beneath his blond hair. "And as long as we're talking ifs here," he added, shifting his glare to McCollum, "if our vaunted xenobiologist had told me the umbilical contraction was natural—"

"Don't try to load this one on me," McCollum objected. "It's been twenty years of pulling teeth just to find out what we do know about Qanskan physiology. They never said a word about this."

"All right, that's enough," Faraday interrupted, putting some of that Living Legend authority into his voice. "All of you. I know it's been a tense few days, and I know that we're all tired. But let's be professionals here. Finger-pointing is for bureaucrats."

McCollum made a face, but obediently fell silent. Faraday looked at Hesse, who also said nothing, then around at the others. "All right," he said again. "Now. Evaluations?"

"He's adjusting very well to his transformation," Sprenkle offered. "Almost too well, in fact."

"Meaning?" Faraday asked.

"It's hard to pin down," Sprenkle said, fingering his moustache thoughtfully. "Did you notice how he seemed to hesitate every time he had to switch back to English?"

"Lots of people do that when they're going between two different languages," Beach pointed out.

"True," Sprenkle agreed. "But he also seemed rather annoyed about having to stop what he was doing to talk to us. Sometimes borderline hostile, in fact."

"Maybe because we almost got him killed," Milligan muttered.

Hesse turned a glare his direction—"No, I don't think so," Sprenkle said. "Remember that comment about us not knowing as much about Qanskan physiology as we thought we did?"

"No kidding," McCollum muttered.

"The point is that he seems to be already picking up an us-versus-them way of thinking," Sprenkle said. "Identifying with his new body, and his new people."

"But that's what we want to happen," Faraday said. "Isn't it?"

"Certainly, at least to some extent," Sprenkle said. "He'll be miserable the rest of his life if he never considers himself a part of Qanskan society. All I'm saying is that we didn't expect it to start this soon."

"Maybe there's something else going on," Hesse said. "I've seen parts of Raimey's file. The man has a lot of resentment and anger still festering over his accident. Maybe that dig was part of that anger."

"Who exactly is he angry at?" Beach asked.

"The universe in general," Sprenkle said. "Humanity in particular. Raimey is definitely the sort to hold and nurture a grudge."

"So hold a grudge at the universe," Beach said, frowning. "But why drag humanity into it? No one planted that tree in front of him."

"No, but he was showing off for his girlfriend," Sprenkle said. "For someone like Raimey, that might be all it takes to start assigning blame."

McCollum snorted under her breath. "This guy wasn't exactly a prize before his accident either, was he?"

"Let's not concentrate on his psychological flaws, people," Faraday said mildly. "I'm sure Dr.

Sprenkle could write up an equally flattering file on each of us, too. Besides, if Raimey hadn't been mad enough at humanity to turn his back on us, he might not be swimming around down there right now."

"I was just thinking about a cartoon I saw once," Milligan said slowly. "An Old West, cowboys-and- First-Immigrants strip. The commander of the fort has called his scout into his office to report. The scout says, 'I did what you told me, Colonel—I made friends with the natives, learned their ways, studied their culture.' The colonel says, 'And what do you have to tell me?' The scout says, 'Get off our land.' "

"Boy, wouldn't that be a kicker," Beach murmured. "If he went completely native and told us to go take a collective hike."

"I don't think that'll happen," Sprenkle said. "Jen, you said the cellular substitution had already started?"

"Pretty much as soon as the surgeons finished," McCollum confirmed. "That was a little faster than anyone expected, too."

"Right," Sprenkle said. "And yet he's still apparently the same lovable Matthew Raimey that he always was, resentments and grudges and all. I don't think he's going to lose all connection to humanity."

"Unless it's waiting until the transformation reaches his cerebral cortex," Milligan said. "This could still blow up in our faces."

"Nothing's blowing up in anyone's face," Faraday said firmly. "We'll just have to keep an eye on him. Was there anything else?"

The others glanced around at each other, but no one spoke. "All right, then," Faraday said. "When your duty shifts are over, I'll expect each of you to do a complete analysis of your data and write it up."

"In the meantime," Hesse added, glancing at his watch, "the Five Hundred are waiting for word of the blessed event."