Of course countless Sea State citizens were innately smarter, and some had much better learning. But few of those were likely to volunteer for such dangerous work. The company men spoke of his being “uniquely well qualified” for the job.

Imagine that. He’d never been well qualified for anything in his life! I guess lots of good things can come your way, if you don’t give a damn how long you live.

“Courier Four, cut respiration rate to thirty per minute. Slow down if you have to. Site Thirteen needs your cargo for backup, but they don’t expect you early.”

“Aye aye.” He measured his pace more carefully. Crat had decided he wanted this job after all. And that meant getting known as a team player. Another milestone for him.

During his first week they’d put him through exhaustive and exhausting tests… like barochambers, flooding in different gases and examining his hand-eye coordination under pressure. Then there were chem-sensitivity exams and psych profiles he was sure he’d fail, but which, apparently, he passed.

The company was engaged in a big enterprise here in the ocean southwest of Japan. Crat found out just how big when he was moved to an underwater base bustling with tech types — Japanese, Siberian, Korean, and others. There was talk of surveying and tapping nearby veins of valuable ores, a much more ambitious enterprise than just collecting manganese nodules from the open seabed. Obviously, the company was planning ahead for when nodules became scarce and therefore “protected.”

Crat didn’t understand most of what he overheard the engineers saying. (That was probably among the reasons he’d been hired.) But one thing was clear. If nodule harvesting was dangerous, working in deep mine shafts under half a kilometer of water would be doubly so! Not that Crat really cared. But maybe this explained the tight relationship between the corporation and this particular Sea State town — so close the floating city had even stayed put through a recent nasty storm, instead of taking shelter downwind of Kyushu. The Albatross Republic couldn’t afford to abandon jobs and cash.

It was weird, working as an expendable flunky so near others who were obviously high-priced tech types with fat, company-paid insurance policies. He’d expected to be treated like a dog or worse, but actually they were a lot more polite than the bosuns on the fishing boats had been, and smelled better, too.

Only why, when they were supposed to be working on digging a mine in the ocean, was everybody so excited this morning, jabbering over maps of the moon, for Gaia’s bleeding sake?

None of my dumpit business, I guess. And that was that.

Right now Crat was supposed to deliver his package to a company outpost ten kilometers from the main base. Apparently, it was a site so secret they didn’t even visit it often by submarine, in case competitors might track the boats with satellites. Single couriers like him, slogging back and forth on foot, minimized that risk. He had no idea what lay on the carry-rack across his back, but he’d get it there on time or croak trying!

Crat reached up and tapped his helmet. A high-pitched squeal had been growing louder for the last minute or two. So? More shitty equipment. What d’you expect?

“Hey, Control. Can you guys do anything about the dumpit—”

“Courier Four… we’re having…” Static interrupted, then surged again. “… better… ort this… ssion…” Crat blinked. What the hell were they talking about now? He decided to play it safe. If you don’t understand what the bosses are saying, just keep working hard. It may not be what they wanted, but they sure can’t fire you for that!

So he checked the helmet’s gyrocompass and adjusted his heading a bit before moving on, counting breaths as he’d been told. There were miles to go yet, and what mattered was delivering the goods.

As he slogged, the keening in his headphones grew more intense and oddly musical. Tones overlay each other, rising and falling to a puzzling rhythm. Could this be another test, perhaps? Was he supposed to name that tune? Or were they just having fun at his expense?

“Hey, Base. You guys there? Or what?”

“… ort and… back, Courier! We’re exper… ouble…”

This time he stopped, feeling rising concern. He still had no idea what the controller was saying, but it sounded bad. Crat’s glove collided with his helmet as he instinctively tried to wipe away the perspiration beading his nose. He wanted to rub his eyes, which had started itching terribly.

Suddenly it was important to remember all the warning signs he’d been taught in cram sessions. Nitrogen narcosis was one danger they’d warned of repeatedly. The suit’s monitor lights showed an okay gas balance… if you could trust the battered gauges. Crat checked his pulse and found it fast but steady. He squeezed his eyes shut till they hurt, then opened them and waited for the speckles to go away.

Only they didn’t. Instead they capered and bobbed as if a swarm of performing fireflies had gotten into his helmet. Their movements matched the eerie music surging through his headphones.

Oh, this is too squirting weird!

A flash of gray hurtled past him. Then another, and two more. Crat blinked. Dolphins! The last one paused to whirl around him, catching his eye and nodding vigorously before streaking after its fellows. Crat got the eerie impression the creature had been trying to tell him something, like maybe, You better hurry, Mac, if you know what’s good for you.

“Shit. If something down here’s got them scared…”

Crat found himself scurrying after them, running as fast as he could through the bottom muck. Soon he was panting, his heart pounding in his chest. I’ll never keep up! Whatever’s chasing them will catch me easy!

He tried to glance backward as he ran, but only managed to trip over his own feet. The slow motion fall was unstoppable, ending in a skid that plowed up streamers of turbid sediment. As he lay there, wheezing for breath, his entire world consisted of the whining aircompressors, that gor-sucking music, and some crawling thing in the mud that bumped against his faceplate, leaving a trail of slime across the glass before disappearing into the ooze again.

Maybe I can burrow under here and hide, he thought.

But no. Cowering from a fight stuck in his craw. Better to turn and face whatever it was. Maybe dolphins are cowards, anyway.

Something occurred to Crat. It might be some other company, wanting to hijack the thing I’m carrying. Hey! That explains all the noise! They’re jamming my comm, so I can’t call for help when they find me! Obstinately, he decided, Well, if my cargo’s that important, they sure as fuck aren’t gonna get it off me!

Crat managed to stand, raining gunk from his harness and shoulders. If the enemy were close, they’d surely pick out the noise his suit gave off and zero in on him. But maybe he could find a place to stash his cargo first! Awkwardly, he pulled the bulky package off its carry-rack. One of the tech types had called it a “cylinder gimbal bearing,” or whatever. All he knew was it was heavy.

Maybe… Crat thought as he looked around… maybe he could bury it and… hurry off, leading the bad guys away from it! But in that case he’d better put it under some landmark, so he could find it again. In a burst of slyness, he set off away from his former heading, so as not to point the way to the company’s secret lab. Meanwhile Crat peered about for any useful landmark, wary for a sudden black shape — the sleek minisub of some mercenary corporate privateer.

Hurrying across the muddy plain, he caught a flicker of motion to his left. He turned, just in time to be halfblinded by a sudden shaft of brilliance that seemed to split the sea. A searchlight! They’re here!