“No,” Michaela agreed. She in turn tapped on the blisters and light pods. “But something big could sure mangle the external hardware. Maybe even bend up the fins and thrusters. No telling what kind of stresses jaws and teeth that size might impart.”

Kel considered, said, “All right, so the BMT bites the sub. Tries to chew it up and spits it out. If the sub’s thrusters are compromised, if you lose mobility, you can still blow ballast and surface.”

“What about the ballast tanks?” Kalico asked. “What happens if they get punctured?”

“Nothing biological is going to compromise those sialon pressure tanks. It would take a high-velocity bullet to get through that shell. No, the tanks are safe. If anything, they add to hull integrity.”

“And crush depth on the Seascape 15 is five hundred atmospheres,” Jaim told her. “That’s five thousand meters. Nothing around the Pod is that deep.”

“Can we weld a cage around the sub?” Michaela asked. “Like a big box larger than the BMT’s bite?”

“How much does it weigh?” Jaim asked, turning gray eyes on the Director. “We have to be able to generate equivalent buoyancy for every kilogram you add.”

“How big does the box have to be? Using tubing, we can do the math. Figure the tube diameter versus displacement and come up with neutral buoyancy.”

“Twenty meters by twenty meters?” Michaela suggested.

“That’s doable,” Kel told her with a nod. “Assuming we can come up with the tubes.” He turned. “Supervisor? Do you have anything like that at Corporate Mine?”

“Won’t fit in the Underwater Bay surrounded by a contraption like that,” Jaim noted. “Maybe if it was collapsible?”

Kalico stood, walked over to the sub where it rested on its cradle. The thing shone in the lights all new and pristine, the bright yellow paint splotched here and there with little smears of what looked like algae. She could see attachment points that might be used to bolt on the kind of frame Kel was talking about.

“I think we can fabricate something. The easiest would be steel. Hardest would be carbon fiber or ceramic.” She turned. “But you’re assuming a twenty-by-twenty-meter box will be sufficient.”

Jaim turned. “Why wouldn’t it?”

“What’s to say that your BMT is the biggest bad actor out there? We’ve got a fifty-meter predator living in the trees out beyond Tyson Station. Not that we’ve ever had a good look at it, but if something that big lives in the treetops, what’s to keep something even bigger from living in the oceans where its mass is supported by the water?”

In a half growl, Jaim said, “This just gets better and better. What the hell kind of world is this, anyway?” She pointed at the sub. “That’s not food. It’s a big chunk of sialon, steel, and glass.”