She bent down to where the sleek metal tube lay in its cradle and flipped on the power pack, GPS, transmitter, and beacon. Pointing to the glowing readouts, she explained, “See the numbers? They tell us that the transmitter is communicating with both the Pod and the locational satellite Ashanti placed in orbit. It’s keyed to all of our buoys, the seatrucks, and launch. The GPS will allow the buoy to stay on station. If it gets blown, or the current tries to move it, the motors will keep it exactly where we drop it. Meanwhile it will be sending data through the satellite on temperature, current direction, wave height, wind speed, and water chemistry. All that in this one machine.”

“Zambo.”

“Help me now.” She got her arms under the curved length of the buoy and lifted. Felix helped, and together they muscled the fifty-kilo cylinder onto the gunwale and rolled it over the side to splash into the lapis-blue water.

The thing sank, bobbed up, and righted itself, the readouts glowing a bright red on their screens.

Kevina could hear the faint whine of the motors as they stabilized the buoy. She picked up her com. “Michaela? Can you hear me?”

“Roger that. We’re getting a clear reading. You’re right at 50 kilometers out. We’re calibrating now. Should take us about five minutes to fix the position and run the diagnostics.”

“That works for me.” She glanced around. “I suppose there’s worse places to be.”

“Like being the main course at a meal hosted by the Unreconciled?”

“Not even close. It’s peaceful out here. Water’s smooth as silk. Not a hint of wind. Smells like a faint perfume.” She forced any thought of the Big Mouth Thing out of her mind. “I’d forgotten the magic of sunlight on water.”

Kevina glanced over, smiled at Felix where her son was leaned over the gunwale, watching the buoy as it rose and fell in sync with the launch and the swells. As he did, she heard him humming the melody to “London Bridge is Falling Down.”

“Roger that,” Michaela replied with a laugh. “Next time, I get to go. I’ve had enough of control rooms, light panels, and air conditioning.”

“What’s this, Mama?”

She stepped over, propped herself on the gunwale, and looked down. On Earth, her first thought would have been a sort of algae. Here, who knew?

“Don’t touch it, Felix. No telling what it is.”

“It doesn’t look scary, Mama.”

“We won’t know until we study it.” She found her sample containers with their five-meter cords. One by one she lowered them over the side as far as they would go. A stiff tug on the cord pulled the mouth shut to seal them at depth. Then she pulled each jar in hand over hand.