I waved solemnly. It bowed…well, bobbed in place before it flicked away.

My gear was arrayed in a tidy row, with the stunner nearest my hand. I’d put the reflector back on. I could reach it in an instant. Your Honor, of course it’s for scuba swimming. Why else would I be in possession of a device that can knock Feather Filip into a coma before she can blow a great bloody hole through my torso?

I didn’t actually want to go scuba swimming.

Sharrol swam like a fish; she could be out there right now. Still, at a distance and underwater, would I know her? And Feather might know me, and Feather would certainly swim better than me, and I could hardly ignore Feather.

Sharrol had to be living underwater. It was the only way she could stay sane. Life beyond the glass was alien, stet, but the life of Earth’s seas seems alien too. My slow wits hadn’t seen that at first, but Feather’s skills would solve that puzzle.

And Beowulf Shaeffer had to be underwater, to avoid sunlight. Feather could find me for the wrong reasons!

And the police of Fafnir, of whom I knew nothing at all, might well be studying me in bemused interest. He’s bought a weapon! But why, if he has the blaster that blew a hole through this vest? And it’s a fishing weapon, and he’s gone to Pacifica…which might cause them to hold off a few hours longer.

So, with time breathing hot on my neck, I found the hotel restaurant and took my time over fruit, fish eggs in a baked potato, and cappuccino.

My time wasn’t wasted. The window overlooked a main street of Pacifica’s village-size collection of bubbles. I saw swimsuits, and casually dressed people carrying diving or fishing gear. Almost nobody dressed formally. That would be for Shasht, for going to work. In the breakfast room itself I saw four business tunics in a crowd of a hundred. And two men in dark blue police uniforms that left arms and legs bare: you could swim in them.

And one long table, empty, with huge chairs widely spaced. I wondered how often kzinti came in. It was hard to believe they’d be numerous, forty years after mankind had taken over.

Back in the room I fished out the little repair kit and set to work on my transfer booth card.

We learned this as kids. The idea is to make a bridge of superconductor wire across the central circuits. Transport companies charge citizens a quarterly fee to cover local jumps. The authorities don’t get upset if you stay away from the borders of the card. The borders are area codes.

Well, it looked like the kind of card we’d used then. Fafnir’s booth system served a small population that didn’t use booths much. It could well be decades old, long due for replacement. So I’d try it.