I follow him to the forward starboard side of the hull. Just below the water line, there’s a fist-size grappling hook embedded in the wooden knockdown rail. A frayed cord trails from it into the gloom. I guess this is a souvenir left by our uninvited guests from Land Institute. They must have fastened a line to the Varuna just before they surfaced.

The damage is probably superficial, but I don’t want to take chances. I also don’t want anything from LI on my ship. I tug the hook free and let it sink into the depths.

I thank Socrates with a pat on the head. Then I surface to request repair supplies.

By the time I’ve patched the damage and inspected the rest of the hull—which looks fine—I still have thirty minutes of air in my tank.

Socrates and I go for a quick dive. Fifteen feet under, we dance together. I hold his flippers and continue my year-long campaign to teach him the Hokey Pokey. Humming through my breather, I lead him through the moves. You put your right flipper in, you put your right flipper out. Socrates clearly doesn’t understand this strange human ritual, but judging from his laughing face, he finds it (and me) very amusing.

At one point, a sunfish cruises by that’s bigger than either of us. It’s a wonderfully weird-looking thing, like somebody fused a shark, a cauliflower, and a chunk of iron pyrite and flattened it until it’s almost two-dimensional. Socrates ignores our visitor, since it’s neither dangerous nor edible. I wave and invite the sunfish to dance with us. It glides on by. I remember a humor column by Dave Barry that my dad read to me when I was little, about how fish only have two thoughts, Food? and Yikes! But there is a third fish thought, which this sunfish’s expression relays perfectly: Y’all humans are weird.

I wish I could stay underwater with Socrates forever, dancing in the silver swirls of bubbles with sunlight rippling through the green.

I guess I lose track of time.

I hear the sharp clink, clink, clink of a metal object being tapped against the hull. Someone is telling me to surface.

I give Socrates a high five for good work. Then I start my ascent.

Back on board, I feel much better. The sea always refreshes me. I secure my tank and rinse my gear as we get underway. The repaired engines hum smoothly. The weather has cleared, leaving us with smooth seas and a rich burgundy sunset. By the end of the day tomorrow, if we’re lucky, we should arrive at HP’s secret base. We might find help, safety, answers. And, who knows, maybe even a new supply of chocolate-chip cookies.