Cursing my stubbornness, Kuwale raised verself up and dragged me over the edge.

I sank. I was paralyzed and numb, unsure if we were still connected. The water would have been transparent if not for the air bubbles; it was like falling through flawed crystal. I desperately hoped that I wasn’t inhaling – it seemed impossible to tell.

Bubbles drifted past my face in contradictory wavering streams, refusing to define the vertical. I tried to orient myself by the gradient of light, but the cues were ambiguous. All I could hear was my heart pounding – slowly, as if the toxin was blocking the pathways that should have had it racing in agitation. I had a weird sense of déjà vu ; with no feeling in my skin, I felt no wetter than when I’d stood on dry land watching the image from the tunnel diver’s camera. I was having a vicarious experience of my own body.

The bubbles suddenly blurred, accelerated. The turbulence around me grew brighter, then without warning my face emerged into the air, and all I could see was blue sky.

Kuwale shouted in my ear, “Are you okay? I’ve got you now. Try to relax.” Ve sounded distant; all I could manage was an indignant grunt. “A couple of minutes, and we should be safe. My lungs are affected, but I think that’s passing.” I stared up into the unfathomable sky, drowning in reverse.

Kuwale splashed water over my face. I was improving; at least I could tell that I was swallowing most of it. I coughed angrily. My teeth started chattering; the water was colder than I’d imagined. “Your friends are pathetic. One amateur burglar, caught out by a backup alarm. Cholera that gets confused by a melatonin patch. Toxins that wash off in seawater. Violet Mosala has nothing to fear.”

Someone grabbed my foot and dragged me under.

I counted five figures in wetsuits and scuba gear; they were all clad in polymer from ankles to wrists, and all wore gloves and hoods as well. No skin exposed. Why? I struggled weakly, but two divers held me tight, trying to thrust some kind of metal device into my face. I pushed it away.

The harvester emerged from the translucent distance, barely visible against the sunlit water, and I felt my first real shock of visceral fear. If they’d poisoned the tentacles – restored the natural gene to the engineered species – we were dead. I broke free long enough to turn and see the other three divers thrashing around Kuwale, trying to hold ver still.