“Damn funny-looking fish we're catching these days,” he yelled over the rumble of the engine.

Howes was manning the helm and doing his best to keep the boat steady. “Those fellas are a bit small,” he shouted back. “Maybe we should throw them back.”

“Not on your life,” Austin said, as he got one leg over the transom and practically fell into the boat.

Jenkins helped the pilot on board. With three of them working, they got Trout and Logan onto the boat in short order. The submariners staggered drunkenly across the pitching deck into the wheelhouse. The net had caught several hundred pounds of fish; and the weight threatened to drag the ship down. Jenkins hated to lose the fish and let the net loose in the sea where it might catch on a propeller, but he had no choice. He cut the lines and watched the net drift off into the foamy sea. Then he took over the helm and gunned the boat through the white-capped seas that splashed over the bow.

Howes helped the others out of their dry suits, then passed around blankets and a bottle of Irish whiskey. Austin peered through the spume, but the black ship had disappeared. There was also no sign of the fishing boats that had accompanied them on the way out. He asked where the other boats were.

“Things got dicey out here, so I sent them home,” Jenkins yelled over the grinding roar of the engine. “We should get back to port before the storm hits. Sit back and enjoy the ride.”

“I wonder what our former hosts will say when they discover us gone,” Logan said with a wolfish smile.

“I'm hoping that they'll think you tried to escape and were drowned.”

“Thanks for coming to our rescue. My only regret is that we couldn't leave the way we came, on the NR-1.”

“The important part was getting you out in one piece.”

Trout passed the whiskey bottle to Austin. “Here's to a job well done.”

Austin raised the bottle to his lips and took a sip. The fiery liquid overwhelmed the salty taste in his mouth and warmed his stomach. He stared out past their heaving wake, thinking about the huge projectile they had seen on the ship.

“Unfortunately,” he said, “the real work may have just begun.”

HIRAM YAEGER TOILED late into the night. He had moved away from his usual place at the grand console and sat in a corner of the vast computer center, his face lit up by a single screen. He was typing commands into a keyboard, and Max didn't like it.

HIRAM, WHY AREN'T WE USING THE HOLOGRAM?

THIS IS A SIMPLE ACCESS PROBLEM, MAX. WE DON'T NEED THE BELLS AND WHISTLES. IT's BACK TO BASICS.

I FEEL PRACTICALLY NAKED SITTING OUT HERE IN A PLAIN PLASTIC CABINET.

YOU'RE STILL BEAUTIFUL IN MY EYES.

FLATTERY WILL GET YOU EVERYWHERE. THE PROBLEM, PLEASE.