"I'm sorry. We don't know. It's just unfortunate that she wandered so far from Beebe. The ocean, it's— well, not always safe. It's even possible a squid got her. She was at the right depth."

Nakata's head is shaking. "No," she whispers.

"Be sure and call if anything turns up," the speaker says. "We're setting up the search plan now, so if there's nothing else—"

"There is," Lubin says.

"Oh?"

"There's an unmanned installation a few klicks northwest of us. Recently installed."

"Really?"

"You don't know about it?"

"Hang on, I'm punching it up." The speaker falls briefly silent. "Got it. My God, that's way out of your back yard. I'm surprised you even picked it up."

"What is it?" Lubin says. Clarke watches him, the hairs on her neck stirring.

"Seismology rig, it says here. OSU put it down there for some study on natural radioactives and tectonics. You should really keep away from it, it's a bit hot. Carrying some calibration isotopes."

"Unshielded?"

"Apparently."

"Doesn't that scramble the onboard?" Lubin wants to know.

Nakata stares at him, open-mouthed and angry. "Who cares! Judy's missing!"

She's got a point. Lubin barely even talks to the other rifters; coming from him, this interchange with the drybacks almost qualifies as babbling.

"Says here it's an optical processor," the speaker says after a brief pause. "Radiation doesn't bother it. But I think Al— Ms. Nakata is right, your first priority—"

Lubin reaches past Brander and kills the connection.

"Hey," Brander says sharply.

Nakata gives Lubin a blank angry stare and disappears from the hatchway. Clarke hears her retreat into her cubby and dog the hatch. Brander looks up at Lubin. "Maybe it hasn't dawned on you, Ken, but Judy just might be dead. We're kind of upset about that. Alice especially."

Lubin nods, expressionless.

"So I've got to wonder why you chose this moment to grill the GA about the technical specs on a fucking seismic rig."

"That's not what it is," Lubin says.

"Yeah?" Brander rises, twisting up out of the console chair. "And just what—"

"Mike," says Clarke.

"What?"

She shakes her head. "They said an optical CPU."

"So the fuck wh—" Brander stops in mid-epithet. Anger drains from his face.

"Not a gel," Clarke says. "A chip. That's what they're saying."

"But why lie to us?" Brander asks, "when we can just go out there and feel..."

"They don't know we can do that, remember?" She lets out a little smile, like a secret shared between friends. "They don't know anything about us. All they've got is their files."

"Not any more," Brander reminds her. "Now they've got Judy."

"They've got us too," Lubin adds. "Quarantined."

* * *

"Alice. It's me."

A soft voice through hard metal: "Come..."

Clarke pulls the hatch open, steps through.