"Maybe. No mention of it here, though." He grunted. "Maybe you're supposed to swim the rest of the way."

The lifter locked them tight. Tame thunderbolts exploded aft, superheating bladders of gas. The ocean began to fall away.

"So you're just going to dump me in the middle of the ocean," Clarke said coldly.

"It's not my decision."

"Of course not. You're just following orders."

Joel turned around. Her eyes stared back at him like twin snowscapes.

"You don't understand," he told her. "These aren't orders. I don't fly the lifter."

"Then what—"

"The pilot's a gel. It's not telling me to do anything. It's just bringing us up to speed on what it's doing, all on its own."

She didn't say anything for a moment. Then, "Is that the way it's done now? We take orders from machines?"

"Someone must have given the original order. The gel's following it. They haven't taken over yet. And besides," he added, "they're not exactly machines."

"Oh," she said softly. "I feel much better now."

Uncomfortably, Joel turned back to the console. "It is kind of odd, though."

"Really." Clarke didn't seem especially interested.

"Getting this from the gel, I mean. We've got a radio link. Why didn't someone just tell us?"

"Because your radio's out," Clarke said distantly.

Surprised, he checked the diagnostics. "No, it's working fine. In fact, I think I'll call in right now and ask what the fuck this is all about..."

Thirty seconds later he turned back to her. "How did you know?"

"Lucky guess." She didn't smile.

"Well the board's green, but I can't raise anyone. We're flying deaf." A doubt tickled the back of his mind. "Unless the gel's got access we don't, for some reason." He linked into the lifter's interface and called up that vehicle's afferent array. "Huh. What was that you said about machines giving the orders?"

That got her attention. "What is it?"

"The lifter got its orders through the Net."

"Isn't that risky? Why doesn't the GA just talk to it direct?"

"Dunno. It's as cut off as we are right now, but the last message came from this node here. Shit; that's another gel."

Clarke leaned forward, managing somehow not to touch him in the crowded space. "How can you tell?"

"The node address. BCC stands for biochemical cognition."

The display beeped twice, loudly.

"What's that?" Clarke said.

Sunlight flooded up from the ocean. It shone deep and violent blue.

"What the fuck—"

The cabin filled with computer screams. The altimeter readout flashed crimson and plummeted. We're falling, Joel thought, and then, no, we can't be. No acceleration.

The ocean's rising...

The display was a blizzard of data, swirling by too fast for human eyes. Somewhere overhead the gel was furiously processing options that might keep them alive. A sudden lurch: Joel grabbed useless submarine controls and hung on for dear life. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Clarke flying back towards the rear bulkhead.