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Liu.
    Joanie surprised her by picking up right away. She looked flustered, which was even more unusual. “Ela? So glad you checked in. How did you know to call? I have a gentleman on-link who is interested in the story you’re doing. I advise you to talk to him. Very influential. It could mean an important job for you.”
    “I’m stranded at sea,” Ela said.
    Joanie rolled her eyes. “Ela, why must you be so difficult? This is no time for you to be particular.” She did not wait for a reply. Her image dissolved, coming together again as the image of a handsome, crisply dressed Asian businessman, perhaps thirty years old. There was something calculating in the set of his eyes, as if he were in the habit of evaluating everything he saw in terms of its investment potential. Kathang confirmed it. This one sees without a veil — when he is not looking at himself .
    The businessman’s smooth lips turned in a ghost of a smile as if he had overheard. “Ms. Suvanatat,” he said. “Lately of Bangkok? I am Ky Xuan Nguyen. Your broker . . .” He frowned. “What is her name?”
    Ela was sure he knew her name perfectly well. “Joanie Liu,” she said in a timid voice.
    “Ms. Liu, yes. She has given you poor advice. The Coastal Society is not an organization you want to deal with.”
    Ela felt suddenly cold. Her gaze shifted to Kathang’s little salamander image. She tapped a code and nodded, setting the R osa to stalking Nguyen’s profile. A wavelet splashed in her mouth. She spit the salt water out, and said, “I’m only preparing an article, Mr. Nguyen.”
    “A propaganda piece.”
    She didn’t dare to contradict him. Hadn’t she thought the same thing?
    He asked: “Do you know why the public waters here are barren?”
    It was obvious wasn’t it? And still it sounded like an accusation that she did not want to make. “T-too many . . . people.”
    “That is the shallow answer. I’m sure you don’t feel we should exterminate the people so the fish might make a comeback. Of course not. The deeper reason these waters remain barren is because groups like the Coastal Society have sponsored international regulations banning fertilization in the open ocean. Boosting the level of dissolved nutrients in these waters would boost the population of plankton, with repercussions all the way up the food chain. But international law forbids this, with the result that independent fisherfolk starve, while commercial farms thrive producing protein that only the rich can afford.”
    Kathang returned, to whisper a report into Ela’s water-filled ear: “ Ky Xuan Nguyen is the thir d- ranking officer in a regional advertising firm known as Middle Nature. A graduate of Harvard Business School . . . ” Ela’s eyes widened as she listened. She could not imagine why such a man cared about fish.
    “Ms. Suvanatat?” Nguyen prodded. “Have you learned enough about me to give an answer?”
    Ela felt her cheeks heat, despite the cool water. Softly: “I’ve only been charged with showing what is , Mr. Nguyen.”
    “That would be hunger.”
    The Coastal Society would not want to hear that side of the story, but Ela nodded anyway. It didn’t matter: The link with Nguyen had already closed.
    Cameron Quang returned with the boat a few minutes later. He helped her aboard, but he did not make any jokes about poaching. He looked frightened, like a man who has been shown his tomb, with the date of death tentatively chalked on the wall. “You want to go ashore now?” he asked quietly, his Southern-American drawl much faded. Ela set the rebreather pack down on the deck and nodded, wondering if he had been talking to Nguyen too.

    She could not get Ky Xuan Nguyen out of her mind. What did he want from her? She had accepted the Coastal Society contract. She had already spent their money. She had to do the article. She had to make it acceptable to them, and still she brooded over what Nguyen had said about shallow answers.
    At least the