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still. Why’d he take his R and R in such a godforsaken—”
    “Unless he didn’t,” Suleyman said in a dull voice. Victor looked up at him.
    “But his record says—”
    “Nan’s been proceeding on the assumption, all these years, that that was true,” said Suleyman. “He went on leave and then disappeared. But, you know, he generally used his leave time to visit Nan. Why didn’t he do the same on that last occasion?”
    “What was his mission?” demanded Victor, as an idea occurred to him. There followed a silence as the realization hit all three of them: Kalugin had been a Marine Salvage Specialist, which meant that his work involved securingthings the Company wanted that would otherwise be lost in shipwrecks. Unfortunately for Kalugin, the most economical and effective way to accomplish this usually involved going down with the ships when they sank.
    Suleyman closed his eyes. The silence resumed and deepened, as all three immortals accessed swiftly through the historical record for the year 2083. There wasn’t as much as there might have been; the Sattes outbreak had caused an immense event shadow on history in that year. Mortals had been so preoccupied with the horrors of the plague they hadn’t documented much else. But Suleyman found it at last, focusing on entries relating to the Russian navy.
    On 21 July 2083, the navy had launched a prototype miniature submersible, the
Alyosha
, powered by an experimental fusion drive—which would have been the first successful one, if the
Alyosha
hadn’t been lost that day in the Bering Sea.
    The record stated that her sole crewman had been awarded honors posthumously, but his name was not recorded.
    Suleyman grimaced and transmitted his findings to Latif and Victor. Latif swore and jumped to his feet. “I bet they left him down there,” he yelled. “Oh, man, he’s still in the damn submarine—”
    Victor bit his lower lip. He bit it hard enough to draw blood, and a bright drop welled. He sighed and drew out a tissue, dabbing the blood away carefully. Then he busied himself with taking out another chlorilar bag and sealing the tissue inside it. He put the bag in his coat pocket and said, in a preternaturally calm voice, “We mustn’t tell Nan.”

The Aleutian Basin, 25 August 2330
    “What the hell are these?” Latif demanded, scowling through the viewport. “Volcanic vents? What do they call them,
black smokers?
These aren’t on the maps.”
    “It may have been in somebody’s interest not to report them,” observed Victor.
    “Maybe,” said Latif. “Or maybe whoever had the job of mapping this stretch just blew it off. Not a lot goes on up here anymore.”
    Victor nodded.
    “Well, this is really peachy,” continued Latif. “All these fumaroles spewing out sediment just full of metallic crap. You could hide anything down here; the sediment would bury it and the metals would keep anybody’s sensors from picking it up afterward. No wonder nobody ever found the
Alyosha.”
    “Do we have any chance of finding it now?” asked Victor.
    “If we go to blue-sound scan for this section of the grid, we might,” Latif replied. He gave the console new orders. Then he leaned back in his seat, stretching. “And we wait. You want a beer?”
    “I wouldn’t mind one,”Victor replied. Latif got up and paced back through the cabin to the refrigeration unit. He pulled out two beers and returned to the console, as the
Met Agwe
continued its underwater search. The immortals sat drinking their Red Stripes, staring out into the gloom.
    “You’re not going through all that business with disposable cups and bags right now, I notice,” said Latif.
    “There are no mortals here I might infect,” Victor replied.
    “You really have no idea when it goes on or off?”
    Victor shook his head. “Something in my programming of which I’m unaware, perhaps. Or a signal Labienus generates, when he requires my particular talent. As far as I know I’ve only been used