I breasted the Slider as the speakers called, "Four-eight, twenty!"

"Status Red!"

A belch like an emerging champagne cork and the line arced high overthe waters.

"Four-eight, twenty!" it repeated, all Malvern and static. "Baitman,attend!"

I adjusted my mask and hand-over-handed it down the side. Then warm,then cool, then away.

Green, vast, down. Fast. This is the place where I am equal to asquiggler. If something big decides a baitman looks tastier than what he'scarrying, then irony colors his title as well as the water about it.

I caught sight of the drifting cables and followed them down. Green todark green to black. It had been a long cast, too long. I'd never had tofollow one this far down before. I didn't want to switch on my torch.

But I had to.

Bad! I still had a long way to go. I clenched my teeth and stuffed myimagination into a straightjacket.

Finally the line came to an end.

I wrapped one arm about it and unfastened the squiggler. I attached it,working as fast as I could, and plugged in the little insulated connectionswhich are the reason it can't be fired with the line. Ikky could break them,but by then it wouldn't matter.

My mechanical eel hooked up, I pulled its section plugs and watched itgrow. I had been dragged deeper during this operation, which took about aminute and a half. I was near--too near--to where I never wanted to be.

Loathe as I had been to turn on my light, I was suddenly afraid to turnit off. Panic gripped me and I seized the cable with both hands. Thesquiggler began to glow, pinkly. It started to twist. It was twice as big asI am and doubtless twice as attractive to pink squiggler-eaters. I toldmyself this until I believed it, then I switched off my light and startedup.

If I bumped into something enormous and steel-hided my heart had orders