Even before the boat came through the reef, Mirissa could tell that Brant was angry. The tense attitude of his body as he stood at the wheel — the very fact that he had not left the final passage in Kumar’s capable hands — showed that something had upset him.

She left the shade of the palm trees and walked slowly down the beach, the wet sand tugging at her feet. When she reached the water’s edge, Kumar was already furling the sail. Her ‘baby’ brother — now almost as tall as she was, and solid muscle — waved to her cheerfully. How often she had wished that Brant shared Kumar’s easygoing good nature, which no crisis ever seemed capable of disturbing…

Brant did not wait for the boat to hit the sand, but jumped into the water while it was still waist-deep and came splashing angrily towards her. He was carrying a twisted mass of metal festooned with broken wires and held it up for her inspection.

“Look!” he cried. “They’ve done it again!”

With his free hand, he waved towards the northern horizon.

“This time — I’m not going to let them get away with it! And the mayor can say what she damn well pleases!”

Mirissa stood aside while the little catamaran, like some primeval sea-beast making its first assault on the dry land, heaved itself slowly up the beach on its spinning outboard rollers. As soon as it was above the high-water line, Kumar stopped the engine, and jumped out to join his still-fuming skipper.

“I keep telling Brant,” he said, “that it must be an accident — maybe a dragging anchor. After all, why should the Northers do something like this deliberately?”

“I’ll tell you,” Brant retorted. “Because they’re too lazy to work out the technology themselves. Because they’re afraid we’ll catch too many fish. Because —