‘Didn’t notice? How the hell did you not notice that!.. or maybe you just weren’t looking? That’s the shitting thing that’s going to ruin my net.’

‘I’m sorry, Skip… I just didn’t see it — ’

Jeff angrily waved a hand to shut him up. He studied the green screen as the spike slowly progressed towards the middle of the display. The spike was followed by another and then the line became a plateau at a new height for forty, fifty feet, then dipped back down again.

‘Stop the boat,’ Jeff ordered. Tom slammed the engine into neutral. Whatever that thing was, it was directly beneath them.

‘I can’t believe you didn’t spot that first time round,’ Jeff said, shaking his head with incredulity. Tom ashamedly lowered his gaze, anticipating another roasting. He knew he wouldn’t be going out on Jeff Westland’s boat again.

The door to the pilothouse swung open, and Ian entered. ‘The net’s not moving, Skip. I reckon we’re on top of whatever we’re caught on.’

Jeff nodded at the sounder display. ‘A wreck, I think, we’re sitting right over it. Genius here didn’t notice it.’

Tom’s cheeks turned crimson as Ian stared silently at him.

Overheads settled before shares paid out. That’s the way it worked. With the net totalled, the outrigger damaged, and the crappiest haul of the season on ice down below, Ian could see a lean fortnight ahead of him, until the Skip was ready to take his boat out again.

Tom realised he’d be best avoiding the bars in Port Lawrence for a while. At least until Ian and Duncan had been out again, and found themselves flush with money once more.

‘If we lose the net we lose the evening haul,’ Ian said bitterly.

‘Leave him be,’ said Jeff, ‘I’ve already spoken to him.’

Ian studied the display carefully, trying to comprehend the three-dimensional shape described by the two-dimensional profile on the screen.