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I realize immediately what we’re seeing. Our boat is the tiny white dot hovering in the centre. The sphere’s upper half is a swirl of faint green lines: wind patterns, rain and clouds in real time. The lower hemisphere shows conditions underwater in adarker emerald light: currents, depth readings and a whole host of dots and blobs of various sizes moving beneath us.

‘Marine life,’ I guess. ‘That’s got to be a school of fish. What’s that, a whale?’

Nelinha beams. ‘We are electrolocating, gang.’

I’m enthralled by the three-dimensional readout. It should be too much information, too complicated to read, but I understand it instinctively. I canfeelthe ship’s position, how it relates to the currents and the winds, how it affects the movements of the creatures around us.

‘This is so much better than sonar or ECDIS,’ I murmur. ‘How is this possible?’

Nelinha looks pleased, like she’s just baked a batch of cookies everybody loves. ‘I told you, babe – a different perspective on the laws of science. What we’re seeing is a visual representation of the way marine mammals sense their environment. And, yeah, it’swaybetter than puny land-animal tech.’

‘Nice work, da Silva.’ Tia Romero squints at the controls around the base of the LOCUS. ‘You’re sure this isn’t making us light up on the radar screens of every ship within a thousand miles?’

‘Pretty sure. Like ninety percent. Eighty-five percent.’

‘What if theAronnaxhas similar tech?’ I ask. ‘Will dynamic camouflage fool a LOCUS?’

Nelinha’s smile turns to a grimace. ‘Maybe?’

It’s an unsettling thought. There are no signs of other vessels on the LOCUS readout – submarine or otherwise. But is it possible theAronnaxis out there, as invisible to us as we’re (hopefully) invisible to them?

‘If theydoshow themselves,’ Gem says, ‘we’ll test our other new toy.’

He points out of the window. On the forward deck, theSharks have assembled their favourite discovery from the gold-level boxes: a Leyden cannon the size of a jet ski. Its coppery barrel is laced with wires and intricate gear work. Its mounted pedestal swivels 270 degrees. I don’t know what it might do to an enemy ship, especially one like theAronnax, but Gem and his housemates are raring for target practice. I have already warned them they arenotallowed to electrocute whales or fishing boats.

The other high point of our trip: theVaruna’s engines freeze up.

I know that sounds like a bad thing. Getting stranded in the middle of the ocean and starving to death would typically fall into that category. However, the Cephalopods are confident that they can make repairs. In the meantime, Halimah Nasser suggests that somebody use this opportunity to do a visual inspection of the hull’s exterior. I volunteer so fast I make her jump.

I get on my buoyancy-control vest and scuba tank. I grab my mask, fins and a dead squid (for obvious reasons). The water is warm enough that I don’t need a wetsuit. I topple backwards into the sea. As soon as my cloud of bubbles dissipates, I spot Socrates swimming towards me, delighted to have a playmate.

He chatters and nudges me cheerfully. I give him the squid, but that doesn’t seem to satisfy him. As I start to inspect the hull, he gooses me to get my attention.

‘Rude!’ I mumble through my breather.

This makes no impression on him. Dolphins are shameless goosers.

He nudges me again, and I realize he wants to show me something.

I follow him to the forward starboard side of the hull. Just below the water line, there’s a fist-size grappling hook embedded in the wooden knockdown rail. A frayed cord trails from it into the gloom. I guess this is a souvenir left by our uninvited guestsfrom Land Institute. They must have fastened a line to theVarunajust before they surfaced.

The damage is probably superficial, but I don’t want to take chances. I also don’t wantanythingfrom LI on my ship. I tug the hook free and let it sink into the depths.

I thank Socrates with a pat on the head. Then I surface to request repair supplies.

By the time I’ve patched the damage and inspected the rest of the hull – which looks fine – I still have thirty minutes of air in my tank.

Socrates and I go for a quick dive. Fifteen feet under, we dance together. I hold his flippers and continue my year-long campaign to teach him the Hokey Pokey. Humming through my breather, I lead him through the moves.You put your right flipper in, you put your right flipper out.Socrates clearly doesn’t understand this strange human ritual, but judging from his laughing face, he finds it (and me) very amusing.

At one point, a sunfish cruises by that’s bigger than either of us. It’s a wonderfully weird-looking thing, like somebody fused a shark, a cauliflower and a chunk of iron pyrite and flattened it until it’s almost two-dimensional. Socrates ignores our visitor, since it’s neither dangerous nor edible. I wave and invite the sunfish to dance with us. It glides on by. I remember a humour column by Dave Barry that my dad read to me when I was little, about how fish only have two thoughts,Food?andYikes!But there is a third fish thought, which this sunfish’s expression relays perfectly:Y’all humans are weird.

I wish I could stay underwater with Socrates forever, dancing in the silver swirls of bubbles with sunlight rippling through the green.

I guess I lose track of time.

I hear the sharpclink,clink,clinkof a metal object being tapped against the hull. Someone is telling me to surface.

I give Socrates a high five for good work. Then I start my ascent.