Anne flipped around in a flourish of phytoplankton. “Gurnsby!” she hissed. “You get out of here right now! I will not have my Seriatopora invaded by a thuggish deeplife such as yourself!”
The driftwood club wavered for a second as its owner’s grip became even more indecisive than before. “Howard promised at least seven—”
“And you’ll get them. High tide isn’t for two more days, and the extractions are coming along as well as can be hoped.” Anne spun back toward inner darkness of the coral. “Until then, go away and let us do our job. And take that mollusk-basher with you.”