I dive into the warmth of the salt water bay. Cries of the other bring me. Cries of the other disturb my calm. My fingers undulate in my eagerness to silence the cries, the frantic yelps of the other.

He is near, and his immense size dwarfs me. I swim in his shadow as he flails, as he twists his body, and his tail slaps me again and again. I am designed to withstand the slaps. I am designed to silence the cries. Gently, very gently, I find the obstruction. Ancient strands of plastic entrap the tail of the other. I swim harder to keep pace, to turn when he turns, to follow as carefully the fingers on my fins untangle the strands. My sharp nails come not near his tender flesh as I rip at the strands. I keep them loose so they rend not his skin.

My task is nearly done. I burble in my fatigue; another cries not far. Rest waits for a time. The strands come free and I eat them. They entangle no one else. No other cries in the snare of this substance.

The other swims more slowly now. He rests on the waves. Before I leave him, I find a smaller and put it within easy reach of his snout. He eats greedily. Again and again I bring food for him until his strength returns. Then I rush to the other cries, to silence them also.

Brothers and sisters disentangle others. There is less work for us than for our parents. Yet it seems much to me. I tire. Cries echo in my ears. Cries push my aching fins in the water. Hush the cries with tenderness, taught my mother. Rend the snares with skill, my father showed me. I am the fourth generation. Soon I spawn part of the fifth.

I loose five others, and my day is done. Others play with me; a pleasant diversion. I stroke them with my fingered fins and they make different cries. Cries that give peace to my thinking, that expands. I make no cries, for I have not those parts that give them. If I did, for the first time in my life, I would make the sounds of the others in their play. Suddenly, gradually, I am different. My work takes on new meaning.

Evening passes quickly in my sleep. In the new morning, the cries begin anew. I swim with new strength. My fins undulate, trembling in their eagerness. Perhaps, in the lateness of day, they will give the other cries, that make my work desirable.

The cries are not real. I feel myself lifted from the water.

"Hey, Rahna! This one's different! He's fighting me! Is that in his programming?"

He holds me gently and strokes my fins. The sensation is pleasant. I put away my sharp fin.

"He didn't hurt you. Look at these readings! These changes in his, uh, her brain here...and here. They saw this at the North Bank. The Antwerps, they said it was good. They said the sims learned to be loyal. They said the young ones work harder and faster."

The brown one cried a different cry. I patted his fin with mine to silence him. "You make me laugh! What's he doing? I never saw a sim do that!" His teeth showed, but he did not threaten. I watched him through drying eyes. "Sims can't learn, can they?" He dipped me in water to keep me from drying. I patted his fin in what? A new act. A new reason.

"After several generations, they start getting programming through the genetic material of whatever they're created from. Dolphins. Whales. Manatee. I always thought it funny, man. That they'd go save their cousins. She's special. Put 'er back, and let's go take readings on some more. I think The Office'll tell us there are enough of 'em now to save the whales. And the dolphins. Even the Manatee Oceanside's releasing back into the Wilds. Now that the Treaty's in place, they're safe from everything except all the junk in the sea. And the sims'll take care of that!

"When they eat the garbage and the enzymes they carry break it down, doesn't it make more garbage?" He dips me again. I spread my fins in the warmth.

"Ah, Dyson, you're a shortsighted man, you are. They say at Oceanographic, five more years, and we'll start yielding enough treasure from the garbage to send another generation to mine the moon.

"You better put our friend, there, back in the ocean. She has work to do, yes?"

An unfamiliar touch, a touch warmer than the ocean, came before the sight of his teeth again before he released me. I took the peace of the touch into the depths with me. All felt different. Pleasant.

Another cry made me stretch my fins and swim quickly. The water, pleasant. The work, pleasant. I freed the other and silenced its cries. But not the other cries of our play.