“Step forward. It’s fine.” Jon Yang lowered his foot, clad in a rubber flipper, into the ankle-deep water of the platform. It didn’t feel strange, as he expected it might. Mildly warmer than the ocean outside the boat shed, which he had swum in that very morning beneath a brilliant red sunrise, but in every other respect it was normal. “It’s quite warm,” he said, looking back over his shoulder at Hunt, who nodded with a smile. The lean, tanned Englishman was feeding a cable which snaked into ...