Tom grinned at him, and just as he had done during most of his boyhood on Earth, took a gulp of air and dived down into the clear silent depths to the twenty foot deep bottom. He drifted slowly among the rocks. Bart drifted beside him as the seconds ticked by. Tom wished this was Earth and there were some fish to hunt in the clear water with a three pronged spear. Then, as his lungs seemed bursting and he had to have air, he put his feet against the bottom and shoved himself to the surface. Several seconds later, Bart burst through the surface and bobbed beside him. They floated until they got their wind back.
"You don't use a suit and oxygen tanks," Bart said. "You couldn't stay under two seconds if you did."
"I learned to hunt as a boy," Tom said. "I even had to make my own spear out of scraps. Kids don't have the credits for suits and stuff."
"No sport to it with a suit," Bart said, as they paddled lazily along with their heads up, toward shore. "As bad as hunting animals with rifles. They killed off all the animals with guns, now they're fishing out the seas with suits."
"Yeah," Tom answered, "might as well buy the fish from the hatcheries as to go after them with a portable sub."
They dived under, and worked their way along the bottom toward shore, coming up for air, then diving again, until they were back to the beach.
They walked out and dropped on the sand to rest, the sun warm on them.
"Notice the water?" Tom asked.
"Yeah," Bart said, "no waves. Calm as hell. Can't be waves without a moon to pull them."
"Doesn't seem to be as salty as the seas at home, either," Tom said.