Meanwhile, out at sea, David Geffen ponders the sunset. This is a lovely sunset, thinks he. The world is not so bad a place, really.
Everything is bathed in a golden light. The yacht. The furniture upon its deck. His single malt whiskey sitting in front of him. And Geffen himself. All cradled in the sun's magnificent splendor, warm and reassuring.
All the mainland worries and cares seem so very distant. A satellite link brings him news of ever-crowding hospitals in New York, while he sends back photos of his lovely sunset. This is another world. A sea world. A water world. And yet also, inasmuch, not really Geffen's world at all. For, as his vessel of personal quarantine gently bobs in the water, leagues below the people of Mer are beginning their ascent....