"Kristine Kathryn Rusch - Diving Into The Wreck" - читать интересную книгу автора (Rusch Kristine Kathryn)

"Older.― Karl is bent at the waist, looking courtly as he studies the instruments. He prefers readouts to
eyeballing things; he trusts equipment more than he trusts himself.

"There can't be anything older out here,― Turtle says.

"Can't is relative,― Karl says.
I let them tough it out. I'm not telling them what I know. The skip slows, shuts down, and bobs with its
own momentum. I'm easing in, leaving no trail.

"It's gonna take more than six of us to dive that puppy,― Turtle says. “Either that, or we'll spend
the rest of our lives here."

"As old as that thing is,― Karl says, “it's probably been plundered and replundered."

"We're not here for the loot.― I speak softly, reminding them it's an historical mission.

Karl turns his angular face toward me. In the dim light of the instrument panel, his gray eyes look silver,
his skin unnaturally pale. “You know what this is?"

I don't answer. I'm not going to lie about something as important as this, so I can't make a denial. But I'm
not going to confirm either. Confirming will only lead to more questions, which is something I don't want
just yet. I need them to make their own minds up about this find.

"Huge, old.― Turtle shakes her head. “Dangerous. You know what's inside?"

"Nothing, for all I know."

"Didn't check it out first?"

Some dive team leaders head into a wreck the moment they find one. Anyone working salvage knows it's
not worth your time to come back to a place that's been plundered before.

"No.― I pick a spot not far from the main doors, and set the skip to hold position with the monster
wreck. With no trail, I hope no one's gonna notice the tiny energy emanation the skip gives off.

"Too dangerous?― Turtle asks. “That why you didn't go in?"

"I have no idea,― I say.

"There's a reason you brought us here.― She sounds annoyed. “You gonna share it?"

I shake my head. “Not yet. I just want to see what you find."

She glares, but the look has no teeth. She knows my methods and even approves of them sometimes.
And she should know that I'm not good enough to dive alone.

She peels off her clothes—no modesty in this woman—and slides on her suit. The suit adheres to her
like it's a part of her. She wraps five extra breathers around her hips—just-in-case emergency stuff,
barely enough to get her out if her suit's internal oxygen system fails. Her suit is minimal—it has no