"Still nothing?" Petrovina asked Korkusku. Korkusku turned to the bridge where a man in a suit identical to his own was checking the sonar. "Nothing," the man called down.
"Nyet," Vlad told Petrovina.
"I wish to be told the instant anything is detected. Is that clear?"
"Yes, of course," Vlad snarled.
Petrovina allowed Vlad to place the helmet over her head. Others fastened it securely to her suit. A spear gun was hooked to her back.
Her oxygen was fine, but there was a problem with the radio. She smacked the helmet a few times to clear it.
"If radio goes, I will tug line when I am coming up. You tug line if you wish me to return. Understand?"
Korkusku nodded dully. "Of course," he grunted. The men guided Petrovina to a gap in the rail. Her weighted feet clomped loudly on the buckled wooden deck.
At the deck's edge, Petrovina stepped off into oblivion, dropping like a stone. With a mighty splash, the sea swallowed her up. She sank quickly to the bottom.
The heavy boots touched the sandy soil gently.
Puffs of silt swirled in her wake as she walked along. Shafts of morning sunlight knifed down from the surface, blotted out in spots by floating trash. Nervous schools of fish twitched tails in unison as she walked, flitting off, away from the strange intruder.
She was already sweating in her suit.
Trash was scattered all across the seafloor. A discarded grocery bag floated like a plastic jellyfish before her face. With a slow-motion swipe, she pushed it behind her. It joined other scraps and bits of junk-civilization's castoffs-that danced in lazy sea currents.
When she looked up through the floating garbage, she could just glimpse the underside of her boat. "Korkusku, come in," she said.
No reply.
"Korkusku, can you hear me?" Still nothing.
The radio didn't sound as if it were out. There was still an audio hum. A new malfunction. Cursing under her breath, she forged ahead.
At her feet, crabs skittered around broken bottles. A pitted cluster of coral lost from some other world rose up ahead. Bits of trash had snagged the surface. They waved like ghostly fingers as Petrovina passed by.
Beyond loomed the twisted shape of the American scow.
Above the sea the boat would have been big. Below, it seemed impossibly huge-a building toppled into water.
Petrovina walked around the coral and into the long shadow cast by the scow.
As she walked, she felt a tug from behind.
In her suit and helmet, it was awkward to turn around. The metal helmet was the shape of an inverted fishbowl. Three tiny windows, one at the front and one on either side, allowed a limited view of the area around her.
She found that her oxygen line had snagged on coral. Petrovina took the line in her gloved hand and gave it a flick. The line rolled in slow-motion, snaking off the coral and settling to the seafloor.
Loose once more, she headed slowly for the ship. Some garbage had washed away, but most remained around the wreckage. She was soon wading through ankle-deep trash and climbing on her knees up to the scow. Fish flitted around her, swimming in and out the side of the sunken ship.
The scow had split in two big sections. The rear had broken from the bridge, jamming into the soft sand at the seafloor. The bridge section had nosed down. She saw what she was after at the rear of the angled bridge.
Taking her oxygen line in hand, Petrovina climbed slowly up to the side of the scow. She ran a glove over the metal.
It was twisted back from something that could only have been an impact explosion.
"Sukin syn," she swore beneath her helmet.
As she spoke, Petrovina lost her footing. Some of the garbage on which she was awkwardly kneeling gave way. As her boots slipped, she grabbed around, hugging the broken metal for support. Her glove touched something soft.
The object fell loose, swinging down from the interior of the ship and slapping soundlessly against the hull.
She found herself face-to-upside-down-face with a bloated white corpse.
Petrovina gasped, falling back.
The body of Captain Frederick Lenn swung gently in the fissure that had split his beloved ship. Crabs and fish had chewed his face. His bloated tongue mocked Petrovina.
She held one hand to her belly. Her heart raced. Her breath steamed the glass of her helmet. Averting her eyes from the body, she quickly climbed back down the hill of garbage.
She had seen all she needed to see. Petrovina could head back to her boat, report to Director Chutesov, leave this place and let the Russian navy clean up the mess. Her work in Mayana was finished. She should have felt relief.
So why could she not catch her breath?
She tried to will herself calm. It did no good.
At first she couldn't understand it. She had seen many dead bodies as part of her Institute training. None in the line of duty. They had all been in a Moscow morgue. Still, most had been in far worse shape than Captain Lenn.
She paused, taking in a deep, calming breath. She could not. And then it hit her. The problem came not from her, but from above.
Her oxygen line emitted a feeble hiss. Then nothing.
Korkusku! The SVR idiot had cut off her oxygen supply.
It was too far back to her boat. She would never make it. Petrovina started walking. Every step brought the fire of futility to her straining lungs. She could feel the panic swelling inside her. Nothing she could do to stop it.
Every step was agony. Her feet were deadweights. As she waded through trash, she looked up for a sign of her boat. She could see nothing through the floating debris and the thickening fog within her helmet.
No. That wasn't true. Through the fear and fog she thought she saw something.
No, not something. Someone.
He appeared from the haze before her. Swimming as confidently as a shark through the depths of the Caribbean.
Petrovina thought the man might be her savior. If he could share oxygen with her, she could get back to the surface. But with growing despair she saw that he had no diving gear. The man wore only a T-shirt and slacks.
Still, he was an amazingly fast swimmer. At the speed he was traveling, he could help. Maybe he could swim back to her boat. Get help. Uncrimp her line. Do something.