"Greg Egan - Oceanic" - читать интересную книгу автора (Egan Greg)

was neither so tight as to burn me, nor so loose as to let me slip. As he did this, I saw
something creep over his face: some kind of doubt or fear of his own. He said, "Hang onto the
hook. Just in case. Don't let go, no matter what. Okay?" He whispered something to Beatrice, then
looked up at me, confident again.
He helped me to stand and shuffle over to the guard rail, just to one side of the winch. Then
he picked me up under the arms and lifted me over, resting my feet on the outer hull. The deck was
inert, a mineralized endoshell, but behind the guard rails the hull was palpably alive: slick with
protective secretions, glowing softly. My toes curled uselessly against the lubricated skin; I had
no purchase at all. The hull was supporting some of my weight, but Daniel's arms would tire
eventually. If I wanted to back out, I'd have to do it quickly.
A warm breeze was blowing. I looked around, at the flat horizon, at the blaze of stars, at
the faint silver light off the water. Daniel recited: "Holy Beatrice, I am ready to die to this
world. Let me drown in Your blood, that I might be redeemed, and look upon the face of Your
Mother."
I repeated the words, trying hard to mean them.
"Holy Beatrice, I offer You my life. All I do now, I do for You. Come into my heart, and
grant me the gift of faith. Come into my heart, and grant me the gift of hope. Come into my heart,
and grant me the gift of love."
"And grant me the gift of love."
Daniel released me. At first, my feet seemed to adhere magically to the hull, and I pivoted
backward without actually falling. I clung tightly to the hook, pressing the cold metal against my
belly, and willed the rope of the winch to snap taut, leaving me dangling in midair. I even braced
myself for the shock. Some part of me really did believe that I could change my mind, even now.
Then my feet slipped and I plunged into the ocean and sank straight down.
It was not like a dive -- not even a dive from an untried height, when it took so long for
the water to bring you to a halt that it began to grow frightening. I was falling through the
water ever faster, as if it was air. The vision I'd had of the rope keeping me above the water now
swung to the opposite extreme: my acceleration seemed to prove that the coil on the deck was
attached to nothing, that its frayed end was already beneath the surface. That's what the
followers had done, wasn't it? They'd let themselves be thrown in without a lifeline. So Daniel
had cut the rope, and I was on my way to the bottom of the ocean.




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Then the hook jerked my hands up over my head, jarring my wrists and shoulders, and I was
motionless.
I turned my face toward the surface, but neither starlight nor the hull's faint
phosphorescence reached this deep. I let a stream of bubbles escape from my mouth; I felt them
slide over my upper lip, but no trace of them registered in the darkness.
I shifted my hands warily over the hook. I could still feel the cord fast around my wrists,
but Daniel had warned me not to trust it. I brought my knees up to my chest, gauging the effect of
the weights. If the cord broke, at least my hands would be free, but even so I wasn't sure I'd be
able to ascend. The thought of trying to unpick the knots around my ankles as I tumbled deeper
filled me with horror.
My shoulders ached, but I wasn't injured. It didn't take much effort to pull myself up until
my chin was level with the bottom of the hook. Going further was awkward -- with my hands so close