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

together I couldn't brace myself properly -- but on the third attempt I managed to get my arms
locked, pointing straight down.
I'd done this without any real plan, but then it struck me that even with my hands and feet
tied, I could try shinning up the rope. It was just a matter of getting started. I'd have to turn
upside-down, grab the rope between my knees, then curl up -- dragging the hook -- and get a grip
with my hands at a higher point.
And if I couldn't reach up far enough to right myself?
I'd ascend feet-first.




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I couldn't even manage the first step. I thought it would be as simple as keeping my arms
rigid and letting myself topple backward, but in the water even two-thirds of my body wasn't
sufficient to counterbalance the weights.
I tried a different approach: I dropped down to hang at arm's length, raised my legs as high
as I could, then proceeded to pull myself up again. But my grip wasn't tight enough to resist the
turning force of the weights; I just pivoted around my center of gravity -- which was somewhere
near my knees -- and ended up, still bent double, but almost horizontal.
I eased myself down again, and tried threading my feet through the circle of my arms. I
didn't succeed on the first attempt, and then on reflection it seemed like a bad move anyway. Even
if I managed to grip the rope between my bound feet -- rather than just tumbling over backward,
out of control, and dislocating my shoulders -- climbing the rope upside-down with my hands behind
my back would either be impossible, or so awkward and strenuous that I'd run out of oxygen before
I got a tenth of the way.
I let some more air escape from my lungs. I could feel the muscles in my diaphragm
reproaching me for keeping them from doing what they wanted to do; not urgently yet, but the
knowledge that I had no control over when I'd be able to draw breath again made it harder to stay
calm. I knew I could rely on Daniel to bring me to the surface on the count of two hundred. But
I'd only ever stayed down for a hundred and sixty. Forty more tau would be an eternity.




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I'd almost forgotten what the whole ordeal was meant to be about, but now I started praying.
Please Holy Beatrice, don't let me die. I know You drowned like this to save me, but if I die it
won't help anyone. Daniel would end up in the deepest shit ... but that's not a threat, it's just
an observation. I felt a stab of anxiety; on top of everything else, had I just offended the
Daughter of God? I struggled on, my confidence waning. I don't want to die. But You already know
that. So I don't know what You want me to say.
I released some more stale air, wishing I'd counted the time I'd been under; you weren't
supposed to empty your lungs too quickly -- when they were deflated it was even harder not to take
a breath -- but holding all the carbon dioxide in too long wasn't good either.
Praying only seemed to make me more desperate, so I tried to think other kinds of holy