“It’s not unusual to fear the unknown.” Mironov’s calm voice turned their heads. “But like Professor Granger said; it’s why we came.”

“That’s right.” Cate swallowed, her mouth dry. “The first signal buoy is ten miles to the southeast – that way.” She pointed out into the darkness, out over the shelf. “We’re here to do a job – to map, analyze, record, and understand an environment that is unique in the world. We need to understand it, so we can save it. So...”

Jack moved the spotlight around, the tunnel of light finding nothing but blackness.

“It’s like being in space, but without the stars,” Abby breathed, her eyes shining. “The ocean is more ancient than the mountains, and freighted with the memories and the dreams of time.” She turned to Greg, grinning. “HP Lovecraft, in one of his more lucid moments.”

“Cool.” Greg beamed back at her.

“Okay, people.” Jack nodded to Yegor. “Take her along the edge of the cliff, Yegor. We’ll keep using the spotlight for now.”

The steady thrumming vibration of the propeller shaft only just overlaid the soft ping of the sonar as it reached out to try and touch on anything moving in the miles of darkness.

Jack turned in his seat again. “Dmitry, I want a full sonar scan – three hundred and sixty degrees.”

Dmitry sat straighter. “You want to look out for columns of stone even from behind us?”

Jack seemed to think for a minute. “No, just, anything at all out there. Your ghosts, maybe.”

“Okay, you got it, Captain.” Dmitry adjusted his headphones, made some adjustments on his control panel, and then hunched over his phosphor-green screen.

“Holding at twelve fathoms.” Yegor’s voice was deep and calm.

Abby leaned around Cate to Greg. “A fathom is about six feet.”

“Duh.” Greg rolled his eyes.

“Read it off in feet, Yegor.” Jack laughed softly. “Don’t want our land lubbers having to mentally convert the depth bands we are passing through every time you call it.”

Yegor groaned, but then nodded. “Okay. We are steady at seventy feet.” He half turned to look at Greg. “Oh, yes, and one knot is one nautical mile per hour, okay?”

“Yes, yes, thank you, and by the way, I’m no land lubber,” Greg scoffed.

“Land lubber?” Abby chuckled. “What the hell is a lubber anyway?”

“Contact.” Dmitry’s voice was loud in the small craft, and made Cate jump in her seat.

“Shit, what is it?” Cate swung around, leaping from her seat to look over Dmitry’s shoulder. “Is it the thing you saw before?”

“Cate, back to your seat.” Jack’s voice overrode her curiosity, but she remained on her feet. After all, she was in charge.

“Sit down, Professor Granger.” His voice had an edge.

Professor Granger? She snorted, and sat, but only because she wanted to. She continued to face the Russian engineer.