Mira Grant

'VISCERAL . . . IRRESISTIBLE . . . a claustrophobic, deep-sea terror tale that will leave readers glad to be safely on dry land' Kirkus NEW YORK TIMES BESTSELLING AUTHOR MIRA GRANT RETURNS WITH A RAZOR-SHARP TALE OF THE HORRORS THAT LIE BENEATH . . . Seven years ago the Atargatis set off on a voyage to the Mariana Trench to film a mockumentary, bringing to life ancient sea creatures of legend. It was lost at sea with all hands. Some have called it a tragedy; others have called it a hoax. Now, a new crew has been assembled to investigate. And they'll discover that whatever is down there is definitely no joke . . . Praise for Mira Grant: 'ASTONISHING' New York Times 'GRIPPING, THRILLING AND BRUTAL . . . A MASTERPIECE OF SUSPENSE' Publishers Weekly 'INTELLIGENT AND EXCITING' Telegraph 'MYSTERY, DANGER AND EXCITEMENT ABOUND' RT Book Reviews

Into the Drowning Deep

Katheryn

You’re talking to camera-Olivia, who is essentially fake and exists only so for-real Olivia can buy nice things.”

There were those who considered scientists heartless, or cruel, or uncompassionate, because of moments like these: anyone who could turn their back on a tragedy to chase down something seemingly inconsequential like a sonar rig was clearly somehow less than human. What Tory would have explained, if she’d been in a position to do so, was that curiosity was part of what made them absolutely human. Curiosity was the reason humanity had come down from the trees and spread across the world. Sadness was tempting. Sorrow held more charms than most people liked to think, and it would swallow her whole if she let it.

She couldn’t bring Heather back. She couldn’t change the past. That didn’t mean she couldn’t avenge Heather, and her own sister, for the sake of the people who’d been left behind. Sometimes science was the closest thing to the sword of an avenging angel humanity was ever going to get.

It wasn’t Heather’s death that mattered; it was her life, the way she’d favored her left side when she signed, even though she was right handed, because she’d learned to talk with one hand and steer a submersible with the other. It wasn’t what Tory could write down that mattered; it was the curve of her neck and the slope of her shoulder, and her unending anger at a world that refused to be exactly, enduringly the way she wanted it to be. Every person on this vessel was a story in the process of telling itself, and all of them were fascinating, and all of them deserved to be heard.

Well just describe my whole approach to learning social cues, why don't you?

Liberal mother; conservative father; autistic daughter learning about social interaction one book and course of practical study at a time.

Kearney, eldest and most cautious of the three, brought up the rear. He had been born in captivity, just as they had; was brother to their mother, who remained safely in her tank, enjoying the lazy life to which she was accustomed. Humans broke the best of his generation, inuring them to captivity, replacing dreams of freedom and the sea with dreams of fat fish in pails and squeaky toys that made the children laugh. (Not all who were broken became clowns for the amusement of human young. Some had turned vicious, all teeth and sullen anger. Those had a tendency to disappear, fading into lie and rumor, forgotten by all but those who had known them. Kearney remembered. Oh yes, Kearney remembered.)

Science is not a matter of belief. Science does not care whether you believe in it or not. Science will continue to do what science will do, free from morality, free from ethical concerns, and most of all, free from the petty worry that it will not be believed. Belief has shaped the history of human accomplishment—we believe we can, and so we do—but belief has never changed the natural world. The mountain does not vanish because we believe it should. The unicorn does not appear because we believe it will.

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