“And what if he’s a bad guy?”
“That’s what this is for.”
From the tool rack Kurt pulled a Picasso twin-rail speargun. The two spears were set side by side, the triggers were arranged one in front of the other. The safety was currently on.
“I brought one for you in case you need it,” Kurt added. “But, for now, stay out on the perimeter and keep a sharp eye. If I get in trouble, you know what to do.”
They were about a hundred feet away from the activity. Kurt doubted anyone could see them, the same way a man in a lighted room can’t see out onto a dark lawn at night, but he didn’t want to take any chances.
“This is my stop,” he said. With that, he pushed away from the Turtle, engaged his own thrusters and moved off at an angle. A last look back showed Joe holding station, as ordered.
Unlike with the NUMA excavations—and every other underwater dig Kurt had ever heard of—these men were literally hacking at the wreck, breaking pieces off and tossing them aside.
I guess when you have a gun to your head, preservation goes out the window.
“Enable written communication,” he whispered.
A little green box with the letter T inside it appeared on his helmet display.
He had only so many characters to work with and he settled on the simplest thing he could think of. “I’m here to help you.”
The small screen on his arm lit up and Kurt nudged the throttle forward.
Kurt pointed down to his arm and the display panel.
The man read the message and nodded slowly. He then grabbed a small whiteboard he had with him and scribbled Digging fast as I can. And turned back to the job.
Kurt grabbed the man again.
The man blinked for a moment, his eyes widened a bit. Now he seemed to get it. He became agitated to the point that Kurt had to hold him still.