Doppelganger (7 page)

Fedorov thought of his hand, his boots, and the Admiral did not have to persuade him further. “Agreed sir,” he said. “There’s no use speculating any more about this. What you say is obvious. We are foundering, sinking in time, and if we don’t take some action the sharks will have the final say. Shall I send the order down to engineering?”

“Make it so.”

Fedorov complied, using the overhead handset for the ship’s intercom. “All hands, all hands, this is the Captain. We are going to make an attempt to move the ship from our present location in time. Stand ready. Engineering—initiate rod maintenance procedure and keep the bridge informed. That is all.”

Fedorov looked down at his boots, glancing at the Admiral. “I hope I will not need another pair soon,” he said glibly.

“Yes,” said Volsky. “And let us also hope we do not have another incident like Lenkov.”

He swallowed, and for a moment Fedorov thought he saw his eyes glaze over with emotion. The Admiral looked at him, the light of appreciation warmly in his eyes as he extended his hand, placing it on his Captain’s shoulder.

“Mister Fedorov,” he said quietly. “I want to thank you for all you have done since I first had the wisdom to make you my
Starpom
. You have lived up to my expectations, and exceeded them, and without you I do not think we could have survived all that has happened to us. To put it plainly, you are simply the finest young officer I have ever served with, and you are to be congratulated.”

Fedorov felt the emotion come, and unable to speak, he simply nodded. All about them there was a silence on the bridge, and it held within it an understanding that a moment of great significance was now upon them all.

 “I second that,” said Rodenko, smiling and shaking Fedorov’s hand.” And every man there, though they were glued to their stations, extended that same handshake in thought. They were all there, every hand one on top of another, a solidarity of minds, hearts, and lives that had come so very far together.

The Admiral eyed the intercom, thinking, a strange, lonesome look on his face. He took a deep breath, then stepped over and took the handset, giving Fedorov a wan smile as he did so.

“All hands… This is Admiral Volsky…” He paused, thinking, an expression on his face akin to sadness, as though he were about to say goodbye to a dear friend, and take a very long journey fraught with peril. Then he spoke, his voice clear and steady.

“We have come a very long way together, through fire and steel, embracing the impossible, and yet enduring as one ship and crew. We have seen battle, lost friends, good men all. And we have stood by one another in every circumstance, brave to a man… We do not know now where we may end up. Yet that is so for every day we live, is it not? We are the same brave ship and crew that first sailed from our homeland so long ago, and yet now we are something more. Who knows, perhaps we’ll make it home one day, to our own time again, and a world where life is still possible. I cannot yet offer you that to a certainty, but we can try, and so we will. Yet there is one thing I know, and without any doubt. You must know it as well. I see it in your eyes, your strong backs and arms as you bend to complete the work of the ship. I have seen it each and every day as we sailed and fought together. We stand now aboard the finest ship on this earth, and you are the finest crew to ever stand a watch at sea, as god is my witness. And so I thank you—for your courage… for your perseverance… for your steadfast loyalty… for
Kirov
…”

He reached slowly, replacing the handset, and as he did so, the sound of men cheering resounded through the ship, echoing in every hall and passage, vibrating the bulkheads and hatches, and quavering in the dull fog enfolded all about them. Then the cheers became a song, and every officer on the bridge smiled.

* * *

The
smoke-white fog seemed to deepen at first, and then glowed as though illuminated by the cold light of an unseen moon. They heard a strange sound, vibrating throughout the ship, a fearful dirge that filled them with dread. Soon the light around them glimmered and glowed, the fog suddenly thinning, the sea gleaming with a witch oil of phosphor green.

Then the sound deepened, falling… falling…. Until it finally resolved in what sounded like a great kettle drum resounding from the depths of the sea, a heavy rumble, low an ominous. A sudden chill took them all, frosty cold and bone deep, and Admiral Volsky found himself clutching the arm of the Captain’s chair, his tooth, the tooth that always bothered him when bad weather came, a sudden throb of pain. He closed his eyes, whispering one word to himself, a silent invocation…
Remember…

There came a shudder throughout the ship, and when Fedorov looked out the fog was gone, and he could see the stars seeming to move in a wild, wheeling dance, as if the heavens, and all eternity, were spinning about the ship as it fell into some unfathomable void. God go with us, he breathed inwardly. Then something passed over him, threw him, a wave of energy unlike anything he had ever felt before, tingling in every fiber of his being. He had the distinct feeling that it was reaching for him, a yawning hunger, greedy and cruel.

He felt a sudden heat at his side, his hand reflexively moving to his pocket, and finding there the hard metal of the strange key he had found in Kamenski’s quarters. It was warm to the touch, and now he found himself surrounded by a strange cobalt glow, that intensified until he could see nothing else around him. The feeling of dread and doom passed, and he felt as though he lay in the palm of God’s own hand, protected from the ravages of time and eternity, safe and sound. His hand closed about the key and he felt it slowly cooling with each second.

The light around him dissipated, and for a moment he thought he caught a glimpse of blue light from within his jacket pocket. He looked down at his feet, wondering, fearful, hoping that wherever they were, he would all be there in one piece. A sensation of solidity returned to him, feet firmly on the deck, and boots all intact. Then he heard a voice, his eyes widening with shock and surprise.

“What in god's name was that? Certainly not thunder…”

There came a blinding white light, and Fedorov instinctively flinched, shielding his eyes. The searing light flashed and vanished, leaving the air alive with what looked like a hundred thousand fireflies all around the ship, strange luminescent particles that spun on the cold airs, whirling and dancing as they slowly faded to milky green. When it passed, he instinctively looked out of the forward viewing panes, surprised to see that the ocean itself seemed to light up for miles in every direction with an eerie phosphorescent color. Then the sea erupted in the distance, boiling up in a wild convulsion of sound and motion. The ship shuddered with the impact of a strong blast wave, rolling heavily.

Fedorov spun about, looking to find Volsky in the Captain’s chair, but soon realized his greatest fear. The admiral wasn’t there! Was he gone? Vanished? Had he fallen out of sync with the shift? Everyone on the bridge braced for further impact. Fedorov extended his hand to the nearest bulkhead, not so much to keep from falling, but to assure himself that the ship and crew around him were real and substantial things. What was happening?

He saw one man thrown from his seat near the helm, his eyes wide with fear and astonishment, as if he could also sense that something terrible had fallen upon the ship. The strident welter of sound subsided, resolving to a sharp cellophane crackle that hung in the air like a wave of heavy static electricity. Then there came another low descending vroom, the sound falling through three octaves as if it had been sucked into a black hole and devoured.

Stunned and amazed, every member of the bridge crew seemed frozen, their faces twisted into expressions of numbed, painful shock. Then a high, sharp voice broke the silence, barking out an order.

“Action stations! We are under attack!”

 In spite of the alarm, he suddenly felt a giddy lightheadedness, swaying briefly on unsteady legs.

And then he fell.

Chapter 6

When
he awoke, opening his eyes with bleary awareness, he could see another face looking down at him, warm and smiling. The dark rimmed glasses and white hair were unmistakable, and the man’s white medical blazer immediately told him he was now in sick bay. He tried to sit up, but felt a gentle nudge, easing him back.

“Easy now, Mister Fedorov. No need to be alarmed. You are all in one piece, and with little more than a small bruise on your head from that fall you took. Has the dizziness passed?”

Fedorov blinked, still processing what he was hearing. “Fall?” he said, his voice thin and weak.

“So they tell me,” said Doctor Zolkin. “Looks like you lost your sea legs up there for a time and keeled right over. Don’t feel ashamed. There’s been a line at my door twenty men long for the last hour—mostly for bumps and bruises like that knock on the head you took. I trust the room has settled down now and your stomach has quieted?”

Fedorov swallowed, feeling just a little sensation of nausea. He turned his head, somewhat queasy, but there was no dizziness.

“How many fingers?” said Zolkin extending his hand.

“Two.”

“Very good. And now if you would kindly just watch the tip of my finger for a moment.” The Doctor moved his finger left and right across the plane of Fedorov’s face, noting his eyes as they tracked, and seeing that all was well.

“Also good,” he said with a satisfied tone. “I’ve given you something to help with the nausea, which should be very temporary. I think I can have you back on your feet in another hour, so take advantage of the time to get a little rest.”

“But Doctor…” Fedorov began. “The ship… Admiral Volsky… Were we under attack?”

“Attack? I don’t think so. The sea and sky are somewhat strange, but the ship has secured from battle stations. Admiral Volsky has the matter well in hand on the bridge.”

A feeling of great relief swept over Fedorov when he heard that. “Then he’s alive? He shifted intact? Do you have any idea where we are now?”

“Shifted? The ship rolled quite heavily there for a moment, but you were the only casualty they brought down from the bridge. Of course he’s alive. As for where we are, that’s not my job, Fedorov. Yes, you are the navigator, though you seemed to have someone else’s coat on when they brought you in here. You can determine our course soon enough when you return to the bridge. For now, rest easy. Things are under control.”

“I need to get up there.”

“Not just yet, Mister Fedorov. That anti-nausea drug needs just a little time to kick in. I think it best you stay right where you are. Don’t worry. I’m sure Mister Pavlov can handle things for a while.”

“Pavlov?” The man was a junior bridge officer for third shift at navigation, thought Fedorov. What would he have to do with anything? Then he realized Zolkin must be referring to the navigation issue. Well, he thought, at least I had no trouble remembering that crewman’s name, so my memory might still be intact. And the ship appears sound, the walls and bulkheads around them here all looked solid and unbowed. He decided to ask Zolkin about that.

“Has any further damage been reported, Doctor?”

“Damage? To the ship? Not that I know of. Just those bumps and bruises with the crew, though a few seemed a little suspicious. I wonder if our surly Chief has been up to his old ways of late.”

That confused Fedorov a bit, for it seemed to him that Zolkin was referring to Orlov. Again, he was inwardly glad the man’s name and face came so easily to his mind now. He passed a moment, running faces and names through his head, and inwardly hoping that no more eggs were broken, and the crew was all still there. They would most likely have to run a complete roll call again, and re-check all the ship’s records. Fedorov had made a point of keeping a database running, and reinforced with battery backup power after their last head count. He had thought that the magnetic field surrounding the ship’s electronics might have served to exert some kind of stabilizing effect when the ship shifted. Perhaps, he thought, that data will remain unaltered.

“The shift,” he said. “Did we have any other problems?”

“It’s only four bells, Mister Fedorov, 14:00. Shift change comes at eight bells when the new watch comes on duty, which gives you two hours for rest, and perhaps a little food would do you some good as well.”

Now Fedorov remembered how the others on the bridge had forgotten names, forgotten that men had ever served with them. It had taken some time before their memory was jogged loose, and he remembered Admiral Volsky saying something about rattling the Vodka cabinet down here with Doctor Zolkin. Yes, it was about Chief Dobrynin. The Admiral said they used to take a nip or two here with Zolkin.

“Doctor,” he said, deciding to see if Zolkin remembered the man. “Was there any problem reported with the reactors?”

“Who knows? At least Dobrynin hasn’t been in here complaining. You would have to ask him, Mister Fedorov.”

“Dobrynin? Then you remember?” Fedorov struggled to sit up now, watched closely by the doctor.

“Remember what?” Zolkin was giving Fedorov a studied glance, as if he were still assessing his overall condition and state of mind.

“Chief Dobrynin. You remember him from engineering?”

“Of course,” said Zolkin. “Who else can keep the ship running, and all while listening to Tchaikovsky.”

“That’s a relief,” said Fedorov, though something in the way the Doctor said that seemed slightly off tune. “You speak of him in the present tense,” he said. “I suppose it is still hard… considering what happened to him and the others, particularly Lenkov. I’m not sure which was the crueler fate.”

Zolkin cocked his head to one side. “Now you are speaking in riddles, Fedorov. What do you suppose has happened to Dobrynin? I would certainly be one of the first to know if he reported sick, and I haven’t seen him this morning.”

“Didn’t you hear the news about him, and the others… Orlov, Tasarov, Kamenski? Haven’t you been briefed yet?”