“Yes,” said Volsky. “I will join you. I think I need some air.”
The Admiral shifted out of the bunk, feet heavily on the deck, and stood up on unsteady legs. “My sea legs aren’t what they used to be,” he said, gripping the side of the bed rail hard. Gromyko stepped forward to render assistance, still worried. He knew the other man was an old surface warrior, and they had been down under the ice a good long while. Some men never really could find their sea legs on a submarine, and it seemed that Admiral Volsky was one of them.
“Here sir,” said Gromyko. “Let me give you a hand. Then we’ll both raise a toast to the new year—unless you don’t feel up to it.”
“What?” said Volsky. “Captain, I was just dreaming, but I can still drink most any man I have ever met under the table. What year have we gotten ourselves into this time?”
That was the question, for Kamenski told him that, while they would slip out to sea in the year 2021, Kazan would dive into unsounded depths when it reached the Kara Sea.
“You will wake up to all of this soon,” Kamenski had told him. Here, this will help.” He handed him that weathered book, and Volsky remembered eyeing it with passing curiosity—the Chronology of the War at Sea, 1939-1945. And there was something else. He blinked at it stupidly when Kamenski gave it to him, wondering what it was all about.
“Keep that safe for me a little while, will you?” said the Director. “You can just tuck it away in your pocket if you will. Don’t worry about it. These things have a way of minding their own affairs.”
What in the world did Kamenski mean by that?
He had given me that book, and now I know exactly why. Volsky smiled, spying the volume on the night stand beside his cot. And he gave me something else, something I did tuck away in my pocket just as he advised, the key. I didn’t know what it was for when he handed it to me in my office, but by God, I certainly know now.
The memory was there—right there in his weary old head, as if it had always been there, mixed in with everything else. He was speaking with Fedorov about it, the two of them wondering what it was all about…
“This has been a most remarkable journey,” Volsky had said to his young ex-Navigator. “Yet what you say about these keys is very alarming. What are they for, Fedorov?”
“I’ve spent some time piecing it all together, sir. Both Kamenski and I now agree that it all dates back to 1908, the Tunguska Event. That impact did more than level trees in Siberia and provide fodder for the fire of many stories and legends thereafter. It also fractured the fourth dimension, time. It seems that several fissures resulted, like cracks in that mirror, as I tried to explain it before. Some were discovered, and because of the obvious danger should anyone move through them to another time, they were well secured and guarded—put under lock and key.”
“By who?” Volsky scratched his head.
“This we do not really know, but we now believe it was done by the same people who made these keys—the same who sent those signals back through time to the ships of the Watch. You remember when Miss Fairchild told us about that?”
“Yes… Then men from the future did all this?”
“I know it sounds fantastic, sir, but considering the fact that we are men from the future meddling about here makes it easier to believe.”
“How did these keys appear here, in the past? You say Director Kamenski has had one for decades?”
“They must have been brought here,” said Fedorov, “possibly by using the very same time rifts they secured. I’m not sure how long the Watch knew about them, or how they came into their possession. Kamenski didn’t say how he came by his key, though he alluded that it was probably obtained by the KGB. Who knows when?”
“The British have keys too?”
“Miss Fairchild certainly has one. She used it to activate one of the rift sites, at Delphi.”
“How many keys are there, Fedorov? Did you learn that?”
“Fairchild says they knew of at least two others. One was in the possession of another member of the Watch, though she did not name that person, and she said nothing about any time rift associated with that key. The second was in the Selene Horse, aboard Rodney.”
“What about Ilanskiy?” Volsky asked the obvious question. “Is there a key for that rift?”
“The British knew nothing of that,” said Fedorov. “In fact, I may have been the one to first discover it. Even these men in the future did not know about it, which leads me to think that our mission, the ship, my actions, are deeply implicated in all of this. We’re a wild card in the deck, sir.”
“But you say those stairs took you back to 1908, Fedorov. That means anyone could have used them. It’s a long way between 1908 and the 1940s where you stumbled upon it. We know Sergei Kirov used them, and Volkov. Look what resulted!”
“True, sir. That’s very worrisome. All the other rift zones were well guarded, but not Ilanskiy. I think this is what unhinged the key makers plan—Ilanskiy.”
“What plan do you speak of?”
“I’m not sure, sir, but I’ve been thinking about all this for some time. If men in the future discovered these time rifts and secured them, then they were obviously trying to prevent this Grand Finality Miss Fairchild told us about. But they failed—at least that is what Fairchild believes. She tells me the voices went silent. The watch stopped receiving instructions, and their last message urged them to gather and secure all the keys to the rift zones, and one thing more. It was a warning.”
“About this calamity you mention?”
“In one sense, but it was much more specific. It was about us.”
“About us? You mean the ship?”
“Yes sir. That is why Tovey founded the Watch, to keep vigil for our next possible appearance.”
“Yes, and understandably so,” said Volsky. “But this sounds a little more sinister, Fedorov. You say they were told to secure all these keys, but then they are warned about us? What do these men from the future think we are going to do?”
“I don’t know….” Fedorov had a frustrated look on his face now. “When I first heard about these keys, these other rifts, I thought I could finally set down the burden I have been carrying, thinking all this was on my shoulders.”
“On our shoulders, Fedorov, the ship and every man aboard. Do not be so greedy and try to take all the blame yourself.”
“I have tried, sir, but learning about this warning leads me to suspect our part in this tale has not yet run its course. We’re going to do something. This is how I see things now. We’re going to do something that could make it impossible to prevent this calamity Fairchild talks about—this Grand Finality.”
“And it has something to do with these keys?”
“Apparently so, sir…. It’s as if the lines of fate are setting course for some distant rendezvous point, a nexus point, and I’m not sure what is supposed to happen there. We are living all this through moment by moment, and groping like blind men.”
“You want certainty, Fedorov, but you know that is impossible. There is no way we could know this—know something we might do in the future.”
“But there is, sir. We’ve seen the results of our actions. We can look ahead in time and know what we have done. These men from the future might also know. To them this would all be history, but they have gone silent. The only thing we have is that last warning. Beware a ship… beware Kirov…”