“This one reads April of that same year,” said Zolkin, trading newspapers with the Director.
“Yes, well that is before we appeared, correct?” Kamenski pointed out the obvious key fact. “It was June of 1940 according to our calculations.”
“Correct, sir,” said Fedorov, a question in his eyes as if he were hoping the Director would solve the puzzle for him.
Kamenski gave him a wan smile. “Big fish, little fish,” he said calmly. “The ship moved, and it obviously pulled this man along in its wake. But the little fish get thrown away, yes? We made it all the way to 1940. He was thrown out earlier. For him to be standing in these photos-in Siberia-and in the spring of 1940… Well that means he would have had to appear some time before that. It would take time for him to get there, yes?”
“That is what I thought,” said Fedorov. “From what I can make out in those photos, he does not seem to have aged much. I was also thinking he may have fallen out of the shift we made from 1908 and arrived some time before us. Who knows why? He might have arrived years before. That would account for his present position as these articles indicate.”
“My, my,” said Zolkin. “So he’s given himself a promotion now. Admiral Karpov, is it? First Commandant of the Siberian Aero Corps?”
The men just looked at each other, each one hoping the other would know what to do next. Then Volsky raised the obvious question. “Gentlemen,” he began. “Those articles make it obvious that Karpov has survived, and he has deviously been able to get himself mixed up with Kolchak in the Free Siberian State.”
“They consolidated power in the far east,” said Fedorov.
“Kolchak?” said Zolkin. “But he should have died in the 1920s?”
“A lot of things should have happened that did not happen,” said Volsky. “Now I fear that the presence of this man in a position of power there is going to change quite a bit more.”
“Indeed,” said Kamenski. “It is clear that events we are witnessing now clearly derive from the death of Stalin, and from the foolish prank I thought to play on Volkov. I wanted to get him out of our hair, so I sent him east to look for you, Mister Fedorov.”
“That was all my fault,” said Fedorov, looking at the floor as he spoke. “I caused all of this.”
“Now, now,” Volsky tried to console him.
“No sir. It was all my doing.” Fedorov unburdened his guilt, confessing all that had so bedeviled him of late, but Kamenski gave him a forgiving smile.
“Listen now, Mister Fedorov. You want to count the dominoes and you just pick out the ones that you have tipped over. What you must realize is that the row goes on and on. You think your insistence on finding Orlov caused the fall, but this man used his parachute to jump to safety, did he not? He had a service jacket on just like the one this Karpov is wearing in that photograph. Why did he not call for help?”
“He thought we were trying to kill him,” said Fedorov, still sullen. “A logical assumption after we fired five missiles.”
“Perhaps he did, but he still had the choice as to what he should do-to call and clear the matter up, or to slip away. Something tells me your Mister Orlov didn’t really want us to find him, and it was not because he thought we were trying to kill him. Something tells me he wanted to get away on his own. So you see, there are just too many variables at play here. Remember, it was Orlov who wrote that journal note that you discovered. Without that you would have never launched your mission to rescue him.”
“I suppose Orlov would have had good reason to jump ship,” said Volsky.
“He might have,” said Kamenski. “But not unless this Karpov here had hatched his little plot to take the ship. So you see, Fedorov, you want all the blame to begin with you, but nothing you did would have ever occurred if not for Karpov’s little rebellion, or Orlov’s strange letter. He is more than a little fish, I think. Karpov is a free radical, a wildcard, an unaccountable force in all of this history we’ve been writing and re-writing. Everything that has happened, except perhaps that first explosion on the Orel, can be laid at Karpov’s feet, so do not be greedy in taking all this on yourself, Fedorov. You were just reacting to events he had already set in motion.”
“But if I had not spoken to Mironov-to Sergie Kirov-then Stalin might have lived and the nation would not be fragmented.”
“Don’t think you killed Joseph Stalin now, Fedorov,” Kamenski chided. “Sergie Kirov has already confessed to that crime, or so I was told. Correct Admiral?”
“That is what he told us.”
“So you see, Fedorov, Kirov is not a puppet. Your whisper in his ear decided nothing. He used his own free will to do what he did. He made choices too, another free radical in the stew.”
“But if I had not warned him as I did, he might have died as in our history.”
“If, maybe, perhaps.” Kamenski held up his hands. “Nothing is certain, Fedorov. Things happen, and all this history we now find ourselves reading about in those books and newspapers is the result of millions of tiny choices and actions taken by people all over the world. Yes, we single out a few and claim they are the ones that matter, but I have not found that to be the case. We want certainty. We make big plans and hope things will all turn out well, but life seldom cooperates. Just when you think you have it all tied off and ready to slip into a drawer, the story continues. It resists resolution. It evolves to something new.”
“But I must be responsible for the things I caused,” said Fedorov.
“Did you cause them? I wonder. This is where you make your mistake in thinking about all of this. The dots seem to be connected. You want to move from point A to point B and feel that one thing caused another, but it does not work like that. It’s human nature, I suppose. We want everything tidy, with a nice beginning, middle and end. Believe me, I was in the same distress you were in when I first found my history books were telling me lies. Things change, Mister Fedorov. Things begin from unseen causes. They spin off in unexpected directions. They end up places no one ever thinks they could go. Look at this ship and crew for the truth of that. You see, there are no happy endings in stories like this. Things just continue. They go on and on, just like this little adventure you have all found yourselves in these many months. This isn’t just your story, Mister Fedorov. It’s everyone’s story, yours, mine, the whole world’s. Yes, you have your part to play, but there are other actors on the stage, and they speak for themselves.”
He folded his arms, satisfied that he had done what he could to relieve the other man’s burden, but knowing that it was entirely up to Fedorov as to whether he would continue carrying it.
“Now,” said Kamenski. “This Karpov is back again. It appears his part in the story is not yet finished. In fact it seems he never left the story at all! The only question we have before us is what do we do about it?”
Volsky nodded. “What can we do about it? I do not believe I can simply send a radio message and tell Karpov to return to the ship!”
“No, it is clear that he has made good use of his time since he arrived, whenever that was. This is a man who aspires to reach the top. He will always be uncomfortable standing in any other man’s shadow, so trying to bring him back into our family here may be useless.”
“Karpov is Karpov,” said Zolkin with finality. “We were foolish to ever think he would really change. The man is a megalomaniac!”
“A very dangerous one,” said Fedorov. “What you say is true, Director. He is a bit of a wild card in the deck now, as is the Free Siberian State. I’ve been reading those books we got from the Russians at Murmansk. Last winter Volkov’s regime made a major incursion east and took the city of Omsk. It has been a point of contention between the Siberians and Orenburg ever since, but now Nikolin tells me he has received news feeds indicating that the Grey Legion is withdrawing from the city.”