“Don’t think to lecture me here,” said Karpov. “Much has changed, and you are likely not aware of anything that has happened.”
“Quite the contrary,” said Volsky. “I am aware of everything that has happened, at least anything that this old Admiral was a part of. Let me see… we last spoke to one another in Murmansk, where you produced that clever little letter from Sergei Kirov, which meant nothing, really. Yet it was a very nice trap you laid for Mister Fedorov and I, and all so you could get your hands on my ship.”
“Let’s not tussle over that like a pair of hungry dogs with a bone,” said Karpov. “Possession is nine tenths of the law, and I control that ship at the moment. Yet this is quite interesting. How could you be here, knowing all that, when the man I spoke with in Murmansk was reported dead months ago?”
“Yes….” Volsky’s eyes darkened. “I remember that as well. Believe me, it is a very strange thing to be standing here, and able to remember the moment of your own death. One would think he would have made it to either heaven or hell to have such a recollection, and it appears I am back in the same old hell we created here, and find the devil up to his same old tricks.”
“Come now,” said Karpov. “You cannot lay the blame for all of this at my feet. It was your own doing as well… Or at least that of another Volsky I once knew. I suppose you know nothing of that, and can be forgiven.”
“Not at all, I remember that man as well.” Volsky pointed to his thick grey hair. “You see, this old head of mind is quite full now. Within it are the layered recollections of all these men, just like Director Kamenski tried to tell me. It was that way with him, and so it is with me. Time has poured a lot of tea into my cup, perhaps more than I can drink, but I do my best.”
“You mean you also recall our original mission? You remember the accident with Oran?”
“Of course, and all that followed. And I seem to recall you making a pledge to me in the Mediterranean that you would never betray me, or our ship and crew again if I sent you back to the bridge to help Mister Fedorov. Then there was that other promise you made me after I entrusted you with command of the Red Banner Fleet in the Pacific when we finally got home. So much for your promises. I had to board Kazan and hound you all the way back to 1908 to try and get you to see reason and withdraw from this nightmare, and now here we are with that same question before us again, for that is what we must do.”
Karpov had deliberately prodded the Admiral to see if he really did recall those events. He was still suspicious, for Fedorov could have told him these things secretly, so he asked one more question.
“Well Admiral, do you also recall a little meeting you and I had in the brig aboard Kirov—in the Med?”
“Of course,” said Volsky.
“You offered me something there at the end, do you recall it?”
“Offered you something?” Volsky thought for a moment, then smiled. “Vodka,” he said. “Just a little something to soothe raw tempers, on both sides.”
Karpov nodded. That was something Fedorov would have no knowledge of, and if Volsky ever told him about the meeting, it seemed unlikely that he would have conveyed that little detail. So Volsky was telling the truth. His head was filled with the memories of both the Admirals he knew… and there was also a third man in there, from another Meridian where the strange figure of Kamenski had emerged with this plan to purge the continuum of all contamination.
“Alright,” said Karpov. “We have business to discuss.”
“Fedorov tells me you have agreed that we must move the ship forward to our own time.”
“Yes, I agreed,” said Karpov, “but to which time? Which world—the one where the man who offered me that drink once lived, the one you came from before we met at Murmansk, or the one you were in before Kamenski arranged this little scheme?”
“A good question,” said Fedorov.
“Remember what I said earlier aboard Kirov? How can we move forward to places where we might already exist?” That had been one of Karpov’s most convincing arguments earlier, and Fedorov still remembered how he had laid out his thinking.
‘If we do this—shift forward—where in God’s name do you think we’ll end up? Did Kamenski talk about that?… Which 2021—from which meridian? Will we arrive back where we first started? Will we reach the future we may be building now on this altered meridian? Was that where Gromyko shifted in from with Volsky? Did you hear what he said? Volsky has a third layer of memories in that old head of his. He said he was just sitting at his desk at Red Banner Fleet headquarters when in walked Kamenski. How could he be doing that, when we both know he was supposed to be aboard Kirov? That means that timeline was not the original one we came from. It was a third world.’
‘So let’s explore this further. Was Kirov in that world along with Volsky? Kazan was. Were you there? Zolkin? The rest of the crew? Is there another version of me there… If I’m already there, what would happen if two more versions of myself try to shift to that world? Don’t you see? We can’t simply shift off to that future. Time won’t allow it. I’m all for rounding up all the other loose ends, but before we do anything more, we’ll have to all huddle and figure this out. There are too many unanswered questions.’
Too many unanswered questions indeed.
“I don’t think we can answer that,” said Fedorov. “It’s not something we can control. We’ll just have to leave it to Mother Time.”
“Yes, yes… the busy Mother Time,” said Karpov. “Won’t this create a very difficult problem for her—another Paradox?”
“Time will do everything possible to prevent that.”
“And perhaps everything impossible as well,” said Karpov. “Forgive me if I view that journey with some trepidation. Who knows what might happen to us? Don’t you realize that every time we shift, we place ourselves in the clutches of that woman? Time will be getting very annoyed with our meddling by now. Yes, we’ve broken her meridian into all these different possible futures, and if we do try to shift forward again, which hotel will she check us into? Believe me, we may not like the accommodations.”
“I thought you agreed that we would do this—move forward to the time where we belong.” Volsky had a suspicious look on his face.
“Yes, I agreed,” said Karpov. “I merely point out the difficulties—things we must consider. Unlike you, Admiral, my head holds only one set of memories—from the original meridian when we had that accident with Orel. My brother self has all the recollections from his world, and who knows if there is yet a third version of me in the world you just came from with Kamenski. Frankly, I don’t think I can go there. Time has no room reserved for me there.”
“But you may get back to the time line where you originated,” said Fedorov. “You don’t exist there after you took Kirov out to sea and vanished in the Pacific, so that is a safe haven, with no possibility of paradox occurring.”
“You believe Time is going to put all the shoes back in the correct box? Forgive me if I have my doubts about this.”
“It’s all she could do,” said Fedorov. “Each of us will get to a place where it is possible for us to manifest, and then that is the world where we must live out the rest of our lives.”
“That may be well and good for you,” said Karpov. “The Admiral can go back to his desk, and you, Captain Gromyko, can go back to your war in 2021. Who knows what she will do with you, Fedorov. Your head holds the memories of two lives, so it will have to be one of those. If you end up back on the original timeline, you and I might travel there together. As for my brother, he will have to take a separate train. We can’t share any of those possible futures together.”