“As a Captain, I couldn’t in good conscious leave Chief Officer Falmendikov here. For whatever reason he brought us here, it is unfortunately our duty to man a search and rescue,” Hernandez threw up his hands in exasperated silence. Tor’s mind raced with the implications of Falmendikov’s actions and the dire state he had left the Riyadh in. “Now our situation dictates that we also use this as a salvage operation. Bosun, I defer to you, you were a sailor before you came into space you’re the most experienced here. What do you think?”
Peralta’s face rarely expressed an emotion. Whatever had paralyzed his right sided features had lent him an intangible inscrutability. “About twenty years ago, I was still an AB then, I was on a little gas carrier, twenty thousand tonner. We were caught up in a Pacific typhoon about a couple of days out of Taiwan. It’d come on faster than the forecasts and we were being tossed about like a toy in a bathtub.
“Anyhow, we were sailing with this Steward. Older fella. He’d had some problems, his little girl was very sick and his home had been badly damaged in some flooding outside Iloilo. I guess he’d taken out some life insurance and a day’s heavy weather and broken sleep had convinced him his time was at an end.
“In the morning he didn’t show for breakfast, the two galley boys were left in a panic with a bunch of unhappy and tired officers and engineers. They tried to summon him on the phone, then banged on his cabin door, but he was gone.
“A steward doesn’t just fall overboard due to his work, so you kind of knew what had happened. Anyhow, the waves were still big, green sea breaking over the bow. Ship was surging and pounding and yawing all at the same time but we still had to turn and look for him though. Had to put the ship broadside to the waves.
“I guess if the sea had been any bigger, or the Master had decided it was too dangerous we wouldn’t have done it. But the Captain, he was a Norwegian fella too, he said ‘you never leave a man in distress.’ Do as you’d have others do unto you, I suppose.
“We can’t leave the Chief and I know we can’t leave here without some parts and pieces. Your likes of young Hernandez here might not like it, but I don’t see what other option we have.”
The Bosun’s left eye seemed to wince at the memory. An old friend, probably. Then his expression returned to its usual impassive state. Tor surveyed the faces before him again, grim, but he hoped in some way placated by the nascent plan of action.
“Tomorrow we’ll EVA down to the station and find Falmendikov. Who wants to come with me?” Tala’s hand went up, she was imbued with an unusual sense of fearlessness for her countrymen that was only matched by Peralta. His hand was up too.
Reluctantly Nilsen raised his hand. “I need engineers onboard, Jan. The communications array is going to have to be appraised and the engines ready for immediate manoeuvre, just in case. All non-essential systems also need to be shut down, I’ll be taking Mihailov as he’s the only man onboard familiar with Cyrillic, even if it’s the Bulgarian type. That means I need you on board, you’ll be in charge.”
Nilsen nodded and lowered his hand.
“Now I want everyone to get some sleep. We’ll only go once everyone is rested. Okay, you’re all dismissed.”
Chairs raked across linoleum, weary bodies filed out the mess hall in near silence. Nilsen approached Tor who was still seated. “You sure you want to do this, Tor?”
Tor wrestled with fatigue as he stood up. Muscles stung with lactic acid and cryo atrophy. A partially calcified cartilage popped in his chest. “No, but Falmendikov is my responsibility and while I’m too damn old and idle for this, someone needs to lead by example.”
“You’ve never struck me as the hero type,” Nilsen said with a sober smile.
“Believe me, I’m not. This is as much about showing I did everything I could to save my ass.”
“Ever the reluctant hero,” Nilsen replied, hushed, aware they were not alone in the hall. “I’ll leave you to it.”
Nilsen patted him on the shoulder and nodded to Dr. Smith who hung back beside the door, body reclined against the bulkhead. As Nilsen left she came forward. “Something I can do for you, Dr. Smith?”
She reached beneath her poncho and revealed a large, brushed steel hip flask. “You look like you could use a drink.”
“Is this your family?”
Tor had fallen into a deep sleep and hadn’t awoke when his reading light came on. The question seemed distant and blurry. The sheets were warm and damp from exertion and he cowered from the dim yellow light. There was more sound in the background, Italian voices, a film he supposed, it was hushed, some Giallo movie, he recalled Profondo Rosso. Beads of sweat rolled between his skin and the microfibre fabric of his bedspread. A hand toyed with a matt of curly blond-grey chest hair and he tasted rum at the back of his throat.
“Tor?”
Dog tired and worn out, he pushed himself, insensate, into a seated position. He felt the sheen of his body being pressed by a lean hip and the cool of the mahogany veneer headboard. His head swam, tipsy. Dr. Smith shuffled closer, she was holding a picture frame.
“Yeah, that’s my boy, Olaf,” Tor’s eyes focused on the familiar photograph. “He’s older now, seventeen. That was taken at his tenth birthday party.”
Tor was not in the photograph, he’d been the one taking it. He’d only been home for one birthday since then, Olaf’s thirteenth, Olaf had spent the day in the town with his friends, watching movies and goofing off. Tor had spent it drinking at the whorehouse, trying to feel something other than dejection.
Gently, Tor took the photograph from the doctor.
“Who’s that?” She pointed, her finger imprinting the glass. Her naked body pushed closer into him. Skin glided together.
“That’s my wife, Lucia.” Big smile on a round, olive face. She was petit, but was a little chubby when the photo was taken. She’d just miscarried their second child.
“She doesn’t look old enough to be the mother of a ten year old.”
“She was twenty-seven, then.” Tor couldn’t hide the sadness in his voice, the doctor didn’t seem to notice.
“She’s pretty,” the doctor moved away, suddenly detached and tied up her long black hair. She let the covers fall to her waist revealing small pert breasts and a slightly too-thin waist. “You still together?”
“Yes.”
“Hmmm.” She ran a closed hand down the length of her rudimentary pony tail as if straining it of sweat.
“You sound upset.”
She gave him a sideways askance look and emitted a short sharp laugh, resting her hand back on his chest. “Hardly Captain, I’m not one of these naive Colombian girls you find on the service stations.”
Tor replaced the picture frame on the bedside table closest to him and looked at the doctor. With her hair tied back he could tell she was in the twilight of her twenties, her features too sharp to be attractive. He certainly wouldn’t pick her out in a bar, but he did find her worldliness refreshing. “Your hair looks better tied back.”
“Thanks.” She pushed herself closer to him and her hand slid lower but her eyes fixated on the film.
“You’re not like most of the younger GP’s we get on these rigs.” Tor rested his arms against the top of the headboard. “All, ‘yay gap year, I want to see the galaxy’ then piss and moan about how bored they are a month later.”
“You haven’t flown with me for a month. At least not consciously.” Dark eyes turned to appraise him.
“You know what I mean.”
“I know people need a release on these long trips. I damn sure know I do.” She brooded now.
“How long have you been at space?”