“But this is different,” said Rodenko. “Fedorov… we all remember him. I spoke with every man on the bridge crew. They all know him. It’s not like the others, Tasarov, Kamenski, Orlov. We haven’t forgotten him. Could he have simply fallen overboard?”
“I very much doubt that,” Volsky remembered how heavy hearted he felt when he said that, knowing Fedorov was gone, missing him already, mourning his loss from the very first report with a quiet inner grief. But Rodenko was correct. This time there was no hazy memory loss concerning the man. It was not like Tasarov, when only one man on the ship could remember he ever existed, his best friend Nikolin. Perhaps it was like that now with Fedorov, he thought. I was very fond of that young man, very close to him. He was at the center of everything that has happened to the ship and crew all these long months. Perhaps he simply has too much gravity to be easily forgotten.
It had taken them some time, like men shaking off a dream and embracing reality, before they finally remembered the others, Dobrynin, Kamenski, Orlov. Fedorov said something about gophers, and that set everything loose in Volsky’s mind. That single thread of memory had rippled with fire, the energy leaping through one synapse after another in his tired brain, and the soft glow of recollection rekindled as it went. Places in his mind that had been stilled, as though misted over with that same heavy fog that now surrounded the ship, were now suddenly awake again, remembering… remembering…
Yet with Fedorov, I knew it from the very first. I could never forget that man, he thought. It was just like that moment when they realized Orlov was gone as well. They had been huddled on the bridge, with Fedorov trying to jog everyone’s memories concerning these missing men. He could still hear the Captain’s voice….
“My god—might there be more men missing? I was talking with Gagarin in the workshops, and he seemed very troubled, thinking he had a short shift, with a man missing. It was as if his old habits were at odds with the reality around him. I think he was struggling to remember something, just as I was, and Nikolin. Just as you did Admiral.”
“Who else?” said Volsky. “Might there be other men missing? What if none of us remembers? We’ll have to find a way to go over the entire crew with a fine toothed comb and count our heads.”
“Orlov would be the man for that,” said Fedorov, fingering the pocket compass the Chief had given him, suddenly remembering the man.
“Orlov?”
Now Fedorov gave the Admiral another cautious look. “Gennadi Orlov,” he said. “The Chief. He’s the one who found that thing I threw over the side—the Devil’s Teardrop….”
“He reached for the dangling intercom handset again, grasping it and raising it to speak. “Chief Orlov, please respond immediately. This is Captain Fedorov.”
They waited, each man looking from one to the other, wondering, held in suspense, as if they were waiting at the edge of infinity itself. They had all climbed to this place together, and the rope of their recollection and memory was still dangling over that precipice, as they waited for the last man to come up.
But he never came. Fedorov repeated the call, but it went unanswered, his voice echoing plaintively through the ship, hollow, forlorn, lost.
Orlov was gone.
And this time it was Fedorov.
Volsky sighed, turning when he heard the soft knock at his cabin door. He knew it was Rodenko, at least he hoped that was the case. He had asked the XO to come to his cabin, and was relieved when the hatch opened and he saw Rodenko’s face.
“You wanted to see me, Admiral?”
“Yes, come in, Mister Rodenko. I don’t suppose you have any further news concerning Fedorov.”
“I’m sorry sir, but we’ve had no word from the search details.”
Volsky nodded heavily. “Are the men still out in the launches?”
“We have three boats out sir, all tethered to the ship by rope, but they’ve seen nothing in the water.”
“And I do not think they will,” said Volsky. “Have Nikolin signal them to return to the ship… Assuming we still have a man named Nikolin at communications.” He gave Rodenko a searching look.
“Yes sir, Nikolin is still with us.”
“Good.” Volsky forced a half smile. “Well Mister Rodenko, it seems you are due for a promotion. A ship must have a Captain, and with Fedorov gone, you are next in line, the only other man I can rely on now. We will have to give some thought as to who we will put in your place as Executive Officer. Zolkin is a good man, with a good head on his shoulders, but he does not know ship’s operations. Any suggestions?”
“I’ll give it some thought sir. Byko might stand in, though he’s been very busy of late checking for any further damage to the ship.”
“Yes,” Volsky nodded. “Byko. He’s a steady hand, and just what we may need. He can coordinate his engineering crews from the bridge easily enough. I’ll speak with him.”
“Very good sir.”
Volsky had a vacant expression on his face, and Rodenko knew it well enough. Toska, sadness, loss, a melancholy that was too deep for words. It was anguish, heartache, a longing and regret. It was a restless uncertainty, anxiety, but also a nostalgia that was a cousin to grief, but behind all that there was love, and a quiet hope for better times.
“Mister Rodenko,” said Volsky. “I must tell you that I have felt very odd of late.”
“We all have, sir.”
“No,” said Volsky with a wag of his thick finger. “It is more than this confusing madness that has been plaguing us. It is very strange… I feel… empty.”
“Losing a man like Fedorov will do that to you sir. And we’ve lost so many other good men.”
“Yes, but that is not what I mean. It is as though I was just not all here. I’m forgetful, listless, and very fatigued. The other day I was on my way to the bridge and found myself on the wrong deck.”
“It’s just the whole situation, sir, this fog, the missing men, Lenkov’s legs.”
“It’s more than that. Mister Rodenko, I must tell you that you should not be surprised if I am the man who fails to make his next assigned shift. I feel all thin and stretched… I feel like something is pulling at me, reaching for me, but I cannot see it or understand it. If I should suffer the same fate as our good Mister Fedorov, then realize that all this business will then be on your shoulders. Understand?”
Rodenko sighed, and nodded. He remembered the day his grandfather had spoken to him like this, telling him that he felt old and all used up, with nothing more to do on this earth, and nowhere to go. Three days later he died.
“I will do my best sir,” he said.
“I’m sure you will. The crew is having a difficult time as it stands. My presence here has done some good in holding things together, and Fedorov, god bless the man, was a very great help. If I turn up missing next, things may get very difficult…”
Rodenko nodded. “I understand, sir.”
“Do you? Well, I think you should have a talk with Sergeant Troyak. Should the crew become disturbed, he is another man that can help you pull things together. Use your best judgment when it comes to posting his Marines, but it may come to that in time.”
He heard himself say that, and smiled inwardly… In time…
“Sir,” said Rodenko haltingly. “What’s happening to everyone, the men. Where are they going?”
“Better men than me have tried to answer that question, including Fedorov. I cannot help you any more than they could. Fedorov said it was this Paradox business, the same thing that’s been causing all the other problems around the ship, including Lenkov’s legs. We don’t belong here, Mister Rodenko. That is the simplest way I can put it. Time has no place for us, and so now we pay the price for our meddling.”