“Since the message came in on the HF encrypted channel, just a few hours ago.” Now he told Zolkin the rest of his story, the message, the code, the torrent of memories that flooded in after.
“Interesting,” said Zolkin. “A kind of satori moment for you.”
“Sir?”
“Zen,” said Zolkin. “A moment of sudden realization that might be triggered by some small event, even a leaf falling. You say you entered that code, knew what it was, and that knowledge open the door to all these other memories.”
“Yes sir, that’s it exactly.”
“Then what was that message about, if I might ask?”
“Sir, it was a secure message protocol, something Fedorov arranged, and it’s a bit of a story. In these memories I have, we were not alone here. There was another ship, a boat, a submarine with us.”
“A submarine?”
“Yes sir—the Kazan—Captain Gromyko’s boat.”
“Ah, yes, I know the man—The Matador.”
“That’s him, sir. Well, his boat was with us, and there was a battle in the Atlantic, but then it vanished—Kazan—it disappeared and we never heard from it again. But Mister Fedorov had set up this protocol, seeing as though ships and subs were moving about in time like this. He thought that Gromyko might appear some time again, in the future, and if he did, he was supposed to send out a signal on this specific channel, and that code was the way it would be authenticated.
“And you remembered it—the code—and then you remembered everything else.”
“Exactly sir. I knew you would understand!”
“I’m not quite sure that I do, only that seems to be what has happened, to both you and Fedorov. Now let me get this right. If you got that message, then it came from Gromyko?”
“Yes sir. In fact, I keyed in the code and the channel opened, and I heard Mister Fedorov speaking directly with Captain Gromyko.”
“Indeed. Well, what did they say? What was this all about?”
“Fedorov is arranging a meeting with Kazan. That’s how I understand it. They’re going to meet in the Barents Sea.”
“Interesting. A very busy man, our Mister Fedorov. Did you report this message traffic?”
Nikolin lowered his eyes. “No sir… All these memories came flooding in, and I was trying to keep my head and all. Then I realized that things were getting dangerous.”
“Dangerous?”
“That last missile we fired—well, Karpov fired it at Fedorov on the KA-40.”
“What?”
“Yes sir, he said he was just trying to get his attention, but I think… well I think he meant to shoot that helo down. I think he was trying to kill him.”
“That passes for dangerous in any book I’ve ever read,” said Zolkin, and he put two and two together. He didn’t know what Fedorov was up to on that mission, but it was certainly something important.
“Why in the world did Karpov try to shoot down that helicopter?”
“He didn’t want Fedorov to proceed with his mission, whatever that was. Nobody tells us things, but Karpov ordered him back to the ship, and when Fedorov asked to speak with him, he responded by firing that missile.”
“The little Admiral wanted his Starpom back very urgently—or he wanted him dead. I see….”
“What’s going on, Doctor?”
“You probably know more than I, Mister Nikolin. These memories you say you have, might they give you the reasons?”
Nikolin shrugged. “Mister Fedorov and Karpov have been adversaries for a good long while,” he said. “I wish Admiral Volsky was still here.”
Zolkin nodded solemnly. “I wish that as well,” he said quietly. “Very well, I do not think you should reveal any of this to the rest of the crew. They would not understand.”
“Not unless they remember it all too,” said Nikolin.
“Perhaps, perhaps. I can tell you that Fedorov himself remembered it all, just as you do. I’ve had flashes, bits and pieces, and when you tell me these things they seem to ring true to me, though I can’t pull out the clear memory of it all like you seem to do. And so, my young man, I can say that you are not crazy—not unless Fedorov is crazy with you, and Karpov as well.”
“Karpov?”
“Yes, Mister Fedorov told me that Karpov knows all of this—knows he pulled that pistol on me and fired, and all the other things you remember. He knows it all, and yet acts as if none of it ever happened. There is more I could tell you—things Fedorov revealed to me, but that would only complicate things at the moment. Needless to say, if Karpov thought you remembered all these things, that would be…. dangerous for you. So I’d keep this all under your hat, Mister Nikolin, even that message you just received from Gromyko. Understand?”
“Alright, sir. I won’t tell anyone.”
“Good. If it gets too difficult, I want you to come right here and see me about it, and the two of us will sort it through. But I don’t think it would be good if Karpov discovered you know these things.”
“Alright sir, but how did this happen to me—and to Fedorov? Why can I remember these things, but no one else on the ship remembers, except perhaps you, if only just a little.”
“There are others,” said Zolkin. “Men have come to me like this with odd feelings, uncomfortable feelings about things that were bothering them, like waking dreams, nightmares. Fedorov told me that one other man woke up to it all, just like you apparently did—the Chief.”
“Orlov?”
“Yes, and perhaps that is why Mister Fedorov wanted the Chief to accompany him on this mission. Orlov can’t keep secrets. He simply talks too much. But you, Mister Nikolin, you must be very cautious now. Not a word. But I want you to come to me if it bothers you. I’m with you. You can always come to me.”
“Thank you,” said Nikolin, glad that he wasn’t crazy after all. The whole world around him was topsy-turvy, but at least the Doctor was telling him his memory of it all wasn’t a nightmare, not a waking dream. It was real, as real as the message he had in hand, as real as that missile Karpov had fired, as real as Gromyko’s voice in his headset, which meant that Kazan was out there somewhere, and Fedorov made it safely away to find that sub.
The story in his head had a good many chapters left to be written, he thought, but now he worried what they might hold. Fedorov had been on that submarine before, with Admiral Volsky, and they had come for Karpov. The things he remembered happening after that were not too pleasant, and he glanced at that bloodied bandage the Doctor had pointed out. Might it come to that again? Would it come down to Samsonov standing up like he did, stalwart, sturdy Samsonov, refusing to do Karpov’s bidding, come hell or high water. The memory of how the crew all stood with Samsonov, of how he stood with him, was clear in his mind now. Would the crew have to mutiny here again to sort this all out?
Then he remembered something else, someone else—Grilikov.
Karpov was not happy. In fact, he was deeply upset. Fedorov… his old nemesis was up to the same tricks again. He was always hatching these crazy missions, always thinking he could fix everything, make it all right again. First it was that wild hunt for Orlov, which built the world they were sailing in now. Then he thought he could just waltz into Ilanskiy, go down those steps and change everything again. Well not so fast.
The Admiral was well settled into his new reality here, and quite comfortable in fact. That suggestion he had shocked Fedorov with, that the time loop would effectively allow him to live forever, seemed strangely inviting to him. Yet for that to happen, the ship would have to slip again, fall backwards in time, to a period before its first coming. That would set up Paradox Hour once more, and Time would have no choice other than to double back on itself for another replay, to see if she could sort things out. Otherwise, argued Fedorov, she could not proceed to draw the future they came from, or even fully certify this world as sound.