Nemesis (6 page)

“I just
wanted to share all the facts with you sir, for your consideration. This moon
is wrong,” he pointed. “I don’t know who is out there on the other end of that
recall message, but if the moon is not lying to me now, then we cannot be where
we thought we were. Something is very, very wrong. May I ask you to listen very
carefully to Chief Orlov’s report when the helo returns from the recon
operation on Jan Mayen? That will be another important piece of this puzzle.”

“Yes,
Karpov said he was going to have a look. He thinks the facility was destroyed.
In fact, the one scenario that might make any sense would be his take on this
matter—that this was an attack, in spite of the fact that we have found no
wreckage, and that the other anomalies are a deliberate deception. That
remained a possibility in my mind… until this moon business. Now I’m wondering
if my head is still spinning here!”

“The
facility will not be found there sir. It was not destroyed, but I believe Orlov
will simply report that nothing was even there.”

“And
why would you say this?”

“Because
if that moon is correct, it was not even built yet. I told the Captain this as
well.”

“I see…
And you are seeing this as more evidence the time is wrong. Well, we will get
Orlov’s report within the hour. I must say that you do not sound irrational, as
Karpov suggested, am I right, Dmitri?”

“Yes
Admiral, Mister Fedorov seems to be his old self, very logical, very observant,
and yet certainly a man who has long been fascinated with his history books.
Sometimes we see things we might wish to see, Mister Fedorov. Motivation
defines perception in more ways than people realize. The case you present here
is very well considered, except for one thing—that recall message from Moscow,
properly formatted, and with the correct authentication code. I don’t think
anyone in 1941 would know that code. It was known only to the Admiral here, and
to Karpov when he verified it. Yes?”

That
set Fedorov’s mind thinking…. Yes indeed. If there was anyone alive in 1941 who
might know that code, who would it be? Clearly Volsky would have known it, and
yes
…
only one other man on this earth… If he still
was
on this earth…

My god,
could this be so?

Volsky
sat for some time staring at that moon
rising off the port side of the ship, his mind beset with everything that had
happened. He looked at Zolkin, a bewildered expression on his face.

“He’s
right,” he said at last. “Look at that moon out there. Dmitri, how in the world
can we explain that?”

“Is it
true what Fedorov says?” asked Zolkin. “Is the position of the moon that
predictable?”

“It’s
like a finely tuned clock,” said Volsky. “Yes, they can tell you, within
milliseconds, when the moon will rise a hundred years from now on this day, and
predict it’s exact phase. That young man has a head on his shoulders, but now I
am beginning to doubt the one on mine! My friend, that moon out there is cold
hard reality. It is not subject to speculation or opinion. It is telling us
exactly what day and year this is, and our young Navigator was industrious
enough to get the data in the palm of his hand, and intrepid enough to bring it
here to my attention. The only question I have now is, whether or not I am
still sane. That was a very strange event…. Very strange. And now here we are,
out of synch with the sun and moon itself. Can this be so, Dmitri? Can we be in
another time?”

“Is
there any other way to account for that moon out there?”

“Only
what Fedorov suggested, if the entire world were off kilter, some aberration in
the spin or orbit of the planet, then we might see the moon rise early like
this. But wouldn’t there be many other effects if something that drastic had
happened? And why should the phase of the moon change? Fedorov says we should
be looking at a morning crescent.”

“Isn’t
it more likely that he has made a plotting error for our present position.
After all, he was rather disoriented, and I had to see him three times to get
that sorted out. And Karpov was riding him rather hard, or so I was told when
Nikolin came by earlier. Perhaps he made an error.”

“That
is the only thing that might make sense, but he is very good at his job,
Doctor. His manual plots were always spot on. No… as much as I would like to
hope that this is a simple miscalculation, something is telling me that if I
get on the computer and look up the moonrise data for this place and time, I
will see that there should be no moon out there at this hour. If Fedorov is
correct, then those two old ships we saw on the video feed….” The Admiral
lapsed into silence, remembering that radio message Fedorov had urged him to
send.

“He’s
different.”

“Fedorov?”
Zolkin leaned in a little closer.

“Yes…”
said Volsky. “He’s the same, yet not the same. I sense a restrained energy in
the man, something I have only seen in officers who have served through many
hours at sea. There’s a confidence beneath that young face that belies his age.
That message he asked me to send was another thing. Something about that word
he repeated seemed to strike me when he said it—Geronimo.”

“What
do you mean?”

“It’s
as if I had heard that before, knew it meant something—something very
important. I meant to ask him about it, but we got off on this moon business.
Dmitri, something is going on here, and Fedorov knows more about it than he has
said just yet. I’m an old man, and I can see through a brick wall if I sit
calmly and stare at it long enough. Well, I’ve been looking at this one since
they brought me in here, and it bothers me. Something has happened to us, yet I
do not yet know what it is. Then comes this coded message, authenticated by the
special final code word we put into the ship’s vault the day we sailed. That
had to be sent in the year 2021, yet Fedorov is telling me that moon cannot be
there if that is where we still are. The only problem I have now is
understanding how these two contradictory facts can co-exist!”

“Give
it time, Leonid. Rest another day here. We are on our way home. In a few days
we’ll see the Kola inlet, and slip into the bay. Then you will know where we
are well enough, and you may mark your calendar accordingly. Patience is a
virtue here, and we need only wait a few more days. It is just a matter of
time.”

*

Chief
Dobrynin was working late that night, which was not
unusual, but he was surprised to get a visit from Fedorov at this hour.

“Excuse
me, Chief. May I bother you a moment?”

“Mister
Fedorov, certainly, what can I do for you?”

“I was
wondering how the reactors have been since that incident the other day. Any
problems?”

“What,
did the Admiral send you down here to check on things?”

“No,
he’s still resting in sick bay—recovering nicely. I hope he’ll be back on his
feet soon.”

“Good.
Well, there have been no problems here. Oh, there was a little flux in the core
during that accident, but things settled down soon after. There’s nothing to
worry about.”

“How is
reactor maintenance?”

“What
about it?”

“Did
you need to run any maintenance procedures when you were checking the equipment
out after the accident?”

“No,
just standard diagnostics. I ran the rod maintenance inspection cycle on the
28th, and won’t schedule another until late next week. Other than that, the
system seems in good working order.”

“Rod
maintenance,” said Fedorov, getting to the real reason he came here now. “You
say you ran that on the 28th?”

“Finished
it just a few hours before the accident.”

“How
does it work, Chief, if you don’t mind my asking?”

“Not
very complicated. We’ve a pair of twelve rod reactors here, twenty-four in all.
Every twelve days I retract one rod, while using a replacement, so I can
inspect for fatigue, cracks or other wear effects. The rods have been in fairly
good shape.”

“That
replacement rod… is it the only one you use?”

“Well,
we have two aboard, but only one is mounted for system maintenance at any given
time. I call it Rod-25. The other is stowed, and only used in an emergency.”

“I see…
Rod-25. What day will you be scheduling this next inspection. I’ve been curious
about this—you know me.”

“Yes,
always with your nose in some book or another, Fedorov. But I thought history
was your forte, not engineering. Well, if you’re curious, come round on the
8th. That’s the next scheduled inspection cycle.”

“Chief…
why every twelve days? Is there a reason for that?”

“Not
really. Just my habit.”

“Would
it harm the reactors if it happened later, or even not at all?”

“No, I
don’t suppose it would do any harm, unless one of the other rods was
deteriorating, which is why we have a look every so often. It takes 288 days to
run through all 24 rods if I pull one every twelve days. I used to do it
bi-weekly, but I shave two days off when we’re at sea. Again, just a habit.
More often than not I can tell if anything is wrong long before we have any
real problem.”

“You
listen to it, don’t you Chief.”

“As a
matter of fact, I do exactly that. I can hear every little mutter and twinge of
this system, and know it like my own mother’s voice. I know when it’s happy,
and when it is upset with me because of something I’ve done, or failed to do.
Everything has a sound, Fedorov, a special vibration. You only need to listen.”

Fedorov
smiled. “Have you ever heard something that might be called deep sound?
Ultrasound? Something you feel more than hear, or so I’ve been told.”

“Can’t
say as I have, though I’ve heard stories about it. Taiga tales from Siberia.”

Fedorov
nodded. “Chief… If you do hear anything odd, anything at all, would you let me
know? I’m a regular bridge officer, and I can get the Admiral’s ear for you if
you hear anything out of the ordinary.”

“Something
worrying you now?”

“Better
safe than sorry, Chief. Let’s just say that I believe everything you just said
to me here. So if you do hear anything amiss, I’d want to know about it.

“Good
enough, Fedorov. I’ll keep you posted.”

“Thank
you, Chief. So, you have no plans to use Rod-25 until the 8th? We should be
back in Severomorsk by then. Maybe I will come by and watch this procedure one
time—that is if you don’t have any objection.”

“Not at
all, Fedorov. You can watch the whole thing. I start just after morning mess.”

“Thanks
again, Chief. Sorry to take your time. Have a good evening.”

*

Karpov
sat at the officer’s dining table. Alone as always, until
Orlov huffed in, still in his leather flight jacket, his nose and cheeks red
from the cold. He saw the Captain, and tramped over to his table with a half-hearted
salute.

“The
helo is secure on the fantail and I have my report,” he said gruffly.

“Good.
Go ahead and fill your plate, the roast is very good tonight. And try the
bread—fresh baked by Lenkov.”

Orlov
was only too eager to comply, and was soon at the table, a big spoon in hand,
and a fist full of dark rye bread. He had a good portion of potatoes, beets and
carrots alongside his meat, and a satisfied grin on his face.

“Well?”
said Karpov, sopping up some gravy with his bread and reaching for his wine, a
pleasure reserved only for command level officers. “Was I right? The facility
is destroyed, correct?”

“Orlov
took a breath, scratching his chin. “It was very unusual, Captain. We overflew
the entire Island, and yet I could see nothing much there at all.”

“How bad
was it?”

“That’s
just it, sir. Very odd. When we got on the ground, right where the meteorological
station should have been, there was absolutely nothing there. Yet no sign of
any attack—no wreckage, no debris, no radiation count. The rocks were sitting there
undisturbed, and while there isn’t much flora on that island, what was there
looked normal and healthy. Lots of sea birds about too. But no buildings. Damn,
there wasn’t even an airstrip, and I’ve landed on that island more than once,
but the airstrip was gone.”

“Destroyed?”

“No….
It just wasn’t there. It’s as if nothing was ever built there. Then, on the way
out, we spotted a dog and got down to have a look. There was an old lean-to
structure, made of charred wood beams, and a couple Norwegians. They did have
some equipment there for measuring atmospheric pressure, and a rain meter.
There was a very old radio set too.”

“What
about the big Loran-C antenna?”

“No
sign of it, and we couldn’t make any sense of what these Norwegians were saying
to us. Troyak searched them, and we found this.”

He
reached into his jacket pocket and produced an identity card, old and frayed,
plain paper stock, with no lamination, bar coding, hologram or embedded chip.
It looked like it had simply been prepared with an old typewriter, and then
stamped in red ink at one corner for validation. Karpov squinted at it, noting
the name, his face registering a mix of surprise and suspicion. Now Fedorov’s
plaintive appeal returned to him, clear in his mind.

The
Met station is gone. The entire facility is missing, even the airstrip. Yet it
was not attacked. There will be no evidence of blast damage whatsoever, and all
you will find there will be a couple Norwegians at an old, makeshift weather
outpost. One will be named Ernst Ullring. If Troyak searches the Norwegians he
will discover an identity card. They will also have a dog…

How in
the world could Fedorov know this? It was just as he had predicted, yet
Karpov’s reaction soon shifted quickly from this initial surprise to increasing
suspicion.

“I’ll
tell you what’s odd here, Orlov—Fedorov. He gets that knock on the head and
it’s as if he’s not even the same man any longer. He had the temerity to speak
out of place like that, and even question me on the bridge in front of the
Admiral. This strange radio call we supposedly got from the British reining in
those two ships… well the man asked for Fedorov. Can you believe that? Fedorov
even claimed he knew who it was. Then, when I indulged his request for a
briefing conference with me, he suggested this little excursion to Jan Mayen,
and lo and behold, you find exactly what he predicts, right down to those two
Norwegians and their dog. He even named this man.”

The
Captain tapped the identity card, as much annoyed as he was surprised. “So
whatever is going on here, Fedorov is mixed up in it somehow—a nice little mole
on the ship, scurrying about below decks and hiding behind those history books
of his. That’s what I’m coming to believe. What do you think?”

“I
don’t know what he told you, but the little prick has certainly had too much to
eat lately. I would have taken care of him on the bridge if it weren’t for
Volsky. The Admiral doesn’t like my way with the men, so I waited. But yes, I
think I’ll go have a little chat with Fedorov about all this.” He took another
chunk of meat, with plenty of gravy, and chewed for a long time.

“What
does Volsky think?” he said at last.