Murmansk-13

“What the hell is that?” Angela Tala Herrera’s affected American street accent tore the Captain from his reverie.

“We don’t know.” Tor turned to the crew, faces and jumpsuits a disturbing blood red. “We saw Cyrillic lettering on one of these outer structures and the outline of a hammer and sickle so we can assume it is Soviet.”

“It looks dead.”

“It’s not on any of the Star Charts.” Mihailov emerged from the chartroom, he looked drawn and exhausted, pencils behind both ears. He flexed weary fingers and rested against the door frame. “Need to know place, military or R and D.”

“Either way our presence doesn’t seem to have drawn a response as yet,” Jan Nilsen walked to the windscreen and pressed his thin, crooked nose against the glass. Each breath steaming his view. “Looks like he walked down and entered through that gash.”

“He’s in trouble though,” said Mihailov joining him. He pointed down to the ragged dark hole, burnt and deformed metal haloed the entrance, telltale dents and scars indicated some kind of impact in the docking ring structure. The high tensile steel lifeline Falmendikov had anchored from the Riyadh recoiled placidly in hard vacuum, severed.

“Hope his umbilical is okay,” replied Nilsen. The rest of the crew had massed around the Chief Engineer and Navigations Officer.

“Fuck his umbilical and fuck him.” Hernandez, the diminutive motorman pointed wildly at the lifeline, pushing through the crowd and jabbing his finger against the screen.

Tor knew the situation was on a knife edge. He’d briefed Mihailov, Stewart and Nilsen to preach calm but Hernandez was not a man accustomed to calm. The Mexican was known as a rabble-rouser with a litany of drug related suspensions on his record. On this voyage he’d already served a two-week unpaid suspension for some bar brawl on Snake’s Head. “Calm down, Hernandez.”

“No, fuck him.” He hit the glass, flat palmed, spittle flying from his mouth. “He’s flown us to some fucking Soviet trash heap in the sky – I should be home in a week.”

“Hernandez, back the hell down otherwise you’ll be home with another two weeks less pay.” Tor knew Hernandez was all show, had to be the tough man for the crowd, short man syndrome his father would have called it.

Hernandez withdrew to the crowds edge, Tala cuffed him on his way out light-heartedly. He gave Tor a beaming smile with snarling eyes.

“We have to make a decision on what we’re doing here.”

“Ain’t no decision to make skip,” Hernandez rubbed his knuckles and looked at the Captain, hair slicked back. “Cut and run, leave the Chief to his tomb.”

Murmured agreement resounded through the crewmen, Hernandez provided a voice for the chickenshits. Tor could sense trouble gathering imminently on the horizon. Anger sang through the ships compliment. “We can’t do that, Hernandez,” he said in a stern sing-song voice addressing the crowd before his gaze settled on the Mexican. “How are we for supplies?”

Hernandez shrugged noncommittally, the rest of the crew looked at each other.

“How are we for fuel, Exotic Matter, water recyc, food, cryo? What’s the status of the ship’s hull integrity, air scrubbers,” faces blanched in the redshift. “We aren’t moving till this ship is inventoried and I know what we can physically do. Ain’t no point heading into space and suffocating, or starving after drifting for months. Stewart, how’s comms?”

“Still down, too much interference.”

Tor nodded, he needed to take command of the situation and at least appear in control. Provide some sort of meaningful distraction, perhaps give him time to formulate a plan of his own and provide the crew with something tangible. Let the aggression diffuse; divide and conquer.

“I want a full report from department heads on my desk in three hours, galley, engines and medical. In the meantime Mihailov, you make a best estimate passage plan to somewhere at least familiar and Stewart will work on comms.” As minds turned to the potential severity of their situation Tor felt anger give way to anxiety. Was that better? “I know the situation is bullshit, but I’m in it too and you better believe I want to get home as well. We’ll sort this out, worst case scenario as soon as we get comms back up, we’ll get supplies our way. So keep calm, any dissension and I’ll have you put back in cryo unpaid. We’ve got to work together.”