Murmansk-13

“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.”