Murmansk-13

Stark artificial light bathed the space Gennady called his cell, a large modular office. In one corner an old Gulag prisoners jumpsuit, hooped black and grey, had been discarded, torn and speckled with long dried blood. Tala hadn’t seen it when herself and Katja had been ferried to the room, but she now knew why he had designated his space a cell.

Tala had assumed Jamal and the inhabitants of District Four had been station workers, she now knew they were Soviet prisoners. While the realization had startled her, the irony that they continued to enjoy little freedom seemed to make their fates more palatable to Tala’s mind. She was unsure if she felt any more or less safe, Jamal had saved them after all, although Tala knew it was for ulterior reasons. Tala supposed Katja was at greater risk than herself.

Beyond the room, the generator had been turned on. The dull thrum accompanied increased activity. Tala heard heavy footfalls beyond the blacked out glass. Twice somebody had approached the door, but had refrained from entering. Both times she had tensed, her still aching muscles pulled taut.

On reflection, she did feel less safe.

The rest of the cell was empty save a collection of books that were stacked upright in one corner. Most were leather bound, their titles in cyrillic and their pages yellowed. There were no notes to loved ones in the room and little indication anybody called it home.

Katja murmured something and rolled gracelessly back onto her roll mat, tangling the thin coverlet around her legs. The sterile lighting gave her a jaundiced pallor and yellowed her blonde hair. Tala knew it to be an unfair illusion. Katja’s skin was pale, but not in an unattractive way. Her face had not thinned like her body and remained full and round cheeked. The plait she had worn when they had discovered her in the morgue had long since fallen out revealing long silvery hair that stretched to her ass.

“I remember.”

Startled by the gentle words, Tala banged her head against the bulkhead. Katja was awake, her bright blue eyes appraising the Pinoy, suddenly self aware in her sweat stained tank top and panties. Tala had been staring so long and so firmly, she hadn’t realized the girls eyes had opened. “Sorry.”

Tala braced herself, Katja had awoken alone in the same room as her father’s killer. Any second she expected the unpredictable girl to start screaming or launch an attack. Tala didn’t want to have to restrain Katja, mostly because she knew it would be easy. She particularly didn’t want to have the attention of the District outside brought back upon them.

Instead, Katja sat up impassively and stretched, no doubt her muscles wearied beyond anything Tala could imagine. Katja’s cold blue eyes turned on Tala and Tala dug her gnawed fingernails into the foam of her bed roll. “I remember.” She repeated quietly.

Tala paused, the girls face was set in an unflinching expression of loss. Katja looked focused and lucid. “You remember?” Tala asked cautiously.

Katja nodded, but did not reply immediately. “I’m sorry.”

“Why?” Tala found the word caught in her throat.

Katja sighed as tears welled. Her voice remained steady. “My father, you didn’t have a choice,” she turned and looked at Tala. “You shouldn’t feel bad.”

Tala felt herself rooted to the mat. She wanted to console Katja but found the girls contrition reignited the anger she’d felt in the conduits. The big-eyed tears and helplessness. Tala gritted her teeth as Katja drew her legs to her chest and looked away.

“I’m sorry about your friend, he seemed like a good man.”

“He was,” Tala snapped. “His name was Jovan Peralta and he was due to retire when we got back to Earth.”

Katja nodded and buried her head in her knees. She cried silently.

That had been unfair, she had given Katja the bosun’s name. Names gave people stories. It hadn’t been Katja’s fault the bosun had died, if anything the Captain’s curiosity had led Peralta to his fate. Katja should have remained in blissful unconsciousness, forever.

The thought saddened Tala almost as much as the loss of her friend. She scooched over to Katja and put her arm around the taller girl. Katja fell into Tala’s shoulder and she sobbed. Tala smiled, despite herself, was this the same girl that flinched from her with each step just a day before?

After a while, Katja extracted her reddened face from Tala’s neck and tried to compose herself. “I’m sorry, about how I’ve been. I put your crew in danger. You should have left me.”

“Once we found you, we couldn’t really leave you,” Tala gave a reassuring half smile. “Not here.”

“Then my father should have left me.” Katja’s tone hardened.

Tala thought about her own father. “He must have cared about you a lot.”

Katja paused, perhaps sensing the loss in Tala’s response. “He has killed himself and your friends,” she wavered. “I’m pissed off that he’s dead because of me.”