Murmansk-13

“I believed I acted for the best, for my family, my friends and my countrymen. To this day, the Communist Party strangle those whose very ideology it purports to uphold,” Gennady began pacing. “But what is happening here is an act of avarice, a power grab or at the very best misdirected.

“I’ve tried my best dammit,” Gennady slammed an open palm down on the conference table, the lights dimmed as if in fear. “I’ve kept them alive despite the infected, despite the Unseen Hand and the lack of supplies and for what?”

“They believe we have been hoarding supplies,” Jamal interrupted giving Gennady a moment to regain his composure. “Discontent has been bubbling for months as rationing became increasingly severe. The truth of the matter is the supply warehouse is almost empty, perishables have long since perished, even some of the canned goods are exceeding their expiry. If the station is being replenished, it is going directly to the Unseen Hand.”

Tala wanted to ask about the Unseen Hand, she’d heard the name referenced numerous times since they had entered District Four, but was quickly cut off by Gennady. “After speaking to Jamal last night, I have decided we can no longer stay. Your arrival has heralded the chance of escape. It is a chance I believe we cannot spurn.

“I am going to hold an election this evening. It is mine and Jamal’s belief that there may be those who choose to stay. I will not prevent them, but I believe they will be signing their own death warrants,” Gennady’s tone became grim. “It is neither your or Katja’s place to vote. I trust you will be seeking a return to your vessel and for Katja, rescue. I ask that you prepare to depart. I can’t say I regret your stay being short, but I warn you. The situation grows dangerous. I ask you remain in my quarters until we leave.”

Tala nodded “Ship Hoppers.”

“Ship Hoppers?” Gennady cocked a bushy, salt and pepper eyebrow.

“These men, who choose not to leave. We call them Ship Hoppers at space. Institutionalized, they forget how to survive in the real world.”

“I pity them,” Gennady said, sadly. “This is no life, here there is no future. Just a hunk of decaying metal, slowing upon its axis and manned by the dead. I’m ready to have my life back.”

☣☭☠

It had been a long time since Tala had allowed her fingernails to grow so long, she marvelled at the striated keratin that pushed passed the tip of her finger. The surface was scratched and knurled and the edges unkempt, but their length and shininess suggested a strange femininity. Thin strips of curled poster paint had accumulated beneath her index fingernail where she had clawed sight holes into the body of District Four and now she waited for Gennady to emerge from his office. It had been a peculiarly nerve wracking hour of waiting since they had returned to Gennady’s cell under the glare of Ilya’s men.

Ilya stood, obscured in the frosted glass, but his giant form obvious, stooped over what appeared to be the eldest man who had slunk away before Tala had been first presented to Gennady. Tala remembered the man’s wide head and densely curled black hair which thinned at the crown beneath which he wore a neatly clipped, grey and black walrus moustache. He’d appeared younger than Gennady but exuded an aura of dotage. Tala suspected that the bullish Ilya was a mere puppet for the man, a muscular automaton for his machinations. She recalled the name Kirill from some unremembered recess of her memory. Tala wondered how long the man had waited for a catalyst like herself and Katja.

“I don’t feel safe here.” Said Katja, she had been quiet since they had returned to Gennady’s room. Despite the comparative warmth of the cell, Katja had pulled the coverlet over her jumpsuit.

“Me neither,” Tala tried to give Katja a reassuring smile, but anxiety gnawed at her starving gut. “I don’t think safety is a common commodity here.”

Tala watched one of Ilya’s men dart for the wheeled cart, he snatched away a few hermetically sealed foil packets which shimmered in the artificial light, before being chased away by Andrei and two other men loyal to Gennady. It was the second time she had seen a such a display, the man would be allowed so much time at the crate before their opponents approached with intent. It was like watching little birds fight over seeds.

“Has Gennady come out yet?”

“No.”

“I don’t like this.”

Tala was about to respond when the door to Gennady’s office opened. “I think he’s coming out now.”

After a moment Gennady walked wearily from his office with a limp that hadn’t been apparent when he paced behind his conference table desk. Through the scratched out poster paint and frosted glass the scene appeared blurry, Tala thought she could see Gennady usher a man away. She assumed he didn’t want to appear partisan.