Murmansk-13

“Dangerous, Captain. These men are bad, real bad,” Tala moved into the centre of the wheelhouse, close enough to render assistance if the Captain needed, or to fall back if more emerged from the darkness.

“Show me your hands,” Tor stepped forward, looming over the figure in the shadows who nervously straightened his arms in front of himself. Tala could see the man’s limbs shake. “How did you get on my ship? How many of you are there?” Hatred streaked through his questions. “Understand this. I have lost a lot of crewmen, seen things that will stay with me the rest of my life. If you lie to me I will fucking kill you if it is the last thing I do.”

The man quailed visibly. “Just two, me and Igor,” he stammered. “We knocked out one of your crew, he brought us back.”

“Hernandez,” Tala said breathlessly. “It has to be Hernandez.”

“You give him a choice?”

The man shook his head. In the dim Tala could see wild scared eyes glinting within a delicate fox-face. “N…N…Not really.”

“Where are they now? This Igor?”

“I don’t know, when Igor shot that boy there was a fight, your crewman was angry, knocked me out. When I woke up, everyone was gone.”

Near where the man had lain were scattered pieces of a rifle, Tala smiled, knowing Hernandez wouldn’t go down without a fight, wouldn’t stand to see his colleagues hurt. He’d never particularly liked Aidan, found him a little soft and effete, like Diego. But he’d be damned if he’d watch a shipmate being killed. The realization dawned on Tala that Hernandez was onboard, probably hurt somewhere. Possibly dead, she wasn’t sure she could stand to lose Katja and Hernandez on the same day.

“Captain, we have to find Hernandez.”

Tor nodded, solemnly. She could tell the Captain believed another of his crewmen to be lost. “First we bind this one,” he gestured to the thin man in the shadows.

“You’re not going to kill me?” Just as Jamal and Oleg had portend, District Seven had been a place bereft of kindness and compassion, the surprise in the man’s voice indication enough.

“Not yet.”

As Tala began fishing through the chartroom stationary drawer for some elasticized cord, rope or tape that could be used as a restraint, the Captain powered up the lights and bridge equipment, overriding Nielsen’s electrical conservation settings. Bleak strip light bloomed with a neon buzz. She could hear navigational equipment recalibrating from their hibernation and stored telemetry data spooling from a chattering ribbon printer the Captain was quick to silence.

“If I’m going to suffocate or starve, I’d rather not spend my final days in complete darkness,” Tor said.

Being back on the bridge appeared to have restored his conviction, recoded his mind. A Captain in his element bulled by mania. Tala was sure it was a temporary veneer, like slides of Tor’s memories playing out in short bursts before burning out, but it was a warming one. She leant out from behind the chartroom to see Tor pacing around their weary prisoner, back straight, pushing his bedraggled shoulder length hair behind his ears, scanning the various readouts. Briefly his command was bulletproof, unhindered by the weight of responsibility that had so bowed and tested his captaincy. Soon the enormities of their ordeal would come to bear again, he would wither whether he lived or died.

Tala returned to her task, finding a roll of gaffer tape pushed into the back of the drawer, trying to avoid looking at the young cadets body. On the chart table, the emergency VHF’s crackled to life. With their charging cradles powered down, they’d shut off. As she lent to turn the reawakened portable radio off she heard what she thought was a voice – slight through the haze of static.

“…adh, thissssssss… shev, pl…. sian space. Final warning.”

“Captain,” Tala said, her voice an octave high, her hand locked over the radio. She paused, desperate to ensure the broadcast wasn’t a product of her damaged imagination. Once more the message came again, cutting clearer through the noise. “Captain, I think someone is broadcasting on the VHF.”

“Deep Space Merchant Vessel Riyadh, please respond, this is the USSR Deep Space Fleet Destroyer Yumashev. You are currently operating within Soviet restricted space, within close proximity to Soviet installations. You must leave this area immediately. There will be no further warnings. If you do not leave this area immediately we have the authority to disable or destroy your ship and take all personnel prisoner.”