John Schettler - Altered States

It was over…finally done, or so they thought. They stood on the bridge with heavy hearts, each man silent with the inner weight of his own conscience. Then Admiral Volsky closed the book he had been reading from, slipping it slowly into his uniform breast pocket. The poem he had read carried a dour sentiment, and an equal burden of guilt. He knew that the ship had been responsible for much harm, fighting in three wars across two centuries. The damage they had inflicted on the mirror of time was easily seen, the cracks webbing out through the months and years to change the reflection of history. Yet there was no way to fully understand exactly what they had done, or so they thought…

We have been blundering about with good intentions for the most part, thought Volsky, yet blundering still. Fedorov launched his mission to find Orlov for every good reason, yet he could not control the outcome. It seems that every mark we have left on the days of the past must inevitably work its way forward in time to some resolution, some consequence, and we cannot hope to measure or even know the whole of what we may have done.

This was what he had tried to convey with his words. Yes, they could not measure it, could not hold it, yet it was nonetheless theirs. They had to own it and accept the responsibility for what they did, for whatever reason-to preserve the ship, to save their own lives, or to embark on the bolder agendas that grew in the Devil’s Garden of Karpov’s mind.

What had happened to the Captain? Volsky saw the blood, still wet on the gunwale of the weather bridge. Rodenko had told him they heard gunshots, yet no body was found. Could he have fallen from that high place and careened into the ocean? If that were so he would have been pulled into the void right along with the ship. Did that mean his body was out there somewhere, adrift on the heartless sea?

“Well now,” he said. “Time to grieve it all later. At the moment we must determine where we are, and look to the safety of the ship and crew. He turned to Rodenko to ask about Kirov’s overall condition and the Starpom gave his report.

“Chief Byko is working below decks on the situation in the bow, sir. We struck a mine and there was a minor hull breach. Three compartments flooded but they have been contained and the pumps are working now. I’m afraid we have lost the Horse Jaw sonar dome, and we will need to make repairs to the bow.”

“That means no active sonar from that system…Well, we will have to rely on Kazan . Their systems were completely operational, so I will be sure Nikolin establishes a direct communications link and monitors it at all times.”

“That would be prudent, sir.”

“And how are the men here?”

“We are fine, Admiral. The situation we just faced was difficult, but I think the men can continue this watch and we can make regular relief rotations as scheduled. Facing the Captain in his rage was no easy task, but it is certainly better than what we were facing in that impending battle.”

“Yes, Armageddon, you fought it here on this bridge and saved Admiral Togo and his lot for another day. It must have been very difficult indeed. Thank God no one else was hurt. All things considered, the crisis resolved itself fairly well. Yet I cannot help but wonder what happened to Karpov. Was a search made for the body?”

“Yes sir. Byko put divers in the water to inspect the damage while you were touring the ship. I gave those men orders to have a look around, but nothing was found. Just a few fishing boats off near the island that I hope belong to this day and time.”

“Very strange,” said Volsky, still very disturbed by what had happened. “We will arrange for a sea burial ceremony at an appropriate time,” he said heavily. “We owe the man our lives many times over and, in spite of what he became in the end, we owe him at least that respect.”

“I agree, sir,” Rodenko said solemnly.

Volsky shrugged, looking about the bridge and seeing the men smartly at their stations again, which gave him heart “A fine day,” he said looking out the viewports at the sea. “This damage to the bow-will our speed be affected?”

“Byko has asked that we do not attempt to exceed 20 knots.”

“Is it repairable while we are underway?

“The flooding can be controlled, but to adequately repair the outer hull we will need to be in a stable environment. Dry dock would be best, but that is impossible. He thinks the divers could do something, but we would need to be anchored.”

“Well,” said Volsky, “until we know just where we are, I think it best to maintain a modest cruising speed. What is the status of our radars and electronics?”

“The Fregat system is returning out to a 50 kilometer radius at the moment. That seems to be gradually extending, almost as if we were in some kind of expanding bubble, sir. I think we should have normal coverage in about an hour.”

“What is our course?”

“We are hovering just off that island, Admiral.”

“Then let us set a course for Vladivostok at sixteen knots until we know where this time displacement has sent us. I think I would feel better in familiar surroundings.”

“I’ll get the ship moving, sir.” Rodenko moved off to instruct the helmsman.

As always, Fedorov huddled with Nikolin first, and the two men were monitoring signals all through the radio band. At first they had heard nothing more than the backwash of static, but now the garbled sounds of voice transmissions were picked up, though they could not make anything out yet. Like the radar systems, the radio was slowly recovering as the effects of the time shift wore off by degrees.

Oddly, it was the lookout on the main mast that Rodenko posted above the bridge that saw it first. There was something in the sky, a gleam of sunlight on a sleek surface, the yellow glint of light on metal. Just as the sighting was sent down to the bridge radar reported the contact close in, the operator shocked to see something this close unnoticed.

“Someone is curious about us,” said Volsky. “It must have been just launched from beyond those hills.”

“Most likely, sir, or we would have certainly seen it this close on radar long ago.” This was very unexpected, but Fedorov immediately realized they should be in range to communicate with the contact. He asked Nikolin to switch to standard AM bands to see if they were picking anything up and, sure enough, there was a stream of unintelligible language in his headset on a low dial position.

“It’s Japanese,” said Nikolin, handing off the headset to Chekov, who spoke the language.

“They are asking us to identify ourselves,” said Chekov directly.

“Of course, what else,” said Volsky. “Well if they have a good telescope or a pair of field glasses they will have already seen the naval ensign flying from the main mast. I think it best to strike those colors. We do not yet know what our situation is and for all we know Russia and Japan may have not healed the rift Karpov opened here in 1908.”

“What do I tell them, Admiral?”

“Say nothing for the moment. I think we will just be on our way. Sixteen knots. No rush about it, but Mister Samsonov, if you would stand ready and see to the ship’s defensive systems that would be prudent-just as a precaution.”