his face.
“What about him?” said Volsky.
“Then you remember him? He’s back again as well?”
“Sookin sym,” said Orlov with a shake of his head. “What’s gotten into you, Fedorov? Enough with this nonsense, and get to your station. Do I have to drag you off to see Zolkin again? What kind of medicine is he giving out these days?”
“What’s the problem?” came a voice, and it froze Fedorov’s blood. He stiffened, slowly turning his head towards the briefing room, his face white with shock, and a chill running through him as though he had seen a ghost.
It was Karpov!
There he stood beneath his sheep’s wool hat, a clipboard in one hand, which he slowly handed to Orlov with a nod. “Fedorov,” he said. “Did Zolkin get the wax out of your ears?”
Fedorov said nothing, his eyes wide, his face clearly registering distress, and now Volsky had a troubled expression. “I am not certain that Mister Fedorov is fully recovered from that fall,” he said quietly, deciding something. “How are those sea legs, Fedorov? Can you get yourself back down to sickbay?”
Fedorov heard the words, but his mind was a turmoil of shock and fear. Now the full weight of everything that had been happening on the ship these last days seemed to fall heavily on him again, impossibly heavy, collapsing into his soul like an avalanche of doom. He felt his knees begin to buckle, a cold sweat breaking out on his forehead, and it was all he could do to keep on his feet. The Admiral saw him sway, and reached to steady him, nodding quickly to Karpov, a message in his eyes.
The Captain shook his head, reaching for the overhead intercom. “Captain to sick bay. Please send a medic to the bridge with a stretcher team. Mister Fedorov is still not well.” He cradled the microphone and looked at the Operations Chief. “Orlov, where is Petrov?”
“I just dismissed him,” said the Chief.
“Then get someone else.” Karpov walked slowly towards the Admiral, and as he did so Fedorov instinctively backed off, his eyes riveted on the man, as if he were some spectral nightmare come to haunt him in this desperate hour.
Karpov… Vladimir Karpov, standing there in his Captain’s uniform with an expression on his face that was half annoyed, and half curious.
“He’s clearly still disoriented,” said Volsky. “Stand easy, Lieutenant Fedorov. We will get you back to sick bay in a moment, and I want you to take the entire day off tomorrow. Eat well, rest in your cabin, and if Zolkin can mind his business correctly this time, and he certifies you as fit, then report your availability to Chief Orlov. You men—help Mister Fedorov to his chair until the medical team arrives.”
Now the Admiral turned to Karpov. “It seems we have more to worry about than missing ships and submarines. Have there been any other situations with the crew?”
“We’ve been preoccupied here, but I can send Orlov to walk the ship and see to the section Chiefs,” said Karpov.
Volsky considered that, but decided Orlov was not the man he wanted to press the flesh with the crew just now. He was hard on the men, even rough at times, and the Admiral instinctively knew this was not what was needed now. He looked at Fedorov again, standing there with a look on his face that betrayed real anxiety, and he wondered how the rest had fared. If any man had the pulse of the crew now, it would be Doctor Zolkin.
He sighed heavily, his eyes looking out the forward viewports where the grey fog was again close about the ship, isolating it, smothering it, choking off air and life. It came and went, one moment thick, and the next with the promise of clearing. When would it lift? The Admiral struggled to clear his own mind and come to grips with the situation, and soon the claustrophobic feeling he had, drifting slowly forward through the quiet mist, his ship almost blind and deaf, prompted him to act.
“If you gentlemen can keep your heads about you,” he said to his two senior officers, “I think I will accompany Mister Fedorov to sick bay and see the Doctor. My head is killing me!” He slid off the command chair, and shuffled past Orlov, tapping his pocket. “I’ll take that,” he said quietly, and the chief handed him something. “Let the matter go, Chief,” said Volsky. “The men are a little bewildered at the moment, as you can clearly see.”