Sailing in Uncharted Waters

By Storm

 

 

The steady chug of the merchantman could be heard clearly throughout the Seaview. Nearly every man aboard looked up as the vessel passed over them, totally oblivious to their presence. Or at least most of the men on board the other ship were, Admiral Lee Crane reminded himself. There was possibly one person on the other vessel who would be ‘aware’ of Seaview’s presence, even if he didn’t consciously realize it. Captain Second Rank Igor Britanov, of the late Soviet submarine K-219, had a bond with Crane’s own boat the Soviet officer didn’t even know existed.

 

It had been just four hours ago that Britanov had deliberately scuttled his own submarine, for two very valid reasons. One was to keep the fools in Moscow from ordering him to put the crew back aboard the slowly sinking sub; the problem had been that the atmosphere on board K-219 had been filled with poisonous gas from the ruptured missile in silo six, but the men had no air canisters, no protective gear. To have put them back aboard under those conditions would have been a death sentence for all hands. The other reason had been the presence of an American tugboat - and the American submarine that had been the cause of the disaster. Britanov had feared - rightly, as it turned out - that the US Navy was going to try to steal his boat out from under him while Moscow dithered over what to do. Crane would have stopped it if he could, but the circumstances leading to the disaster had been set in motion while Seaview was investigating an unusual ice phenomenon in the Bering Strait that had the passage completely blocked. Unable to take the shortest route - over the pole - and being too wide to pass through the Panama Canal, Seaview had been forced to race around Cape Horn - a distance of nearly fourteen thousand nautical miles. She’d been less than two hours away from K-219 when Britanov made the fateful decision to scuttle his command.

 

The tragedy was compounded by the reality that like Seaview, K-219 had been self aware. No one except Seaview had realized that fact until it was too late to save the other boat.

 

But now Crane had to figure out how to save Britanov himself from the stupidity of his own government and the wrath of the Chaos Lord who’d set the whole Game in motion. Crane, like Admiral Nelson and the intelligence operatives from the interstellar government known as the Federation, had all been very sure that the object of the Game had been to produce - at the very least - a nuclear disaster, if not an outright nuclear war.

 

In that respect the Game had been an abject disaster for the Chaos Lord who initiated it. There was also no doubt in Lee Crane’s mind that Igor Britanov would now be the object of revenge by that same Chaos Lord.

 

They really were piss poor losers.

 

“Sir.” The voice of Seaview communications officer broke into Crane’s thoughts. He turned and arched an eyebrow in question.

 

“Admiral Crane, sir, Admiral Nelson reports FS1 is five minutes out.”

 

“Thank you, Mr. Tillman,” said Crane. He suppressed a smile; despite her call sign, this was definitely not the original flying sub. More like the tenth - and the fourth design generation. In fact, the particular craft approaching was on her maiden flight. Hopefully, this particular generation would prove more durable than the previous ones; they seemed to lose the things at an alarming rate. At least none of the crew had ever been killed in the demise of one of them. Only once had there been fatalities involved, but the people involved had stolen that particular craft and then discovered the hard way that submarines - even ones designed to also soar in the sky - don’t fly quite like airplanes.

 

Breaking in a new flying sub wasn’t the reason Nelson was rendezvousing with them, however. The Admiral had met with dead end after dead end in Washington in his attempt to stop the unfolding disaster involving K-219. When he’d spoken with Crane shortly before taking off, Nelson had been coldly furious at what he considered the abject stupidity of the politicians in power - not to mention some of the brass in the upper echelons of the US Navy - and thankful that Britanov had been able to carry out his half of the Elder Aditi’s prophecy. He’d agreed with Seldar’s assessment that they still needed to rescue the Soviet captain to fulfill their end of it.

 

The big question now was how to do so without creating a diplomatic crisis of a different sort. They couldn’t just snatch him and his chief engineer off the Russian freighter that was passing overhead, however much Seaview might have liked to. She’d grumbled quite audibly when Crane had told her she’d have to be patient, but had gone thoughtfully silent when he’d added that he had some ideas to discuss with Admiral Nelson once he was back from Washington.

 

Crane gathered the papers he’d had spread out on the chart table in the control room and headed forward towards the observation deck. Halfway there he felt Seaview shift, then steady; FS1 was now nestled snuggly aboard; the bay had been empty since the older model had been left in Alaska with the research team in Nome. It would take Nelson a few minutes to get his new creation shut down, but he’d already said he wanted to speak to Lee privately right away on the observation deck. Which was just as well, Crane reflected. He had a feeling there was going to be fireworks between Seaview and Nelson before the day was out, once the details of the boat’s behavior during their mad but futile dash to try and save K-219 were revealed. He shook his head; from his viewpoint the real problem between the two was that they both shared the same stubborn streak. In that respect Seaview was as much Harriman Nelson’s creation as had been her physical design. Sooner or later the Admiral was going to have to squarely face the fact that she had become much more than merely the sum of her parts.

 

He reached his destination and found the observation deck empty, although a pot of fresh coffee and two cups sat on a tray on the table in the center of the space. Crane allowed himself a brief grin. Kowalski had probably been the one who’d arranged that. He was every bit as thoughtful about his superior officers’ needs as Francis Sharkey or Curley Jones had ever been. And just as creative in fulfilling what he perceived as his duties, truth be told. Sometimes Crane had to wonder who really ran the boat - him or the COB.

 

With a shake of his head he put his charts down on the table, moving the tray to one side so he could have everything spread out by the time Nelson got there. His own idea for how to pry Britanov and Krasilnikov out of the clutches of the Soviet bureaucracy - and what to offer the two men in return - was probably going to result in a bout of shouting at the very least, if not outright rejection. It would mean burning an awful lot of bridges with the US government and he was fairly certain Nelson would be very reluctant to pursue such a course if any other options were available to him.

 

The hatch to the observation deck clanged open and Admiral Harriman Nelson, USN (ret.) stomped in. Crane suppressed a cringe. Nelson was clearly and obviously still infuriated; if he was still in this much of a temper even after flying out from Washington, things had been worse than bad. On the other hand, if he was that angry with the idiots in DC, it might make him at least listen to Crane’s idea.

 

Nelson furiously flung his briefcase into the corner and marched over to the small cabinet on the starboard side where the liquor was locked away, bypassing the waiting coffee entirely. Crane’s eyebrows notched up. That was something he had seen the Admiral do only once before, some three years ago. The end result of that particular explosion had been a complete overhaul of the Institute, including the severing of about half their government ties. It had also seen the end of his own personal obligations to ONI, something Crane was increasingly grateful for as time went on. As Nelson poured himself a large dollop of bourbon neat, Seaview’s commander walked over and retrieved the battered briefcase.

 

“So who do you want to strangle the worst?” he asked Nelson as he carried the briefcase back to its owner.

 

“The whole damned lot,” snarled Nelson. His blue eyes were harder than diamonds and colder than arctic ice.

 

“I take it none of them could see - or were willing to admit - that what they were doing was incredibly risky. Not to mention wrong, immoral and probably illegal as hell?”

 

Nelson snorted in derision. “The stupid bastards told me to mind my own business and then threatened - threatened! - to have me arrested if I didn’t go quietly away.”

 

Crane blinked in surprise. “Who threatened you?”

 

“Weinberger for one. That ass. And the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs.” Nelson’s graying auburn hair was practically sparking with rage.

 

“Well,” noted Crane as he parked one hip on the edge of the table, “the ten years has been up for over four years now.”

 

Nelson went still for a brief second, his eyes locked on Crane’s, frozen in place. After a long silent moment of apparent contemplation, he lowered his glass. “What are you suggesting, Lee?”

 

“That maybe it’s time the Institute went independent.”

 

A week ago that suggestion would have been impatiently and angrily brushed aside. Now - now with his fury so suddenly squelched, Nelson looked both thoughtful and troubled. The deal he’d made for funding to build Seaview - which Crane knew he’d made sure to get in writing - had been for ten years of clandestine service. The boat was now fourteen years old, four years past any contractual obligation the Institute owed. Legally, the boat was Nelson’s, to do with as he pleased, though there were probably people in Washington to whom that bit of information was going to come as a huge and unpleasant surprise, despite the house cleaning - so to speak - of three years ago.

 

“Can we afford to?” The fact that Nelson asked the question so quietly, so matter of factly, sent a chill down Crane’s spine.

 

“Well, it won’t be easy. But yes, I think we can.” He paused, trying to gauge the effect his next words might have on Nelson. “You know Seldar can get the Federation to help with the funding if it comes right down to it.”

 

Nelson looked away, clearly uncomfortable with the idea, but not rejecting it out of hand. Crane’s sense of the magnitude of Nelson’s feelings of betrayal at the attitude and actions of those in command in Washington deepened. In some circles what he had just suggested could - and would - be construed as treason. That Nelson hadn’t rejected the notion out of hand was an indication of how completely trust had been destroyed and bridges burned.

 

“They’re going to cut our contracts aren’t they.” Crane made it a statement, not a question. He couldn’t help the wry laugh. “Britanov isn’t the only one the people in power would like to stand against the nearest wall and shoot, is he?”

 

“Canceling all our contracts was another one of the threats,” admitted Nelson with a sigh. “And taking the missiles back. Not that I’d really care if that was all they did.” Crane nodded; he’d known for many years that Nelson would rather not have nuclear weapons on board and he himself had in recent years come to be of a like mind on that particular subject. Continuing, Nelson added, “Nobody openly dared say they’d come try to take Seaview as well, but I suspect some of them are thinking it.”

 

Crane scowled. “I’d like to shove a missile or two a couple of places where the sun doesn’t shine.”

 

“Don’t tempt me.” Nelson finally came over to the table and sank down into one of the chairs that was positioned so he could look out the Herculite ‘windows’. Crane got up and pulled one of the other chairs around so he could sit to one side but still face the Admiral.

 

“Harry.” He seldom called Nelson by his given name and it caused the other man to look up, startled. “Do you have any ideas on how to rescue Britanov?”

 

Nelson gave a sad shake of his head. “With everything else, I haven’t had the opportunity to even think about it.”

 

Crane took a deep breath. “I do. I wasn’t sure you’d go for it because it would mean cutting a lot of our governmental ties, but if they’re going to do that anyway, then we’ve not much to lose.” When Nelson made no comment he continued.

 

“They’ll try to salvage K-219.” Nelson merely grunted agreement. “What if we do it first - and offer the warheads and anything else we turn up back to the Soviets in return for Britanov and Krasilnikov?”

 

Nelson’s own eyebrows arched. “That might work, but what would we do with them then? The US government wouldn’t let them in the country.”

 

Crane coughed slightly as he ducked his head. “Er, did you happen to speak to Jackson on the way here?”

 

“No,” replied Nelson with a puzzled expression. “Should I have?”

 

“Morgan quit as Chief Engineer and I figure Jackson will be gone as XO as soon as we make port.”

 

“Why on earth…”

 

Seaview chose that moment to make a somewhat rude noise and give herself a slight shake. The color drained from Nelson’s face.

 

“She’s been getting more assertive every day,” Crane told him. “Let’s face it, Harry - she is alive - and it’s getting harder to conceal. Kowalski knows now - she actually spoke to both of us.”

 

“Spoke?” Nelson sounded like he was strangling on the word.

 

“Yes. Get used to it, Harry. She’s as stubborn as you are - every bit your creation in her spirit as in her physical design.”

 

What sounded like a muted snort drifted through the air around them.

 

Nelson hunched his shoulders, pretending not to hear. “So what does Morgan and Jackson have to do with Britanov and Krasilnikov…” He trailed off , eyes widening as the realization of what Crane had in mind dawned. “Are you crazy, Lee?! Britanov on Seaview? Washington will never allow it!”

 

“Washington won’t have a say in it after the missiles are gone,” Crane pointed out. “And I’m resigning my Reserve commission.”

 

“And what makes you think Britanov would put up with all this nonsense, even if we could get the Soviets to go for your plan?” Nelson waved a hand, encompassing the boat, the world and maybe even the rest of the universe.

 

“K-219 was like Seaview,” Crane told him flatly, “Alive. So her antics probably won’t be anything new for him. For crying out loud, Harry. The man‘s been spied on, manipulated and nearly killed by the damned Chaos Lords. And he beat them. Not with our help, but all on his own. Don‘t you think he deserves to know what it was all about and maybe, just maybe, get something back for it? I want him as my XO - and so does Seaview. Besides, you know as well as I do that the Chaos Lords want our hides for trophies - so let‘s start getting people to work for us who recognize the larger agenda. And before you say why don‘t I ask Chip to come back - I will NOT ask him to give up Voyager. Not when we‘ve got somebody both qualified and involved who‘s otherwise going to wind up on the beach - if not in prison - just to satisfy a bunch of damned bureaucrats.”

 

The boat gave an emphatic shake and rumbled what could only be agreement.

 

Nelson rubbed at his temple with one hand, looking glum. For several minutes he didn’t speak, only gazed out the Herculite windows. Crane sat calmly, waiting for his boss and friend to recognize the inevitable.

 

“It’ll mean a complete overhaul,” warned Nelson gloomily as he toyed with his glass.

 

Crane shrugged. “Didn’t you tell me a couple of years ago that you wanted to modernize the electronics? This’ll be the opportunity to do a lot of the things you’ve wanted and never could because there wasn’t enough room. We can automate a lot of functions and cut the number of crew in half, if not more.”

 

“What about weapons systems, Lee? We don’t dare go unarmed and the Navy will take the torpedoes right along with the missiles.”

 

“The new rocket torpedoes you’ve been working on that the Navy decided they didn’t want should fill part of the bill,” pointed out Crane. “Four of them will fit inside a standard torpedo tube. And you’ve got the sonic lasers, which nobody even knows you‘ve been working on. Anybody who thinks Seaview will be an easy target is going to be in for a very rude awakening.”

 

“Where’s the money for this, Lee? The kind of complete rebuild you’re talking about will cost almost as much as a new boat. We can‘t just suddenly come up with that kind of money and not expect an investigation into where it came from even if the Federation does want to fund it.”

 

“Seldar gave me some maps with locations of old Spanish treasure ships, Harry. Total worth is in the billions. They can put some extras in to increase the value of what we recover if need be.”

 

Nelson looked over at him and frowned. “I’ve never been happy with treasure hunting, Lee.” Crane was aware of the Admiral’s feelings on the issue; they’d turned down several lucrative offers in the past from groups who wanted to charter Seaview or Voyager to locate old shipwrecks on the sea floor and recover their cargos.

 

“So we do the archeology too. You know as well as I do that the technology is becoming available for these wrecks to be salvaged; it might as well be done by somebody who will take the time and effort to do the science right and then put the profit to good use.”

 

There was a long sigh as Nelson turned back to the windows. “I suppose you’re right, Lee.” He drained his glass and set it down on the table, then for several moments sat silently gazing out at the ocean.

 

Finally he spoke. “Do what you need to. That‘s why I made you de facto Director of the Institute.”

 

                                                ***************

 

Igor Britanov was still standing on the stern of the Fyodor Bredkin, looking unhappily back to the north. His whole career lay on the bottom of the Atlantic Ocean with K-219. Sighing, he finally turned to go inside where his crew was - then paused as the hairs on the back of his neck tingled.

 

He briefly froze, then turned back to the sea astern of the freighter.

 

Not there, something told him. He walked quickly to the starboard side and peered over, looking straight down into the sea. Something was there. He couldn’t see it, but he could feel it, a vaguely familiar sense that he’d encountered a couple of times before. But what was it?

 

A faint blue-green glow flashed deep below the keel of the freighter, outlining an object in the dark waters. A second smaller object was approaching; it’s lights added even more illumination, revealing in unmistakable detail the slender gray submarine that was passing beneath him. Only one vessel on the planet had that unmistakable form - Seaview. That meant the smaller second vessel must be one of Nelson’s flying submarines that he‘d heard rumors of.

 

Igor Britanov sighed as he beheld the boat that had haunted his dreams from the first time he’d ever laid eyes on a picture of her - and Seaview was definitely a she, despite the Russian nomenclature that usually referred to ships as he. He couldn’t help the wry smile that flitted across his face; if his memories were real and not a hallucination brought on by hypoxia, she’d haunted him in other ways as well. Or at least her creator and captain had. He shook his head wistfully as he watched her drawing away. Clearly she’d arrived too late to save K-219. He briefly frowned, trying to recall the details of his pre-voyage briefing, because there had been something about Nelson‘s boat in it. Then it hit him; Seaview was supposed to be in the northern Pacific, investigating the blockage of the Bering Strait. For her to be here now meant she’d had to race around Cape Horn, a gut busting distance of fourteen thousand nautical miles - something like twenty-six thousand kilometers - in a matter of weeks. There wasn’t a boat in the entire Soviet fleet that could have even tried it, let alone come so close. He felt a tear well at the unfairness of her coming so near and still failing.

 

“What are you looking at, Captain?” The voice beside him made Britanov jump and suck in his breath in surprise, but the questioner was Igor Krasilnikov. His chief engineer had managed to walk up behind him without being heard, something that rarely happened. He’d shook himself; he’d been too focused on what was below him.

 

Seaview just passed by, Grandfather. I saw her as she turned her lights on.”

 

A look of yearning crossed his chief engineer’s face as he too leaned over and gazed into the water. Seaview was still barely visible; then she turned her lights off and the dark sea swallowed her shape. The two men looked at each other and shared the same wry expression. There probably wasn’t a submariner on the planet who hadn’t looked on Seaview with lust in his heart. It was made even more poignant by the knowledge that this would very likely be the last time either of them got a chance to go to sea, because the bureaucrats would want somebody to be held responsible for the loss of K-219. Since they wouldn’t ever be able to lay hands on the American captain, he and Krasilnikov would be sacrificed instead. Despite what that alien had said, Britanov didn’t see how Nelson would be able to save him. He wouldn’t leave Russia without his family and he very much doubted that Natalia could be induced to sneak out of the country; it would place other members of her family in jeopardy. For that matter, it would place his own parents in peril as well. No, he’d known the consequences when he’d sent the crew off the boat. He’d have to live - and possibly die - knowing he couldn’t have done anything differently. It pained him though, that Krasilnikov would suffer with him. His chief engineer had only followed orders.

 

“Do you suppose she’s on her way to salvage K-219?” Krasilnikov asked.

 

Britanov paused, looking thoughtful, noting that Krasilnikov also referred to Nelson‘s boat as she. “They could be,” he answered slowly. Seaview’s course was certainly taking her in the right direction for something like that. But if they do, what will they do with what they find? he wondered to himself. Will they just hand everything over to the US government? But even as he asked himself the question, he found himself growing thoughtful. Would Crane drive his boat that far, that hard, just to salvage a broken down heap of an obsolete Soviet submarine? Somehow he didn’t think so. Perhaps the game wasn’t as over as he’d thought.

 

                                                         *************

 

It was past midnight local time when Seaview arrived on station above the location where K-219 had gone down. Crane knew they were on the right spot - Seaview had made that very clear in her own quiet manner. However, he wasn’t about to simply announce that to the crew; they would have to go through the motions of finding the wreckage on their own. Normally this was a task that could take days, or even weeks, but he and Nelson were both all too aware that a vessel from Woods Hole would be arriving as soon as the government could make arrangements for one of their small submersibles to be dispatched with it‘s mother ship. They had to be finished and gone before that vessel turned up.

 

He brought Seaview to a near stop and had her listen carefully, circling to clear her baffles, making sure that all the vessels involved had indeed left the scene. His lips tightened to a thin line as the passive sonar detected Augusta making haste to the north. Seaview’s not quite silent growl matched his own feelings. The tug was hurrying on her way as well, while the Soviet ships had dispersed back to their original courses.

 

Good.

 

“Take her down, Mr. Jackson, to three thousand feet. And keep a close watch on the radiation meters.”

 

“Three thousand feet and keep a watch on the radiation meters, aye, sir, ” responded the XO with something like puzzlement in his voice.

 

It took many minutes for the boat to circle down, but he finally felt Seaview level off. “Mr. Jackson, a thorough side sonar sweep of the bottom if you please.”

 

“Side sonar sweep, aye.”

 

The duty crew was looking baffled; neither he nor Nelson had informed them yet of the loss of K-219. After all, there had been no messages from Washington to announce it and they had been too far away to actually hear what was happening. Strictly speaking, there was no logical way Crane could know, so the crew - except for the COB - was at a total loss to understand what they were even looking for. As far as that went, most of them still had no idea why he had sent Seaview charging around Cape Horn the way he had, but they had enough faith in him to carry on. He couldn’t help a fleeting wry smile; sooner or later he was going to have to tell them something to explain it all.

 

The wreckage of K-219 appeared on the side scanning sonar within the hour. Nervous undercurrents of conversation swirled around the control room and throughout the boat, for the crew was experienced enough to realize that the search that should have taken days, if not weeks. It was also obvious from the sonar that the wreck had just happened; the silt hadn’t even settled yet. It was also clear from the sideways looks the duty crew was giving him that they were bursting to know just how Crane had known the wreck would be here.

 

“Let’s prep one of the ROV’s for a closer look,” Crane told the crew. “I think Jiggers has the proper instrumentation.”

 

The crew fell to with a will, but prepping the ROV would take several hours. Crane pulled a stool up to the chart table and busied himself with paperwork while keeping an eye on Jackson. It was clear the XO was feeling edgy in addition to being befuddled. Between Seaview’s unexplained and - to the crew - erratic behavior, coupled with Crane’s unwillingness to explain what was happening, the man was clearly on his way to becoming a basket case.

 

Crane was tempted to send him to join the former chief engineer to keep him from interfering.

 

Finally the ROV was ready.

 

Hesitantly, Jackson approached Crane. “The ROV is ready, Admiral,” he reported.

 

“Send her out then,” Crane told him. The bottom where K-219 rested was eighteen thousand feet deep. It would take several hours more for the ROV to get there. The boomer had done it in less than five minutes, going vertical and dropping at over fifty knots. She’d apparently gone all the way down without imploding too, which told Lee that she’d been completely flooded long before she gotten anywhere near her crush depth. That made sense, given that Britanov had opened one of her torpedo tubes to the sea to scuttle her.

 

His mouth thinned to a straight line. The whole affair stank - and it wasn’t with the odor of dead fish. More like the odor of politics. The politics of keeping the Cold War going, rather than peace, largely as a result of the machinations of the Chaos Lords, who’d begun the whole mess simply to amuse themselves. Some of his mood had clearly communicated itself to the crew, for they were looking rather grim. Of course, they all knew now what they were looking for. It didn’t take a genius to realize that the older hands who had gone through the sinking of Seaview many years before were also empathizing with the Soviet crew in a way that perhaps few others in the US Navy could. They’d been there, with the merciless sea holding their boat in a death grip. It had only been because they’d gone down in much shallower water on the continental shelf that they and Seaview herself had been saved. That and Chip Morton’s lunatic descent with the diving bell through the minefield to reach them. K-219 had gone down in a place that she’d never return from and those of her crew who’d gone down with her were lost forever. He reflected back on the times that he and his own crew had come so close to being where the other boat was now and couldn’t help a shiver.

 

The sound of a throat clearing at his elbow brought him out of his reverie. He turned his head to find Chief Kowalski with a pot of steaming coffee and a pair of mugs. Lee gave him a wan smile and a nod of thanks. “Put them on the front porch, Chief. I’ll be there in a minute - wait for me.”

 

“Aye, sir.” Ski carried the pot and mugs forward. Crane turned back for a moment, his gaze resting on Jackson.

 

“Mr. Jackson, you have the conn,” he said. For now.

 

“I have the conn,” the XO replied, looking back at him with a worried expression. There had definitely been a mood change in the duty crew and Jackson was starting to feel it. Crane could feel it too. The crew was closing ranks and Jackson was on the outside with the former chief engineer. Without a further word he turned and made his way to the observation deck.

 

Kowalski was waiting. “So who’s the new XO gonna be?” was the first thing out of the COB’s mouth.

 

Crane laughed, his good humor restored. “The Admiral and I are still discussing it.”

 

Kowalski nodded and toyed with his coffee cup for a moment, another question clearly on his mind. Crane knew what it was. Ski finally asked it.

 

“What about you, skipper? Are you staying on?”

 

Crane sighed, the mood broken. “At least for another year or so. After that…” He hesitated. No one other than Admiral Nelson had a clue as to why they were so interested in the sunken boomer. On the other hand, perhaps now was the time to find out if Britanov would be acceptable to Seaview’s crew. If Kowalski wouldn’t even consider the man as XO, there was no point in taking that particular issue any further.

 

“Ski, remember I told you about me and Admiral Nelson meeting the captain of the K-219. He’s… he’s a lot like me. We‘ve been keeping an eye on him for some years now.”

 

Kowalski blinked, but it didn’t take him long to add the pieces together. “You think he might make an executive officer for Seaview? But he just lost his boat. And he‘s Russian.”

 

“What happened here was not an accident,” Crane reminded him, “though I’d appreciate it if you kept that to yourself for now. He got all of his crew that survived the explosion and fire off - nobody went down with the boat who wasn‘t already dead. And he did so at considerable risk to himself, from what I‘ve heard.”

 

Ski’s eyes briefly widened at the first part of Crane’s statement, then narrowed. “Just what did happen when the Ruskie sank, Skipper? And how do you know?”

 

Carefully Crane laid out everything that both Seldar and Seaview had conveyed to him about the role Augusta had played in the sinking, beginning with the first encounter of the two subs, when K-219 had caught the US boat off-guard. Ski grinned at him, knowing as well as he did just how noisy the old YANKEE class boomers were. For Britanov to pull something like that off against one of the newer Los Angeles class attack boats meant he was good, damned good at the submarine game. The grin faded though, as Lee recounted the details of what had happened on their second encounter and the subsequent collision, explosion and fire. But when he came to the part about Augusta deliberately snapping the towline to the stricken sub, Kowalski’s eyes flashed outrage.

 

“Jesus, Skipper, what were they thinking?!”

 

“I’m thinking they were trying to get the Russians to abandon her so they could swoop in and try to claim her as salvage.”

 

“That’s plain nuts, sir. Didn‘t they know they could start a war like that?”

 

Crane looked off into the dark sea beyond Seaview’s Herculite ports for a long moment before answering. “I’m not sure if they thought the Russians wouldn’t dare to try and stop them so close

to our own coast or if they’re actually stupid enough to think that a nuclear exchange is winnable.” He looked down at the top of the chart table as his finger traced a slow circle around the X that marked K-219’s position. “That’s not the worst of it, either, Ski.”

 

“What!”

 

Augusta nearly hit the launch that was taking the last of the survivors from the sub. Deliberately. The last of the crew except for Captain Britanov was aboard. They had all the codebooks ….”

 

Kowalski’s face had gone white. “Mother of God, sir. That would have been cold-blooded murder. What were they trying to do?”

 

“I guess they wanted to get the codebooks - and probably to scuttle the summit meeting in Iceland as well, Ski. Dirty politics. And I have no doubt the Chaos Lords had a hand in the whole affair.”

 

Kowalski slowly nodded. “So they really wouldn’t be very happy if you brought this particular Russian aboard Seaview.”

 

“No they wouldn’t. But I believe Igor Britanov is the kind of XO Seaview needs.” Crane held his breath, waiting to see what kind of reaction he’d get. Ski hadn’t known the details about his previous encounter with Britanov; he and Nelson had never told anyone other than Chip Morton and Will Jamison what had happened.

 

Kowalski sat motionless; Lee could almost see the wheels turning in his head. “But why not have Captain Morton come back to Seaview?”

 

“The Admiral  and I have both decided we want the missiles gone,” he said flatly. “That won’t happen as long as there’s an entirely American command crew. Besides, Voyager is Chip’s baby. I won’t ask him to give her up.”

 

Kowalski nodded thoughtfully in acknowledgement. “Bringing a Russian aboard as XO would certainly do that,” he admitted with a small smile. “But can the Institute make enough money without our government contracts?”

 

“We think so, Ski. Hell, we can always turn treasure hunter if we have to for funding. One way or another, we‘ll get by.” Or the Federation will fund us. Seldar has already mentioned the possibility. That wasn’t something he was going to mention to the COB just yet.

 

“Well, I suppose being a Ruskie, this Cap’n Igor would know how to get by on bailing wire and spit.”

 

“There is that, Ski, there is that.” Crane breathed a silent sigh of relief. If Ski was at least willing to entertain the idea of a Russian as one of the senior staff, then most of the rest of the crew probably would too. “But there’s more.”

 

The COB sat up straighter; Crane could tell he had Kowalski’s complete attention.

 

“Ski, they aren’t happy with me in command. Washington uses the excuse that admirals shouldn’t go around commanding a single sub, but the real truth is they want one of theirs in command. And since Nelson refuses to replace me with one of the officers they’ve recommended…” He shrugged wryly. “They actually offered us the idiot in command of Augusta about six months back.”

 

Kowalski rolled his eyes heavenward, causing Lee to chuckle before turning serious again.

 

“Admiral Nelson is pretty sure they’re going to cut our funding. He believes they’re trying to force him to either capitulate to their demands or make him sell Seaview to the government - if they don‘t try to seize her outright. They underestimate his resources - or his resolve. So he thinks its just a matter of time before they force a showdown anyway. I’d rather it was on our own terms at a time of our own choosing.”

 

Kowalski gave a low whistle. “I knew things didn’t go smoothly on our last couple of missions for the Navy, but I hadn’t realized it was quite this bad, Skipper.”

 

“And it’s only going to get worse if we don’t make changes soon.”

 

“I need to think on this, Skipper. It’s a lot to chew on all at once.”

 

                                                ******************

 

Three hours later came the call Crane had been waiting for. The ROV had K-219 in sight.

 

Crane returned to the control room to find Nelson, along with all of the off-duty crew who could come up with even a semi-valid excuse to be there, clustered around the large TV screen that showed what Jiggers’ cameras were recording. At that depth, even the bright spotlights illuminated only a narrow field, but it was obvious that they were looking at a nearly intact Soviet boomer. She was sitting upright on a sandy bottom, broken in two just aft of the sail. Two of her missile hatches stood open; the missiles they had contained had been ejected at some point and were lying on the sand not far from the sub. The cover was completely gone from a third empty silo that was also crossed by deep gouges; the sight drew frowns all around Seaview’s control room. There was no mistaking that something had raked the old boomer pretty hard across the top of her hull. Crane would be willing to bet there were matching scrapes on Augusta’s keel.

 

One of K-219’s outer torpedo tube doors was open as well.

 

“See if you can get a look down the torpedo tube,” Crane told the ROV operator. He knew that the inner door would be open as well, but he wanted to see how the crew reacted.

 

“Aye, sir.” The view shifted in as the ROV moved closer to the bow. It took several minutes of maneuvering, but eventually Jiggers’ lights and camera were aimed down what proved to be an empty torpedo tube - with a view of the torpedo room beyond, revealing to all that the inner door was open too.

 

A lopsided smile played around Lee Crane’s mouth as startled exclamations echoed around the control room. Captain Igor Britanov had done exactly what he would have done himself in a similar situation. With his boat disabled, his enemies closing in and his superiors making impossible demands, he got his crew off - and scuttled his boat himself. His eyes met Kowalski’s; the COB gave a slight nod. Crane had told him about Britanov scuttling K-219, but seeing the proof put the knowledge on an entirely different level.

 

Crane’s smile got little bit wider. That nod also told him that Igor Britanov was, a least tentatively in the COB‘s eyes, a suitable candidate for Seaview‘s next XO. Now to convince the rest of the crew - and Harriman Nelson - of that fact. He drummed his fingers on the edge of the table, deep in thought.

 

He straightened. “Bring the ROV up on top. I want to look at the missile hatches.” Jiggers obediently reversed course and moved down the side of the sub to a position just aft of the sail, then floated gently up to slowly cruise the length of the deck between the missile hatches.

 

“Stop,” said Crane as something anomalous caught his eye. “Focus in on that hatch there.”

 

The camera obliged and as it focused in, there was a buzz from the gathered crew. The muzzle hatch they were looking at was welded shut.

 

“What the hell, sir?” asked one of the ratings in puzzlement. “How could they launch anything out of that silo?”

 

“They couldn’t,” answered Crane grimly. He glanced over at Nelson, who was staring at the screen with an unreadable expression on his face. Even though they’d known K-219 had been a boat in less than prime condition, seeing the reality of it raised Crane’s estimation of Britanov’s abilities up another notch. The fact that anybody had gotten off alive was a testament to her captain‘s seamanship and skills; the Soviets had lost more than one boat with all hands. The fact that Moscow had sent a boomer that old in that kind of condition on patrol off the US east coast only confirmed what he’d been hearing from friends in the CIA. The Soviet Union was well into decline, bleeding out from the ruinous expense of propping up the economies of her puppet states. It was only a matter of time until Moscow had to let them go or go financially bust.

 

Of more immediate interest to him was that with one missile thoroughly lost and the welded silo certainly empty, there would only be fourteen missiles to recover - or rather, their warheads. With two warheads to each missile, that was twenty eight nukes. Would Moscow be interested in trading twenty eight nukes for a sub captain they would almost certainly beach? Hell, for their nukes back they might just trade me the whole crew, he thought with a mental grin. And wouldn’t that just put the Pentagon’s knickers in a knot!

 

“Kowalski, think we can get those hatches open and recover all the warheads?” Nelson gave him a sharp look, but to the astonishment of many in the crew, said nothing.

 

The COB looked at him in momentary surprise, then got a speculative look as he considered the problem. “I believe we can, Skipper. It’ll take several days, at the very least.”

 

Crane nodded. “See to it then, Chief.” Jackson looked at them both as if they’d lost their minds.

 

“Admiral,” he began, but Crane cut him off with a raised hand.

 

“Mr. Jackson, the issue is not up for discussion.”

 

The XO looked over at Nelson, who simply shrugged. “It’s his boat,” was the Admiral’s only reply.

 

“Aye, sir.” The XO backed off, clearly confused at the speed with which events were starting to happen. In Crane’s eyes it was just one more sign of his total unsuitability for the job as Seaview‘s second in command.

 

                                                         *************

 

“That’s the last one, sir,” sighed Seaview’s senior missile tech in relief. “Twenty eight Soviet warheads secured and stored.”

 

Crane looked at the lead lined crates stacked between Seaview’s silos and nodded. It had taken them a week to salvage all the warheads, because K-219’s missiles - fueled by liquid hydrazine and nitrogen tetroxide - had not taken their rough ride to the bottom well. About half of them had tried to launch themselves at some point during K-219’s final dive, jamming some of the muzzle hatches and blowing out the sides of the silos in others. Plus the nitrogen tetroxide reacted with seawater to form nitric acid - powerful, nasty stuff, resulting in parts of the missile bay having simply dissolved away.

 

Fortunately the week’s time had allowed plenty of seawater to circulate and dilute the poisonous chemical brew that had been formed by the rupturing missile bodies. Crane shuddered. Even so, he was heartily glad that she’d been far too deep for manned diving. Diluted the witch’s brew might be, but it wasn’t entirely gone. They were going to have to thoroughly decontaminate the ROV’s they’d used in the recovery operation.

 

The intercom chimed, breaking into his thoughts. “Admiral, we’re picking up screws bearing in this direction. Sounds like the Atlantis from Woods Hole.”

 

Crane nodded grimly. He’d wondered how long it would take the bastards to show up to pick over  K-219’s carcass like vultures on a road kill. He picked up the mike. “Rig for ultra silent and ease us out of here, Mr. Veerman,” he told the watch officer. “Set a course for Holy Loch, Scotland. I don’t want Atlantis to know we were ever here.”

 

There was a moment of stunned silence at the other end. “Ultra silent, aye sir,” the officer finally answered. “Setting course for Scotland.”

 

Crane hung up the mike and turned to meet the questioning eyes of Seaview’s missile techs. “Admiral Nelson and I have discussed this. There are other factors at play here which we haven’t told anyone about yet, but which will be revealed in due time.” He wasn’t going to tell them just yet that the plan was to trade the warheads back to the Soviets for two of their officers.

 

The older hands nodded, satisfied. If their two admirals had a plan, then they were willing to let events proceed.

 

But events had already taken a turn that no one expected and no one was aware of except Seaview. As the crewmen turned their attention to other duties, no one noticed the weak flicker of green energy that flowed out of one of the boxes containing equipment from K-219. A stronger blue-green glow appeared at the grill of the ventilation shaft; the green flowed up the wall to be greeted by the other with soft mummers. Both then vanished into the air duct, unnoticed by anyone.

 

K-219 had survived.

 

                                                        ****************

 

Captain Second Rank Igor Britanov lay on his bunk at the Gorky Naval Rest Center and stared at the ceiling as he contemplated his future. Actually, he wasn’t entirely sure at this point that he even had one. The Minister of Defense was insisting that he be charged for losing K-219; the fact that the boat had sunk because of the actions of that lunatic American sub captain was apparently irrelevant. Even more damming in the eyes of his superiors was the fact that he saved the crew, rather than loosing all hands in what everyone knew would have been a futile attempt to save the boat. That he’d also prevented much of the US East Coast from being irradiated in a meltdown of the reactors - or worse, the missiles cooking off and launching on their own in the fire - was in his superiors’ minds, of no consequence. They were pressing for a penalty of twenty years in prison.

 

That is going to be a tough place for Crane and Nelson to rescue me from.

 

He suppressed a slightly hysterical giggle. When K-219 had sucked him and the life raft down during his final plunge, he’d looked up and seen the light disappearing - and had experienced a rather startling vision. Or rather partly a memory, if what he thought what he recalled was real and not some strange aberration brought on by the trauma of near death.

 

The Restaurant at the End of the Universe. He’d have laughed if the situation hadn’t been so grim. Elders, aliens, prophecy… it was completely insane and yet it felt so real. The astonishment on the faces of the two Americans when the alien had pronounced that he’d save their country - well, his own expression had probably been just as stunned as theirs. Yet that was basically what he’d just done. How could that creature have known? And what had those two entities that had argued over him been? Part of him was certain that one was the soul of K-219, but what could the other have been? Seaview? Could a machine truly be…alive?

 

He rolled over, trying to get comfortable, but his mind continued to review the entire episode. The matter of fact way the two Americans had reacted to the presence of so many aliens left him dumbfounded. Not only that - one of them had proved to be someone the Americans personally knew! He had to shake his head. Strange rumors occasionally made the rounds concerning Seaview; before this he had usually dismissed them out of hand as exaggerations at best and outright fabrications at worst. But now…

 

Now he wondered how many of them were actually true. And what it must be like to command a boat that led so strange an existence. He couldn’t decide if he envied or pitied Crane. One thing was for sure though - Crane’s life must never be dull.

 

A knock on the door disturbed his ruminations.

 

“Enter,” he called.

 

The two heads that peered through the doorway proved to be his Chief Engineer, Igor Krasilnikov and his Security Officer, Valery Pshenichny. He gave them a wan smile and beckoned them on in.

 

“Valery, what are you doing here? You’re not in trouble, but you will be if the KGB finds out you’re here.”

 

Pshenichny shrugged. “I heard what they are trying to do to you and Igor, Captain. It sucks. Besides, I am KGB. And none of us would be here if you hadn’t gotten us off the boat. For that, I owe you my life.” He picked up a chair and firmly planted it beside the bed, plopping himself down in it. “It’s that smarmy little bastard Sergiyenko, trying to cover up the fact he’s such a coward.”

 

Britanov simply grunted. He’d always known the Political Officer was a worm. He’d never been a submariner, a member of the crew. He’d always been and always would be just a Communist Party hack.

 

“Anyway, despite Defense Minister Sokolov’s desire to have your head for a trophy, they’re releasing you for now, pending sentencing. You’ll have to leave the base at Gadzhievo, of course.” Pshenichny offered the information somewhat hesitantly, as if not entirely sure of it’s accuracy.

 

Britanov sat up, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. “Pending sentencing? There’s doubt about it?”

 

“Something odd is going on, Captain,” said the Chief Engineer as he settled on the bed beside Britanov.

 

“Odd, Grandfather?” he asked, using Krasilnikov’s nickname.

 

“More than odd,” answered Pshenichny for the chief engineer. “I have heard that that one of those two American admirals, the one’s that are supposed to own their own research submarine, have asked to discretely meet with certain parties in the Politburo and that your name came up in the conversation.”

 

“Harriman Nelson?” Could it be? He couldn’t help the expression of wistful hope that briefly lit his face.

 

Pshenichny looked at him thoughtfully. “I think the name I heard was Crane - I believe he was Nelson‘s captain before he was promoted to flag rank.” He paused briefly, then asked, “Do you know these American admirals, Igor?”

 

Britanov shook his head. “Not exactly.”

 

“How can you ‘not exactly’ know them, Captain?” asked his chief engineer, cocking his head to one side, curiosity written all over him.

 

“Do you remember our discussion about the sea being big enough to hold miracles, Grandfather?”

 

“Before you sent us off the boat and stayed behind like a lunatic? Yes. But what does that have to do with Crane and Nelson?”

 

“Theoretically,” he told them with a lopsided smile, “I suppose it was what one could call an out of body experience. It actually happened years ago, but I only remembered it when the boat pulled me under on his way down.” He sighed. “Or maybe it was all just a delusion. But if Crane is asking about me, then maybe it was real.”

 

Pshenichny’s expression struggled between disbelief and curiosity. Curiosity finally won out. “Where did you go then?”

 

“To a place called the Restaurant at the End of the Universe. It was,” he added dryly, “a very strange experience. Admiral Nelson, Captain Crane and myself were the only humans there.”

 

“Not Heaven or Hell?” asked Krasilnikov, puzzled.

 

“Apparently not. Although, when I first got there, I wouldn’t have bet on it not being Hell.”

 

“So if you were the only people there…”

 

“The only humans, Valery. There were a great many ‘people’ there.” He paused. “They were all aliens. Of a great many different species, I might add. Nelson and Crane knew one of them personally - a very short, four armed, four eyed, furry alien named Seldar.”

 

“Is this a joke, Captain? Surely it couldn’t have been real,” exclaimed Pshenichny, concern written on his face for his Captain‘s sanity.

 

Britanov shrugged, not blaming him for his disbelief. It happened to him and he was still having problems believing. “Valery, you have friends in the space program. Did you ever hear anything about an American spacecraft going missing? This would have been about nine years ago.”

 

Pshenichny went still for a moment, his expression shifting to discomfort. “Yes,” he said slowly. “There was a wild rumor about one of their experimental shuttles...”

 

“That it wound up on Venus? And would one of the crew have been the Seaview’s executive officer? Morton I believe his name was?”

 

“How,” asked Pshenichny slowly, “did you know that? The Americans never released any information about that flight. And it was only by sheer chance that I heard anything about it at KGB.”

 

“Captain Crane told me that Seldar rescued them.”

 

“Them?” came as a pair of echoes from Pshenichny and Krasilnikov.

 

Britanov sighed. “From what I was told, an alien race called the Centaur took the shuttle and then abducted both Nelson and Crane. This Seldar person is from something called the Federation - their government I suppose - and he rescued them. There was yet another race, known as the Elders, which seems to be split into two groups, one of which apparently put these Centaur up to it. The other group of Elders was behind my … ah… experience.”

 

“That sounds awfully… bizarre, Captain,” said Pshenichny, getting up to pace.

 

Britanov snorted. “Crazy, you mean. Look, Valery, a lot of what we’ve heard about Seaview over the years has been nothing less than insane. We always dismissed the rumors and stories as exaggerations or even outright lies and yet the rumors keep coming. What if at least some of them are true? What if Seaview isn‘t an ordinary submarine?”

 

There was a long moment of silence as Britanov’s two officers contemplated the implications of their Captain’s question. Finally the Chief Engineer spoke.

 

“Captain, assuming for a moment this is all true - what do they want with you?

 

Britanov closed his eyes for a moment and took a deep breath as he considered the question. Finally opening his eyes and looking them in the face, he admitted, “One of the aliens told me that I would save the Americans’ country and that then they would have to rescue me. It may well be that they are trying to fulfill their end of the bargain, though I have no idea how they might accomplish it. Beyond that - I haven’t got a clue.”

 

                                         ***********************

 

Lee Crane sat beside the chart table in Seaview’s control room seemingly concentrating on the papers in front of him. In actual fact he was closely watching Lt. Commander Jackson, who was slowly angling for the radio room, thinking that he was being subtle.

 

Crane couldn’t decide if he ought to smile or sigh at the man’s stupidity. Did Jackson really think that he’d be able to send a report about the unauthorized salvage operation they’d done on K-219? Or about the clandestine messages that they had sent to Moscow? Admiral Nelson had already had a word with the communications officer and their radio operators - all of them - and he had had a word himself with Seaview. Nothing would go out that he or Nelson hadn’t approved beforehand. On the other hand, once this little act had played itself out, they’d be free to relieve Jackson of his duties and ship him ashore along with the former chief engineer. There were others in the crew who were restless, but they were almost to a man newer hands. The vast majority of the crew who’d been with the boat from the first few years seemed to be having no problem with recent events. He had a feeling once they got down to the ones who’d stay, they’d have just about what was needed for the overhaul that Nelson was furiously working on plans for.

 

He had to grin. Given the opportunity removing the missiles offered, Nelson had soon put aside his grumbling and lost himself in the challenge of creating a new design to fit within the parameters of the old hull. Seaview seemed almost as excited about it as the Admiral.

 

The flicker of lights in the periphery of his vision caught his attention. He turned his head, scrutinizing the board that had shown lights it shouldn’t have. There were systems on in the Flying Sub that shouldn’t be. He muttered under his breath and got up to check, but before he could reach the station, the lights all blinked off.

 

He paused. That was odd. Seaview seldom ever interacted directly with the Flying Sub like that - and she normally would let him know in advance if she was. The hairs on the back of his neck began to rise. “Oh, hell,” he muttered to himself. Could FS1 be stirring? Nelson would have a cow if she was.

 

Placing his pencil down on the chart table, Crane started forward towards the Flying Sub’s bay with seeming casualness. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Jackson sidle towards the radio room. Damn. He paused and Jackson froze in place, pretending to examine one of the panels on the bulkhead. A part of him almost laughed; the situation would have been funny if the consequences weren’t so dire. As he contemplated what to do, he saw a brief flicker of blue-green run down the wall behind the radio console, followed by a sudden loud pop and a shower of sparks from the equipment. The radio operator yelped and leaped out of his chair, grabbing for a fire extinguisher. Crane pivoted and ran to help, but the fire was out before he’d taken more than a couple of steps.

 

Huh. Now that was truly weird. He continued on into the radio room and surveyed the wreckage of the transmitter. The damage was actually fairly minimal, but nobody was going to be broadcasting anything for a while, at least not until the panel was rewired. Seaview wasn’t in the habit of damaging herself like that though, not unless she thought it was of utmost importance. So what was going on that she was willing to go to such lengths over? His eyed narrowed. His Lady had some explaining to do.

 

Stepping back, Crane allowed the Damage Control party in. They’d check of course, to see if they could locate the cause of the fire, but he knew it was unlikely they’d find much. He, on the other hand, now felt that it was imperative that he find out what was going on with the Flying Sub.

 

“Mr. Jackson.” The XO’s head snapped around and Crane caught sight of the fear in the man’s face. “I need to go check on something. Call me when repairs are done here.”

 

“Yes, sir.” Jackson drew himself up into what was almost a shaky salute. Crane pretended not to notice, but the buzz around the control room told him that the crew saw it too. Jackson was definitely losing it, but he didn‘t have time to deal with the man right at the moment.

 

Crane turned and headed back forward. A slithery sound in the ductwork told him Seaview was keeping pace. Once through the watertight door, he swung it shut and dogged it closed. He turned to face the grill and crossed his arms.

 

“What’s going on with the Flying Sub?” he demanded.

 

A soft sibilant sigh came from the grill, followed by a faint whisper. “K-219.”

 

Crane’s eyes widened. “What? That’s not possible. She sank!”

 

He got the impression that Seaview was looking down at him with a somewhat vexed expression at his lack of comprehension. “But ….” He closed his mouth and tried to corral his frantic thoughts. “Oh…My…God.” He didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. “Harry is gonna have a litter of kittens!”

 

Seaview snorted.

 

“But how?” He got the impression of a shrug. Perhaps she didn’t know for sure herself. He sternly told himself to get a grip. “Does she know we want Igor Britanov as your XO?”

 

The affirmative chirp told him that she did.

 

“And how’s she dealing with the idea?” he asked dryly. “After all, he did scuttle her.”

 

There was a wryness in the sigh that answered.

 

Crane rubbed at his temple. Talk about a complication. “Will she talk to me?”

 

The moment of hesitation before the answer wasn’t reassuring.

 

“Maybe if it was both of us?”

 

This time the chirp was more positive.

 

“I take it she is hiding out in the Flying Sub? That’s why some of the systems are on line?”

 

The answering chirp had a note of laughter in it. Laughter? Now Crane’s curiosity was aroused.

 

“Let’s go talk to her then. I just hope my Russian is up to the task.”

 

The blue-green light that was Seaview’s visible manifestation flickered away, presumably to warn K-219 to expect company. He shook his head and followed in her wake.

 

By the time he reached the chamber above the Flying Sub bay Seaview was waiting, coiled around the hatch. As he spun the hatch open and looked in, he saw that the interior lights were off, though many of the panel lights glowed with power. Something in a deep shade of dimly luminescent green moved in the shadows, murmuring unhappily.

 

“K-219?” Crane addressed the entity below in Russian. It went still in what he could only surmise was surprise at being addressed in a familiar language. “May I come down and speak with you?”

 

The impression of bright iridescent green eyes peered up at him, openly astonished at the courtesy he was offering since this was, after all, his boat. Equally clearly, she was unused to being addressed directly by a stranger in a manner that acknowledged her as a living entity.

 

A deep, velvety baritone “Da” floated up from below. Crane arched an eyebrow. Oops. Obviously not a she. Was that what Seaview had been so amused about? Could that also have had anything to do with her shift in attitude towards the Russian boat since their first encounter? He stepped cautiously down the ladder, careful to not make any sudden moves that K-219 might find threatening. At the bottom he paused, not quite sure what to do. Seaview, however, had flowed down behind him and coiled into the copilot’s seat. Taking that as his cue, he walked over and spun the pilot’s chair around so he could sit facing K-219.

 

He wasn’t sure what to say to him. How did one have a conversation with the spirit? soul? of a vessel that had been built to destroy his country? He could hear the faint whispers and murmurings between K-219 and Seaview as the Russian sub stirred uneasily in the shadows. As he watched, silently, he became aware that there was anxiety in that watchful gaze. It dawned on him that the other was as much at a loss as he was. He couldn’t have ever expected to survive his plunge to the bottom - let alone that he might be rescued by his supposed enemies. Crane gave K-219 a lopsided smile and saw the eyes tilt, almost in the same fashion as a person tilting their head to one side, and lose some of their apprehensiveness.

 

His smile grew warmer. “This is unexpected for both of us,” he told him. The gurgle of dry laughter in response told him the Russian boat saw both the truth and humor of that statement. Turning serious, Crane continued. “Has Seaview filled you in on exactly what has been going on?”

 

Subdued assent. Well, he’d have been surprised if K-219 was entirely happy with the situation - Lee knew he wasn’t.

 

“You know why your captain did what he did?”

 

There was a very long pause before the reluctant sigh told him he did understand. He wasn’t happy with it, but he couldn’t truly fault Britanov for his actions.

 

Seaview has told you we want him as XO? And Krasilnikov as Chief Engineer?”

 

That last sentence got K-219’s attention. Ah. So he definitely had a favorite. It made sense when Lee thought about it - he’d known Krasilnikov longer. Not to mention the engineer was the one who’d spent his leave time aboard, keeping the aging systems running; a northern Soviet naval base didn’t have a lot in the way of diversion for a divorced man in his late thirties. As he reflected on that, it suddenly occurred to Crane that Britanov might not have been aware K-219 was alive when he opened the torpedo tube to scuttle his command. In that case, Seaview was going to come as something of a shock to the Russian despite what he‘d earlier said to Nelson; Crane was almost afraid to contemplate how the Soviet officer would react to meeting K-219 in his current form. The Chief Engineer, on the other hand…

 

“Did Krasilnikov know what you are?”

 

“Nyet.”

 

“Are you sure?” That no hadn’t sounded very certain. He got the distinct impression of a shrug. So the Chief Engineer might well have suspected there was something unusual about K-219. He wondered how that might affect the working relationship between Britanov and Krasilnikov. He’d have to ask Seldar how the two officers were getting along now that they were back in the Soviet Union.

 

A discrete knock on the hatch above interrupted his train of thought. Crane peered up warily; it wouldn’t do to get caught talking to something that most people would refuse to believe wasn’t there - and in Russian at that.

 

“Skipper?” The voice belonged to Kowalski.

 

“Yes, Chief?” He knew the COB wouldn’t have come looking for him if it wasn’t important.

 

“Sir, you might want to get back to the control room. Mister Jackson is losing it.”

 

Damn. “I’ll be right there.” He turned to K-219 and Seaview and said in Russian, “My Lady and sir, if you will excuse me, I have a small crisis to attend to.”

 

Seaview snorted in derision; Crane could feel K-219’s curiosity. He had a feeling they’d be discussing Jackson before he even cleared the hatch - and that Seaview would still beat him back to the control room.

 

He hurried up the ladder to find the COB looking apprehensively down into the Flying Sub. “My Lady and Sir?” Kowalski asked as soon as he had climbed out.

 

Crane shook his head, remembering that Kowalski could also speak Russian. “Long story, Ski. Short version - K-219 is like Seaview - alive - and he survived and has taken up residence in FS1.”

 

Kowalski’s eyes widened in stunned surprise. “Holy Cow, sir!” he blurted out, “Does Admiral Nelson know?” Then, almost as an afterthought, “He?”

 

“Not yet,” Crane told him wryly. “One crisis at a time though, Chief. Let’s deal with Jackson first. And, yes, definitely he.” And maybe dealing with Jackson will give me enough time to figure out how to tell Harry that his newest creation has been co-opted by the spirit of a Russian boomer.

 

That was certainly going to be an interesting conversation. He might ought to have a big bottle of aspirin handy - or better yet - a very large bottle of Scotch.

 

                                              **************

 

Jackson was standing by the chart table, but it was obvious to Crane as soon as he laid eyes on the man that Kowalski had been entirely correct when he said the XO was losing it. The man had both hands braced on the table in front of him; his head was down and his eyes were closed. As Crane stepped into the control room, he saw a visible tremor run through the XO’s body.

 

Crane gave Kowalski a glance and inclined his head in the direction of sickbay. With the experience gained from years of service aboard Seaview, the COB read his silent instructions perfectly and faded aft to fetch the current CMO. Continuing across the deck, Crane came to a stop beside the XO.

 

“Jackson?”

 

The man’s head jerked up, his eyes wide with fear. “Sir,” he stammered.

 

“At ease, Mr. Jackson,” Crane told him as he put a hand on the man‘s shoulder. “Everything’s under control.”

 

“I can hear her, sir,” said Jackson, giving Crane with a desperate look.

 

“What? Who?” Crane froze, suddenly wary. Surely he couldn’t mean Seaview - could he?

 

“The boat,” Jackson answered, dropping his head back down. “She doesn’t like me.”

 

Crane’s jaw dropped; he stared at Jackson with an expression that bordered on horror. Jackson misinterpreted the look and put both hands over his face as his shoulders shook.

 

“I’m going insane,” he whimpered.

 

Crane tightened his grip on the XO’s shoulder. “No,” he told him in a quiet whisper meant only for the other’s ears, “you’re not crazy.”

 

“Don’t humor me, sir.”

 

“I’m not,” Crane answered with a sigh.

 

Something in his tone must have gotten through to the other man, because Jackson dropped his hands to peer uncertainly at Crane.

 

“Let’s go to my quarters and discuss this in private.” This wasn’t a conversation he wanted anyone else to hear - and hadn’t thought he’d ever be having with Jackson in the first place. Of all the people on the boat to be sensitive enough to hear her, he wouldn’t have picked the XO. On the other hand, maybe that explained why he was such a stuck up prick; reality aboard Seaview wasn’t something the Academy prepared one for. Not that it as going to make any difference in whether or not the man stayed aboard as XO, because he was right about one thing - Seaview truly didn’t like him. He heard a small huff from the vent above his head and knew that Jackson’s admission had come as much of a surprise to the boat as it had him.

 

Jackson apparently heard the sound too, for his eyes flickered briefly to the grille before dropping back down.

 

Sighing, Crane motioned the Weapons Officer over. “Mr. Scott, you’ve got command. Mr. Jackson and I have something to discuss.” As the startled officer took a position at the chart table, Crane took the XO by the arm and led him aft from the control room, just in time to meet Kowalski and Doctor Taake in the corridor beyond.

 

“Doc, would you meet us later in sick bay? I’d like to discuss something with Mr. Jackson first.”

 

The doctor gave Kowalski a puzzled look, which the COB returned. “Of course, Admiral Crane.  Er, the Chief mentioned a problem…..”

 

Jackson laughed bitterly at the question. “Yeah, Doc, there’s a problem. Me. I’m not wanted here….” He trailed off at the soft slithery sound that echoed through the ventilation system and shivered.

 

“Maybe a tranquilizer?” the doctor offered hesitantly, not quite sure what was going on, but sensing an impending crisis that he suspected needed to be headed off.

 

“Might not be a bad idea,” murmured Crane.

 

“Do you have something the size of a horse pill?” Jackson asked, a note of bitterness in his voice.

 

“Perhaps something not quite that strong,” answered the doctor with an expression of wary surprise. “Do you want to swing by sickbay, or shall I bring it to your cabin, Admiral?”

 

“Bring it to my cabin,” responded Crane. The fewer people Jackson mentioned his problem to, the better. 

 

“Aye, sir,” responded the doctor as Crane led Jackson away.

 

Once in his cabin Crane locked the door and motioned Jackson into a chair in front of his desk. Settling in his own chair, he put his elbows on the desk, steepling his fingers as he looked thoughtfully at the XO.

 

“When did you start becoming aware of the boat, Doug?” he asked gently.

 

Jackson shrugged uncertainly. “I’m not entirely sure, sir. Probably within the first month of coming aboard. I just thought it was my imagination at first….” He trailed unhappily off into silence, shivering. Crane waited patiently for the question he knew was coming.

 

“Sir, what did Admiral Nelson do that made the boat like this?”

 

“The Admiral didn’t do anything to her.” He sighed, something he found himself doing a lot of anymore. “No one did anything. It just happened.” He could see disbelief in the XO’s face. “For what it’s worth, Doug, Admiral Nelson isn’t particularly happy about Seaview becoming what she has either - but there isn’t anything that he or anybody else can do that would undo it.” There was an answering snort from the ventilation grille on the wall above his head.

 

Jackson cringed.

 

A thought occurred to Crane. “Have you ever seen her, Mr. Jackson?”

 

The XO’s head shot up in startled surprise. “What?”

 

“I guess not. Do you want to?”

 

The look of absolute horror on the man’s face was answer enough. He clearly couldn’t handle the situation.

 

“I suppose at this point you wouldn’t be too upset if I told you you’re relieved of your duties, would you.” Crane tone made the question a statement of fact rather than a true query. Jackson’s expression was a study in contrasts - relief, dismay, apprehension all warred for dominance. Relief finally won.

 

“Thank you, sir,” Jackson replied in a shaky voice. Crane could only shake his head at the bizarreness of the situation.

 

“I don’t know what you’re thanking me for, Mr. Jackson. This won’t look good on your record - and I doubt there will be a position open at the Institute that you’re qualified for.” The other gave a shudder. Crane shook his head and continued. “I take it then, you have no desire to remain in the Institute’s employ?” An emphatic negative - no surprise given how the man had reacted to the situation so far. “You do realize, of course, that if you mention to anyone about Seaview that the Institute will deny it - and point out that you were relieved of your duties because you cracked under stress.”

 

There was a startled look in Jackson’s eyes, followed by dismay. Crane hated playing hardball like this, but it was imperative that Seaview’s secret not get out, at least not yet.

 

More shuffling came from the vent, followed by soft edge of hearing sibilant whispers. Crane recognized the voices and almost groaned aloud. He saw Jackson’s eyes lift to the vent and go wide with terror.

 

Crane tilted his chair back and looked up. “Ahem,” he said dryly. The voices went silent for a moment.

 

A thud from in front of his desk brought his attention back down from the grille. The chair in front of him was empty. He hastily stood and looked over the front edge of his desk to see Jackson had toppled onto the deck and was lying motionless beside the chair. He gave Seaview a reproving look over his shoulder and got what sounded suspiciously like a raspberry in return.

 

“You’re incorrigible, you know that don’t you? And not to mention a bad influence for K-219.” He shook his head at the two as he reached for the intercom.

 

“Sickbay,” he said, clicking the mike. 

 

“Sickbay,” promptly answered Dr. Taake.

 

“Doc, we’ve got a small problem here. Could you come to my cabin now? Mr. Jackson has apparently passed out.”

 

“Certainly, Admiral. I’ll bring Chief Kowalski and an orderly with me - and a stretcher as a precaution.”

 

“That might be a good idea, Doctor.”

 

“On my way.”

 

Crane looked up at the grille. “You two should probably make yourselves scarce for a bit,” he told the two submarines, repeating it in Russian for K-219. A low “Da” of agreement floated out, followed by the ever so faint sounds of slithering that rapidly faded away.

 

A knock on his cabin door heralded the arrival of Doctor Taake and Kowalski. As he opened the door and ushered the three men in, the doctor took one look at Jackson sprawled on the deck and gave Crane a brief look of reproach before kneeling down to examine the unconscious officer.

 

“What happened, sir?” asked Kowalski, clearly puzzled.

 

“It seems that Mr. Jackson has been hearing things, Chief.” The startled looked on Kowalski’s face asked the question the COB couldn’t voice out loud with the doctor present. Crane gave him a small nod of affirmation and added. “While we were talking, it seems he also saw something.” Kowalski’s eyes flickered briefly to the grille above Crane’s desk and he shook his head.

 

“No wonder Mr. Jackson was losing it.”

 

“Hallucinations?” The doctor looked up from his examination as he asked the question, a concerned expression on his face. Crane could only shrug. He didn’t want to actually lie to Taake, but he couldn’t afford to admit the truth either. He simply let the doctor draw his own erroneous conclusion. It did make him wish that Jamieson was still the boat’s CMO though; Jamie knew enough about what was really going on that he could have simply told the truth.

 

“Chief, I need to get him into sickbay immediately.” Jackson was beginning to stir - and was mumbling that there were two of them. Taake was apparently treating the mumblings as a sign of Jackson’s breakdown - which really wasn’t all that far from the truth, Crane realized. The man just wasn’t psychologically wired to handle the kind of weirdness that came with being a member of Seaview’s crew. It was too bad, really; the man might have someday made an adequate officer.

 

With the COB’s help, Jackson was soon strapped onto the stretcher. As they made ready to leave, Crane said to Kowalski, “Chief, once Doctor Taake has Mr. Jackson settled into sick bay, could you come back? There’s some things we need to discuss about the watch roster since we’re going to be short-handed in both Engineering and the Control Room.”

 

“Aye, sir,” nodded the chief before disappearing out the door.

 

He waited long enough for the doctor to get out of earshot then leaned back in his chair and looked up at the grille.

 

Seaview,” he said rather sternly.

 

There was a soft rustle in the vent, then blue-green light flowed down the wall, followed closely by the darker shade of green that was K-219. Both flowed across the deck and up onto his bunk. He looked at Seaview and shook his head.

 

“Did you have any idea that Jackson was sensitive enough to hear you?”

 

There was an emphatic negative.

 

Crane sighed. “I didn’t think so. I certainly never would have expected it either.” He was acutely aware that K-219 was watching the conversation with an expression that he could only describe as rapt fascination. Clearly this kind of open interaction was something very new to the other boat, but he seemed to be adjusting rapidly to his new circumstances. Crane shifted into Russian and asked, “Just out of curiosity, how do you think Britanov will react to discovering you are alive?”

 

K-219 shifted his coiled form and looked thoughtful. “Knows,” came the soft rumbled reply.

 

Crane arched an eyebrow in surprise. “Before he sank you?” The response was an emphatic negative. “When he sank you, then? How?”

 

The Russian boat actually looked embarrassed. “Spoke.

 

“You didn’t threaten him, did you?” That could prove to be a problem, if so.

 

Nyet.”

 

At Crane’s perplexed look, Seaview provided an answer, “Avenging.

 

Ah. Crane sank back in his chair, thoughtful. If he was reading their responses right, K-219 had revealed himself to Britanov at the end and told him he wanted to be avenged. But on whom? Augusta or the Chaos Lords? It was important to know.

 

“Vengeance on Augusta?” The negative he got in response was a relief. “Are you aware of the Chaos Lords then?”

 

K-219’s response was an almost feral growl.

 

“I take it that means you do,” said Crane dryly. “And the role they’ve played in all of this.”

 

Da.” The answer was almost hissed.

 

A sharp rap on the door interrupted. “Come,” said Crane, expecting the COB.

 

Admiral Harriman Nelson strode in - and stopped dead in his tracks at the sight of the two entities curled up on Crane’s bunk.

 

Oops,” came from Seaview as K-219 reared up in alarm and flattened against the bulkhead.

 

“What the hell?” asked Nelson, carefully not moving as he stared at the two, a perplexed expression on his face. As the Admiral’s eyes went to Seaview, there was a look of half recognition, but he clearly didn’t know what to make of K-219.

 

Crane dropped his head and rubbed the palm of one hand against his forehead. He’d wanted to gradually prepare Nelson for the news about K-219, but it looked like fate - or somebody - had other plans.

 

“Harry, this is Seaview - and K-219.” There, he’d said it. He mentally cringed as he waited for the explosion.

 

It didn’t come.

 

“Huh,” was all Nelson said. “So Jackson was right - there are two of them.”

 

“You just came from sickbay?”

 

Nelson turned his attention to Crane. “Doctor Taake called me. He wanted to know if I wanted him to fly Jackson back to the States for treatment.”

 

Crane sighed. “So what did you tell him?”

 

“That I wanted to consult with you first.” Nelson’s look was full of irony. “You care to explain exactly what’s going on here?”

 

“Beats me,” admitted Crane. “I only found out a little while ago myself. Apparently when we were salvaging warheads, Seaview was doing some salvaging of her own.” The irony in his tone matched Nelson’s expression.

 

To his surprise Nelson just ruefully shook his head. “And I didn’t want to admit Seaview was real. I guess somebody decided to beat me over the head with the obvious.” He turned to the two submarines; Seaview hadn’t stirred from the bunk, while K-219 had settled back down and was peering around her, uncertainty in his posture. The soft sibilant murmur passing between the two of them was just barely audible.

 

Nelson crossed him arms and glared at the pair; K-219’s soft snort made Crane wince, but there was something that sounded suspiciously like a chuckle from Seaview. Nelson rolled his eyes upwards and muttered under his breath that he got no respect from anybody anymore.

 

He turned back to Crane and snagged the chair in front of the desk, plopping down in it and planting his elbows on the edge of the desk. It was obvious from the Admiral‘s expression that Crane‘s words about Seaview being his creation in more than just her design were starting to sink in. “So now what do we do with two of them? Are they’re sharing a body for the duration?”

 

“Er…” Crane hesitated at the question and saw realization dawn in Nelson’s eyes. There was only one other craft that was a likely candidate.

 

“Not FS1?” The tone was full of dismay.

 

“I’m afraid so.” To stave off an explosion of temper he added, “My guess is it’d be like you and me trying to share the same body.” The look on Nelson’s face was priceless as he grappled with the concept; Crane knew he’d cut off any argument when he saw the Admiral’s shoulder’s sag in defeat.

 

“And you think Britanov can handle all this weirdness?” It was obviously Nelson’s last ditch effort to stave off the inevitable.

 

“K-219 tells me that Britanov did indeed know that he was alive. You might recall that I told you he did.”

 

Nelson’s expression looked sour; Crane knew he didn’t much like the turn recent events had taken. His treatment in Washington still rankled and he wasn’t very happy with their planned course of action, but until they’d made certain arrangements, he was having to sit on his ire. Frankly, Crane was surprised he hadn’t bitten someone’s head off already. It had looked for a moment like he might take it out on Seaview, but common sense - or something - had prevailed. It was obvious Nelson was wary of upsetting on the two submarine entities. Perhaps he had decided discretion might be the better part of valor in this instance.

 

Another tap on the door again interrupted. As Nelson’s eyebrows arched, Kowalski called from the other side.

 

“Admiral, it’s me.”

 

“Come on in, Ski.”

 

Kowalski walked in - and came to an abrupt and obviously surprised stop. He stared at both Seaview and K-219; his eyebrows climbed almost to his hairline as he glanced over at Crane and Nelson for an explanation. Seaview’s musical chuckle brought his eyes back to the two submarines.

 

As a slow smile spread across his face, the COB visibly relaxed. “Seaview,” he said with a small bow in the direction of Crane’s bunk. “And you must be K-219,” he added in Russian, with a nod to the other.

 

K-219’s eyes tilted inquisitively.

 

“This is Chief of the Boat, Chief Petty Officer Kowalski,” said Crane to K-219’s unspoken question. “He’s the senior enlisted man aboard. And he knows what‘s going on.” He saw K-219 blink - or at least it seemed that he’d blinked - in surprise. Crane reflected that Soviet enlisted personnel were almost never briefed in on top secret ops; K-219 was going to be in for a bit of culture shock about the way the Institute operated. Good thing they had Seaview to help him make the transition to his new life style.

 

“Humph,” came from Nelson as he observed their interaction, arms still folded across his chest. “You seem to be taking this pretty well, Chief. Better than I did.”

 

Kowalski shrugged. “She’s talked to me, Admiral. I’d just never actually seen her before in this form. And I already knew about K-219.”

 

Nelson threw up his hands in final defeat. “I can see that I’m the last one to find out - as usual.”

 

Crane almost snorted himself at that statement. Such a circumstance was far from usual. As he was about to chide his boss for feeling sorry for himself, Nelson turned a jaundiced eye towards K-219, making the sub shift uneasily. The words he spoke were completely unexpected.

 

“We can’t go on calling you K-219. Do you have a name?” he asked in Russian.

 

Now it was Crane’s turn to blink in surprise at Nelson’s abrupt shift in subject. It seemed to catch both Seaview and K-219 off guard as well, for they looked at each other uncertainly. Apparently the subject hadn’t been discussed yet.

 

He leaned forward and asked, “Did Krasilnikov have a name for you, something just between you and him?” Crane knew that sailors frequently did have pet names for their vessels and he had a hunch the Russian engineer was no different.

 

K-219 ducked his head - Crane could have sworn that he was for some reason embarrassed - before muttering something that none of them could quite make out. Seaview, however understood it perfectly and repeated it for the three men.

 

“Nyet.”

 

Crane arched an eyebrow. “Is that no or is that your name?“

 

“Name.”

 

Somehow Nyet wasn’t a name he would have ever thought of, but there was no accounting for taste. There had to be a story with it, but given the boat‘s reaction, it might not be something he wanted known. “Do you want us to call you that, or would you rather pick something else?” he asked.

 

K-219 - Nyet - appeared to be thinking it over. Seaview chirped a question at him and got a negative in response. Crane thought about the question himself. In private, he called Seaview ‘My Lady’. Many of the crew referred to her as the ‘Grey Lady’ or the ‘Captain’s Lady’. K-219 might prefer to do something similar as well.

 

“You know,” he told the Russian sub, “Seaview has more than one name herself. You could do that too - a formal name for public use and a private name for informal occasions. You don‘t have to keep Nyet if you don‘t want too.” He could see K-219’s interest instantly perk. “Pick whichever language you like - Russian, English - or something else. You can take some time and reflect on it. There‘s no need to make a decision immediately.”

 

Nods from both told him that there would be much discussion between the two about something suitable.

 

The intercom chimed. “Admiral Crane,”  said the voice of the watch officer, “we’re six hours from British waters.”

 

Looks were shared around the cabin. It was time to let the crew know they weren’t bound for Scotland after all.

 

They were heading for the waters off northern Norway.

 

                                         ***********************

 

Igor Britanov stood by the living room window of his parent’s house in Sverdlovsk and held the curtain to one side, looking out on a bleak landscape of a late October morning. Winter was setting in here on the eastern slopes of the Ural Mountains - and he and his family were crammed into the small house with his parents. He sighed. It could be worse, he admitted to himself. It could be his wife and sons here alone with his parents while he sat in a prison cell somewhere.

 

He turned back away from the window. The two day trip here by train had been hell on all of them. Natalia and the boys had clung to him, apparently afraid that if they let him out of their sight he would vanish, never to be seen again. He’d rather wondered about that himself. Would the KGB make him disappear - or was Crane and Nelson’s interest in him enough to keep those in the government who wanted his head at bay? Was that why they’d let him come home to his parent’s house, because it lay at the heart of the Soviet Union, far from any seacoast where Seaview might boldly sail in and take him away? Were they hoping to use him as bait to lure Seaview in?

 

So many questions that as of yet had no answers. At this point he could only wait and see what fate had in store for him. He could yet end up somewhere in Siberia - or with a bullet in his head.

 

His father Nikolai came in from the kitchen, a disturbed look on his face. Igor arched an eyebrow in question.

 

“What is this that Natalia tells me about an American admiral who is trying to intervene for you?”

 

Igor couldn’t help a wince. He’d had to say something to his wife about why he had been allowed to leave the base with them; he hadn’t wanted to leave her with the false hope that nothing was going to happen over the loss of K-219. He hadn’t told her the full story though - the problem was, he’d never been able to lie to his father. He would have to either find a way to dodge the subject - or confess all.

 

Now that was a daunting prospect.

 

Telling his father about his little trip to  that … place - wherever it was - and the beings he’d encountered there. And that K-219 had actually spoken to him as he was going down, demanding that he be avenged. His face must have reflected something of his feelings, for Nikolai snorted, turned to a cabinet, and reaching far into the back, brought out a bottle of vodka. The good stuff, too.

 

“Come, Igor, we will go out into the garden and talk.”

 

He almost laughed. Just that morning he’d seen one of his longtime watchers out in the tiny garden behind the house. Everything they said would be heard by alien ears. On the other hand, that would probably be true no matter where they talked - and at least the aliens knew what was going on and wouldn‘t consider him insane. It was perhaps best that Natalia and his mother didn’t hear what he had to say though, at least not for now. Picking up a heavy coat, he followed his father out the back door.

 

And right into a circle of hard eyed men who could only be KGB.

 

Nikolai briefly bristled, then with a brief look of apology towards Igor, subsided in defeat. Igor never even bothered. Even if the two of them could have somehow defeated the others, there was nowhere to run. Besides, his father had the rest of the family to think about.

 

But even as the apparent leader was reaching for Igor, another car came to a squalling halt out in front of the house, followed by an army truck loaded with soldiers. The second group poured into the garden, weapons drawn, shouting, much to Igor’s surprise, at the first group to surrender. What in the world was going on? Igor and his father were herded back into the house while the first group of men was being disarmed and taken away.

 

They found themselves in the kitchen, where Igor’s mother and wife were waiting, frightened looks on their faces. The second group of men was brisk and all business. No sooner had the two Britanov men joined their respective spouses when they were given instructions for the entire family to pack, bringing frightened sobs from the women and scowls from both Igor and his father. The surprise though, came when several of the soldiers put down guns and began helping pack; it looked like they were taking everything. Igor wasn’t sure just what that meant.

 

It took less than an hour for the house to be stripped bare and everything but the appliances loaded on the truck. In the meantime a second car had arrived; when it came time to go, the women and children were put in it while Igor and his father got into the first car with the man in charge of their rescue - if that’s what it was. At this point Igor still wasn’t sure. He’d introduced himself as General Alexei Kosygin.

 

As the car headed down the road, General Kosygin stared at Igor Britanov from under bushy black eyebrows, curiosity clearly written all over his face.

 

“So tell me, Captain Britanov, just what you did that caught the attention of someone like Harriman Nelson.”

 

Igor couldn’t help the sigh that escaped. Both the general and his father looked at him with puzzlement. Well, there was no way out now - he might as well come clean. Besides, the general would most likely think he was crazy.

 

“It wasn’t Admiral Nelson’s attention that was on me, comrade general,” he said wryly. “It was some of the aliens that Nelson knows.”

 

Igor’s father gave a snort of disbelief, but the general got a distinctly wary look. “Which aliens, comrade captain?”

 

Igor’s head jerked around. “Ah,” was all he could think of to say for a few seconds as he thought furiously. So somebody in the Soviet government knew something - but which side had they gotten it from?

 

“I believe one of them was named Seldar,” he finally answered.

 

Kosygin looked thoughtful for a moment. “Federation?” he asked. Igor thought his father’s eyes were going to pop out.

 

“I think so,” nodded Igor. “And also one of the Elders - one of the Path of Light ones.” At the mention of Elders, the general’s look had turned dark, but his identification of said Elder as being from the Path of Light brought puzzlement back into the other’s expression.

 

“Not one of the Chaos Lords?” So that was what they were called? Certainly an apt name.

 

“Nyet, General. They were the ones trying to kill me and my crew.”

 

“So Nelson isn’t working with the Chaos Lords? Are you sure?” To Igor, Kosygin sounded relieved to hear Nelson wasn’t the enemy. Then, “Do you know why he wants you?”

 

“No, General, he’s not. I think the captain of the American Los Angeles class boat involved probably was, though he may not have been aware that they were manipulating him. As for the other,” Igor paused, trying to figure out how to tell this man he’d come to have the feeling that it was Seaview herself pulling these particular strings, not the American admiral. Or even if he should. He scratched his head before continuing with, “I don’t think it’s actually Nelson that wants me. I think… I think it’s Seaview that does.”

 

Seaview?” Now there was skepticism in the voice.

 

“Da.” He could see he’d have to relate part of what happened as K-219 sank. “She.. She persuaded K-219 to let me go when he was sinking. He had hold of me and was taking me down with him. I’d have drowned if not for her.”

 

“Wait,” said the general, “Seaview was there when K-219 sank?”

 

“Not with her physical form, no. She got there after we were all on the freighter.” He waved a hand in frustration. “I’m not sure how to explain it.”

 

General Kosygin stared at him for a long silent moment before finally speaking. “I’m not sure I want to know how Seaview could be there and yet not be,” was what he finally said. No indication that he thought the whole thing was impossible, that Igor had lost his mind. Somehow that was scarier than anything he’d faced so far. The expression on his father’s face was one of disbelief, maybe even horror. As a good communist he’d been taught that the supernatural - which Igor had to admit this sounded like - simply didn’t exist.

 

The general leaned back in his seat, apparently deep in thought. Not wanting to answer his father’s obvious questions in front of a man he really didn’t know, Igor turned his attention to the landscape outside and realized with a start that they were heading towards the airport.

 

“General,” he asked, “where are we going?”

 

Kosygin pursed his lips, clearly thinking about the answer to that question. Igor wondered if a pleasant lie would be what they were told, so when the general simply said, “Norway,” he wasn’t quite sure he’d heard correctly.

 

“Norway?” he repeated, echoed by his father.

 

“Da.” Kosygin shrugged. “Nelson offered the government back all of K-219’s warheads - and some of the equipment you had no chance to get off your ship - in exchange for you and Krasilnikov. Apparently he is on the outs with his own superiors and wishes to break his government ties.”

 

“If he does that, won’t they come take Seaview away from him?” Igor wanted to know.

 

Kosygin gave him a small, somewhat feral smile. “Apparently they can’t.” At the identical looks of disbelief from Igor and his father, the general elaborated. “According to very reliable sources, Nelson had a written agreement for ten years of service in exchange for funding. That agreement expired four years ago. So despite the fact that he has continued to do some work for the American government, he is not obligated to do so. He is about - to use one of their colorful expressions - to take his toys and go home. That toy is, of course, Seaview.”

 

Now Igor began to understand the real reason why his own government was willing to let him go. Not because they would get their warheads back, but because his presence aboard Seaview would drive a wedge deeper between Nelson and the current US government. For that they would have been willing to sacrifice far more than one disgraced sub captain and his chief engineer. Indeed, for such a thing the loss of K-219 would seem a small price to pay.

 

But perhaps he would get a chance to try to avenge K-219 after all. If he could figure out just who exactly K-219 wanted his vengeance on. Probably the Chaos Lords. Maybe the American captain of the Los Angeles class sub. Or both. Seaview would probably know, if what he believed about her was in fact true.

 

The airstrip came into view. As the small procession of vehicles proceeded through a side gate, he saw that they were driving straight out to a military transport. There was a sadness in his heart - this might well be the last time he ever saw his home town, if not his country. A part of him quailed at the thought. It was nothing less than exile - and his family was being exiled with him. He wondered if they would strip him of his citizenship but didn‘t dare ask. It might give them ideas, if they hadn’t already thought of it. But he did have one question.

 

“General, why are my parents coming too?” Igor felt his father stir beside him at the question. He obviously would like to know the answer to that question as well, but had apparently been too afraid to ask.

 

“To keep them from being pawns,” came the unexpected answer. Igor couldn’t help the puzzled wrinkle in his forehead; keeping family members as pawns was so much a part of the way the Soviet government worked that he couldn’t quite believe what he was hearing. The general gave him an ironic smile and explained further. “There’s too much at stake here to play the usual games, Captain. No doubt there will be those in the US government who will try to use them, but,” he shrugged, “they’ll have to get past Nelson - and his friends - first. We’ve tried to get to his people in the past and haven’t had much success. I doubt his own government will do much better. They can’t and maintain their façade of being a democracy.”

 

Igor blinked. For a person with the rank Kosygin had to say the stakes were too big for the usual games was daunting. He was just a submarine captain - well, not even that now, since K-219 was dead. Which made him wonder just what Seaview did want him for. Admiral Crane was her captain. An odd situation to be sure, having an admiral in that position… His thoughts jerked to an astonished halt. Surely not! The very notion took his breath away. Himself as Seaview’s captain? The US government would never stand for it. They’d throw a fit. Fit? Hell, they’d assassinate him!

 

But what other use would he be to Nelson? He wasn’t a scientist or engineer. He reminded himself they’d also asked for Igor Krasilnikov. All either of them knew was submarines - nuclear submarines. He supposed that they could be building another boat - he recalled that they did have a second submarine that everyone pretty much agreed was strictly a research vessel. What was that one’s name? Voyager? He thought that was it. Seaview’s first XO - the one who looked so much like him - was the captain.

 

He thought about it. That would be perfectly acceptable too.

 

Then they were being hustled onto the plane and he had no more time to think.

 

                                               ***************

 

Lee Crane leaned up against the side of FS1, arms crossed, waiting patiently for the local police in the small Norwegian town of Vardo to get over their shock and go back to the airport terminal. There had been a mad scramble when he’d suddenly appeared out of seemingly nowhere and landed; they couldn’t have been any more surprised if FS1 had been a starship dropping down from the heavens. To add to the uproar, word had also just come down from Oslo that a Soviet military transport would be landing there shortly - and that hands were to be kept strictly off both FS1 and the Russian plane. Being able to look straight across the Barents Sea into northern Russia made the people that lived here a tad bit paranoid; after all, in the event of a Russian invasion, they’d be among the first cut off from the rest of the world.

 

Finally, with great reluctance and many scowls thrown Crane‘s way, the senior officer accepted the inevitable and shepherded his people away. Crane heaved a sigh of relief. They’d wanted to search FS1, but he had held firm. They had their instructions after all - and it wouldn’t do for them to know that he had twenty eight nuclear warheads that he would be bringing ashore - or that the first seven were sitting stacked in FS1 waiting to be exchanged for Igor Britanov‘s wife and children. Even the Norwegian government in Oslo didn’t know that. They probably wouldn’t have allowed the meeting here if they had.

 

He heard a soft sibilant whisper behind him. K-219 - who still hadn’t given them a name - had taken to flight like a duck to water. He couldn’t help a grin. Whatever plans Nelson might have had for enticing K-219 out of FS1 were doomed to failure. He had become not only comfortable with his new form - he relished it. Plus there was no doubt in his mind - Seaview and K-219 were a bonded pair. He had to wonder if that meant they’d reproduce, though that was a notion he hadn’t mentioned to Nelson yet. The Admiral was having a hard enough time reconciling himself to having both subs as independent entities. The notion of little Seaviews and K-219s running around would probably reduce him to a frothing fit of temper.

 

The distant drone of heavy aircraft engines caught his attention. He shaded his eyes, looking west into the rapidly deepening twilight. There, just above the surface of the sea, came a single plane. As it drew nearer, he could see that it was indeed a transport. There was a sigh of relief from behind that he recognized as Seaview. That meant Britanov was indeed aboard. The soft but enthusiastic chirp from K-219 meant that Krasilnikov was there as well. It looked like the Soviets were going to go along with his plan.

 

The plane came straight in, without circling. After bouncing to a near halt, the plane turned and taxied across the tarmac to a position about fifty yards from FS1. The ramp dropped in back and a man in the uniform of a Soviet army general walked down, followed by a petite blonde woman with two small boys. She kept looking back up into the plane, clearly reluctant to exit. Crane muttered a question under his breath to K-219 and got an affirmative in response. This was indeed Britanov’s wife Natalia and his two boys. So they were going to play it straight. Good.

 

The foursome came up to Crane.

 

“Admiral Crane,” said the general in heavily accented English, “I am Alexei Kosygin. do you have our first load of warheads ready?”

 

“Inside,” he answered. “Cased and ready to go. I gather you would like to inspect them?” That had been part of the agreement - besides, if the tables were turned, he’d want to inspect the goods himself.

 

“Da.” Crane and Kosygin proceeded around to the rear hatch, leaving Natalia and the kids standing beside the wing. Once inside, the general took out a small handheld radiation meter and ran it over the boxes that were stacked in the center of the deck. The readings were slightly higher than background, but not anything to get excited about. The general pocketed the meter and held out a hand for the key to the lock that held the lid secured. Opening it, he retrieved his meter before cracking the lid on the inner lead container that contained the actual warhead. The meter promptly shrieked.

 

Satisfied, Kosygin resealed the first box, then checked the other six. He got the same results from all of them.

 

“Good,” was his response. “Now we unload.”

 

Nodding, Crane went to the one of the lockers and pulled out a dolly and ramp. He’d come prepared.

 

As the two officers wrestled the heavy crates onto the dolly and pulled them out onto the tarmac, they were immediately retrieved by soldiers who loaded them onto a bigger cart. Once all seven were loaded, the cart promptly headed for the plane. Kosygin shepherded the woman and two children into the rear of FS1. Crane put Natalia in the copilot’s seat and buckled the boys into a couple of pull-down jumpseats. Turning to the general he said, “It shouldn’t take more than forty minutes to get them back to Seaview, take on another load and get back here.”

 

“Good. I be waiting.”

 

In fact it took only twenty. Seaview and K-219 had some ability to lift solid objects; with their help it was much easier to get the crates stowed in the confined space of FS1. That enabled Crane to put Natalia and the two boys into Kowalski’s custody. He chose the COB for two reasons. Ski spoke passable Russian so would be able to communicate easily with Britanov’s family - and being the COB and one of the plank owners, few aboard dared express their displeasure at what was happening in his presence. Even the most disgruntled - officers and enlisted men alike - knew to keep their heads down. Besides, all of the senior officers and hands who had been with the Institute for many years had to a man chosen to follow wherever Crane and Nelson chose to lead. Not to mention the fact that this was a family coming aboard, including small children, which had given even the most vocal dissidents pause. Could they really in good conscience object to rescuing women and children?

 

The next exchange went equally smoothly. In fact, it went so smoothly that Crane found himself looking over his shoulder, wondering when the next shoe was going to drop.

 

He didn’t have long to wait.

 

The third load of warheads was on the cart heading to the transport and Krasilnikov was being escorted across to FS1 when he heard K-219 and Seaview’s rippling snarls of fury. He spun around, looking for the source of the danger, knowing neither would react in that manner to K-219’s chief engineer. The Russians had also stopped; he didn’t know if they’d heard the two subs or were reacting to something else. One pointed to something to the east, then the light from the moon and stars was abruptly blotted out. He ran around the side of FS1and stared skyward to see a vast churning cloud that glowed with an oily faint purplish sheen descending from above. The hair on the back of his neck crawled; the cloud fairly radiated malevolence. That this was the Chaos Lord responsible for recent events involving K-219 he had little doubt. If he had to guess at the reason for this theatrical appearance, Crane would have bet the loser had come to inflict punishment on Britanov - and himself - for daring to not only survive the Game, but win it as well.

 

But it wouldn’t be without a fight. To his surprise K-219 openly manifested above FS1 in a slender glittering shape that reminded him of a dark emerald dragon and then launched straight at the cloud, drawing gasps from the Russians. Crane wondered briefly where Seaview was, but quickly realized that she had opted for near invisibility - and was going for a flanking action. All he could do was stand helplessly and watch.

 

The cloud began to boil even more fiercely as K-219’s streaking form disappeared within. Brilliant explosions of energy began tearing through the cloud, ripping away great chunks that rapidly dissipated in showers of light. Crane couldn’t take his eyes from the spectacle, even when he became aware that Britanov and Krasilnikov had both come to stand at his side. Out of the corner of his eye he could see both awe and fear on the men’s faces.

 

“Is that K-219?”

 

Crane turned his head to look at Britanov, who had asked the question in Russian. “You recognize him?” Krasilnikov turned to look at them with puzzled expression. It appeared that he hadn’t been let in on K-219’s secret before now.

 

Britanov slowly nodded. “Da.” He then added wryly. “He asked that I avenge him, but it looks like he’s trying to do it himself.” Another pause, then,  “Is Seaview coming?”

 

“Already here,” answered Crane, worry for his own Lady showing in his voice. “She went in for the flank.”

 

“Ah.” Understanding dawned in Britanov’s eyes. “A two pronged attack. Can they succeed?”

 

“I have no idea,” Crane had to admit. It felt weird to be standing here discussing the fight raging above them, knowing that there was nothing any of them could do - and that their own fates hinged on the outcome.

 

The cloud above exploded in a blinding flash, sending everyone ducking for cover. When Crane’s eyes had readjusted, he could see that the cloud was completely gone. Revealed for the first time was the Chaos Lord who had given them so much trouble over the years.

 

Or what was left of him.

 

Seaview and K-219 were both ripping savagely at the flailing spectral figure; with each bite the entity’s glowing form both dimmed and shrank. A wail of agony echoed across the sky, followed by one final shriek and a loud pop. To Crane’s astonishment, once the final shower of light had dissipated, the Chaos Lord was gone.

 

But was the entity gone for good?

 

The two submarines circled for a few moments above, seemingly searching for any remnants of the Chaos Lord. Finally both stopped and drifted back down to the ground, where they coiled around FS1. The two Russians looked up at the great wedge shaped heads that hung above them with trepidation. Crane didn’t blame them. The shapes the two had chosen for battle resembled a cross between wingless dragons and a tyrannosaurus rex - and at the moment both Seaview and K-219 had very distinct, almost solid looking forms. The teeth - solid or not - in those monstrous heads looked conspicuously formidable. Add in the intelligence in the glowing eyes and the pair looked capable of taking on just about anything. Or anyone. Crane heard Britanov swallow hard.

 

Crane folded his arms and looked up at the two subs, dryly asking, “Did you finish him off or will he be back?“

 

K-219 grinned toothily and let his outlines soften, sinking intoFS1’s hull until only the top of his head showed. Seaview gurgled a dry laugh and followed suit. Crane shook his head in exasperation and wagged a finger at the pair of them, but took their response to mean that this particular Chaos Lord would play no more Games. Britanov and Krasilnikov looked at him like he’d lost his mind.

 

“They’ve finished him off - that one won’t be playing any more Games with us - or anybody else.”

 

General Kosygin had come up in time to hear the last statement. “But what are they, Admiral Crane?” He looked warily at the two heads above them.

 

Well, the secret was out, thought Crane. He might as well tell at least part of the truth. “General, allow me to introduce you to Seaview and ….”

 

“Sea Dragon,” came the whisper from K-219.

 

“And Sea Dragon,” repeated Crane more loudly, relived that he wasn’t going to have to admit that there was a part of the Russian boomer they wouldn’t be giving back, and bidding Britanov and Krasilnikov to silence with a look. He could tell they were uncertain, but to his relief maintained their silence. After all, he was now their employer, not the Soviet government.

 

Seaview?” Kosygin looked stunned for a second, before turning a speculative look on Britanov, who could only shrug. Turning back to Crane, the general tilted his head to one side and narrowed his eyes. “I was not aware that your Flying Submarine had a name.”

 

“This is a brand new one, General. A new design. It seemed … fitting.”

 

“Indeed,” responded the general dryly as soft chuckles seemed to emanate from the body of the craft in question. “And one must of course ask the question of how.”

 

“That’s something no one quite knows the answer to, General,” Crane admitted with some reluctance. “Though from what some of my ah - acquaintances - have told me, it would seem that our universe has been trying to evolve something like them for some time now. As a counter to the Chaos Lords,” he added, seeing the perplexed look on the faces of all three Russians.

 

Understanding blossomed on the general’s face, leaving Crane wondering just how much the man really knew - and who had told him. He was going to have to have a little talk with Seldar about this particular development. On the other hand, perhaps it did make sense; without some steadying influence on the other side, humanity might well have long since annihilated themselves in the holocaust of nuclear war. He could also see the sense of the Federation agents not telling anyone either; the US government leaked like a sieve at all levels.

 

“I take it we must have mutual acquaintances?” asked Crane drolly. Kosygin cut him a look before grinning.

 

“I think that likely, Admiral. Is strange to be on same side, yes?”

 

“Beats the hell out of blowing each other up for someone else’s amusement,” Crane responded.

 

Kosygin’s look turned dark and he lifted his eyes skyward before answering. “Da.” He turned a speculative look back to Seaview and K-219 - Sea Dragon - and added, “Maybe it be harder now for them to arrange such things now?”

 

Crane followed his look. “I certainly hope so.” Indeed, if certain things Seldar had told him about the peculiar way physics worked in this universe were true, the Chaos Lords might well suddenly find themselves up to their armpits in entities like Seaview and Dragon. It seemed, according to the Federation scientists, that once a thing was accomplished anywhere in the universe, it became subsequently easier for that thing - whatever it was - to be done a second time - even if the people doing it had no idea that it had been done before. It was almost, they said, like the first success became a subtle part of the laws of physics, serving as a template for subsequent attempts. If that was the case here, the Chaos Lords were going to suddenly find themselves fighting for their own lives. Whether or not they returned to earth and destroyed the entire planet, the template had been forged. There was now a light at the end of the tunnel - and for the Chaos Lords it was an oncoming train.

 

He shook himself out of his speculation. “Well, after this, loading nukes seems like child’s play.”

 

The general laughed and nodded, slapping him on the shoulder. “Take them both with you, Admiral,” he said, indicating the two Russian naval officers. “I trust you to deliver last load, okay.”

 

Crane nodded and gestured for Britanov and Krasilnikov to board the Flying Sub, while the general followed the cart back to the transport. There was no sign of the Norwegian cops. Apparently they’d decided this was a fight way above their pay scale and had gone to ground. Crane didn’t blame them one bit.

 

After that, the rest of the transfer was anticlimactic.

 

                                           *******************

 

Igor Britanov stood in front of the incredible transparent ports in Seaview’s bow, looking out into the waters of the icy North Atlantic. Things had happened so fast the last few days that he sometimes had to pinch himself to make sure he wasn’t dreaming. He heard footsteps coming down the circular stair to the observation deck and turned his head just enough to see Admiral Crane approaching. A soft slither in the vents told him that Seaview  - or K-219, now known as Dragon - if not both of them -  was also arriving.

 

He suppressive an atavistic shiver of apprehension. Russians by their very nature had for a very long time been an extremely superstitious people with a remarkable history of legends and myths. To suddenly discover that much of that folklore had at its core at least a kernel of truth had been somewhat dismaying. To further realize that he was now a major player in what would almost surely become another such legend had been daunting. He’d never expected to do more with his life than serve the motherland to the best of his ability as a submarine captain.

 

Seaview told me I’d find you here,” said Crane in Russian.

 

“I needed to, how you say it, think about things,” answered Igor in broken English. If he was going to live in Crane’s world, he needed to learn the language. He watched as Crane’s eyebrow rose and saw the flag officer nod.

 

“I suspect a lot of this is very strange to you,” said Crane, switching back to English. He planted one hip on the edge of the chart table and sat, looking back at Igor with open curiosity.

 

“Strange? Is more than strange.” He shook his head, unable to find the words to express just how bizarre he found the entire situation. He saw a smile twitch at the corner of Crane’s mouth and heard a pair of soft chuckles from the vent. At his somewhat apprehensive expression, both submarines flowed down out of the vent and coiled themselves around the chart table, rearing up to rest their heads on Crane’s shoulders. Well, at least they’d dropped the fearsome forms they’d used to battle and devour the Chaos Lord. He didn’t know how Crane had been able to remain so calm with those formidable toothy heads towering over them. How on earth could one be expected to command such creatures? How could he?

 

His thoughts must have show on his face, for Crane said to him, “They follow us out of love and respect, you know.”

 

If that was true, thought Igor to himself, he was in big trouble. He didn’t quite dare say so out loud, not with Seaview and Dragon both there. They must have known what he was thinking, because Seaview uncoiled from around the chart table and flowed across to him, lifting her head to look him in the face.

 

“It’s who you are, Igor, that has earned their loyalty. You’ve always tried to do the right thing, no matter what the odds against you  - or the consequences.” Crane had gotten up from the table and followed Seaview over. He looked earnestly into Igor’s eyes.

 

“And Dragon?” he heard himself asking.

 

Understands,” came the muted whisper in Russian. “Forgiven.”

 

To Igor’s astonishment Dragon followed his words by flowing over and dropping his head on the startled Russian’s shoulder. It was an exceedingly odd sensation. There was a feeling of something warm and supple lightly resting next to his neck. Seaview responded by placing her head on his other shoulder. As he stood there between the two of them, feeling their emotions radiate into his soul, he began to understand the link that had joined Crane and Seaview over the years. With stunned astonishment he realized that she was offering him a place in her heart as well. He lifted misty eyes to Crane.

 

“But you are her captain,” he stammered.

 

Crane nodded slowly and said, “But I am also mortal. I’m getting too old for the demands of the position.” Igor could tell that that was a truth Crane didn’t like admitting, but then he added, “I need to step into the fulltime directorship of the Nelson Institute because Admiral Nelson’s got too much on his plate as it is. Funding is going to become much more of a challenge in the future and someone is going to have to take on the job. Seaview needs someone younger to help her carry on the battle - and she’s chosen you.”

 

“What about the missiles?” Discovering that Seaview was in truth a boomer had come as something of a shock. There was no way he’d command a vessel where he might one day be called upon to use those weapons on his own country - even if the US government was inclined to let him command.

 

“Those will be gone very shortly,” Crane told him wryly, “Admiral Nelson is already working on the overhaul plans. What we need you to do is serve as my XO until the rebuild is complete - and people get used to the idea of having you as crew…”

 

Igor couldn’t help his snort. He’d be willing to bet there were some people who would never reconcile themselves to the idea of Russians aboard Seaview, especially in positions of real authority. And who would probably do everything in their power to make sure his stay was short. Crane flashed him a wry grin, clearly knowing what his thoughts were.

 

“There are certain advantages to having Seaview and Dragon around. No one is going to be able to sneak a spy or saboteur aboard. They’re, well, not telepaths, exactly, but certainly empaths.”

 

“Telepaths? Empaths?” These were words he wasn’t familiar with.

 

“They’re not mind readers,” amended Crane, “but they can read emotions. Anyone who means them or you harm and they’ll know it.”

 

Igor was silent for a moment as he struggled to translate Crane’s words. Well, he reflected, once he thought he understood what Crane was saying, that would certainly explain a lot of things. He absently stroked Seaview’s head and was rewarded with an almost cat-like purr. He struggled with conflicting emotions; joy that a being like Seaview would chose him as a partner, regret at what it had cost in the past - and might well still cost in the future. He was under no illusions. He would be the object of a lot of hate and envy, both from those who knew what was really going on and many more who didn’t. Was it fair to his family?

 

He couldn’t help a sigh. Would it help his family if he didn’t take the position? Probably not. He couldn’t go home and neither could they. What else could he do with his life? Sell used cars? Submarines were all he knew - and something he loved. If Seaview had to chose another - and failed in her mission - he’d always wonder if he could have done a better job for her. No, whatever the consequences, this was something he not only felt he must do, it was something he wanted.

 

Igor lifted his head and looked at Crane, nodding slowly. “I do,” he said, “whatever needs to be done. I take job.”

 

Crane smiled wryly at him.

 

Igor Britanov thought he knew why.

 

 

END?