"Ostorozhneye... ostorozhneye..." The man on the platform waved his hands as the winch came down, lowering a scoop filled with scrap metal over an empty cart.

"Otpusti!" The scoop opened, and the scrap tumbled down neatly into the cart. Several more labourers approached and pushed the cart down the tracks.

The stranger in the fur-lined coat watched all of this with some interest from the manager's office, peering down at the workers through the thick Venetian blinds. The manager sat at his desk, filling out memoranda and getting through his paperwork. But every now and again he stole a glance at officer that stood in his office. He was a handsome enough fellow, and when he came in earlier that day the supervisor happened to catch a glimpse of the blue uniform that he wore underneath.

What was a Red Fleet officer doing in his office?

As if to answer his silent questions the officer turned away from the window and removed his shaggy coat, hanging it on a nearby coat-hook. He strode over to the chair before the manager's simple wooden desk and sat down, taking out a much-dented cigarette case. He took one and then offered the case to the supervisor.

"Izvinite. I don't smoke." The supervisor hardly glanced at the case, and it was quickly withdrawn. The officer lit the gold-tipped cigarette and breathed in deep, exhaling smoke into the air.

"A factory manager who doesn't smoke this far north?" The naval officer chuckled, exhaling another cloud of smoke. "That I don't see often."

The manager put down his pen and straightened his papers, laying them to one side. "My ration goes out to the needier. The men respect that."

"Now that I've never seen!" The young man in blue guffawed, slapping his knee. "So, my kind-hearted comrade, are you ready to hear my plans?"

"As ready as I'll ever be. I'm all ears." The manager leaned forward, giving the officer his undivided attention.

The officer puffed on his cigarette one last time and extinguished it on his beaten case. He cleared his throat and began.

"The Ministry of the Navy currently has an interest in the developments of the other European navies. A new, revolutionary concept is being born out lessons being learnt by them in order to combat the new invaders from the depths." The officer paused, his expression grave. "Thus the Ministry of the Navy has proposed the commencement of a new, top-secret project conducted on the site of this factory."

The manager listened to this, and closed his eyes. "And how will that affect our industrial output?"

The young officer smiled. "It won't. You see, the new concept is rather… unorthodox. The current plans involve the building of a regular, insulated compound around this site. Your workers will continue to work at their current capacity."

"That is a relief. I would not part with these comrades for the world."

"Oh, and why is that?"

"These men are all loyal to me in more than one way. We were all soldiers once. I'm sure you, comrade officer, can understand." The manager's voice weakened, memories flooding back.

The young officer looked at the manager fighting to contain his emotions. He settled back in his chair, content with the old man before him. Then he got up.

"The details of this new development will be sent to you in due course. Of course, you are not to breathe a word of this conversation to anyone outside this room. I'm sure you understand the consequences if such a thing were to happen…"

"Perfectly understood, comrade officer." The young officer made for the door, grabbed his coat, and left.

The trucks came a week later. Within another month a solid fence with barbed wire had been erected all along the perimeter and the construction workers had finished building the nondescript series of buildings. The old manager watched from his office as the last trucks left and the new guards closed the gate.

There was a knock on the door. "Voydite!" the manager shouted.

In came the very same naval officer, this time dressed in his service uniform of black. They greeted each other politely, and sat down in their respective chairs.

"So, comrade, what are we to do now?" the manager asked.

"Supply trucks will be coming within this week or so. Their contents are still a secret to me. The higher-ups clearly have big plans for this new project." The officer folded his arms, a note of impatience exemplified in his foot tapping relentlessly on the floorboards.

"Indeed? And what are my men to do when this happens?"

"No word from my superiors. It seems the big shots don't seem to mind your steel factory being right at the heart of it all… But then again, saves us the trouble of transporting it, eh?"

The naval officer was true to his word. Exactly seven days later the covered trucks arrived at the compound, and the manager helped his men unload the seemingly-endless crates of material from them. Some had specific contents labelled on them, such as spare truck parts, blankets for the guard's barracks, and so on, but some were painted black with no label on them. These the manager had his men handle carefully, wary of what might happen if the contents of one were to become known.

Inside the compound however, the naval officer watched as the newly-settled scientists and engineers assembled their apparatus. A large steel chamber dominated the room, complete with adjoining furnace and the usual array of piping, wiring and measurement devices. Assistants hurried to and fro as they prepared the first test.

To the young officer, it was all a mystery to him. But as he watched as the final leads were plugged into their intended ports, a flustered assistant hurried into the room, clutching his chest as if he were about to die.

The naval officer hurried over to him. "What's the matter, comrade?"

"The… the big shots… the big shots are coming…" the assistant stammered, fighting for his breath.

"The Admiral is arriving?!" The young officer broke out into a nervous sweat. He whipped around to the curious onlookers. "Everyone, to your stations!" he shouted.

They needed no further encouragement. In almost no time at all the assistants, scientists and engineers stood ready at their posts. The officer smoothed down his jacket, straightened his hat, and stood to attention just in time as the portly Admiral, in all his gold trim and chest groaning under the weight of his medals, walked into the room. He dismissed the stiff salute of the young officer with a careless one of his own, and fairly waddled into the large hall. His entourage followed, a small retinue of his aides and media men.

The Admiral stopped just before the great chamber. With a grunt he showed his approval and instantly one of the more senior scientists hurried over. He whispered into the beefy Admiral's ear, and at those quiet words a huge grin lit up on his pudgy face.

"Comrades!" he announced, as the little scientist hurried back to his post. "I thank you all for your hard efforts towards the completion of this grand facility. Your efforts will be forever remembered in the annals of our great and glorious history."

"It is with your efforts that today, on this auspicious date, the glorious Red Fleet will finally have a weapon to repel those foreign invaders from the depths! Our once great Navy will reign supreme once more in these icy waters!"

Applause broke out among the assembled scientists and engineers, and the corpulent Admiral lapped it all up before continuing. "We will wrest back our destiny with this bold stroke of Socialist labour! Let those scum of the deep tremble before the might of the New Red Fleet! Comrades! Commence the operation!"

A vibrant hum filled the room as all the devices in the room lit up, surging into life. The scientists and engineers bent over their new work and made the last preparations. Assistants shovelled heaps of assorted material into the glowing furnace, the flames of which danced merrily as it licked up the resources.

Meanwhile the Admiral had waddled into the safety of the blast-proof viewing chamber, his media men taking as many pictures as possible. They were followed by the young naval officer, who kept his eyes firmly on the steel chamber.

The most senior engineer accompanied them into the blast-proof room. With a little explanation the Admiral was told of his role in the proceedings. Before the shrapnel-glass window was a little stand with a red button affixed to it. All the Admiral had to do was press the button.

A green signal lit up, and the foremost observers outside the viewing room raised their thumbs in confirmation. Licking his lips, the Admiral pushed the button.

The furnace was shut as steam hissed from the hinges of the great chamber. The high-pitched whine settled into a low hum as the apparatus powered down. Scientists ran to and fro, comparing readings from their many measuring devices.

Then, quite suddenly, the great blast doors of the chamber swung open. A torrent of steam billowed out, obscuring everything. Personnel fell back before the tidal wave of steam, gasping for air.

"Der'mo! What is going on?" The Admiral breathed. The cameras of the media team began flashing again. Some of his aides made for the emergency exit.

The younger officer, however, was perfectly calm. He had anticipated this – there was nothing he could do but to shout the next orders into his radio mike over the din of cursing aides and the wailing winter wind that now howled through the open emergency door.

The Admiral and his entourage fled, fearing the worst, but the young officer remained where he was. He watched as the emergency vents pumped air into the chamber, partially diffusing the lingering steam. On cue guards burst into the steam-filled hall, rifles up and at the ready. The young officer entered the hall to direct them.

"Razlozhite! Cover the chamber!" he shouted.

The soldiers fanned out, checking on the cowering scientists as they advanced on the open chamber. The officer remained a little way behind, wary of what might emerge. The cavernous interior of the chamber was still engulfed with heavy steam, but it gradually began to clear.

Suddenly, something moved inside the haze. In an instant every rifle was pointed at the source of the sound. The officer stepped forward, holding his breath.

A whirr like smooth gears could be heard. Then-

A loud blast rippled violently through the room. At once, the soldier closest to the chamber was flung back, part of his arm blown off, blood splattering everywhere. Some of the soldiers still on their feet immediately opened fire, pouring on a storm of bullets that would tear through any man easily, but the bullets seemed to just bounce harmlessly off – a cascade of metallic dings that mocked the guards and their efforts.

Another blast rocked the chamber, and the personnel that hadn't immediately run for the open doors bolted, screaming. With blast after blast from the vortex of steam the soldiers were blown away, even the more sensible few that had taken cover. Soon it was all over.

Blood trickled down the walls as the deafened officer groggily rose. He stumbled, trying to catch his breath. His uniform was splattered with the blood of another, and with bleary eyes he surveyed the carnage all around him.

A thick haze hung heavily in the air. He could dimly make out the bodies of the destroyed soldiers, and the unfortunate few scientists who had been caught in the crossfire. He could feel his consciousness ebbing away, but as he sunk back onto the ground he could see a figure advancing through the smoke. It was thin, and looked vaguely like a-

The old manager had heard the blasts and looked curiously at the smoke filtering out of the compound. He saw the big-shot Admiral and his entourage run for their cars, and the guards take up defensive positions all around the centre of the problems. A couple of soldiers had even barged into his office, setting up their rifles in one of his windows. He did not complain. He had done the same himself at their age.

Another loud bang like the roar of cannon sounded from the battle zone. Very soon the soldiers on the ground began firing, tracer rounds flying into the thick smoke like white darts. Sounds of high-pitched dings could be heard, and the old man knew the bullets were bouncing off, like they were bouncing off armour plate.

"Der'mo! Our bullets are doing nothing! What is that thing?" one of the soldiers nearby shouted.

The manager, curious, looked out of the windows again. There, emerging from the smoke, was a girl-

"Arisha?" he whispered, hardly believing his eyes. He blinked furiously, making sure he wasn't dreaming. "Arisha!" he shouted, despite the screams of the Russian soldiers for him to get down as he stood up, waving furiously at the advancing figure. He could see the figure look up, listening to his yells.

The guns thundered again, and he could feel the white heat of the resounding blast tear through his office. Wood chips flew in the air like shrapnel and the old man caught a glimpse of the two soldiers being cut down, while jagged bolts of pain seared through him as the splinters burrowed deep.

He felt himself on the cold snow, a small comfort for the stabbing pains that racked him. He struggled up, and saw the guards being blown away by more explosions as the figure advanced towards the gate.

"Arisha," he whispered, and, feeling a new sense of urgency, stumbled towards the gate, ready to intercept the strange figure.

Slowly, agonizingly, he dragged his bleeding feet towards the gate. He fell down again as the security checkpoint went up in flames, the guards there screaming and falling, their blood staining the pure snow.

With a superhuman effort, he lifted himself up again. He turned, and saw the figure, no, his daughter trudge through the snow, slowly advancing towards him. The old man, remembering with irony his old soldiering days, slowly put his hands in the air.

The figure stopped. She was dressed in a blue officer's jacket with a pleated skirt, both in the livery of the Soviet Navy. There were all sorts of strange machinery attached to her, including little guns at her sides and shoulders. It was hard to believe so diminutive a figure could cause so much destruction.

"Arisha…?" The old man whispered.

The figure was silent. Her face was completely expressionless, but he knew those features well – it was unmistakeably his daughter.

He took a tentative step forward. "Arisha, my dear…" Still the figure did not react.

He moved closer, until they were at arms' length. The old man's eyes welled up at the sight of the daughter he thought he had lost so long ago. Instinctively he wrapped his arms around her, and sobbed with joy. He cried to the heavens for this deliverance, but even then the figure remained mute.

"My daughter! Don't you recognize me? It's your father… " He looked eagerly at the impassive face, desperately searching for a sign of recognition. He did not get that chance as waves of nausea swept over him, and he slumped to the side, unconscious.

He woke up on clean sheets, to the familiar, musty smell of starched linen. Pain still racked his frail body, but it was more muted than before.

He craned his head to the bedside table, where a grimy glass vase containing purple saxifrage greeted him. He looked to his other side, and to his surprise saw the young officer lying in the next bed. The handsome features had not been harmed, but the officer remained unconscious.

Then he remembered. The memory came rushing back, and he bolted upright, the scene running through his miraculously-clear mind like a film.

"Arisha." He breathed. "Arisha!" He shouted.

"Dear, dear, you're up early…"

The old man looked around. The young officer stretched and opened his eyes. He regarded the manager with curious, bloodshot eyes.

"Who are you shouting for, anyway?" he enquired.

"My daughter! I saw my daughter!" The old man tried frantically to tear off the sheets, and in an instant a squad of nurses bustled up the hallway, and had him back in the sheets immediately. As comforting, but callused hands soothed him back in, he turned and saw the young officer grinning.

"My daughter…" The old man repeated, clutching his sheets. "Was it… all a dream?"

"Well, yes and no." The young officer sat up in his bed, fetching his even more-battered cigarette case from his table. "That was no hallucination."

"But that means…"

"The girl in question is currently in custody in another part of the base. She's resisted everything we could throw at her. The psychologists will be here tomorrow, to look her over."

"Please, you must let me see her. Please, I must know…"

The young officer puffed on his cigarette, letting loose a small cloud of smoke. He seemed to be deep in thought.

"Considering what the guards reported to me yesterday, I think you have a lot to answer for as well. Very well. I shall speak to the chief supervisor when he comes around…"