That marvelous old chestnut about the earth moving for those in love: it was true. Was true, had been true, might be true again. Not at this exact moment, though, and two reasons accounted for that: one, the two earth-movers, Jim and Selena, were again snoozing in their loose warm tangle of selves (and this time they were well asleep, the both of them), and two--
-- the world itself at this exact moment wrenched and shifted itself on the cusp of an explosion.
"Jesus--!" Jim woke, disengaged, sat up. The light had gone out. The darkness in the room was nearly absolute. Grinding creaks and metallic groanings had replaced the Puffin's low thrum of machinery. Jim heard that, heard his own breathing and Selena's.
She was already getting up. Her skin slid away from his. "Get dressed, Jim," she said.
"I hear yeh."
From the hall outside, a claxon rang, a loudspeaker barked: All hands to the mess. Emergency. This is not a drill. All hands to the mess--
Clothes on the lower bunk opposite theirs. Jim found his boxers and socks, his borrowed sweatshirt, trousers, boots. Selena rustled beside him.
"I don't know what this is-- I don't know what's happenin'--" he said, half-hopping into his left boot.
"It doesn't sound good." She bent, lacing. He could see her outline now, his eyes adjusting to the dark. She went to the door.
He followed her. "But wait-- Selena, wait--"
"What--"
Jim caught her as she turned, pressed up against her, against the door. He kissed her, a slow, deep, twisting kiss. "I love you. Good mornin', darlin'."
"I love you, too, Jim." Her fingertips brushed his cheek. "Let's go."
They entered the hall, which was almost as dark as the cabin, and nearly collided with Leo Chaney. He was just outside their door, carrying a flashlight. White glare glanced off his gargoyle face.
"There you are," he said. "Was just about t' knock. I'm gettin' folks up. Can you find your way to the mess?"
Emergency lighting glowed in runners along the floor. "Yeah, we can," said Jim.
"Get goin', then."
He went on down the hall, pounding at doors. Jim and Selena walked quickly for the mess.
"Should've asked him--" she said.
"I'm sure we'll know soon enough. Damn--" Jim shifted in his trousers.
"What?"
"Think I'm wearin' your pants."
"Long as you're not wearin' my knickers, we'll be fine."
Through the dark rec room, into the mess. Voices ahead. The forward doors were open. Lamps well up on the walls, either on an emergency generator or a circuit separate from the one that supplied power to the residence areas, were casting grayish light. Jim looked for Hannah, saw her sticking close to Piotr, who was talking intently with Cooper. Beyond them, in the entry hall outside the mess, people were milling about. Some were hurt, moving with the help of others. Jim saw stretchers, bodies on them.
He spotted Robbie and Laurel. "What's goin' on?
Robbie looked at them almost apologetically. He was clearly stressed. He spoke quickly: "That explosion-- that very, very big one-- which may-- or may not-- have come in addition to any personal explosions you might have been experiencing at the time-- was one of our legs shattering. We had six; now we've five. The skipper is thinking we should evacuate-- and I must say I agree with him-- only someone's gone and scuttled our lifepods."
Selena looked incredulous. "What--?"
"All but one, an' that one's damaged," Laurel said. "Look, I told Dr. Huelsmann I'd lend a hand--" She nodded around at them, her dark eyes worried and intent, and made for the entryway door, turned toward the sickbay.
Jim headed for Cooper and Piotr, Selena and Robbie behind him. Hannah smiled nervously at them in greeting; Selena smiled back, squeezed her shoulder. Impulsively, Jim reached out and brushed a strand of hair away from the girl's face. His fingers touched her skin: he felt her shaking. "Morning, yeah?" he said. Hannah nodded. "Yeah." Behind her, Larry Dalton came in through the outside doors. His hair and jacket were wet; he shuddered, shaking water to the floor.
Cooper asked him: "Larry, could you get through to the Helvig?"
"Nope. Sorry, Virg. Boom fell, took out the antenna." Dalton was shivering. He looked apologetic. "If she's on her stated course, she'll be about an hour away. She'll be fighting that headwind; sea's rough as hell."
"We can use the radio on the Bell," Piotr said. "The problem is, the Helvig is not presently carrying a chopper. I will have to make two trips--"
"On an hour's fuel," said Cooper.
"Rest of the stores went with the cellar. They're on the bottom by now," Chaney intoned, approaching. "Everyone's up, Virg."
"I set out on the first flight; the Helvig closes the distance," Piotr said. "I drop my passengers and return."
"We can't take everyone at once--?" Hannah asked.
"Total accounted for is twenty-eight." Cooper looked at Piotr. "Bird won't take more'n fifteen at a time, right?"
"Right. And we cannot risk over-loading in such weather. Two flights."
Cooper frowned thoughtfully. "The wellhead's holding, and we're mostly offloaded. The storage tanks are pretty much empty. That's good."
"Meaning we'll just be drowned and crushed. We probably won't be burned alive, too." Dr. Huelsmann joined the group, her face tight. She focused on Selena: "You're here. Good. I can use you in sickbay." To Cooper, she said: "Let me know when you've got a plan, Virgil."
"Will do, Tammy." He continued as she and Selena went out: "Problem is-- besides the fact we're missing a leg-- with the tanks empty, we're sitting high and loose in the water--" Jim realized Cooper was looking at him, was likely speaking for his benefit; he removed his attention from the door out and his last look at Selena's retreating back and focused on the Puffin's chief. "Wind's rising. Waves start beating on the other legs, and we tip."
Robbie echoed, under his breath: "We're on an oil rig that's going to tip over."
Of course, Cooper heard. "Question is, when? Best case-- Leo, what're our numbers?"
Chaney scowled. "Best case: forty-five minutes. Worst case: fifteen. There's a chunk outta Leg Five. Won't be long, once it goes."
"So let's move everyone up to the pad," Cooper said. "Pete, get ready to get us out of here." Piotr nodded; he and Hannah made for the door, zipping their jackets. Someone had lent her a blue-and-white nylon-shell parka with a puffin head stitched in silhouette on its back. Cooper turned to Jim and Robbie: "Get to sickbay. They'll need help with the injured. Larry, you're with me--"
They went up onto the chopper pad, up the steel steps on footing grown uncertain in the rain. The wind was gusting from the west. Jim panted, gripping tight a set of stretcher handles, and wondered how it could be raining sideways. Sleet mixed with the cold drops, stinging his skin. So much for summer in the Shetlands.
Piotr was waiting up top, supervising the placement of injured in the Bell. "Heads down!" he called; he entered the cockpit, started the engines. Hannah climbed in beside him. On the helipad, Cooper, windswept and sleeted upon, caught Chaney.
"You're going, Leo," he said "They'll need you. Get aboard."
Chaney scowled. "Wouldn't be right, me leavin' you."
"Explain that one to Tammy. Go on."
Jim, helping load wounded, called to Selena: "You too, darlin'. These fellas need you."
"What about you?"
"I'll catch the next one."
"Jim--"
"Go on. Keep an eye on Hannah."
Selena squeezed his hand, hard, and released him. She ducked the downwash from the rotors and climbed aboard, after Edie Irving and Dr. Huelsmann. From the door, she looked back at him, evenly, not smiling but not frowning, either. Jim broke eye contact first, just before Chaney shut the Bell's side door.
The men left on the helipad stepped back to the railing, and the Bell lifted off. Piotr angled into the wind, banked east. The clouds seemed to press the chopper to the water; those left on the chopper pad lost sight of it almost immediately.
"And the band played on," said Robbie, softly, looking off east at the invisible line where gray sky met gray water.
"You shoulda gone, Robbie," Jim said unaccusingly.
"I'm gay; I'm not a coward."
"What's that, then--?"
Robbie half-winced. "That's right; you weren't there-- You and Selena were--" He looked wryly at Jim. "Tell the world, why don't I, eh?"
Jim patted his shoulder. "Never said you were a coward."
"Then I'm exactly where I should be." Robbie smiled. "Anyway, I'm a great swimmer."
"Won't much matter when this thing goes." Cooper approached them. "Stay as close to the high edge of the platform as possible. Stay out of the water as long as possible. You go in, swim the hell clear."
Sounds: the wind, the slap of the waves, the fading dull chop of the rotors; more near at hand, the sounds of the dying rig: creaking, the groaning of metal. The water swirled below them. Jim wasn't certain if he were seeing only the motion of the sea or if the rig itself were shifting. The waves marched from the west in hissing, rolling slow motion. The men left waiting went silent. One began to pray. Cooper checked his watch. "Twenty minutes," he said.
"They'll be nearly there," said Robbie.
An horrific crunching sound rumbled up from below; a crashing followed, a tremendous splash. Leg Five had collapsed. The rig shuddered to the south, seemed to settle toward its midsection.
Selena saw it through the Bell's forward windscreen: the Helvig. A long, sleek gray hull, some three hundred feet in length. A slender, sharp prow cutting through the surging waves. At the midsection, crowning the ship's superstructure, a communications assembly that rose like a minaret in a Middle Eastern fairy tale. Finally, and most importantly, a round helipad at the ship's rear. Piotr headed for it. He followed the Helvig's aft section on a downswing as the ship rode the tumbling sea; he set the Bell's skids down before the deck could rise again and knock against them. Crew members in life jackets and bright orange rain gear stood ready at the helipad's forward edge. As the Bell touched down, they ran forward under the rotors, bringing stretchers.
"Go, Hannah," Piotr said. "Get out."
"No."
"We do not have time to argue."
"You're right. We don't."
Seconds later, Selena, carrying one end of a stretcher, looked back as the Bell lifted off again. Through the chopper's rain-spattered windscreen, she could see two figures, not one. "Hannah--!"
Beside her, Dr. Huelsmann breathed out: "Leo--" Chaney was still aboard the chopper, too. He waved to her, shouting something. He pulled the side door closed, and the Bell was away, heading west.
"They need someone to handle the ladder," Huelsmann said tightly. "Damn it--"
Miles away, minutes away, the collapse came. The rig caved at the middle, folding in on itself at its missing legs. The modules constituting the living quarters tipped inward; the outer supports on the helipad began to give way. As a result, the pad shook loose, tipped eastward and down. But it didn't break free. "Stay near the top!" Cooper yelled. Jim and Robbie and the others scrambled toward the pad's new upper edge, toward the railing near the stairs leading down. Their feet slipped on the wet decking. They grabbed at the railing and clung.
Oh, Jesus-- Jim looked down at the buckling heart of the rig. He could see the water, smashing and black, through gaps in the decking a hundred and thirty feet below. The pad beneath his feet jolted, dropped nearly a foot. The men around him shouted with fear. His knuckles on the railing were deathly white, and he was soaked with rain.
Please, Jesus. Please, watch over these men--
"I can hear it--" said Robbie, beside him, shaking water from his hair and eyes.
"You hear nothin'--" snapped one of the men in reply.
Keep Hannah safe. Keep Selena safe. Forgive me--
"No, that's it," said Cooper, smiling toward the sound rising in the east. "He's coming back."
The Bell returned, fighting the western wind. As they came up on the rig, Chaney hooked the chopper's collapsible ladder to grommets just inside the side door.
"Ladder out!" he shouted toward the cockpit.
He slid the door open, got a faceful of wind and icy rain. The ladder snapped down toward the furrowing sea, its far end reaching forty feet beneath the Bell's skids. Piotr angled the chopper toward the water, dragged the lower rungs briefly through the wave-tips.
"Grounding," he said to Hannah, through their headsets. "The rotors generate a static charge strong enough to knock a man unconscious."
He raised the collective, added throttle against the gusts, and the Bell rose up beside the downward slope of the helicopter pad, eased toward the men clinging to the forward railing. A rigworker reached back for the narrow ladder, caught a rung, began to climb. Two men up, three. Robbie went at the end of the next group. The Bell's engines strained, roaring against the wind.
The platform dropped suddenly-- four feet or better-- and stopped; a man nearly missed the ladder, only just caught the bottom rung, pulled himself up. Dalton went next. It was down to Jim and Cooper; Cooper nodded him on. Jim grabbed for the twisting cables, the thin metal crosspieces.
He was standing on the bottom rung when the platform gave way.
A gust of wind caught the Bell; it rocked in the air. On the ladder, Jim swung away from the platform, out under and beyond the chopper's far skid. Behind him, Cooper scrambled to stay high on the helipad even as the Puffin dropped out from under him. The Bell's engines roared and groaned; Piotr pulled the helicopter steady. The ladder swung back toward Cooper-- Jim twisted around, looking back-- it'd be just short, even if the man jumped--
Jim didn't think. There wasn't time. He dropped onto the lower rung, hooked his knees, and leaned back. He let go with his hands. He swung toward Cooper upside-down, his arms out and long. He yelled, "Jump, yeh fucker--!"
Cooper jumped. His hands scrabbled at Jim's wet sleeves, locked viselike on Jim's wrists. Jim gripped him hard, gasping, pain radiating from his shoulders, shooting up his sides, through his gut.
"Climb--" he panted. "Climb--!"
Cooper pulled his way up Jim's torso, tearing at Jim's sweatshirt. His belt buckle scraped past Jim's chin. Below them, the Puffin buckled and folded, making terrible noises as it died. The Bell was settling in the air, dropping-- Cooper's boot caught Jim in the thigh, hard, and then Cooper was on the ladder. He looked down at Jim, held out his hand.
"Go on--!" Jim shouted. He clawed his way up the trousers fabric on his thighs, trying to sit up. The Bell, unstable, was still dropping. Piotr angled the chopper away laterally but couldn't seem to gain altitude. The sea rose as the Puffin fell--
Jim reached for the ladder, missed. He reached again, again missed. The rungs were too thin, too slick--
On their third try, Jim's fingers brushed the ladder at the second rung, caught, held. He pulled himself up sitting. He paused for a moment, hanging there in the rain and wind, feeling dizzy and exhausted.
Then he heard a hissing behind him. He turned on the ladder--
"Oh, fuck--"
A gray wall of water at least five meters high was sliding toward him. It blocked the sky. Jim's breath caught at the base of his throat; he stared at the shifting green translucence at the wave's leading edge; he stared at the water's awful solidity. He wrapped his arms tightly around the ladder, ducked his head, and closed his eyes--
--and the Bell rose, whining and roaring, rose just enough. The top of the wave washed over Jim's boots. He opened his eyes at the water's gentle tug. His heart was thumping at his chest walls.
From above him, he heard Chaney shout down: "Get yer scrawny ass up here, kid!"
Jim pulled himself standing, started to climb. It seemed as though concrete had sifted into his blood: his arms and legs were stiffening, growing heavy. The Bell's engines transmitted a deep shuddering down the ladder; Jim knew that if his muscles shuddered in countermotion, he'd lose his grip and fall. The wind slapped water into his eyes. The Bell, of fuel-driven necessity, was on course and underway. The waves surged and fell below him.
The last few rungs, and Chaney was leaning out like Quasimodo on the face of Notre Dame to catch him. The mechanic's fingers closed on Jim's wrist like steel cables, and Chaney pulled him into the chopper.
Jim collapsed; he lay, soaked and shivering, on the Bell's waffled black deck. Cooper came over, put a blanket over him. Jim tried to raise up, but he was shaking too hard. Chaney put a hand on him, gently pushed him down.
"It's okay, kid," he said. "Rest yourself."
Chaney didn't say as much, because he only could only calculate and suspect, but they had a new problem. More specifically, the Bell had a new problem. Ahead of the men soaked and shaking in the passenger compartment, a buzzer sounded in the cockpit. A red light flashed large amid the controls.
"Our fuel is giving out," Piotr said calmly.
"How long--?" Hannah asked.
"Five minutes. Ten, if we are lucky."
He drove the chopper east, ahead of the wind. The Bell tried to skitter sideways in the pounding air; he held it steady, kept its tail straight against the westward gusts. Hannah strained her eyes through the windscreen, looking for the Helvig. Five minutes came and went.
Suddenly the rain parted like a pebbled snapping curtain, and the Helvig was there, directly ahead, possibly a hundred feet below them.
"That's it--" said Hannah. "We're gonna make it--"
The port engine blew sharply and went silent. Another red light joined the first on the dash.
"Alright: this is it," Piotr said quietly. He spoke through his headset to the communications personnel on the Helvig, advised them to clear the helipad and to have an emergency team stand by. Then he pulled his microphone to the side and shouted back at the Bell's passenger compartment: "Hard landing! Hold on!"
They sailed above and beyond the trailing edge of the helipad; Piotr brought the Bell about and flew parallel with the Helvig, facing into the wind. The ship was riding arrhythmically in the waves; Piotr brought the Bell close only to have the ship's deck snap upward at them. He lifted clear. The starboard engine roared, sputtered.
"I must shut down the engine," he said. "If we strike that hard under power, the rotors will desynchronize and shake us apart."
Hannah gripped the armrests on her seat. "Do it, then."
The helipad rose, fell. Piotr followed it down. At the trough of the latest wave, when the Bell was roughly ten feet above the Helvig's deck, he flipped the switch for the starboard engine. At the same time, he pulled up hard on the collective, raising the Bell's rotors, cushioning the chopper's drop. Nonetheless, it was a drop: the Bell struck the deck hard, with a tail-back bounce. The skids thudded sparking along the surface of the helipad; the wind at last got a grip on the tail rotor, and the chopper spun sideways. The Bell's tail swung out over the surging water--
--and swung back. They came to a stop facing backward on the pad. The Helvig's emergency crew ran forward from the ship's helicopter hangar as the last motion spun from the Bell's de-powered rotors.
Jim rose with the rest of the men in the chopper. All of them were shaken; they were well jostled, but none of them were obviously hurt. They exchanged looks of rattled jubilation. Chaney slid open the side door; Jim was the sixth fellow or so out. Selena was there, in the driving rain, waiting: he saw her; he tried to smile; he couldn't. He took a step toward her, and it was as if his right leg were missing below the knee. He stumbled sideways; she caught him, held him up.
"Jim--?"
Pain in his midriff, sharp and cold and solid, as though a piece of granite had embedded itself in him. He breathed around it, shallowly. He reached under his sweatshirt to touch his belly, and his fingers came away covered in blood.
He gasped at it. "Fuck-- Oh, Selena--" Panic drove tears into his eyes. He looked at her desperately. "I'm so sorry--"
To Jim, it wasn't so much falling as simply waiting for the rolling deck to tip far enough to catch him. He didn't quite feel his slippery deadweighted self slide from Selena's arms. He felt only the cold rain on his cheeks and eyelids; he heard her from far away, shouting for help. And that was about all.
Cooper and Chaney reached them first.
"Here," Cooper said to Selena. He bent, gently gathered Jim in his arms, and carried him into the ship.
"Haven't done that much stitching on a rolling ship in-- hell, since ever."
A woman's voice, deep, from somewhere outside his skull, beyond his eyelids.
Jim opened his eyes, found himself looking at a window. To his left. One small bright pane sided with light green curtains, set in a light gray bulkhead. Light poured through the clean glass. He slowly blinked at the glare. He was warm and dry and shirtless. His stomach felt a little itchy, a little tight.
"He's back," the woman's voice added.
He turned his head toward his breastbone, found himself looking up at Selena. He was lying on a bed; she was sitting beside him.
"Hey, there," she said softly.
"Hey--"
She wasn't the one who had first spoken; that would be Dr. Huelsmann, standing back from the bed beside a man in a dark blue sweater swatched with darker patches at the shoulders. He was fortyish; he had short, sandy hair, a blocky face, narrow hazel eyes. He came closer, looked down at Jim.
"I am Surgeon Lieutenant Anton Hoyser, chief medical officer of the Helvig." His eyes were friendly, maybe just a bit mischievous. "Your stomach is looking like the hide of a damned baseball, young man, and that is for sure. Dr. Huelsmann's are the largest stitches in the North Atlantic."
Selena brushed hair away from Jim's forehead, kissed his right temple. "Don't listen to them. You tore your scar; you were seeping, that's all. That's all. They gave you something to keep you out while they patched you up."
"You will want to rest today," Dr. Hoyser continued. "And nothing strenuous for a day or two. Move about, be active, but no heavy lifting."
"Leo's already volunteered to be your sherpa," Dr. Huelsmann added drolly. "If I were you, I'd definitely exploit the situation. Make him lift the anchor or something. He'd do it."
Jim smiled slightly. "Why'd I faint--?"
Selena pursed her lips, still caressing him. "Shock. Exhaustion."
"Standard side effects of remarkably risky behavior under extreme conditions," Huelsmann said.
Jim locked his eyes on Selena. "Who told you?"
"Who didn't tell me?" To his questioning look, she said: "Yeah, I'm pretty fucking mad about it. There are easier ways to get yourself killed, Jim." She paused. "But I'm even more relieved, okay?"
"Okay."
They went silent, watching one another. The moment hung there, suspended four ways.
"I think I am needed back in sickbay." Dr. Hoyser nudged Dr. Huelsmann. "I think you are, too, Doctor."
They stole out unnoticed. Jim embraced Selena; she held him close. He pressed his face to her neck, marveling: how quickly now their space became just that: theirs. Shared warmth, shared breath, the contacts, great and lesser, between their bodies. A detail as fine as her fingertips brushing the hairs at his nape.
He said to the hollow of her shoulder: "If I'd'a died-- if I'd'a died there on th' rig, this is how heaven would be. Just like this. Just exactly."
She asked quietly: "No flights of angels to sing you to your rest--?"
"How many angels would it take? All I need is th' one."
She went very still. Then he felt her breath catch. A moment later, something wet and tiny struck the skin of his shoulder, and she was shaking against him.
"Oh, darlin'--" He eased back from her; he brushed tears off her cheeks with the edges of his thumbs. "Here, don't. Shh. Don't, now."
"I'm sorry-- " She met his eyes, glanced away again. She pushed the heel of her right hand across her cheek. "Been something of a rough morning, hasn't it?"
"Yeah, it has." Jim again drew her close. He asked quietly: "How many did we lose, all told?"
"Sixteen when the explosion went off. Sixteen unaccounted for, anyway. Piotr says he saw no one in the water."
"How about those fellas hurt?"
"Mostly injuries from falling debris. No bad burns, no crushing. Dr. Huelsmann says we were very, very lucky, all things considered."
"She's right." Edie Irving spoke from the door. She looked tired but chipper. She bore a tray; she brought it in. "Juice and toast for the young man just out of anesthesia. Your stomach will thank you, trust me."
"An' I'll thank you." Jim released Selena, smiled gently up at the fallen Puffin's cook. "Are yeh okay, Edie?"
"Yes, I am, Jim." She ruffled his hair, divvying a smile between him and Selena. "It's kind of you to ask. And-- just so you know-- the captain will be stopping by. Be warned."
She raised her eyebrows and made for the door. Jim frowned too late after her vanishing back. "What does that mean--?"
"I'm sure we'll find out." Selena found a knife on the tray, slathered butter and jam onto a warm slice of bread. "Here, Jim: eat your toast."
Five minutes later, like tax time, death, or an outtake from a black-and-white Bergman film, the Helvig's captain arrived.
He was a tall man in his dark blue uniform, aged indeterminately in his forties, nearly gaunt but strongly built. His features were elegant, slightly sinister, his cheekbones high, his lips full, his nose narrow and straight. High forehead, straight brown hair combed back. His eyes under thick black brows were large and almost as shockingly blue as Jim's. His sleeves opened onto large, capable hands, expressive long fingers. He looked like a figure from a naval ghost story, like someone you'd see through fog, silently pacing the deck of a shadowy mystery ship.
"I am Captain Andersen." A velvety tenor voice. A German accent. Jim wondered if Denmark contained any actual Danes. "Give me your names, please. Your full names."
His tone implied that full names were less a requirement for Danish naval record-keeping than a reflection of an intense personal distaste for informality.
"Jim--" Andersen's eyes nicked him; Jim flinched, caught himself. "James Edward Sullivan--" He swallowed. "Sir."
Andersen frowned slightly at him, as though in the distant past a James Edward Sullivan had committed some dreadful act upon a long-lost Andersen.
"Miller," said Selena. The frown turned her way. "Selena Therese Miller."
"And you seek asylum in the Kingdom of Denmark."
Selena kept herself in scowl's way. "Yes, sir."
"I must ask you: Have you committed a crime or crimes for which you have served or were due to serve time in prison?"
Glances, exchanged. They said, a matched set of sayings: "No, sir."
Andersen pursed his lips. "Do you have any infectious diseases?" His tone suggested-- ever so mildly-- that dire consequences would visit themselves upon the one or ones infected.
"No, sir."
"Good." His eyes were like a wash of blue light. He smiled slightly; he seemed almost shy doing it. "For your information: the Helvig is bound for Greenland, where we will patrol the eastern coast as far north as Ittoqqortoormiit. We will then return along our original route and rendezvous with an American investigation ship-- as yet undesignated-- at or near the site of the Puffin Three. The Helvig will then set course for home, that being Copenhagen. As regards your status as refugees, we will continue this interview at a future time. Until then, Mr. Sullivan, Miss Miller: welcome aboard."
Jim said, formally, "Thank you, sir."
Andersen nodded crisply and left. Jim and Selena looked at one another.
"'Miller'--?" he asked.
"Someone wasn't paying attention back at Infinity."
"You're right: someone wasn't." He shook a shudder from his shoulders. "Failcum aboart, ja--?"
"I dunno: he makes me feel absolutely failcum."
Jim chuckled, looking about. "Suppose we shouldn't complain. This is a nice cabin."
"This cabin is entirely your doing."
"What did I--?"
"For the hero of the Puffin."
He stared at her. She was smiling, but her eyes were sober. He squeezed her hand. "No-- Selena, no. I didn't do anything anyone else wouldn't'a done--" He shook his head good-naturedly. "Look, Piotr was the one flyin' th' chopper. He was the one who made the trip. Twice."
"Yeah. And that's his job, isn't it? You were the one playing like Indiana bloody Jones. So the six of us rate three cabins instead of two."
He considered. "How about you, then?"
"How's that--?"
"Are you for the hero of the Puffin?"
In response, she slid a hand to the back of his neck and gently drew him in. "Always."
He enjoyed the kiss; he did. Best kisser in the world, she was. He let her have her way with his mouth while he became a grand collection of tingles. But he felt a little sheepish when they broke for air. "That was a really awful line, wasn't it--?"
"Yeah." She took his face in her hands. "But it'll do."
Jim slipped his hands under her sweatshirt, along her sides, pulling her closer. Selena slid up against him, nonetheless mindful of his bandaged belly, and gently opened her mouth into his. He relaxed, lying back with her. This-- whatever this was-- this was almost like resting, wasn't it--?
"Hey--!" From the door: Hannah. She looked them over, mock-severe. "You finally got th' room, yeah? You mind usin' th' door too?"
Jim threw his pillow at her. Hannah smoothly ducked it. She swung the door on its hinges. "See, it's right here. A door. Closes an' everything. Wow."
"Is there anything we can do for you, Hannah?" Selena asked drily.
"Just wanted you t' know, me an' Laurel are two doors that way--" a pointing to the left "--so keep it down, yeah? Piotr an' Robbie are opposite us. Laurel told Robbie t' mind his manners. An' lunch'll be ready any minute, so you'll want t' put a shirt on, Jim."
Selena, frowning slightly, curious. "What's that about Robbie mindin' his manners?"
"Just a joke, innit? Laurel's just remindin' him, Piotr's not-- Hold on." Her eyes widened. "You don't know, do you?"
"Know what?" Jim asked.
"Robbie. He's, uh--"
"Gay. Yeah, I know."
Selena looked at him closely. "How do you know that?"
"Things yeh pick up when you're about t' die on a collapsin' oil rig." He looked from one girl to the other. "Y'know: th' usual."
"You didn't quite answer the question," Selena said.
Jim held his hand out to Hannah. "Pillow, please."
Hannah passed him the pillow he'd thrown. He hit Selena with it. She yelped, laughed.
Robbie appeared in the door, behind Hannah. "Is this a private orgy-slant-slaughter, or can anyone join in--?"
Selena got off of the bed. "You'd better ask him. I'm going to lunch. C'mon, Hannah."
A quiet day aboard the Helvig. The sea calmed; the clouds parted; the sun beamed down innocently from a pale blue sky. They reached the Faroe Islands just after five p.m. Velvety deep hills, long grass on hummocky lowlands, grass thatching on many roofs. Cliffs topped with mist, the sea slapping in white splashes at their bases. The Helvig dropped anchor outside of the capital city of Torshavn, on the main island of Streymoy. The harbor master sent out launches; Dr. Huelsmann accompanied the injured from the Puffin to the National Hospital. Jim went to the hospital, too, so that a doctor not on a pitching ship could check his stitches. The gang tagged along; they waited for him just outside the hospital's main doors, taking in the clear, clean island air; when Jim came out, doctor-approved, they went to dinner, "compliments," as Piotr said, "of the Kingdom of Denmark."
They ended up at a cafe with white walls behind, a view of the harbor in front, where the six of them sat around a square table and Piotr translated the menu. Dried mutton. Waffles. Blubber in many disturbing forms. When he got to "whale," Selena held up her hands.
"I wasn't a vegetarian when I walked in," she said. "Now I'm not so sure."
"Where's the fish?" Laurel asked. "These are fishin' islands, aren't they?"
"Most of it goes for export," Piotr replied. "I could ask if anyone has private stock--"
"Naw, that's okay. Here: what's this one--?"
"Puffin." He cleared his throat. "Fresh young baked... puffin."
Dry chuckles, silence. Piotr said, "The pub northward down the street serves pizza."
"You may stop at the word 'pub,'" said Robbie, rising. "Shall we, Laurel?"
She stood up. "An' you may stop at the word 'stop,' Robert. You're takin' antibiotics for your leg--"
They led the pack out the door. Piotr paused to pay the restaurant keeper for the use of the table. Hannah waited for him.
"No antibiotic so strong," announced Robbie, strolling, "that my mighty roommate cannot sling my unconscious form onto my bunk."
Selena and Jim walked along behind. She put her arm around Jim's waist; he slid his arm around her. "That goes for you, too, sweetheart," she said.
"The slingin' or the prohibition?"
"I'd gladly sling you anywhere, but I won't listen to you moaning through a hangover."
"Implyin' that a fella of Irish descent can't hold his liquor: that's a dangerous line, darlin'."
"Points, two: that old demon anesthesia, one; and, two, the fact you're still too thin. You're absolutely fat-free."
"Complainin', are yeh--?"
"Not exactly. Doesn't stop you being sexy as hell."
"But I should mind my imbibin', you're sayin'."
"Just saying you might consider saving your moaning for more worthwhile activities."
Jim smiled. He cupped her bum surreptitiously, stole a squeeze. She slapped his hand playfully, glancing at him over her shoulder. Her eyes were bright and frank. Piotr, having caught up, stopped the group outside the clean windows of an establishment two blocks down the street and pushed open a green-framed door. Jim followed Selena inside.
Visitors from England. Oh, and Scotland, too. The keeper of the Long Pause Cafe was a hearty dark-haired woman with devilish deep-blue eyes. She greeted Piotr with a white-toothed smile and a kiss on each cheek. "Nansk!" he said, smiling back. He left the reciprocal cheek-kisses out; Hannah very nearly managed not to glare. Nansk settled them at a heavy wooden table in comfortable semi-darkness beneath an antiqued brass chandelier and handed around menus and left them alone.
What sounded like a folk song was lilting from somewhere near the bar. Another jukebox, though not nearly as beautifully surreal as the Wurlitzer aboard the Puffin, stood against the north wall. A man with a crystalline tenor voice was singing about voyages and time travel.
"That's not--" Selena frowned, listening. "That's not Queen, is it--?"
"Sure is," said Jim casually, checking the beer list. He spoke maybe a second too quickly: "''39.' Night at the Opera."
"Is it a rule that music must become more bizarre the closer one comes to the Arctic Circle?" Robbie asked.
"Yes," said Piotr, looking at the menu. Not that the pizza toppings were many. And the cheese was sheep's-milk cheese. He called over to Nansk, asked for a beer. She brought him his brew, took drink requests from the others.
"You're trying not to sing along," Selena said to Jim. "Admit it."
"That obvious, is it?"
"Mm hm."
"I'd have t' kill yeh," said Laurel, mildly. "No offense. Just sayin'."
"I'd like a beer, too," Hannah announced.
Disapproval from Selena; echoed disapproval from Jim. Piotr smiled, his eyes thoughtful, and ordered her a beer. He sipped his; Hannah sipped hers, grimaced slightly at the bitterness. When her one sip had become four or six or so, Piotr announced he was switching to cola.
"A pilot should keep a clear head," he said. He looked to Hannah. "Don't you agree?"
She nodded soberly. "I'd better switch to cola, too, then."
"Good idea," said Piotr.
Selena smiled quietly over her iced tea.
Jim gestured toward Hannah's glass. "Give us th' rest o' that, then." She pushed it his way, across the wooden tabletop. "Thanks, Hannah." He took a sip, turned to Selena. "How about you, darlin'?"
"I'm fine. This is good." She looked at him, at his inquisitive clear eyes. "I don't drink."
"Christ, Laurel," said Robbie, "we're becoming a minority."
"You'll be becomin' unconscious soon enough, yeh twit."
Robbie wrinkled his nose at her. Minutes later, the food came. A minute later than that, Jim pushed aside his adopted beer.
"It'll do a number on me gut; you're right. I can feel it."
"So he can be taught," Selena murmured. She reached for a slice of pizza, gave him a sidewise smile.
"Some day when I'm not comin' off meds, mebbe. Soda'll do for t'night." It didn't hurt that her free hand had settled on his right thigh just north of his knee, under the table. Minding its manners, sure: but there it was. Slender long fingers light as butterflies perching on his trousers. And they were his trousers now, not hers. The morning's mixup fixed: they'd taken a moment to unswap before coming out that night. Jim cleared his throat. "What d'yeh say, Robbie--?"
Robbie looked about defiantly. He raised his glass of beer. "To that, James, I say--"
Nothing. He said nothing. Laurel deftly plucked the glass from his hand as he slid off his chair. A moment later he was snoring up at them from the clean floor.
"What, Robbie? The fuckin' sun also rises?" She took a good mouthful of his beer, nodded at the pizza and breadsticks and the coleslaw standing in for green salad. "Well, what are we waitin' on? Let's eat."
Hours later, after the sun had set, after a launch ride on black sparkling water back to the Helvig, as Jim pulled off his sweatshirt and brushed his teeth, Selena stood with her forehead tipped to a door two down and across the hall from theirs. She knocked quietly.
Piotr opened the door a moment later. He was wearing his trousers and a white t-shirt. In short sleeves, it was more than obvious: he had more muscles than any man had a right to. For the slightest second, Selena found herself staring.
"Yes, Selena?" he said politely.
"I-- About today-- Piotr--"
"Yes--?"
"I just have to say this." She bit her upper lip. "You know, I should be furious with you for taking Hannah back to the rig. I'm not, okay?"
"Okay."
"But if you ever-- if you ever hurt her, I will fucking kill you. Understand?"
"Yes, I understand." He smiled. "You love her very much, you and Jim."
"Yeah, we do." She shifted on her feet, suddenly a bit awkward before his even gaze, the broad white expanse of his chest. "Goodnight, then."
"Goodnight, Selena. Pleasant dreams."
A quiet night. Robbie had had the good sense-- courtesy of his antibiotics-- to fall asleep before a hangover could sink in and sprout. Jim had found in the pocket of his returned trousers a strip of foil packets he'd thought had gone with the Puffin to the dark bottom of the sea; he and Selena celebrated the find accordingly-- though gently, a bit carefully, keeping in mind his new stitches. Hannah slept the deep sleep of a girl who'd had for one day just enough adventure and little enough beer. Laurel, listening to the distant rumble of the ship's engines, was glad enough to be bunking with someone who didn't snore. Unlike Piotr, poor man, she thought with a smile.Their great Danish bath-boat had nothing on the sounds Robbie could broadcast from dreamland after he'd had a nip.
Morning. A languid sea, a clear sky. Selena woke just before six and, having no greater priorities, lay quietly watching Jim sleep next to her. He came to just past the top of the hour; he stretched like a long ginger tabby under the covers before he opened his eyes.
"Mmm--" He blinked sleepily, smiled a rumpled smile at her. "Mornin'."
"Morning." She kissed him. "Proper-morning this time."
"Don't jinx it, love." He pulled her close-- then he paused, frowned, rubbed his stubbly jaw. "Jesus, careful: I'll rub yeh raw."
"Like you haven't already."
"Right-- Sorry, yeah?"
"Think I'll live." She smiled, sat forward, looked back at him. "Shower--?"
"You'd better--" He paused, swallowed; a bit of color came to his cheeks. Suddenly she could feel him looking at her, looking at the daylight on her skin. If he touched her now, they'd never make it out of bed. "You take th' shower," he said, finally. "I'll deal wit' these bristles."
The Helvig's mess was smaller than the Puffin's, stainless steel and bright white enamel comprising what color scheme there was. When Jim and Selena came in, clean, debristled, and clothed (according to the silk-screened lettering on their latest sweatshirts, they were, at a guess, both now property of the Danish Navy), Leo Chaney, Dr. Huelsmann, Laurel, and Robbie were eating at a table that could seat four more.
"Morning," Chaney called. A Danish sailor stared from the next table over as the Puffin's homeliest mechanic poured syrup over a deep bowl of oatmeal. Chaney pitched him a gorgon's glare. "What--?" The sailor raised his eyebrows, looked discreetly away.
Jim and Selena went through the chow line-- the aforementioned oatmeal, toast, sausages, something flaky, lumpy, and yellow that passed for scrambled eggs, orange juice, and coffee black enough to bend light-- and joined their fellow refugees.
"Where're Hannah an' Piotr--?" Jim parked his tray, looked around the room.
"Oh, they've come an' gone ages ago," Laurel replied. "Dream-boy's gonna show her how t' take that helicopter all th' way apart an' put it back t'gether again. Walkin' on air, she is."
"How about you, Robbie?" Selena asked. "How're you feeling?"
Robbie stirred sugar into a cup of coffee. "Simply relieved to be feeling." He lifted the spoon clear, looked at it with mild surprise. "It didn't melt. Incredible." A sip; a wince. "Given the fact that I felt nothing at all last night after-- after--"
"Nine-thirty," said Laurel. "An' us stuck carryin' yeh back to th' launch, yeh foul lump. We shoulda left yeh."
"Speaking of which--" Jim looked over at Chaney and Huelsmann. He took a swallow of coffee-- "Oh, fuck--!" The cough half-imploded in his throat; Leo and Tamara waited until he could speak again. "Weren't yeh-- Shouldn't yeh have stayed back at th' hospital, with th' injured fellas?"
Huelsmann shook her head. "Company says I stick with the remainder of the core staff. So I stick. I'd just be underfoot back there anyway. They've got good doctors at that facility. Not to mention, company owes me about a hundred and fifty years of vacation. Couple days' lazy time: I'm good with that."
"We wanted t' see the sights, too," Chaney added. He took a deep swallow from his mug. "One thing these Danes know, it's coffee. Good stuff."
"But-- umm--" Robbie paused. "We are heading for Greenland, right?"
"They got sights in Greenland, don't they?" Chaney got up, looked over at Huelsmann. "More coffee, Tammy?"
"Hit me, Leo." She held out her mug. Chaney took it, smiled at her, ambled off to the liquids station.
"Can I-- I have to ask." Selena gestured after Chaney with her fork, but she was looking across at Huelsmann. "What is that--?"
"What's-- Me and Leo?"
"Yeah."
"It's a story--"
"It'll take us half th' day t' swallow this coffee," Jim said.
"Okay." Huelsmann settled back in her chair. "Whole thing-- background. Me: I'm what you might call an army brat in reverse. Mom is Chinese-American; she was in the United States Air Force, stationed in Germany, where she met my father. They got married and moved back to the States. I was born in Chicago. Medical school, all that stuff, but me, I don't want to work in a clinic, don't want to work in a hospital. Mom's pushing me toward the service, 'cause I'm like her: I've got the travel bug. But I've also got this thing about doing medicine for organizations that-- well, that train people to kill. Something not quite logical there, the way I see it. Still: turns out I've got almost no other scruples whatsoever, so I see nothing wrong with working in the oil industry."
"Givin' 'em the ethics speech, Tammy?" Chaney, returning, set her mug in front of her on the table, re-seated himself.
"Yep. Thanks, Leo." She reached for her coffee. "So I end up being a shack doctor on this rig down in the Gulf of Mexico, off the coast of Louisiana. And one night, a couple of guys on day-leave, they get in a dustup in a bar on shore--" She glanced at Leo, who kept his eyes on his coffee, a smile hiding in the creases of his face. "Cops break it up. But one of the guys, he gets himself shot. So this other guy, the guy he's with, gets him out of there. They make a break for it, jump a launch, and head-- these idiots head back to the rig."
"Didn't know where else t' go, see," Chaney said, looking around the table. "So we get back--"
"And Mr. Chaney here brings me his wounded friend--"
"Wait," Selena said. She looked at Chaney. "I don't understand-- if the police were there, why didn't they take your friend to the hospital?"
"'Cause the police were the ones who shot him." Chaney looked at her wryly. "Things get confusin' like that in the Gulf."
"So-- to make a long story even longer--" Huelsmann took a good drink of coffee. "I get the slug out, and I sew him up, and the Louisiana authorities nail me for not reporting a bullet wound."
Chaney snorted. "Like they didn't already know about it."
"Medical board could've had my license." She shrugged. "Probably should have. But someone somewhere pulls a few strings, and it boils down to a choice: either I get fired or I take a transfer to the frozen north. So here I am. Here we are." She nodded toward Leo.
"Felt like hell, gettin' her in trouble," Chaney said. "So I put in for a transfer of my own. Jason did, too."
"Jason was that close to going to jail," Huelsmann countered, flatly.
"Pardon-- who's Jason?" Jim asked.
"Jason McCrae." Chaney looked around the table. "You might've met him on the rig--"
"I did," Selena said quietly. Jim frowned at her tone.
"He's one of the guys missing," Chaney said.
Huelsmann looked tightly at the table. "You know, God might not think kindly of me for this, but I can't say I'm entirely sorry."
Jim saw Selena purse her lips; he touched her hand. She glanced his way, a look that said, Ask me later, okay? He nodded slightly; he asked Leo: "So what's on for today, Mr. Chaney?"
"You guys are with me." He looked from Jim to Robbie. "Always plenty t' do on a ship. Paintin', cleanin', whatnot. We'll ask around, make ourselves useful."
"Me, I'm for th' laundry," Laurel said. "I'm an innkeeper, aren't I? Get too far from th' wash, I go through withdrawal."
"I think Dr. Hoyser could use a hand in the dispensary, if you're up for it." Huelsmann looked across at Selena.
"Sounds good."
"Let's get goin' then, people." Chaney got up. "Let's show Captain Andersen we're guests worth havin'."
A day of painting, cleaning, and whatnot. A good, ordinary day, honestly. The Danish sailors were friendly enough, all told, and most of them spoke English better than most of the people who'd been Selena's customers at the chemist's back home. Not a tremendous lot was happening in the Helvig's medical area, now that the Puffin's injured had gone, so she asked Dr. Hoyser about life in Denmark in general and about life in Denmark since the United Kingdom plague in particular. When he'd had enough of telling her, he led her to his office, parked her in front of the computer on his desk, and wrote a list of web addresses on a slip of paper. "Here," he said amiably, and left her to it. She was reading off the screen when Jim passed by the office just before dinner, heading toward the exam area. He was moving well; he didn't seem to be in pain. She waited for him to exit.
He did, five minutes later. She didn't have to catch him; he stopped at the office door and leaned in. "Hey, darlin'. What are yeh lookin at--?"
Selena stretched, pushed back from the screen. "The International Compact on Relief in the United Kingdom. More specifically, Denmark's emergency immigration policy with regard to British refugees." She glanced back at him wryly. "That's us, you know."
Jim stepped in, came closer. "Sounds fascinatin'."
"We'll need to know it, won't we--?"
He smiled soberly. "Yeah, we will."
She smiled back at him, returned her attention to the web page. "What brings you to sickbay?"
He fingered his sweatshirt over the bandaging on his midriff. "Gettin' this checked."
"And--?"
"Dr. Huelsmann says it looks pretty much fatal."
A delay as his spoken words sunk through the pixel-words on the screen into her head. Then Selena stared at him. "What--!"
"Yeah." Jim pursed his lips. "Says I won't live more'n twenty-six thousand days or so."
She shook her head. "You bastard."
Jim grinned. He leaned in, read over her shoulder.
"I've been thinking--" Selena said, quietly, after a moment. "What's to become of Hannah?"
Jim tipped his head to hers. "I was wonderin' that, too-- and I thought we might-- I thought we might become her guardians. If it's allowed."
"Don't see why it shouldn't be."
"Probably be easier if we were married."
"Yeah."
"I asked Andersen."
Selena blinked. "Jim, you didn't--!"
"Yeah, I did." He smiled at her. "Just t' ask. Make his mind easier about our sharin' a cabin, if nothin' else. Want t' know what he said--?"
He looked so guileless that she smiled back. "What did he say?"
"Well, t' set the scene-- I go up to 'im after lunch--"
"I'd wondered where you'd gone off to."
"Some sort o' top-secret mission, wasn't it? So I go up to 'im-- him all content after his food, I'm thinkin', and I lead off wit', 'Excuse me, Captain, sir, but fellas such as you-- you sea captains-- you can perform marriage ceremonies, yeah--?' An' he says, 'What of it?' And he stares at me wit' those eyes-- y'know what I'm sayin'-- they're like th' bottom of an iceberg, they're that cold. And, bang: I'm losin' my nerve. 'Could you marry me an' Selena?' I ask. I just sorta blurt it at 'im. An' he says, 'No.' 'Why not?' I say-- I'm completely losin' it by now, y' understand. An' he says, all straight-faced: 'I am married already. My wife and I have a house outside Copenhagen.' An' he just goes. He walks away. And I know-- I just know-- he's laughin' at me."
Selena said nothing, kept her face very still. She turned back to the monitor. A moment later, she snickered.
Jim shrugged, his arms going out. "Okay, I give up--"
"Oh, Jim--" Her snickering blossomed into full-on laughter. She shook with it. A moment's hysteria, maybe-- He's as much as asking me to marry him-- but that never hurt.
Jim dropped to a squat beside her, his face working. "Wonder if they all say that...?"
"''Ve haf a house outside Copenhagen'--?" Selena asked innocently. Outwardly she was calm. Inside she was quivering.
Obviously, Jim was, too. He snorted, burst out laughing. "Don't, now--"
"Pardon me--" At the door of Dr. Hoyser's office, the Helvig's first mate, Skjol. A very short man, squarely built. Neat beard, dark eyes under dark brows. "Miss Miller, the captain would like to see you on the bridge."
"Sure." Selena cleared her throat, stood up, just a bit caught out.
"This way, please." If Skjol had heard them laughing, he was polite enough not to embarrass them now with an accusing look. He gestured toward the hall.
"Mind if I tag along--?" Jim asked.
"Certainly. Quickly, though, if you please."
The bridge of the modified Thetis-class frigate Helvig. Instruments banked before a row of square windows facing out over the ship's forward structure. White leather chairs, a glistening wooden ceiling above. The efficient bustle of men and women in blue uniforms, radio chatter. Captain Andersen was at one of the communications stations, leaning in beside the operator, when they entered.
"Captain," said Skjol, "Miss Miller is here."
"Good." Andersen frowned when he said it; he steepled his expressive fingers and came over. Looking up at him, Selena suddenly realized he was nearly as tall as Piotr. "Ten minutes ago," he said, "we received a distress call from the storage platform North Star, ninety kilometers north of our present position. We have changed course to respond."
"And that affects Selena how--?" Jim asked.
Andersen scowled. "Did I ask for him, Mr. Skjol?"
"They seem to move as a unit, sir."
"Very good, Mr. Skjol." Andersen fixed Selena with his laser-blue eyes. "The man who sent the message from the North Star-- and, unfortunately, he has stopped transmitting-- he asked for you, Miss Miller. He asked for you by name."
