Date: Fri, 16 Apr 1999 16:27:34 -0600 (MDT) From: "Katherine R. Freymuth" Subject: Whale - ch 3 Message-ID: Chapter 3 It took Sam a little while to find his cabin on the large whaling ship. He soon discovered that he bunked with Alik in one of a collection of cabins towards the aft of the ship, which he found very comforting, knowing the crew as he did. Apparently, everyone on board was Russian, with the exception of Alik, who was born in Marseille to Russian-speaking parents. Although his parents had never spoken French, Alik learned it and was fluent in both French and Russian. Apparently, according to Alik's talk, he and Gregor had met in Paris where they were studying at the Sorbonne together. *But according to Al, Gregor studied in Moscow! Something's very wrong!*, Sam thought once he learned of the inconsistency. Sam's job aboard the Khrushchev was, as Sam thought, full-time cook. The Khrushchev would often spend a week at a time at sea before returning to port. Therefore, Gregor cooked meals every day for the crew and acted as the entire staff of a restaurant. Sam couldn't understand how Gregor could handle such unrelenting pressure. Sam hardly could himself. As he learned of Gregor's job on the ship, he discovered that most of Gregor's meals were made from whales' meat, a fact that didn't please Sam at all. The captain of the ship was Petri Rustov, a short man whose facial features reminded Sam of old pictures he had seen of Tsar Nicholas II. Captain Rustov was a very demanding man and commanded respect from his crew. Despite this, he always seemed to have a pleasantly cheerful gleam in his eye, especially for Gregor and Alik. The rest of the crew were definitely unfriendly to both Gregor and Alik. Sam had some idea of what was bothering them. Alik and Gregor were well-liked by Captain Rustov and therefore received the best jobs on the ship. Gregor was a naturally great cook and received all the utensils and ingredients he would ask for, regardless of what they were. Alik was a natural leader and was in charge of the ship's operations, which included commanding the crew. Yet, even with having such a high position, the best job on the ship, and a loyal -- but jealous -- crew, Alik was bothered by something. It showed in his eyes. It was something Sam had seen before but could not as yet identify. As Sam walked into the cabin, he noticed that same look which he had seen earlier. Alik was definitely bothered by something. "Alik, what's wrong?" Sam asked in concern as he went to the cot on which Alik wasn't sitting. Alik looked up at Sam and smiled. It was a forced smile. "Nothing. We had better get some sleep." "Are you sure?" "I'm fine," Alik reassured him. "By the way, where were you?" "Pardon me?" Sam sat down. "We were supposed to meet here before dinner and you never showed up," Alik told him. "So, where were you?" "I must have forgotten about it," Sam answered, unsure what else to say. "That's not like you, Gregor. Are you ill?" Sam shook his head slightly. "I don't think so." Alik looked concerned. "Come here," he ordered. Sam obeyed. Alik looked into Sam's eyes. Something didn't seem quite right with them. "Gregor, if you're ill, tell me. You don't look yourself today." "Maybe I just need some rest," Sam answered with a slight grin. "It was that bad of a day?" Alik smiled. "The worst," Sam answered in all truthfulness. There was a slight roll of the ship. "What happened?" Sam asked. "Just the anchor being lowered," Alik answered, surprise in his voice. "You're right. You do need some rest. Time to dream about our Francaises, eh?" He winked at Sam as if he would know its meaning already. Sam had a feeling there was a sexual connotation to the reference. Alik took off his clothes and placed them within reach of the cot. Sam did the same, following Alik's lead. Alik had a curious look on his face, as if he didn't understand Sam's actions. "Gregor sleeps in his clothes," Al said as he entered the Imaging Chamber, puffing on a cigar. "But then, why would you care? You're busy killing off an endangered species!" "No! I'm busy cooking an endangered species!" Sam retaliated, a sharpness to his tongue. "What?" Alik asked, hearing Sam. He shook his head. "Gregor, you know I don't understand English." "Yeah, well..." Sam started in Russian. "I just wanted to do a little practicing," he finished, finding a suitable answer. Alik laughed. "That's funny, Gregor! You had me fooled for a moment." "Yeah," Sam answered with a slight smile. He put on his clothes and excused himself from Alik, who merely smiled and nodded. He then went to the aft of the ship where Al was waiting. "What did he say back there, Sam?" Al asked, forgetting his comment back at the cabin. Sam accepted the change of subject as an apology. "He said he couldn't understand English." "That's great, Sam!" Al exclaimed. "That means we don't have to use the head to talk in private!" Sam shook his head as Al spoke. "Sorry, Al. We still have to use the head because not even insane people talk to themselves in a foreign language." "Drat!" Al exclaimed. He stopped for a moment. *What was it that...* "What was it that you said he said?" "He can't understand English," Sam repeated. Al's eyes widened. "Which means that Gregor speaks English! He's pretending he can't speak English! Why, that devious, conniving...!" "What have you got on the Khrushchev?" Sam interrupted, changing the subject. Al punched up the information. "Two other ships disappeared at about this time. One was a Japanese fishing boat; the other was an American yacht that was being used by Greenpeace. The fishing boat was later found to have been capsized by a tidal wave. The Greenpeace boat's disappearance was never explained." "Al," Sam suddenly had a thought, "when were the Greenpeace boat and the Khrushchev declared missing?" Al searched. "The same day!" he exclaimed. "And there's an eighty-nine percent chance that they actually disappeared on the same day, too!" "Which is?" "Ziggy says it'll probably be tomorrow. Sam, if I were you, I'd get the hell out of the Devil's Sea right now!" Sam sighed. "Al, there's nothing supernatural about this area. I remember doing some research on the area and each of the disappearances had a natural and logical explanation." "Oh, really!" Al exclaimed. "How do you explain the ships' disappearances then?" Sam looked at Al firmly. "There are hundreds of things that could have happened to them. They could have hit a storm or..." "The seas were clear, Sam," Al pointed out. "So, what does Ziggy say happened?" Al shook his head. "She doesn't know but my money's on the Devil's Sea." Sam shook his head with disbelief. "Why don't you go back and see if Ziggy has anything helpful and, preferably, logical." Al huffed slightly. He opened the Imaging Chamber door. "I'll see you later, Sam," he told him. He looked about nervously. "Just keep your eyes out for sea monsters." Al stepped out of the Imaging Chamber, a distressed look on his face. He didn't need this extra stress right now. Not with what was happening with the recent Congressional request for a complete report on the status of the Project. That meant a complete study of the Complex, including inventory, employment status, and systems status. He wondered if the Committee really needed that report or if they just wanted to keep Al Calavicci on his toes. Whatever their real reason for wanting the report, it certainly was accomplishing the latter idea. Al took a breath. "Okay, Gushie," he said to a short man standing close to a large, colorful, table-like object. "Let's get to work. I need you to have Ziggy do a search on this Gregor Stawpahvich. We need as much as she can find out." "Right on it, Admiral," Dr. Gushie Conelf, the head programmer, told him. Al turned to him. "I also need a complete systems check on the Complex. Every system." Gushie raised his eyebrows. "That'll take hours." "Then you'd better get to work," Al told him. "I'll be in my office. Let me know when Ziggy's got that information." "I've been doing some checking on you," Al told Gregor in the Waiting Room, "and I've found some interesting inconsistencies. In fact, I've found quite a few." Ziggy didn't translate Al words into Russian, obeying Al's orders. Al looked for changes in Gregor's expression. There were none. Gregor said something in Russian. "'I can't understand what you are saying'," Ziggy translated over the speakers. Al shook his head. "I don't believe you. In fact, I think you can understand every word I'm saying." Gregor spoke again. "He persists that he can't understand you," Ziggy told him. "Is that so?" Al glared at the man. "Well, go ahead and pretend you can't understand me. I'll tell you what I found anyway." He pressed some buttons on the handlink. "We did some research on you and we found that no one by the name of Gregor Stawpahvich Roulier was born on August 30th, 1958. Your friend Alik has no relatives by that name." Al looked directly at Gregor. "We know you're not who you pretend to be. So it would be much simpler for all of us if you told us the truth." Surprise passed quickly over Gregor's face but not quickly enough for Al not to notice. "As I thought," Al grinned in triumph. "You understand English. Now, how about you give us some information? The sooner you tell us the truth, the sooner we can help you." No answer. Only a well-placed look of confusion. "Cut the bullshit, 'Gregor'! You can't hide behind a lie anymore. And if you don't tell us the truth, there is a great possibility that Alik will disappear from the face of the earth along with a friend of mine and the rest of the Khrushchev." "Is that some kind of threat?" Gregor answered in English with a heavy Russian accent. He glared at Al in a threatening manner. "It's not a threat. It's a fact and I like it about as much as you do," Al told him frankly, thankful that Gregor finally spoke up. "I don't believe you," Gregor stated firmly. Al sighed. *How many times do I have to do this?* "And why not?" Gregor snorted. "I don't talk to CIA." Al laughed. "You think I'm CIA? What makes you think that?" "Everything about you tells me that you are CIA. Your haircut. The way you stand. That...how do you say it... gauche outfit you are wearing. Only a stupid CIA agent would try to disguise himself in that." Al looked down at his clothes with slight confusion. He was wearing a mauve jacket and trousers with a gold dress shirt. His tie was black with mauve and gold polka-dots. His shirt matched with his gold-colored shoes. "Gauche? That's a new one," he said in response. He looked into Gregor's eyes. "I'm not CIA. I'm an admiral in the United States Navy and I'm telling you the truth when I say I want to help you." "Then let's start with your telling me exactly where I am and why you are holding me here." "I told you. You have switched places with Dr. Samuel Beckett. He's in 1988 and you're in 1999. We can't let you leave because, in order for you to return to your own time, you need to stay in the Waiting Room. But in order for you to return to 1988, you have to cooperate with us." Gregor laughed. "Why should I help CIA? Especially when they resort to blackmail." Al shook his head firmly. "I am not CIA," he repeated emphatically. "And this isn't blackmail. This is the truth." "So, you are not CIA. Why should I help you anyway?" "For Alik," Al answered. Gregor was silent in thought.