foot sticking out of the instrument room. He assumed the man owning the limb was Martin Nevins, the shipâs engineer and mechanic. Noah walked over, curious to see how things had turned out, since he had no recollection after hitting his head. The last time he saw the room, it was a toxic mess of fire retardant and electrical smoke. Not much had changed.
âHey Marty. Howâs it look?â
The engineer sat back and wiped at his forehead with a dirty forearm. He was sweating despite the chill in the room. âLooks like hell is what it looks like.â He sized Noah up and added, âYou donât look any better.â
Noah brushed at the cut on his forehead with his fingers and wondered how bad the bruising on his face was. Aside from the hospital and the lockers in the change rooms, there werenât many reflective surfaces on the Promise. He hadnât thought to look in the mirror inside his closet. For all he knew, half of his beard might have been singed off in the fire. He ran his hand down his face to reassure himself he didnât resemble a half-man/half-woman sideshow attraction. âIâm sure it looks worse than I feel. Or maybe the other way around. I donât know.â He pointed at the instrument stack heâd extinguished. âFire was in propulsion, huh? Is it salvageable?â
âYeah. I mean, no way. Yes, the fire hit propulsion, but itâs not even a little salvageable. The thing is well and truly fucked; weâre running on the backup.â
âAnd if that one goes out?â
Martin huffed a laugh through his nose. âYou know what happens then.â He didnât have to say it. He pulled a cigarette out of a pack and lit it. Smoking wasnât allowed anywhere on board except the exterior decks. But then, who would be able to pull the smell of a Kamel Red out of the mélange of other noxious scents poisoning the air on D? âWhat are the chances they both get wrecked, huh?â
Noah shrugged. He didnât want to say it out loud. He didnât believe in jinxes and bad luck, but it still lived in him, like the fear of elevators falling down their shafts and the bus in your blind spot that only appeared once you step off the curb. Then again, you didnât need to believe in bad karma to know that Brewster had been pushing the engines extra hard. If they sailed into another storm, they could have much bigger problems than ice.
Martin took a deep drag of his cigarette and blew a long stream of smoke toward the ceiling. âSpeakinâ of getting wrecked, I got a bottle of J&B in my cabin. You up for a snort later?â
âDefinitely. Come find me; Iâm bunking on C now.â
âThatâs a good thing. Down here is no place to be.â
Noah held out a fist for Martin to bump. The mechanic knocked his knuckles against Noahâs a little too hard and smiled with the half of his mouth not occupied with his coffin nail. The pair had shipped out together in the past, but both of them hailing from New England provided more of a bond than any of their experiences hauling concrete and gas into the Arctic Ocean.
Noah turned to go. âHey, uh, you know what the deal is with communications or navigation systems?â
âWhat? You missing your âstoriesâ?â
Noah laughed. âI was talking to Brewster, and radio and sat phones are both down. Iâm guessing that means dynamic positioning, too. I was just wondering if you knew what was going on.â
Martin stood and tilted his head to the side as if he was trying to tell what kind of mythical creature was talking to him. âFirst Iâm hearing of it. There isnât a thing built by man I canât fix, but if both radio and satellite have shit the bed at the same time, that ainât mechanical. Not unless weâre really getting the smackdown from the gods; theyâre separate systems. It might be the weather interfering. Or it