The Chief’s ears were fine tuned to the nuances of the ship, every squeak and rumble and grind of the turbines and engines, the hum of the reactors, the symphony of the entire machine itself as Kirov cut its way into the Atlantic. He had been reviewing service readouts from the main propulsion system, pleased that the reactors had been holding up very well, in spite of long hours at high speed. As he folded the file closed, he heard something that prompted him to incline his head, listening…“Mister Garin,” he said to his reactor Technician, Ilya Garin. “Any disturbance on your monitors?”“Sir?” Garin looked over his panels, noting nothing out of order, and reported as much. “Very well… “ Dobrynin should have been satisfied with that situation, but he was still not content. He set the sheaf of files down, sat in his swivel chair and put his feet up on the low stool he often used like a makeshift ottoman. Then he closed his eyes, listening… Listening…There it was, something barely perceptible.
