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wound. “Is it bad?”
    Noah shrugged. “Nothing I can’t cope with. A dozen, huh?”
    Mickle nodded, looking like he might have started rattling off names before thinking better of it. “Yup,” he said instead. “And none of ’em with as good an excuse as you or Pereira here. To be honest, I feel a little like shit myself, but I delivered the last of the Tylenol to the skipper a few minutes ago. All I have left is some topical stuff for stitches and whatnot … and the tramadol. The first wouldn’t knock out a headache and the second will knock you out.” His eyes wandered toward Pereira sleeping fitfully in the medical bunk. “You’re just going to have to brew up another pot of coffee and hope caffeine can get on top of it.”
    â€œYou think the fumes from the electrical fire got into the ventilation?”
    â€œOh, I’m sure of it. But almost everybody was outside dealing with the storm when that was happening. The fire was out before most of the crew came back in. Vent system had time to cycle that crap through and replace it with clean air. Unless something’s wrong with that, too.”
    â€œCommunications still on the fritz?” Noah asked.
    â€œYeah. I went up a few minutes ago to follow up on Pereira’s ride out of here.”
    â€œHow’d Brewster respond to that?”
    Mickle raised an eyebrow. “As expected. He told me Pereira would get help quicker if people would crawl out of his ass long enough for him to find the Niflheim.”
    â€œHe has a colorful turn of phrase, doesn’t he?”
    Mickle smirked. “He uses colorful words to describe you, that’s for sure.” He pinched the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger and squeezed his eyes shut. Noah suspected he was underplaying the severity of his own headache. “He also refused to let me relieve him. He’s been at the conn going on twenty hours.” Mickle didn’t need to say how dangerous lack of sleep could be. A well-rested person attempting to steer the ship in fog as dense as this was dangerous enough. “I stopped here on my way to fetch him a cup of coffee before I try to relieve him again. You have any insights into how to get your father-in-law to listen?”
    â€œThe only insight I have is that he doesn’t ever listen. It’s his way.”
    Mickle sighed. “If I’m able to scrounge up any aspirin or something, I’ll let you know. You do the same?”
    Noah held up a three finger salute, regretting the gesture as soon as it bounced off his wound, amplifying the ache behind it. “Promise.”
    Mickle grinned at the gesture. “I was a scoutmaster for my kid’s troop back in the day. Never saw one who could grow a beard like that.”
    â€œIt’s glandular.” He petted his dark pelt and smiled. It was the first time in days he’d felt like he could let his guard down. It was nice … and fleeting as he heard footsteps in the passageway behind him. Stepping a pace out of the door, he saw a pair of deckhands rounding the corner, stomping his way like men on a mission. One of them slowed when he caught sight of Noah. He furrowed his brow and missed a step as his eyes darted to follow something behind Noah. Noah turned, wondering if there was someone else in the passageway he’d missed. Empty. He stepped aside as the men shouldered past him into the hospital.
    â€œHey Doc,” one said as he barged in. “We were hoping—”
    â€œStop right there,” Mickle said.
    Noah left him to deal with the deckhands and went down to search out the coffee he’d been recommended to take in lieu of a real painkiller.

 
    6
    Among the men up and moving aboard the Arctic Promise, most were barely moving. In the mess room, a handful of crewmen picked at their food, pushing it around but not eating as vigorously as they had when they first set out. They