Free Siberius by Kenneth Cran

tin-plate photos in rusting frames and a Krasnagorsk camera with a broken lens. It was evident to Nick that these were a man’s things. Everything was coated with dust, and looked like they hadn’t been touched in years. To Nick, that likely meant only one thing:
    Whoever owned them was not coming back.
    Rolling on his other side, he saw Talia standing over a potbellied stove, warming her hands. For the first time, Nick saw her without a winter coat. He was surprised by what he saw.
    Talia was pretty. The glow of the fire rendered her skin in warm, even tones. Her eyes were the same color as the evergreen trees of the taiga , and her dark brown hair hung just below her shoulders . A kettle of tea steamed on the cast iron plate, and she threw another chunk of wood into the stove.
    Nick sat up, rubbing his head. “How long have I been asleep?” His stomach rumbled and his mouth was dry and salty.
    “I don’t know,” she said. “I don’t have a clock in here. But it’s dusk, if that helps you.” Nick eased his legs over the side of the bed and watched Talia pour tea into a cup. She sat down and sipped it.
    “ Got any more of that, miss-” His mind went blank and he chuckled and said, “You know, I’m in your home, sleeping in your bed and I don’t even know your name.” Talia glared at him and Nick straightened up. “You know what I mean,” he said, losing his smile.
    “ There’s a cup on the shelf, Nick. Help yourself.” She was smug about knowing his name and Nick cringed.
    Good job, Nicky-boy , he thought . You’re one hell of a mole. Talking in his sleep was a problem he tried to deal with while in the army, and it almost cost Nick assignments with the OSS. It could be worse, he reasoned. At least he didn’t sleep walk.
    Nick climbed out of bed. In a moment, he too was sipping hot tea next to the stove. He let the steam rise over his face, breathing it in. “Did I say anything else?”
    Talia thought it over. “You live in Cleveland,” she said, not looking at him. “With Indians.”
    Nick chuckled again. At least he hadn’t lost his sense of humor. “Oh, yeah, my baseball dream,” Nick said. “You know baseball?”
                  Talia shook her head and stared at the fire. Nick was a pretty rational person, and he sensed that this woman was no danger to him. At the very least, she wasn’t part of the Red Army.
                  “I haven’t seen a ball game in-” He stopped, contemplated it like it meant something. “Geez, must be five years. I’m gonna see one this summer, though, I can promise you that.” Her reaction was another swallow from her cup. “Guess there’s no point in telling you my rank and serial number.” He extended his hand. “I’m Nicholas Somerset. Friends call me Nick.”
                  Hesitant, she shook it. “Talia.”
                  “Talia. That’s nice. I guess I owe you my life.”
                  “I guess you do,” she said, then draped a blanket around her shoulders. Thick walls and blankets muffled the faint whistling wind.
                  “This is real cozy,” he said, looking around. “Are you on your own out here?” She ignored him. Nick sipped his tea. “Pretty cold outside, huh?”
                  “You can spend the night here,” she said with sharp urgency. “But you must leave in the morning.” And with that, she stood up and went to the little table. Nick watched her open a ratty notebook, then grab a few books from the bookshelf against the wall. She sat down and started to read.
    She was rude, but Nick couldn’t bring himself to complain. He had crashed in a frozen wasteland and this woman saved his life. Under the circumstances, Nick thought himself the luckiest man on Earth.
                  “I hate to say this,” he said. “But I’m hungry.” Talia looked up from her book, and Nick could see that she was