One Thousand Years (19 page)

“That's
not the same thing,” McHenry insisted, startled but undeterred.

Stern
leaned forward. “If you do not want to take my opinion on this
matter, perhaps you should wait until we retrieve a couple of the
Jews on our recovery schedule. You can argue with them about it.”

“I
was under the impression that you weren't picking up any religious
people,” said McHenry.

“We
are not. The two Jews we plan to retrieve are both atheists.”

“Why
am I not surprised?” McHenry said sourly.

“It
should prove interesting,” said Stern. “They are also
communists. They will not appreciate the Reich's victory any more
than you do — not right away — but they will turn around
just as you will when you learn more about the Reich.”

“If
you think so, then why not think the same of my friend Parker?”

“Is that what this is about?”
Stern seemed surprised at that. “I assure you Herr McHenry.
There are technical reasons why we cannot
recover your friend. It has nothing whatsoever to do with his
beliefs. You have my word on that.”

McHenry didn't know what to say to that.
He looked at the man, full of arrogance and confidence,
and yet there was a touch of regret in his voice.
That seemed to be the one thing he had said that sounded genuinely contrite.

“Believe
me, we have no doubt that he could have become a loyal subject of the
Reich, and perhaps one day, loyal to the
Führer
. You will learn
to support our
Führer
, too. Everything she does is for us as a
people. You will see. And the day will come when you will
appreciate Adolf Hitler as well.”

McHenry
simply refused to believe that. “For a people who say you
don't worship God, you sure seem to treat Hitler like one.”

“Yes,”
answered Stern. He smiled contently and confidently. “I would
gladly sacrifice the lives of my sons for Adolf Hitler. And without
question, all my sons would do the same. But unlike the fabled
Abraham, we would not hesitate long enough for our first
Führer
to change his mind.”

*

Dale
was present with Mtubo in the
Kommandant's
office when the
Luftwaffe technical sergeant gave his report.
Kommandant
Oberst
Volker stood beside Mtubo listening to the
presentation. The rechner projected a diagram upon the
Kommandant's
desk. They were schematics for the Tiger engines, infected from the
molecular corrosion.

“The
damage is most extensive,” the sergeant concluded. “But
the unterkarbon net is the dilemma. We cannot repair the Tiger
inside the hangar without retracting the unterkarbon, and we cannot
retract the
unterkarbon because the terminating matter is fused. Under
present conditions, it will take at least twenty days to make repairs
outside.”

“May I ask a question,
Oberst
?”
asked Dale. The SS aboard
Göring
rarely addressed Volker as
Kommandant
,
at least not directly.
Her rank was
Oberst
.
She may have been the ship's commander,
but she was not her commander.
Dale continued after she nodded. “Can
the unterkarbon be ejected at the hangar entrance?”

“It
would expose us to the Grauen regardless,”
explained the
Kommandant
.
“The net was designed to retract precisely at the hangar doors.
The geometry is critical, and the tolerances are tight. This is not
just with respect to shape, but the Tiger's center of gravity as
well. A variation of five millimeters could render us detectable
within two thousand kilometers, and that is by our understanding of
the Grauen sensors. Those intelligence estimates could always be
wrong.”

“I
understand that,
Oberst
,”
she said respectfully. “But the temporary measures are also
risky. We have just heard that
Göring's
unterkarbon envelope has been compromised by the
placement of the Tiger docked beside it. That may only be a
difference of a half-kilometer but this is an additional
half-kilometer over a period of weeks, rather than just the few
minutes of greater
exposure while the unterkarbon is withdrawn.” She glanced at
Mtubo, who seemed to nod
approval at her making the point.

The
Kommandant
took a brief pause before responding, clearly
surprised by Dale's grasp of the details.
“Yes,” she said.
“That is a valid concern. It is always on my mind. There is,
however, another problem as this geostationary orbit represents an
additional security risk. If they are looking for us at all, they
will be looking at this altitude first. My orders for this mission
are risk-averse to the extreme. This ship, and its mission, may
ultimately be the last defense of the Reich. I cannot allow us to
break cover for even an instant. Not here.”

“I
understand,” she answered. “I withdraw my point.”

“It
would be much more secure if we pulled back to deep space,” the
Kommandant
noted. “Take
it somewhere that we may tear off the unterkarbon, bring the Tiger
inside, and then be back here within a day. Working through
the airlock could take months.”

Mtubo
looked to Dale, who shook her head. “I would not advise
leaving until the events of June.”

“Understood,”
said the
Kommandant
. “Alternatively, we can also
jettison the Tiger into the sun.” She saw Mtubo's eyes shift
briefly to the technical sergeant and then back again.
The
Kommandant
took the point and turned to the sergeant. “Thank
you
Feldwebel
. Continue the repairs outside. Dismissed.”

Mtubo
spoke after the sergeant had left the office. “Operation
Spartacus would require at least two Tigers. It is too soon to lose
one now.”

“Is
there any change in that mission contingency?”

“There
might indeed be,” Mtubo sighed. He turned to Dale.
“
Sturmbannführer
,
you are dismissed.”

“
Heil Renard!”
said Dale, clicking her heels before turning and leaving the room.
She knew what the topic of discussion would be, and she was glad she
didn't have to be present for it.

She had a feeling they might be leaving in June after all.

*

Too
disturbed to even think about sleeping, McHenry left the SS section
and went up to the hangar section. He needed a friend to talk to.
The zero-gee hangar section was deserted except for an Asian
Luftwaffe officer aboard one of the Tigers who told him a few of the
pilots went to the crippled Tiger.

One
of the outer hatches opened for him. Could the rechner have made a
mistake? McHenry floated through and then followed a makeshift
gangway that curved slightly into the familiar hatch of the Tiger.
He paused there, looking at the opening. It was just possible, he
hoped, that this Tiger might not be latched onto
Göring
like the others.

His
thoughts were now tempered by his understanding of the likely
consequences. They were so different from his initial attempt to
escape with the lifeboat. Now he fully understood that his escape,
and further participation in the war, would mean changing history.
It would affect not only his Luftwaffe friends, but it would likely
end the very existence of their families, descendants, and multiple
generations of ancestors. He would have a thousand years of blood on
his hands. But inaction also meant that generations ahead would be
condemned to live under Nazi rule. It was a Nazi rule unencumbered
by serious political rivals or human enemies, and now with the
advantages of time travel. He knew that he might have to put
thoughts of escape out of his mind. But he also knew that they could
never be entirely gone.

Then
the hatch closed again and he understood why these hopes would have
been for naught anyway. The rechner would never have opened it for
him if there were a chance he could escape. Then the reason became
obvious when he entered. The interior was bare. Even the cargo
pod had been removed, exposing the bare weapons module that
McHenry had previously only seen in pictures and diagrams. Bamberg
and Sanchez were floating in the middle cabin with coffee containers
in their hands.

“Isn't
this your nap period?” asked Sanchez.

“I
couldn't sleep,” McHenry answered. He couldn't be sure whether
Sanchez was joking or not. “How much are they taking out?”

“The
engines came out fast,” said Sanchez. “The robots are
outside, realigning the unterkarbon. They will be doing that for
weeks.”

“You
look unhappy tonight,” observed Bamberg. “Was it more
trouble with the SS?”

“You
guessed it.”

“Let's
get you a cup of coffee,” said Sanchez, leading the way into
the cockpit, which McHenry could see was now configured for a lone
pilot seat. Other than that, the cockpit was unchanged, but McHenry
could detect a slight hum. The dome showed the outside, including
the unterkarbon, which was not normally displayed. Small bug-like
robots hugged sections of its webbing. He suddenly realized how rare
it is to hear a superfluous sound generated by technology.
Göring
and its Tigers had so few mechanical noises other than those beeps,
tones, chimes and alarms designed with the intent of being heard by
someone.

“That
noise you hear is the auxiliary reactor,” explained Bamberg
while rearranging the seating. “We would normally not hear it
but it is misaligned for testing. Some of the covers are off.”

“It's
still pretty darn quiet to me,” said McHenry.

“Compared
to your old aircraft, I am sure that it is,” said Bamberg.

McHenry
smiled slightly. “Yes, those things are loud.” Then the
smile lapsed. “Are they still holding Otto Barr?”

“No,”
said Bamberg. “We were told he is transferring to ship's
navigation until further notice. We assume he saw something
sensitive and cannot risk being captured.”

“Do
you think he might have peeked at the Tiger's SS equipment?”

“The
side-panel? He would not do that,” said Bamberg, shaking his
head.

“His
SS officer isn't listed on the flight schedule anymore either,”
added Sanchez. “Whatever it is, it seems to affect both of
them.” She handed him a container of coffee and then seated
herself sideways where she could watch the door. “So,”
she said. “Tell us what the SS did now. Was it Dale again?”

“Yes,
but mostly Stern.” Then he thought further. “Actually,
it's everything. I got an idea earlier that they rejected the
mission because my friend is a Christian.”

“They
would not like that,” said Sanchez. “But I very much
doubt that's the only reason.”

“It's
not,” said McHenry. “I'm sure of that much. Stern led
me to believe there's something else. He wouldn't say what, but
whatever it is, he's not saying.”

“I
would not expect him to,” said Bamberg.

“It
is suspicious. I wonder if it could be related to the reason Barr is
being held.”

“Doubtful,”
said Sanchez. “I think it's more widespread than one issue.
The SS is very busy now. We will have a full flight schedule
tomorrow. Don't ask why; they aren't telling us. But don't worry
about Otto. I'm sure he's comfortable.”

“What
can you tell me about the Jews?” He didn't want to change the
subject, but her mention of secrecy made him think of it.

“You
mean of your time?” asked Bamberg, surprised. He followed up
without waiting for an answer. “You must know better than we
that no one liked the Jews in your day. This is your time period,
after all.”

“How
many do you think were killed?”

“Killed?”
asked Bamberg, surprised. “By whom?”

“That's
just it. They're killing millions of Jews.”

“Typhus
killed a lot of them,” said Sanchez. “This was common
back then.”

“Yes,”
said Bamberg. “But you said ‘killing.’ I do not
doubt that there were also some executions. Some people were cruel
in your time, if you don't mind me saying so. But millions of
executions? Millions?”

“Stern
admitted it to me.”

“It
is the first time I had heard of that,” said Bamberg.

“That
doesn't disturb you?”

“Of
course it disturbs us,” said Bamberg. “But this happened
many generations before we were born. There are many things they
cannot tell us.”

“Those
were cruel times,” said Sanchez. “And perhaps that's why
it is a secret.”

“Even
after the war is over?” McHenry asked. “Even after a
thousand years?”

“Our
society values order,” said Bamberg. “How much do you
value five hundred years of peace among humankind?”

“I don't know,” McHenry said.
“Maybe it's not so much the hundreds of years that I'm concerned about.
I'm starting to understand that we really are talking about an eternity.”

*

McHenry's
room seemed eerily quiet when he returned. The music was off, which
was fine, but in his weird state of sleepiness, even his own thoughts
sounded distant and hollow. It was to be expected, he consoled
himself. It was five in the morning. He instructed the rechner to
let him sleep until ten.

“You have one event scheduled,” the machine responded.
A message box overlaid the fake window
reminding him of Hitler's birthday rally at nine.

“Tell Hitler I said happy birthday,” he whispered,
dropping himself into the bed and kicking off his boots.

The machine said nothing.

McHenry
snickered. He wondered if the rechner was going to wake him in time
for the SS festivities, or whether it would let him sleep until ten.
It would really feel good if they do try to wake him early. A fight
was just what he needed.

He
reached around for the tablet but it wasn't there. He had left it
somewhere in SS section, and now considered having the machine create
another one. But he needed to sleep. That much was certain, he
thought, even if he didn't know whether he'd be getting up at ten or
eight thirty. He looked up at the window. The message box was gone.