One Thousand Years (17 page)

Like
most modern systems, the unterkarbon was linked using nanotechnology
structures — tiny machines created at the molecular level.
These satellites were programmed to self-destruct in the event of an
emergency.
Did that programming extend to fragments in the net?
Barr couldn't know, but it made sense and it was all he had to go
on.

“Hold
on!” he shouted. Without waiting for an okay from Mallory, he
powered up the engines near the affected area. They were pushed
against the left sides of their seats. This was unusual. These
engines were designed to provide propulsion without a reaction. It
was never supposed to feel like they were moving.

“What's
happening?” asked Mallory — more shouting than asking.

Gee
forces pushed hard but Barr spoke calmly. “I am running the
engines out of phase. I believe the unterkarbon contaminants have
reached the engines aft of the cargo hold. I am trying to overload
that section.”

“What
good would that do? That is only a chemical reaction. You need a
nuclear one to destroy the unterkarbon.”

“I
am not trying to destroy it,” Barr said, still able to maintain
his calm even though they were now tumbling wildly fast. “It
is creating a slow reaction on its own. I only want to fuse the nano
units so they stop working against me.” He had been watching
the engine power systems. Failures had risen to eight percent but
they stopped climbing for long enough to be sure that the danger had
passed. Barr shut down the engines again.

“We
should have self-destructed,” said Mallory, recovering from his
dizziness. “You emitted too much energy with that maneuver of
yours. We could have been detected.”

“Our
people need to be told about that Grauen. When I die for the Reich,
it will not be for a stupid reason.”

“Don't
you think they've seen it, too?”

“We
are on the other side of the planet,” said Barr angrily. “And
they need to see these field wake numbers.” That was
technically correct, he realized, but it was a convenient excuse
nevertheless. He thought about McHenry, the bird that almost killed
him in that old airplane, and the enormous odds against that
happening. If a man had to meet death on a mission, it should be
while fighting and not as the victim of a freak accident.

He
took a moment to make plans to retrieve the satellites he had
ejected. They were going to be very late getting back.

*

McHenry
and Vinson left the Tiger after an hour, pausing at the hatch. The
hangar was empty. One of the Tigers was still missing but the second
one was shut down.

“There
should be someone here,” said Vinson. “A second Tiger is
supposed to be ready to launch.”

“Something
must have gone wrong,” suggested McHenry.

“Let's
go see where everybody is.” Vinson made his way along the
handholds on the railing and called to the rechner. He asked it a
question in German while McHenry worked furiously to keep up with his
fast movements.

They
found Sanchez at a second hatch, still in the null-gravity section of
the ship. McHenry had never been in this section before, although it
wasn't far from the hangar area. Some of the exterior hatches could
be accessed here. Sanchez was looking at a display panel on the
wall.

“The
unterkarbon will not retract,” she explained. “It was
damaged and they had to dock outside”

“Damaged?
How?”

“That
is the interesting part.” She looked to McHenry. “They
saw your
Geier. It did not see
them but its field wake moved the satellite. The Tiger ran into it.”

“And
that damaged the Tiger?” asked McHenry.

“Unterkarbon
nets are fragile at certain points,” said Sanchez. “Not
as fragile as your P-40 but it is fairly sensitive. It is possible,
although still unlikely, that they know we are here.”

Vinson
put his hand on a panel, activating a screen on the wall. “Why
are we still in condition three? We should be preparing to leave
orbit.”

Sanchez
snickered. “Maybe you should tell that to the
Kommandant
.”

“Who
was piloting?” asked McHenry.

“It
was Barr,” said Sanchez. “He is in debrief with the SS.”

“About
a mechanical problem?” he asked.

“From
the mouths of babes,” she laughed.

The
men and women of the inspection team eventually came through the
second outside hatch, still wearing space suits. McHenry recognized
them, once they'd opened their helmets, having spoken with them
before.

“The
unterkarbon contaminated the drive system,” one reported to
Sanchez, but speaking in English for McHenry's benefit.

“The
entire underside was ripped but still functional,” said a woman
beside him. “We just did a repair to strengthen it.”

“Is
the passage secure?” asked Sanchez. “Can we go in?”

“Yes,
everything is clear,” replied the first man. “There is
already somebody in there now.”

“The
passage is locked to Lieutenant McHenry,” warned a harsh voice.
It was the rechner.

“
Jawohl!
”
Sanchez replied. She turned to McHenry, smiling. “See? The
rechner understands you are already a good enough pilot to steal a
Tiger.”

The
others laughed, as did McHenry. He felt some pride, but he also felt
sad. It was another reminder that escape was impossible. The
rechner would make certain of that.

“Not
to worry,” said the spacesuited woman. “We might be
doing an overhaul. The rechner will probably let you in while the
Tiger is down for maintenance.”

The
hatch opened just as they were about to leave. It was an SS officer
carrying a tablet. He nodded in acknowledgment to them as he rushed
through past them. There was something on his face that McHenry
hadn't seen since his arrival. He didn't show the confidence that
the others always had.

It
almost looked like fear.

*

NAZIS AND HOLY PLACES
Once
more the President has spelled out American policy regarding the
bombing of Rome. It is unfortunate that this explanation must be
repeated again and again, but enemy propaganda makes that
necessary.
...
The current Gallup Poll of American public
opinion — covering Protestants, Catholics and non-church
members — shows that only 19 per cent disapprove the
bombing of European religious places when it is considered necessary
by our military leaders. That minority should study prayerfully the
President's statement.
—
The Pittsburgh Press, (April 20, 1944)

McHenry returned to his room and dropped himself into his chair.
It was after midnight, but he didn't feel tired at all. He stared out
at the Earth and studied the weather patterns. He desperately wanted
to forget Parker. It would have been bad enough if Parker had been
killed unexpectedly, but McHenry already knew the place and the time.

“Rechner,
what can you tell me about the men that the SS wants to bring back?”

“Information
on fifteen men on the retrieval schedule is available from public
historical sources.”

He
heard the words and remembered that the machine sometimes takes
things literally. “I meant men and women.”

“Information
on twenty-five men and women on the retrieval schedule is available
from public historical sources.”

“Thank
you,” he said, determined to be more careful. “Can you
give it to me on a
Klemmbrett
?”

McHenry
grabbed the tablet that had appeared from the slot and started
reading. It was separated into sections, each of which was about a
specific person. It was very thorough: Family trees, newspaper
articles and personnel records. Some included photos, and some did
not. All of it had been translated into English for him. The
machine never forgot that he didn't speak German, although he
believed he was picking it up.

He found his own records in the mix, all neatly typed. It was more
thorough than he expected, although he initially thought the Purple
Heart listed in his awards was an error. He saw two lists of the
faculty from his grade school, with names of teachers he had
forgotten about and others he remembered fondly. His military
service records were all there, including his medical record and
flight logs. The last entry showed his presumed death on that doomed
flight. It was recorded as a mechanical error due to battle damage.
That explains the Purple Heart
,
he thought. He wasn't certain he was due the medal, but gathered
that Parker had pushed for it.

“Rechner,”
he called presently. “How about a cup of hot chocolate?”

He
would often end his day with a luxurious cup of hot chocolate in his
room, sipping while staring out into space and contemplating on the
events of the day. Rather than dive back into the material on the
tablet, McHenry thought for a moment about the machine. It had
fascinated him more than once, but he had never taken the time to
study the technology itself or the limitations on its use.

The
machine controlled all the equipment aboard
Göring
.
Everything: The slots that provided food and drinks, the screens on
the walls, elevators, even the lights, and probably the propulsion
and control of the ship itself.
The machine had more than just intelligence.
It also held responsibility.

This much seemed obvious now. What didn't seem so obvious before was that
the machine was always making decisions before carrying out those
functions, and taking in his reactions. It was only a matter of time
before McHenry would connect the dots. He now realized that he
couldn't trust the machine the way he did before.

He
didn't know whether it would ever lie to him, although he suspected
that it could. He was sure, however, that it would tell him only as
much as it wanted him to know. He began reading the materials again
from the beginning. Only this time he would look for whatever was
missing.

But
a lot was missing. Not every name included school records, and even
his own school records were incomplete. This made sense to him, as
most of this information would have been discarded over the years.
Then he went to his military records. They did appear to be
complete. That also made sense. After all, the Army never throws
anything away. McHenry decided to put all his efforts there and
prepared for a long read.

It
was a long read, and it seemed like a pointless exercise. Then he
scanned the tablet for other Americans in the list. There were three
others, but only two in the military, and their files were also long
and boring. One was a Navy pilot, lost in the Pacific theater, and
the other was a soldier who lost his leg and then died on the sea
voyage home after the war ended.

“Rechner,
can a man who lost his leg get a new one?”

“Yes,”
it answered. “The medical facilities aboard
Göring
are equipped to replace limbs.”

Well,
he thought, at least that's one man who would definitely appreciate
the trip. Then he considered what Dale had said about Parker. He
might not want to be rescued. Of course she was right. Parker was a
devout Christian. He expects to wake up in Heaven and meet Jesus
Christ, not that black Nazi Mtubo. McHenry was set to ponder the
morality of letting Parker die just to let him avoid this mean
spectacle, but he just realized what was missing in those records.
There had been no mention of religion anywhere.

He
scanned back, remembering the words that were printed on the first
page of his real personnel records. Even his dog tags had a
single-letter abbreviation for religion. It was on everyone's file.
It had to be readily accessible just in case a chaplain was called.
But they weren't listed here. It was a curious omission. Why did
the friend of that Italian's die? Would they allow Parker to die
because he was a devout man? It was a cruel thought.

The
soldiers' and the pilots' records didn't list a religion either. He
read every line just to be sure, but he was already sure. He then
went back through the military records of the Germans, and the
Italians and the Japanese. No religions were listed anywhere.

“Rechner!”
he said sternly, tucking the
Klemmbret
under his arm. “I'm going to see
Sturmbannführer
Dale. You might want to warn her that I'm on my way.” Being
already mad, he put an emphasis on the word
Sturmbannführer.
He was going to be
madder if what he suspected to be true turned out to be true in fact.
Pronouncing the name of that Nazi rank just put a steam iron onto
his mood.

*

Dale
was waiting for him at the SS officers' mess. It was a good thing,
he realized. He might have had trouble finding her elsewhere.

“Is
something wrong?” she asked. He gathered that she already knew
that. She had remained standing, which was not usually the case.

“Did
the machine tell you I was in a foul mood?”

“Yes,”
she said, looking at the tablet in his hand. “Rechner, two
cups of coffee.”

“No
thanks,” said McHenry, but the cups were already on their way
out.

She
took a seat and slid one cup toward him. “Oh, you'd better.
We might as well talk for a while. It might help you think better,
and I need a break myself.”

“I
have a problem,” he said, taking a seat. He moved his cup
closer just to be cordial. “I was looking at this list of
people you're bringing back. You people seem to have everything.
Funny thing is, this list doesn't include any religious information.”

“It's
a summary. The list doesn't have their bowling scores either,”
she said.

“Not
exactly true. I've seen sports scores in the newspaper articles.”