One Thousand Years

by Randolph Beck

  “We will do a touch-and-go over Berlin,” Vinson said. “You couldn't practice like this in real life, but in simulation, we can.”

  McHenry's breath caught. He understood that Vinson was being friendly, but his own sense of duty picked up again. He needed to learn this so that, perhaps one day soon, he might take a Tiger for real. It wouldn't be a touch-and-go, he hoped. It would be a bombing run.

  “And as you can see,” Vinson continued, “we can start the flight anywhere. It could take hours to get to this point in the landing sequence were this a real flight. Now, watch the angle.”

  They progressed steeply. McHenry would later learn the different types of approaches, but this one was standard. Vinson would explain the procedure while McHenry imagined, if he escapes, doing this for real. But the dream fell apart when Berlin came into view. It was not the Berlin of 1944. The Tiger was simulating the Berlin of 2968.

  Even from the distance, there was no doubting its majesty. Continuing the approach, its myriad skyscrapers became visible.

  “It's beautiful,” McHenry gasped.

  Only then did Vinson recognize the nature of McHenry's amazement. “Oh, I should have started with the flyover. I guess you were expecting the twentieth-century version. The Tiger knows the current year but its programming is not aware of the full situation, as it would be if on a real mission. For security reasons, their memories are cleared after each mission.”

  They broke off the approach and did the flyover. Later, they reset and did Paris and New York City before simulating a return home to the Göring.

  Göring had not become visible until it blossomed into view less than two kilometers away, at which point it filled the sky. Even then its appearance had to be enhanced by the machine. This was the first time McHenry had seen the outside hull of Göring — a long cigar-shape surrounded in black netting.

  “That net is the reason we could not see it right away,” Vinson explained. “The material format is called unterkarbon. It distorts any light that passes through it.”

  “So that ship is invisible?” asked McHenry.

  “From a sufficient distance, yes. We think even the Grauen cannot see it. The Tigers have them too. They extend outward, and then retract as they're brought into the ship.”

  McHenry circled the ship for a second look. The black net was woven in a geometric pattern formed out of triangles. He instinctively knew that the geometry must be essential, but couldn't imagine how it may work.

  The docking maneuver was easy. They simply ordered the rechner to take it in. There was no discernible point where the netting was being retracted. McHenry wondered whether the simulation skips that step, or if the machine just handles it as smoothly as it does so much else.

  It had been a long day, and Vinson had promised the doctor that McHenry would get to bed early. He led the way out of the hangar, back into the main part of the ship. McHenry had become accustomed to zero-gravity, but was happy to be standing on a firm deck once again.

  Once there, the door to his room slid open. McHenry paused at the entrance. “How does it know I'm going in there?”

  “The rechner makes judgments based upon which way you are going,” Vinson answered. “It probably also watches what direction you are looking at. And, of course, it knows that is your door.”

  McHenry was not comfortable with a machine that could know so much. “How does it know which direction I'm looking at?”

  Vinson laughed. “The rechner can see and hear everything in the ship.”

  McHenry pretended to laugh along with him, but he wasn't sure if that was meant as a straight answer.

  “If you need to know anything, just call for the rechner.”

  “Thanks.”

  The doors closed behind McHenry and he was alone for the first time that day. Or as alone as he could be with a machine that could see and hear everything he does.

  “Rechner,” he said. Then he stood there while trying to remember the word for the window command.

  After a few seconds, a voice came out of the air. “Waiting.”

  “Is that you, machine?”

  “Yes. Waiting.” The rechner spoke with a slightly unhuman form of a proper-sounding British accent.

  “I want to see the window again.”

  The window appeared in the wall. They were much higher now and the curvature of the Earth was more pronounced. The ship seemed to be moving too slowly to discern any motion.

  “What was the word for that?”

  “Window.”

  “No. I mean, what was the German word for that?”

  “Fenster.”

  He sat down, stared out the window, and wondered what he would do next.

  “Rechner, what is going on down there right now?”

  “Germany is currently at war against an alliance of hostile nations. It is night in Europe. Action has generally been postponed until morning in all the major points of conflict.”

  “Can you see in the dark?”

  The ground seemed to become illuminated. It was suddenly like daytime.

  “Wow!” McHenry exclaimed. He could suddenly imagine new possibilities. “Can you magnify the picture on the screen?”

  “That function is restricted.”

  “Why?”

  “Detailed live event data is classified.”

  Frustrated, he felt like he had been thrust back to the reality of his situation. He was a prisoner of war after all. After a few moments of thought, he tried reasoning with the machine. “Why can you tell me what is going on down there but not show me?”

  “Analysis of current events is retrieved from unclassified historical data.”

  He pondered that for a moment. “What you're saying is, the only way you can tell me what's going on is by looking at your history books?”

  “That is a correct analogy.”

  McHenry was intrigued. Their secrecy confirmed for him that, with a telescopic view, the Nazis can tell so much more than they want him to know. He leaned back in his chair, only momentarily stymied. “Rechner,” he said, hoping to take a new tack. “Can you tell me what will happen in the morning?”

  “American and British bombing campaigns will resume in Europe. Odessa will fall to the Soviet Army. President Roosevelt begins a rest period. Would you like detailed information?”

  “No, rechner. Thanks.” The possibility of finding out the future repulsed him. This wasn't a parlor game or a carnival fortuneteller. It was the realization that the world he knew, loved, hated, suffered, and defended will come to a bitter defeat. He sat for a long time contemplating what had become of him, his country, his family and his friends. Most of all, he thought about how he might escape from this place. And he wondered what Parker would do if he were here.

  Then he did something he had not done since he was a child. He prayed a silent prayer.

  *

  Oberführer Klaus Mtubo stood by the full-wall view panel in his large private office looking down over the Earth below. In moments of quiet reflection, some men might prefer to relax beside a pastoral scene from home. Not Mtubo. His view of the Earth was overlaid with a Luftwaffe chart linked in with event data from the main watch room. He was a man of duty. He served the Führer. Her defense, and the defense of the Reich, always came first, even on occasions when he chose to take a respite.

  Helmut Stern's chime sounded at the door.

  “Enter,” Mtubo commanded.

  Stern stepped in, looking uncharacteristically disturbed. “Heil Renard!” he said quickly. Mtubo acknowledged and returned the greeting, and Stern waited until the door closed before relaxing his posture. Although the two men were longtime friends, Stern always preserved the dignity of his friend's superior rank when in the presence of others.

  “You will not believe this, Klaus,” he said. “I have the finding.”

  Mtubo turned to the side and glanced at the project overview now on the panel. Everything appeared in order. “Is this about the Americaner's Grauen sighting?”


  “Yes,” said Stern. “This won't show on the main status boards until it is checked against the plot. The reports are still preliminary.”

  “Does it show the Grauen?” asked Mtubo.

  “Yes, it does. It was indeed a Geier. We have tracked its entire flight path. The satellite that recorded it would not have been analyzed until May. We put in a rush order.”

  “Good,” said Mtubo. “What was the problem?”

  “The Geier was in the atmosphere thirty-two minutes. It did not actively interfere with events. Then it went back into orbit before starting its interstellar drive. There was no attempt to hide. I am certain we would have seen it during a normal review.”

  “And?” Mtubo prodded, knowing his friend often takes too long to make a point.

  “Just one more item before I get to the issue,” Stern promised. “There were a number of eyewitnesses. Most were of the sort whose occupations and subsequent lives would not be affected. We believe their influence on events was negligible.” A time chart was added to the panel.

  Mtubo looked at the chart while Stern went on.

  “Do you know what happened to the English intelligence officers that the Americaner said he spoke to? They were killed at sea. The records of his entry to the base were lost. The records of their request to see him were also logged, and those logs were stored. But our extrapolation posits them as discarded at the end of the war.”

  Mtubo started laughing a deep belly laugh. “Not surprising. You know that the old English were always very naive about information. They threw away everything that they in their worldview thought of as unimportant. They were like the Americaners this way. If it was not about money, it was not important to them.”

  They both shared a laugh.

  “But you had something else?” asked Mtubo.

  “Yes. We have collected more historical data than we had dreamed. I would like to ask that we retain some of the larger satellites that we just scheduled for shutdown.”

  “We put these rules in place for a reason, Helmut. Some of them were at your urging.”

  “If the mission needs to go a second time, it will need to evade this first mission. The Kommandant says this is risky, and I believe her.”

  “If we continue this level of progress, there will be no need for a second pass.”

  “Do the best you can without the large satellites. There is too much at risk.”

  Stern nodded. “We will make it work. Do not forget my initial conclusion that history is unchanged. The fact remains that the Americaner's day would not have ended the same way if he had never seen that Grauen.”

  Mtubo turned to face the portrait of Adolf Hitler hanging in its customary position beside that of Katrina Renard, the current Führer. The proud image gave him some comfort now as he considered the mysterious clockwork of nature that led great men and women to their destiny.

  *

  Chapter 8

  “The liberty of the whole Earth depends on the outcome of this contest.”

  — The Negro Soldier, (film released April 10, 1944)

  Monday, April 10, 1944

  McHenry awoke slumped in the chair, still wearing the clothes he had been given the day before. The shirt and trousers had relaxed their fit while he slept, making for a comfortable sleep. The Earth was still below, outside the machine-generated window displayed before him. The false illumination of the planet was now gone. Europe was back in its cloudy daylight; and to the east he could see the Italian peninsula. The skies were clear. The fighting must have resumed. He was off to a late start.

  After a quick fifty pushups, he jumped into the small bathroom for a shower. He squinted at the mirror image projected on the wall. It was the first time he had looked at himself since his arrival. The curious realization that he didn't need to shave and — judging by the smooth appearance of his face — may never need to again, startled him until he noticed his teeth. They had the gleaming white shine that everyone else had. He looked closer. No more fillings. No imperfections. When did they get a chance to do that? He couldn't help but smile. He was already immortal, he guessed.

  His clothes were gone from the chair and a fresh suit lay on the open dispenser drawer. It was another reminder of the endlessly convenient future he would live in. He dressed again, and the blue suit tightened after it was on him. The joy of his immortality was suddenly gone. He was an American soldier, he admonished himself. He must find a way to resist.

  He stood and stretched, facing the wall with the emergency directions placard and a hopeful smile formed upon his lips. The placard was written in German but the diagrams of passageways were easy to follow. Arrows traced the way down the hall and up a ladder to what was obviously a spaceship's equivalent of a lifeboat. It was a way out. Then as if to sanctify an escape attempt, the door opened the instant McHenry looked at it.

  The corridor was empty. He walked down the hall until he reached a corner, and entered the tube. His adjustment to zero-gravity was quick this time. This was the same tube that led to the Tigers, but he went downward about 200 feet to the end of the tube, pausing at each floor to be sure no one would see him pass by.

  A thick hatch opened automatically at the end. The center of the seven lifeboat hatches was directly before him. That one opened automatically and rapidly closed again once he was inside.

  The lifeboat interior was more spherical, but tapered at the opposite end. Almost every available square foot contained a cushioned seat with a feed for a seat belt and shoulder harness. But McHenry didn't take time for a close examination of the seating arrangements. He followed the handholds to the controls at the front of the cabin. There were two rows of blank buttons at each pilot's seat, but only one control stick. Yesterday's piloting lesson would be useful here. It wasn't like the Tiger's wraparound cockpit dome, but the main panel looked familiar enough. The blank view screen reminded him of the wall in his quarters.

  “Rechner, Fenster.” It displayed a view similar to the one he had from his room but from a different section of the sky.

  He ignored the seat belt. There wasn't time, and Vinson had said there would be no sense of motion from the reactionless drive. If this worked at all, he could strap himself in later. He set one hand on the stick and scanned the panel for anything familiar. He spotted the engine controls, albeit only one bank of engines. Close enough, he thought.

  Without a second thought, he pressed the control on the panel, hoping for something, any movement at all. But an “X” appeared with an unfamiliar German word beside it. He scanned the panel further. Then he remembered chocks, the wooden blocks used to keep a parked aircraft from rolling out of place. He must be locked by the Göring. Frustratingly, it only made sense. They wouldn't have allowed him to go off on his own if they didn't think it safe.

  Undaunted, he tried again. And again, scrolling through options on the panel, some in German words and symbols he recognized from yesterday, and some he couldn't even guess at. Nothing changed the power levels.

  They can't have thought of everything.

  McHenry would not stop thinking. Both hands on the panel, he went through every option available. Engine functions, instruments, something he thought might be beacons, which he imagined could be useful, and then he spotted the radios. There were many options he had never heard of — frequencies off the scale, and a variety of modulation methods — but he saw one band he had used every day. That, he realized, was his next best option. He looked at the screen ahead to verify he had a direct line of sight for a transmission to Cercola, Italy. Someone at the 99th would recognize my voice.

  “The radios won't work here,” said a feminine voice behind him.

  He turned around to face a woman floating at the entranceway. She had fair skin and short raven-black hair. Yet, she had a black SS uniform similar to what the men wore. And she smiled, looking at him like the mother of a little boy who had been caught with his hand in a cookie jar.

  “And you'll need someone ranking hig
her than me to authorize a launch.” She had been speaking in a distinctly American dialect. She tugged on the railing and pushed herself forward.

  McHenry frowned. “If you're here to arrest me, you're too late. I'm not going anywhere yet.”

  “No,” she laughed. “Our security is absolutely solid. We wouldn't let you run loose through the ship if escape wasn't impossible.” She grabbed the seat beside him and gracefully pulled her long legs into a sitting position. “But to tell you the truth, we would have been a little disappointed if you didn't try to escape. I, myself, would have been very disappointed.”

  She was studying him in an imperious manner. “You might have gotten away if this ship was on a regular mission. I don't know if the Luftwaffe ordinarily locks the escape pods. But this mission is different. We'd all prefer to die here in orbit rather than risk contaminating history.”

  “It wouldn't bother me a bit either,” McHenry remarked.

  “That's not very nice,” she laughed, apparently brushing off his anger. She reached over to shake his hand. “My name is Kathy Dale. I was on the flight to recover you.”

  Startled, McHenry understood who this was. This must be the woman Vinson was smitten with. Now he understood why. She may be over one hundred years old, but she had the perpetual youth and vitality shared by everyone he had seen. She was truly beautiful, and exhibited a confident attitude. But, beautiful as she was, there was that hideous pitch-black Nazi uniform... He took her hand cautiously, and shook it firmly.

  “Oberführer Mtubo asked me to look in on you today,” she continued. “He thought you might appreciate meeting someone from North America. I was born and raised in Chicago.”

  “Then what's a nice lady like you doing in a uniform like that?” Nothing he had seen, not even a black Nazi, had prepared him for speaking with an American in that uniform. And a lady at that.

  “Oh, I know all this must be very disorienting. One day Germany is your enemy, and then you wake up and everything's different.”