Flynn felt a sudden hot flash. She was making a pass at him, and right here, in front of the baron and everyone.
Before he could reply, the door at the far end of the car suddenly swung open. An attendant in a white uniform and cap stuck his head in. “Border in five minutes, sir!” he said to the baron.
Flynn felt light-headed suddenly. This was it. They would be waiting for him here. He groaned inwardly. How did he get himself into this mess?
The meeting in the War Office came back to him.
“I’m an actor, not a spy,” he’d said to Ian McBane in the War Office. “Uncle Sam doesn’t need me.”
“That is precisely where you’re wrong,” McBane said. “Rumors of major war are spreading quickly in Europe. When it starts, it’s only a matter of time before the United States becomes involved. Remember what happened in the Great War, after all. They needed us to settle things.”
Flynn nodded. His father had been wounded fighting the Kaiser.
“It won’t be risky,” McBane told him. “You’re a celebrity. No one will search you at the border. All you have to do it carry some papers out for us.”
That had seemed simple enough, so he had agreed. But then his contact had shown up with a bullet wound in his chest, and before staggering off, the man’s last words had been: “The Nazis are planning to invade Austria. Guard these plans with your life. You must get them home safely!”
The news had stunned him. It’s one thing to say, “War is coming,” and quite another to say, “The Germans are invading in a few months.” The Nazis—testing new weapons and warming up for battle in the Spanish Civil War—would rip through Austria unopposed if he didn’t act. Austrians, like the baron and his friends, suspected nothing…they all thought Hitler would be happy to flex his military muscles in Spain.
Flynn had taken the papers that morning. Ever since then, he’d felt the eyes of the Nazi secret service upon him. In the lobby of his hotel, in the press meetings, at the afternoon reception he attended, men in dark suits had watched his every move from the shadows. They hadn’t arrested him, he thought, because he was a celebrity and kept himself surrounded by crowds.
The baron’s private train car offered the perfect chance for escape. If the Nazis intended to arrest him, they would have to do it here, in front of the baron. If not, he would be safe in Austria in a matter of minutes.
He touched his suit’s inner pocket. He still had the papers. If they did search him…
He swallowed and suddenly felt sick. No, he had best get rid of them, at least until they made it past the border. Where could he put them? He glanced up the length of the baron’s car.
“Are you well, Flynn?”
“Pardon, but I’m afraid supper did not agree with me.” He rose, nodding politely to her, and headed for the tiny washroom at the back of the car.
Thankfully, it was empty. He went into the cramped little room—sink with broad makeup counter, small toilet, spittoon on the floor—and bolted the door behind him. Sagging a little, he stared into the mirror: steely blue eyes, sharp high cheekbones, slightly flared nose, long blond hair falling over one eye, skin pallid as death. He looked a wreck.
He shrugged off his coat, hung it on a hook, and rolled up his sleeves. After plugging the sink basin, he poured a couple of inches of water from the pitcher and splashed cold water on his face. There—marginally better, he thought. He dried off on one of the baron’s gold-monogrammed towels, then checked his pocket watch. Nearly eleven o’clock. He felt sweat beginning to trickle under his arms and down the small of his back.
Brakes squealing, the train began to slow. Flynn drew in a deep breath; best to get it over with, he thought, shrugging on his coat and straightening his tie. A movie star has to keep up appearances, he told himself, forcing a stage smile. He combed back his hair neatly. There—he almost looked normal again.
Next he pulled out the six thin pages of war plans, folded them up as small as he could, and wedged them up under the washbasin’s counter, between the cabinet and the wall. You couldn’t see them unless you bent over and looked. That would do for now, he thought. He would reclaim them as soon as he made it to Austria.
He went back into the baron’s car. Everyone crowded to the windows, looking out.
Flynn joined them, leaning over Gerty’s shoulder. Her hair smelled of lavender, he found. It might be nice to spend the night with her, once they made it into Austria. If they made it.
The border station was quite small, little more than a depot lit by the yellow glow of gas lamps. Mountains rose in the background, though this late at night they were little more than indistinct shapes. Perhaps two dozen German guards in uniform stood rigidly at attention on the platform.
The train drew to a stop. Two German officers began to pace the length of the train, shouting, “Everyone off!” in German, then bad French, then worse English. “Papers ready!”
One of the baron’s men opened a window. “Do you know whose car this is?” he demanded.
“I don’t care if it’s Himmler’s car!” the officer replied. “Our orders are to empty all trains and check all passports on the platform. The sooner you cooperate, the sooner you will continue your journey!”
“Do as he says,” Baron Ogilvy said. “It is a small inconvenience, nothing more.”
With a few grumbles, the baron’s retinue filed off, pulling out wallets and passports. Most of them still held champagne glasses, Flynn noticed. He drew his own passport and fingered the brown leather absently. This would be the last test, he thought.
He lined up with the others on the platform. He could see the officers going down the line, checking documents, stamping passports. A German lieutenant reached him and held out his hand.
Without hesitation, Flynn handed over his passport.
“American,” the officer said, studying the papers. In lightly accented English, he went on, “This name is familiar to me. Why is this so?”
“Perhaps you’ve seen one of my movies,” Flynn said, forcing a grin. “I’m an actor.”
“Ah, yes?” The officer peered more closely at his face. “You were in Gunga Din, ja?”
“That’s right. And quite a few others.”
“Very good cinema.” He stamped the passport, handed it back, and moved down the line.
Flynn started to breathe more easily. By God, he was going to make it! He couldn’t believe his luck. One thing was certain, he’d never agree to spy for anyone, ever again. His nerves just couldn’t take it.
The officers motioned everyone back aboard the train. Flynn joined the queue. The baron boarded first.
“I hate these border checks,” Gerty said, turning to him. “They are so bothersome.”
“I agree entirely,” Flynn said.
“Do you have such problems in America?”
“No.” He grinned at her. “I don’t think we’d stand for it.”
Suddenly Flynn felt a tap on his arm. He glanced over, a sudden panic rising inside.
It was the German officer who had stamped his passport. “If I may,” he said, smiling and holding out a piece of paper. “My son likes the American films. Would you sign for him?”
Flynn’s grin felt frozen in place. “Of course.” It seemed a harmless enough request. “What’s his name?”
“Rudolph.”
Taking the paper, he pulled out his fountain pen, removed the cap, and quickly wrote: “To Rudolph, my biggest fan in Germany, with all best wishes, Sincerely, Flynn O’Conner.” He signed his name with a exaggerated flourish.
“There,” he said, handing it back.
“I am deeply grateful.” The officer blew on the page to dry the ink, then tucked it into his breast pocket.
“Always glad to help a fan.” Flynn glanced at the train. Gerty and most of the other passengers had boarded. He reached for the handrail.
“If I may.” The lieutenant caught his arm.
“I’d love to sign another autograph,” Flynn said, trying to pul
l away, “but my friends are waiting—“
The officer tightened his grip. The last of the passengers had boarded the other cars. The conductor was staring at them.
“Aus,” the lieutenant said to the conductor.
“Aber—”
“Schnell!”
Flynn fought a mounting sense of doom. Whirling, he broke the officer’s grip and scrambled for the train.
“Stoppen!” the officer cried.
Soldiers rushed from all directions. Flynn stopped short. They had rifles leveled at him, and they didn’t look friendly. Slowly he raised his hands.
The train began to pull out. Flynn stared at it, at the windows of the baron’s car, where he could see champagne glasses raised in a toast. Gerty and the others hadn’t missed him yet. They hadn’t seen the lieutenant detain him.
“This way, Herr Flynn,” the lieutenant said.
A covered truck slowly backed up to the edge of the platform, and Flynn found himself forced into the back at rifle point. The lieutenant sat opposite him, no longer smiling. Guards sat surrounding him.
“What is this about?” Flynn tried to bluster. Good thing he hid the plans on the train, he thought.
“We do not suffer spies in the Third Reich,” the officer said grimly. “We know very well what you have been up to, Herr O’Conner.”
Flynn felt the bottom fall out of his stomach.
* * * *
In America and throughout the free world, the disappearance of Flynn O’Conner made the newsreels for two weeks running. Where had the flamboyant actor gone this time? Rumors spoke of secret trysts with Marlena Dietrich in the Swiss Alps, or on the French Riviera. O’Conner, the heir to a Texas oil fortune, extravagant playboy, college football hero, and movie star had been known to vanish on drinking and partying binges from time to time. Studios heads felt certain he would turn up…probably with an apologetic grin and a new girlfriend in tow.
Castle Grosswald, Germany
December 23, 1936
Dr. Uwe Grosswald barely noticed the light snow falling outside the windows of the laboratory in which he worked. He focused his attention on the huge black-and-red robot on a table before him. This was it, he thought, the culmination of all his research. Now the time had come to show his Nazi masters what their fifteen million marks had bought.
“How are the connections?” he asked.
“Perfect,” his chief assitant Heinrich said, pulling nervously at his thin mustache with one hand. “I personally checked them this morning.”
“Good.” Grosswald stepped back and took a deep breath, surveying the line of computing machines that filled one huge wall of the laboratory. They hummed softly, ready to begin sending instruction to his creation. First, though, came the most impressive part of the demonstration.
He glanced at the half dozen high-ranking military officers assembled before him: four colonels and two generals. They all had slightly bored expressions, but that would soon change.
He nodded to Heinrich, who activated the huge robot’s primary power coil. The machine’s red eyes lit up; using miniature cameras, it could see everything before it.
“Behold!” Grosswald cried. He drew a small radio-control device form his lab coat pocket. “Metal life!”
As he adjusted the controls, the robot slowly and ponderously sat up, swung its legs off the operating table, and stood. It towered over everyone in the room; nine feet tall at the shoulder, it had the strength of ten men in its hydraulic-powered arms. The colonels gasped in surprise. Both generals took a step back in alarm.
“Behold,” Grosswald said, “the soldier of the future!”
“How does it work?” Colonel Machen asked.
“Using this device,” Grosswald said, indicating his remote control, “I can make it stand, walk, turn, and lift its arms.” He demonstrated, and the robot circled the room on cue, black metal feet thudding heavily on the concrete floor. “It can lift over a thousand pounds and withstand a barrage of bullets…or worse.”
“Grenades?” General Heuller asked.
“Grenades, flame throwers, poison gas—anything short of a direct hit from a mortar shell.”
“Then it is armored?”
“From head to toe. Mechanically, it is perfect. It only needs a mind of its own to be complete.”
“The possibilities for use in wartime are endless,” Heuller mused. “It could be as revolutionary as the tank. Why, with a hundred of these metal warriors, I could sweep through any army I face!”
“This is an early prototype,” Grosswald said with a dismissive gesture. “It is far from perfect.”
“What do you mean?” Heuller demanded. “I see no problems with it.”
“This,” Grosswald said, holding up the remote control, “is our stumbling block. The robot’s operator must stand within fifty feet of the machine. Further, radio waves can be jammed. What good is a metal man who cannot move?”
Heuller frowned. “I see your point, Herr Doktor.”
“I intend to make the robot self-thinking. I have in my laboratory the most powerful computer in all of Germany. Watch what an electronic brain can do!”
At his nod, Heinrich opened the robot’s back plate and ran thick cables between it and the giant computer against the far wall, connecting them. Again the robot’s eyes glowed red. This part of the test was ready to begin.
He lowered a microphone. “Robot!” he cried. “Raise your arms!”
Vacuum tubes began to glow inside the huge computer. Punch-cards flickered through slots. Gears whirled.
As the computer deciphered his command, the robot began to move. Like a clock, its arms inched upward a tick at a time.
“Why is it moving so slowly?” the general demanded.
“The human brain thinks faster than any computer. It must break down my words into electronic impulses, interpret them, create a program to make the robot move, and then execute the program.”
Heuller snorted. “Useless. We cannot have cables trailing all over a battlefield, anyway. It’s impossible!”
“Within ten years,” Grosswald said, “the computer will be small enough to fit inside the robot’s chest.”
“How is this possible?”
“I have heard of research being conducted by General Energy in the United States along these lines, but I have no access to it—it is top-secret work for G.E., too. But the rumors I hear are of a new miniature device called a ‘transistor,’ which will replace vacuum tubes.”
“Why not continue to use a human brain?” another of the colonels asked.
He meant have a human operate the robot by remote control, Grosswald saw, but the suggestion sparked a new idea in his mind. The robot needed the equivalent of a human brain…but what if a human brain could be installed inside the robot?
His great-grandfather created life from dead tissue, after all. Why not fuse machine and living tissue together to create a new kind of life?
His thoughts raced ahead, to the elegant simplicity of a human mind operating a robot by thought waves alone. There were so many similarities between the electrical activity in a living brain and the electrical activity in a computer—and if a computer could run his robot, why not a human brain, too? It should be possible.
“That will be it for today,” he said suddenly. He unplugged the robot and watched it sag back, lifeless and inert. “I have important work to do.”
“Herr Doktor—“ Heuller began.
“I have had an inspiration,” Grosswald said. “I will call you again next month. I will have new developments—a fully functioning robot, with no wires or remote control!”
“Is this possible?”
“Yes!” Grosswald breathed. “It can work! It will work!”
“If so,” Heuller said slowly, “this will be the single greatest advancement in warfare in the twentieth century. Requisition whatever you need.” He glanced at the other officers, who nodded their agreement. “We will support your research with the Führer.”
Grosswald hurried to the library in his ancestral castle. He paused in the doorway. The answers lay in his great-grandfather’s notebook, he thought. Where had he put it?
Stacks of books lay everywhere—medical, electrical, engineering. He hadn’t shelved anything new in years since the built-in bookcases covering the walls from floor to ceiling were full. They held thousands of eighteenth century novels and reference books, all in elegant leather bindings, which various ancestors had accumulated over the years.
He paused, trying to think back to the last time he’d seen the notebook. It had been…June? July? Yes, he had been looking through back issues of Electrical Engineer, an American magazine to which he subscribed, when he’d found it between two issues.
He crossed quickly to the back issues of Electrical Engineer—and sure enough, there it was, one black corner jutting from under the stack. He pulled it out, brushed the leather binding almost reverently, and then crossed to his favorite reading chair and sank down.
He opened the covers and read the title: How I Did It, by Victor Frankenstein. Victor was the most famous family member, but also the most reviled. Uwe’s grandfather had changed their name to Grosswald to escape the associations conjured up in the minds of many by the mere mention of “Frankenstein”—mad scientist, heretic, murderer, grave robber. Yet for Uwe, the name was a badge of honor. “Frankenstein” to him stood for scientific genius, brilliant research, and defiance of established knowledge.
He skimmed through the notebook several times before he found the right passage: “Electrical Impulses of the Brain and How to Control Them.”
He read quickly. Great-grandfather Victor’s ideas had been far ahead of their time, he saw now. Such insight—such brilliant deductions, all done before the dawn of twentieth century science.
Yes, he realized, it could be done. He could put a human brain in his robot. He saw it all now. He knew where to begin…it was only a matter of time before he could perfect his human-brained robot.
AULDITZ PRISON, GERMANY
January 22, 1937
The Seventh Science Fiction Megapack Page 19
