Oberheim (Voices): A Chronicle of War by Christopher Leadem (to read list txt) 📗

"Do the others know?" The Czech made a gesture with his head and left shoulder, taking in the other shuttle but implying all the remaining Coalition forces.

"They know what their equipment has told them, and will be briefed by the rest of us as soon as we know ourselves. Lieutenant Brunner, if you are unwell perhaps you should remain behind."

"His wife may be down there, you idiot."

… "I am sorry, Brunner, I did not know. Please don't think me cruel. It is not the first time such a thing has happened, and we may have a very difficult decision to make. Democratic German representation will also be needed—-"

"Why didn't the domes protect them?" he said in a savage whisper.

"I believe they were meant to. Apparently they were breached. That is all I can say now. Please outfit yourselves accordingly and come to the first landing vessel when you are ready."

*

The two landing craft emerged from the whiteness of the Soviet vessel into the blackness of Space, then shortly again into the curved daylight of the desolate planet, reflecting back in a brown haze of impure atmosphere its yellow sun.

The domes drew nearer—-six humps of clearish white spread unevenly across the flat desert floor, standing up from it like supported blisters of the planet itself.

But the blisters had been pierced. Fissure-holes and cracks, some larger, some smaller, were spread across them. The land too, upon closer inspection, was pocked with craters, and littered with ugly shapes of pocked and polished iron.

"Meteors," muttered a voice. Brunner turned to see Second Lieutenant Shellenback seated behind him, head hunched and eyes close, chewing mournfully at his hands, remembered vaguely that he was not the only German to have come looking for family. The faces of the Czech flyers were grave as well. Yes—-he was not alone in his plight. Yet there was little comfort in the fact.

"Why weren't the domes protected?" came an angry voice. But even as his mind registered the sound, Brunner saw the huge black tower that stood amidst the growing bubbles, the meteor-repulse cannon at the top of it. Stoltzyn, who stood near the front of the windowed fuselage like a stewardess, responded.

"They were, but insufficiently. The Alliance must have assumed that the meteors that speckle the surface had arrived singly or in small groups, which is not the case. Apparently they knew very little about the planet before choosing it as a prison site, since it is also prone to violent earthquakes." He went on to explain some phenomenon that occurred there every twelve years, something to do with the planet's duel orb, coming into line and affecting the magnetic field…..

But it hardly mattered. Nothing mattered. His wife was dead and a strange voice inside him told him he was glad. This slow awakening of all the wrong sentiments was too painful so he shut it off, closing his eyes and waiting sickly for the ship to land.

There was a slight delay while the craft relayed back exact measurements, and waited for the Leningrad to punch a safe and adequate hole in the final dome. For some reason it bore only smallish cracks in one or two places near the bottom. Then the ship passed through and set down in the midst of a courtyard or wide street.

Then the ship passed through and set down in the midst of a courtyard or wide street. Brunner opened his eyes. Stoltzyn was standing before them as before, giving final instructions as the Soviet crew members examined the breathing gear of the others. Brunner shook off the private who leaned over him, but the man persisted until the facemask was tested and in place. Just as the hatch was opened Stoltzyn remembered something and began to explain what the plastic pouches set at the chin were for. But this seemed to upset one of the Czechs because he pushed him aside and sprang down the steps.

Brunner was one of the last to exit, feeling numb and at the same time torn to pieces. Clearing the final step he became aware that here and there in the street suited men—-they must be of the landing party—-were doubled over on their knees, holding their stomachs. He supposed this did not surprise him except that among those kneeling and right in front of him was the Soviet chief scientist, who had torn aside the mask and kept repeating to no one in particular,

"How could this happen?"

The East German raised his eyes to look around them. Yes, there were many corpses, quite hideous. Most were facing downward with spines that looked like dinosaurs, but there were those who faced upwards as well. It was all gruesome enough, the skulls and chests swollen and distorted, the skin stretched thin and pink to accommodate, or punctured outright by bony growths, all mottled, discolored, in various stages of decomposition. Eyes mashed and half hidden. Horrible.

But Brunner felt in that moment that nothing could hurt him because he was already dead. Sunk this deep into the nightmare without waking why should he care? The thought came dully that his mind and heart were like the flesh and organs of the diseased: crushed and cut by flat or jagged bone, until they simply surrendered and died.

"The peace that surpasseth all understanding."

But the black humor of despair could not last. Movement on a side street—-was there a sound as well?—-drew his eyes from the dead and back to the living. The dead had not been able to rouse any feeling of true pity inside him. At least their suffering was over. But to see the twisted and bulging figures walk in flesh…..

Two bodies stood there that had not yet surrendered. One of them must at one time have been a woman: long dark hair straggled from the dried blood of a knotted forehead—-

LONG DARK HAIR. Like a thunderclap the reason for his journey came back to him. Where was his wife? Was Ara here? Dear God! Dear God! She had often worn such a coverall.

He started toward the street between the buildings. But the female gave an almost-shriek and the two pogoshuffled pitifully away.

He felt something grasp his arm. He turned in fear and involuntary loathing, but it was only the nurse (the one he did not wish to think about). She was crying and shaking like a leaf. She was not what narrow men might call pretty. . .but to see her there with her hair and eyes and skin unblemished was like water at a last dying need. A breath of the free air beyond that place came back to him, and with it, like a sob, a final desperate hope of courage and the need to act.

He remembered they were wearing masks; how would they….. But seeing the hoop at her ear brought it back. He embraced her quickly and said through the microphone. "I am searching for my wife. Will you help me?"

She nodded rapidly and clung to his arm. They began to move. Some member of the party called to them but they walked slowly down the street toward a large square, where a whitestone marble building at the farther end was built like the Parthenon Library at Athena. Why it had been built and by whom (by the Alliance, to show their humane and considerate treatment of the prisoners) he did not know or care. If it was also a library then perhaps there would be records. It was a feeble thought, but it drew him on because he had no other.

As his heart pounded unbearably he heard the same prayer repeated over and over inside him. DEAR GOD FORGIVE ME I KNOW I AM SELFISH BUT PLEASE DEAR GOOD PLEASE IF I MEAN ANYTHING TO YOU DON'T LET HER BE HERE. I WILL DO ANYTHING JUST DON'T LET HER BE HERE. Then almost against his will the post script, BUT IF SHE IS HERE MAY SHE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE NOT HAVE BEEN TORTURED AND AT LEAST BE DEAD NOW.

"No, no!" Almost he started to run, but the weight at his arm checked him fiercely. The girl stood still with terror in her eyes, and pointed to a figure at the top of the marble steps.

An old man with graying hair, not so horrible as the rest but still dreadful to look upon, stood by another who lay sprawled at his feet on the steps. Something red stood out clearly against the marble and Brunner saw that it was blood, coming from an open wound in the prostrate man. There was blood also on the knife the old man clutched awkwardly in his left hand. If the two had still been human, the scene might have been tragic—-something from the epics of Homer. But as it was it was ghastly and brutal, the afterglow of a vicious reptilian death struggle. The standing man's jaw was torn to one side, exposing teeth the size of walnuts.

The woman would have fled, but Brunner watched the old man intently. He saw the weapon in the hand of the other as well—-it had not been outright murder. And also the man did not run, but returned his gaze with troubled curiosity. At last some form of recognition seemed to come over him, because with a twisting gesture of the right arm which he could not lower, he beckoned them towards him.

"Come on," he said to the nurse.

She shook her head. "Make him drop the knife."

"All right." He lowered his mask. "My friend. . .we mean you no harm. As a gesture that you don't either, will you drop the knife?" The other looked puzzled. "Will you please drop the knife?"

At this he seemed to understand. He shook the arm with the knife in it, but would not let it go. "Why doesn't he drop it?"

Brunner advance slowly. "He can't. The bones have fused around it."

She came reluctantly behind and they made a semi-circle past the body, and stood at a small distance from him on the unshaded portion of the terrace.

"I would like to check your records," said the German slowly, pointing to the entrance. But at this the other's manner seemed to grow hostile. Brunner took a step toward the high door, and then was certain. The old man tried to cut them off, waving the arm with the knife. A terrible conflict of doubt seemed to be taking place inside him, as if in his ravaged mind he could not seize upon the memory he sought. Brunner walked slowly back into the sunlight. Something had to be done.

"Stay here," he said to the nurse. "I've got to talk to him."

"NO! Be careful."

He approached slowly, and the creature did not draw away. He drew very close. Then for all the pain it cost him, and the torment of his soul, Brunner put a hand on his shoulder, and looked him full in the face. He was certain. The old man wished them no harm, but was trying desperately to remember some last purpose he clung to.

"My friend," he said gently, cursing himself again for his weakness and tears. "I am trying to find my wife….. I have to know if she was here. May I please go inside and check your records?"

His words were only half understood; the greater impact was made by the passion in his tearing eyes. A cloud seemed to lift from the old man's mind, and in some last pool of consciousness he remembered. He was a librarian. Guarding to the last the books and documents entrusted….. In case anyone came. . .to search for proofs….. Of the Holocaust. A gleam of something enduring and undefeatable came into his half-buried eye. This man was not deformed.

He raised his head and arms above the elbow in a gesture almost of triumph, and his throat