Tammy fluffed under his uniform. “I find this acceptable. Now, dismiss your men and lead us to the Führer.”
“At once, Oberkluxendweebentwat! Follow me!”
Hadrian gestured for Galk and Beta to take the lead and then dropped in beside Tammy. “Tammy!” he whispered as they set out into the corridor, boots clomping (in fact, boots were clomping all through the building—what’s with Nazis and their boots?).
“What?” the chicken whispered back.
“I never knew you were an oberkluxendweebentwat. Though, come to think of it, I’m not surprised.”
“Hah hah.”
“So, what’s with those stupid-sounding titles and stuff?”
“I perused the military database, of course,” he replied smugly. “All the titles and whatnot were introduced by the Führer himself, who, I believe it is safe to conclude, is utterly nuts.” The chicken tilted his head. “Or would that be utterlynutssenklobberer?”
Hadrian startled at a sound behind him and quickly looked back. “Oh, there you are, Nina Twice. Carry on.”
“Yes sir.”
More corridors, more doors, more staircases, up, down, all over the place, until finally the oberkampensummer led them into a dank, dingy room with water dripping from pipes running the length of the ceiling, and out from the shadows jumped a dozen or so civilians pointing huge weapons at Hadrian and his team.
The oberkampensummer whirled round and grinned. “You fools! I’m one of the Nice People! And now you will drop your weapons and then tell us all about the Top Secret Instantankrumpenoberdere Device!”
Hadrian groaned. “Oh cut it out! Do we really look like Nazis?”
The man frowned. “Yes, you do! Those uniforms!”
“All disguises.” Hadrian shook his head. “I knew you weren’t a real Nazi anyway.”
“What? How could you have known that?”
“You were so impeccably nice you actually took orders from a chicken.”
The man’s frown deepened. “Well, he had an explanation and everything. I mean, it’s just good manners to take what people say at face value, the benefit of the doubt and all that.”
“Wow,” Galk muttered, “no wonder you guys lost the war.”
“We didn’t lose!” the Nice Man retorted. “We just, well, never really noticed. You know? All that hatred and spewing of racist rubbish and shaking fists and marches and shootings and muggings and bullying and persecution and trolling, well, it’s just people with opinions, right?”
Sighing, Hadrian shook his head. “Wrong. Look, we went through crap like that in our own world’s history and you know what we did to fix it?”
“No, what?”
“Nothing. We were idiots just like you. But never mind that. We’re here to kidnap the Führer and we could do with your help.”
“Pointless. He’s a ’shroom-cap, a coke-head, a pot-head and probably a figure-head. No, if you wish to take down this Fascist tyranny of small-brained Evil, you will need to kidnap (and preferably execute) Direktorheadoberoberflumpenbirk Code-Name Turnip. And did I miss something? What was all that about your own world? Do you mean to suggest that you’re aliens from an unknown but highly advanced alien civilization that’s taken upon itself the responsibility for cleaning up our mess down here on our world?”
“It’s even worse than that,” Hadrian replied. “Your Führer is from our world. So, he’s responsible for this whole Nazi mess. That’s what we’re here to fix. But now you’re saying that Mangles is just a stooge—”
“Stoogendumbkinhead.”
“Uh, that too. Meaning, we need to take out Turnip to bring down the government.”
Galk spat into a corner. “Sir, everybody knows that every tyranny is a faceless machine of oppression. The assholes in charge are like ducks in a shooting game at the carnival, knock one down and another pops up. No, sir, what’s needed here is something bigger.” He hefted his weapon. “That’s why I brought this little baby along. Bet you didn’t notice its carrying case, did you? The one I left in the Insisteon Chamber?”
“No, Galk, can’t say I did.” Hadrian looked at the rest of his team. “Anyone else?”
One of the locals held up his arm, hesitated, and then brought it down again.
Galk said, “Okay, so it was a bit dusty, kinda hard to see much there anyway, that beat-up ole carrying case. It goes back to all those abductions on Earth, sir, which went back thousands of years. Anyway, one of those nasty little snatch missions ended up stealing some loot along with people.”
“Can you get to the point?” Tammy snapped.
“Right.” Galk ratcheted the weapon. “Meltomatic BFB Mark VII. One of a kind, sir. Why? Because it came out of the Ark of the Covenant. BFB? Means Burn Fucker Burn. Every Nazi on this planet’s going down. Their faces will melt like cheap wax. Their bones will crumble, the holy fires of Vengeance and Omnipotent Irritation will be unleashed, burning the bastards down to tiny heaps of ash, every single fucking one of ’em.”
The oberkampensummer grunted. “You’re going to be here a while, then.”
But Galk shook his head. “Wrong. I just have to fire once. The Meltomatic Nazi-Finder You-Can’t-Hide-Trying-to-Sound-Reasonable Targeter does the rest.”
“Hmm,” said Hadrian. “Oberkampensummer, exactly how many people—non-Nazis, I mean—will be left?”
The man squinted and rubbed his jaw. “Hard to say. I mean, you’ve got card-carrying Nazis, you’ve got Sekret Nazis, you’ve got Part-Time Nazis, Occasional Nazis, Seasonal Nazis (mostly around Christmas and of course Black Friday Sales Events), you’ve got Behind-the-Wheel Nazis … well, if I had to guess, and it’s just a guess, mind you, I don’t have any statistical evidence immediately at hand, but—”
“About ten percent will be removed from the global population,” cut in Beta.
Everyone looked at her.
“That’s it?” Hadrian asked.
“Among biologicals,” Beta said, “the majority just want to keep their heads down, live peaceful lives, be nice neighbors, raise their kids, and not bother anybody. It’s the other ones who constantly fight each other over who’s going to be in charge.”
“Wow, Beta, I’m impressed.”
“So am I,” the robot replied. “I downloaded a thousand years’ worth of political and philosophical treatises from every human planet in the galaxy and then ran a Reduction Program on the salient points.”
The oberkampensummer cleared his throat. “Well, most of that ten percent are here in the capital at the moment, since there’s a big Grand Assembly called Everything Nazi!, sponsored by the Maturated Hitler Youth, recently renamed the Hitler Old People, or oberhilteroldenfolkengrupenpensioninginggagafolken. We just call them Hops, which is a sort of joke though not an especially cruel one, mostly being a friendly tease since they couldn’t hop to save their lives. Fortunately, they don’t take offense because they can’t hear anything anymore anyway.”
Hadrian turned to Galk. “Hold off on that Meltomatic meltdown, will you? We still need to kidnap Mangles so he can stand trial for Stupidity. Oberkampensummer, can you lead me to the Führer, as in actually lead me to him this time?”
The man smiled. “Oh, that was so funny. I mean, he was just next door from the room you arrived in! Hahaha!”
“Nina, you’re with me.”
“Yes, Captain. Will you want me with you, too?”
“Yes, I will.”
“Und ze me?” Engels asked. “I wuz once close friends with Maxim von Mangles, back in ze days at ze Academy. In fact, ve vere roommates. Oh the fun we had! Arguing epistemology in ze context of ze flurry of accidental deaths among short-armed trapeze artists at Episcopal carnivals in ze Old South United Ztates. Oh, ze laughs! Ze late nights mit de chips and hot sauce! Undt ze raucous games of ze tic-tac-toe—”
“Thank you, Engels,” Hadrian cut in. “I will indeed need you for this, if only to talk Mangles down. But wait. Tell me your theory of why this eminent xenoanthropologist sh
ould elect Nazi Germany as his template for governing this world?”
Engels raised one finger. “Ah! Ja! Ja ja ja! It iz mit like diss. Ze base assumption iz zimple. People are shtupid. Ah, that iz, most people, ja? Und ze shtupid people believe vatever ze strong and loud people tell dem to believe, ja? Undt zo, ze loud and strong people taken ze charge, undt zo my old friend mit his lifelong examination of human ze kultures could only conclude ze most people are shtupid, ja? Ze history iz proof, ja? Undt ze Democracy iz no help! Ze shtupid people vote in ze loud and ze strong, ja? Ergo, Maxim von Mangles decided to be ze loudest undt ze strongest of ze all, perhaps az experiment, ja? Undt zen ze juggernaut uv ze momentum proved zo powervul dat—ah! Too late! No going undt ze back!”
“Fine,” Hadrian said, “but why not, oh, I don’t know, Stalinists? Or just your plain old commie dictatorship? Or how about tyrannical theocracy? Or Pernicious Corporatism, even?”
Engels held up another finger. “Ah! But ze other examples, ja? They begin with ze best of intentions, ja? (Okay, maybe not Pernicious Corporatism.) But Nazis? Nein! No ze best intentions. Ze worst intentions! From ze very start! Hate undt ze leads to anger undt ze leads to fear undt ze leads to persecution undt ze leads to boys’ klubs undt ze leads to comparing dick sizes undt ze leads to misogyny undt ze leads to tight jeans undt ze leads to Satanism undt ze leads to short mustaches undt ze leads to black shiny boots undt ze leads to ze burning ze books undt ze leads to veganism and ah! Now ze world ends! Ja?”
“I see the logic,” Beta said. “Hitler was evil. He was also a vegetarian. Therefore, all vegetarians are evil.” The robot turned to Hadrian. “Captain, it is imperative that we kill all vegetarians at once. Well, perhaps only those with short little moustaches.”
“Thanks for the input, Beta. Let’s shelve that one for now, shall we?” Hadrian clapped his hands. “Okay! Galk, you and Beta and Tammy hold the fort down here. Oh, and Tammy, try finding out where our marines ended up, will you?”
“Oh and how will I do that? Perhaps use my comms implant, hmmm?”
“Wow aren’t you clever. Failing that, Lieutenant Brogan has a tiny transponder in the middle of her skull—”
“That’s not a tiny transponder,” Tammy said, “that’s her brain.”
“Well, whatever, it still emits a signal.”
“Infrequently, sporadically, randomly, unpredict—”
“Just find them, Tammy!”
“Sure, and then what? Contact them, set up a rendezvous or even a rally point?”
“Right. Good grief, does absolutely everything need to be spelled out? Yeesh. Nina, Engels, and you, Oberkampensummer, let’s get out of here before I strangle that chicken’s neck.”
They quickly set out, the oberkampensummer leading them back up the stairs, back through rooms and corridors and more stairs and more corridors until at last they stood in front of a door that said: ZE FUHRURDRUGGENDENNENACIDTRIPPINCRASHENPADDEN (it was a very wide door).
“Here we are!” whispered the oberkampensummer. “Can you detect that stench wafting out from under the door? The old socks stink?”
Nina Twice grunted and said, “Marijuana?”
“No, he never changes his socks. That skunky delicate fragrance? That’s the weed.”
“And that other hint of something inexplicably foul?”
“Fava beans. Vegetarian, right?” He pulled out a key. “Are you ready?”
“As we’ll ever be,” Hadrian replied. He glanced up and down the corridor. “Apart from all those guards staring at us, that is.”
“Oh, never mind them! They’re always staring.” The oberkampensummer unlocked the door and gestured. “Quickly! Before anyone notices!”
“They’re all—”
The oberkampensummer pushed everyone through the doorway and then shut and locked the door. “Whew! That was close!”
Hadrian set his hands on his hips. “Wait a minute, here! Those guards—”
“Isn’t it obvious?” the oberkampensummer exclaimed. “We’re all sick of all this! It’s so … so…”
“Shtupid?” Engels asked.
“Exactly! Now!” He gestured into the room. “Kidnap this idiot. Please!”
The room? Well, it was big and square with walls and a ceiling and floor and there were furniture and beanbag chairs (which, let’s face it, don’t rate being called furniture. I mean, what are those things? Oh, right. A mistake because what happens when they split open which they all do eventually? Little bits of Styrofoam everywhere!) and tabletops crowded with drug paraphernalia, said paraphernalia consisting of drugs and stuff. And sprawled in a huge bed at the far end was Maxim von Mangles, staring blearily at them, his slack face working its way up to an expression of some sort.
Hadrian waved Engels forward. “There he is. Your old roommate, the Nazi freak. Go get ’im.”
“Undt zemazing! He hazn’t changed at all! Ja ja, he always went naked in ze room, and ze parties when Johnny Dangles came over! Oh my! Undt ze drugs and ze Ouija board undt ze pentagrams undt ze goat for ze sacrifice at ze midnight, ah, ze nostalgia it ze grips me, ja?” Engels then scurried forward. “Maxim! Von Mangles! It iz me, your old friend, Mendel Engels!”
Maxim von Mangles finally managed a frown as he studied the man standing before him. “Mendel ‘Mental’ Engels?”
“Ja—”
“Mendel ‘Mental’ ‘Rental’ Engels?”
“Ja, mit—”
“Mendel ‘Mental’ ‘Rental’ ‘Spent-it-all’ Engels?”
Hadrian checked his watch.
“Ja, undt—”
“Mendel ‘Mental’ ‘Rental’ ‘Spent-it-all’ ‘Tentacles’—”
Nina Twice zapped him twice with her stunner, and then turned to the captain. “Sorry sir, I couldn’t stop myself.”
“That’s all right, Nina.”
“Sorry, sir, I couldn’t stop myself.”
“That’s fine.”
“We’re truly sorry, sir. We don’t know what came over us.”
He stared at her for a moment. “Right. Apology accepted. And, uh, apology accepted. Now, collect up Dr. Mangles.” He drew out his communicator. “Sin-Dour? We have Mangles ready for displacement.”
“Uh, hello, Captain. Unfortunately, the Insisteon Machine is up for annual overhaul. I’m afraid it’s presently dismantled, sir.”
“Oh. And when will it be working again?”
“Hard to say, sir. The technicians are on strike.”
“Why are they on strike?”
“Well, sir, first you interrupted their lunch when you needed displacing down to the planet, and then when I pointed out that the maintenance schedule was in conflict with your mission requirements and that you might require emergency displacement, well, that was the last straw, sir.”
“I seem to recall that we called in only one technician to manage the controls for our displacement,” Hadrian said. “Just how many Insisteon Device technicians are there, anyway?”
“Twenty-seven, sir.”
“Twenty-seven? Okay. So, twenty-six of them didn’t get their lunch interrupted, right?”
“Solidarity, sir.”
Hadrian switched frequencies. “Tammy? Get up here. We have ourselves a little problem.”
“On my way, and woe betide the fool who gets in the way of this Nazi Chicken oberkluxendweebentwat!”
“Captain!” cried Engels from beside the bed. “I undt ze believe there iz a solution to this in ze problem!” And he gestured to Mangles, who had regained consciousness and was trying to climb out of bed. “There is the Great Nazi Blastenuppenspacenvolksenwaggen that my old friend was mit justen telling me about!”
Mangles rolled off the bed to thump on the floor, landing facedown. He lifted a hand. “Thank Darwin you’re here!” he said to the floor. “Get me off this fucking planet!”
“We’re trying,” Hadrian replied, walking over to the man and helping him into his feet. “Now what’s this about a Blastenuppenspacenvolksenwaggen?”
/> “My prototype Nazi launch vehicle. Part of the Great Nazi Projekt to Conquer All of Space.” Mangles frowned. “Or did I just dream that?”
“Nein! Nein!” cried Engels over by the window. He pointed. “Zee? Ze launchen ze uppen padd undt ze gantry! But why iz ze entire city on ze fire?”
“Oh crap.” Hadrian rushed over to the window. “Sweepy and her squad is my bet. Wow, tall skyscrapers going down like some devious special effects obsessive-compulsive ghoulish masturbatory jerkfest of imaginatively bankrupt Hollywood filmmakers!”
“Ja, nostalgic, ja?”
Hadrian grunted. “Maybe. Except that every film since about 2013 not involving babies or romance has had at least one giant building crashing down sans bodies but lots of smoke and dust, so ‘nostalgia’ ’s not even in the cards.”
“Ze cards?”
Hadrian spun to Mangles. “You, Führer Shithead, can you get us over to that launchpad, get us onto your Blastenuppenspacenvolksenwaggen, and then get us off the planet? Oh, and by the way, once on board my starship you’ll be arrested and probably locked up forever, but don’t let that grisly fate affect your willingness to help.”
Mangles scowled, and then sat down on the bed. “You don’t understand. I kept pushing and pushing, kept dumbing down and then dumbing down some more. I made blathering statements that made me sound like a four-year-old. I hit on little girls and women and the recently dead—my hands went everywhere—in public! Did I get arrested? No! Then I gathered around me a whole fucking legion of the most reprehensible, heinous, self-serving, corrupt, deviant, fetishistic dickwads you could imagine. And what did the people do? They put us in charge of everything! So what did we do? We stole insane amounts of money and hid it away in offshore bank accounts. We introduced bills designed to benefit only us—we didn’t even disguise it! We threw in jail people who just looked at us the wrong way. And then it was death camps and persecution of minorities and left-handed people and fans of PBS. And all those majority-right-handed-Friends-of-Fox citizens—they just let us get away with it! All of it!” He pulled at his hair. “I don’t get it. Are people really that … that…”
The Search for Spark Page 8