“I understand that you prevented an incident in the town, Herr Major.” Dreschler looked up, then back to his screen. “Yet I find no report, no individuals under punishment. Explain.”
Müller took a deep breath. “No incident worth punishment occurred – though it might have, had I not intervened. And, besides, the only one who might have had a complaint declined to press the point. In fact, he asked that all forget the incident entirely.”
Drescher didn’t appear appeased. “Ah, and that would be the one they call Old Paulo. You went to his birthday party.”
What was this? “Yes, Herr Oberst, I did. Old Paulo invited me.”
“You take chances, Major Müller.”
Müller blinked. “Chances? I fail to understand.”
The man behind the desk regarded him with narrowed eyes. “We watch Old Paulo. He has a record with us.”
Müller gave his head a small shake. Old Paulo? “He’s ninety-five, Herr Oberst, and can just barely stand up without aid. Besides, he once wore this uniform for Europe.”
The oberst frowned. “Wearing the uniform sixty years ago means little now. You’ll find his attitude has changed since he won his medals.”
Müller blinked. He hadn’t realized the old man had won medals. “Perhaps. However…”
“However, Herr Major Müller,” Oberst Dreschler interrupted, “he now skates perilously close to sedition. Act accordingly. Dismissed.”
As he left, it came to Müller that the watcher in the plaza had Old Paulo as a subject and not him. He felt some relief at that.
ELEVEN
DENVER
Friday, June 25th
Jensen’s eyes flickered open. He still lay in the flotation chamber, but he saw the top opened and Dr. Burnett waiting above.
She sat motionless until his eyes attained the required level of recognition.
“Guten Morgen, Herr Jensen.”
“Guten Morgen, Frau Doktor. Wie geht es Ihnen?”
“Danke, gut. Und Ihnen?”
“Es geht mir gut, aber…” Jensen stopped, and stared at her, confusion overriding all other emotions that passed over his face. “Wie … how … habe … ah, have Ich.” He stopped again, this time in frustration.
“Relax, Sergeant. Just relax, and let everything settle. You haven’t forgotten your English, so don’t worry about it. Now, pay attention! Passen Sie auf! Sprechen nur Deutsch!”
Christy extended a hand and helped him sit up. She then began to question him in German. Her assistant, Arch, sat quietly and checked off the items on his list. The interview lasted a full quarter-hour. At its completion, she smiled at her subject.
“Thank you, Sergeant. Now relax again. Listen to the music.”
She nodded to Arch, who turned on one of the Sergeant’s favourite songs – the one he’d mentioned in the pre-sleep interview. Christy didn’t particularly like the music of Misty Monroe, but she leaned back in her chair, and pretended to appreciate it.
Songs, she had found through trial and error, snapped the sleep-learning subject back to normal faster than anything else – songs that the subject liked, felt affinity for. After the piece ended, she had Arch replay it, this time asking Sergeant Jensen to sing along. He didn’t have a great singing voice, but she had heard – and suffered through – much worse.
“Very good, Sergeant. You did well. Have you any questions or comments?”
Jensen looked at her closely. She held her breath. Surely he knew better than to think they had privacy here.
“I was really speaking German, wasn’t I?”
She breathed a silent sigh of relief.
“And I understood what you said, didn’t I?” The look of amazement on his face seemed slightly overdone to Christy, but she had seen similar with other students, so didn’t worry overly.
“Yes, Sergeant, to both questions. You did very well. Of course, we used only simple questions requiring simple answers. Even with sleep-learning, you can’t become fluent after only one session. However, you did score highly. You’ll have another session tonight. Until then, you are free to do whatever you wish as long as you follow the protocols.”
Jensen gave her another pointed look, which she ignored. Then he grinned. “Thank you, Doctor. I’m actually looking forward to it.”
“Good. I’ll get someone to see you out. Have a shower and relax. Now, I have to look in on another subject.”
She left the room with Arch. “Let’s see how Private Fry reacted to the session. He should awaken at any moment now.”
The day passed slowly, with each successive subject eating into Christy’s reserve of energy.
“You look beat,” Arch said.
She looked up from her notes and nodded wearily. “I feel worse. But I think I’m on to something. Six random subjects shouldn’t all score in the top 15 percentile. So, I’m happy about that, but tonight will tell the tale. The first batch get their second dose, and the second their first.”
“Tomorrow’s going to be a long day.” Arch didn’t look any too happy about that.
“Yes. I’m going to bed now. I hope I can get in six hours before the first subjects arrive. Tomorrow, you’ll test the second batch, and I’ll take the first. I’ll get them set up; you can get a normal night’s sleep.”
Arch nodded, looking relieved. “I could use it. Should I report to the Colonel?”
Christy shook her head. “I don’t want to raise hopes. The results thus far could be an anomaly. If the next six show similar, and the first six keep up steady progress, then we might write up a report tomorrow.”
She stood, slowly, tiredly. “If we have the energy. Bed for me.”
Arch held up his hand. “What did you do differently? Don’t you think I should know?”
Christy shook her head. “You’re keeping me honest. If my theory proves correct, your testing without my presence will confirm it.”
He nodded, appeased. She showed her teeth in her best, exhausted approximation of a smile, and then walked out. She didn’t dare tell him. If he got word to Westorn, the man might use the information to upset her plans. And that wouldn’t do at all. That would kill her promise to Jensen and the others, and promise hell to still more that Westorn might wish to use.
The afternoon sun shone down, giving her a touch of a headache. Too much stress did that to her. She took a couple of painkillers when she reached her rooms. Six blessed hours to sleep, or do whatever she wished to do. She laughed. Sleep came first.
* * *
Sergeant Jensen walked the halls of the centre, feeling the excitement rise within him. He had done well, and that meant that he had a greater chance to be chosen for the advanced studies. Perhaps the good doctor’s plan would work after all.
He found Corporal Tieff in the cafeteria, and walked over to him. Tieff looked up, and Jensen sat down.
“Interesting, wouldn’t you say?” Jensen asked.
“Very interesting, mein Freund.”
Jensen glared at him.
“I think I’d like to learn the language, and how better than to practice it at every opportunity?” Tieff gave a side-wise look to the counter personnel.
Jensen sighed. “Right you are. This seems to take better than the other program. I’ve never liked being one of the ‘slow’ students.”
Tieff laughed. “Me, neither. And I plan on graduating top of the class this time.”
“Second from top,” Jensen corrected him. “Jetzt werde ich schalfen gehen.”
“Yeah, I could use forty winks myself.”
Hoping that their conversation would make its way to the Colonel, the two men rose and headed for their sleeping quarters.
In his room, Jensen wondered if he might get a chance for a frank talk with Doctor Burnett, but realized that any attempt would only endanger their plans. He sighed, and turned out the light. He used the time before he slept to go over their plans again. Everything depended on the Doctor. He only hoped she wouldn’t break, or let slip something that would
see him and the rest of his group eliminated by Westorn. And he wondered what in hell the colonel needed soldier-fanatics for.
He woke to the alarm clock, glanced at it once, and then rolled out of bed. He wondered at the idiocy that had him sleeping in order to prepare for sleep. Science worked in strange and mysterious ways.
* * *
“Hi, James,” Frank Jensen greeted his corporal.
“Frank. All cleaned out?” Tieff asked.
Jensen gave Tieff his best disgusted look. “Yep. Ready for the long sleep. I could use a coffee.”
Tieff looked at the others who engaged in just that exercise. “No liquids in the last two hours before the sleep. Might make a man want to take a leak in the middle of the night. And no stimulants. Bah!”
Jensen noted a sergeant pretending to ignore them while playing solitaire at a nearby table. He darted a glance to him, then away, making sure Tieff caught it.
“Buck up, Corporal. All in the name of science.” He sat down. “So, what do you think of the good doctor?”
Tieff’s gaze snapped to his face, as well it might. But he trusted Tieff to make the right conclusion. The man did not disappoint.
“She’s a looker. Wouldn’t mind seeing her out of her lab coat sometime.”
Jensen laughed. “And the rest of her clothes. You and me both. Makes a difference from the usual sort, doesn’t she?” Let the eavesdropper take that away with him. He looked to the dreary walls. Only the army could make a meal room look like this. It made a man – or woman – want to not eat. He snorted. Perhaps it saved the Army money on rations; many soldiers would get their extra meals from the canteen.
“Speaking of that, Sarge, think that we’ll get some leave after she’s finished poking and prodding us? I mean, it’s not bad, the manner in which she pokes and prods, but I could use a week of R&R, if you get my drift.”
“Don’t know. Put in a request.” He watched the eavesdropper deal another hand. Something about the man seemed familiar. The soldier raised his head and caught Jensen looking at him. Damn! Jensen didn’t look away, but narrowed his eyes, then allowed them to widen. “Rogers!” he forced a smile to his face and stood up.
He walked over to the other table and held out his hand. “Peter Rogers. I thought I recognized you.”
Sergeant Rogers took Jensen’s hand and shook it. “Hello, Jensen. What are you doing back here? I thought you washed out.”
“They figure they’ve got a better method. I’m a guinea pig again.” Jensen had never liked Rogers’ eyes, and their flat look hadn’t improved over the months since they had taken Westorn’s first course together. “I thought you got posted out. What are you doing back?”
“Yeah. Some of us went on an evaluation tour. We’re not supposed to talk about it.”
Rogers waited for Jensen to remark on that. Jensen had no doubt that the other man hoped he would press – or do anything which he could report.
“Then I guess we shouldn’t,” Jensen said calmly. “Long as you had a good time.”
Rogers smiled faintly. “Oh, I can say that, all right. A good time.”
Something in his voice sent a tingle through Jensen’s nerves. He hadn’t particularly liked the man when they’d met; he liked him less now. Something about Rogers seemed just a little less than human. And he’d love to get a look at a report detailing the mission – he doubted the ‘evaluation tour’ story – that Rogers and the others had just completed.
“Good. As for me, I get a double dose of sleep today.” He frowned at the glass in front of Rogers. “But no food or liquid, or I’d join you in a drink.”
“Life’s tough all over,” Rogers said.
Tieff had slipped away. Jensen had suspicions, and wanted to know if any others from the “graduating class” were about, but he had smarts enough to not ask. If Rogers was here, someone had brought him back for a reason. The colonel came to mind.
“Well, I’ll just go out and get a breath of fresh air, and then say my prayers before putting my jammies on.”
Rogers laughed without humour. “You do that.”
Jensen stood and walked away, feeling the flat stare of the sergeant on his back all the way out of the room. He and Tieff needed to warn the others – both those in the language program and those outside of it. He had the nasty feeling that Rogers had come to make an end to any who didn’t pass the upgraded course. Just the very thing to encourage a man to lie back and relax.
* * *
“Just get in, lie down, and relax,” Dr Christine Burnett told him.
Jensen did as instructed, entering the flotation chamber, and feeling the water support him as he arranged himself. A thin barrier pushed out from the sides, so light he could barely feel it. It would prevent any motions he made from sending him from side to side, possibly bumping into the insulating wall and waking him.
He relaxed, and breathed deeply.
Burnett’s voice came through his earplugs. “That’s it, Sergeant. We have you nice and centred. As before, don’t worry about anything. We’re watching your readings. If anything should happen, we’ll have you out of there immediately.”
The door to the chamber closed.
“I’m fine,” he said, speaking into the darkness. “Just waiting for the lightshow to begin.”
He heard her chuckle. Actually, he liked her chuckle, her laugh, her voice. And he admired her courage. Not everyone would risk their lives to right a wrong they hadn’t committed but felt responsible for. She would do.
“Very good. Just keep up the breathing routine, and we’ll start everything soon enough.”
He heard a light hiss underneath her words, and knew that they had already started. The hiss buried tones that somehow affected his brain. As they slowly aided him in achieving a relaxed, meditative state, flashing, low-intensity lights would join them. They would later send his mind into a hyper-aware state, where he would learn and process the information that Burnett fed him.
He hoped that Colonel Westorn hadn’t perverted this program too. If the colonel had, would he, Jensen, even know it? The doctor believed that she had improved the protocols – perhaps it might subvert that which had allowed him, Tieff, and the others to break the training.
“Your pulse rate is increasing, Sergeant Jensen,” he heard the doctor’s voice in his ears. “Please empty your mind of thoughts and just relax.”
Jensen contemplated the advisability of that, then sighed and obeyed. He had to trust someone. His awareness of his body began to fade. However, images came to him, crystal clear. The hyper-aware stage had begun. He felt a slight vibration through the heavily salted water of the flotation chamber, and that, combined with the aural and visual cues, left him tingling. Then the tones changed, his eyes closed at the command of the voice which he just barely heard. The tones took his body into sleep while his mind just went elsewhere.
* * *
“Guten Morgen, Herr Jensen.”
Jensen opened his eyes to see Dr Archie Grant, Burnett’s assistant, reaching out a hand to steady him. He sat up in the flotation chamber.
“Ich habe hunger. Gibt es etwas zum essen?” He felt like he could eat a five-course meal.
“Bald. Kommen Sie raus.”
Soon? He hoped the man used the term accurately.
Jensen suddenly realized that he was thinking in German. All well and good. He accepted the steadying hand from Dr Grant, and left the chamber.
Grant led him to the shower, where he washed the salty solution from his body. He felt good; he toweled dry and dressed. Then he followed Grant to the debriefing room, where Dr Burnett waited.
Sitting in the debriefing chair, he answered Burnett’s questions, all the time speaking – and thinking – only in German.
“I don’t know that many words, but I feel like I’m using them correctly. I think this is amazing.”
Burnett smiled at him, and made a few notations on her pad. “You’re doing well, Sergeant. We’re almost finished. Then you can eat
.”
‘Bald’, hadn’t been soon at all. His stomach grumbled. Burnett looked at him again, and this time he caught a very small, almost imperceptible nod. “Very well,” she said.
So, this part of the plan went as designed. Now they’d have to wait for word from Westorn. This time, as his favourite song played and he sang along, he regained his mastery of English much more quickly. Then the doctor sent him on his way, and went to wake one of his compatriots. He returned to his quarters to practice some of the language lessons he had just learned.
TWELVE
AZORES
Wednesday, June 30th
Müller sank back in his chair after yet another drill utilizing the procedures that Major Baumeister had laid out. Strange that no one before her had thought of them. Then again, each of her improvements had stemmed from changes in technology. No one had thought to update the overall procedure with each incremental advance. She had merely seen that taking them all together presented new options.
A weary grunt disturbed his thoughts.
He looked up into the tired eyes of Leutnant Tessler, his comm officer, who looked down, and then plunked into the seat next to his.
“At last,” he groaned. “At last. Finished with the training. I can now accomplish the new procedure in my sleep.” He gave forth with a tired laugh. “I have completed the new procedures in my sleep; I now even dream them. I even dream the duties of the others.”
All of them had to be at least minimally proficient at every station, even if their own designated duty lay elsewhere. Müller knew exactly what he meant.
“Good, good,” Müller said. “Dream my duties for me Leutnant, I could use the time to dream of better things – like a vacation in Italy with beautiful Italian fräuleins all about.”
Tessler cocked his head. “You, too?”
“I think all of us. Ah, here comes the architect of our misfortune.”
Tessler stood. “Frau Major.”
Not With A Whimper: Destroyers Page 7