“I was initially puzzled, of course,” von Falkenstein said, “because the gate did not conform to the Einstein-Rosen theories. Anyone who steps through does not reappear somewhere else: you come right back out the other side of the gate. Think of it, perhaps, as a train riding a circular track, but one that has countless sidings. ”
Peter frowned, confused. “Then what is its practical application, if not as a means of transport for our troops or weapons? What does it do?”
Von Falkenstein leaned forward. “A traveler sent on a trip aboard this train is physically transformed.”
“Transformed?” Peter had difficulty keeping the incredulity from his voice. He wanted to let loose the hysterical laughter he felt building in side him, but dared not. “How?”
“We do not yet fully understand the process, but the sidings along the circular rail line that I alluded to correspond to points along what we now call an evolutionary trajectory. The precise trajectory followed by a traveler may be varied to an infinite degree by tuning the coordinates of the gate…”
“Which are determined by the computer,” Peter murmured softly.
Von Falkenstein nodded, pleased. “Ja, which are determined by the computer. And each trajectory sends the traveler on a different evolutionary path. You are familiar with Darwin, of course?”
“His theory of evolution? Certainly, sir,” Peter said slowly as he tried to grasp his meaning. “So, you’re saying that you send a human through the gate here, but when he returns to our universe — I assume appearing out the bottom of the gate where the lower cage is — he has…evolved to something beyond homo sapiens?” Von Falkenstein nodded. “Evolved into what?”
“Any manner of things!” Von Falkenstein boomed. “We have already done a great deal of experimentation and the possibilities seem nearly endless. Unfortunately, we are constrained by the immediate needs of the Reich. After much experimentation, we have settled upon an evolution that will serve as the basis for a new breed of soldier for the Reich. We had perfected the prototype just before the troubles began with the gate’s computer.”
Hoth shot Baumann a disgusted look, but said nothing.
“And that would be?” Peter asked, not sure he wanted to know the answer.
Von Falkenstein narrowed his eyes slightly. “It will be better for you to see than for me to try and explain. I realize it is difficult to grasp now, but all will become clear quite soon.”
As von Falkenstein turned his attention to his meal and conversation around the table resumed, Peter took a sip of wine. He remembered that Mina had refused to tell him anything about the project when he had first arrived because he would not believe.
She certainly had been right about that, he decided.
Looking up, he caught her eyes for a moment, and the wine turned sour in his stomach at the terror he saw reflected in them.
THE ABYSS
Peter was falling, forever falling, through a sea of endless darkness as world-splitting lightning crackled all around him, threatening to rend the fabric of the universe itself. But the darkness was not empty. Sinister shadows, grotesque and twisted, writhed in the ether like malevolent nebulae, with dying red suns in place of eyes. Those countless, heartless coals that had once been vibrant stars were fixed upon him, for he did not belong here. His very essence was anathema to this place, a fundamental wrongness that he could not understand, but could sense with perfect clarity. His body was enveloped by an aura of white light, and just as a moth is drawn to a flame, so were the titanic monstrosities of this place drawn to him. A pulsing mind-numbing wave of limitless hate swept through him, threatening to crush his spirit and rend his soul with despair. As the things reached out for him, the swirling gases of this dark universe coalescing into claws that could crush the sun that gave life to the planet of his birth, he opened his mouth to scream…
Peter shot up out of bed, the scream still on his lips. Taking in a huge gulp of air, he fought to calm his pounding heart. The sheets were soaked with sweat, and his hand trembled as he reached for the light on the night stand.
He stifled a cry of surprise when he saw Baumann sitting in the chair beside him, legs crossed. Staring at Peter, the Standartenführer wore a thoughtful expression as he puffed on a cigarette.
“Bad dreams, Müller?” Baumann asked in a matter of fact tone.
Peter nodded, not trusting himself to speak. He looked around the room, expecting to see guards ready to haul him away, his true identity discovered. But the rest of his apartment was empty.
Baumann’s lips twisted up in a mirthless grin. “Get used to them. You won’t be having any happy dreams, not in this place.”
“Standartenführer?” Peter rasped, finally regaining some composure. “What are you doing here?”
“I thought we might have a private chat, you and I. Things here can be…complex, and I wanted to make sure that we had a mutual understanding.”
“Of course, sir.” Peter balled his hands into fists, trying to quell their trembling.
A chuckle tumbled from Baumann’s throat. “Oh, you mustn’t be afraid, Peter. Had I held any ill will toward you, you would already be dead. Or worse.” Baumann’s expression became thoughtful again. “There are worse things than being dead, you know. Much worse.”
“How…how may I be of service, sir?” Peter asked, not willing to pursue the course of inquiry Baumann had left hanging. Death was bad enough. If there was worse, Peter had no wish to know more about it.
“Something is wrong in this place,” Baumann told him. “Little things that only I see. Von Falkenstein is blind to everything but his science, and he does not believe that anything is amiss.” He leaned closer. “But I know. Someone is here who does not belong, someone who does not have the interests of the Reich at heart. Someone, I suspect, who is on the operations team, close to the Herr Professor. I thought it was the fool who designed the computing machine, but I see now that perhaps I was hasty in rendering judgment on him. I have you to thank for opening my eyes in that regard.”
“You are…most welcome, sir,” Peter said.
Baumann tapped some of the ashes from his cigarette into the ashtray on the nightstand. “You must be on guard, Peter. Watch. Listen. Trust no one. Suspect everyone. We two, more than anyone else in this fantastic place, are the Führer’s Teutonic Knights, the guardians of the Reich’s future. We must be vigilant. Nothing must prevent von Falkenstein from bringing this project to its ultimate fruition. Nothing.”
Peter’s heart leaped into his throat as someone knocked at the door.
“Herr Müller?” It was Mina. In a softer voice, she said, “Peter?”
Baumann glanced at the door, then back at Peter. “Peter, is it?” He raised an eyebrow and shook his head. “Be very careful with that one, my friend. She is a tiger you would rather not take by the tail, if you get my meaning.”
Mina knocked again, more urgently this time. “Peter!” She whispered. “Are you all right?”
Baumann got up and opened the door.
Surprised, Mina took a step back.
“Good evening, Fräulein,” Baumann said as he brushed past her, “or is it morning? Does anyone know anymore? Or care?” After throwing her a mock salute, he headed down the corridor, chuckling to himself.
“My God,” Mina breathed as she pulled the door closed. “What was he doing here? And are you all right? You look dreadful.”
“Yes. No.” He shook his head, giving her an awkward, confused smile. “I don’t know. I had a terrible nightmare, and when I woke up, Baumann was sitting here.” He gestured to the now empty chair. “I guess I must have had too much wine at the dinner party.”
“What did he want?”
“He accepts my explanation of the problems with the computing device, but thinks someone is still trying to sabotage the project. He wanted me to keep my eyes and ears open, and to be especially mindful of you.”
The color drained from her face. “Does he suspect me?”
Peter said with the trace of a grin. “No, I think he was more concerned about what you might do to me if I made any untoward advances.”
She relaxed. Slightly. “I would much rather him think that than the truth. Now, get cleaned up and dressed. Quickly. The Herr Professor wants the computer functioning again as soon as possible, and sent me to wake you up. You’ve had three hours sleep, which he deemed enough.”
Peter looked at the clock on the wall. It was three-thirty in the morning. “Right,” he said, rubbing the stubble on his jaw. He managed a grin, imagining what a fright he must appear. “I’m sorry. You don’t deserve to have to look at a sight like this so early in the morning.”
“I’ve seen worse. Now get moving.”
Then she was gone, her heels clicking rapidly on the polished marble floor as she headed back toward the elevator.
Peter stared after her a moment, his mind caught between appreciating the pleasant view her backside presented and the unsettling strangeness of Baumann’s visit. At last, he closed the door and headed for the bathroom to take a quick shower and shave before he went to work.
***
After five hours of meticulous tests, calibrations, and circuit traces with the assistance of the four men who tended the great computing machine since its creator’s unfortunate demise, Peter was convinced that his initial theory about the computer was correct.
When he had approached von Falkenstein about his suggested modifications, the scientist had simply waved a hand in a dismissive gesture. “Fix it, Peter. Just fix it,” he’d said. “I would like to perform a test of the gate tonight. Will you be ready in time?”
“Yes, sir, I believe so.”
“Then get it done, young man. Herr Hoth will provide whatever you need.”
The modifications Peter had in mind were hardly in keeping with the unbelievable technology of the gate itself. He outlined what he required to Hoth, who picked up a phone mounted on the primary control panel where he and von Falkenstein had been discussing something in hushed tones and repeated what Peter wanted. “Your materials will arrive shortly,” the scientist said.
Just as Hoth had promised, the elevators hissed open not thirty minutes later and a group of men began to carry in the things Peter needed. His gut clenched as he caught a closer look at them. He had been expecting technicians or perhaps soldiers, or even local civilians hired to work here.
But these men were something else. They were ragged, exhausted and malnourished. Some wore tattered civilian clothes, while others wore the remains of military uniforms, mostly Russian. They were forced labor, treated little better than slaves.
And every single one of them was terrified.
“Malcontents, half-Jews, and Slavs,” von Falkenstein muttered from beside him in a tone that made clear his disgust. Peter had been so focused on watching the laborers that he hadn’t noticed the professor join him on the computer platform. “You seem surprised, Peter. I take it you’ve never seen the Organisation Todt in action. While I myself questioned the program before the war, I must admit now that it was a stroke of genius. They have taken the scum of our society, of humanity, and given them an opportunity to be useful as laborers. Creatures such as these helped to build the Westwall and the Atlantic Wall, and even the V-weapon sites in Northern France. But here,” von Falkenstein made a grand sweeping gesture that encompassed the massive chamber, “is where they made their most meaningful contribution, carving this from a small subterranean cavern below the schlossberg.”
“I had wondered if this had been a natural formation,” Peter said, trying to keep his own emotions in check. None of the prisoners dared raise their eyes as they shuffled past like a line of ants bearing their burdens back to the nest. “But, sir, why here? If you don’t mind my asking.”
“Not at all,” von Falkenstein said with an indulging smile. “While we could have located the gate at any number of places that had sufficient quantities of electrical power and water for cooling, this location is special because of its celestial harmonics, you might say.”
“The flux lines, you mean,” Peter said. “I remember that from your lecture.”
“Indeed?” Von Falkenstein was clearly pleased. “Yes, the flux lines formed by the Earth’s gravitational field. Certain locations are nodal points, intersections of two or more lines.” He pointed to the center of the great golden ring. “The gate is precisely positioned at the confluence of not two, not three, but four flux lines.” He smiled. “The Reich is truly blessed, my young friend. By my calculations, there are only six other such points across the entire globe. One is in England, another in South America, and the remaining four lie in the sea.”
“So if we had been located in Russia, for example, the gate wouldn’t work?”
“Oh, no, no. The gate could still function, but we would have to apply exponentially greater amounts of power. The flux lines act as amplifiers, you see, and this particular location boosts the effective energy input by roughly ten to the fourth power.”
“Ten thousand times,” Peter whispered in awe. Tearing his eyes away from the laborers, he looked again at the enormous capacitors and thick power cables that fed them. “That’s difficult to imagine.”
Von Falkenstein laughed. “You will not have to imagine for much longer. Tonight you will see it for yourself.”
The scientist clapped Peter on the shoulder and strode away, leaving him to his task.
Walking over to where the laborers had gathered around the computer, with a ring of SS guards keeping watch, Peter tried to focus on the task before him. The hardest part was keeping the anguish and pity that he felt for these poor men from showing on his face. Instead, he twisted his features into a mask of thinly veiled revulsion at having to work in the presence of such untermenschen and began to instruct them in what had to be done.
***
“It is ready, Herr Professor.” Peter reported. Over the course of the last ten hours, he had overseen the Organisation Todt laborers and the technicians in modifying the computer platform. When they had finished, the prisoners were herded back out of the cavern, their sense of relief at leaving the place as palpable as had been their fear when they entered. He was exhausted, but was also buoyed by a sense of pride. The sensation troubled him.
Von Falkenstein stared at him, a scowl on his face. “Indeed.”
Peter blinked, surprised at the professor’s reaction until he realized the man was staring at Peter’s attire. “Ah. My apologies, Herr Professor.” Peter quickly shrugged out of the blue coveralls that were now scuffed and dirtied from the day’s work. Beneath was his black SS uniform. “I only brought one regular uniform coat with me, and did not want to soil it. The work that was required was far from delicate.”
That mollified von Falkenstein, who stepped closer to the computer. Or, rather, the new computer housing. Frowning, he said, “So, you believe this contraption will eliminate the problems we have been experiencing?”
“Yes, sir, I do.” Peter bunched up the coveralls and tossed them to one of the nearby enlisted men to dispose of. “I realize it’s rather primitive in appearance, but I think it will do the job. As you can see, the entire computer is now protected by an enclosure lined with layers of lead and copper foil. This should help reduce electromagnetic interference when the gate is in operation. On the inside, the walls are lined with sound dampening materials that should greatly reduce the danger of harmonic vibrations among the vacuum tubes. The entire enclosure,” he knelt down and pointed to an open gap of nearly a foot beneath the enormous box, “now rests on a crude but effective set of shock absorbers and vibration dampeners. And these ducts,” he led von Falkenstein to one end of the enclosure, which also held the main access door, “have fans that provide ventilation to carry off waste heat and keep the machine cool. Finally,” he said, pointing to a much smaller box through which all the cables were routed, “I added a set of voltage regulators to the power inputs. The original regulators were not sufficiently sensitive for this a
pplication. And, like the computer itself, these are now shielded.”
“Impressive, Hauptsturmführer,” Baumann said from close beside him, making Peter jump. Baumann smiled. “Did I startle you?”
“Yes, sir, I’m sorry,” Peter managed. “You move as quietly as the dead, sir.”
Baumann threw back his head and laughed, the sound echoing across the chamber. The technicians who were now taking their places at the operations consoles paused in their work to look up, expressions of unease on their faces, before resuming their preparations for the evening’s test.
“It looks like the back of a cargo truck, only larger,” Mina observed. Peter had heard her heels clicking on the floor, but had been careful not to turn and look. Even as inexperienced as he was at field craft, he knew that her coming to his room that morning had been a potential point of exposure that could not be repeated.
“Why yes, it does, Fräulein, now that you mention it,” Peter admitted, greeting her with a polite nod of his head. “Perhaps we should drape a flag with a swastika over the top so the Luftwaffe doesn’t accidentally bomb it?”
The joke fell into a well of silence.
“It’s time.” Von Falkenstein turned on his heel and headed toward the command platform. “Come along, Peter. This is something you will not soon forget!”
Peter fell into line behind the professor and Baumann, with Mina bringing up the rear. In the short time it took them to reach the control platform, every console was manned and the technicians were abuzz with their pre-mission checklists. The consoles were aglow with red, yellow, and green lights. Needles on meters danced, and numbers flickered on gauges. Every operator was tense with excitement, and Hoth waddled among the stations like a nervous hen, double checking everything.
“What are they doing, sir?” Peter pointed to a pair of technicians in the cage that was suspended over the ring.
“They’re preparing the guide cable,” von Falkenstein answered. “We won’t be sending anyone through this time, but we learned early on that without that simple expedient, the travelers tended to get lost, shall we say. We discovered that by attaching the cable to a harness worn by the traveler, they can always find their way home. As I’m sure you have already deduced, we drop the traveler from the upper cage and recover them in the lower one. This ensures that they enter the gate as close as possible to the center, and exit the same way at the bottom.”
The Black Gate Page 7