Damien Broderick - Strange Attractors Original (pdf) (novels to read in english .TXT) 📖

from the one-way mirror. He was so frightened that he had lost the

power to move his limbs. The narrow passageway was cold and

dusty, and the gloved hand on his shoulder did not waver, possessing the inherent superiority of birth.

‘Watch her closely, study her throes. If you’re convincing, you’ll

live.’

The camera rolled on, emitting the faintest of whirrs.

‘These former States were modern equivalents of the ancient city-

nations,’ said Rudolf. ‘The State capital held most of the population

and dominated a huge area of land.’

‘Politics is boring,’ his lover told him, between bites of toast with

marmalade. The silverware gleamed upon the white quilt covering

their double bed. ‘Only Hitler was ever spellbinding, with his eyes

and his voice. A pity his illness allows him so little speechmaking.

Apart from him, I prefer reading about the Ostrogoths and the

Saxons.’

He could not help but laugh at her irreverence. They were comfortable here, in this fine, nineteenth-century mansion, with its verandahs and its garden full of gum trees.

If only she would bear him a child. Then they would be whole

again, his suffering expiated.

The interrogation room was designed to be intimidating. It was

small, cluttered with machinery. For now, the light was focused in

its centre, leaving the corners dim. On the high ceiling there were

various grids and chains, and other mechanical aids.

The lamp and table were expensive, the chairs quite comfortable, though that of Rudolf s captive was lower than his.

Heinrich, formerly Henry, Shillington wore a swastika arm-

band, An Anglo-Saxon possessed of sufficient Aryan stock to allow

him entry into the Germanic Folk, he had joined the Party early,

chiefly to retain his position as President of Manchester-

Westinghouse-Farbin Industries. The company manufactured

refrigerators for the Reich.

156

J o h n Playford

‘We follow the racial hygiene laws strictly,’ said Shillington, his

hair damp from perspiration. He insisted on speaking in' his

atrocious German, though Rudolfs English was adequate.

Tm sure you do,’ Rudolph said, and then fell silent.

The pudgy industrialist squirmed, clearly unsure whether to

speak again. He feared the work camps, though Rudolf had sent

few suspects there, let alone used his power of summary execution.

Kahr’s fears might be politically expedient, but they were not based

on reality. Rudolf put his captive out of his misery.

‘The SD isn’t a political police, like our colleagues in the Gestapo

SS. We’re an information gathering service for the Party and the

Ftihrer. The fact that Heydrich is technically subordinate to

Reichsfiihrer Himmler doesn’t imply any organisational links with

the Schutzstaffel.’

‘To be . . . sure.’

The H auptm ann sighed, tapped on the armrest of his chair.

‘W hat I’m sayng, H err Shillington, is that we don’t indulge in the

medieval practices of our friends. At worst, we occasionally shoot

traitors.’

The fellow pulled himself together at this glimmer of hope,

‘Tell me about Karl Schmidt,’ Esser said.

Shillington was startled, hie proceeded to pour out information

Rudolf already possessed: Schmidt’s pre-eminence amongst the

Barossa Germans, his lack of any real pre-War Nazi sympathy, his

support for the ‘great mass of the racially sound Anglo-Saxon Folk’.

In particular, Schmidt had disagreed with the policy of withholding housing renovations from the unclassifieds.

Yet many of these people, in the fullness of time, would be found

to be Untermenschen. They would hardly require their homes

once they were relocated to the planned Shires, the equivalent of

the Castle System operating in the SS Territories. The U ntermenschen here would make adequate peasants and workers, since the worst dross had already been sanctioned.

Rudolf grew restless. ‘This much is public knowledge, H err

Shillington.’

‘One more thing, H err H auptm ann!’ The man’s perspiration

gleamed on his forehead. ‘This Schmidt’s father was a Socialist for

a brief period. A member of the International Workers of the

World! I found out from my wife. She’s from the Barossa. Don’t tell

her, I beg you, she’d never forgive me if she discovered who spoke of

this. Family ties are strong there.’

The sanctuary tree

157

Rudolf pressed a button on the table. The bright lights above

softened, broadened to illuminate the corners of the room.

‘I understand you have two sons. Which school do they attend?’

‘Bremen College,’ the Australian told him, trembling. He did not

add: formerly St Peter’s.

Rudolf crossed the room, found a bottle of schnapps.

‘Perhaps they’d like