David Wingrove - The Empire of Time

‘You don’t need to,’ Urte adds, stepping alongside.

‘I …’

She hands me something, and I stare at it and laugh. And then I jump. Back again. Back into the lift, a second later.

The lift doors hiss open. I step out, looking about me for a sign, but even as I do, a guard approaches, gun raised, and demands my ID.

I show him Tief’s pass, and he takes a long while staring at it through the dark glass of his visor. There’s a delay as he mumbles something into his lip-mike, and then his head jerks up and he steps back, snapping smartly to attention, his head bowed, the pass held out to me.

Even now, even as it’s all falling apart, they go through the motions. Not that the guard knows. Not as I know.

The sun room is, in fact, a great, glass-walled balcony, looking west. The view is spectacular, the peaks of the Thuringer Wald dominating the skyline. There’s a long bar against the back wall and plush white leather settees facing the view. A steward looks up from behind the bar, then hurries over, all politeness.

‘What would the Meister like?’

‘A beer. A Beck’s if you have one.’

He nods and hurries away, leaving me to walk over to the great curving glass and look down, five hundred metres and more, to the courtyard far below. People are milling about down there, getting into transports, hurrying like ants, for what good it’ll do them.

It is seventeen minutes to five. Far to the east, more than a thousand miles from where I’m standing now, the second phase of the invasion is under way. Manfred’s southern army is sweeping north even as I wait for my beer, making directly for Kiev, at whatever cost. The Russians, shocked by the ferocity of the fighting, are reassessing their strategy. Three of their seven armies have been over-run and the situation is becoming serious. They have already recalled all reservists, and their eastern forces — under-strength and ill-equipped to fight a major campaign — have been brought west to beef up the defences surrounding their capital, Moscow.

They have begun to think the unthinkable.

The steward returns, hands me my beer, drops of ice-cold perspiration on the glass. I sip at it and smile my thanks, then turn back, studying, for a moment, the way the afternoon sunlight falls upon the distant mountains.

Between them and where I stand, the land rises and falls in great folds of green, the Gera river snaking its way like a thread of blue across the rugged terrain.

There’s no sign, from where I stand, of the great north German megapolis that sprawls like some deadly crystal growth across the continent, from Amsterdam in the west, to Berlin in the east. From here one might almost believe that it never happened; that the Germany of rolling hills and dense, dark copses still existed. A Germany of castles and principalities, of Saxons and Westphalians, Thuringians, Prussians, and all the myriad other German tribes.

I have seen it all, and nothing — nothing — is as poignant as this. To see the last of it. Before the Earth glows molten red. Before the Nuclear Winter that’s to follow.

I sit, relaxing, content to wait for once, to let it all wash over me. And it’s then that she comes, ducking beneath the lintel, then straightening, her head, even then, barely scraping beneath the ceiling.

‘Otto?’

I turn on the settee and look across at her, surprised.

‘Gudrun … What are you doing here?’

She smiles, then slowly comes across. ‘I came to see you.’

I stand, facing her. ‘How did you …?’

‘My uncle’s secretary. He told me you were here.’

‘Ah …’

The settees are huge, big enough even for her, and so she settles beside me, reaching across to take my hand, mine, as ever, engulfed within her own.

The steward is hovering again, clearly overawed by Gudrun’s presence.

‘My lady …’ he says, in an reverent whisper, and bows so low I almost think he’s going to touch his knees with his forehead.

‘A glass of wine. A Lohengrin …’

She turns her attention back to me, then grins, seeing what I’ve placed upon the low table to the side. She lifts the lavender-glazed cup and turns it carefully in her hands, understanding its significance.

‘How did you get this?’

‘I brought it back with me. Gehlen must have it, in his trunk. It’s a loop.’

She nods, then sets it down again. Looking back at me, she smiles again, a pure radiance in her face. ‘I’m glad you didn’t go, Otto. I would have been sad not to see you one last time.’

Me too . How sad I hadn’t realised until that moment. I squeeze her hand, and feel her respond.

‘How much time have we?’

‘Until the morning. Only …’

Her eyes look a query at me. ‘Only?’

‘There are things I have to do.’

She nods, a trace of sadness returning to her eyes. ‘What is it like, Otto, where you come from?’

I smile. ‘It isn’t really a place at all. More a series of connected rooms. And there’s the platform … ‘

‘The platform?’

‘When I jump back. That’s where I go. Where the women are.’

But I notice that she’s looking past me, and I turn and see at once what’s caught her attention. Two craft, coming in low — maybe no more than fifty metres above the surface.

‘Ours,’ says the steward, as he hands Gudrun her drink. ‘They’ll be coming in from-’

But we don’t hear what he says, because suddenly an alarm is sounding, and the two craft have peeled off — one to the left, one to the right.

There’s a sudden grinding sound from above our heads — the sound, I realise, of a massive gun-turret rotating to face the incoming threat — and then it opens up, sending out a vivid trace of shells

The two fighters change trajectory, cutting back in, heading straight for us now, coming in fast, and I realise that if they keep on their current course, they’ll hit the castle right slap bang where we are.

Other guns have also opened up now, and a continuous, deafening hail of shells and lasers are arcing through the air. But still the craft come on.

And then, suddenly, one explodes, a searing ball of flame leaving its after-image on the retina, yet even as it does, so two missiles snake out from the other craft, cutting the air like torpedoes, haring directly towards us at a frightening speed.

I close my eyes and place my free hand on my chest, preparing to jump right out of there, when there’s an enormous explosion; one that makes the whole castle shudder. My eyes jerk open, to see a great ball of smoke rolling up into the sky, fragments of superheated metal cascading into the courtyard far below.

‘Close,’ the steward mutters.

My ears are ringing. I swallow, then look to Gudrun. She sighs, then gives a little shudder.

‘Guildsmen,’ I say.

‘What?’ she says, shocked by what I’ve said.

‘I said they were Guildsmen. It’s civil war, Gudrun. Meister Adelbert has had enough.’

‘Enough? But he’s-’

‘A powerful man,’ Gehlen finishes, stepping alongside.

I look up at him. ‘I thought you had work to do.’

He looks back at me clearly now, like a veil has lifted from his eyes. ‘I did. But it didn’t take me long. I’ve finished now. It was …’ He shrugs. ‘I’ve left it on the board. If you’re interested. Which I think you may be.’

Gehlen turns, looking to the Princess, then bows. ‘My lady …’

‘Hans.’ She leans forward and picks up the lavender-glazed cup. ‘You must take this. Put it in your trunk. It’s … necessar y.’

‘A loop?’ he asks, looking to me. ‘Like the toy?’

I nod. ‘A loop.’

Gehlen smiles. ‘This is strange. I mean … that you’re here at all. It means that it works.’