Rod Rees - The Demi-Monde - Winter

‘It will be an amazing logistical exercise to move ten million yids east,’ Heydrich continued, seemingly unaware that he had been interrupted, ‘and to accommodate and to feed them… well, to feed them after a fashion anyway. But at least in this way they will be of some economic value to the Reich rather than just an expense. This is the proposal I made and had accepted at the Wannsee Conference of just a month ago. Within two years we will be living in a Jew-free world, ten million people moved out of the Reich and resettled somewhere where they can be of benefit rather than simply being a burden.’ Heydrich smiled a secret little smile. ‘A Jew-free world: that will be my greatest achievement.’

Ella shook her head. ‘Don’t you ever have sleepless nights about conniving to destroy the lives of millions of people? Do you never stop to consider whether what you are doing is right?’

Heydrich studied Ella carefully, as though he had difficulty understanding her question, as though perplexed by her obtuseness. Suddenly he began to laugh. It was an unnaturally high-pitched laugh, which reminded Ella of the braying of a goat. ‘Right? Morality is a mutable, a subjective thing. It is not whether a thing is right that matters, my dear Miss Thomas; all that matters is victory. Victory makes all that you do correct: success is the only criterion by which we judge what is right and what is wrong.’

‘But what you are doing is barbaric… uncivilised.’

Heydrich shrugged nonchalantly. ‘As the Fuhrer said, “Why should Man be less barbaric than Nature?” You call me “uncivilised” but the chief characteristic of civilised behaviour is cruelty. So, let history judge me’ – he laughed sardonically – ‘and as I am making history I have every confidence that I will receive excellent reviews.’

‘Have you seen and heard enough?’ asked Professor Bole quietly.

‘More than enough. It’s terrifying.’ Ella felt empty inside… nauseous. Oh, she had met racists and rednecks before but their hatred had been playground stuff compared to what she had just heard. This man – this monster – didn’t only hate those he considered his racial inferiors but was intent on destroying them.

The image of Reinhard Heydrich flickered and faded.

Ella took a handkerchief from her sleeve and wiped her sweat-sheened brow. ‘That was really freaky. The guy was totally and utterly off his head.’

The Professor nodded. ‘Heydrich was a classic psychopath: a man unable to form any friendships and utterly socio-apathetic except where it was necessary to further his personal ambitions and the desires of the two monsters who were his role models, Hitler and Himmler. He was a man who showed no remorse or regret, indeed this complete absence of any humanity was his defining characteristic. Reinhard Heydrich was, like all other psychopaths, damaged goods.’

Just like Billy.

The Professor rose from his chair. ‘But as Heydrich’s psychosis was conjoined with a genius for administration and organisation, his madness and his talent makes him one of the most fearsome of his kind, an uber-psychopath… what we call an?-Singularity.’

‘I thought Heydrich had been classified as a?-Singularity?’ interrupted the Captain.

‘In the light of developments in the Demi-Monde since the OutSet of the simulation we have had to reclassify Reini. He has, after all, taken control of two of the five Sectors of the Demi-Monde. A remarkable achievement. We have now flagged him as an?-Singularity, and when chaos and disorder are the order of the day, then ?-Singularities like our friend Reini here come out to play their horrible little games.’

‘How many Singularities like Heydrich do you have loose in the Demi-Monde?’

‘At the last count? Eighteen.’

Jesus… eighteen of the bastards… eighteen like Heydrich.

Ella just hoped the cyber-walls they had built around the Demi-Monde were strong enough to contain that amount of evil.

The Demi-Monde: 40th Day of Winter, 1004

HerEticalism is a Covenite religion based on female supremacy and the subjugation of men. Rabidly misandric in nature, the HerEtical belief is that Demi-Mondian-wide peace and prosperity – an unfeasibly idyllic outcome given the tag ‘MostBien’ – will only be realised when men (‘non-Femmes’ in Coven-speak) accept a subordinate position within society. HerEticalism has a more aggressive sister-religion known as Suffer-O-Gettism (a contraction of Make-Men-Suffer-O-Gettism) which espouses violence as the only means of bringing change in the Demi-Monde. Suffer-O-Gettes are of the opinion that the removal of the male of the species from the breeding cycle is a vital concomitant to the securing of MostBien. Such are the unnatural and obscene sexual activities of HerEticals that they are lampooned throughout the Demi-Monde as ‘LessBiens’.

– Religions of the Demi-Monde: Otto Weininger, University of Berlin Publications

Trixie barely had a chance to unpin her bonnet before Crockett, the Dashwoods’ butler, attended her. ‘The master asked that you join him in his study immediately you returned home, Miss Trixiebell.’

‘Why the urgency, Crockett? Why does my father want to see me?’

‘The Comrade Commissar has not seen fit to apprise me of the answers to those questions, Miss Trixiebell. I would simply observe that he seems a trifle agitated.’

‘Well, agitated or not, he’ll just have to wait. I have to go and change…’

The butler sidled his considerable bulk between Trixie and the staircase. ‘The master emphasised the word “immediately”, Miss Trixiebell. He was most insistent upon this point.’

‘But look at me. I can’t be presented looking like this.’

‘The word was “immediately”, Miss Trixiebell.’

Her father, decided Trixie when she flounced into his study, looked decidedly unwell. His handsome face was pale and his curly hair, usually so strictly regimented by a thick dressing of macassar oil, was dishevelled. There was even – and here Trixie couldn’t believe her eyes – a spot of blood on the lapel of his high-neck frock coat.

Something must be really amiss if the unbending Comrade Commissar Algernon Dashwood had felt the need to indulge in a little Solution so early in the day. He made it a rule never to imbibe until the sun was set.

Trixie took a seat on the couch to one side of the study, tucking her grimed shoes under her skirt as she did so: the less said about the expedition she’d been about that morning the better. Unfortunately her attempted subterfuge did her no good. ‘Where have you been?’ her father asked suddenly.

When lying, Trixie had long ago come to the conclusion that it was better to stick as close to the truth as possible. ‘I went down to the docks to do some sketching.’

‘The docks? Are you mad, girl? The docks are one of the most dangerous districts in the Rookeries.’

‘I had Luigi…’ she began, but her father wasn’t in the mood to listen to excuses.

‘This madcap escapade is at one with the irresponsible, the downright unacceptable behaviour of a young woman oblivious to and careless of the responsibilities of her rank. Spirits damn it, girl, you are the daughter of a commissar, not some mindless dolly-mop!’

Trixie flinched back from her father’s fury. She was used to being told off by her governess but not by her father. He had always encouraged her to think for herself, he had always indulged her misdemeanours. Her father took a long sip from a glass filled, she fervently hoped, with port wine.

Pray to ABBA it isn’t blood.

Whatever it was, it settled him. When he addressed her he seemed more composed. ‘I had a visit from Vice-Leader Beria this morning.’