Open Writing

Berlin, Germany
August 21st, 2034

Trotter took Steve and Professor Seartell in his aging BMW to a section of Berlin unknown to either of them, the well-to-do district near the Tiergarten, on Oranienbugerstrasse, the old Jewish sector of the city. En route, Trotter gave them a running commentary of the history of the district.

“Nearby is the New Synagogue, originally built in 1866, and badly damaged during the Second World War, on Kristallnacht.”

“‘The Night of Broken Glass’,” said Steve.

The professor looked at him quizzically, and Steve continued, “November 9, 1938. Hitler’s government had whipped the people up into an anti-Jewish frenzy. It culminated in that night, when thousands of windows belonging to Jewish shops and private homes were smashed.”

“How did it start?” asked Seartell from the back seat.

Trotter interposed, “I read something about a German diplomat being assassinated in Paris by a young Jew. I don’t know if it was true, or how important the diplomat was, but it gave Hitler’s government the excuse they needed. Thousands of Jews were arrested, and all the synagogues, including this one, were burned.” He looked at Steve, who smiled, and made a see-sawing motion with his hand. “Close enough,” he said.

They were silent for a while, watching out the windows, then Trotter turned the car into a short street and stopped outside an expensive-looking apartment building.

“Here we are,” he said, getting out of the car and opening the back door for Seartell. He led them up the steps and into a spacious lobby, where a uniformed doorman approached them.

“Bitte?” he said, and Trotter answered in fluent German. The doorman nodded, and picked up a small intercom device. He spoke into it briefly, and Steve heard the name Herr Hartwig. Then the doorman turned back to Trotter and smiled, motioning towards the elevator located across the lobby.

They entered the elevator and Trotter pressed the button for the 15th floor. When the elevator stopped, the doors opened to reveal a tall, fair-haired man standing in a deeply carpeted foyer, with walls lined with plants in large terracotta pots. The man smiled at them, then at Trotter, and held out his hand. Trotter shook it and the man spoke to him warmly.

“Hello, Graham,” he said in almost unaccented English. “How very nice to see you again.” He turned his charm on them all. “Welcome to my home. I am Werner Hartwig. Graham has told me so much about you. Please, come in.”

He indicated a set of open double doors opposite the elevator, and the three men entered the penthouse, followed by their host. Hartwig closed the doors and took their coats, then escorted them into the spacious living area where he invited them to be seated in sumptuous leather armchairs. Then he asked them for their preferred drinks, and when they were all settled, Trotter made the introductions.

When he got to Steve, Hartwig looked at him keenly. “Forgive my scrutiny, Mr. Chappel, but I believe I recognize you from your jacket photograph. Are you by any chance the author of Dragonmaster?”

Steve smiled and nodded, pleased by the other’s recognition. “Yes, sir. Thank you for asking. I’m surprised you’ve heard of it.”

Hartwig raised his eyebrows in surprise. “Heard of it? My dear fellow, I’ve read it. Most entertaining, and, if I may say so, very perceptive.”

“Oh, thank you,” Steve said, and sat back to reflect on the observation.

Hartwig turned to Seartell, and while Steve found the conversation mostly uninteresting, he noticed how Hartwig addressed most of his comments to either himself or the professor, virtually ignoring Trotter. However, Trotter didn’t seem to mind this; had, in fact, been hanging on Hartwig’s every word.

“My dear Professor Seartell,” Hartwig began, “I was most distressed to hear of the tragic death of your colleague, Doctor Windsor. However, you can take some comfort in the knowledge that we, Graham and I, have been continuing his work here in Berlin.”

His interest piqued, Steve leaned forward, “So, Mr. Hartwig, you have been developing further the portal, as Trotter described it?”

Hartwig nodded. “Yes, very much so. In fact,” he glanced at the others, “I think we are ready for a test run, as it were.” He smiled at them all, and Trotter and the professor smiled back.

“Really?” Seartell exclaimed, turning to Trotter. “I wasn’t aware you had progressed quite that far, Graham.”

Trotter smiled, looking at the German with undisguised admiration. “Neither had I. Werner, you mean we’re ready to…go?”

Hartwig nodded. “Yes, I believe so. Just a small test, of course; nothing major. But I think we can ‘give it a whirl’, as you say.”

“Is the…device nearby?” Steve asked.

“Beneath our feet, in a manner of speaking; in the basement of this building. I leased the space when I took over this apartment. I knew it would be useful one day. May I show you our laboratory?” Hartwig smiled and stood. Everyone rose and Hartwig led them out the double doors to the elevator. He pushed the button and the doors opened as though it had been waiting there. He ushered them inside, pressed the button for the basement, and the elevator began to descend smoothly.

When they stopped, the doors opened on an area that looked like an underground parking garage. Hartwig led them to a set of double doors, and used a card key to open a digital lock, punching in numbers as he did so. The doors opened, and they went into a large, dimly-lit room with various types of electronic machinery lining the walls. Hartwig approached a workbench in the middle of the room and began flipping switches. Overhead lights flickered on, a hum began, and several of the machines lit up as power was fed to them.

To one side of the bench, a large rectangular shape began to materialize, shimmering golden in the basement gloom, and Steve watched in wonder as the portal to other worlds took shape. When it was complete, Hartwig turned, “Who wants to be first?”

The others looked at each other nervously, and Hartwig laughed. “Oh, come now. I’ve done this myself; it’s quite safe. In fact, why don’t we all go together? Just a quick little jaunt to a perfectly harmless place, then straight back again.”

The others hesitated, then agreed with varying degrees of reluctance.

Hartwig busied himself at the controls, then turned to the other three. He directed them to a place directly in front of the device, where they stood looking at its glimmering interior. Then Hartwig instructed them to join hands.

“We will all step through the doorway together, all right?” Steve, Trotter and the Professor nodded uncertainly, and Hartwig grinned. “All right, now,” he said. “On three. One…two…”

On ‘three’, he stepped through the gate, and the others had no choice but to follow. There was a moment of falling through a cold blackness, then they were through. They had gone to another universe.

“Wait a second,” Steve said, “how do we…”

* * * *

“…get back?”

Steve’s question hung in the air as the gray mist dissipated slowly, and he began to take in his surroundings. At first, he thought he had stepped into a movie set, but a further look told him that they were in very serious trouble.

They were in a large, comfortable-looking room. A large desk stood against one wall, and several men stood around the room, effectively surrounding them. When what he was seeing began to register, gradually the meaning of what hung on the walls became clear.

Steve looked at his companions; Trotter and the professor stood close to him, but Werner Hartwig had moved away, positioning himself next to the group of men standing in front of the desk facing them. Steve looked at the uniforms, the red wall hangings with the black swastika in a white circle, the surrounding men, and allowed the undeniable to settle in his mind. Then the man sitting behind the desk stood, and Steve flinched as the final truth came crashing in on him.

“Good morning, gentlemen,” said Adolph Hitler. “Welcome to the Fourth Reich.”