Oberst Hans Kurt’s Office
Karlstadt, Largest German Encampment on Venus
Oberst Hans Kurt sat at his desk in his large, bare office. He’d requisitioned the huge room the moment he’d arrived at the main German settlement on Venus, nearly five months ago, but to outside eyes, it still had the appearance of a transitory spot, somewhere the oberst was simply perching for a moment before flying off to do great things. This was Kurt’s intent, the idea he wished to convey. He had no plans to stay on Venus longer than was absolutely necessary, and had been planning his escape almost since the instant he’d been ordered here. If he had allowed himself such a weakness, he would have been dismayed his departure was taking so long. But he never allowed any weakness.
Kurt was a tall man, whip lean, with the close-cropped blond hair of a true Prussian. His ice blue eyes glittered in a face darkened by the fierce sun of Venus, which blazed like a furnace and cut through the constant cloud covering like hot knives. He was dressed in full tropical uniform, including his vast array of medals; not even the top button of his linen jacket was unloosed, though the heat in his office was staggering. A fan swished lazily above his head, stirring the thick humid air, which poured in the open windows. Outside, he could just see the bony crest of the ancient lizard-man who pulled the rope that moved his fan. He could also hear the shouts from the parade ground as his men trained and marched.
He had plans, did the oberst. But for now, plans were all he had. If the man who was being brought to his office turned out to be the man he needed, though, then his plans would soon become reality. When they did, he would drive the Verdammten Englisch off this planet and back to their tiny island where they all belonged. And how the Kaiser would praise him then! How the Kaiser would heap rewards on his deserving head!
A single knock at the door of spongy native kalsa wood sounded muffled, but broke through the happy dreams in the oberst’s mind.
“Herein,” snapped Kurt.
The door opened. His orderly, Fritz, took two steps inside and stood at stiff attention as two soldiers pushed a man in front of them into the room.
The pushed man contrasted badly with the clean, efficient Fritz and the two soldiers. He was a tall man, well muscled, with thick black hair tumbling over a broad but rather low forehead. Dark blue eyes seemed to twinkle with misplaced merriment, considering his arms were manacled in front of him and his clothes hung from his sturdy frame in little more than tatters. His wide shoulders slumped, but not, it appeared, in dejection or concern, for the expression on his face was inordinately cheerful.
After one quick first glance, Kurt kept his eyes on his paperwork until his men stopped before his desk, clicked their heels in unison and the obergefreiter on the right said smartly, “The prisoner, Herr Oberst!”
Kurt looked up, to find his eyes caught immediately by the gaze of the shabby man. To his surprise, the man was smiling.
“You find something amusing?” Kurt asked in his excellent English.
The man grinned wider. “You could say that, Mein Herr.”
“And what is so funny, pray tell me?” Kurt snapped.
The man shook his manacles meaningfully. “This. You need me, boyo, and you bring me to you in chains? Not the best way to do business, now is it…sir?”
Kurt bristled at the man’s insolence. He was correct; Kurt needed him—for now. Once that time of need was past, however, the man would sing a different tune.
“Remove the restraints,” he said, and, as were all his orders, it was done at once.
“You may go,” Kurt said.
With not a single word, the men turned and marched out; Fritz followed them out and shut the door behind them.
“Got ’em well trained,” the newcomer said. “That’s the thing about you krauts; you don’t stint on the training.” He was rubbing his wrists absently as he examined the room. “And another thing; you like your comfort. This chair, now,” he pulled a wooden armchair forward and settled into it, throwing one long leg over an arm and slouching down, “very nice. Now. What do you want with me…if I may be so bold?”
Kurt rustled the papers in front of him. “I have need of you, I will not disagree, Herr…” he glanced down, “Herr Simon O’Rourke. If that is indeed your name?”
“That’s my name,” his prisoner agreed. “And I’m honoured you know it.”
“Honour, sir?” Kurt gave a thin-lipped smile. “I doubt you know the meaning of the word.” He opened a fat folder and began, “You were transported here seven years ago, due to…certain crimes which are of no importance to me. You served a small fragment of your sentence before you escaped and took to the bush. Since then, you have led some rather daring raids on the English settlements, though you have been lucky enough to retain your freedom. The officials of your country—”
“Not my country,” O’Rourke interrupted with the first sign he’d shown of anything other than amusement. “I’m Irish, Herr Oberst, to the heart and soul and core. I’m no bloody Englishman.”
Kurt shrugged. “Indeed. It is no matter to me what allegiance you claim. So long…” he looked up and caught O’Rourke’s eye. Sapphire blue battled with ice blue for an instant, then sapphire looked away. “So long as you serve me faithfully.”
“Serve you in what?”
Kurt’s smile was as thin as a blade. “Serve me in my glorious task. I have my orders from the Highest. Kaiser Wilhelm himself has entrusted me to remove the English from his colony of Venus. And you are now a part of my plan.”
“Sounds a big plan, sir.” O’Rourke sat up, his interest obviously piqued. “And a good idea, removing the bloody British, I will not argue. Tell me what you have in mind…”