With the prisoner safely sitting next to him, Mesler pulled on a number of the levers and turned a hand-wheel. In response, the rover shuddered and roared, then as he lifted his foot from the clutch, the giant rover rumbled down onto the surface like a dragon emerging from its lair.
As the rover powered away from the module, Konrad glanced out the cab’s window at the activity outside. Ever since the atmosphere was found to be breathable, the surviving crew had emerged from the module like ants emerging from their nest. Most of the crew had found an excuse to leave the stuffy, dark confines of the module to bask in the bright sunshine and the clean air. A new Nazi flag fluttered prominently above the burial mound as the crew cleared away the debris from the ship’s interior as they started the process of converting the wreck into a hospitable home. Others, meanwhile, toiled within the entrance of the giant spire. Following Mesler’s orders, they had raided the module’s magazine and had started to plant a series of explosives. The black wall remained blank and inactive as the men placed the wax-paper packages along the connecting tunnel. A series of fuse-wires fixed to the explosives snaked through the dirt away from the entrance and down towards a complex-looking firing-box which stood poised by the airlock. The spire had failed to respond to the presence of the men, but unsurprisingly, given the stories of the horrors that lay within the building, some of the crew kept watch over their companions with machine-guns. One eye on the dormant building, the other on the innocuous looking explosives. It felt strange to some of the crewmen that they were busy trying to seal off the strange structure, rather than attempting to confront what lay within. Some men, however, saw the spire as a thing of beauty just like the Great Pyramid of Giza or the Überführer’s tomb, and it disturbed them that they were willing to desecrate the massive and mysterious structure. Perhaps their actions would incur the wrath of what lay within. Others simply saw the spire as another immovable structure to be destroyed on the orders of the Reich.
Away from the demolition-crew, Blomberg gazed up at the azure sky and the banks of perfectly white clouds which rolled beneath it. He also looked across the bleak and featureless landscape. In the distance, streaking across the horizon, was the immeasurable crater wall, its crags and escarpments blurred by the haze. But it was the results of the apparent miracle that fascinated Blomberg. The glorious new environment. He had spent most of his time out on the surface manning various sensors he had set up to analyse the atmosphere that wafted about the wreck. Theories as to the cause of the dramatic change worked through Blomberg’s mind like the clouds that rolled overhead. Instrumentation error was perhaps the most obvious explanation, but how could that explain the terrible storm that had engulfed them before and after they’d arrived and the results of the original experiment performed with the prisoner in the airlock. No, he had seen the noxious results, so that left one other, perhaps more unsettling, conclusion. The spire was the source of the oxygen that filled his lungs over and over again. This theory was also seemingly confirmed by the vast vortex of cloud that swirled about the spire’s peak far above him.
However, these new conditions reminded Blomberg of conditions more personal to him. They were of memories of the Reich, of Germany, and of home. The bright sunshine and the blue sky, along with the gentle breeze, brought back recollections of days spent at the beach on the Baltic with his wife, their feet buried beneath the sugary sand and their arms wrapped around each-other. That particular afternoon they had simply sat under their parasol watching the world go by. A platoon of Hitler-Youth played in the dunes, while elderly couples wandered through the surf. This was perhaps his final, truly happy memory because only days later, he was strapped in a cramped shuttle rocketing from Pennemünde; itself, like his wife, located on the same shores of the Baltic. But these happy memories inevitably led Blomberg down a path to more recent, and in his mind, more painful memories, namely the grief that had overcome him after being told of his enforced exile from her.
These painful memories were put aside as the rover rumbled loudly into view to come to a rest close to the mass grave. Blomberg ambled round the earthen mound and stood next to the idling vehicle. Mesler opened the hatch as his comrade approached, his head popping into view like a jack-in-a-box.
‘Good luck hunting down those cargo-containers,’ Blomberg shouted above the engine’s din. ‘You know it’ll be like searching for a needle in a haystack inside what’s left of the ship.’
Mesler replied confidently. ‘I wager there are hundreds of the containers out there just waiting for us to recover them. And you know as well as I do, we need them more than ever now. It’s no good having this good fortune about the atmosphere only to starve to death.’
Blomberg once again gazed up at the sky. ‘Do you still believe it was a miracle that the atmosphere suddenly became breathable overnight?’
‘What do your various gizmos tell you?’
‘They tell me that we now possess a near-earth atmosphere. Same levels of nitrogen. Same levels of oxygen. It’s perfect. Perhaps, too perfect!’
‘But they still don’t tell you how it came about…’
‘No,’ Blomberg said.
Mesler shrugged. ‘At this point in time and after all the horrors that have befallen us since we arrived at this god-forsaken place I’ll accept any miracle – despite its source.’
‘To me, it just feels a little too convenient,’ Blomberg said sceptically.
Mesler’s eyes fell upon the earthen mound next to the rover and his tone became serious. ‘How long till the explosives are in place?’
‘Not much longer.’
‘Good,’ Mesler nodded. ‘Radio me once the task is completed. You then have my permission to trigger the explosives. I want that tower sealed off forever.’
‘I still think it’s a mistake not to recover the colonists.’
‘We’ll agree to differ on that matter, Doctor. Our resources are stretched as it is, we cannot afford even more mouths to feed. My decision simplifies this.’
‘It’s the type of decision I would have expected from Sturmbannführer Stahl – not from you,’ the doctor countered.
Mesler appeared to be hurt by the comparison with the feared SS officer.
Blomberg quickly tried to backtrack. ‘Perhaps that was uncalled for…’
‘No, you’re right,’ Mesler sighed. ‘Things have certainly changed since we landed on this damned rock.’
The optimism returned to Blomberg. ‘Anyway, away with you!’ he cried. ‘The daylight’s disappearing.’ Mesler motioned to close the cab’s hatch, but before he sealed the plate Blomberg shouted one last time. ‘You’ll have to make me a promise.’
‘What’s that?’
‘It was rumoured that there was a container just full of lager – hundreds of thousands of bottles of the stuff. So just you make sure that you find that container first!’
‘Always do what the doctor orders!’ Mesler smiled as he finally sealed the hatch.
Blomberg stepped away and gave a rushed Nazi salute as the rover heaved its heavy frame away, a cloud of dust and fossil-fuels billowing in its wake. The noxious wind buffeted Blomberg as he returned to his instruments. He watched the rover as it wheeled into the deep furrow made by the module’s forced landing and disappeared into the distance, its path across the landscape highlighted by the plume of dust which hung and lingered eerily behind it. He turned away and inevitably confronted the unmoving spire, which like him unerringly watched the rover’s journey. Scrambling back up the mound, he passed the waiting firing-box and checked its circuits. A welcoming green light flashed, indicating everything was in working order. Satisfied, he returned to his own scientific instruments and the welcoming breeze. But unseen by Blomberg, the firing-box suddenly began to quiver and shake in the grip of some invisible assailant. The leather-bound box then bent and twisted savagely, the metal plunger as pliable as a rotten plant stem. Then with a final crunch, the deformed and useless box tumbled into the ground, a horrible omen for what was to come.