After being escorted up the ramp, Konrad and the prisoners were herded into a corner of the giant hanger and left to their own devices. The Nazi guards, meanwhile, gathered around a portable heater that had been erected for their benefit. Its orange glow illuminated their banter which was in stark contrast to the almost arctic conditions Konrad and his comrades had to endure as they stood around kicking their heels. But the guards’ jovial behaviour was soon cut short when the camp’s Commandant made his way up the ramp.
The Commandant, a short man, around the same age as Konrad, strode across the hanger towards the posse of guards. He may have lacked height, but the Commandant was compensated with an overdose of petty-mindedness and aggression. No detail or error, no matter how small in the camp’s management, be it the construction of the spacecraft or in the discipline that was meted out escaped his attention. The camp, in his mind, was a showcase to his bureaucratic skills – a stepping stone to a job closer to home. Commandants based in the Outer Territories were usually there to serve out their time before retirement or as a punishment for crimes ranging from corruption to mere incompetence, but he was determined to use this small outpost to shine and the successful completion of the Odin would certainly help his cause. The price for his enthusiasm for the job was, of course, to be paid by the prisoners.
Beyond the hanger’s protective door, a series of dull thuds grew in volume. This muffled activity acted as a prompt to the hanger’s ground-crew to power up their equipment in anticipation and to adjust their radio-mikes and ear-protectors. At the same time, the Commandant gave his final orders to the guards who nodded, then saluted, and the prisoners, correctly sensing that their brief respite was over, automatically formed themselves into columns again as the guards headed towards them.
A klaxon heralded the appearance of the shuttle as the doors heaved open. A blast of freezing air accompanied the movable apron that carried the craft into the hanger. Konrad watched and the image that instantly sprang to mind was that of the helpless Gulliver being hauled, captive and bound, into the Lilliputian capital. Once the apron came to a halt, the ground-crew scurried about the shuttle’s underbelly attaching various cables and power-plugs. As the crew worked, the artificial atmosphere condensed on the shuttle’s super-chilled plating, the icy sheet fogging the dark metal, the icy tendrils snaking over the craft’s identification number and the large swastika painted on its side.
Eventually the shuttle’s gang-plank lowered and slammed into the deck, its ringing concussion causing the guards to snap to attention. Then led by the Odin’s commander, Admiral Bauer, the crew emerged to be immediately greeted by the Commandant who raised his arm in salute.
‘Heil Hitler!’ cried the Commandant.
But conspicuous by his absence amongst the crew was Stahl. He was no where to be seen.
Bauer returned the greeting. Gentle eyes shone from beneath the Astrokorp cap, but his face and manner displayed a man of authority and action. Konrad noticed this from the far side of the hanger as he watched. He also noted that arm raised in salute was robotic. The metallic hand clicked as the artificial ligaments and digits performed the Hitler salute.
For a few moments the two men exchanged pleasantries and the crew were formally introduced to the Commandant and the Admiral, in return, inspected the gathered guards. Of course, the Admiral and his party paid no attention to Konrad and the prisoners. He then watched the conclave of Nazis disappear and correctly sensed that the respite the landing party’s presence provided was now at an end. He was proved correct as one of the guards shouted.
‘Now you fucking maggots, get on board that shuttle and break your backs for the Fatherland!’
Beyond the broad gangplank the prisoners were led directly into the shuttle’s hold. Between the deck and the low-ceiling, the cargo creaked as it settled after the long zero-gravity journey from Earth. Between the hundreds of boxes, cases and containers narrow thoroughfares ran through the cubic shapes making the hold look like an impressive scale model of a city. Once again, images from Gulliver’s Travels filled Konrad’s mind as he felt like a giant standing amongst the cityscape of cargo. A guard pushed his way past the prisoners and opened a small circular hatch in the decking. Inside the recess was a handle which the guard then turned to release the meshing that surrounded the cargo in a black, fibrous web. At the same time, the hold’s outer wall shifted to one side with a metallic sigh, exposing the gloomy hold to the bright cold of the hanger outside. As the wall moved aside, the plates of ice that had formed shattered and crashed from its surface.
‘Don’t just stand there gawping!’ the guard shouted. ‘Move your arses! The gentlemen want their belongings. And don’t any of you lot get any ideas about pocketing any goodies you find. If I find anyone thieving, I’ll cut their fucking balls off.’
The prisoners shuffled between the piles of cargo and selected suitable boxes to carry out. The lightest and less cumbersome pieces were inevitably unloaded first. Konrad, Gigolo and Erik missed out on these easy targets, and so instead, they moved deeper into the hold and further away from the guards who lounged lazily amongst the boxes.
Konrad clambered over a set of boxes and rested for a moment, safe in knowledge that he was out of sight of the guards. He looked at the angular boxes which he rested against and saw that a thick sheet of tarpaulin had been slung tightly over them, the intention obviously to hide the boxes’ contents. But the tarpaulin didn’t quite cover them totally, and so, a set of stencilled lettering could be made out. The stencilled writing read: ZYKLON-B! FOR USE BY AUTHORISED PERSONNEL ONLY! POISONOUS – HANDLE WITH CARE!
Konrad dropped the cover back into place as if the poison within the container had seeped into it and into his fingers.
‘Look at this!’ Konrad hissed.
Gigolo and Erik crawled over and joined Konrad. Like him, they were reluctant to touch the poisonous container.
‘I bet none of us have been this close to this filth and lived!’ exclaimed Konrad.
Gigolo kept a protective arm around Erik. ‘It’s the nearest I ever want to get to that poison. Even looking at the box gives me the creeps.’
‘What is this poison? What’s it for?’ Erik asked naively.
Gigolo playfully slapped Erik on the cheek. ‘Dummkopf! Can’t you see what this box of delights contains? It’s Zyklon-B!’
Erik simply shrugged.
Gigolo rolled his eyes in frustration at his young comrade. ‘This, my friend, is what those Nazi bastards use in that god-forsaken gas-chamber they keep in the bowels of this place.’
Konrad nodded.
Erik gingerly lifted the tarpaulin. ‘There’s a tonne of that poison inside there. Why the hell do they need so much?’
‘Think about it, Erik,’ Konrad said. ‘A host of Nazi space-jockeys arrive here. The storehouses are practically empty. All the foundries are shutting down. All the guards are walking around with grins the size of the Rhine on their faces because they know they’re on their way home soon. All because the ship is virtually complete and that can only mean one thing. This damned poison is to be used on us. We’re to be made redundant – permanently.’
‘Did you expect it to end any other way?’ Gigolo asked looking at Konrad.
‘No,’ Konrad replied sadly.
Ignoring the deadly piece of cargo, Gigolo and Erik positioned themselves around a knee-high container opposite and grabbed the dangling hand-holds that jutted from its sides. Konrad eased himself over and joined the two other prisoners. After a count of three, they then lifted the cargo from its resting place and waddled towards the hanger. But as the little group drew closer to the exit through the narrow passages, a light from the rear of the hold caught Konrad’s eye – a pink iridescent light.