Free Astronomy by Richard Wadholm Page B

waiting on their femtosecond timers. Others clamped their hands across their eyes, giggling nervously.
    This game with the xenon lamp must have been a tradition at the Four Winds. The barmaids even had a drink they served for the occasion. Returning from her Luftwaffe pilots on the patio, the little button-eyed bierfrau asked Susan if she might care for a Dresdenwasser.
    “Excuse me? Dresdenwasser? ”
    The woman laughed at the horror on her face. “The drink is quite beautiful. You should see—peppermint schnapps and a drop of radium.”
    “Radium.” Susan essayed a little smile. “Indeed.”
    “Oh, just a little bit won’t hurt you.”
    “Another time perhaps,” she promised.
    The patrons banged rhythmically at the tabletop as the countdown hit five. A hundred shot glasses glowing pale green raised to the sky, while the men sang, “He’s here! Soon He is here! Time for the Renewal of Time!”
    Susan ducked behind the bar as the countdown hit zero. An ashy-blue light coated every upturned surface in the room with bright violet icing. She found a manila envelope set between a bottle of Jagermeister and one of malt wine. Scrawled across the front in pencil were the words Das Unternehmen —“The Undertaking.”
    People were laughing and catching their breaths as she stepped out. Susan figured her luck was holding: all eyes were locked on the red- and black-suited men out on the patio as they compared the accuracy of their plated instruments against the readings from a photovoltaic cell.
    The crimson-suited paladin folded the cover over his watch. She heard the snap of a tiny latch. Without a backward glance, he made his way through the crowd for the night air. This was her chance. She had Hartmann’s package; she was just steps from the alcove she’d arrived through.
    Laughter erupted behind her.
    “You look like a schoolgirl sneaking out early from class.”
    She turned to answer, and stopped.
    Take the blackness of the night sky between the stars, pour it into the shape of a man. Give him a sardonic smile. Give him eyes of perfectly beaten gold. She started to say something. The image of the man took her words away.
    “Don’t be alarmed, Fräulein. I am the proprietor of this establishment. Everyone knows me.”
    She tried to smile, tried to think of some normal sort of reply. “Leave me alone,” she said.
    Well, it was normal bar conversation for her.
    The black man tittered effeminately into the tips of his fingers. “You have a terrible ear for chit-chat. I would have thought your OSS friends would have coached you on that. It hardly matters. I would give you my name, but it is ancient and Egyptian and difficult to pronounce. You do not need to learn it. In any case, it is you whom I am anxious to meet.”
    Susan pushed past him for the door. His hand came up around her elbow. It was not a firm grip. She could have broken it without difficulty. Maybe that was the thing that lent it authority. People stopped for that hand. No further force had been needed in a very long time.
    The Egyptian raised his chin to indicate the envelope in her hand. “Are you quite sure that belongs to you?”
    “It’s a gift from a friend,” she said. “It’s what I came here for.”
    “May I look inside?”
    “I have . . .”—she turned her head toward the door—“people . . .”
    The man smiled. He had a youthful, pleasant face. His smile seemed to come from somewhere deep inside. The light on his eyes gave away no depth. They were bright and hard as medallions.
    “The two gentlemen in the American car. Yes. The one in the passenger’s seat seems especially concerned for you. Why is that?”
    She looked the man full in the face. “I’m afraid you have me confused with someone else.”
    The black man looked genuinely pained. “How can he care for you?” He leaned close enough she could see the disappointment in his empty golden eyes. “He doesn’t even know what hurts you.”
    Susan glanced back at