Free THE LAST GOOD WAR: A Novel by Paul Wonnacott

be.”
    Now Henryk was smiling. The billion billion, he thought, has just been cut down to something like a “mere” billion.
    An excited conversation—interspersed with long, thoughtful silences—ensued. After an hour, Henryk brought this part of the meeting to a close.
    “So we need to figure out some way of using messages in which the first and fourth letters of the inscrutable six are the same—or the second and fifth letters, or third and sixth.
    “I think it might be better if we broke into two groups. We might think along different lines; we won't all chase down the same dead-end path. I suggest Marian and me in one group, and Jerzy and Anna in the other.
    “Let's take a two-hour break, to recharge our batteries and have lunch,” Henryk suggested, “and come back at two o'clock. I'd like Marian to report on the impressive progress with his new machine. If we all know what it will do, our problem may not seem quite so formidable. Also, some of us may be able to make suggestions for his next model.”
    After lunch, Marian gave a detailed account of his machine; it would quickly run through the results from possible wheel settings. This first version worked, spitting out answers several hundred times as fast as a skilled operator entering letters in an Enigma machine by hand.
    Marian was already hard at work on a version at least ten times as fast, and explained in detail the modifications he had in mind. There was an intense discussion of the new model—Mark II—and how it might be improved even more.
    “With the new model, a thousand times faster than hand, the billion has been cut down to a million,” observed Henryk. “We may win after all.”
    Anna had never studied the inner workings of machines—the penalties of being a college dropout, she thought—and felt left out of the conversation. Afterward, she saw that her notes were garbled, but Jerzy was most helpful in explaining patiently and in detail what Marian was doing.
    She certainly appreciated Jerzy's help.
    But, as she and Jerzy worked closely together in his tiny office, his cigar smoke began to bother her. When Henryk asked to see her on an administrative matter, she cautiously raised the subject. To soften her complaint, she began on a positive note:
    “Jerzy's brilliant. And he's exceptionally helpful, patiently explaining stuff I don't understand. In many ways, he's a joy to work with.... But there's one problem. Normally, I don't mind cigars, but his office is so small and his cigars so cheap. I'm finding them hard to take.”
    “Sorry. We try to put up with eccentricities.”
    Anna was concerned that Henryk might dismiss her problem. “Maybe vee should take up a Kollekshun, and buy him deszendt Zigars,” she said, flippantly, in a mock German accent.
    “Wouldn't recommend it. He might smoke more. You've noticed how often he has an unlighted cigar in his mouth? And a collection? He might take it as an insult.”
    Anna hadn't meant her suggestion—for a collection—to be taken seriously; she just wanted to keep the conversation focused on smoking. In future, she'd have to be more careful with offhand little jokes. She and Henryk usually communicated so well. But when it came to humor, they were on a different wavelength.
    Now, she wasn't sure exactly what she wanted. But she continued. “He puzzles me. So often, he seems like a perfect gentleman, even a patrician. Impeccable manners, a light sense of humor, and thoughtful. At other times....”
    “Ah, I'm afraid he's had a rather, um, uneven upbringing.”
    Anna gazed attentively in order to encourage Henryk to continue.
    “He comes from an aristocratic, land-owning family in the Ukraine. But his father....”
    Henryk's voice trailed off. Shifting uncomfortably in her chair, Anna thought that perhaps the time had come to leave. Just as she leaned forward, about to get up, Henryk continued.
    “A jolly type. But not much of an example. Heavy drinking. Gambling. More than the usual