The Black Gate by Michael R. Hicks Page B

be especially mindful of you.”
    The color drained from her face. “Does he suspect me?”
    Peter said with the trace of a grin. “No, I think he was more concerned about what you might do to me if I made any untoward advances.”
    She relaxed. Slightly. “I would much rather him think that than the truth. Now, get cleaned up and dressed. Quickly. The Herr Professor wants the computer functioning again as soon as possible, and sent me to wake you up. You’ve had three hours sleep, which he deemed enough.”
    Peter looked at the clock on the wall. It was three-thirty in the morning. “Right,” he said, rubbing the stubble on his jaw. He managed a grin, imagining what a fright he must appear. “I’m sorry. You don’t deserve to have to look at a sight like this so early in the morning.”
    “I’ve seen worse. Now get moving.”
    Then she was gone, her heels clicking rapidly on the polished marble floor as she headed back toward the elevator.
    Peter stared after her a moment, his mind caught between appreciating the pleasant view her backside presented and the unsettling strangeness of Baumann’s visit. At last, he closed the door and headed for the bathroom to take a quick shower and shave before he went to work.
    ***
    After five hours of meticulous tests, calibrations, and circuit traces with the assistance of the four men who tended the great computing machine since its creator’s unfortunate demise, Peter was convinced that his initial theory about the computer was correct.  
    When he had approached von Falkenstein about his suggested modifications, the scientist had simply waved a hand in a dismissive gesture. “Fix it, Peter. Just fix it,” he’d said. “I would like to perform a test of the gate tonight. Will you be ready in time?”
    “Yes, sir, I believe so.”
    “Then get it done, young man. Herr Hoth will provide whatever you need.”  
    The modifications Peter had in mind were hardly in keeping with the unbelievable technology of the gate itself. He outlined what he required to Hoth, who picked up a phone mounted on the primary control panel where he and von Falkenstein had been discussing something in hushed tones and repeated what Peter wanted. “Your materials will arrive shortly,” the scientist said.  
    Just as Hoth had promised, the elevators hissed open not thirty minutes later and a group of men began to carry in the things Peter needed. His gut clenched as he caught a closer look at them. He had been expecting technicians or perhaps soldiers, or even local civilians hired to work here.  
    But these men were something else. They were ragged, exhausted and malnourished. Some wore tattered civilian clothes, while others wore the remains of military uniforms, mostly Russian. They were forced labor, treated little better than slaves.
    And every single one of them was terrified.  
    “Malcontents, half-Jews, and Slavs,” von Falkenstein muttered from beside him in a tone that made clear his disgust. Peter had been so focused on watching the laborers that he hadn’t noticed the professor join him on the computer platform. “You seem surprised, Peter. I take it you’ve never seen the Organisation Todt in action. While I myself questioned the program before the war, I must admit now that it was a stroke of genius. They have taken the scum of our society, of humanity, and given them an opportunity to be useful as laborers. Creatures such as these helped to build the Westwall and the Atlantic Wall, and even the V-weapon sites in Northern France. But here,” von Falkenstein made a grand sweeping gesture that encompassed the massive chamber, “is where they made their most meaningful contribution, carving this from a small subterranean cavern below the schlossberg .”
    “I had wondered if this had been a natural formation,” Peter said, trying to keep his own emotions in check. None of the prisoners dared raise their eyes as they shuffled past like a line of ants bearing their burdens