quarreling states as it was before Bismarck. My government is convinced of this, Mrs. Thibodeaux. Remember Hess’s introduction of Hitler at one of the great Party rallies. ‘Hitler ist Deutschland.’ ‘Hitler is Germany.’ He was correct. Hence after Hitler what? The deluge. And Hitler knew it. As a matter of fact, there is some possibility that Hitler
deliberately
led his people to defeat. But that is a rather convoluted psychoanalytic theory. I personally find it too baroque for credence.”
Nicole said thoughtfully, “If Hermann Goering is brought out of his period, here to us, do you want to confront him and participate in the discussions?”
“Yes,” Stark said. “In fact I insist on it.”
“You—” She stared at him.
“Insist?”
Stark nodded.
“I suppose,” Nicole said, “that’s because you’re the spiritual embodiment of World Jewry or of some such mystic entity as that.”
“Because I am an official,” Stark answered, “of the State of Israel, its highest official, in fact.” He was silent then.
“Is it true,” Nicole asked, “that your people are about to launch a probe of Mars?”
“Not a probe,” Stark said. “A transport. We will set up our first kibbutz there, one of these days. Mars is, so to speak, one great Negev. We will have orange trees growing, someday.”
“Lucky little people,” Nicole said, under her breath.
“Pardon?” Stark cupped his ear; he had not heard.
“You’re lucky. You have aspirations. What we have in the USEA is—” She reflected. “Norms. Standards. It’s very mundane, and I don’t mean that as a pun having to do with space travel. Damn you, Stark—you rattle me. I don’t know why.”
“You should visit Irsael,” Stark said. “It would interest you. For instance—”
“For instance I could become converted,” Nicole said. “Change my name to Rebecca. Listen, Stark; I’ve talked long enough with you. I don’t enjoy this Wolff Report business—I think it’s too risky, this idea of tinkering with the past on a grand scale, even if it might mean saving six or eight or even ten million innocent human lives. Look what happened when we tried to send assassins back to kill Adolf Hitler in the early days of his career; something or someone balked us every time, and we tried it seven times! I know—I’m convinced—that it was agents from the future, from our time or past our time. If one can play with von Lessinger’s system, two can. The bomb in the beerhall, the bomb in the prop plane—”
“But this attempt,” Stark said, “will
delight
neo-Nazi elements. You will have their cooperation.”
Nicole said bitterly, “And that’s supposed to ease my worry? You, of all people, should see what a malign harbinger that is.”
For an interval Stark said nothing; he smoked his Philippine handmade cigar and regarded her somberly. Then he shrugged. “I will bow out, I think, Mrs. Thibodeaux, at this point. Perhaps you are right. I’d like to ponder this and also confer with other members on my staff. I’ll see you at the musicale tonight, here at the White House, then. Will there be any Bach or Handel? I enjoy both composers.”
“We’ll have an all-Israeli night, just for you,” Nicole said. “Mendelssohn, Mahler, Bloch, Copland; all right?” She smiled, and Emil Stark smiled back.
“Is there a copy of General Wolff’s report which I can take?” Stark asked.
“No.” She shook her head. “It’s Geheimnis—top secret.”
Stark raised an eyebrow. And ceased smiling.”
“Even Kalbfleisch is not going to see it,” Nicole said.
She did not intend to budge in her position, and Emil Stark could undoubtedly perceive that. After all, the man was professionally astute. Going to her desk she seated herself. Waiting for him to go, expecting him to, she sat examining a folio of abstracts which had been placed for her attention by her secretary, Leonore. They were boring—or were they? She read the top abstract once
deliberately
led his people to defeat. But that is a rather convoluted psychoanalytic theory. I personally find it too baroque for credence.”
Nicole said thoughtfully, “If Hermann Goering is brought out of his period, here to us, do you want to confront him and participate in the discussions?”
“Yes,” Stark said. “In fact I insist on it.”
“You—” She stared at him.
“Insist?”
Stark nodded.
“I suppose,” Nicole said, “that’s because you’re the spiritual embodiment of World Jewry or of some such mystic entity as that.”
“Because I am an official,” Stark answered, “of the State of Israel, its highest official, in fact.” He was silent then.
“Is it true,” Nicole asked, “that your people are about to launch a probe of Mars?”
“Not a probe,” Stark said. “A transport. We will set up our first kibbutz there, one of these days. Mars is, so to speak, one great Negev. We will have orange trees growing, someday.”
“Lucky little people,” Nicole said, under her breath.
“Pardon?” Stark cupped his ear; he had not heard.
“You’re lucky. You have aspirations. What we have in the USEA is—” She reflected. “Norms. Standards. It’s very mundane, and I don’t mean that as a pun having to do with space travel. Damn you, Stark—you rattle me. I don’t know why.”
“You should visit Irsael,” Stark said. “It would interest you. For instance—”
“For instance I could become converted,” Nicole said. “Change my name to Rebecca. Listen, Stark; I’ve talked long enough with you. I don’t enjoy this Wolff Report business—I think it’s too risky, this idea of tinkering with the past on a grand scale, even if it might mean saving six or eight or even ten million innocent human lives. Look what happened when we tried to send assassins back to kill Adolf Hitler in the early days of his career; something or someone balked us every time, and we tried it seven times! I know—I’m convinced—that it was agents from the future, from our time or past our time. If one can play with von Lessinger’s system, two can. The bomb in the beerhall, the bomb in the prop plane—”
“But this attempt,” Stark said, “will
delight
neo-Nazi elements. You will have their cooperation.”
Nicole said bitterly, “And that’s supposed to ease my worry? You, of all people, should see what a malign harbinger that is.”
For an interval Stark said nothing; he smoked his Philippine handmade cigar and regarded her somberly. Then he shrugged. “I will bow out, I think, Mrs. Thibodeaux, at this point. Perhaps you are right. I’d like to ponder this and also confer with other members on my staff. I’ll see you at the musicale tonight, here at the White House, then. Will there be any Bach or Handel? I enjoy both composers.”
“We’ll have an all-Israeli night, just for you,” Nicole said. “Mendelssohn, Mahler, Bloch, Copland; all right?” She smiled, and Emil Stark smiled back.
“Is there a copy of General Wolff’s report which I can take?” Stark asked.
“No.” She shook her head. “It’s Geheimnis—top secret.”
Stark raised an eyebrow. And ceased smiling.”
“Even Kalbfleisch is not going to see it,” Nicole said.
She did not intend to budge in her position, and Emil Stark could undoubtedly perceive that. After all, the man was professionally astute. Going to her desk she seated herself. Waiting for him to go, expecting him to, she sat examining a folio of abstracts which had been placed for her attention by her secretary, Leonore. They were boring—or were they? She read the top abstract once
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