Artam Read online

  He could not recall anything that happened at the conference the next day. He remembered being bored during dinner at a table full of strangers, and then for some reason he had gone to the presentation the half-Asian woman had mentioned. As soon as he walked in he noticed her black headscarf; he found a seat two rows behind her. She noticed him too and shot him a short but friendly smile. He knew such behavior went against the Islamic code of ethics. Again he noticed her perfume; it seemed like a mixture of musk and amber with several other unknown scents. He had little experience in this domain, as women of his race consider perfume to be unseemly.

  Once the presentation was over, he planned his exit so that they would meet in the doorway. They exchanged a few words of recognition and talked briefly about the presentation, the content of which Adrian had not really understood.

  “We could talk some more about this.” Adrian suggested.

  “Where?”

  “There is a café across the street.” There were always establishments such as this, even though it was not considered appropriate to drink coffee. She agreed to go with him. Before they went inside, she removed her headscarf. Her long, black hair fell around her shoulders.

  For Adrian this was not a particularly safe undertaking, as they were being recorded by surveillance cameras. But it was important not to exaggerate one’s fear: Business was business and science science. He only wanted to engage in a rich conversation; he wanted a change from his everyday life in Reichsburg. His knowledge of and contact with the world beyond was rather sparse. She introduced herself as Ludmila Scharapowa and raved about her institute in Odessa and about the well-equipped laboratory in which she worked.

  “I studied fruit-growing at a technical college in Odessa. Then I volunteered as an intern at the institute and started working there when I was twenty.”

  She had never before sat at a table with a man in a black uniform. She appreciated the lure of this situation but did not underestimate the danger. She did not yet have children or a family, which was not true for Adrian. After all, he was wearing a conspicuously broad wedding band, which had been in fashion the year of his first marriage. For attractive women of his race, it was safe to assume that men were no mystery, but Adrian had never come across an unmarried Muslim woman like this.

  She even mentioned in passing, “It would be nice to have a steady partner, but I don’t have one.”

  Adrian ordered a bottle of Pinot Blanc and afterwards they each ordered a coffee. When it came time to leave, they each knew they could never set foot in the other’s room. It was true that the cameras did not monitor the rooms themselves, but they did monitor all halls and doorways. As it was easy to identify each of them by race, and as she was Muslim, the automatic classification algorithm would raise an alarm should they enter the same room, together or separately—especially now after such a lengthy exchange— and they might even end up with employees from the Department of Central Conscience knocking on their door. So they parted with an apparent aloofness and walked away from the table in opposite directions. They had made arrangements to meet on the beach about 200 meters from the hotel. It was midnight, and the beach was deserted. It was quite cold, and the wind from the sea not only carried off the attractive scent of her perfume, it was also downright unpleasant, despite his long black coat. As they walked from the hotel along the beach they found an abandoned beach basket. Adrian was quite surprised: Ludmila (the full impact of her perfume at close range almost anaesthetized him) kissed him without hesitation, her mouth open and her tongue twisting back and forth. But the air was cold, and it detracted from their enjoyment.

  Disappointed, she said, “One really needs a warm and private room.”

  Adrian was silent. They barely spoke to each other on the way back to the hotel; they parted ways before coming into sight of the building without making plans to meet again. But he knew her name and the location of her institute.

  His memories of this first encounter were somewhat vague, but there was a certain scent that was unforgettable. Did that alone constitute miscegenation? Nothing had even happened. And there could not be a second time—that night he had been sure of that.

  It happened yesterday at the office.

  A special flag ceremony had been arranged at eleven o’clock for all employees of the Reich Genealogy Office, the branch of the RSHQ where Adrian worked. Flag ceremonies proceeded according to a strict ritual: first came the announcement, then the raising of the flag, then came a military song (yesterday it had been: “Soldiers cannot be enlisted, they are ahead of their time. In life they are ready for dying, for life in eternity.” Then came any special reports or announcements, including the recognition of individual employees’ achievements, and on special holidays—of which there were many—medals and awards were bestowed, and then there was a closing song. Yesterday, however, one of the employees was expelled from the Black Corps for miscegenation. And this was not just a one-time offense—usually one was kind enough to turn a blind eye to one-time offenders, unless there was a higher-ranking official wanting to rid himself of a lower-ranking official or vice versa—no, this had been a case of incessant, repeated miscegenation. Usually one did not hear the particulars, only rumors. But this time, the accused was made to step forward and, in front of all the assembled staff, they tore off his epaulet and his Reich’s emblem, rendering his dog tags useless. Just like that, he had become an unperson and would be taken immediately to a concentration camp. Seldom did anybody ever return from Workuta and never to the Black Corps. This case of miscegenation must have been particularly heinous. Maybe it was repeated sexual relations with a minor combined with the use of alcohol and drugs or homosexual contact with a member of a foreign race; he was not even given the choice to volunteer for a special combat mission, from which there is also no return but which helps to preserve one’s honor. The Handschar units did not recognize actual miscegenation as a crime, but they did enact the same punishments for the other crimes, and so it came to be that sexual abuse, drug abuse, adultery, and homosexuality came under the legal definition of miscegenation, even though these offenses have nothing to do with race.

  The shock of this experience had a profound effect on Adrian. He felt quite dizzy but managed to prevent himself from fainting. He had received an email from Ludmila that very morning to let him know that she had once again been approved to attend the annual symposium in Gotenbad in November. It was true that he alone could infer the hidden meaning from her email about the conference schedule, but he always feared that the frequency of these emails, combined with surveillance data collected through various means, would spark suspicion in some surveillance program, which would then precipitate a more thorough investigation. He knew he could not hide from this forever. But he had always been of the opinion that this was not an ongoing thing with Ludmila, and he was man enough to be able to end it at any time. But as the ceremony ended with everybody singing the song “To the Land in the East goes our ride … in our veins the blood is pounding,” Adrian was not exactly in good spirits.

  His other cause for concern was Haakon Reitmeier, an old acquaintance who had recently been transferred to the RSHQ and whom he ran across regularly in the dining hall. Regiment Leader Reitmeier was exactly what one would imagine a man of the Atlantic race to be. A tall, wiry man with waxy blond hair, blue eyes the color of water, and the build of a fencer. A good companion, a good singer, a passionate dancer, and a ladies’ man, but also someone who is appreciated among his comrades for his sense of humor. It was said that there was even an imam of the Handschar among his circle of friends. Reitmeier had four wives, who had borne him quite a number of children. His original fourth wife was killed in a terror attack by the Red Hand, but soon after that he married the niece of his oldest wife, bringing his number of wives back up to the legal limit.

  Twenty years ago he and Adrian had hidden out together for a few weeks in a small fort by the Lena River after their group had advanced there. The airlifted rati
ons had been insufficient and they were attacked several times by the East Asian partisans. Reitmeier lost two toes to frostbite. In the end they were all relieved to learn that they had been ordered to vacate their post. This was how they knew each other, even though their contact since then had been sparse.

  Once when they chanced to meet, however, Ludmila had been standing right next to Adrian and had not been wearing her headscarf. This situation three years ago had been completely harmless; on that occasion there had been several mixed-race couples talking to each other for professional reasons, but it was the way in which Reitmeier had nodded his head and given a mischievous smile as he said hello that Adrian always recalled with a feeling of disquiet.

  And now the ladies’ man was his colleague here in the office. Just yesterday he had come to Adrian in his usual cheery way and suggested they get together with their families and do something fun together. Adrian had managed to duck out of it, saying he had already made plans, but he could not put it off indefinitely. As soon as Godela and Gundula hear of Reitmeier’s kind offer, which they would inevitably do during some chance meeting at the gym, and once they found out he had made the offer some time ago, they would surely be angry.

  “You don’t pay enough attention to us or to the children.” Adrian was familiar with the constant litany from his two wives, even though he did not see any reason to feel guilty about it. Maybe that was just the way wives were. It is a good thing he only had two of them. Adrian had the impression that things worked out better for the Handschar since those women did not have as much freedom and not as many quirks.

  Just as he ran into Reitmeier two days ago at lunch, the screen in the dining hall, which almost takes up one entire wall, started a broadcast. The Leader spoke. Even as his speech was being heralded by the Leader’s Fanfare, “Salute the flag, salute the emblem, salute the Leader who created them,” the people fell silent. Those present quickly sought out a good spot and all eyes turned to a single place. The Leader, Hans Kliensmann, both in his role as the voice of the Council of Leaders and as Our Father, was a 50-year-old man known to all. People did not necessarily know him personally; they knew him as a public figure. From humble beginnings—although his father (Heiner Kliensmann, Iron Cross, First Class), his maternal grandfather (Siegfried Beckenbauer, Silver Close Combat Badge) and his forefathers from earlier generations (including Friedrich Walter, Tank Annihilation Badge) had been highly decorated with war honors, even though these were mainly the more commonly awarded ones—Hans Kliensmann worked his way up through the middle ranks of Gau leadership and on into the Council of Leaders, which elected him eight years ago to replace the Ninth Leader (since the First and Greatest Helmsman of All Time), who had stepped down due to old age. Kliensmann, the Tenth Leader— and this was only mentioned in official texts and omitted elsewhere—was not the ideal Atlantic type; instead he had a rather small build and dark hair. Adrian still remembered seeing in his file—before access to his data had been restricted by the Department of Central Conscience, which was typical for a member of the Council of Leaders—that the breeding value of his family had not been particularly high. And the fact that he only lived with one wife, even though he was popular with women, and only had two children seemed to validate this data. There was no official reason or explanation for this, only rumors. The Leader was not from one of these large families like Gebbels, Heinrich, Jordan, Bachmann and others whose descendants had dominated the Council of Leaders in the five generations since the Great Fatherland War. But in the midst of crisis, in the midst of the worldwide upheaval during which he had come to power, it had been his rather reserved manner, coupled with his expertise and his knowledge of human nature, that were deemed not only by the Council of Leaders but also by the people to be qualities in urgent demand. One of his first orders of business as Leader was to call for more Handschar Brigade Leaders to be on the Council of Leaders, apparently with the intention of reducing tension among the troops.

  When the Tenth Leader spoke there was no trace of the same charisma of previous great Leaders or of the three avatars below, men against their time who had made history; instead, his speeches had an intensity that was unavoidable. Whenever Adrian saw the Leader and heard him speak, he was filled with a sense of confidence and trust.

  The Leader had the face and the demeanor of a man who knew about life and who did not make empty promises: “Comrades, comrades in arms, women and men of the Reich Artam, to whom I speak today: You all know that there are powers, and not only in Old Europe, that have still learned nothing from the Great Chaos. You also know that these powers, in their stubbornness and incredible ignorance, insist on not only upholding but even tightening sanctions against us, against Artam. As you can all imagine, this is sure to result in repercussions for our economy and our powers of defense. Diminishing our strength in this way has always been the hidden agenda of these sanctions; it is why they were originally imposed and it is why they continue to be upheld despite all reason. We can only expect further painful restrictions on our standard of living. In one respect we will leave no room for doubt among those who have been pointing their fingers at us for generations: They can impose all the sanctions they want; we will make no changes to our domestic policy—not in the past, not today, and not in the future. As long as Artam exists it will never—never—implement universal suffrage. Artam has placed its destiny in the hands of the Atlantic race, and I will lead Artam to a future that Europe and the rest of the world have spoiled for themselves, having learned nothing from the Great Chaos, which they deserved and whose consequences they must now suffer. Nothing and nobody can stand in our way, not in the past, not today, and not in the future: Artam will build new nuclear power stations—indeed several new ones. We will continue to protect our Reich with the fettered and frightful elemental force of nuclear weapons, for by possessing and by improving these, and through our courage, we have guaranteed the existence of our Reich for the past 150 years, as well as the existence of the Reich Vril that is to follow us.” As he spoke these final words, the Leader’s voice became charged with emotion and he ended with the sacrosanct phrase: “Begotten from the race, living for the race, transforming into another species within a more powerful Reich. Artam.”

  The Leader had finished his speech. Adrian and his colleagues stood up from their seats, raised their arms in a Roman salute, and after chanting a hearty “Hail! Hail! Hail!” they sang the ancient battle song, “Millions look to the swastika full of hope.” That was the antiquated song of an elite who had long ago left behind the ethnic community from which they had grown. But singing it altogether like this created a delightful feeling of nostalgia. Even the Handschar—here in the RSHQ that was only about one in every twelve employees—were singing along, although they lacked the same enthusiasm.

  Adrian found it difficult to avoid the discussions that ensued at the tables, even though he had no interest in contributing. A tall woman with strawberry blonde hair at his table had gotten herself quite worked up: “Those ungrateful Europeans! For five generations now our sons have been shedding blood on the Asiatic front. In each generation, one, two, or even three out of every four men have fallen. Last month my nephew met his death somewhere beyond the Ural.” At the mention of this, she could no longer hold back her tears; in fact she proceeded to lose all self-control and had to be escorted out.

  Everyone knew that relations with Europe and the state of affairs in the Near East had continued to worsen for the past century now and that Artam’s foreign policy and security situation had become increasingly challenging, even though in recent years there had appeared to be some somewhat inconsistent evidence suggesting that tensions had eased and that the worst was over. Ever since the Great Fatherland War, Artam had not managed to establish ongoing peace in the regions east of the Ural. For centuries Russia had provided a barrier for Christian Europe against Asia, but ever since it ceased to exist, the Reich had been forced to fill this void, and Artam was its armed branch. At first
the dispersed Bolshevists and their successors were supported in a covert way, later more and more openly, by the East Asian Empire, which had emerged from the Japanese Empire after it integrated China and Korea.

  The entire Near and Middle East had remained a region of unrest, at war over oil. The interests of North America, Europe, Aryavarta, and East Asia conflicted with those of Arabs, Persians, and Jews, resulting in constantly changing coalitions and endless wars. In order to avoid at all costs making an enemy of North America, Artam had at times, and purely for strategic reasons, coordinated its combat operations with those of the Jewish, Armenian, Chaldean, and Maronite coalition forces. These forces, with the support of North America, controlled small, insular regions throughout the Near East but, unlike Artam, had failed to establish an actual state in this region that was consistently secure. It was Islam, driven by its population pressure, that at first had unrelentingly recovered ground and then proceeded to gain new ground. The Jewish combat units had predominantly emerged from the settlers who, starting in 1943, had been forcibly dissipated from all over Europe into the regions southeast of the Ural. A second wave of immigrants had arrived in Palestine from overseas. Both groups gave rise to a Supreme Command and later to a state, which had protected Artam from the southeast for some time now. As the population was swept into the Great Chaos, was weighed in the balance and some found wanting, the low birthrate among the Jews called into question the continued existence of this state.