The Dark Design by Phillip Jose Farmer

“I’d like to talk to the chief.”

The ensign, Smithers said, “Sorry. He gave orders he wasn’t to be disturbed.”

“Why not?”

Smithers looked curiously at her. “I wouldn’t know, sir.”

Anger caused by her fear overcame her.

“I suppose he has a woman in there!”

The ensign said, “No, not that that is any of your business, sir.”

He grinned maliciously and said. “He’s got a visitor. A newcom­er named Fritz Stern. He just got here an hour ago. He’s a German, and, from what I heard, a hotshot Zeppelin man. I heard him tell the captain he was a commander for NDELAG, whatever that means. But he’s got more flight time than you.”

Jill had to restrain herself from hitting him in his teeth. She knew that Smithers had never liked her, and no doubt he enjoyed needling her.

“NDELAG,” she said, hating herself because her voice was trembling. ‘ “That could be Neue Deutsche Luftschifffahrts-Aktien-Gesellschaft.”

Now her voice seemed to be coming from far away, from some­one else. “There was a Zeppelin line called DELAG in the days before World War I. It carried passengers and freight in Germany. But I never heard of an NDELAG.”

“That would be because it was formed after you died,” Smithers said. He grinned, enjoying her obvious distress. “I did hear him tell the captain that he graduated from the Friedrichshafen academy in 1984. He said he ended his career as commander of a super-Zeppelin named Viktoria.”

She felt sick. First Thorn and now Stem.

There was no use staying here. She squared her shoulders and said, in a firm voice, “I’ll see him later.”

“Yes, sir. Sorry, sir,” Smithers said, grinning.

Jill turned away to go back down the stairs.

She whirled around as a door banged and somebody shouted. A man had run out of Firebrass’ apartment and slammed the door behind him.

He stood for several seconds, frozen, facing the guards. These were pulling their heavy pistols from their holsters. Smithers had his sword halfway from its sheath.

The man was as tall as she. He had a beautiful physique, broad shouldered, slim waisted, long legged. His face was handsome but rugged; his hair, wavy ash blond; his eyes, large and dark blue. But his skin was unhealthily pale and blood was flowing from a wound on the shoulder. He held a bloodied dagger in his left hand. Then the door opened, and Firebrass, a rapier in his hand, appeared. His face was twisted, and his forehead bled.

The ensign shouted, “Stern!”

Stern whirled and ran down the hall. There was no stairway at its end, only a tall window. Smithers cried, “Don’t fire, men! He can’t get away!”

“He can if he goes through the window!” Jill screamed.

At the end of the hall, Stern leaped with a shout, whirling so that his back would strike the plastic and holding an arm over his face.

The window refused to give way. Stem hit it with a thud and bounced back, falling flat with another thud on his face. He lay there while Firebrass, the ensign, and the guards behind him, ran toward Stern.

Jill followed them a second later.

Before the group could reach him, Stern got to his feet. He stared at the men racing toward him, looked at the dagger, which he had dropped on the floor when he had hit the window. Then he closed his eyes and crumpled to the floor.

35

By the time Jill got there,Firebrass was feeling the man’s pulse.

“He’s dead!”

“What happened, sir?” the ensign said.

Firebrass stood up.

“I wish I could say why it happened. All I can tell you is what happened. We were getting along fine, drinking and smoking, joking, and he was giving me the details of his professional career. Everything was A-okay. And then all of a sudden he leaps up, pulls a dagger, and tries to stab me!

“He must have gone crazy, although he seemed quite rational until the moment he attacked. Something went wrong in him. Otherwise, why would he drop dead of a heart attack?”

Jill said, “A heart attack? I haven’t ever heard of anyone having a heart attack here. Have you?”