THE MAGIC LABYRINTH by Philip Jose Farmer

Though Goring recognized before the end of the war that Hitler was crazy, he’d still remained loyal to him. Loyalty was one of Goring’s virtues, though in him it was so resistant to reason that it became a fault. Unlike most of the others at the Nuremberg trial, Goring had refused to renounce and denounce his chief.

Now, he wished he’d had the courage to stand up to his leader even though it might have meant his downfall much earlier than it occurred and perhaps even his death. If only he could do it all over…

But as La Viro had told him, “You are doing it all over again now, every day. The circumstances differ, that’s all.”

The third person who’d made the greatest impression on him was Richard Francis Burton. Goring didn’t doubt that Burton, if he’d been in Goring’s place, would not have hesitated in saying to Hitler, “No!” or “You are wrong!” How then, had Burton managed to keep from being thrown off the Rex in all these years? King John was a tyrant, arrogant, intolerant of those who argued with him.

Had John changed? Had Burton also changed? And then the changes had been enough so that each man could get along with the other?

John said, “Over there, playing draw poker, are the seven pilots of my air force. Come, I’ll introduce you.”

Goring was startled when Werner Voss stood up to shake hands with him. He had met him once, but Voss obviously didn’t recognize him.

Goring was a fine pilot, but he would readily admit that he could never equal Voss. Voss had scored his first victories, two Allied planes, in November 1916. On September 23, 1917, shortly after his twentieth birthday, Voss was shot down after a lone-wolf battle against seven of Britain’s best fighter pilots. In less than a year, during which he’d flown against the enemy, he’d scored forty-eight kills, enough to make him the fourth-ranking ace of the Imperial German Air Service. And in that short time he’d been removed several times from the front for administrative or other duties. It was not a coincidence that this happened when he was getting close to the score of Manfred von Richthofen. The baron had great influence, nor was Voss the only one whom von Richthofen had managed to withdraw from action for a while. Karl Schaefer and Karl Allmenroder, hotshot pilots, had been similarly manipulated.

Voss was a first lieutenant of the air force, the second-ranker, John explained. The captain was Kenji Okabe, one of Japan’s great aces. The grinning little brown man bowed to Goring, who bowed back. Goring had never heard of him because Germany had not gotten much news from its ally during World War II. His record must have been impressive, though, for John to give him a higher rank than the great Voss. Or perhaps Okabe had joined the airmen before Voss and therefore had greater seniority.

The other aviators, the two fighter-plane replacement pilots, the pilots of the torpedo bomber and of the helicopter, were unknown to Goring.

Goring would have loved to have talked with Voss about the old days of World War I. Sighing, he followed John up a staircase to the C or hurricane deck. At the end of the tour, they went back to the grand salon for iced drinks. Goring took only one drink. John, he noted, downed two in a short time. His face got red, but his speech remained unslurred. He asked Goring many questions about La Viro. Goring answered truthfully. What was there to hide?

Could the bishop give John any indication about whether or not La Viro would give permission for the boat to put in for extended repairs?

“I can’t speak for La Viro,” Goring said. “But I believe that he’ll say yes. After all, you are potential converts to the Church.”

King John grinned and said, “By God’s teeth, I don’t care how many of my crew you hook after we sink Clemens’ boat! Perhaps you don’t know that Clemens tried to slaughter me and my good men so that he could have the boat for himself and his swinish followers. May God strike the polecat with lightning! But I and my brave men foiled him and almost succeeded in killing him! And we took the boat up The River while he stood on the bank raving and ranting and shaking his fist at us. I laughed then, thinking that that was the last time I’d ever see him. I was mistaken.”