“You’re joking, I hope,” said Andrei.
The colonel puffed on his pipe, flapping away the smoke with his hand, and looked at Andrei with his colorless old man’s eyes. His eyes were surrounded by droves of wrinkles, and it looked as if he were laughing. “Perhaps I am exaggerating slightly,” he said, “but judge for yourself, Counselor. Our army was created without any definite purpose, simply because a certain individual known to both of us cannot imagine the organization of a state without an army. It is obvious that no army is capable of functioning normally in the absence of a real enemy. Even if only a potential one. From the chief of staff down to the last cook, our army is presently imbued with the conviction that this undertaking is merely a game of little tin soldiers.”
“And if we assume that a potential enemy does exist after all?”
The colonel shrouded himself in honeyed smoke once again. “Then tell us who he is, Messrs. Politicians!”
Andrei took another sip from his glass, thought for a moment, and asked, “Tell me, Colonel, does the general staff have any operational plans in case of an invasion from the outside?”
“Well now, I wouldn’t call them operational plans as such. Imagine, say, your Russian general staff on Earth. Does it have operational plans in case of an invasion, let’s say, from Mars?”
“Well now,” said Andrei. “I think it’s quite possible that something of the sort does exist…”
“We also have ‘something of the sort,’” said the colonel. “We’re not expecting an invasion from above or below. We don’t concede the possibility of a serious threat from the south… apart, naturally, from the possibility of a successful revolt by the criminals working in the settlements, but we’re ready for that… That leaves the north. We know that during the Turning Point and afterward, quite large numbers of supporters of the old regime fled to the north. We accept—in theory—that they could organize themselves and attempt some kind of sabotage or even a restoration of the old regime…” He took a pull on his pipe, wheezing hoarsely. “But what is an army needed for here? It’s obvious that in the event of all these menaces, Counselor Ruhmer’s special police are perfectly adequate, and in tactical terms, the most basic cordon and search tactics will serve.”
Andrei waited for moment and then asked, “Should I understand you, Colonel, to mean that the general staff is not prepared for a serious invasion from the north?”
“You mean a Martian invasion?” the colonel asked thoughtfully. “No, it is not. I understand what you mean. But we have no reconnaissance. No one has ever seriously considered the possibility of such an invasion. We simply have no data for that. We don’t even know what’s going on fifty kilometers away from the Glass House. We have no maps of the northern environs…” He laughed, exposing his long, yellow teeth. “The city archivist, Mr. Katzman, provided the general staff with something like a map of those areas… As I understand it, he drew it himself. This remarkable document resides in my safe. It gives the quite distinct impression that Mr. Katzman made the map while he was eating and repeatedly dropped his sandwiches and spilled his coffee on it…”
“Come now, Colonel,” Andrei said reproachfully, “my chancellery has provided you, I think, with some rather good maps.”
“Definitely, definitely, Counselor. But for the most part those are maps of the inhabited City and the southern environs. According to the basic setup, the army must be in a state of combat readiness in case of public disorders, and public disorders can only occur in the aforementioned areas. This makes the work you have done absolutely indispensable, and thanks to you we are prepared for disorders. But as for an invasion…” The colonel shook his head.
“As far as I’m aware,” Andrei said significantly, “my chancellery has never received any requests from the general staff to map the northern areas.”
The colonel looked at Andrei for some time, and his pipe went out. “I should tell you,” he said slowly, “that we have addressed such requests to the president in person. The answers were, I must admit, entirely indefinite…” He paused again. “So you believe, Counselor, that for the good of the cause we should address such requests to you?”
Andrei nodded. “I had lunch with the president today,” he said. “We talked a lot about this subject. It has been decided in principle to proceed with mapping the northern regions. However, adequate participation by military specialists is required. An experienced operative… Well, no doubt you understand.”
“I understand,” said the colonel. “By the way, where did you dig up a Mauser like that, Counselor? The last time I saw such monsters, if I’m not mistaken, was in Batumi, in about 1918…”
Andrei started telling the colonel where and how he had obtained the Mauser, but at that point the doorbell rang again in the hallway. Andrei apologized and went to meet his guest.
He was hoping it would be Katzman; however, against all his expectations, it turned out to be Otto Friese, whom Andrei hadn’t actually invited at all. Somehow Friese had completely slipped his mind. Otto Friese was constantly slipping Andrei’s mind, although as the head of the Glass House’s housekeeping unit, Friese was an extremely useful man, even indispensable. But then, Selma never, ever forgot this circumstance. And so now she accepted from Otto a neat little basket, thoughtfully covered with a supremely fine batiste napkin, and a little bouquet of flowers. Otto was graciously permitted to kiss her hand. He clicked his heels, blushed red to his ears, and was quite obviously happy.
“Ah, my old friend,” he said to Andrei. “There you are!”
Otto was still the same as ever. It suddenly occurred to Andrei that of all the old-timers, Otto had changed least. In fact, he simply hadn’t changed at all. Still with the same scrawny neck and huge, protruding ears, with the same expression of constant uncertainty on his freckled features. And the clicking heels. He was in the pale blue uniform of the special police, wearing his square Medal of Merit.
“Thanks a million for the rug,” said Andrei, putting his arm around Otto’s shoulders and leading the guest into his study. “Now I’ll show you how it looks in here… It’s the bee’s knees, you’ll just die of envy…”
However, on finding himself in the study, Otto Friese didn’t give any signs of dying of envy. He saw the colonel.
Otto Friese, a lance corporal in the Volkssturm, harbored feelings bordering on awe for Colonel St. James. In the colonel’s presence he was struck absolutely dumb, fettered his features into a smile with steel bolts, and was ready to click heel against heel at any moment, to click continuously and with constantly increasing force.
Turning his back to the illustrious rug, he stood to attention, thrust out his chest, squeezed his palms against his thighs, stuck out his elbows, and bobbed his head so abruptly in a bow that the crack made by his neck vertebrae rang round the study. Smiling lazily, the colonel got up to meet him and held out his hand. In the other hand he was holding his glass.
“Very pleased to see you…” he said. “Welcome, Mr.… mmm…”
“Lance Corporal Otto Friese, Colonel!” Otto squealed ecstatically, then he bent over double and tremulously touched the colonel’s fingers. “I have the honor to report!”
“Otto, Otto!” Andrei said reproachfully. “We don’t have any ranks here!”