Mortality was what prevented men from becoming Supermen: life was too short for real achievement. Although Wilson had begun experiments on organ replacement, prosthetics, and general longevity, and had already delayed his own death with the recent operations on his heart and stomach, he knew that the medical and surgical experimentation begun in the camps would not be advanced far enough, soon enough, to prevent him from dying of old age. Nevertheless, his successor, whomever he might be, would benefit from the experiments, and eventually the more valued members of his Antarctic colony would have a much longer life span. Because of that, they would gain the time needed for their biological and mental transformation into Supermen.

In that sense, Wilson thought as he stood up and stretched himself, my life will not have been wasted and my death will have meaning.

From here he could hear the radio announcer blandly informing the citizens of the Third Reich that the Allied invasion of Europe, initiated sixteen days ago with a b.l.o.o.d.y a.s.sault along more than a hundred miles of the French coast, was being successfully resisted by the valiant soldiers of the Thousand Year Reich.

The announcer did not mention the Allied liberation of Rome, the US bombing of the j.a.panese mainland, the loss of the Cotentin peninsula, the increasingly hopeless position of General von Schlieben's surrounded troops, General de Gaulle's triumphant return to the liberated areas of France after the capture of Bayeux, General Montgomery's inexorable advance on Caen, or the fact that only yesterday the Allies had seized two German V-I launch sites on the Cherbourg peninsula and were closing in on the historic town itself. Nor did he mention that Berlin, suffering Allied bombing raids every night, was being razed to the ground.

He was carefully silent on those facts.

It will soon be over, Wilson thought, no matter what we're told. No wonder we're fleeing to the Harz Mountains. It's just a matter of months now...

Not wishing to face Greta until he was ready to leave, he went straight from the bedroom to the bathroom, had his bath, dried himself and put on his civilian clothing, then returned to the bedroom. He had packed his suitcase the previous evening, when Greta was out with friends; now he pulled it out from where he had hidden it under the bed. Then, feeling little emotion, he walked into the main room.

Greta was anxiously turning the dial on the radio, trying to pick up a British station. She was smoking a cigarette, scratching her auburn hair with her free hand, and looking as worldly as ever, though she had aged greatly recently. Since the bombs had started dropping on Berlin she had not been the same.

Looking up when he entered the room, she saw the suitcase.

The news on the radio was replaced by Wagner as her eyes started widening.

'I'm leaving,' Wilson said, antic.i.p.ating her question, 'and I probably won't be coming back. The apartment is yours to keep.'

'What?'

He knew she had heard him but did not want to believe him. The average person's unwillingness to face facts had never ceased to depress him.

'You heard me,' he said, setting the suitcase on the floor and noting the shocked light in her eyes. 'I said I'm leaving and probably won't be coming back. However, the SS always look after their own and in this case are treating you like my wife. In other words, you can keep the apartment and they'll provide you with a decent monthly income. They'll soon be in touch with you.'

She was smoking a cigarette, a habit he despised, and this time, when she sucked in the smoke, she did so as if drowning.

'I'm not sure I understand,' she said, glancing at his suitcase and letting the smoke drift out between her lips. 'I mean, we've been living together for so long, and now you just...'

'You always knew this would come eventually,' he said, as he had said to so many. 'Our arrangement was always based on the knowledge that it would end sooner or later. Now that time's come.'

'Just like that? Without warning?'

'I couldn't give you any warning. The SS swore me to secrecy. I wasn't allowed to tell you until I was leaving and that's just what I'm doing.'

'I don't believe that for a second.'

'Believe it. It's the truth.'

'You're going to leave me here all alone?'

'I'm being moved out, with the other scientists and engineers, but I can't tell you where.'

'Why can't I come with you?'

'It's not permitted, that's why.'

'You mean, the others are all going without their wives? Is that what you're telling me?'

'No, I'm not saying that. The others are taking their wives and children. But the others are Germans married to Germans, whereas I happen to be a foreigner here by their good graces and living with a woman not my wife. I asked if I could take you along, but they refused absolutely.'

'I don't believe that either.'

'It's true. And who knows their motives? This war's coming to an end, the Third Reich's going to fall, and when that happens, they may decide to execute me. Maybe that's why you can't come with me.'

It was a deliberate lie, offered simply to keep her calm, but he knew, when he saw her brightening gaze, that she hadn't believed him. She was an experienced woman, after all, particularly wise in the ways of men, and what he now saw in her normally hard eyes was a mixture of rage and fear.

'So I'm just being left here?'

'I repeat: you have the apartment and will get an allowance. Believe me, you'll be better off than most. I'd count my blessings, if I were you.'

'Blessings?' she retorted. 'Being left here in Berlin? A city being bombed night and day, and soon to be conquered! What good's this apartment if it's bombed? What good's the allowance when the war is lost? What happens to me if I manage to survive the bombings, but the Russians get here first?'

'I'm sure you'll do fine,' he said. 'You're not a child, after all.'