Since everyone loves the Nazis:
(From the Infiniti book I45)
“Grade 3 Chang, reporting a message intercept, Sir!” The new entry’s uniform was creased and pressed until it looked like a recruiting brochure. “At ease, Chang.” The duty officer, secure in her exalted Grade 4 status, had unbuttoned her own neck stock, and there was a distinct shininess to the crimson cuffs of her midnight uniform coat.
Chang strode forward the regulation four steps, came to attention again, and handed over a flimsy and a data cartridge. Popping the cartridge into the Records computer (there were some regulations it didn’t do to ignore), the duty officer scanned the flimsy for a few minutes, looking for anything out of the ordinary. Dinosaur smugglers – alchemical methods in Argentine platinum mines – assassination attempt on the King of North Carolina – here it was, “Nazis” again.
“Infinity can’t get panicked enough about these ‘Nazis,’ Chang.” “Sir.” She looked up to see Chang still at attention. “I said ‘At ease,’ Chang.” The younger officer marginally relaxed. “I’d invite you to sit down, but there’s only one chair in these confounded bridges.” “Isometric posture does not require chairs, Sir.” Right out of the book again. Still, she thought, I’d better try, or this new kid is going to drive me crazy.
“Chang, what’s your first name?” “Mohammed, Sir.” “That’s unusual for a Chinese, isn’t it, Chang?” “Sir, all names are Centrum names. The Centrum embraces all bloodlines.” “Chang, I’m not trying to trap you in Error, I’m trying to make conversation so that you don’t hover there like a constipated goshawk.” Chang relaxed another breath. “My family is from Tajikistan, Sir. Lots of hybridity there, even before the Centrum saved us.” The duty officer nodded; history wasn’t her strong point, even Centrum history, but the Central Asian tribes were traditionally very grateful to the scientific elite that had saved them from famine, warlords, and plague. “Understandable then, border vigor and all that. Use those ancestral border skills, Chang, and see what jumps out at you from this.”
Chang took the flimsy and ran his eyes down it. “Secundus – er, Infinity – seems more worried about these ‘Nazis’ than they do three other threats on the same Wave that objectively pose a far greater danger to their operations. Sir.” “My thoughts exactly. I’ve been monitoring Infinity transmissions here for eight months, and despite four global wars and a Force Seven reality quake, these ‘Nazis’ still draw 18% of the decision band, when it ought to be more like four. And they’re not even on this bloody Wave! They’re way the Hell and gone out on Wave Minus Five!”
“What did the Records say, Sir?” “Nothing useful; they were an Irrationalist sect in Bavaria in a number of timelines; on Secundus they seem to have triggered a global war, and on one world on Wave Minus Two, they won. Rum lot, but not the foaming anarchists that you’d expect from Infinity’s paranoia. More orderly than bloody Infinity, that’s for sure. But according to Intercept Branch, Infinity has more agents, and more ongoing operations, on this ‘Reich-2’ than on any comparable parallel. Again, despite greater threats, and much greater opportunities, on at least six other worldlines I could name.”
“Sounds like a perfect opportunity for us, Sir. If we could somehow use them as a stalking horse, we could distract the ruddy Patrol from anything we did. We could have our run of the echoes, as long as we could get some Nazis to pop up somewhere else while we did it.” “Sadly for us, Chang, the only ones with parachronics seem to be out where we can’t go.” “Unless we find a tunnel. It’s been known to happen, Sir.” “Precisely. That’s what I want you to start sifting these surveys for. I mean to find a tunnel to their Wave and start feeding these Nazis anything they want, as long as it will keep Infinity busy.”
“That could alter the whole complexion of the War, Sir. The Forum will be handing out promotions like candy on Rebirth Day.” “Well, we’re not supposed to think about our promotions, Chang. It’s the good of the Service, and of Centrum, that counts.” “Of course, Sir. I’m sorry, Sir.” Chang, abashed, hunched over a stack of surveys and avoided his superior’s eyes.
But doctrine aside, the duty officer was thinking about promotions. She could easily make Grade 5 for something like this, or even higher, if it became a major Interworld priority. Yes, “Grade 6 Goldstein” had a nice ring to it, she told herself, and punched up her own stack of surveys to sift.
