20 Chapter 18 (1/2)

What have I done?

Aufschlag watched Morgen and the three false priests. They'd never know, but it was his doing—sending priests and guards on make-work errands—that had cleared the path for them. And why he had done so . . . he still wasn't sure. He had done many horrible things as Konig's Chief Scientist, and though he'd often contemplated defying the Theocrat, not once had he dared to act. Not really.

No, that's not true. I saved Wegwerfen. That had to be worth something. But even that, sending her fleeing to Gottlos, had been an act of cowardly disobedience. And every day he still thought about sending someone to kill her, terrified Konig might discover what he'd done.

This was different. This was not some insignificant deception. He wasn't simply ignoring an unnecessary order or sharing a book with Morgen that Konig wouldn't approve of. This was it, the real thing.

Go ahead. Say it. Admit to yourself what you're doing. Be honest.

”Betrayal.”

What an awful word.

Aufschlag remembered a drunken and emotional conversation he and Konig had shared all those years ago, about how important it was to him that he not let down his friends. He remembered Konig's eyes and the look on his face and how he'd thought it was understanding. G.o.ds, Konig had used that every day since.

Betrayal. Here, beyond the influence of Konig's power, Aufschlag was on the verge of doing just that.

He checked the hall floor, counting tiles between where he hid and the kidnappers to gauge the distance.

Only a scientist would have thought to study and quantify the reality-defining effects of insanity, and Aufschlag was a scientist through and through. His entire life, every moment of his existence, had been dedicated to understanding the metrics defining Geisteskranken. Everyone knew that the effects of insanity dwindled with range and were damped by proximity to sane minds, but no one else thought to measure this. Aufschlag knew that even as powerful as Konig was, his Gefahrgeist delusions only affected him, Aufschlag, when close by. Here in the hallway, watching Morgen's kidnapping, he had the freedom to contemplate something other than mindless loyalty.

Such as saving Morgen's life . . . and perhaps his own soul. He glanced at his hands, blunt-fingered, skin wrinkled like a lizard left to dry in the sun. They were clean now, but they'd been bloodstained many, many times. The things I have done. Sure, he told himself, it had all been at Konig's request and for the greater good of both the Geborene and even mankind, but that was a lie. Some of his experiments had been unsettling to the extreme—and Aufschlag performed them willingly. Delving into the deeper truths, scratching at the underpinnings of reality, understanding the laws and limits of a reality defined by delusion, these were goals worthy of a great mind. And if I have one delusion—he laughed mockingly at himself—it's that I am a great mind.

It was his discovery that it was possible to turn ordinary, sane people into Geisteskranken. The correct mixture of physical and psychological torture could achieve incredible results. Forcing a mother to witness the torture and brutal murder of her children was enough to turn some into dangerous Geisteskranken. Aufschlag had even learned—at great personal risk—that the more heinous and drawn out the torture, the more powerful the Geisteskranken became. He once lost dozens of staff during an experiment when, after witnessing her husband and children tortured for several months, one woman shattered her shackles, tore scientists limb from limb, and burned down a sizable section of the Science Wing.

Still you seek to justify your actions, as if doing so somehow distances you from the pain you inflicted. Calling it science doesn't change what you are.

Konig, caring only for results, asked no questions. Aufschlag, however, had nothing but questions. And not once had he asked whether or not he should be doing these experiments in the first place. No, at the time he had wondered only why it took her so long to snap. Why was she so powerful when she finally snapped? Why did some people retreat into gibbering uselessness at similar stimuli while others found the ability to shapes.h.i.+ft or create armies of albtraum at will? And, of course, there were the most interesting questions:

What were the limits?

How powerful could a Geisteskranken become?

He'd done it for Konig. He'd done it for the Geborene, for humanity.

Right.