nner, then shook his forearm back toward his chest.

Now it was Olaf who didn't understand. The woman pointed at the
pellet-pistol, forgotten, at his hip.

"I think. He wants you to shoot him." Again the movements of
confirmation. Though this time, if it were possible to interpret such
gestures, he moved the limbs more slowly, with great sadness.

Brunner unclasped the pistol, and with a shaking hand, pointed it at
his chest. "Is this what you want?" The same gesture.

The one unbroken eye remained in sunlight, filled with tears that could
not escape the well of tortured flesh around it. A low gurgling noise
sounded in his throat. Brunner closed his eyes and shot.

The body fell partially across the entrance, so that they were obliged
to move it. "This one at least, we bury." The words resounded with
the hollowness of hell. They pushed past the right-hand door, and went
inside.

After a time of searching for light and the terminal, Brunner at last
sat before the fingerboard and smallish screen, trying to summon forth
what was wanted, praying to the point of distraction for his wife, and
for himself. He had asked the nurse to be alone for a time and she
consented, was off looking elsewhere for any hard-copy documents that
might be useful.

The man knew enough about computers to read the instruction codes and
key out the information wanted, but the terminal kept fighting him.
Several times he had entered, OCCUPATIONAL RECORDS OF RELOCATED
PERSONNEL, sub-heading, DEMOCRATIC GERMAN, NON-MILITARY. But each time
he did so the screen would read 'Pending', then flash one line at a
time, at a reading pace, a dialogue from the Nuremburg Trials of
1945-46, and lock up at any attempt to clear it. He tried to bypass,
used different keywords, but always the result was the same: he got
the dialogues, or nothing at all. Close to frenzy he threw off the
chair and paced wildly back and forth.

"I know all about the Holocaust and the Nuremburg trials! They have
been required reading at the Academy for two hundred years!" He
gradually calmed himself, if such words may be used, realizing there
was nothing else for it. He set right the chair and keyed in the
initial combination, only wishing that he could strap himself in place,
denied all movement and all choice. The screen began again its silent
dissertation, waiting after each six lines for him to verbally
acknowledge.

Olaf Brunner read the following, tryin