What Doctor Gottlieb Saw Read Free Page A

of the induced electromotive force, which resists changes to the current….
    The text devolved into hieroglyphics. Then the hieroglyphs became smudges of ink that meandered across the page like earthworms seeking high ground after a rainstorm. Gottlieb’s eyes had mutinied.
    He removed his reading glasses, pinched the bridge of his nose, and rubbed his eyes. Sunset had come and gone hours ago, so the farm was dark except where a ring of klieg lights had been erected to aid the search for Oskar’s body. Because Gottlieb hadn’t managed to get his desk lamp repaired, he’d been forced to read by candle light.
    His eyes burned. It wasn’t a very good candle.
    He was steeling himself for another reading attempt when there came a tentative knock at the door. Gottlieb opened it.
    Osterhagen stood in the corridor. “Evening, Doctor.”
    â€œHello?”
    â€œI’ve been feeling the tiniest bit crazy lately. Can you fit me in for a session to fix my brain?”
    â€œWell, it’s late—“
    â€œRelax,” said Osterhagen, raising one hand. “I figured you might need some company.” Glass tinkled when he hefted a paper sack. “Figured you could use some of this, too.”
    Gottlieb pushed the door wide and waved the other man inside. “You’re quickly becoming my favorite patient.”
    Osterhagen entered. The faint ammonia odor from the lab still clung to him. He smelled like cat piss.
    From the bag, he produced a bottle of scotch and two glasses. He inspected one glass in the candlelight, fished out his handkerchief, then gave it a quick rub. Gottlieb pretended not to notice.
    Osterhagen splashed liquid amber into each glass, saying, “You’re sure I’m not interrupting? You look…”
    Gottlieb said, “No. I was just reading.”
    Osterhagen glanced at the book. “Ahhh. Maxwell’s equations.” It came out as though he were greeting an old friend. He flipped through the pages, careful to keep Gottlieb’s place. “That puts me back in my student days.”
    â€œI can’t decipher any of this,” said Gottlieb. “It’s gibberish.” He shoved the book aside.
    Osterhagen handed him a glass. “Many people say that what you do is also gibberish.”
    Gottlieb sighed. “So I’ve heard.”
    Osterhagen raised his glass. “To those who practice gibberish, for the betterment of Germany.”
    Gottlieb touched it with his own. Clink.
    The tastes of oak, and earth, and fire slid across his tongue. The scotch traced a smooth, slow burn on the way down, like smoldering silk.
    â€œWow.” He checked the bottle. “How’d you get this?”
    â€œMy son sent it. He’s a cargo inspector at the port in Bremen. Good job. It has some nice side benefits.”
    Several moments passed while they drank in silence. Gottlieb took a heavy swig, dousing the ice in his gut with liquid fire.
    â€œAt least they haven’t outlawed electromagnetism yet.” He pointed a thumb at his chest, splashing his shirt in the process. “I’m guilty of ‘Jew science.’”
    â€œOuch.” Osterhagen wiped the back of his hand across his lips. “But that shouldn’t matter, if von Westarp has need of you.”
    â€œWell, that’s the question, isn’t it? The good doctor seems to think I’m at fault for yesterday’s accident.”
    â€œI figured it was something like that. You’re not alone, though. I thought he was going to round up all of us engineers after the power surge. Even those of us who aren’t working on the generator. I spent half the morning running all over the farm to replace blown fuses, the other half wondering if I’d get a shallow grave for my trouble.”
    Gottlieb raised his glass. “To those of us destined for a bullet in the temple.”
    Clink. Gottlieb emptied his glass. Osterhagen refilled it, then his