Eric Flint's Blog, page 292

Castaway Planet – Chapter 01

Castaway Planet – Chapter 01

Castaway Planet

By

Eric Flint and Ryk E. Spoor

Chapter 1

Sakura Kimei lay as still as possible on the set of pipes, listening for the creature’s approach. It could be very near. She gripped the weapon in her right hand and steadied herself with her left, trying to breathe as quietly as possible.

Not for the first time, she was grateful that she was still “skinny as a rail,” as her mother Laura often put it. The pipes had minimal clearance between them and the ceiling. No one with even a tiny bit more weight could have fit.

And that would have meant she had nowhere to hide.

The corridor wasn’t terribly narrow and was pretty high — for Sakura, at least, since it was meant for adults to use, not just fourteen-year-old girls who hadn’t quite hit their last growth spurt — but though only dimly — lit it was straight and without feature or doorway for a fair distance.

She tried to calm her beating heart. If it beat faster, she’d be breathing faster, and that could give her away.

The pipes under her felt both warm and cool, and she was doubly grateful for the advanced aerogel insulation that was able to keep them from being either scorching or freezing without huge, thick coatings — which would have made this hiding place impossible.

It had already been several minutes. Maybe she’d lost him completely.

But then a faint sound reached her ears, and she froze, holding herself as still as the walls around her.

Scrape.

That was not the sound of a human being walking. It sounded vaguely like a leather bag being dragged over the deck, but it was not a constant sound. It was the sound of something moving rhythmically, slowly, and as stealthily as it could. Straining her ears, holding her own breath, Sakura could just make out the faint whistling of the thing’s breath.

Shadows moved, coming from behind her, but Sakura dared not move, not even to get a good look. The creature’s senses were very, very good and might pick up on any movement, especially if it was still behind her and might look up for an instant.

Focused as she was on being perfectly still, naturally every tiny complaint or discomfort was magnified. That tiny itch in her calf was suddenly almost unbearable, demanding she move, reach down, scratch; the vague irritation in her nose was now trying to burgeon into a full-fledged sneeze. She clamped down with iron will. No! Can’t screw up now! It’s probably my only chance!

Slowly, below her, something came into view; waving tendrils, curling and grasping at the air like corpses’ fingers, sharp black hooks showing themselves as the digits worked back and forth. The tendrils moved forward, showing there were actually three groups of them, attached to three powerful forelimbs which bent in the center to provide a sort of elbow. The creature was dragging itself along with two of these. One group of tendrils grasped a tubular affair something like a crutch; the thing’s equivalent of a gun.

The body was generally triangular in cross-section, with the arms she saw at the front. She knew that between those arms and not visible from her vantage point, was a tripartite beaklike mouth equipped with a ripping, tearing tongue. At the rear, three stubby appendages similar to the arms splayed out, gripped, and pushed. Overall, the thing was several meters long and probably weighed five times what she did.

The thing could also go much faster than it was now, even taking into account the fact that it obviously wasn’t built for this kind of terrain. But it was moving quietly, trying to find her without alerting her to its presence. The front tendrils and rear “legs” were trying to keep as much of the creature as possible off the ground entirely. She was actually a little astounded. She knew the thing was strong, but this was way beyond what she’d expected.

Still… right now she was hidden. There was no sign he’d seen her.

She focused on timing now. The creature was almost past her position. She’d have to strike it right behind the eye socket and drive her blade down and back to hit the brain.

The ship’s “gravity” came from spin; she had to guess just how much that would make her curve during the drop, because curve she would. Not much, but when centimeters counted you couldn’t afford any slop.

Now came the most dangerous part. His eyes were passing below her; he’d have to turn now to see her. But she had to ease herself sideways so she could drop off the pipes and onto the alien’s back.

And that meant moving, and moving meant noise.

She exhaled silently as much as she could, lowering her height by a centimeter or less, but just enough to make sure nothing touched her back. Slowly she eased to her right. Over one pipe. Over two. Once she’d gotten past three pipes she could –

The creature suddenly halted. Maybe it had heard her, maybe it just realized it had come an awfully long way without seeing its quarry, but either way, it was now suspicious.

GO!

Sakura shoved off, dropping down, even as the thing tried to pivot around in a corridor much narrower than it was long. The girl twisted her body, stretching out, weapon held tight in her fist, reaching, even as one of the cruel taloned arms lashed around towards her –

And her hand drove perfectly into the gap between the right-hand eye and the thick, armored hide.

Instantly the arm froze, then collapsed to the ground.

“Oh, stagnation,” the creature vibrated. “I almost got you!”

She laughed and jumped off, putting the play dagger away. “You caught me the last three times, it was about my turn to get you!” She hugged as much of him as she could reach. He was warm and leathery, something like she imagined an elephant might be, but smoother. The latter wasn’t surprising. The Bemmies had been entirely aquatic when humanity first met them on Europa, and using genetic engineering to give them full amphibious capabilities hadn’t given them any hair. “That was a good chase, though, wasn’t it, Whips?”

Whips (more formally named “Harratrer”) burbled agreement with a chuckle. “Half an hour, and you still caught me. I should remember you’re thin as a bladefish.”

“Want to do another round?”

“We don’t have another half-hour,” the big alien pointed out. “You’ve got pilot apprentice training and I’ve got my engineering apprenticeship work in fifteen minutes.”

“Oh, blah. You’re right, that’s not long enough. Maybe we –“

A screaming klaxon ripped the quiet air to shreds, repeating in three sharp tones. “Mandatory Emergency Drill,” a calm electronic voice said. “Mandatory Drill. All personnel, respond as to an actual emergency according to Section 115.2. Mandatory Emergency Drill…”

“Dehydrate that!” Whips said grouchily. “Our lifeboat unit’s all the way over on the other side of Outward Initiative.”

The young Bemmie’s peeved tone hid nervousness — and not very well. Sakura knew the source of that, and gripped her friend’s arm supportively. “Everyone else will be busy going to their lifeboats.”

“But they’ll still be able to … accidentally… impede me in one way or another.” The voice was no longer grouchy; it was sad and hurt. Whips’ flickering colors were muted and brownish.

She couldn’t argue with him; it was true. Her family had grown up around the genetically enhanced creatures, but they were rare even in the home system; in fact, from what her father had said, Whips’ family might be the first one allowed out-system. There were concerns about physical and mental stability, long-term viability, and other things, some of which just boiled down to plain old-fashioned prejudice… on both sides, unfortunately.

The engineered Bemmius novus sapiens looked, to human eyes, pretty much like their non-engineered Europan relatives, which was to say fairly nightmarish to a lot of people, and definitely not comforting to run into in a narrow corridor. To the normal Europan Bemmies, the effect might be worse, a malformed mutant with a flattened bottom and everything squished up much more in one direction. Normal Bemmies did have a sort of up-and-down orientation, but this was much more emphatic — and strange — looking.

Add to that the fact that such extensive redesign on an intelligent creature had never been attempted before. In fact, the techniques had only perfected a few years before the project started. The end result was a perfect recipe for nervous mistrust, prejudice, or sometimes an almost more annoying coddling attitude that treated every twitch as a matter of concern.

Sakura looked down at Whips, but the continued whooping of the alarm klaxon told her she couldn’t stay — or follow him. Then suddenly a thought struck her. “Didn’t you hear that? Respond as to an actual emergency.”

Whips turned two of his three eyes towards her. “Well, yeah, but so what?”

“So in a real emergency you’re supposed to go to the nearest lifeboat, right?” She grinned. “And that happens to be ours.”

Whips’ tendrils curled in with uncertainty. “I don’t know. What if…?”

“Come on. It’ll be a little less boring if you’re there!”

Whips snorted, but immediately started a hopping drag in the direction of the Kimei family boat, his colors rippling swiftly back to brighter, more cheerful patterns. “And I can’t ever complain about it being boring with you around!”

 

 

1636 The Viennese Waltz – Snippet 39

1636 The Viennese Waltz – Snippet 39

****

Carla Ann caught the ferry out to Race Track City the first Saturday after they got to Vienna. She wasn’t the only one; two of the girls from the English Ladies’ school had gone out to see the emperor making laps, something that the emperor did most Saturdays. The other two girls were wearing seventeenth-century chic. Carla was wearing a mix. She had on a paisley blouse that would cost a fortune down-time, if less of a fortune now than just after the Ring of Fire. Jacquard looms had been appearing all over Europe for the last couple of years, and the price for down-time made paisley was just exorbitant, not armed robbery. However, Carla’s blouse was an actual up-time blouse. She didn’t have much money, but she did have some clothes that her sister didn’t want. She was also wearing a used navy peacoat, which wasn’t fashionable but was darn sure necessary in Vienna in December during the Little Ice Age. A long split skirt hid the heavy wool socks that went up to her knees, and she’d sneaked a pair of her sister Suzi’s combat boots to wear. They looked ridiculous, but the other girls thought they were the height of fashion.

The boat stopped at a dock on the river and the girls had to walk about a mile on a pretty smooth dirt road. They could see where the workers were digging a channel to the race track, but the last of the canal to be dug was the part that connected to the river, so there was a stretch of about thirty yards between river and mostly dry canal works.

The morning was cold, but they were used to it, even Carla Ann. It took them about a half an hour to stroll to the race track, and by the time they got there Carla was wishing one of the girls had been willing to spring for a cab ride from the river to the track. There were cabs that made the trip, but that cost four pfennig each way. Worse, a pfennig wasn’t a penny; it was worth more than that. And Carla was on a pretty restricted allowance. Her parents had been provided with a place to stay, but they hadn’t been paid. And as things had turned out, they weren’t going to get paid. Instead, they were given Hofbefreiten status in exchange for consulting with the crown on demand. They had some money to start out, because they did get paid for the stuff they brought with them. But so far there wasn’t any work besides the work for the government. That wasn’t paid, so they were living off the money from the stuff they brought.

To Carla Ann, what all that meant was that she didn’t have any money to speak of and that lack was likely to put her in a bad spot in the English Ladies school. She needed a way to make some money of her own, and if anyone in Vienna could tell her how it was Hayley Fortney.

****

There was no fee to watch the emperor race around the track, but for Carla Ann there wasn’t much excitement in it either. She had seen real NASCAR on TV up-time. One guy in a 240Z traveling at maybe 60 miles an hour didn’t get her blood pumping. The other girls were the next best thing to in awe, though, so Carla couldn’t let herself seem too bored.

While the other girls were watching the emperor go around in circles, Carla Ann slipped away and found Mr. Sanderlin, the younger one — she didn’t know his first name — and asked where Hayley was.

****

“Hey, Carla. What’s up?” Hayley said. She was in a shop behind the garage, working on what looked like an engine block with a big down-timer. There was actual glass in the windows of the shop. It had ripples in it, but it was glass.

“Are you building an engine?”

“Steam four cylinder,” Hayley said in English, then continued in German that was starting to take on an Austrian accent. “And Herr Groer here is the one building it. I’m just helping with the measuring. He’s a master smith and this thing is expected to put out about six horsepower when he gets it finished in another month or so.”

“Ah, isn’t that a pretty slow way to go about it? Hand building the engines, I mean? Is it the price of iron?”

“No, though the cost of iron has gone up even here,” Hayley said. “And it sure is a slow way to go about it. But building an engine factory would cost a fortune. And we can’t do it anyway, because we can’t afford the licensing fees.”

“Licensing fees?”

“Never mind,” Hayley said. “It’s silly, but it’s the rules. We could afford a few individual licenses, but the owner wants a fortune for the licenses for mass production of engines.”

“What about steel?” Carla knew that the price of iron had gone through the roof in the USE since they got started on the railroads.

“Yes, it’s gone up even here, but they import up the Danube from Hungary and points south. They also have iron mines near Linz and just north of Judenburg. Plus, it’s both hard and expensive to ship anything heavy from Vienna — or just about anywhere in Austria-Hungary — to the USE. You either have to go around Europe by way of the Black Sea and Mediterranean, up the Spanish and French coasts, past England and around to the Baltic. Or you go over really bad land routes, through lots of little lordling’s territories. Either way, the price goes up a lot. So iron, copper, and a lot of stuff is cheaper here than in the USE.”

Hayley blathered on about the price of this and the shipping cost of that, and Carla finally couldn’t take it anymore. “Can I talk to you?” she blurted out.

Hayley didn’t wince, but Carla could tell she had to work at it. And Carla, a bright and fairly well-educated girl, knew why. Last year in Grantville, Hayley was always being hit on by people who wanted the Barbies to invest in something, or wanted Hayley to tell them what the Barbies were doing, or just loan them — better, give them — money. In a way, that was what Carla was here for and she hoped that them being the only up-timers would help.

 

1636 The Viennese Waltz – Snippet 38

1636 The Viennese Waltz – Snippet 38

****

“How are your rabbits?” Thomas Barclay asked Brandon.

“Acting like rabbits.” Brandon grinned. “Velma has another bunch in the oven and we should have more soon. With luck, satins will become a big seller. They have more meat than the local rabbits. I figure I’ll be able to sell a bunch of breeding pairs.”

“Why not sell the meat and keep the breeding pairs?”

“That would be stupid. It would make a lot of folks mad and we don’t need the hassle.” Brandon didn’t say that his original plan had been to do just that and Hayley had jumped on him about it, then gone to Mom, who had made it clear that if he tried it, she would take the rabbits away from him.

****

“What angle of ramp are you planning on?” Peter Barclay asked.

“About thirty degrees, I think. That’s what they had on NASCAR tracks up-time.” Truthfully, Sonny wasn’t sure. He had seen races up-time but he was hardly a NASCAR buff.

“I’ll calculate the angle that will be needed, assuming you can tell me the average and top speeds that will be used,” Peter Barclay declared.

Sonny shrugged. It wasn’t an issue that he felt was all that important.

Ron said, “Sure. Figure an average of around sixty and a top speed around one twenty, but that could go up in a few years.”

“I will look into it.”

“Well, if you do look into it, we’ll need it fairly quickly. His Majesty doesn’t want the track closed for months while you do your calculations,” Gayleen Sanderlin said. Gayleen wasn’t overly impressed by the new additions to the Viennese up-timer community.

****

“The track is dangerous as it stands now, and will become even more dangerous if they try to build their bank without the proper calculations,” Peter Barclay explained to Janos Drugeth and Gundaker von Liechtenstein that evening.

Janos wasn’t greatly swayed by Peter Barclay’s pronouncements, but Gundaker was. Gundaker wasn’t all that impressed by the up-timer engineer, but at least he was a scholar of sorts.

Carla Ann Barclay listened to the self-satisfied way that her father and Prince Gundaker decided that whatever the Sanderlins and the Fortneys had done was meaningless and unimportant because they weren’t the right sort of people. She had gotten that her whole life from her parents. Not the right color, not the right education, not the right “sort.” It amazed her how people so unsuccessful could be so full of themselves. Especially after the Ring of Fire, when Mom and Dad had become two of the very few people on earth that had actual up-time college degrees and they had still managed not to get much of anything done. And it wasn’t that they were stupid or incompetent, though her dad was certainly stupid when it came to people.

So was she, Carla knew, as much as she hated to admit it. But, damn, Hayley Fortney was part of the Barbie Consortium and they had gotten rich in less than two years after the Ring of Fire. And Mom and Dad didn’t even notice she was here. Well, Carla sure as hell wasn’t going to tell them.

English Ladies School, Vienna

A few days later, Carla Ann Barclay sat and waited as her parents discussed her future with the Jesuitesses. She felt like a spoiled child’s rag doll. The child would scream and throw a fit if it was taken away, but as soon as it was returned she would casually toss it into a corner. A dirty corner. The English Ladies’ school was the corner she was being tossed into and she had no idea how Jesuitesses would take to up-time knowledge. Honestly, she was a little worried that she would be facing exorcisms or the Inquisition.

It’s bad enough we got thrown back to this time, Carla Ann thought. But then my idiot parents do this to me!

****

The elite of Vienna came in two categories, townies and court, burghers of Vienna and the Hofbefreiten of the court. The Hofbefreiten included a lot more than Carla Ann had ever thought of as courtiers. Oh, the Hofbefreiten included the courtiers, but also the third assistant dressmaker to the Countess von Nowhere Important. Hofbefreiten were anyone who had some right to serve the court in some way and were therefore excused from the normal fees and rules that the burghers and craftsmen of Vienna had to deal with. Of course, most of Vienna wasn’t in either group. But the daughters of both courtiers and burghers went to the school of the English Ladies. There they mixed, as did their parents. Together they made up the people who mattered and they were busy those first days after Carla Ann joined them, figuring out where she fit in the category. Her parents were hired by the court, which was almost a unique status. Most people who worked for the emperor paid for the privilege and got some set of rights or privileges in exchange. From people like Wallenstein, who raised his army out of his own pocket to the guy who polished the emperor’s boots who paid for the right to do so then made his living selling boots. People who actually got paid by the emperor were few and far between. On the other hand, the Barclays weren’t actually being paid that much in comparison to what a clerk of the court made in bribes.

On the third hand, there was the fact that Carla Ann had actually experienced the Ring of Fire. What it all came down to was that the other girls weren’t at all sure what to do with her and she had the potential to take over the queen bee slot so far as the school hierarchy was concerned.

That status was as obvious to the English Ladies as to the students, and they, in all honesty, were as curious about the Ring of Fire as anyone else. With their leader, Mary Ward, in Grantville at last report, the English Ladies were still more curious.

Polychrome – Chapter 17

Polychrome – Chapter 17

Chapter 17.

Iris Mirabilis looked down from the balcony at the very top of his castle, moonlight streaming down and turning the blue-gray skystone to silver. Far below, he watched a small blonde-haired figure in a private courtyard, practicing cuts and jumps and rolls, sometimes stopping to indulge in strange sequences of movements that did not immediately make sense to him. Iris raised his gaze slightly, noticed another figure, slight and swathed in shifting rainbow hues, watching Erik from another balcony, lower than Iris’ own but well above the mortal’s ordinary line of vision.

Raising his gaze still higher, he could see the looming mountains of the Earthly Firmament encircling his city, with the greatest of them – Caelorum Sanctorum – towering steeply to a point far above his castle, one that even his eyes could not easily pierce, a shadowed eminence of indigo and black shading to a brilliant spark of light where the sun – many hours set – still touched.

“You sent for me, Majesty?”

“Yes, Nimbus.” He glanced down at the Captain of his hosts, then back up. “Five days.”

Nimbus grunted, then followed his gaze. “Five… ” He stared, then turned directly to face Iris. “Your Majesty, are you certain? Few indeed even of our own people have attempted that. As I recall, even your own daughters were –”

“My own daughters,” Iris found himself saying with an unexpected vehemence, “are of my own blood and have duties that I would expect them to carry out for that reason, if no other. They are not men snatched from their own world to die for the sake of mine.”

Nimbus was silent for a moment, and then – unexpectedly – chuckled. “My King may correct me if I am wrong, but it seems to my memory that when first you had finished your perusal of the prophecies and come to the conclusions of what they demanded, you were not bothered – indeed, I might even say almost pleased – that the hero of prophecy would in all likelihood live not past the ending of the threat.”

Iris restrained a glare. Instead he simply took a breath, held it, and released it with a sigh. “You were not wrong, Captain. Unlike Polychrome and my other daughters, I have had occasion to look upon the mortal world as time passed, and I was very much afraid of what sort of man I might get from that world, and especially how that sort of man would affect us.” By “us”, he suspected Nimbus knew, he meant Polychrome, but the Captain said nothing. “They are a world of machines, of dark and heartless countries and industries that seem almost themselves machines, while in his own country they are a people of light and empty and it would seem almost meaningless entertainments, oblivious to much of the world around them… not that the other countries are truly much different. The people of that country have become ever more oriented to pleasures, hedonistic, focused on the self. And when he came here, though he had a veneer of courtesy, I thought that might be all he was. But now… yes, he is brash in some ways, loud, he has little of the manners one might have hoped for…”

Nimbus nodded slowly. “… but he has a sense of wonder that carries him when his rude or odd manners might fail, and those ‘light and empty’ entertainments have given him the keys of imagination that he needs, it would appear. Still…”

The Rainbow Lord turned away and paced, looking back down to where the mortal was now standing unarmed, hands and body going through gestures that seemed akin to, yet were not exactly, combat, muttering disjointed words even Iris could not make out. Then Erik paused, and Iris could tell he had caught sight of the smaller figure above him; Polychrome waved down at him, and the mortal stood immobile, staring up at her. “…Still? Yes, Nimbus, still, there are many questions unanswered, but we simply cannot get those answers here. And there is the question of myself, of my responsibility to a man who has come here to serve the most extreme need of faerie. Oh, indeed, I nearly did hate him for his presence, for what it would mean. But now…”

Nimbus was looking down as well. “Are… are you going to tell him, then?”

“I cannot. I dare not. The delicacy of following prophecy cannot be overestimated; a single mis-spoken word and all may unravel and be lost, dispelled as the mist before the sun.”

He could see in Nimbus’ nod that the Captain of the Guard understood – perhaps all too well. “And so you can offer him this as a … salve to your conscience. Yes, I suppose so, although if he dies in the process –”

“– Then he is not truly what we thought.” The Rainbow Lord frowned; Nimbus’ straightforward phrasing was unfortunately accurate, and Iris did not like seeing in himself a King who would so cynically use those around him. But it would be worse to deny it. “He will be losing as much as even I in the end – even if he lives. At least this I can give him, and I think someone such as he will appreciate what he sees. Perhaps it will even be of use; the inspiration to do these things does not come entirely at random, you know.” Both he and Nimbus looked to the sky for a moment and nodded.

“I will prepare him, then.” Nimbus turned to leave.

“Wait.” Below, Polychrome had danced her way down to the courtyard and was talking to the mortal; he could catch enough of the conversation to know she was taking him to the Evening Banquet at the Tower of Dawn, where many of the people of the Kingdom would be. In these last few days he was making the presence of the Hero known, raising the spirits of the Rainbow Kingdom by making it clear that they were now preparing to act, rather than merely survive. “Let him go for now. Tomorrow is soon enough.”

Nimbus smiled sadly, and bowed. “As you will, Majesty.”

1636 The Viennese Waltz – Snippet 37

1636 The Viennese Waltz – Snippet 37

Chapter 13: The Defectors Arrive

December, 1634

“I heard that they killed someone in Grantville and that’s why they ran,” Gayleen Sanderlin said over coffee and pastries at the still-not-completed pastry shop. The shop was located about a hundred yards from the race track and mostly catered to the race track workers.

“I hadn’t heard that,” Dana Fortney said. “But we’ll know when the next letter from Grantville arrives. Thurn and Taxis are really good. I was surprised at the speed they can deliver mail.”

“Should we invite them over?” Hayley asked. “The up-timers, I mean, not Thurn and Taxis.”

“Let’s wait on that till we have a better handle on what happened,” Ron Sanderlin said. “I don’t know the Barclays, but Jay Barlow was one of that Club 250 bunch. For him to run off to live among down-timers, it would have to be something serious. I’m not sure that they are the sort of people we want to be involved with.” Ron Sanderlin was a reasonably bright guy, however it was the “think with his hands” sort of bright, not the book learning sort of bright. He had made it through high school, but barely. He wasn’t overly fond of the sort of self-important jerks who waved their credentials in everyone’s face. That was one reason he still wasn’t fond of Simpson, even if the guy had sort of reformed. This group, with Club 250 types and college grads who still couldn’t make it in Grantville, didn’t sound like anyone he wanted to meet.

University of Vienna

“No.” Peter Barclay looked around the classroom, and saw the lectern that they called a desk. “I doubt the Fortneys and Sanderlins will be much help. They are no doubt decent enough people of their sort, but they lack the education to be of much help to us. As I understand it, they have but two high school diplomas between them, and no university training at all.” Peter wasn’t in any mood to deal with people from Grantville who would look at him and his companions as traitors in spite of the fact that they were here too.

“That was my impression as well,” Herr Doctor Himmler proclaimed from the lectern. “Craftsmen, useful at their craft, but lacking the understanding needed for higher callings.”

Peter Barclay had no idea why Herr Doctor Himmler was so willing to agree with him. He didn’t know that the doctor had heard about the Fortney family choosing Faust over himself to educate their children. Not, of course, that Herr Doctor Himmler would have taken the post had it been offered . . . but it should have been. All Peter Barclay knew was that Herr Doctor Himmler was clearly pleased to hear anything bad about the up-timers who were already residing in — or rather, near — Vienna. In fact, there were a number of the elite of Vienna who were pleased to hear anything bad about any up-timer. Especially members of the Fortney and Sanderlin clans.

Doctor Himmler asked a question about steam and Peter gave him the formula for the calories needed to turn water into steam. Then another professor asked him another question and he answered it. Peter knew a lot of this stuff of the top of his head as much because of the work he had been doing since the Ring of Fire as because of the engineering degree he had gotten years before. He explained that internal combustion was more efficient, working at higher temperatures, and that because of weight, aircraft engines would have to use internal combustion engines. He knew, but didn’t point out, that up-time there had been at least one steam aircraft that had operated. However, he felt that with down-time tech the only way to make an engine that would work in a flying machine was internal combustion reciprocating engines. A project that he knew he was better qualified to lead than anyone else, even Hal Smith. Smith might be an aeronautical engineer, but Peter Barclay was a mechanical engineer, so knew more about the design of engines.

Fortney House, Race Track City

The mail arrived. There were letters from the Barbies to Hayley, from friends and family to the Sanderlins. Dana had one from her sister Holly, wanting reassurance that the evil Austrians weren’t holding them prisoner, and Sonny had a rather long one from a down-time friend named Cavriani. It was quite a long letter, full of gossip including quite a bit about Istvan Janoszi who had recruited the Sanderlins and him, and apparently had also had a major hand in the recruitment of the defectors. Sonny was more than a little disappointed in Janos Drugeth. He had thought better of the man. Both as spy and as a man.

****

The first meeting with the defectors was stiffly formal and polite. The Barclays were brought to Race Track City to look over the race track and comment. Comment they did, but later. For now, they made notes.

Sonny showed them the race track and told them about his idea to bank the track on either end.

Ron showed them the 240Z and the garage. Peter and Marina Barclay made notes and asked questions.

The adults mostly ignored the children who were carefully doing the “seen and not heard” bit, partly because the kids on both sides were aware that there were politics involved and didn’t want to be involved. And also because the kids — Hayley, Carla Ann, Brandon, and Thomas — knew each other from Grantville, having been in the same grades in the same schools.

****

“What are you guys doing about school?” Carla Ann asked. “I hate that we moved here before I graduated.”

“There is a school here for young ladies,” Hayley Fortney told her. “It’s run by the Jesuitesses, the English Ladies. But I’m being tutored and taking correspondence courses.”

“Why aren’t you in the school?”

“I think I may not be high class enough.” Hayley grinned. “After all, my dad’s just the assistant auto mechanic for the emperor’s car. Besides, I like having a tutor better.”

Carla Ann nodded. Of course Hayley Fortney of the Barbie Consortium has her own tutor. I’ll be lucky to get tuition to the English Ladies’ school.

Paradigms Lost — Chapter 41

Paradigms Lost — Chapter 41

Chapter 41: Worries and Joys

Verne and Kafan stared at the reprinted articles, while Sylvie peeked over their shoulders. “H’alate,” muttered Verne. “This is most inconvenient.”

“Maybe not quite as bad as it seems.” I said. Verne had looked like Death warmed over when he came in, but that might have been the yellow street lights. He looked a little better, here in the office, than he had yesterday. I hoped that meant he was taking it easy. “With that kind of high profile, yeah, it’s certain that your enemies know where the kids are. But the good thing is that the high profile also makes it virtually impossible to just kidnap the kids. Doing a snatch-and-grab on some random runaway is one thing; kidnapping the children of a senator of the United States — especially one like Paula MacLain, who’s one of the most outspoken and uncompromising people I’ve ever seen — is very, very different.”

“True,” Verne said. “But it will be difficult to convince the lady to return her children to their father when that father is wanted across the globe. Giving him a new identity would work for ordinary situations, but you can be sure that if we ask her to hand over her children to us that she will have us investigated to the full extent of her powers, which are quite considerable. She would most certainly discover your internationally known identity, Kafan, and might find out some rather unwelcome facts about myself as well.”

Syl nodded. “And… didn’t she have a son before? One about Tai’s age? He got killed somehow. She’s going to hold on to those kids like grim death.”

I winced. I’d forgotten about that — it had happened about ten years ago, a little before I really started reading anything about politics, since in high school things like that seem pretty unimportant. But now that Syl mentioned it, I remembered; a plane crash, killed her husband and son, and it had something to do with her job so she might even have blamed herself somehow. “We’ll have to think about this.”

“What is there to think about?” Kafan demanded. “I am their father. They belong with me.”

“I’d tend to agree,” I said, “but the rest of the world knows you as a psycho killer, wanted by an international task force. Not exactly the kind of parent people want for children, you know.”

“Then we’ll tell her the truth.”

“Which truth? The one about genetic experiments? Kafan, that’d be a quick way to end up in yet another lab. The one about ancient civilizations that can’t have existed by all we know today? That would be a good way to get us all locked up. No, I’m sure there’s an angle here, but I’m going to have to work on it. At least relax some; we know where they are, and they’re being treated very well. They’re not suffering, and it’s for damn sure this organization won’t dare touch them as long as they’re in the Senator’s custody.”

Kafan’s lips tightened, showing faint hints of fangs underneath, until he got his temper under control. Then he shrank back, depressed even though the news was at least partly good. “You are correct. I cannot fight this whole world if I wish to live here.” He brooded for a moment, then asked, “What about Kay and Kei?”

I shook my head. “Sorry. Nothing yet. If they were captured again as you said, I’m not going to turn up anything quickly, even if they did move them. Most likely they’re still in the lab compound you mentioned, if they managed to keep it hidden this long. You can’t tell us where it is?”

“No.” The short, blunt monosyllable carried a world of frustration. “Showing me where I was on a map was never something they had in mind. And I just ran when I escaped. I had no time to mark bearings. Oh, put me back in the general area and I’ll find it, that I promise you, but I can’t show you where it is.”

“Too bad. But if we’re going to even think about finding some way to go back and get them, we absolutely have to find out where the compound is, and to be honest a whole lot more about it, too.” This was getting more and more difficult. I wasn’t James Bond, and I didn’t know anyone who qualified for the part, either. Jeri Winthrope was about as close as I got, and I sure didn’t like the idea of involving her in this — both because of the problems it could cause for us and the problems it’d cause for her. That was ignoring the possibly cosmic threat hanging over anyone who got too close to this mess. “Guess I’ll have to work on that too.”

Verne, still pale but looking definitely better than he had yesterday, sat up. “Jason, at this point I insist on paying you. This may require a great deal of your time and resources, and perhaps more than you can easily afford.”

I opened my mouth to protest, then shut it. It grated on me to charge a friend for something so important to them, but Verne was right. If I followed this thing to its logical conclusion, I might end up having to do everything from pay out bribes to mastermind and equip a commando raid! I shook my head at that; I didn’t think I knew anyone who even knew anyone who could do that. Oh well, one thing at a time. “Thanks, Verne. You’re right. This is going to get expensive no matter how I slice it.”

Taking out his checkbook, Verne wrote quickly and tore out the paper. I boggled at the amount. “Verne –”

“Don’t protest, Jason. Better to be overpaid than underpaid. You have no idea how little such a sum means to me, nor how highly I value your services.”

I nodded. “Okay.” I gestured at the pile of newspaper copies. “Take those if you want. I’d better get back to work. Besides this snafu, I’ve also got three other regular jobs on the burner.”

Sylvie remained behind after Verne, Kafan, and Gen had left. “Verne isn’t well, Jason.”

“Tell me something I don’t know.” I said. “He looks better than he did yesterday, though.”

She frowned, a distant and unfortunately familiar look on her face. “Maybe… but I have a bad feeling about that.”

I sighed. “Syl, sweetheart, maybe you can do something. It’s for sure that I’ve got enough to do here. I’m no vampire medic. He regards you very highly and talks about your being a ‘Mistress of Crystal,’ whatever that means. Maybe you can do something.”

Her expression lightened. “Why, thank you, Jason! For calling me ‘sweetheart,’ that is.”

I blushed; I could feel the heat on my cheeks. “So maybe it wasn’t ever a secret. Syl, you’re the only woman that makes me still feel like I’m fourteen, clumsy, and tongue-tied. Maybe that’s a good thing.” She started to say something — I could tell it would be another of the kinds of things that embarrassed me more — and then stopped. “Thanks. I don’t need to blush more than once a day.”

She smiled, a very gentle smile. “It doesn’t hurt your looks at all, you know. And that clumsy approach of yours helps me keep thinking I’m still in my teens too, so I’d say it’s a good thing.”

I smiled back, still nervous. “I guess you make me nervous because you’re the only woman I’m serious about.”

“Are you?”

I swallowed. “I’ve been in love with you for years, Syl. Just not ready to admit it.”

You can insert your own experience of a first happy kiss here; I’m pretty sure they’re all the same to the lucky people involved. Time stops, or passes, but it certainly doesn’t behave the same, and the rest of the world doesn’t exist. Oh, I’d kissed Syl before, quick pecks or something, and I’d certainly kissed a girl or two once I got out of my geek stage, but there just wasn’t any comparison at all. I’d been waiting to do this since I met her, and from her response, she’d been waiting just as long.

When lack of air finally signaled the end of eternity, I pulled back from her for a moment, looking into those deep blue eyes. “Whew.”

“So what was it you were so afraid of, Jason?”

“This. I like having control over my own life, and there’s no control over this.”

That smile again. “Do you want to change your mind?”

“Don’t you even think about it. After all the courage I had to work up there to mention that four-letter word ‘love,’ you’re not getting a chance to get away.” I wanted to spend the rest of the night — maybe the rest of the week — continuing what we’d started, but I couldn’t ignore business, either.

Especially when business also involved a friend. “Syl, can we make a date for tomorrow night? Right now I’d better keep working — I’ve already lost a couple days as it is. And do you think you can do anything for Verne?”

She grinned. “Not jealous of him any more?”

“What?!”

“I can sense things, you know that. And I could see your little pout every time Verne put on the charm and I smiled back at him.”

I gave a sour look. “Well, he does have a kind of overwhelming presence, not to mention that perfect sense of style.”

“Jealous, like I said. Don’t worry, Jason. I knew you were the one for me as soon as I saw you. I had a feeling about it.”

Now that really made me wince. “I don’t believe in destiny.”

“Then call it a self-fulfilling prophecy. I’m heading over to Verne’s. Maybe I can’t do anything, but then again maybe I can.”

“Thanks… Syl.”

Even after she left, it took a while to start concentrating on the work at hand.

Perfume stays with you.

Paradigms Lost — Chapter 40

Paradigms Lost — Chapter 40

Chapter 40: Solve One Problem, Get Two Free!

I frowned at the faces on my screen. One was definitely nonhuman; Tai as he’d be if he changed. Seb’s inhumanity was less obvious, though it was still there in subtle ways. The other two were how the children looked in their human guise. This was my first look at the pictures with a really clear head; after going over the details with Kafan several times, I’d wandered around my house sort of in a daze before finally going to bed. I hadn’t opened WIS today; it was evening now, and I was finally able to take a look at things and think about them.

This search wasn’t going to be routine. Assuming the truth of Kafan’s story, and seeing his furry child I really couldn’t doubt it, I wasn’t the only person looking for them. I also had to be very careful with the searches so I didn’t tip off anyone else. The last thing we wanted was to alert the government agencies that they had a genetic experiment living in Morgantown.

For that reason I’d decided not to involve Jeri Winthrope in this. She’d ended up taking a job as a police liaison here, though it was pretty certain that her real employers were still in Washington somewhere. I couldn’t ask her for phony ID without a lot of questions I didn’t want to answer. She’d be poking around asking things soon enough anyway, since she tried to keep an eye on Verne.

Well, might as well run it through the simple stuff. The influx of money from the Morgantown Incident had, at least, allowed me to get a lot of new toys I’d wanted, including SearchlightSoft’s photocomparator suite, and I’d customized the hell out of it already, both doing parts myself and contracting certain elements to three or four others, and by now I was pretty sure that the resulting suite was one of the most advanced photo-search programs in the world. I booted it up and then set a search running with various parameters to locate pictures of children from that general geographic area who were within the correct age range, and then to compare those with the two pictures on screen. As a programmer I’m only so-so, but I’m damned good at pattern logic problems, and that was the kind of thing information retrieval and photo comparison relied on. I didn’t expect much out of this first run; after all, it would be virtually impossible for them to be anywhere visible to the public without a good searcher finding them quick. But it would be stupid of me to pass up any chance. My search parameters might be different than the opposition’s, or I might have access to pictures they didn’t.

I leaned back and sorted through my mail. Bills… damn NiMo bill got higher every month. This bulky one… oh, the pictures from the State Police they wanted me to look at. This… the invoices from Ed Sommer on the work he was doing for Verne; Verne wanted me to look over them and make sure everything was okay. I wondered for a moment how he’d managed to hide Genshi and Kafan from them, even though a lot of the work had already been done by then. I glanced over the invoices… damn, even with all the money I was making these days I couldn’t pay this without selling everything I owned. Complete rewiring, lights… the works. I marked a couple of borderline entries — I didn’t know if all these things were needed, but if they were all installed we wouldn’t gripe, so I scribbled “tell Verne check if installed” on them and put it away.

The next letter brought a grin. Mom and Dad had written again. I opened the envelope and scanned the contents. Dad had gone to a jeweler’s convention — he made jewelry as a sort of hobby — and was working on some new stuff. He was about to retire from the college (Professor of Chemistry). Mom had retired from teaching a couple years ago and we had a continuing exchange of ideas going; I was going to have to read that section in more detail later, since there was no way to just dash off a reply to anything Mom wrote; she was too deep for that. They’d also included a Dilbert cartoon they thought I’d appreciate. I’d have to write back soon. It was sometimes a little difficult to write these days, though; I mean, they obviously knew about Virigar, but I was still trying to keep a lid on Verne. But Mom was an awfully sharp cookie and she’d know if I was hiding something.

The rest of the stuff was junk mail, which I consigned to the permanent circular file. I stretched, went to the kitchen and reheated some of the taco meat I’d made earlier that week. Fortified with a couple tacos sprinkled with onions, cheese, lettuce, and homemade salsa, I sat down at my second terminal and started downloading my e-mail. One got flagged immediately — it came from a remote drop which was a remote drop for a remote drop for… well, you get the picture. Only one person used that route: the Jammer.

Probably the best hacker/cracker in the world, the Jammer had taken a sort of brotherly interest in protecting my butt when Virigar first showed up. Since then, we’d had occasional correspondence. Once I’d started thinking about false ID, he’d been at the top of my mind. However, the way he’d disappeared a while back had indicated to me that, like Slippery Jim DiGriz, he’d gotten “recruited” by some bigger agency a while back. So I’d had to tiptoe around the subject to see what his reaction was.

TO:{Jason Wood}wisdom@wis.com

FROM:{The Jammer}

SUBJECT:RE: Old days

You’re not bad yourself, JW. I particularly liked the triple-loop trick you set up to make people trying to track this down follow the message in circles. But you really need to relax. Trust me, there isn’t anyone on the planet who can trace or decode a message I want kept secret except God himself, and even He’d have to do some serious work first.

It was hard to decide if I should laugh or growl at that. The problem with the Jammer was that he had an ego the size of the entire solar system. I was tempted to write back something like “If you’re that good, who was it that caught you?” but impulses like that are just stupid; if stroking his ego got good results, why should it bother me? I laughed. At least he had a sense of humor, which was more than a lot of geeks.

What you’re asking is if I still do some non-legit work? Normally no, but for you… as long as it’s not aiding and abetting a real crime, no problem. I’ve been itching for an excuse to hack something on my own lately anyway. My, um, friends don’t like to let me out to play very often except “on duty.” Not that that isn’t challenging work in itself, but… Doing an analysis of your prior inquiries, I’ll bet you need an ID.

I blinked. Thinking about it, and glancing through my messages again… yeah, I suppose you might be able to get that… but it took a pattern sense as good or better than mine to do it dead cold. Maybe I shouldn’t call it “ego.”

If it’s one for yourself, I’ve got everything I need already; if it’s for someone else, I need all the info you can give me — blood type, fingerprints, photos, the works. The more I can work with, the more I can give you. Drop me a line and let me know.

The JAMMER

Not bad. One major problem probably solved. I glanced over at the comparison program, sorting through picture after picture… no hits. I didn’t expect any. Picking up the phone, I called Verne. As usual, Morgan answered and called Verne to the phone. “Hello, Jason.”

“Got a couple marks on those invoices — you just have to make sure he installed all the stuff he says he installed. I’ll come over and do that now, if you like. I’ve got the machines running on something that doesn’t need my presence. I’m going to stop by the mini-mart for a couple things, then I’ll be right over.”

“By all means. Thank you, Jason.”

The mini-mart wasn’t too busy as I walked in the door. I noted the security camera with its odd bulbous attachment. Nothing brought home the profound changes that were happening more than this prosaic addition: that attachment was, with slight changes, basically the same as the headpiece I’d worn while searching out werewolves in the hospital hallways. Except that this one wasn’t made by me, or under my license. Which means I’d give a better than fifty percent chance it’s useless. I pulled out my pocket camera and snapped a pic of it; the gadget wasn’t a brand I recognized. One more to be hit up for infringement claims.

I grabbed the few items I was looking for and headed back out.

There were unaccustomed faint lines of concern on Morgan’s usually impassive, English-butler face. I saw the reason immediately. “Verne!”

Nothing essential had changed in him; he still had the dark, wide eyes that could hold you with a magnetic presence, the distant and aristocratic stance. But beneath the dusky olive color natural to his skin, his paleness had become something beyond mere vampiric pallor; he was washed out, diminished, as though being slowly leached of his color and his strength. The way he stood was unnaturally stiff. And in his dark hair I thought I saw a few strands of white and gray. “Jesus. Verne, you look like crap.”

A tired smile crossed his face. “As usual, your diplomacy is staggering, Jason. You are not the first to inform me of this. And your face said all that needed to be said.”

“What’s wrong?”

Verne shrugged. “I am not sure. There have been a few, a very few, cases in which I felt similarly, aside from the one time I was forced to cross desert plains with little to no shelter — that was infinitely worse. I suspect all the changes in my life, from finding Raiakafan to simply trying to become more human again have made me overwork. For if I lie down to rest, and my mind does not enter the proper state, I do not gain the proper amount of rest; those of my sort do not sleep in truth, any more than the Earth sleeps, but there is a difference between activity and rest even so.”

I couldn’t keep the concern from my voice. “I hope that’s all it is. Look, just take it easy. Anyone would be a little punchy after all this stuff’s happened, but you’re the only one who can take care of you. I mean, what would I do if you collapsed, call 911 and tell the paramedics I have a sick vampire here?”

“Indeed.” Verne straightened with a visible effort. “But let me see these invoices… Ah, I see. I believe those sockets were installed, but let us check.”

We went through the huge mansion, checking off the items. Personally, I’d rather have seen Verne go to bed, but his tone and manner indicated that, weak or not, he wasn’t about to listen to me or any other mortal doing a mother hen imitation.

From that, I figured he was a lot more worried than he let on. In his room, we stopped and he grabbed a bottle of AB+, draining the entire thing without even letting it warm. This made him visibly less pale, but something about it struck me as vaguely false, like the temporarily alert feeling you might get from amphetamines or a lot of coffee. Still, he moved more easily and the gray strands were no longer visible in his hair. Maybe he just hadn’t been eating right. Was there such a thing as vitamin deficiency for a vampire… nature priest, whatever?

“Very good, Jason,” Verne said finally. “All seems to be in order. I will pay these invoices, then. Thank you for checking them.”

“No problem. Where’s Kafan?”

“Sleeping. He tends to keep to Gen’s schedule, and we don’t want Gen to become habitually nocturnal.”

As good a chance as any. “Verne, there’s one thing that’s been bothering me about him.” I grinned momentarily. “Well, one new thing. I know his story now, but… there’s a few times he seems to just change his whole personality, going from someone who’s about as normal as you could expect anyone to be with his background, to… well, I don’t know how to say it. Almost a machine, a killing machine.”

Verne’s expression was too carefully neutral, so I raised an eyebrow. “Well? What’s going on?”

He shook his head. “You are correct in your observation, Jason. There is some other trigger, some other mystery associated with him, and I have talked about it with him as much as I am able. It is not associated with the Project, that much I have learned; but it does have the sort of … programmed reactions one might have expected from such an organization if they were to have tried to make use of him. But Raiakafan is adamant about two things: first, it has nothing to do with the Project he escaped from, and second, that no one must pry too far into this mystery or he will be forced to kill them, or die trying.”

“Even you?”

“He implied that he would try to resist any impulses associated with me… and he was sworn to my service in ancient, ancient days, and that oath still has the force of the Lady behind it. But anyone else would have no protection at all.”

Great. A mystery within a mystery. “I’d bet, if we knew what it was, we’d know how he can be here, today, when he disappeared completely from your city half a million years back.”

Verne nodded. “I, too, believe that is the case. Wherever he went in that time… it made him into something else. Something he mostly has thrown off or represses, unless it threatens to probe into that particular secret, or threatens his life.”

I shrugged. This was a problem for later; I had more than enough on my plate for now. “Well, say hi to him and Genshi for me. I don’t know how long this search is going to take me, but I’ve already started on it. Might as well get home and try to get my schedule back on track.”

“An excellent idea. I will see you later, then.”

I stopped and turned in the doorway. “Verne, take care of yourself, okay?”

“Of course, Jason.”

I drove back to my house slowly. If Verne was really sick, I didn’t see how anyone could do anything. Presumably he and Morgan knew more about that than anyone else. Maybe Kafan, I suppose. Would there have been anything like first aid for Verne’s kind, or was that like thinking of stocking bandages for God?

I really should have started work on those State Police photos, but my heart just wasn’t in it tonight. I put in Casablanca and let it run while I ate a very late-night snack. Finally, as Rick and Louis walked off through the rain, I headed upstairs to get to bed; I wasn’t that tired, but if I didn’t get back on track… I glanced over at the search station. It had stopped comparisons finally. I reached out to shut it off, when the message on the screen hit me with delayed impact:

Matches: 10

Ten matches? I hadn’t even expected one! Bedtime forgotten, I sat down at the keyboard and had it call up the ten matching pictures.

As they appeared onscreen, I heard myself say “Oh, crap.”

I’d had a vague feeling that the boys’ faces were familiar, but I’d put it down to having seen their father and talked over their appearance for hours. But as soon as the photos with their headlines appeared, I remembered all too well where I’d seen them:

Senator MacLain adopts two Viet children.

1636 The Viennese Waltz – Snippet 36

1636 The Viennese Waltz – Snippet 36



“Why didn’t anyone get plastic?” Hayley asked.

“Because it wasn’t all that long after Delia Higgins’ dolls hit Vienna and among the notes on the dolls was that they were made of plastic, a material that could be made up-time but not down-time. So everyone knew that plastic couldn’t be made down-time.”

“So it was all about the rumors of what could be done coming out of Grantville back in 1631?” Hayley more said than asked.

“Early 1632, but basically yes. The patent on the Bessemer steel process went for a pretty penny and the patent on the integrated circuit is still sitting there waiting for a buyer. So is the electric motor, by the way.”

That added another job once the word got around. Patent consultant. Actually working on the car didn’t take much time at all. Mostly it was keeping it clean — well, supervising the down-timers who kept it clean. It would be four more months at the earliest before it needed another oil change. And there was only so much time that they could spend on it. When the emperor came out, Ron and Bob had to be on hand just to show that they were doing something. But a car is not a horse. It doesn’t need to be fed every day and its stall doesn’t need to be mucked out. Nor does it need rubdowns every day. Every week is more than sufficient, and up-time the 240Z would have gotten a wax job every six months or so.

Sonny was busy enough working on surveying a railroad and designing steam engines to pull trains along it. But Ron and Bob found that good pay for little work was frustrating. Now they were constantly being called in to look over patents and try to tell the patent holder how to build whatever the patent was for.

Not the big ones like concrete or steam engines, but the little things that the lower-level courtier and the mid-level Them of Vienna had gotten stuck with. Clothespins and clipboards, eggbeaters and egg separators, safety pins and spatulas, that sort of thing.

Meanwhile, the owner of the coking patent wanted Ron to go over the notes on how coking worked to help get him into production.

Sanderlin’s bedroom, Race Track City

“I hate this,” Ron complained to Gayleen in late November. “I was never into books and you know the trouble I had in my senior year of high school.” He waved the papers at her.

Gayleen did know. Ron was good with his hands, but he wasn’t much for book learning. He never had been, which was why she was the one who handled the family finances. Ron had to sell the car to get the money to get his mom a place in one of the villages outside the Ring of Fire. And to sell the car, he had to provide a mechanic. That worked for Ron because he was a mechanic, and was one of the main reasons that they had beat out the other people who were interested in selling their cars.

Uncle Bob had never gotten along with Vera May, Ron’s mom. In fact, Bob didn’t want to stay in the same state as Ron’s mom — an attitude Gayleen couldn’t help but agree with. Nothing really wrong with Ron’s mom, except she ruled whatever house she was in. In Gayleen’s case, there was also the issue that Mother Teresa and Miss America combined wouldn’t be good enough for her little Ronny. She looked over at her husband and tried not to grin. “Sorry, dear, but they are paying pretty good.”

“They’re paying damn good. I just wish Sonny was here to look at this stuff.”

Ron had never told Gayleen outright, but she was pretty sure that Sonny Fortney was some sort of spy the government wanted to put in Vienna. It made her a bit nervous sometimes. “Why?”

“Because he was involved in the coking works that they set up in Saalfeld after the Ring of Fire.”

“It seems like he was involved in everything after the Ring of Fire.”

“He was. He was the go-to guy for the Mechanical Support division after the Ring of Fire. He worked on the natural gas conversion and the coking ovens. Then they moved him over to the surveying corp, and I don’t know what all else. But he knew Treasury Secretary Wendell, Quentin Underwood and Chad Jenkins, that whole banking bunch, before the Ring of Fire. He could have been one of the financial movers and shakers.”

“So why wasn’t he?” Gayleen asked. Ron rarely talked about Sonny Fortney.

“He went to work for Mike Stearns and Frank Jackson,” Ron told her. “There were some rumors when he got put in the mechanical support division. And it turns out, they were true.”

“He’s a spy,” Gayleen said.

“Not exactly. He’s more of a general fixer, I think.” Ron looked over at her and Gayleen was surprised at how serious his expression was. “You remember what Mike said at the town meeting three days after the Ring? The part about starting the American Revolution early?”

Gayleen nodded.

“I think Sonny’s been doing that ever since the Ring of Fire. That’s why I agreed to let him come. ‘Cause I believe in America. Up-time or down-time, it’s still America. It’s still the same truths that Jefferson talked about. And it’s still the same stakes.”

Gayleen nodded again. Though, if she was entirely honest, she really wished that it wasn’t her and her babies risking their lives, fortunes, and sacred honor. She had no desire at all to see the inside of an Inquisition torture chamber.

The New Church at Race Track City

“They should be brought before the Inquisition,” Father Lamormaini said, though not, Father Degrassi thought, with any great heat. “They are heretics, after all. And from what I understand, that woman Dana Fortney is something called a New Age spiritualist. They say she practices yoga . . . whatever that is.”

That much was true, Father Degrassi knew. They were sitting in his apartments in the new church that had been built along with the other new buildings at Race Track City. He was in a delicate situation. He was a parish priest as well as a Jesuit, and in his parish the only people who weren’t Catholic were the patricians of Race Track City. “I talked to Dana Fortney and she showed me her books on yoga. It’s an interesting exercise, but hardly the work of the devil. Besides, they are under the protection of the emperor, and he knew that they were not Catholics before they were hired. And I think there is a real possibility of converting some of them.”

“Secret up-timers.” Lamormaini snorted.

“Cardinal Mazzare!” Father Degrassi shot back, even though he appreciated the wit of Lamormaini’s play on “secret Jews.”

“Politics. Mazzare is as much a political cardinal as the Cardinal-Infante. Politics, not faith.”

“We are Jesuits, Father, and Pope Urban has spoken.”

“Not definitively.”

Degrassi wasn’t sure that Father Lamormaini was wrong, but he wasn’t willing to push things. The truth was that the Ring of Fire had challenged his faith in way that he never would have expected, and he didn’t know how to handle it. He was a cautious man by nature and his focus was on scholarship, so he was not going to be rushed into any position. As well, he rather liked Dana Fortney and was considering taking her yoga classes.

Polychrome – Chapter 16

Polychrome – Chapter 16

Chapter 16.

“We’re running out of time, I think.”

Iris nodded, surveying the training area with eyes that seemed to look far beyond the walls of the castle. “You have come far, and your words have convinced me that you do have some plan. In a week or two, perhaps, no more. Have you decided on what you will do when you leave?”

“I’m pretty sure what I need to do. I have to cross the Deadly Desert alone, and even as a True Mortal that’s not going to be easy. The Prophecy also says,

With one companion he sets out,

another he must win

But that could be I set out from here with one, or from wherever I’m supposed to seek wisdom.” I glanced up at him.

The Rainbow Lord shook his head. “None from here. Polychrome will bring you into Faerie, but until you have found your way to Oz itself, I will not have her leaving again. She is marked by the enemy, and they watch her every move. A quick foray on the Rainbow to bring you down, yes, that she can do, but no more.”

It didn’t take a genius to see that he would rather she wasn’t involved at all, but having now been living there for nearly a year, it was also pretty obvious that he didn’t have much chance at all in getting her to stay out of everything. “So what are you doing here now?”

“You could call this your final exam, Erik Medon.” Nimbus leaned on his sword, a smile I didn’t like at all on his face.

“I’ve been doing pretty good for someone who hardly ever saw a sword before, I think.”

“And not one of us would disagree. As an older mortal – not old, true, but not in the bloom of youth – you seem to have gained some perspective which perhaps a younger man would not, giving you something to make up for the reflexes you might have lost.” Nimbus effortlessly sheathed his sword, and paced around the room. “We have found a way to replicate the effect of your medicines, so your own body should not kill you if you are given enough time to use them, and you have become quite adept at judging exactly how far you can push your body.”

I smiled wryly. “Learned a lot of that many years ago; pay attention to the signals your bod gives you, or it might never give you any again.”

“Wisdom and truth, my friend. Still, all of your training has been with my warriors. Formidable they are, and very much like some of those you will have to face, and yet… not quite. We cannot give you a foretaste of the true power of the Tempests, Infernos, Temblors, and Torrents at the command of our enemies, but it is to be hoped that many of their advantages will find themselves useless against a True Mortal. However,” he turned to face me again, “in the end you must face even more formidable opponents, and of that we can give you a sample.”

I blinked. “Oh, I have a bad feeling about this.” The old quote felt all too true.

Yes, that was a very evil grin on Nimbus’ face. “All you have to do is take down both of your opponents. Not even, necessarily, show that you could finish them. Merely take them down.”

I turned my head slowly, to see Iris Mirabilis, the Rainbow Lord, unlimbering a sword that would have been more appropriate as a helicopter rotor blade, twenty feet or more long and over a foot wide, double-edged. “Oh, you have got to be kidding me.”

“Far from it, Erik Medon. You will be facing opponents as formidable as myself – perhaps, even, my size. For do not forget one of the new rulers of Oz was once a Giant, and may use other Giants against you.”

“You said ‘both’ of my opponents,” I said, still having a hard time taking my gaze from that monstrous blade, “who’s the second? You, Nimbus?” That would be bad; with no false modesty I knew I’d gotten to be pretty damn good, but there was no way I would outmatch the immortal guard captain, especially with the Rainbow Lord ready to step on me like a bug.

“Oh, no, not me.” The smile he wore was still evil. “Neither of your ultimate opponents are, after all, master warriors, though I would not underestimate their skills entirely. However, there is a much more appropriate choice in this case.”

I glanced in the direction he indicated. Polychrome stood there, a crystal staff in her hand.

Oh, Jesus H. Particular Christ on a pogo stick. “I can’t fight her!”

Iris’ sword stabbed down inches in front of me, embedding itself in the smoky-blue floor, shattering the mystical stone like glass. “One of your opponents is a woman of beauty enough to perhaps even match my daughter, mortal,” the Rainbow Lord said, looking grimly down at me as I recovered my balance from the sudden shock. “We do not require you to truly hurt or kill either of us, but you must be able to fight anything and anyone. Ugu the Unbowed is a master of illusion as well as of more direct magics, and properly cast such illusions will fool even you until you actually touch their source. You must follow your convictions, fight your opponents, let nothing distract you.”

Poly spun her staff around like a baton, showing that she wasn’t at all unfamiliar with the weapon. “Erik, I appreciate that you don’t want to hurt me… but if you don’t at least try, I’m going to have to hurt you, and I really don’t want to do that.”

I stared at her for a moment, then swallowed. They were completely right. I couldn’t be expected to fight the real thing if I couldn’t win a sparring match against something roughly equivalent. “All right.” I pulled out my latest sword and hitched my armor slightly; the armorers had gotten used to supplying me with replacements after every session, so at least now they fit me perfectly.

Nimbus backed off.

Even before he’d fully reached shelter, Iris Mirabilis charged, whirling his blade up and then down in a killing stroke.

He is actually large enough that I can dodge him… and I’d damn well better when possible. I tumblesaulted between his legs, trying to smack his ankle; I managed a glancing blow, but that didn’t do much.

A blaze of clashing colors erupted around me, and I almost closed my eyes reflexively; only my training in ignoring the actually-ineffectual magical attacks kept my eyes slitted open; that allowed me to see Polchrome streaking in through the dazzle. I swung the sword around, flat side to her. There was no chance for her to –

And she was gone.

A stinging thwack from behind. I whirled, saw Polychrome fading away again, but now I was dodging as that gigantic sword came down, carving a ditch in the mystical cloud-stone we fought on. I took advantage of that magical characteristic and jumped hard. The stone, as rigid and unyielding to faeries as it appeared, bowed and rebounded like a mass of rubber under me; in effect, my anti-magic repelled the magical stone, sending me hurtling into the air where I took a cut at Iris’ head; he ducked, but I cut deep into his shoulder-guard and staggered him with the impact.

One of his crackling balls of lightning thundered down at me as I landed, but I was more concerned with Polychrome. I remembered the scene in the Nome King’s halls in… was it Tik-Tok of Oz? … where Ruggedo had tried to catch her and she’d simply humiliated him. Now I understood what Baum had tried to convey. The other Faerie were much faster than I was, but you could still follow them. Polychrome was like a flickering sunbeam off of water, darting from one point to another. Part of me was getting frustrated, the other just fascinated, watching her move here, there, seeming almost everywhere at once. No single stroke of that staff was terribly damaging, but if I couldn’t stop her –

And the Rainbow Lord was there again, slower by far than his daughter but still terrifyingly fast, the sword coming straight down, Poly disappearing to reappear – I was sure – behind me.

That gave me a minor inspiration. I brought my sword up in a focused parry and, at the same time, kicked out behind me.

I felt my foot connect at the same time Iris’ massive sword slammed into my own. The impact jarred me from teeth to toes and I was hammered at least four inches into the stone as my sword shattered and Iris’ was gouged deeply. He staggered back from the sheer force of the parry and I turned as fast as I could, seeing Polychrome just as she finished her tumble across the floor.

But she was getting up, though slowly; I shoved away my instinctual impulse to run to her and ask if she was okay. I have to get BOTH of them down!

As fast as I was, it still wasn’t enough. She dodged from me with a laugh. “That was well done, Erik! But you have to do better!” There was both encouragement and concern on her face.

And then I heard, too late, the whoosh of air behind me.

The flat of Iris’ sword took me right across the back, sent me sailing up and across the room like a golf ball. I caromed off one wall, smacked into the next face first, and then skittered across the floor like an air-hockey puck. I woozily tried to roll, keeping the Rainbow Lord from getting another bead on me, but Polychrome was already there, bashing me about the head and body, beating me like a cheap drum. Every blow stung, and I could taste blood from where my front teeth had gouged my upper lip.

And this isn’t a mob. It’s just two very powerful people. Who don’t even really want to kill me. And they’re not going to hogpile me like the guards. They’ll just keep bashing me piecemeal until I collapse or surrender.

And then I fail.

I forced myself to my feet, but that damn staff tripped me up again – and just as I hit the floor, Iris stomped on me.

The breath exploded from my lungs at the impact. Thank whatever gods there are that the magical stone gives like rubber to me, or he’d be scraping me off his shoe. I felt the stone rebound as he stepped back, and despite being almost totally disoriented managed to use that, flip upright, then tumble drunkenly away to buy just a little time.

Rebound…?

It was a crazy idea… but it fit with all the crazy things I could already do, and the way magic worked around me.

I rose to my full height, bringing both my arms up, seeing Iris already almost on me to the right, Poly streaking in from the left…

“Try this!”

I brought both my arms down, bending double, practically dropping to the ground, focusing my attack not on either of them, but on the floor; the stone which was not real stone, but mystically-solidified cloud, the fabric of the Rainbow Lord’s realm.

The impact bowed the floor under me by ten feet or more and rebounded in a shockwave that thundered outward like a tsunami, hurling Polychrome into the air and away like a toy and toppling Iris Mirabilis as though his legs had been cut out from under him. I was up in that moment, leaping through the air. I caught his impossible sword and laid it across his throat. “Down.”

Polychrome had not yet risen; she stared from the floor in utter amazement, and her father’s eyes were wide.

Nimbus emerged from the doorway, clapping, and his applause was echoed by the other warriors who surged into the room. “You pass, my friend!”

Polychrome launched herself from the floor and flung her arms around me, and then, laughing, danced around me. “Oh, that was beautiful, Erik!”

I couldn’t take my eyes from her. She was beautiful. No, she was beauty itself. And strength, and joy.

And now I knew I was in real trouble. I’d fallen in love with Polychrome when I was a kid, reading the books… but that wasn’t the same as this. I’d known her for a year. She’d been a support, an advisor, sometimes the only encouragement I had, and now I could see she was just as tough and strong as her father, and what I felt for her now … was something I didn’t dare even contemplate.

It’s a good thing I’m leaving soon.

That was the right thought to have. But it made the whole adventure suddenly feel a tiny bit darker.

1636 The Viennese Waltz – Snippet 35

1636 The Viennese Waltz – Snippet 35

Yes, there was coal, Ron discovered. But it was as yet mostly not found. The one bit of good news was the Danube. Shipping cost would be much less over a pretty long stretch, because of the Danube. The bad news was the patents that Ferdinand II had been issuing to anyone with the money to purchase one. Patents had been sold on most inventions and industrial processes brought back by the Ring of Fire. At least, on the ones that Austrians had found out about.

The Liechtenstein family owned a bunch of them, and so did lots of other wealthy nobles. Including the Abrabanels. Often enough, it wasn’t even because they wanted them. More a case of the emperor saying, “Yes, I know that I owe you a fortune, but take this patent on helicopters and we’ll call it even.”

It was apparently pretty hard to say no to an emperor.

****

“It’s almost tempting to buy some of these patents.” Hayley nibbled on one of Frau Mayr’s honey nut rolls. The woman was doing her best to make Hayley fat. “A bunch of people are offering to sell patents at a loss, and no one knows what they are worth.”

“Are they worth anything?” Ron Sanderlin asked.

“Not in Grantville or the USE. But here? Maybe.” Then Hayley shook her head. “No. At some point they are going to have to make peace and regularize the patent laws, and then almost all of these patents are going to be worthless. In the meantime, though, there are a bunch of relatively powerful people trying to get their money back on patents that they were forced to buy. It’s going to make it hard to do much.”

“What concerns me,” Dana Fortney said, “is that any business we start is going to run into one of these patents. I wonder who owns the patent on casein and when we are going to get sued.”

“That’s a good point, Mom,” Hayley said. “I think we need to have a talk with Jack. And maybe a talk with the emperor about his race track. Meanwhile, Mom, can you get an appointment with Moses Abrabanel? I am probably going to have to get some sort of money transfer from Grantville.”

Abrabanel House, outside Vienna

Dana Fortney managed to get an appointment with Moses Abrabanel, but it took a week. She was simply the wife of the second assistant mechanic of the emperor’s car. Sonny was out of town at the moment, working with a team of down-time surveyors to get started on the route for the railroad.

“Have a seat, Frau Fortney. What can I do for you?” Moses was a young man. About thirty, Dana guessed. Down-time thirty, which looked older to up-time eyes. He looked about her age. He wasn’t balding, but his hairline was definitely in retreat. He wasn’t fat, but was developing a bit of a paunch. He was well-dressed and bearded. The dress included the special feature that Jews were required to wear, but was of very good quality. The room was small like most down-time offices but there were file cabinets along one wall. They were wood, probably oak, she thought, and inlayed with a lighter wood, but definitely file cabinets. He also had an up-time style desk and chairs.

“Well, we’re going to have to send home for some money,” Dana said. “I understand that you have contacts with the Grantville national bank.”

“Yes, I do. But I must admit to some surprise,” Moses told her. “I am involved in the court payroll, and as per contract your family has been paid every month, as have the Sanderlins?”

Dana could hear the implied question. Not that it was any of his business. On the other hand, she knew perfectly well that a lot of people in Vienna resented the fact that the Sanderlins and Sonny were getting paid every month. She had learned after they got here that actually being paid by the crown was unusual. Also he might be able to help. “It’s the patents. We have been putting people to work and a few days ago, on the emperor’s instructions, Ron Sanderlin started looking into the possibility of getting concrete to pave the race track. It was then that we learned that the Holy Roman Empire had issued patents on the devices and techniques brought back in the Ring of Fire.” Dana could hear her own resentment and tried to modify her tone. “There are no such restrictions in the USE and we were, until then, unaware of the restrictions here.”

The youngish man winced a little. “It was necessary,” he explained. “The tax base of the empire has been badly stressed by the military reverses we have suffered in the last few years, and yet the demands on the royal purse have only increased.”

“In any case, it is an unexpected expense and we don’t know how much it’s going to cost.”

“Perhaps I can help with that. I know a clerk in the office of patents who can probably tell who, if anyone, holds the patent on a specific product or process. And then I should be able to point you in the direction of the patent holder.”

They talked some more and Moses agreed to make the necessary inquiries to establish a credit line from Grantville. A few days later, Dana sent him a list of products and processes that they were interested in. It turned out that no one owned the process of making casein. Someone did own the patent on sewing machines, but it was on making them, not using them.

They managed to buy the patent on the manufacture of plastic for the area around Vienna. The assumption had been that plastic was beyond the present ability of the up-timers, and the realization that casein was plastic hadn’t penetrated the court. So the patent on plastic was not considered of any great value, at least not yet.

Sanderlin House, Race Track City

“This includes a lot of guesswork,” Dana Fortney told Gayleen and Hayley. Then she took a sip of coffee and didn’t grimace. She liked sugar in her coffee, but sugar was much more expensive than coffee here in Vienna. “What seems to have happened is some of the old emperor’s agents sent back long lists of products and processes. Some of them very general, like plastics, and some very specific, like injection molding of toy soldiers. What they didn’t send was much information about how any of it worked. That was left up to the people who bought the patents.”

“They must have sold them to the very rich,” Gayleen said. “Most people can’t afford to send an agent to Grantville to figure out how to make . . .”

Dana was shaking her head. “You’re right about most of the people not being able to send agents to Grantville. But that’s not how they did it. Instead, people were encouraged to attend auctions and bid on something. The old emperor apparently didn’t care much what they bid on or how many patents they got as long as they spent enough money in total to fit their status at court. Some people bid the required amount on whatever came up and wasn’t being bid up by other people.”