Eric Flint's Blog, page 293

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.”

 

Paradigms Lost — Chapter 39

Paradigms Lost — Chapter 39

Chapter 39: But Wait, There’s MORE!

“I wonder if I would have thought that,” Verne concluded, “had I known what would come to pass.”

For the second time that night, I was speechless. After battling vampires and werewolves, I’d thought I was ready for anything. Even Kafan’s story was, well… modern. Elias Klein had been a thoroughly twentieth-century vampire. Virigar, the Werewolf King, was at home in this world of computers and automobiles. Kafan’s mad scientist and secret labs were just a part of the more paranoid tabloid headlines.

But this was like opening the door to my house and finding Gandalf and Conan the Barbarian in a fight to the finish with Cthulhu and Morgan le Fay.

Syl, of course, was in her element. Lost civilizations, Eonae the Earth Goddess, magic, no problem. “So what happened?”

“Raiakafan, naturally, was perfect for a Guardian — one of the warriors whose job it was to protect the Temple and the priests and lead the defense of the city. The fact that he wasn’t a woman caused great opposition, but even his worst enemies had to admit that in pure fighting spirit and skill, he had no real equal. He had difficulty with the more diplomatic and intellectual demands of the position, but he was by no means stupid and managed to pass those requirements as well. In the end, not only did he become the High Guardian, but he married Kaylarea, daughter to the High Priest Seirgei. Kaylarea, in her turn, became the High Priestess, chosen vessel of the Lady, so that in truth one could say that Raiakafan married the Lady Herself.”

I could see Kafan blinking. Obviously much of this was as much news to him, with his foggy memory, as it was to us.

Verne looked off into the distance, seeing something in his distant past. He looked slightly more pale and worn than usual — probably because of all this stress. “Then came the Demons. The same ones, I thought, who had destroyed Atlantaea so long ago. In the fighting, Kaylarea was killed, Raiakafan and his children Sev’erantean and Taiminashi disappeared, and Atla’a Alandar was devastated. Five years later, just as we were finishing the reconstruction, the Curse fell upon us.”

“Curse?”

Verne nodded. “An enemy of mine finally devised a… punishment suitable enough, he thought, for my daring to oppose him long ago. The curse he placed upon my people was what produced the race of vampires such as Elias Klein. It was a mockery of the Blessing of Eonae; I drink blood to remind me intimately of the ties between all living things; I partake on occasion of the life force, freely given, of others because that life-energy is what separates the world of matter from that of spirit; I am, or was in the beginning, harmed by the Sun because I am tied wholly to the Earth and other powers are excluded from me; only when I grew into my strength could I face the power from which other life drew its strength. And only things living or formerly living can harm me, because only life may touch that which draws upon its very essence. All these aspects and more were twisted and mocked in the Curse. My people …”

He closed his eyes and clenched his jaw for some moments before he continued. “My people, for the most part, destroyed themselves in the madness of the Curse; the few who ‘survived’ were twisted by the magic into becoming something else. The Curse sustains itself by life-energy, so even when virtually all magic disappeared, it continued, though its sufferers were weakened. And, in the end, I myself became so embittered that for a very long time I very nearly became the same as those made in my twisted image. A diabolical and, yes, most fitting vengeance.”

I shook my head and finally looked up. “Okay, so let me see if I get this story straight. You were the high Priest… er, Speaker for Eonae, what we’d call Gaia. The spirit of the Earth itself. And Eonae talked to you, for real. That’s where you get your power. And Kafan here was a little boy who trained to become palace guard. How long ago?”

“Approximately five hundred thousand years.”

I gagged. “What? Half a million years?! Are you completely out of your mind, Verne? There weren’t even people back then, at least not human beings like we know today!”

“I told you,” Verne said calmly. “Much of what science knows about that era is wrong. Not because your scientists are stupid or are, as so many foolish cultists would have it, looking in the wrong places or ‘covering up’ the truth. No, the truth is far, far more frightening, Jason. Your scientists are looking at falsified evidence. The geological record… the traces of the greatest civilization ever to exist… all of them erased, and rewritten, rewritten so as to make it as though they never existed at all, to expunge from all memory the knowledge of what was.”

I tried to imagine a power capable of such a thing; to wipe out every trace of a civilization, to remove fossil traces of one sort, replacing them with another… I couldn’t do it. “Impossible. Verne, you’ve flipped your vampiric lid.”

“If only it were so simple. Do you understand now, Jason? Why even after all this time I must be terribly, terribly careful not to reveal the truth to any save those who absolutely must know it? Power such as that is beyond simple comprehension. Although much of that power would now be useless here, with magic closed off from this world, still there remains the potential for unimaginable destruction.”

I searched Verne’s face, desperately hoping for some trace of uncertainty, insanity, self-delusion. Even a lunatic vampire was preferable to believing this. But there was no trace of any of those; just a grim and haunted certainty that this was truth, truth known by one who had lived through it. Like a delayed blow, another fact slammed into me; that meant that Verne was that old, older not just than any civilization we knew of, but older than the very species Homo sapiens should ever have been. Old enough to have seen the mammoths come and go, to have watched glaciers flow down from the north to invade the southern plains and retreat again, like frozen waves on a beach. And becoming more powerful with each passing year… and yet still terrified of the powers that had destroyed the world he knew.

I shook my head and leaned back. “This… this is awfully hard to take in, Verne.”

“I understand. Do you understand why it is necessary to tell these things to you?”

I rubbed my jaw. “Not completely. I see the connection — that is, that you’ve got two separate histories here for the same man, both incompatible with each other. But why it’s necessary that I be made aware of more than one of these histories… no, I’m not quite clear on that.”

“Neither am I,” Kafan said.

Verne sighed. “Because we need you immediately for something having to do with the first, and because the very existence of the second means that anyone involved in this may have to face the legacy of that past. Jason, think on what I’ve told you. Five hundred millennia ago, my adopted son and his two children vanished from the face of the Earth. All my powers and those of the Lady could not tell us where they had gone, or why. Kafan’s people are long-lived, but they age. Yet Raiakafan is scarce older than when he disappeared. His presence here is utterly impossible, as is this other life. Somehow he was returned here. But if my son can return, I cannot help but worry that this means that the enemies against which he guarded us have returned as well. So I cannot, in good conscience, bring you into this without making you aware of what dangers you may face.”

“It’s simpler than that,” I said after a pause. “If these people were willing to wipe out entire civilizations, surely they’re the kind that prefer to be ‘safe than sorry'; because I know you, they’d likely kill me anyway, just to be sure.”

“Indeed.” Verne nodded. “And to be honest… my friends… I lost my faith — in myself, in the Lady — long ago. In great part, you, Jason, allowed me to start accepting myself again. In the past between that of the Sh’ekatha and the time we met, I did things which repel me, which were the very antithesis of what I am. Yet… yet her blessing was never truly withdrawn from me, though it could well have been. Her last Speaker survives still… And that which was lost may be regained now, as she wished. But I will need friends. And those friends must know that which they may face.”

“I’m warning you: I’m not religious, and despite all this paranormal weirdness going on around me, I don’t believe in gods of any kind.”

Verne smiled. “Raiakafan claims the same thing, these days. Yet it does not matter if you believe in the gods; it only matters to those who do believe… and whether the gods believe in themselves.” He sat back, the light emphasizing the vampiric pallor that lay beneath his naturally darker skin. Despite his smile, I could see how tired he looked. It was pretty clear that no matter how cheering this resurrection of his son had been, he’d been under an awful strain.

“Okay, Verne,” I said. I glanced up at the time — damn. There went any chance of opening the shop at a reasonable time. Oh, well… cosmic revelations don’t happen every day. “If I have any questions on this… I’ll think of them later. What can I do for you?”

“A simple question with a simple answer. Two answers, actually. First, Raiakafan needs an identity — a safe one. While I of course have my own contacts which provide such things for me, I’d rather that our identities not share that kind of tie; that is, if either of us is found out, I’d rather that it didn’t necessarily bring the other one down with the first.”

“Faking ID isn’t exactly in the WIS rules… but you’re right, I know people who can arrange it. Jeri might, too. And the second thing?”

Kafan answered. “Find my children. Find Seb and Tai. And Kay and Kei.”

I smiled slightly. “So we’re back to the thing you originally wanted to hire me for; to find someone. At least this is something I’m ready to deal with. Since we’re obviously not going to be going to sleep at a reasonable hour anyway, why not come down to WIS right now and we’ll get full descriptions set up in the machine so I can start searches?”

“Father?”

“If you want to, Raiakafan, go ahead. Jason wouldn’t offer if he didn’t mean it.”

Kafan looked at me. “You are sure you don’t need to sleep first?”

I snorted. “I probably should sleep, but after all this? I don’t think I’ll be ready to go to bed until tomorrow night. Come on; the sooner we locate your kids and get you settled in, the more all of us will sleep.”

1636 The Viennese Waltz – Snippet 34

1636 The Viennese Waltz – Snippet 34

Chapter 12: The Nebulous Beginnings

November, 1634

Liechtenstein House, Vienna

Gundaker von Liechtenstein was not overly distressed by the emperor’s interest in the cars. Quite the contrary. The more time Ferdinand III spent playing with his new toy, the less time he would spend on interfering with older, wiser heads in the managing of the government. With the Edict of Restitution revoked, a whole new round of lawsuits had been issued. Protestant churches were demanding their buildings back. Protestant nobles and burghers were demanding their property back. As often as not, those properties had changed hands again after being returned to the Catholic Church. Sometimes the same day. As it happened, Gundaker von Liechtenstein owned a number of them.

“It’s vitally important that the revocation of the Edict not be interpreted to mean that those properties already returned to the church must be given back to heretics,” Gundaker told one of the family’s lawyers.

“Unfortunately, that seems to be the way Ferdinand III is leaning.”

“Then the cases need to be decided below the imperial level, and appeals to the crown need to be delayed in the courts long enough so that there is time to persuade the headstrong boy that such a policy would be an unholy and impious act.”

After the lawyer had left, Maximillian cautioned his brother. “Be careful how you refer to his majesty, even with our own people. I’m not overly thrilled with the effect the revocation of the Edict will have on our family’s property either, but he is the emperor.”

****

In the cathedral of Saint Stephens, Father Lamormaini was discussing the Sphere of Fire with his fellow Jesuits, and not getting very far.

“First of all, it’s not exactly six miles across,” said Father Fuhrmann. “It’s a little over six miles across, or maybe a little less depending on whose miles you’re using. I think that from Ring Wall to Ring Wall, it’s six miles, two hundred seventeen feet, six and a half inches.”

“It’s six miles within any reasonable measure,” Lamormaini insisted. “You said yourself ‘depending on whose miles you’re using.’ It might be more or less than six miles.'”

“Second, it’s not a sphere. Even if there was a sphere in the moment it occurred — and not all the accounts agree on that point — it’s not one now. A half-sphere at best. That would make it six broad, six long, and only three high. Not the number of the beast. I grant it’s a clever conceit, Father, but not evidence of a message from God.”

Lamormaini stood, his face red. He had seen the truth as God had revealed it, and now Fuhrmann was splitting hairs to avoid the truth. “Father Fuhrmann . . .”

“No, Father. While His Holiness has not ruled on the matter, it would be worse than premature to attempt to preempt his decision. I will make note of your observations and send them to the Father General, but don’t expect any action till His Holiness has had a chance to consider all the ramifications of his decision.”

Lamormaini sat back down. He would write the Father General as well but — much as he hated to admit it — Fuhrmann was right, at least about the likely response of the Holy See. Still, he couldn’t sit around and do nothing till His Holiness got around to noticing that Satan had arrived and the end days were upon them.

Inn in Vienna

“I need you to go to Grantville,” Father Lamormaini said once they were seated and the tavern girl had left them their beers.

Friedrich Babbel didn’t blink or let his surprise show in any way. “It will be expensive, Father.” He wondered how much Lamormaini was willing to pay. The change in administration hadn’t done Friedrich’s prospects any good at all. Janos Drugeth was a sanctimonious prick who didn’t want the reports adjusted to suit the listener, and that wasn’t a practical attitude. Friedrich took another drink of beer while Father Lamormaini pondered his purse.

“Don’t try to hold me up.” Lamormaini’s voice was laced with distrust, but there was a hint of desperation there too.

“I’m not, Father. The simple truth is that the area around the Ring of Fire, and especially inside it, is the most expensive place to live and work in Europe. Rents are outrageous, food expensive, and the cost of labor is insane. A housemaid in Grantville earns what a mastersmith makes in the Viennese countryside.”

“Their famous library is free.”

“Yes and no, Father.” Friedrich would have continued but Lamormaini waved him to silence. The old crook had enough money that he shouldn’t have been arguing in the first place. Not that Lamormaini would ever admit that any of the money was for him. It was all for the church.

Lamormaini had used his position as confessor to Ferdinand II to acquire quite a bit of wealth. All for the church. Friedrich suppressed a laugh. Lamormaini hadn’t taken bribes; he had accepted donations. “What is it you want me to find, Father?”

“It will be in their records somewhere. Probably hidden in plain sight. Find references to the devil!”

Friedrich felt his face, twitch. But he didn’t say anything as Lamormaini explained his theory about the true origin of the Ring of Fire.

Babbel left a few days later. He would find or create what the priest wanted.

Sanderlin House, Race Track City

“I would be happy to provide you with concrete for the race track, Herr Sanderlin,” Baron Johannes Hass said. “Unfortunately, we are lacking in the equipment. When the crown granted me the patent on concrete, it wasn’t yet known how difficult it would be to produce the stuff. I have had experts go to your libraries and it turns out that they need massive rotating kilns to make the Portland cement efficiently.”

Ron was confused. Even after the Ring of Fire he hadn’t been much interested in how concrete was made. Well, how Portland cement was made. He had poured a patio back in 1998 before the Ring of Fire, and he knew how to mix quicklime and aggregate in a wheelbarrow. The way you got the Portland cement was by going to Clarksburg and buying it at the Home Depot. He knew that after the Ring of Fire there had been a program to make concrete. It had worked, too. Portland cement was available in Grantville and Magdeburg. Expensive compared to up-time, but available. He hadn’t learned how it was done but he knew they could do it. “Well, they make it in the USE. What about shipping in the Portland cement from there?”

“That would be very expensive. Also illegal, because the old emperor granted me the sole patent.”

They talked some more but didn’t get anywhere. Even though they were both speaking German, it seemed like they were talking a different language.

After his unsuccessful attempt to get concrete from Baron Hass, Ron looked into the possibility of blacktop. Asphalt, it turned out, was a petroleum byproduct. But Ron knew that they could use coal tar and there had to be coal around here somewhere. Didn’t there?

Paradigms Lost — Chapter 38

Paradigms Lost — Chapter 38

Chapter 38: It Was an Age Undreamed Of…

The Sh’ekatha, or Highest Speaker, gazed in bemused wonder at the tiny figure before him. Beneath the tangled mass of hair, filled with sticks and briar thorns, two serious, emerald-green eyes regarded him. Across the back was strapped a gigantic (for such a small traveler) sword, three feet long with a blade over five inches wide. A bright golden tail twitched proudly behind the boy, who was dressed raggedly in skins.

Yet… yet there was something special about this boy, more so than merely his strange race. The way he stood… and that sword. Surely… surely it was workmanship of the old days.

“Yes, boy? What do you wish?”

The boy studied him. “You are… in command here?” he said in a halting, unsure fashion. The voice was rough, like a suppressed growl, but just as high-pitched as any child’s.

V’ierna smiled slightly. “I am the Sh’ekatha. I am the highest in authority that you may speak with at this time, yes.”

The boy frowned, obviously trying to decide if that met with whatever requirements he might have. Then his brow unfurrowed and he nodded. “My Master sent me here to you.”

V’ierna understood what he meant; he had been being taught by a Master of some craft, and now this Master wished the Temple to continue and expand his education. “But there is no certainty that there will be an opening here, young one. We select only a certain number of willing youngsters, and then only when there is proper room for them.”

The boy shook his head. “You have to take me. You have to teach me. That is what he said.” He blinked as though remembering something. “Oh, I was supposed to show you this.” He reached over his back and unsheathed the monstrous blade. Holding it with entirely too much ease for such a tiny boy, he extended the weapon to the Sh’ekatha.

Puzzled, V’ierna studied the weapon. Old workmanship, yes, and very good. But that didn’t…

It was then that he saw the symbol etched at the very base of the sword: Seven Towers between two Parallel Blades.

His head snapped up involuntarily. He scrutinized the child more carefully now. Yes… now that he knew what to look for…

He gave the blade back. “Have you a name, young one?”

“Master said that you would give me one.”

“Did he, now?” V’ierna contemplated the scruffy figure before him. Certainly of no race born of this world. He smiled. “Then your name is Raiakafan.” He reached out and gently pulled a briar free of its tangled nest. “Raiakafan Ularion.” He turned. “Follow me, Raiakafan. Your Master was correct. There is indeed a place for you.”

* * *

“It has never been done!”

V’ierna shook his head. “In the ancient days, there were no such distinctions made, milady. None of these separations of duty or of privilege. I am not at all sure that the comfort brought about by such clear divisions is worth the price paid in inflexibility. Be that as it may,” he raised a hand to forestall the First Guardian’s retort, “in this case, it will be so. The Lady Herself has so decreed it. If Raiakafan can pass the requirements, he is to be trained for the Guardianship.”

Melenae closed her mouth, arguments dying on her lips. If the Lady decreed it and the Sh’ekatha concurred, there was nothing more to be said. “As the Founder decrees, so will it be,” she said woodenly, and turned to leave.

“Melenae.”

She looked back. “Yes, Sh’ekatha?”

“I will not tolerate any manipulation of the testing. If he is held to either a higher or lower standard than any other trainee, I will be most displeased. And so will the Lady.”

Her mouth tightened, but she nodded. “Understood.”

V’ierna watched her leave. He sighed, and began walking in the opposite direction, down the corridor that was open only to himself, the corridor that led to the Heart. How long had it been? Three thousand years? Four? Ten, perhaps?  More? Long enough for mortal memory to fade, and fade, and cultures to change even when one who founded them tried to retain that which had been lost. Even the name of the city was, to them, little more than a name. To him, it was so much more; Atla’a Alandar; Atlantaea Alandarion it had been, “Star of Atlantaea’s Memory.” But he was one man. Highest Speaker, yes. Blessed in his own way, noted in ritual and in action. But even his longevity was nothing more than a faded echo of the Eternal King, and he had no Eternal Queen, save the Lady Herself.

He emerged into the Heart. The Mirror of the Sky glinted as a wind ruffled the sacred pool’s surface. V’ierna knelt by the Heartstone and closed his eyes.

Time changes all things, V’ierna.

I know that, Lady. As always, he felt warmed merely by the silent voice within his mind. Her limitless compassion and energy lightened the world merely by existing. But is it so necessary that I see loss as well as change? Have we not lost enough already? Atlantaea —

– was as near perfect as a society of humanity shall ever be, V’ierna. But that very perfection was its destruction. If your people are ever to attain such heights again, they must work themselves through all the difficulties, all the perils and hatreds and disputes, that are part of growing up. You are all part of nature; I am loving, but a stern teacher as well. Even to my most favored I am not without requirements or price, as you know well.

V’ierna knew. I understand, Lady.

He could see her now, night-dark hair ensnaring the heavens in a warm blanket, her face the hardness of the mountains and softness of the fields, beautiful and terrifying and comforting all at once. And Raiakafan? What is his place in this?

She smiled. He has a higher destiny than he knows. His people are filled with violence, a race of savage killers; yet by being born here — his mother landing here, on this world, and giving birth to a child — it was permitted that I touch upon him. He is a part of me, a part of the Earth for all time. He will become my Guardian, as you are my Speaker, and Seirgei my Priest…

It will not be easy.

The arguments of the Guardians will be overcome by his ability. Jealousy cannot be helped. Evil will come of it. But no choices worth making come easily. The Power fades, my love; those who destroyed Atlantaea bent all their power to sealing it away, and Zarathan, our sister world, now lies beyond our reach. Without something truly extraordinary, even I shall fade from the world, and then… her phantom face looked forlornly into the distance… then only a miracle will restore that which was gone. And you will have to provide that miracle.

V’ierna’s heart seemed to freeze within him. This was the first time the Lady had spoken so clearly about the possibility of her own death. I? What can I possibly do? If you go, Lady, will I, too, not pass from this world? For I am nothing but a man blessed by your powers.

Her smile lit the world again, driving away the ice in his heart by the certainty of her love and concern. V’ierna, to the one who held to me beyond death itself I have given all that I can. You are tied to this world more strongly than I, and by the Ring that symbolizes the Blood of Life, you carry my blessing. You are a part of Earth’s life, and so long as this world lives, so shall you, though the quality of that life may well change. Through you, some part of me will survive though all other magic be sealed away from the world by the actions of the ones who destroyed Atlantaea. If the worst comes to pass, still will there be you, to find the path to miracle that will bring the Spirit of the Earth back and let Eonae, the Lady, be reborn.

He stood, feeling her presence fade. But he felt more ready now. The Lady was right; he could do no more for these people than he had already done; to force them into a mold of his own vision would deprive them of the full understanding of the reasons behind that mold. Better a return to barbarism than the iron dictatorship he would have to create.

 

1636 The Viennese Waltz – Snippet 33

1636 The Viennese Waltz – Snippet 33

People had started calling the area around the race track Race Track City a month or so ago, but just after he said it Ron realized that he didn’t know if the emperor had heard the term. It also occurred to him that he didn’t know what legalities were involved in being a city. He knew only vaguely that there were imperial cities that had imperial charters, and that Race Track City didn’t have much of anything along those lines.

Fortunately, the emperor didn’t seem to notice his gaffe. He just nodded and excused himself for a moment. When he came back, he had Reichsgraf Maximillian von Trautmannsdorf with him. After that, the emperor of Austria-Hungary sat back and watched as his chief negotiator skinned Ron Sanderlin and tanned his pelt for hanging on the wall.

“I sympathize with your intentions, Herr Sanderlin, but the royal purse isn’t bottomless,” Reichsgraf Maximillian von Trautmannsdorf said

“Yes, Your Grace.” Ron Sanderlin wished he had gotten a bit more advice from the Fortney girl about how to set up a partnership with the emperor. Except she had never done that either. “Well, we were thinking maybe a partnership of some sort, if we can come up with the money or rather part of the money to build the canal . . . ?” He let the question trail off, not wanting to ask, “What do we get out of it?”

“How much of the funding would you be putting up?” Trautmannsdorf asked.

“That depends, sir.” Well, there was no getting around it. Ron plunged in. “What are we going to get out of it? I mean if we put up, say, half the money to dig the canal, what do we get?”

“What do you want?”

“Clear title to some of the land around the race track and a farm for the seeds and stuff we brought.”

“How much land?”

Ron pulled out a map. The area had been surveyed by Sonny Fortney and he had clearly delineated the area between the race track and the Danube. Up to now that area had belonged to the emperor. The Sanderlins and Fortneys had simply had the use of it as part of their employment agreement. They had stretched that pretty far in setting up businesses, but they had gotten permission for each business. Now Ron showed Ferdinand III and Reichsgraf Trautmannsdorf a map of a good-sized town, almost half a mile across in either direction, but that included the race track and canal, centered just northeast of the race track. It was small compared to Vienna and tiny compared to an up-time city, but it was clearly a town. It included the race track and room for up to fifty separate businesses. There was already an agreement between Brandon and the chief gardener at the emperor’s hunting lodge to have Brandon and some of the gardeners plant the up-time plants come spring. But the plan expanded that into a village between the hunting lodge and Race Track City.

Again, it was stuff that they had sort of started on already, but on a semi-official basis.

Ron pointed at the map. “The parts that are crosshatched would be ours and the rest would be the crown’s to do with as you like, but you might want to put some businesses in from here to here. That will be prime real estate as the town grows up.” At least that was what Hayley had said, and it made sense.

Trautmannsdorf was not one to take the first offer though. “For that you ought to pay for the whole canal.” But he was smiling when he said it.

They spent half an hour bargaining back and forth, and by the end of it Ron Sanderlin knew he had been skinned good and proper. A fact Hayley Fortney confirmed with loud lamentation as soon as she heard the results.

Fortney House, Race Track City

“We’re going to be overrun with Hofbefreiten and we get to pay most of the cost of building the canal for the privilege,” Hayley pointed out.

“What are holfbitten?” Dana wanted to know.

“People. People who have a special status. Hofbefreiten means court-freed or court-exempted. The way it works is that they pay the court for the privilege of providing stuff to the court. Anything from socks to carriages to coffeecake, and they get to sell stuff to the general public without paying the local taxes, the onera. Which can be quite onerous.”

Gayleen groaned and Dana made to whack her daughter.

Hayley ducked and continued. “He must have figured it out before you even finished talking about the effect of the canal.”

“Figured what out?” Bob Sanderlin asked, moved to rare speech by his confusion.

“That the steam ferry and the canal make Race Track City effectively part of Vienna, but not legally part of Vienna. Which gives all of Race Track City effective Hofbefreiten status without him having to officially do it, so the burghers who do have to pay onera won’t start screaming till it’s too late. Remember, they pay for the privilege of being Hofbefreiten and that’s money in Ferdinand’s pocket. I figured he’d insist on us paying for more of the canal and give us more of the property to dispose of, but he saw the potential. He can move Hofbefreiten out here to Race Track City and it will seem like a big concession to the burghers. And he can sell Hofbefreiten status to new craftsmen too. Make his tenants out here official Hofbefreiten. He’ll recover his whole share of the cost of the canal in the first year’s rents.”

“Well then, you should have done it yourself,” Ron groused. “I never claimed to be David Bartley.”

 

Polychrome – Chapter 15

Polychrome – Chapter 15

Chapter 15.

“… and these notes were written by the Wizard himself, not all that long before Oz fell.” She placed the thick sheaf of parchment on top of the least-wobbly stack next to Erik.

The mortal could-be-Hero nodded absently, absorbed in sketching some sort of diagram or chart which, she could see, had already been re-sketched, modified, parts scribbled out and redrawn, with dozens of little notations that she couldn’t really make out; his handwriting wasn’t very readable to begin with, and he seemed to have a habit of using abbreviations or annotations which referred to things only he understood. “Are… are you making progress?” she asked hesitantly.

He glanced up and looked contrite. “I’m sorry, really, Poly, I didn’t mean to seem like I wasn’t paying attention.”

It was strange how… formal, cautious, apologetic he became around her. She’d watched him around other people and he didn’t act at all like that around them – even her father. He wasn’t rude normally, at least not intentionally, but he seemed almost impervious to the intimidation most mortals or Faerie would feel in the presence of the Rainbow Lord, and spoke to them apparently as he would to any reasonably respected adult. She couldn’t understand why he was so oddly gentle and attentive.

But it did make these rather dull study sessions much more tolerable, so she smiled. “No apology needed, if you’re getting anywhere.”

He stretched, giving a prodigious yawn, and then smiled back, the smile that sometimes made him look years younger. “Oh, I’m getting somewhere. It’s amazing what you can dig up when you know what you’re looking for.”

She couldn’t keep her eyebrows from rising. “How could you possibly know what you’re looking for, when none of us do, and you’re not even a trained wizard?”

One of his eyebrows arched up and he raised a finger. “Because I know what I will need to be able to do, the prophecy indicates it’s possible for me to do it, and this narrows down the approaches I can reasonably use to achieve it. More, because I was selected by the prophecy rather than someone else, I have to assume that this, too, was no coincidence, but rather that it’s what I am, personally, which will give me a chance to win this battle,” he said in a very professorial tone.

She shook her head. “Does that actually make sense, or are you just talking? Sometimes you are very hard to read, Erik.”

“Oh, it makes perfect sense.” He stood and pulled out a chair for her. “I’ll take it apart for you. First, I know that I’m going to have to match – at least – both Ugu the Unbowed and Amanita Verdant up-close and in person, at the center of their power and with them probably by that point fully aware I’m a True Mortal. They’ve got all the power of Oz – minus whatever Ozma can give me, I suppose – to throw at me, plus servants or weapons wielding all the power they’ve managed to make use of in these three centuries. That means I have to face the full power of the Five Elements, and even if they can’t DIRECTLY affect me much, there’s plenty of indirect effects any of these things could manage which would totally trash me. One of those Infernos setting the surroundings on fire, for instance.

“So I’ll need to be able to equal, or better yet overpower, any manifestation of the Five Elements, and do it myself, with no time for formal training. The prophecy, by its existence, tells me I can win: “…but in those final moments he may win the day”, remember.” He looked momentarily grave as he always did when he heard that line, and she felt a small pang at the realization of what he must be going through. I brought him here to offer himself up for our sake. What must he think of me for that? Bringing a man to Faerie so he can die to protect us.

She shook off the mood; he was continuing, and she wanted very much to understand. “So, then, how can I possibly fight two masters of such wizardry without knowing any myself, AND without destroying everything that I’m trying to protect? Ozma’s power has to be directed and controlled by me. Maybe she can give me some pointers, but I have to assume it’s really me doing the work.” He glanced down at the annotated diagram and smiled sharply. “So that means that I must be able to properly direct and control the powers pretty much by having a clear idea of what I want to accomplish, and the basic method of doing so using the Five Elements. In short, if I understand enough about how the powers work, then it’s up to me to be able to visualize what I want them to do accurately and clearly and with enough … force, I guess, passion, will, to drive them. I’m the conduit for the force, or perhaps a lens to focus it.”

She looked at the diagram. “And you think you’re learning what you need?”

“I think I already knew a lot of what I needed. Oh, not the details, but I spent an awful lot of time – significant parts of my life since I was fourteen, actually – imagining things that aren’t, powers that only existed as far as I knew in stories, figuring out how they worked under a dozen different sets of assumptions, visualizing these things… and here, in the notes from Glinda, the Wizard, others, are the keys.

“You mentioned before your father felt there was a connection between the Faerie and Mortal worlds; these papers prove it. Our dreams, our fantasies, our nightmares and visions, these cross through and touch the Faerie world, affect the fabric of your reality; and in turn, your actions, the changes and wars and triumphs of your world, echo back through the connection and affect our very souls. There are some terrible implications in this as well, ones we’ll have to face later. But for now, it means that I already know what I want to visualize in many cases; I just needed the information on how I could make that work.”

Now she could see that the diagram had symbols associated with particular groups of notations; a wave, a cloud, a flame, a mountain, and a star. “Oh! Water, air, fire, earth, and spirit?”

“Exactly! Each with the characteristics attributed to them by various researchers.” He scratched his head. “Problem is that there isn’t universal agreement here. In fact, there’s a lot of overlap and confusion. You guys never quite got to the Industrial Revolution really and certainly haven’t even knocked on the door of the Information Age. If I end up staying here I may have to introduce the profession of librarian. Anyway, so for Water we have of course the physical characteristics of water, plus wisdom – depth, you know – but also healing, self-knowledge, reflection, transformation in some ways. For Fire we get (besides heat, of course), speed, intelligence or cleverness, the symbolism of power; Air is truth and illusion – the clarity of a blue sky or the concealment of cloud, evasion, movement; Earth, toughness, solidity, defense, stability in all senses of the word, endurance; and Spirit is willpower, life, emotions, that which separates ordinary matter from the numinous.”

“That makes sense,” she said, appreciating his summary, “but how would you use it?”

He had the same slightly embarrassed look she remembered from earlier. “Well… rather than go into details on that, as a simple example it means that if he throws, say, an Inferno at me, I can counter with Water, a Tempest’s lightning I can ground out with Earth, and so on. These people understand magic; I am a very devious and sneaky ba –” he broke off, continued, “er, guy, and I can think of things to do with magic that only an advanced technological civilization with our peculiar quirks would come up with.”

He’s a strange combination of diffidence, arrogance, confidence and uncertainty. “I’m sorry I got you into this,” she said suddenly.

“I’m not.” He looked at her directly and she noticed his cheeks looked flushed for a moment. “Yeah… I’m not all that excited about getting killed, which looks pretty likely… but then, a lot of people have died for things that were worth a lot less. You are… I mean, you know, you as in all of you,” he stammered, speaking quickly, “you are … all of the dreams I had as a child, and aren’t dreams worth dying for sometimes?”

Polychrome wondered at why she found those words so… frightening. “Well, Erik, let’s try our best to avoid all the dying. In fact, I don’t think I like this direction of conversation.”

“Right. Too grim.” He looked somehow relieved, yet tense. “Um… look, you know, I’ve hardly had much chance to talk to you or anyone about what you people do outside of the training and all. I’ve been kept mostly a secret outside of the guards as far as I know, and so I haven’t seen much since my original arrival. So… when there isn’t some terrible emergency, what do you people do?”

She blinked. “Why, I…” She giggled. “That was a rather abrupt shift. I haven’t thought about that sort of thing in a while. I do a lot of dancing, of course, and I’ve always spent more time around the Storm Guards than Father might like. But there’s parties, and the Cloud Theatre, and sometimes magicians showing off their talents, or…”

“You go with people, I’d presume?”

“Well, yes, of course, any event’s more fun with the right people. My sisters come to some events, though they haven’t got my… well, what they call adventurous side, when they’re being polite.” His gaze seems… so intense, she thought as she continued, describing how she sometimes convinced some of the Guard to accompany her. That’s silly, though. It’s not as if we’re discussing anything of importance.

But I… rather like the fact he pays attention so well.

 

1636 The Viennese Waltz – Snippet 32

1636 The Viennese Waltz – Snippet 32

“Maybe. But it would be a major investment and, for all I know, we would be burned out by irate tailors. Look, we’ll hire your friend Maria Bauer’s husband and set up a tailor shop out by the race track the emperor is building. But we can’t hire everyone.”

Gayleen Sanderlin went away disappointed, and truthfully Hayley was disappointed herself.

Fortney House, Simmering, Austria

“It’s called casein and it’s made from milk and vinegar,” Dana Fortney said to the delegation of widows and orphans that she had gathered for the casein case venture. They were in the outdoor kitchen just behind the house and the woman were standing around a long trestle table. It was a sunny fall afternoon, and the smell of vinegar was having to fight against the scent of flowers and mown hay on the breeze. “We use stamps and hot milk and vinegar. We stamp it into shapes and let the shapes sit for a few days. Then we varnish it. Now, I have never done this myself, but I have instructions on how to do it. We will be providing the raw materials and working with you on making stuff. Let me walk you through a sample batch.”

Carefully following the instructions from the cheat sheet, Dana made a small batch of casein. Once it was rinsed in cool water, she put the blob in the mold they had had made and pressed it in. It came out in pieces. Well, it was her first try.

Within a few days, the ladies of the casein factories were producing casein items. They had been moved to an empty room in the brewery. It took a few hundred dollars of wasted milk for them to get the hang of it, but after that they could make casein buttons and clasps, knitting needles and crochet hooks, boxes and bottles and lids.

Simmering, becoming Race Track City

There were buildings going up around the race track and new shops in each building. The casein shop had shelves full of items made out of casein plastics, but that wasn’t the only place that casein was used. There were casein buckles on the boots made by the boot maker, and casein buttons on the pants and shirts. Also casein eyeglasses frames were made by a craftsman from the University of Vienna. The man had been making eyeglasses since long before the Ring of Fire. The little industries in the area around Ferdinand III’s race track were starting to feed off each other.

Better yet, the steam barge was finally up and running. And they were selling tickets to more than just the workers on the track. More people were walking out to see the track than were taking the shuttle barge, but enough were taking the barge so that they were making an extra trip every day for tourists.

****

Ron Sanderlin watched with considerable amusement as the 240Z made its way around the track. He didn’t know Janos Drugeth, but he had seen the man’s uncle. Pal Nadasdy had been the next best thing to incoherent after his ride a few days before. The 240Z slid a bit going around the far curve but the emperor got it back under control well enough. Ron was wondering how the cavalry officer and spy master was going to manage. Ron glanced at his uncle. “Think he’ll barf like the banker did?” The elder Abrabanel had gotten a ride, and thrown up in the car seat. Which they had had to clean.

“Could be.” Bob Sanderlin gave a twitch of his shoulders that was not quite a shrug.

“Doubt it,” said Sonny as they moved out from the garage as the car came in. “He’s a cavalry officer.”

“So?” asked Bob.

“He’s got stuff to prove.”

Bob’s shoulders gave that half-twitch again, and he and Ron headed out to open the doors.

“Nice recovery on that last turn, Your Majesty,” Ron offered as he opened the door for the emperor. Bob didn’t say anything as he opened the door for Drugeth. Bob now had dentures, but for most of his life he had had bad teeth and he had a tendency to keep his mouth closed out of old embarrassment. Especially around people he didn’t know well.

“It worked splendidly! Just as you said!” The emperor was grinning like a kid.

A moment later Drugeth lurched out of the car and stood stiff-legged beside it.

The emperor put his hands on his hips and looked around the race track. At this point it was just dirt, shaped by Fresno scrapers. But the emperor seemed pleased. “You were right, Ron,” he announced. “We need to build up the banks of the track on the curves.”

“Yup. Even at only sixty miles an hour, which is nothing for a 240Z, you almost spun out. Of course, it’ll help a lot once we can replace that packed dirt with a solid surface. Tarmac, at least, although concrete would be better.”

Ferdinand nodded. “We can manage that, I think, given a bit of time. We’ll need to build spectator stands also.”

He turned to Janos, smiling widely. “We’ll call it the Vienna 500, I’m thinking. You watch! One of these days, it’ll draw enough tourists to flood the city’s coffers.”

The expression on Janos Drugeth’s face was a study. Clearly, he had no idea what the emperor was talking about. But Ron knew. It was Ron who had suggested the idea.

The Hofburg Palace

Vienna, Austria

“Well, Your Majesty,” Ron Sanderlin said, “if there were a canal to the race track there would be a lot more people coming out to watch you going round the track.”

The emperor of Austria Hungary, who had renounced the title of Holy Roman Emperor, raised an eyebrow at Ron Sanderlin. “It’s only three miles. Hardly too far to walk. A canal, even a short canal, is very expensive. Why don’t you have your friends the Pfeifers simply build a dock on the Danube at that point? It would only be a mile walk.”

It was a good question and Ron didn’t have a particularly good answer. He fell back on honesty. “Because people need work, Your Majesty. When we got here and the race track project got started, we were deluged with people who were desperate for work. And we’ve done what we can but it’s not nearly enough. A project like the canal would employ hundreds of people, and at the same time it would make for an easy, quick transport from Vienna proper to Race Track City . . .”

 

Paradigms Lost — Chapter 37

Paradigms Lost — Chapter 37

Chapter 37: Six Impossible Things Before Breakfast

I rubbed my temples, trying to take this all in. “Okay, let’s see if I have this straight. You are some kind of genetic experiment? And this wanted-poster stuff about you is all lies made up by the Evil Government Conspiracy?”

If Kafan had been a cat, his fur would have bristled; as it was, he did a pretty good imitation by glaring at me. “I don’t like your tone of voice.”

“Gently, Raiakafan.” Verne said sternly. “The story is not one to be accepted easily. Jason has a mind that is open… but not so open that he is utterly credulous.”

Kafan snorted, but turned back to me. “It’s not the government, except a few key people. At least that is the impression I got. The group that… made… me is a self-contained organization. There were some references to a prior group that they belonged to, but I never really heard much. Educating me was not what they were interested in.” He stood up again, as he had many times during his story, and paced a circle around the room like a caged lion. “Why do you find this so hard to believe? I haven’t been here that long, but I know that genetic engineering is part of your civilization, while magic is not, but you accept Verne …”

“That’s why,” I answered. “First, I’ve seen Verne and other things like him in action. I don’t ignore things that I actually see. But I know a fair amount about genetic engineering, at least for a layman, and I do know that we haven’t got close to the level of technology we’d need to make something like you claim to be. And other elements — this ‘super martial arts’ or whatever it is you say got you out of their holding cells …” I chuckled, then looked apologetic. “… sorry. But that kind of stuff comes out of video games and bad Hong Kong flicks. Accepting it as ‘real’ just isn’t easy.”

Kafan shrugged helplessly. “I can’t help what you believe. I know what I am.”

“What happened after you killed Dr. Xi?” Sylvie asked.

Kafan’s gaze dropped to the floor. He stood still for a moment, and just the slow sagging of his shoulders told us more than we really wanted to know. “I failed.

“I found where they were keeping Gen, Kei, and Kay. And I got in. But by then the Colonel had organized a counterattack. I was separated from them… I had Gen, but Kay and our daughter …”

Syl put her hand on his shoulder; he turned his back on her, but didn’t pull away; his back shook for a moment with silent sobs. Then he turned back. “They were back in their hands.”

“And the Colonel?”

The iron-cold expression returned. “I tracked him all the way to Greece, where he had a secondary headquarters. But he’d tricked me. Even as I killed him, he laughed at me. I’d come all the way across the continent and all the time Kay and Kei were still there, in another part of the lab complex!”

I winced; Sylvie just looked sympathetic. “So what brought you here?”

“In my travels across the continent… I started remembering other things of my past. The few things I told you, Mr. Wood. And I thought that America was the best place to begin looking, especially once I saw the news about the werewolves and realized that there was someone here who was able to deal with such things.”

“So can you prove this story of yours?” I asked.

Kafan narrowed his eyes, then smiled — an expression that held very little humor. “I think so.” He turned and looked out the archway, towards the entrance hall where the stairs ran up to the second floor. “Gen? Genshi! Come in now, Gen.”

There was a scuffling noise with little scratching sounds, like a dog startled up and starting to run on a wooden floor, followed by a thump and a high-pitched grunt. Then a small head peeked around the edge of the doorway, followed by an equally small body crawling along on all fours.

The little boy had a mane of tousled blond hair, bright green eyes… and a coating of honey-colored fur on his face. His hands were clawed, as were his feet, and canine teeth that were much too long and sharp showed when he gave us a little smile and giggle, and crawled faster towards his father. His long, fur-covered tail wagged in time to his determined crawl.

“Genshi! Walk, don’t crawl.”

Genshi pouted slightly at his father, apparently thinking that crawling was more fun, but pushed himself up onto two legs and ran over to Kafan, jumping into his arms and babbling something in what I presumed was a toddler’s version of Vietnamese. Kafan replied and hugged him, then looked at us.

Sylvie was smiling. I was just speechless. “Can I see him, Kafan?” Sylvie asked.

Kafan frowned a moment, but relented. “All right. But be careful. He’s very, very strong and those claws are sharp.” He said something in a warning tone to Genshi, who blinked solemnly and nodded.

Sylvie picked up the little furry boy, who blinked at her and then suddenly wrapped his arms around her neck and hugged her. Syl broke into a delighted grin. “What a little darling you are. Now, now, don’t dig those claws in… there’s a good boy …” she continued in the usual limited conversation adults have with babies.

I finally found my voice. “All right. Can’t argue with the evidence there. I find it hard to believe, though, that you were the only product of their research. They couldn’t have built a whole complex around you alone.”

Kafan’s smile was cold as ice. “They didn’t. When I went to kill him, I found that the Colonel was no more human than I am. Some kind of monster.”

“Crap.” I didn’t elaborate out loud, but to me it was obvious; if Kafan was telling the truth, these people were not only far ahead of anyone I’d ever heard of, but they were also crazier than anyone I’d ever heard of. Trying out experimental genetic modifications on yourself? Jesus! I thought for a moment. “But… something’s funny about your story. If you were a lab product, what’s this about Verne being your father, or your being trained by this whoever-he-was?”

“That,” said Verne, “is indeed the question. For there is no doubt, Jason, that I did, indeed, have a foster son named Raiakafan Ularion — Thornhair Fallenstar as he would be called in English — and there is no doubt in my mind that, changed though he may be, this is indeed the Raiakafan I raised from the time he was a small boy. Yet I knew Raiakafan for many years indeed; he could never have been the subject of genetic experiments. Yet here he is, and there is much evidence that these people he speaks of exist.

“These two things, seeming impossible, tell me that vast powers are on the move, and grave matters afoot. For this reason, I must tell you of the ancient days.

“I must speak… of Atla’a Alandar.”

 

1636 The Viennese Waltz – Snippet 31

1636 The Viennese Waltz – Snippet 31

****

It was a few minutes later, back in the barn-cum-garage, that the emperor expressed his will. “Yes, I want a race track and a good one. In the meantime, just to avoid any trouble, I’m going to assign a small troop of soldiers to you out here.”

“Where are these troops going to sleep?” Dana Fortney asked.

“That’s a good question,” Ron Sanderlin agreed. “Your Majesty, we’re already pretty crowded.”

It worked out that they were authorized to use the workers they were hiring to build the track to construct housing for the troops and to expand the garage and houses they had, but the Sanderlins and Fortneys would have to pay for the materials out of their own pocket. Over the next weeks, they bought bricks, stone, and wood, shipped in on the Danube. Using those materials along with the goods they had brought with them and locally done metal work, they expanded their homes and added housing for the squad of soldiers assigned to them. Fifteen men with their wives and children. Also their horses, because it was a cavalry troop commanded by Erwin von Friesen, an imperial knight. The garage gained room for the Sanderlin’s truck and the Fortney’s range rover. All of the construction had to be overseen by someone.

Docks, Vienna, Austria

“What does it look like, Dad?” Hayley asked. The Pfeifer family had a steam barge that they had built from up-time instruction sheets, which were fairly vague and incomplete. That information was filtered through the knowledge and preconceptions of the local smiths and scholars.

“Well, it’s a steam engine,” Sonny Fortney said, wiping his hands on a greasy rag. “Two pistons and it does have rods, but there is a gap of almost a sixteenth of an inch between the cylinders and the cylinder heads. And that is a very good thing, because if that sucker ever built up a good head of steam, it would blow up.” The gap was inconsistent — only that wide in a couple of places.

“What about the boiler?”

Sonny shrugged. “It’s a pot boiler, not a tube boiler.”

“Can you fix it?”

“If I had time. But I don’t. I have the grading of the race track and the digging of the basement for the barracks for Erwin von Friesen and his boys. The expansion of the garage. I can advise your people and they can fix it.”

“Can’t Ron and Bob do that?”

“Part of it, but I’m going to have to do the surveying. I don’t trust the wells. We’re too close to the Danube and the water table is too high. So Dana is going to be busy testing the water. Bob is working out what goes where with the brewery.” One of their neighbors was a brewery in Simmering. “And Gayleen is running the kitchen to feed the workers . . .”

As it happened, Hayley got the job of delivering the instructions on rebuilding the steam engine on the Pfeifer barge.

Peter Krause’s Smithy, Vienna, near the docks

“No. You see that piece of heavy paper there?” Hayley Fortney pointed at the gasket. It was twenty sheets of thick down-time made rag paper, glued together, rolled through a wringer to eliminate any air pockets, and then waxed. It had taken Hayley almost a week to get it made. That was all right, though. It was taking just as long to get the cylinders and the pistons remade. And like Dad had said, it was probably a good thing that they had not had proper gaskets, because the boiler was the real issue. It was a steel pot with the lid welded on, and a hole cut into that, with a copper pipe coming out and going to the engine. It took the thing upwards of thirty minutes to build up a head of steam and there was very little in the way of controlling the steam.

Meanwhile, Peter Krause was looking like he would really like to kill her and she almost didn’t blame him. He was forty-five years old, a master smith and it was understandable that he wasn’t thrilled to be told how to do his job by a teenage girl. Unlike most of the people she had dealt with since the Ring of Fire, Peter Krause had never seen the Ring Wall and wasn’t sure he believed in it. Hayley sighed. “Look, no matter how good you are, no two metal pieces fit so perfectly that gas can’t pass between them. You know that. You know that the steam engine you built leaks. You’ve suffered burns from the escaping steam.”

Herr Krause nodded grudgingly.

“Well, it’s not because you aren’t a good smith. It’s because the tolerances are simply too fine for any smith. That’s why the gasket and flange arrangement. The gasket deforms to fit the minor irregularities that are going to be there. The only thing I have ever seen that didn’t have those irregularities was the Ring Wall itself, and that only right after it happened. The only hand that can cut that smooth is the hand of God. So the rest of us have to accept imperfection and figure out ways around it.”

Herr Krause wasn’t smiling, but the left side of his mouth was twitching up just a little. “Well enough,” he said. “The gasket is because no mortal hand is perfect, but it’s paper. How do you expect paper to withstand the pressure that you claim the good steel of my cylinder won’t withstand? It’s paper!”

“Right, it’s paper. But it is compressed by the bolts. There is a rule about the gaskets. The harder they are pressed, the stronger they are. That is why my dad insisted on so many bolts holding the parts together.”

Hayley hid a sigh. This was taking a long time.

Sanderlin Home, Simmering, Austria

“No, Mrs. Sanderlin, nothing too big or grand. I’d like to hire hundreds of people too. But it would make too much noise.”

“But we can order a hundred sewing machines from Grantville and you know you could get them.”

“No. If I order a hundred I’ll get ten and a polite note from Karl Schmidt telling me that he will get us the rest as soon as he catches up with his back orders. Which ought to be sometime around the year 1700.”

“Well ,then, why don’t we start our own sewing machine factory? You can get the machines, can’t you?”

 

Paradigms Lost — Chapter 36

Paradigms Lost — Chapter 36

Chapter 36: Fleeing From Frankenstein

He looked around and smiled, satisfied. Despite his oddities, the village accepted him. His children were growing up strong and healthy. His wife took care of them all. In a country torn by civil war all too often, this village had managed to keep itself isolated and secure. Untouched by the strange devices of the outside world, unimportant in the maneuverings of whatever politicians or dictators might rule one part of the land or another, it looked much the same as it would have two hundred years ago.

He shivered, suddenly, as though chilled, despite the bright sunlight streaming down on him. The village and his home seemed to him now like a veneer, a fragile layer of paint laid over something of unspeakable horror. But he knew that the real horror was what lay in his past. He had escaped that, hadn’t he? Years gone by now… he must be safe, forgotten. Thought dead and lost forever. Surely they would have come for him long ago had they known… wouldn’t they?

The wail of a child demanding attention came from within the house, that sound that in a parent could simultaneously bring frustration, warmth, and concern. But he could hear something else in it, as could any who knew what to listen for: the sound of the past. It was the reason he could never, ever be sure they were not watching and waiting, though with his utmost skill and caution he had stalked the dense mountain forests and found not a single trace of intrusion. Genshi, his sister, and two brothers were reason enough for them to wait.

Kay put a hand on his shoulder. “Tai… you aren’t thinking about that again, are you?”

Tai turned and gazed at his wife. Several inches taller than he, willowy, with skin the color of heartwood, she was the only proof (aside from himself and his children) that there was an “outside world” different from the one the village knew. Kay was a strange woman by anyone’s standards — which was fortunate, because no other woman could possibly have accepted what he was, let alone married him while knowing the truth. He still thought her coming to this village had been more than coincidence; it had felt like destiny. She had belonged to some organization she called “Peace Corps.” The aircraft carrying her and a number of other workers for this group had crashed in the mountains; Kay had become separated from the other survivors in a storm and wandered for a long time in the wilderness. Had she not been trained in survival, she would have died. Instead, when Tai found her, she was using a stream as a mirror, cutting her hair in a ruler-straight line as though working in a beauty salon. Her civilized, calm, utterly human demeanor even in the midst of what to her was complete wilderness ensnared Tai instantly. He had brought her to the village and helped her recover from her ordeal; by the time she was recovered, she didn’t want to leave. She had no relatives or real friends elsewhere; here she felt that she belonged.

“What else?” he answered finally. “I can’t help it, Kay. You weren’t a part of it; little Tai is too young to remember it. Only Seb remembers. Seb and me.”

“We’ve been over this again and again, Tai. They’ve had all the time in the world to find you. If they wanted you back and thought you were alive, they’d have gotten you long ago. They had no reason in the world to believe you’d be able to survive out here and fit in; you’d either have died on your own or been killed by a frenzied mob from their point of view. Stop worrying. Maybe someone caught up with them and they don’t even exist any more.”

Oh, all the gods of all the world, let that be true. Please let that be true, he thought.

“Maybe,” he said aloud.

He followed her inside, feeling better. Kay had been sent to him from the skies above; surely that was a sign in itself.

The children were all inside — the two youngest, Genshi and Kei, on one side of the table, the two others, Seb and little Tai, opposite them. Not for the first time, it struck Tai as a strange coincidence that even though the older children had a different mother, all four were much darker-skinned than their father. Tai and Genshi, in particular, looked very similar… if you ignored the difference that Genshi, unlike his older siblings, could not hide. Kei had been born without it, looking very much like a copy of her mother.

Kay began serving the food, beginning with Tai and ending with the toddlers. As they began to eat, Seb suddenly stiffened. “Father –”

A single sound; the sound of a metal catch being released.

The coldness returned, became a lump of ice in his gut. “I heard, Seb. Kay, get down. Everyone, on the floor, now!”

He moved stealthily towards the side door, caught a faint scent and heard movement. Then a voice boomed out, impossibly loud.

“Attention! This house is surrounded. Surrender quietly and none of you will be harmed!”

“Go away!” he shouted hopelessly. “I don’t want to go back! Leave us alone!”

The unfamiliar voice was replaced by the oily, ingratiating tones of the Colonel. “Now, now, let’s not be that way… Tai, is it? There’s been an enormous amount of investment involved in you and your children. You can’t expect us to just throw it all away. If you’ll come back quietly, I promise you that you can even keep your whole family with you. Just cooperate and you can find yourself living quite a lavish life.”

“I like the life I have here!” He saw that Seb and Tai had crawled over and pulled up the floorboards to get at the weapons. He nodded. Good boys. Kay was pale, tears running down her face.

“Sorry I was wrong,” she whispered.

“It’s all right.” he said, knowing nothing was going to be “all right” again. “You made us feel better while it lasted. I love you.”

“I love you.”

The Colonel spoke again, no longer trying to be friendly. This time his voice was precisely reflective of what he was: a military commander of ruthless and amoral determination, efficient and pitiless. “All right, Alpha. Give up. You are all surrounded. There is no way you can escape. The less trouble you give us, the less pain your children and your wife suffer. We know very well that you don’t give a damn about pain for yourself, but how about your family? Surrender immediately, or all of them go the labs along with you!”

“With all respect, Colonel, you and your ancestors were all sheep-screwing perverts. Shove your offer up your ass!”

The Colonel didn’t respond verbally; suddenly a volley of canisters flew through the leaf-shuttered windows and began hissing yellow vapor.

Kay knew what that was as well as he did; holding her breath she dove out the largest windows with the infants, who immediately began screaming. Tai was too busy to worry about that; they had to win. And there was only one way to do that.

He dove out the window nearest the Colonel’s booming voice. A soldier tried to strike him as he went out, but Tai was too fast. Seb and little Tai followed momentarily; the soldier blocked Seb’s escape. Tai continued on, nodding to himself as he heard the man scream and then the sound of a head being separated from a body.

There was no more need for subtlety here. Concealment was useless. As the men ahead raised their weapons, he changed.

Horror froze them. Though they must have been warned, there’s an infinite difference between being told of something impossible and seeing it coming for you, savage and hungry, in real life. His claws ripped the armor off the first soldier, sent him staggering back. He was the lucky one. The other two fell dead, one fountaining blood from the throat, the other with a broken neck. He tore through their ranks, closing on the Colonel. If he could just reach the man…

Several small explosions erupted through the clearing; he caught an odd odor, tried to hold his breath; droplets of something dotted his skin. Tai found himself slowing down, tried desperately to force himself forward. As his vision began to fade into blackness, the last thing he saw was the sardonic smile of the Colonel, only twenty feet away.

* * *

Tai blinked his way back to consciousness slowly. He wished he hadn’t. The sterile white walls… the thick one-way glass wall… the ordinary-looking door that was locked and armored like a vault…

He was back at the Project.

He’d barely come to that bleak conclusion when the wall screen lit up. The Colonel looked back at him. The figure next to him sent shivers up Tai’s spine, causing his light fur to ruffle. Ping Xi. Doctor Ping Xi. The Colonel might give the money and the facilities, but it was this man, with his narrow eyes, white hair, long pianist’s hands, and cold, calculating brilliance who ruled the Project.

“Congratulations, Alpha,” the Colonel said. “A fine group of youngsters. Dr. Xi was just telling me how useful they’re going to be.”

With difficulty he choked his rage back. Once he started fighting, even verbally, it was impossible to stop, and intelligence went out the window. “Leave them alone. I’ll cooperate. Just leave my family out of this.”

The Colonel shook his head. “I gave you the chance for that, but you insisted on the hard way. Now that you’re caught, of course you’ll try singing a different tune. I’m afraid not.”

“At least let Kay go!” he said, fighting to keep the killing fury under control. “She’s not one of us!”

This time it was Ping Xi who answered. “Impossible. The most important questions here will be what the results are of the cross-breeding. This would be impossible without having both of the parents available for study. It is particularly interesting that the children represent a dichotomous birth in both ways — fraternal twins of different sex and one showing all the Project characteristics and the other not. It will take a great deal of study to determine just what caused such a fascinatingly clear division of genetic expression.”

It was no use. With an inarticulate roar of anger he launched himself at the wall screen. Bouncing off it as he always did. As if from a great distance, he heard the Colonel remark calmly, “Just as usual. Some things never change, eh?”

* * *

He fought them after that. But he wondered, if he had been fully human, if he would have. Why bother? For years they’d been watching him. Waiting. The patience itself was frightening, not at all what he had thought was the norm for military and governments. As though they had all the time in the world. But fighting was a part of him.

And once more they drugged him. Days melted into weeks of sluggish thought and dulled senses, only sharpening when, for some test or another, they needed him unimpaired. Sometimes he thought he could sense Seb or little Tai or even Genshi, but he never saw them.

Time passed. Where had he come from? He wasn’t sure. Had the labs really made him? It was all he really knew… and yet… and yet…

In the depths of one of his rages, something snapped. A memory…

Tall twoleg thing. My territory! Kill!

Pain! Hit me! Where? How? Fast twoleg!

Brightsharp metal! Cut! No. No cut! Hit! Why no cut?

Claw twoleg! Miss? Bite twoleg! Miss? Miss? How miss?

Pain! Hit again! Twoleg growl! Leap! Not hit ground???

Twoleg hold up! Stop in air! Twoleg too fast!

*Idea* Twoleg holding me… can’t get away! Claw!

???MISS??? PAIN! Blackness…. Death coming… 

Wake up. Not-dead? Twoleg here!

Twoleg… Twoleg stronger. Twoleg still not kill.

Not able kill Twoleg? Twoleg not kill?

Stop. Wait…

Tai’s eyes snapped open, but he wasn’t really seeing anything in the room with him. Just the final scene from that frighteningly disjointed, animalistic memory. A face. Dark-skinned, human, a face sharp-edged, with the look of the hawk. Clothing that would be strange in any place he had ever heard of. And eyes… eyes the color of stormclouds and steel, huge gray eyes filled with calm certainty.

That is a real memory, he thought. Impossible though it is, that is real.

At night, when he slept, the drugs loosened their hold. He dreamed…

Standing in a strange pose, the Master nodded. Tai launched himself at the tall, angular figure, claws outstretched. The Master moved the slightest bit, and Tai’s claws caught nothing but air. Again. And again. No matter how fast, no matter what direction or technique he tried, he could never touch the strange man, let alone harm him. Finally he stopped and waited, wishing he could express what he felt to the figure before him. The figure made sounds… he stopped and thought. Those sounds… were they… were they a way to… tell other people things?

As he thought that, the Master’s sounds fell into recognizable patterns. Though it would be a while before he understood words, the sounds remained: “Well done, little one. You have learned the concept of practice and of when to stop practicing. When you begin to speak, then truly your training can start.”

More days passed. More dreams. Pain. Tests. Most of the dreams faded before waking, but one, finally, remained.

Revelation.

He stood in the center of his room. Drugs fogged his thoughts, made thinking an almost impossible effort. So much easier to just lie down, relax, do nothing. Anger burned away the fog, but replaced it with the smoke of fury. No, anger was no good now. They knew anything that he could do when driven by rage. Only discipline, only by the power of his mind, could he hope to surprise them.

The Master studied him as he practiced. “There is a Power in the soul, little one. The mind and the body are one, and yet each has its own strengths and weaknesses. One trained sufficiently in both can never be defeated, or so it is said. You have a special strength, a power that enough training will bring to its peak. That path I can show you how to begin.”

He brought his arms up and parallel, in the stance that his Master had taught. He looked in the one-way mirror, and then closed his eyes, focusing on himself. Tai visualized himself in every detail, every hair, the way the faint air currents in the room moved the clothing he wore in infinitesimal patterns. The fog began to recede from his mind, pushed back by the extremity of what he was doing, by the focus in his soul. He trembled, forcing his body to obey. He needed more. A way out. But panic and fear would do him no good. He remembered the last dream, the last lesson of the Master:

“When your body betrays you, it must be disciplined by the spirit, by the mind. Only the mind matters. Think upon water, little one. Water. It is all but the smallest part of what you are. All but the veriest fraction of the world. And all but indestructible, infinitely adaptable, nothing you can grasp in your hand, yet able to become something irresistible, unstoppable, infinitely fast like a flood, infinitely slow like a glacier, yielding to the smallest object, yet able to wear down the mountains themselves; in fact, all but the very essence of life itself. You have learned the Hand Center. You have seen the Wind Vision. You have found in yourself the High Center. Now, take into yourself the Water Vision.”

He thought of water. A droplet, condensing in a cloud. The droplet, a single thought. Droplets coalescing, becoming a raindrop; the raindrop, a single idea. The rain falling, becoming a puddle, a thousand puddles, a downpour; a day in the life of a man or a woman, a thousand thousand thousand thoughts moving as one. The downpour, still made of a trillion trillion droplets, pouring into rivers, the rivers into a mighty ocean that covered the world; the ocean, a man. Infinite in complexity, yet united in the substance of the soul.

Tai didn’t really understand what it was he was doing. It was an art, a technique, a skill taught to him so long ago that only the dreams showed him some of the teaching. Yet in his bones he understood it. He would not fail the Master, even now.

The ocean was his soul. How, then, could anything withstand it? How could a drug, however potent, have any effect when diluted unnumbered times in the waters of his mind? It could not. And so it did not.

Tai felt his mind clearing. Yet just by noticing that, he trembled at the edge of losing this transcendent moment. He knew he might not reach this point again; it required the desperation and, perhaps, the paradox of the drugged calmness to reach it this time.

But the very instability was the key. Like the shaken ocean, his soul gathered into a roiling wave. He spun and gathered the force of the oceans into his movements, a fluid lunge at a wall of armored, tempered glass that could withstand explosive shells.

But what is anything next to the power of a tsunami? What use armor plate against the relentless pressure of a glacier?

The wall bulged outward like cheap cardboard, bulged and then shattered into a billion fragments that glittered in the laboratory lights like diamonds. In that moment, he saw the shocked faces of the scientists in the lab, and the calmness evaporated. Berserker fury took him.

* * *

Breathing hard, Tai slowly came back to sanity. Blood was splattered on him from head to toe; he chose not to look at what he had left behind him. In front of him was a door, and behind that door…

“FATHER!”

He hugged Seb and Tai fiercely for a moment, then pulled away. “Go. The way out is clear. Run.”

“But what about you?” Seb asked, fighting to keep from crying.

Tai shook his head. “I have to go after Genshi, Kei, and Kay. But I won’t have you staying here any longer. Go. And keep going. As far away from here as you can get, to another country if you can. Don’t look back. I will find you. If it takes a year or a dozen years, I’ll find you. Just make sure that you’re safe.”

Seb looked torn, but then looked at little Tai and realized what his father meant. It was his time to be a protector. “Yes, Father.”

He watched until the two were out of sight. Then he loped down the corridor. Turning the corner, he backpedaled to a halt.

Dr. Ping Xi was there, holding a black box. “Tsk. Are you forgetting something, Alpha?”

“I AM NOT ALPHA!” Loathing and fear held him where he was. Dr. Xi was the only thing he could remember that frightened him.

“Do you think I left everything to chance? The coded transmissions this sends out will detonate a small implant in your brain. A hideous waste, one I would rather avoid. But your children will serve well enough in the lab. You have become, as the Colonel would say, a far too expensive luxury.”

The black box pulled his gaze towards it like an evil magnet. One button, and he would cease to exist. He didn’t doubt Dr. Xi. Dr. Xi never bothered to lie, it wasn’t in his nature.

But was it better to live in the grip of the Project?

That thought decided him. He would win either way. But his children…

He had to succeed. He remembered his Master’s movements. He had to combine his own speed with the Master’s inhuman accuracy. And only one chance to get it right.

He let his shoulders sag, as though realizing he was hopelessly trapped. Then he lunged forward, leaping across the forty feet separating them like a missile.

He saw Xi’s eyes widen, and knew in that instant that he was too late; the bastard had more than enough time to press the button.

But he saw the finger hesitate; perhaps, in the end, it was just a little too hard for the doctor to destroy his greatest work. And then he was on Dr. Ping Xi, and his blood tasted like freedom.