Eric Flint - Grantville Gazette - Volume 4

- Prologue

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- Prologue

Editor's Preface

by Eric Flint

Once again, alas, I need to apologize for the delay in producing this volume of the magazine. In my

preface to Volume 3, I confidently predicted that we'd be able to publish the next volume in late January

or February. Instead. . .

Well, here it is, in mid-April.

Again, the main cause of the delay was illness. In this case, my copy-editor got sick with this very nasty

strand of the flu that's been plaguing us recently. Then, by the time she recovered, she had a backlog of

other work that was more pressing than the magazine, that she had to do first.

(Which, she did. Sorry, folks, but facts are stubborn things—and it's just a fact that the income for a

publisher that's generated by an electronic magazine, even a successful one like the Gazette, is always

going to put it at the bottom of the priority list. Such is life. No reason we can't have fun grousing about

it, of course, but do be aware that it's on a par with grousing about the weather.)

Someone might wonder why I didn't just find a different copy-editor. Picture me gasping with horror.

Modean has copy-edited every single piece produced in the 1632 series since the original novel 1632

that created it in the first place. By now, there are many ways in which she knows this universe better

than I do. Just to give one example, the official style sheet that I ask people to use when writing stories

or articles for the magazine was produced by her, not me. I asked her to do so, which she did by

systematizing what had been my semi-conscious practices in 1632 and 1633 and The Ring of Fire.

The point is this: copy-editors are important. They do far more than simply proof-read to check for

typos. They are also the people who systematically cross-check the text to make sure the authors are

maintaining factual, thematic and stylistic continuity within the story and (in the case of a series) from

one story to the next. Continuity lapses are a problem even within a single, stand-alone novel. With a

long and complex series like the 1632 series, they can become a major problem without a good copy-

editor who knows the material extremely well serving as the watchdog.

I would no more casually change copy-editors for a 1632 project than I would blithely schedule the

second half of major dental work with a different dentist because my regular one didn't have an opening

on exactly the day I wanted. (I've had the same dentist for twenty-three years and the same doctor for

nineteen. There is a reason for this.) Far better, as inconvenient as it might be, to wait a couple of

months.

However, all's well that ends well, and here is Volume 4. There's even a bright side to the delay, which

is that it enabled me and the editorial board to get the fifth volume put together in the meantime. Modean

already has it and she tells me—told Paula, rather, my assistant editor—that she foresees no delay in

getting that one ready.

So, if all goes well—which it should! it should!—we'll have Volume 5 ready for publication in two to

three months. That would put us back on the triannual schedule I've been hoping to maintain all along.

(No, we haven't been doing it. Our actual schedule has been closer to biannual.)

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- Prologue

* * *

Some remarks on the contents of this volume:

Once again, I had to go through my usual dance, trying to decide which stories should go under

"Continuing Serials" and which should be published as stand-alone stories. This is a dance which, as the

magazine unfolds, is getting. . .

Really, really complicated.

In the end, I parsed the contents of this volume in such a way that only David Carrico's "Heavy Metal

Music" fell into the category of "Continuing Serials." I am even willing to defend that choice under

pressure, although—fair warning—my defense will lean heavily on subtle points covered by Hegel in

his Science of Logic. (The big one, not the abridgment he did later for his Encyclopedia. So brace

yourselves.)

That said. . .

Well. . .

"Poor Little Rich Girls," by Paula Goodlett and Gorg Huff, continues the adventures of the teenage

tycoons-in-the-making that Gorg began in "The Sewing Circle" in Volume 1 of the Gazette and

continued in the story "Other People's Money" in Volume 3.

I will stoutly insist that Virginia DeMarce's "'Til We Meet Again" is a stand-alone story; no ifs, ands or

buts about it. I will also admit that, knowing Virginia, the status will last about as long as a snowball in

hell. Leaving aside the suspicious appearance of the name "Quedlinburg," the presence anywhere in the

vicinity of Mary Simpson is enough in itself to set off all the alarm bells. I introduced the character of

the Abbess of Quedlinburg myself, in 1633—but did so at Virginia's recommendation. I should have

known. . .

As for Mary Simpson, I first introduced her as a minor character in 1632 and then developed her as a

major character in 1633. Since then, the dame seems to be taking over the world. She'll be a major

character in 1634: The Bavarian Crisis and I can see her looming in David Carrico's series.

The same with Karen Bergstralh's "One Man's Junk." In this volume, that story is a stand-alone. Yup,

sure is. That status will last until the next volume comes out. At which point the readers will discover

that life goes on, for the characters in that story as with so many others.

The same will probably prove to be true, sooner or later, with most about all the other stories in this

volume. The truth? The distinction I make for the Gazette between "continuing serials" and "stand-alone

stories" is pretty much analogous to the distinction the law makes between first and second degree

murder. The one is premeditated in cold blood; the other more-or-less happens in the heat of the fray.

There are times I think of just throwing up my hands and publishing all of the stories in the Gazette as

"continuing serials." And, in my darker moments, contemplate changing the title of the magazine to The

1632 Soap Opera. That's because, like a soap opera, the characters just seem to go on forever and ever in

one episode after another. Unless one of them is actually Killed Off—and then, sometimes, you don't

really know For Sure–they'll keep re-appearing. Often enough, in somebody else's episode.

On the other hand, I'm not a snob about soap operas. I used to be, until many years ago my wife's work

schedule required me to tape her favorite soap opera so she could watch it when she got home. Initially,

I did so holding my nose—and bound and determined to watch only the first few minutes to make sure it

was taping properly. This was back in the early days of VHS when I didn't trust the technology involved.

(And still don't, but I admit I'm something of a technophobe.)

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- Prologue

Before a week had passed, I found myself watching the entire damn episode! Day after day! It was then

that I first discovered just how addictive soap operas could be. I'm surprised some enterprising politician

hasn't tried to include them in the ongoing and glorious War on Drugs. (Whose prospects, in my opinion,

were best described in Eric Frank Russell's Wasp by a disgruntled shopkeeper commenting on the

military success of the Sirian Empire: "For months we have been making triumphant retreats before a

demoralized enemy who is advancing in utter disorder.")

In defense of the Gazette, I will say that the characters in this soap opera are wrestling with a far broader

range of concerns than the usual fare of love pining from afar, emotional misunderstandings that

somehow last for years when a simple five-minute conversation could settle it, and, of course, the

inevitable jealousies and adulteries. Not that the magazine avoids those, either, of course. But the

characters also wrestle with political issues, religious issues, worry about their livelihoods and scheme to

make a fortune or at least a decent income.

In short, the Gazette is an ongoing chronicle of the way an alternate history would actually evolve, if

you looked anywhere beyond the narrow circle of Ye Anointed Heroes and Heroines. The distinction

between this and a soap opera—or The World's Great Literature, for that matter—is mainly in the eye of

the beholder.

Yes, sorry, it is. It is widely known, of course, that only women watch soap operas, just as only women

gossip. In my innocent youth, I believed these nostrums, until a quarter of a century working in

transportation and factories proved to me how ridiculous they were. You can find no better example in

the world of "gossip" than what machinists are doing standing around the tool crib or truck drivers are

doing at lunch tables in a truck stop. Of course, if you ask them, they will insist they are engaged in the

manly art of "shooting the breeze." Just as, if you ask the electricians and millwrights in the maintenance

shop who are watching daytime television while waiting for something to break down that requires their

expertise, they will insist they are not actually watching the soap operas showing on the set. No, no.

They are merely interested in ogling Whazzername's figure.

If this state of affairs irritates you, I can only shrug my shoulders. Don't blame me, blame Homer. To

this day, the Iliad stands as one of the world's all-time great soap operas. The much-hallowed "epic" as it

exists today is simply a cleaned-up pile of gossip. What it really was, in its inception, were the stories

with which bards entertained the courts of Mycenaean kinglets by chattering about which gods and

goddesses lusted for which mortals, their mutual jealousies, and what they did to advance their. . . ah. . .

"causes."

For that matter, blame the Old Testament. Sure, sure, a lot of it deals with Sublime Stuff like the creation

of the universe, etc., etc. But there are whole swaths of the books in the Bible that look suspiciously like

soap opera plots to me.

It's not even peculiar to western culture. If you want to read the Greatest Soap Opera of all time, you can

do no better than start the massive Hindu epic, the Mahabharata. I say "start," because you may or may

not finish the multi-volume work. (I did finish it, myself. But that was after I'd learned to enjoy a good

long-running soap opera.) I believe it is still, to this day, the longest epic ever written.

The word "epic," of course, is what scholars call a soap opera that was written a long time ago, which

gives it the patina of respectability. They will defend their use of terms by pointing to such episodes in

the Mahabharata as the philosophical discourse between Krishna and Arjuna which is separately known

as the famous Bhagavad Gita.

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- Prologue

Very sublime, the Bhagavad Gita; yes, yes, no doubt about it. It's also just one episode out of a

multitude which follow (by and large) the adventures of the five Pandava brothers and the wife they

share in common, Draupati. (Don't blame me! I didn't come up with the kinky stuff, although it's sure

fun to read about.) One of the central adventures of which involves the sublime subject of how the

foolish oldest Pandava brother lost their wife in a game of dice.

So, I figure the Gazette is in good company.

* * *

One last thing. As I said earlier, Volume 5 of the Gazette should be available within three months. We're

also well on the way to putting together Volume 6. As we did with volumes 2-4, we'll make volumes 5-7

available as a three issue-package for $15, as an alternative to buying them as single issues for $6

apiece.

And—need I say it—yes, we are accepting pre-orders. You can either purchase Volume 5 for $6 or the

three-volume package.

Eric Flint

April, 2005

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Framed

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- Chapter 1

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- Chapter 1

STORIES

Poor Little Rich Girls

by Paula Goodlett and Gorg Huff

"Will you two just give it up?" Heather asked, exasperated. "What good is that valley girl impersonation

going to do you? No one here in Badenburg has ever heard of a valley girl."

"For sure, Heather, for sure," Vicky Emerson answered. "We're just getting into character. Gotta play

dumb for the marks, you know."

"Like, haven't you ever seen The Sting?" Judy Wendell asked, with a sort of stupid look on her face.

Then she dropped the pose and cracked up.

Heather shook her head. "This is just silly. We know what we want to buy, and we know that people, not

marks, are starting to sell. The market is down since Guffy Pomeroy died, and people are nervous. All

we have to do is show up at the wedding. They'll come to us. Mrs. G said so."

"Yep," Judy confirmed. "They'll come to us and pat us on the head, and treat us like a bunch of idiots,

like we're too young to know what we're doing just because we're only fourteen. Then they'll try and

dump their stock on us, because they'll think we're too stupid to know better. I'm getting a little tired of

that part, but we can use it. Make them think there's a problem and they'll start dropping the prices."

Judy looked like she was ready to rub her hands together in anticipation, while Vicky looked energized.

Susan Logsden just rolled her eyes, while the others grinned.

"Seriously, all of you," Susan remarked, "We ought to be able to double our net worth at this wedding.

Mrs. G arranged a loan on our HSMC stock, so we've got a lot of cash to work with. Make the best deals

you can, then get Mrs. G involved. She can look like she's trying to save us from being dumb, and

people will drop their prices. It should work. I want to walk away from this with enough . . . "

Susan's voice trailed off, but Heather knew what she meant. Susan wanted to be rich enough and secure

enough that she wouldn't ever have to be afraid of anything, ever again. She was still worried that

something might go wrong, that she might have to go back to her mother. She didn't want that and all the

girls knew it. For Susan, the building panic in the stock market was an opportunity for security. For

Judy, it was a game, a game she enjoyed and played somewhat ruthlessly. Vicky seemed to be treating it

like a contest between the girls, a contest she wanted to win.

Heather shook her head again. Money was nice to have, sure, but she just wanted to have a good time

and enjoy herself. Hayley, Gabrielle and Millicent felt the same way. "If I can make a deal, I will. But

I'm not going to spend every minute looking for them. It's supposed to be a party, you know."

* * *

"Well," Vicky explained, "all those resistors and transistors, the integrated circuits and stuff are pretty

complicated. They used to have special rooms to build them in, back up-time."

At first, the older gentlemen in the group treated her with amused condescension. Gradually, though,

they started to look a little concerned. The girl's comments stuck a chord matching some of the things

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- Chapter 1

they had read lately. Sensing the change in attitude, Vicky threw out a few more comments, this time

about how difficult it was to compress natural gas and store it, and then wandered away.

* * *

Arend Nebel had never been convinced that gas-powered stoves were a good idea. After listening on the

fringes of the girl's discussion, he was even less impressed with that investment. Master Drugen became

interested in soldering irons first, because he thought they would be useful when making jewelry. Then

he discovered that soldering irons were useful for producing a good seal on gas pipe connections in

stoves. Arend didn't see the relationship.

"Henning, are you sure your father was right? That girl said the gas was hard to store, that it could leak

and cause a disaster. Maybe we should sell our interest in that company before that happens."

"Arend, you know my father was careful. He believed the oven works was a good investment, or he

wouldn't have put so much of his money into it. You are giving in to this atmosphere of panic. If Father

was still alive, he would say the same thing. We have only to wait, and we will be rich."

"I wanted to be a goldsmith. I still want to be a goldsmith. All three of us, even Justine, must now work

like peons while all we do is wait, and wait some more. I'm tired of waiting, and I do not want my future

wife to work, like one of these . . . these . . . common women of Grantville."

"Research at the library is hardly common, Arend. Justine enjoys the work. She is becoming quite

modern, you know. She even spoke of continuing the work, after you are married." Henning knew he

shouldn't have teased Arend that way. Justine did enjoy the work, though, and Arend's attitudes were

making her unhappy. Perhaps the marriage wasn't as good an idea as Father thought. Time would tell.

"Very well, we will speak to this girl. Perhaps she knows something we do not."

* * *

Vicky wondered what the two young men wanted as they approached. So help me, if someone else tries

to hit on me, today . . .

But no, that wasn't what they wanted. They just wanted to talk about the gas ovens. Vicky figured that

the oven works would be a success, over time. Once the problems of transporting the compressed natural

gas were solved, the business would expand rapidly. Until then, business would be a little slow, but the

investors' estimate of being able to sell ten thousand ovens in the next two or three years was pretty solid.

Vicky knew that the oven works had about half a dozen investors, all down-timers. The one up-timer

involved led a team of down-timers trying to come up with designs for cooking stoves, camp stoves,

space heaters and so on. They had a couple of working prototypes and a plan for mass production. It was

a good investment, one she would be happy to have. Still, she let the young men explain all this, while

she waited for them to make up their minds.

Vicki tapped her finger on her lips thoughtfully. "Well, even though it's risky, this does sound

interesting. I do want to reinvest the many thousands of dollars I was fortunate enough to make in the

sewing machine company."

Arend said, "I'll sell you my thousand shares at nine dollars each."

"That seems awfully high," said Vicky. "One explosion of a home and there goes my investment. What

if someone died of a gas leak in their home? Of course, Heinrich, on the design team, is awfully cute!"

Vicky batted her eyelashes.

Arend pulled Henning off to the side and whispered in his ear for a minute. Both nodded to one another,

then walked back to Vicky.

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- Chapter 1

* * *

Finally, the young men made a real offer. A good offer, the one she was waiting for. She signaled Mrs.

Gundelfinger, who came rushing over, clearly intent on protecting Vicky from someone who was trying

to take advantage of her youth. Her attitude increased one man's determination to sell, and he lowered

the price again. Curiously, the other man seemed to believe Mrs. G's protective act. He backed out of the

deal, which was a bit surprising. But Vicky was still able to buy one thousand shares of the oven works

for the discount price of three dollars per share.

After finalizing the deal, Vicky asked how Judy was doing. When she heard the answer, she decided to

look for another sucker.

* * *

"You are an idiot, Henning. And don't think I'm going to accept that worthless company stock as

Justine's dowry. You should have sold it."

Henning studied Arend with irritation. The stock wasn't worthless, but Arend refused to see that. Even if

it had been worthless, selling it to a child was more than Henning was willing to do. Arend actually

seemed pleased to have foisted the stock he considered worthless onto a child. In a way, that attitude

bothered Henning even more than the money he believed Arend had thrown away. It was money that, at

least in part, was to have provided support for his sister.

* * *

A beautiful, warm autumn Saturday in seventeenth-century Germany was too good to be ignored. It

seemed like every family in Grantville was out and about and had some business in town.

"Oh, Bill," Blake said, "will you just look at her. She's gorgeous. She's a dream. She's, she's . . ."

"A pretty girl. But has red hair." Wilhelm Magen was looking elsewhere. "That one, the one with the

blond hair, is who I like. What is name?"

"That one over there? I think she's Vicky Emerson," Blake responded after following Bill's look.

"C'mon, she's too tall and too thin. That redhead, Judy Wendell, now, she's the really pretty one of the

bunch."

Bill Magen and Blake Haggerty were taking advantage of the crowd and using part of their lunch break

to indulge in a bit of girl watching. The boys watched with interest as the group of girls known as the

Barbie Consortium arrived at Tyler's Restaurant.

"Not a single one of those girls would look at you, even if you saved her from a fire or something. Stuck

up, snooty rich girls aren't going to be interested in you police types."

Startled, Blake turned to see Brandy Bates standing behind him. He had known Brandy since they were

kids and she had even been his baby sitter for a while. She'd been nice to him back then, when he was a

little kid and wondered about his real mother and why she had left. Brandy lived just down the street and

had kept him company sometimes, even when she wasn't babysitting. He had really needed someone

back then and Brandy had always been ready to listen. In spite of the four-year age difference, they had

been close.

The change in Brandy had happened suddenly and Blake didn't care for the results at all. One day, right

after the winter break, Brandy had quit going to high school, just a few months before her graduation.

She had started hanging out with her cousin, Marlene, and with the crowd at the Club 250. Hanging out

with Marlene was bad enough, Blake thought, but he really didn't understand why Brandy continued to

work at the Club 250. That crowd of crooks and lowlifes hadn't improved since the Ring of Fire.

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"Jeez, Brandy, don't sneak up on me that way. None of those girls are stuck up or snooty. Susan Logsden

is living with her grandfather, right on the same street we live on. She's always nice. Besides, there's

nothing wrong with being police officers after we get out of the army. So, why wouldn't one of those

girls get interested in one of us?"

A bit late, Blake remembered the lessons in manners his stepmother had tried to drum into him.

"Brandy, this is my friend, Bill Magen. Bill, this is Brandy Bates."

Brandy ignored Bill's extended hand and stared past him as though he didn't exist. Bill blushed, dropped

his hand, and turned his attention elsewhere.

"Yeah, right. You're short and you're scrawny and you probably don't even shave yet." To Blake's

increasing irritation, Brandy continued to ignore Bill. "Judy Wendell is way out of your league, and

always was. Besides, she's jail bait."

"I wasn't even thinking about anything like that, Brandy. They're just pretty girls, and I'm not too blind

to see it," Blake answered sharply. "Y'know, Brandy, I used to like you a lot, but lately, you don't act

like you care about anything. Ever since you went to work at the Club 250 and started hanging around

with Marlene, you've just gotten mean."

"Why should I care about anyone? Being nice doesn't get you anywhere."

"It doesn't look to me like being mean is getting you anywhere either, Brandy," Blake retorted. "I liked

you a lot better back before you started acting like this. Maybe you ought to find something else to do

with your life. Hanging out with those losers at the Club 250 is just going to get you into a mess of

trouble someday. Besides, it's pretty stupid to hate Germans, especially when you're stuck in the middle

of Germany. I thought you were smarter than that."

"Blake, look at this," Bill interrupted. "Is maybe trouble coming."

Blake followed Bill's gaze and saw two men standing on the other side of the street. One of them seemed

to be staring daggers at a well-dressed German woman who was about to enter Tyler's restaurant. The

animosity in his eyes was obvious, even from across the street.

"He looks really pissed off. I wonder why. What do you suppose she did to him? We need to get back on

duty anyway, Bill. How about we wander across the street and look official? It might stop trouble before

it starts."

"Right," Brandy snorted. "Official! That's a laugh. You don't have a gun and you look like you're

dressed up in your father's uniform. Real impressive."

Blake's feelings were stung again. It was true that the uniforms were new and didn't fit very well. Even

so, Blake was still proud of his uniforms, and proud to have been selected for MP training after Basic.

"What's next for you, Brandy, have a bunch of kids and nowhere to go but down?" he snapped.

Turning away from Brandy, Blake said softly, "Sorry, Bill. She used to be such a nice person. I don't

know what happened, but she's just not the girl she used to be. I wish . . ."

* * *

Henning Drugen stiffened as he saw the two young men head across the street. They didn't appear to be

moving with any purpose, but Henning was nervous. Arend just wasn't making any sense lately.

"Arend, let's go. They look like children, but they are wearing 'MP' armbands," he muttered. "I told you

this wasn't a good idea."

"They are puppies. And we are doing nothing wrong," Arend answered. "We cannot be arrested if we

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Eric Flint - Grantville Gazette - Volume 4

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