Other Time

by Mack Reynolds

  He had the two gunsmiths brought to him and asked their advice. They had never seen any such thing, but, they conceded grudgingly, there was no particular reason why they could not be made.

  "Very well," Don told them. "Get the blacksmiths to provide you with enough metal to make the barrels. Bronze should be adequate for the trigger; we must conserve iron. Make your prototype. By that time iron from Cholula should be coming in. What I want done is this: You must train one group of Indians to make the wooden stocks, another group to make the barrels, another group to make the ramrods you load with, a group of their metalworkers to make the triggers, and finally still another group to assemble each of these into the final gun. Each Indian does but one task; each part is made identically, so that they could actually be changed from one weapon to any other."

  "A strange manner in which to make guns," one of them muttered.

  "It's known as an assembly line," Don said. "Mass production is coming to Tenochtitlan. It has to. We haven't much time. But there's one thing even simpler in some ways," he added, pulling another sketch atop the stack. "Do you recognize this?"

  After another long pause, the usually silent one snorted. "Ah, roqueta? It lacks accuracy and distance."

  "Right, it's a rocket—just a seamed tube with a cap, a guide stick of bamboo, with a pottery nozzle, and packed with slow-burning gunpowder. I think the powder should be rammed in damp, with a long, tapering hole up the middle. You may have to add charcoal. We'll soon have plenty of gunpowder to try it with."

  The other gunsmith was squinting. "But what is that fat, finned arrow on its front?"

  "Another rocket," Don said grinning, "with a delay fuse."

  "We will only entertain them," said the talkative one. "We'll entertain the hell out of them if we manage a range of several thousand meters," Don rejoined. "Just try it and keep me posted. Two-stage rockets were an idea whose time came a lot later than it should have."

  Plainly, they thought this last notion to be crazy. Just as plainly, they knew that orders were made to be followed.

  After they had gone, he sat there wearily. It had grown dark and he had dismissed his staff. He was always tired now. He couldn't remember back to the time when he wasn't tired.

  He stared down at his sketches illuminated only by flickering torchlight. He wished the iron would start coming through so that he could get into the manufacture of swords. He had about decided to introduce the Roman shortsword, rather than copying the more difficult Spanish saber. Less metal would be required and they should take fewer man-hours to produce. Besides, proper use of the Spanish sword required considerable time-consuming practice, while the Roman shortsword was fairly similar to the maquahuitl with which his Indians were familiar.

  He considered again the introduction of the heliograph for communications and wondered if his glassblower could make mirrors. If not, possibly bronze or copper could be utilized. Or fine gold leaf! Ghengis Khan's Mongols had used a system of flashing signals from hilltop to hilltop. There was no reason why he couldn't establish such a system, semaphore as well. When a Boy Scout he had learned both the Morse Code and semaphore, but he'd forgotten them both at this point in life. But it was no problem. He knew the theory in both cases and could devise an equivalent of Morse in a matter of hours. How did it go? 'E' was the most common letter in the alphabet, so you made that one dot. What was next, 'A'? He didn't know, but it was a vowel, so you could make that one dash. He imagined that it was the second most widely utilized letter.

  He pushed that aside for the moment and looked back at some of the other sketches. God, he was tired. He wondered vaguely if it would be possible for him to introduce the steam engine, if he could recall how the damned thing was valved. Or even the internal-combustion engine, assuming they located oil and learned to refine it. Perhaps a diesel engine. Weren't they supposed to be the simplest? He didn't know. For all practical purposes, he knew little of mechanics. Well, if he ever found time for experimentation, he could give it a whirl. But not now!

  How about electricity? What was a wet cell? You had something like a rod of lead and a rod of copper suspended in some kind of acid. Was it sulphuric acid? He wondered if Botello knew how to make sulphuric acid. It seemed to come back to him that the old alchemists had known the acid by some other name—oil of vitriol, or something. But what if he did manage to generate a current of electricity? What would he do with it? Not in a million years would he be able to come up with something like the radio or even the electric light. Telegraph. Now that was remotely possible—remotely.

  He began sketching a Viking longship. For use here on the lake, it seemed to him a more efficient ship than the Spanish brigantines. If he could teach them how to use oars, why not? They'd have it made. He sketched in a sharp bronze ram on the prow. They would mount one cannon on the bow of each ship, but otherwise the firepower would consist of crossbows and the newly planned blunderbusses, if they had the time to get them into production and the powder with which to load them.

  As he sketched, he thought, how about the flintlock? These muskets the Spanish used were primitive in the extreme. Could he devise a trigger based on flint and steel causing a spark, rather than depending on a smoldering piece of heavy string?

  He didn't hear her enter.

  She stood by the side of his table and looked down at his work.

  She said, "I have been talking to Cuauhtemoc, the First Speaker. You bring the things of the teteuhs to the Aztecs, do you not?"

  "Yes. And possibly other things as well. Things that the Spanish do not know about as yet."

  "This is why you cannot be allowed to go into battle? You must bring these things to our people. No one else can do it and it must be done above all else."

  He was weary beyond weariness. Tired. Tired. "Yes, that is the reason. And I have no time for your scorn, Malinche. Please go away now. I need time; I need ..."

  "Cuauhtemoc says that you need me." Very softly. "Oh, he does, eh?" Don cut it off short and thought about it. "Well, I suppose he is right, Malinche. I do need you. I've been too busy to let myself think about it, but I suppose I've known for a long time that I need you."

  She said, her dark eyes down, "You may do to me that thing you do with your mouth, if you wish." She pursed her lips for a kiss.

  He sighed. He did wish. It was simple as that. She moved into his room that night.

  In the morning the wagons of iron began to arrive from Cholula. Don sent orders to build more smelters and requested of the senators from Cholula that as many of that city's people as could be spared be sent to work them, and in the iron and coal mines. He sent word to his Spanish foremen to begin looking for new deposits of both iron and coal.

  Several new and larger smithies had been erected in the tecpan. Indian apprentices, not just from Tenochtitlan now but from all over the republic, were swarming there. Their job was to learn and take the new techniques back to their home cities. The tecpan was rapidly beginning to look like a manufacturing complex rather than a set of government buildings. Don was going to have to requisition some more buildings. Possibly the temples would do it. How could the priests resist, when the cause was the saving of all Mexico?

  Swords, lance tips, guns, tools with which to make more tools—all began to pour out.

  To the extent he could, Don continued to apply his assembly-line technique. In the past, an arrow maker would go through the whole process by himself, from chipping the obsidian or flint, to making the shaft, to attaching the feathers with glue, to binding on the arrowhead with gut and glue. In a day's time a good arrow-maker might turn out as many as three arrows.

  Now a score of metalworkers pounded out the bronze or iron arrowheads. Another score trimmed feathers; another score devoted full time to the shafts; another group assembled the finished parts. Women, it turned out, proved most deft at this last in particular. Don was leaning ever more to the use of women in his primitive factories. When he got time, he told himself, he was going to have to mak
e a pitch for equal rights. Oh, Sweet Jesus, did he have a lot of postponed projects!

  He had Bernal Diaz summoned one morning. The sturdy Diaz proved as receptive as any of the Spanish prisoners and was one of those who had sensibly taken an Aztec wife. Don Fielding suspected that Diaz would choose to remain in Mexico after the war and had considered suggesting to Cuauhtemoc that the man be adopted into one of the calpulli. He was a likable sort, tough and straight as an arrow shaft.

  He said, "Bernal, how would you like to begin thinking in terms of making a voyage to Cuba or Hispañola? We're not ready for it yet, but it wouldn't hurt to start thinking about it a bit."

  Bernal squinted at him. "Cuba? You mean now? I don't understand."

  "No, not quite yet. If Cortes defeats us, of course, all is off. But if we defeat him, we will immediately march on Vera Cruz and attempt to capture the men and ships there. I then wish to send an expedition to Cuba, well Jaden with gold and silver, to purchase a good many things we need here. Cows, for instance; pigs, burros, chickens, goats, sheep, seed of European grains and fruit trees. I want all the books we can buy ... except religious ones. I want every kind of tool available. I want samples of every kind of weapon that you failed to bring on this expedition."

  "They would seize your ship when it landed."

  Don shook his head. "I don't believe so. It would be pointed out to them that many, many more of our ships will soon arrive to trade—or to raid, if that's the way the bastards want it. We plan to pay well for all the purchases and the market we provide is all but endless. We want thousands of cows, thousands of horses and pigs, sheep and goats. Why, the market is such that all Cuba would become wealthy by raising these things or importing them from Spain for resale."

  Bernal was thoughtful. "So what is it that you wish me to do?"

  "Consider all your comrades and select ten of them to man the ship. We will also send some of my Aztecs. You will be captain."

  "How do you know we will not seize the ship and the gold you give us to trade with?"

  Don grinned at him and laughed. "Because your shares of gold will remain here and, for the ten of you, it will be worth a great deal more than the amount you take with you. It would not pay you to attempt to rob us." He paused, then added, "There is one other aspect of the voyage to Cuba."

  "Yes?"

  "When you arrive, you will spread the message of the great wealth available here. Start the rumor among craftsmen that there are many positions for their trade, with the highest pay anywhere in the world. We welcome colonists, so long as they have some trade, some skill. This recruiting is not for gentlemen, judges, lawyers, or priests, but for honest, working men."

  "I see." Bernal Diaz was obviously intrigued at the idea, and then he proved that Don's suspicions had been correct. He said slowly, "When you took the paroles of the army, you promised that when the war was over, they could return to their own lands, complete with the gold you also promised. This truly will happen?"

  "Of course!"

  "Then I make this suggestion, Don Fielding. Do not send those who wish to go back to Cuba. Send them back to Europe, laden with their riches. And let them spread the word that you desire craftsmen, alchemists, watchmakers, metalworkers, and all the rest. Some of our army came from countries other than Spain. In fact, almost every country in Europe is represented. Your colonists, as you call them, would come from everywhere—those who were adventurous—and for your purposes, if I interpret them correctly, you wish adventurous, curious, inventive minds."

  "I see you are with us," Don told him. "If you remain, possibly you can conduct another mission for us on the west coast. There is another great civilization to the south, the Incas, even richer than Mexico. Soon we must contact them. They too must prepare against that son-of-a-bitch, Pizarro. We'll send them the wheel, the use of iron, gunpowder, and all the rest. We here in Mexico cannot afford to allow the European governments a foothold in South America any more than in North."

  He added in English, under his breath, "In another age we called it the Monroe Doctrine."

  Aftermath

  The messenger came from the coast some six months later. He bore one of the old-time type messages with both hieroglyphics and paintings.

  Cuauhtemoc and Don Fielding stared down at it. They'd been expecting something like this, and preparing.

  Painted on the parchment were some fifty ships riding at anchor in Vera Cruz harbor. But these were not brigantines and caravels. Don recognized them. He had seen paintings and prints of the Spanish Armada. These were galleons, heavy transport vessels, the heaviest available in Europe at this time for the carrying of horses, heavy cannon, and military stores. In the background were troop transports. These ships were clearly not from Cuba, but a direct reply from Spain. The galleons were tall enough to have three decks of cannon.

  "They'll wallow like pigs when they try to get away," Don said.

  Cuauhtemoc frowned. "I do not think they came with the idea of going away. Look at these figures: many horses, crossbowmen, cannon—"

  "That's why I had those two-stage rockets built," Don said. "Even with the coarse black powder we're producing, we can pound the bastards beyond cannon range from our rocket carts, and flaming oil payloads will put them into panic."

  "By now, lord, their troops will be engaging ours."

  "Several thousand of theirs against double that number of ours," Don Fielding replied, "and we've got more Molotov Cocktails than they can handle." He sighed and stood up. "Let the conches sound and the drums be played, Cuauhtemoc. Send messengers to muster the full host from all the Republic."

  Cuauhtemoc faced his mentor. "This, then, is what you have said would be the moment of truth?"

  Don Fielding's eyes were shining. "It is. With our own cavalry and rocket artillery, with half a million warriors, it should be a truth the Spaniards learn with bitterness."

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  PART THREE