by Eric Flint
"So, say my cousin and Ivan Borisovich's cousin both get jobs in the bureaus. My cousin, through talent or luck, advances more quickly. So my cousin is placed as section chief over a section in which Ivan Borisovich's cousin serves."
"Makes sense."
But Vald was shaking his head. "Because the Cherkasskii clan is higher ranked than the Yaroslav clan, it would be against the law for my cousin to be placed in authority over Ivan Borisovich's. He could have higher personal rank, but still could not be put above Ivan Borisovich's cousin in the same chain of command."
"Like, say, he's a prince?" Brandy tilted her head to the side.
"Yes." Prince Vladimir got a bit red in the face. "But not just that. It's the rank of the family as much as that of the individual. The family's situation must be considered first. Before individual wants."
* * *
Vladimir had just opened the packet from Moscow when someone used the door knocker. He looked at the clock he had purchased and stifled a curse. Time passed so quickly. Brandy Bates and her mother, Donna, had agreed to come to dinner tonight. It would be a quiet dinner, just the three of them.
One of the letters in the packet caught his eye. Surely it must be important. As all of them were—to their originators, at any rate. Vladimir was beginning to dread the packets, in truth. There was yet another over-large stack of letters in this packet. Vlad knew they would contain more requests, demands, and commands, depending on who the writer was. And probably half of the questions would have already been answered.
The turnaround time for communications was over two months. The message packets came every week or so. Often he got requests for clarification of some point, did the research and sent an answer. Then a week or two later he got another message saying "never mind, we figured it out." They had obviously figured out the problem before he ever got the request. Sometimes their solutions matched the answer he had sent and sometimes not.
Sometimes the solutions were better than the answer he had sent. That meant opportunities Vlad could take advantage of here in Grantville. There were, as of his last report, something like a hundred of the brightest minds in Muscovy living in his dacha a few miles outside of Moscow. This wasn't anywhere near the number of bright minds that were in Grantville by now, but still constituted a fairly robust R&D facility. Sometimes they came up with solutions that the up-timers wouldn't because the up-timers knew "it didn't work that way."
Vladimir averaged sending one message packet a week back to Moscow. Usually it would include the most recently copied up-timer books and what answers he had been able to get for the lists of questions that came in every packet.
His major-domo announced Brandy and Donna moments after he broke open the impressive looking letter. As they were shown in, he read the first paragraph. "Will you look at this!" Vladimir stood and stomped around the room. "Just look at it!" The letter had the imperial seals as well as those of the Russian Orthodox church. It was from Filaret, the patriarch of the church. Who also happened to be the father of the czar.
"Well, I could." Brandy giggled. "But it wouldn't do much good, you know. I can't read your language, remember. Suppose you just tell me what it says."
Vlad stopped his pacing and looked startled for a moment. "Ah . . . yes. I forget. You've learned so much about me and my country that I feel you must know the language by now. Silly of me, I suppose. Come ladies, come. Sit down, please. Will you have a glass of wine?"
Brandy smiled. "I do the same thing. It always surprises me when you need a word translated these days. Anyway, what does that very impressive looking letter say? It must be important, considering all the seals and ribbons. And yes, please. After this day, I could use a glass. I could use several for that matter. It's really been a day."
Donna Bates was enjoying the conversation. Brandy and Vlad's relationship had been developing nicely over the past few months. True, there had been hopes of a relationship with Henning Drugen. Henning was a good man, very responsible. The problem was that he wouldn't release any responsibility to Brandy. He made the decisions and expected Brandy to comply with them. That relationship just hadn't worked out. Henning and his sister, Justine, had moved to a home in Forest Grove a few months back.
But Vlad, well, Vlad was different. He and Brandy discussed things and came to mutual agreements. Donna had high hopes for this one. Vlad was basically the Muscovy ambassador these days, as well as a pretty good researcher.
"Tell me, Donna Ivanovna, was the government in your America as impossible to please as mine is?" Vlad's face was still a bit flushed with irritation. "The patriarch, of all people, sends me a request to have the entire library sent to Moscow. Impossible, totally impossible. Have they no idea of the size of such a project? Have they any idea of the expense?
"Oh, and you will love this part." Vladimir waved the paper again. "At the same time, I am to prevent the sale of up-timer books to other nations. Especially Poland and nations ruled by the Habsburgs. And I am to especially prevent the books from falling into the hands of the Roman church. Let me read you this. It is impossible."
"To Knaiz Vladimir Petrovich Yaroslavichov”
It is most necessary that the knowledge of the up-timers be limited to those of the true faith or at the very least provided to those of us of the orthodox church first. This must happen before it becomes available to those influenced by Rome. You must acquire the library, especially the National Library, mentioned in your dispatches and send it to the Church as soon as possible.
You are to be congratulated on sending so many books so rapidly. As you know, I am an expert on books and the time it takes to make copies. It is clear that you are somehow acquiring originals of the books you have sent because so many could not have been copied so quickly.
The spiritual tracts and philosophical knowledge gained by the up-timers must especially be sent to the church first. This is so that they may be reviewed before they are released. We wish to avoid partial understanding and crisis of faith among the followers of the true faith.
Further, it is essential that advances in techniques, new techniques and the knowledge of science be limited to nations that share in our beliefs. Some Protestant nations, particularly Sweden, may be allowed this knowledge but it must be kept from Poland and the Habsburg beast. Especially, knowledge of medicines and healing must be controlled, lest the unscrupulous Roman clergy use it to bolster faith in their misinterpretation of God's word.
"Can you believe it?" Vlad asked. "Can you believe it?"
Donna very nearly snorted wine up her nose. Vladimir was still stalking around the room and waving his arms in the air. It was clear the man was under a little too much stress lately. And this letter from the czar's father certainly hadn't helped. Still, watching Vlad stomp around was entertaining. "You really need to calm down a little bit. You're going to give yourself a stroke. Come on. Sit down and relax a bit. After all, as they say: the czar is very far away."
Vladimir slumped into a chair and poured his own glass of wine. "Every week I send a report. And every week I get more and more impossible requests. And I have no doubt that there are at least half a dozen more in this packet alone." A piece of paper fell out of it.
"Well, if it isn't going to violate national security or something, why don't you pull them out and read them to us?" Donna suggested. "That way you can blow off steam before you try to answer them. Unless you're afraid of the servants or something like that."
"Not my servants," Vlad asserted. "Well, not most of them. I hired local help, except for a few. Grigorii Ensheevich and Vasily, they are both from my lands and Grigorii Ensheevich almost raised me. Vasily grew up with me. Was educated with me, for that matter. I'm safe with them." Vlad didn't mention the rest of the Bureau personnel, but dug into the packet of letters and grinned mischievously. "Oh, you're going to enjoy this, Brandy. Here. You have a letter from Berna." Vlad handed Brandy a letter, one that was not decked out in ribbons and seals. After she took it, he picked up another
missive. He was glad to see it had fewer ribbons and seals.
"Oh, no." Brandy stared at the letter like it might be a snake. "Two months ago it was 'send me a sewing machine.' Last month it was 'send me a generator.' And we've done it, every time. What do you suppose Bernie wants now? I'm almost afraid to read it." Brandy glared at the letter, suspicion all over her face.
Donna stifled another snort at the look she wore. "Come on, Brandy. At least it will be in English. Read it to us."
"Okay, Mom." Brandy gingerly opened the letter. "I'll read it. But hang on to your hat. There's just no telling, there really isn't"
"Hey, girl"
"You know," Brandy muttered, "he could use my name, just to freaking be polite." She continued,
"Well, if Dad really wants the old car out of the way how about we do this? I'm sending you an authorization to take money out of my savings account. Will you give Dad some money for me? Tell him it's a storage fee, or something. Anything to keep him from getting rid of the car. Then, if you could have Vlad get someone to pull the engine out of it for me, I'd really appreciate it. I'm enclosing a bill of sale from me to you, just in case.
The body doesn't really matter that much, I don't guess. But I want the engine and the transmission. I want them bad. Actually, I'd like to have all of it, but there's no way to ship it, not in one piece, probably. Ask Vlad, will you? I'd take it all if I could get it.
I've asked Natasha to ask Boris (I love that . . . Boris and Natasha, the Russian spies.) to authorize paying for the transport back here. If worse comes to worse, we'll tear the whole thing apart and try to build our own version. God, I miss the car, I really do.
Thanks, Bernie
"Oh, Lord." Donna couldn't repress the giggle. "Bernie wants his car. In Russia. In the year 1633. That makes a lot of sense."
Brandy, Vladimir and Donna laughed. "I can't imagine what he'll do with it." Brandy shook her head. "What do you think, Vladimir? Should you send Bernie his car?"
Vladimir slumped farther into his chair. "I told you there would be more impossible demands, didn't I?"
Brandy grinned. "The difficult we do immediately. The impossible takes a little longer. What did you get in that letter?"
Vlad waved a piece of paper. "Money. Money like yours, in fact." He passed it to Brandy, who looked at it and passed it on to Donna. "Colorful."
It was. About four by eight inches, printed in red. "Who's this?"
"The czar Mikhail." Vlad pointed at the images. "A cross, a proper cross, on the other end."
Donna flipped the paper over. "And that would be the palace, I suppose? Or a government building of some sort?"
"The Kremlin." Vlad took the bill back.
"And what does the writing say?" Donna looked at him curiously.
"This bill is legal tender for all debts, by order of the czar, with the support of the Duma and the Zminski Sobor. One ruble."
"Bernie or you, Vlad? I mean, this isn't the sort of thing that Bernie would come up with." Brandy had known Bernie Zeppi for years. This wasn't his sort of thing.
"Me, mostly. I started sending information about your banking system well before Bernie left."
* * *
Vladimir believed in going to the best source he could find. He discussed the matter of book copying with the staff of the research center. Then sent the patriarch information on the book-copying system they had instituted. Parts of it. like scanning pages into computers could not be replicated in Muscovy. Other parts could, like the waxed silk sheets for the new duplicating machines.
Having, he hoped, explained to the patriarch that he could not just buy the National Library and ship it off to the Kremlin, he set to work on the next impossible demand. He made an appointment with Wilkie Anderson, the Tech Center teacher of auto mechanics. The man had the strangest desk he had ever seen. It was red and appeared to be the front end of a truck. Wilkie noticed him staring and pressed a button. The blaring noise rocked Vladimir back on his feet.
Wilkie grinned. "That always got the students attention. Yes, it is the front end of a S10 pickup truck. And I've hooked the horn up to the electricity. I don't honk it that much, but I still enjoy seeing people jump. Now, what can I do for you, Mister . . . ah . . . Yaroslav?"
"Yaroslavich," Vlad said. "A peculiarity of Russian nomenclature. But, no matter. I come because I have a question. Is it possible to 'pull the engine' of a 'car' and have it transported to another place?"
Wilkie nodded. "You can pull any engine. But some of them won't do you much good. What kind of engine is it?"
"I'm told it is a 1972 Dodge Charger." Vladimir waved the bill of sale Bernie had sent. "I don't really know what that means, but that's the car. Bernie Zeppi wants me to pull the engine and transmission and send it to him in Muscovy. I'm here to find out if that is possible."
"Not a bad choice." Wilkie leaned back in his chair and motioned Vladimir to another. "It's a good bit less complicated than some. No computers in it, at any rate. And I remember that car. Bernie bought it for a couple of hundred dollars back when he took my classes. We restored it together, out in the shop. Me, Bernie, all the class. Leon McCarthy, from the body shop classes, even got involved and fixed a couple of dents. But why pull the engine? Why don't you just put it in neutral and pull it with horses? How far does it have to travel and what are the roads like?"
"It has to go to Moscow and will make a good part of the trip by way of the Baltic sea." Vladimir shrugged. "The roads are fairly bad. Horrible, by up-timer standards. On the other hand, we can use more than two horses if we have to."
"Russia used to have oil wells up-time." Wilkie leaned forward. "Are you folks planning on getting into the oil business or do you figure on buying gas from the Wietze oil fields? I gotta tell you, they aren't getting much high octane yet."
"I have no idea," Vladimir admitted. "For all I know they want to use the engine as a planter for up-timer roses. I am also told to send those."
"Well," Wilkie shrugged away the possibility of Russian oil fields, "if you can get it onto and off of the boat, it really might be easier just to tow the darn thing. Sure, it weighs more than a wagon. But it's also got shocks and ball bearings on the wheels. Most of the time it'll be easier to pull than a wagon, even with the engine in it."
* * *
Brandy came upon Vladimir in the Research Center. He was engrossed in yet another volume of the encyclopedia. "What's up?"
"Your Mr. Wilkie says that Russia in the up-time had oil fields. If they were there in the up-time, they will be here now. I wish to locate them. And I shall have to arrange for some people to come here for training at the oil field. In fact, I should probably have a number of people come here."
Brandy sat down at the table across from Vlad and nodded. "Probably not a bad idea. Who will you have come?"
Vlad sighed a bit. "I'm quite sure that the Embassy Bureau already has people on the way. But this is too much for just a few people to absorb. I'm going to write Natasha and have her pick the best of the people from our lands. As well, I'm sure she knows some students who would be interested." Vlad looked Brandy in the eyes and said in a serious tone, "Muscovy politics are not pretty, Brandy. Not pretty at all. It hasn't been that long since Czar Ivan and the time of troubles. It will take a lot of work, but I believe most strongly that Russia must take advantage of the knowledge in Grantville. Most strongly. That is why, although it will be atrociously expensive, I will send Bernie his car. I will send books. Eventually, I hope to send teachers."
"You're not trying to be Peter the Great, are you?" Brandy asked. "I just don't see you going around cutting off beards and all that silly stuff."
"Not silly, my dear. Not silly at all." Vlad made a vague gesture and frowned. "It was a symbol. And symbols can be very powerful. The beards might have been the wrong symbol at the wrong time, perhaps. But something had to be done. Or rather, would have had to be done, had it not been for the Ring of Fire." Vladimir sighed.
"The history o
f my country isn't a happy one, not according to the very few books here in Grantville. These books, they barely mention the time of troubles after the death of Ivan the Terrible, the three false Dimitri's that left Muscovy bleeding and broken. Poland invaded—intervened they say—and took Patriarch Filaret prisoner. The Poles held him prisoner for years, Branya. Years. Then, afterwards, he was forced to take a vow of chastity by Boris Godunov. The purpose of the vow was to disqualify him from the throne."
Vlad closed the book with a snap and stared into the distance. "It hardened him, Brandy. Which may well be to the good. I don't know whether it was being forced to take holy orders or the imprisonment. Whatever it was that caused it, he was different when he came back. There is a cold-blooded practicality that wasn't there before. He manipulates everyone. The czar, Mikhail Fedorovich, is not in control. His father is."
"Do you know him?" Brandy settled in for a long talk. "The czar, I mean." She couldn't help but be interested. Vladimir attracted her in a way that few people did. She wanted to understand him and his country.
"Yes." Vlad gazed into an unseen distance. "My family is very wealthy, on the whole. And the treasury was bare when Mikhail came to the throne. My sister and I are the last of our particular branch, which concentrated the wealth even more. So we were invited to court quite a bit. Not as much as some, but fairly often. Our father traveled for the Embassy Bureau for many years; it gave us a different outlook. Natasha and I were educated more than some." Vlad's face grew more animated. "Natasha does know the czarina quite well, and I have sent her letters and books. Perhaps the czarina, with Natasha's help, can become more of an influence."
