by Eric Flint
Lucia glanced back only once. Mrs. Bunny hopped out from under a bush, her white coat gleaming in the moonlight.
"Go," Lucia hissed. "Go, bunny. Go, go."
Silver Age
Written by Virginia DeMarce
Grantville, March 1635
Pam Hardesty squatted down next to a set of encyclopedias in the National Research Center. Tuesday. Cross-training for would-be librarians. Someone, somewhere up the food chain, had decided that they would be better-prepared to help researchers in the future if they had some research experience in the present.
"Missy, can you come over here?"
"What's up?"
"Have you ever heard of this before? Some guy wants Grantville to provide him with the dates of the Age of Gold, Age of Silver, Age of Bronze, and Age of Iron."
Missy frowned, leaning down over Pam's shoulder. "There actually was a Bronze Age and and Iron Age. We studied those in middle school-seventh grade world history, I think." She reached out. "Try 'P' for 'prehistory.'"
"What about the other two?"
"Umm. I thought it was a Stone Age before the Bronze Age. Not a Silver Age. I don't remember a Silver Age." She turned around. "Mrs. Bolender, can you come over here?"
After she had read the letter from the scholar seeking knowledge, Elaine Bolender laughed. "You're not going to find dates for the Age of Gold and Age of Silver in the encyclopedia. Try…" She looked around at the shelves. "Over there. Bulfinch's Age of Fable."
***
A few days later, Pam stood outside her apartment, looking blankly at the envelope she had just pulled out of the mailbox. What on earth? Why would Mom be writing her a letter? Mom hadn't written her a letter since she got married-again-last fall and went off to the Netherlands. Her stomach tied itself in knots. Her hands shook as she opened it.
" Dear Pam,"
At least it wasn't "Pammie." That nickname had always been a bad sign.
" Since you were working at the library anyway, last time I heard, please see if you can find an article about making lava lamps and send me a copy. "
Lava lamps? Lava lamps?? Lava lamps?!?!?
" It can't be very complicated. There was one in the Science Fair the year you were in seventh grade."
Little did Mom have any idea how elaborate and complicated some of those science fair projects got. Especially those brought in by kids whose parents helped them. Parents who weren't like Velma.
" It is very flat here. "
What was she thinking? Almost anyplace was flat compared to West Virginia.
" Love, Mom.
"PS. Please mail the article to Jean-Louis LaChapelle in care of the University of Leiden. He is Laurent's nephew. I'm sure that I wouldn't understand it myself. "
Pam would have thrown the letter away, if it hadn't been for the postscript.
She should have known that if she didn't just freeze Jean-Louis to dry ice the first time he showed up in Grantville and started panting at her like an overenthusiastic Chihuahua, she'd end up having to deal with her mother again. And again. And again. Not that Jean-Louis could help being the nephew of the guy that Mom had married.
***
Pam stared at the fresh sheet of paper. God only knew what caused her to actually research lava lamps for her mother and even God probably didn't know why Velma would want to know about lava lamps now that she was living in Holland, but even with a mother like her it didn't pay to be impolite.
Especially not when Velma had gotten Jean-Louis involved. And Velma was now married to Jean-Louis' uncle. And Jean-Louis was really
… quite a bit better than okay, when you came right down to it.
Pam shook her head. Mom had been wandering around town talking about Spiritual Enlightenment before she left. Perhaps she was thinking of the lamps as a meditation aid. Oh well.
She dipped her pen in the inkwell.
" Dear Mom,
"I hope you like flat. It must be easier than climbing these hills. Especially with another baby coming. At your age.
"I am enclosing a copy of the report I'm sending to Mr. LaChapelle in Leiden, like you asked. There are a few things you need to know so you don't get upset with him.
"First the bad news. Mom, 'real' lava lamps are something that they just can't make down-time. The lava goo is made from some chemicals that the coal tar plant is just starting to think about making, and from some other chemicals which they say will be decades or longer to make.
"Now the good news: you can make a 'Motion Lamp.' It won't have the exact same sorts of globs and stuff, but it will have bubbles and blobs that move up and down. It can be pretty cool. You just take mineral oil (Baby Oil) and put it in a bottle with water and alcohol with a bit of spring on the bottom. The trick is that the amount of alcohol is very, very tricky to get just right. You end up adding a drop of water, then a drop of alcohol and so forth till it works.
"But these motion lamps can be powered by a candle just like the one you have.
"The 'lava' will be clear not white or colored, but you can color the water with any dye.
"I hope this finds you well. Is the family nice? Have you decided what to name the baby?
"Your daughter,
"Pamela"
The cost of postage for the letter with the copy of the report put a considerable dent in her weekly incidentals budget.
Not to mention that it took a while to work out exactly the right tone of letter to send to Jean-Louis.
The postage for that one took most of the rest of her weekly incidentals budget.
She really hoped that Velma had warned him that it was coming. Just in case, though, she had thought she ought to explain.
You couldn't really count on Velma to remember things like explaining to someone else why she thought he should be ready to do her a favor.
It just didn't occur to her.
***
"I don't believe it," Missy said. "Lava lamps?"
"That was it."
"What's the connection?"
"I do not have the vaguest idea." Pam slid off her stool behind the circulation desk, ready for her lunch break. "But I'm pretty sure of one thing."
"What's that?"
"It's not sabotage. There is no possible industrial or explosive application for mineral oil lamps."
"Sure?"
"Sure enough. But I reported it to Cory Joe anyhow and sent copies of all the letters to his office in Magdeburg. Thank goodness I could take that package down to Mr. Bellamy's office and have him pay the postage. It weighed just ounces and ounces. By the time I sent the information off to my mom and Jean-Louis, I was flat broke."
"Oh well. I was thinking that perhaps you had Saved Western Civilization Once Again."
Pam grinned. "I've thought of one possible explanation, though."
"What?"
"Remember that question about the Golden Age and Silver Age we handled a couple of weeks ago?"
"Yeah?"
"What do the encyclopedias call the seventeenth century in the Netherlands?"
"The Golden Age of Dutch Culture, isn't it? They've got Rembrandt now. They're going to have Vermeer pretty soon."
"Yep. And now they've got Mom. The one and only Velma Hardesty. Who's busy reducing it to a Silver Age all by herself. And adding a little tarnish."
Feng Shui for the Soul
Kerryn Offord
Grantville, 1633
Kurt Stoltz ignored the rumbling of his stomach and continued his careful scanning of the pages of the newspaper. He well knew that they censored everything. So one had to read everything to detect the tiny inconsistencies that hinted at what they had removed. He knew there were censors about, especially in Grantville. There was no way that they would allow easy access to all the information from the future, no matter what they claimed.
He turned the page and started reading the advertisements.
The ad in the "situations vacant" column practically leapt off the page. Kurt stared at it in disbelief. The G
ribbleflotz Spirits of Hartshorn facility in Grantville was looking for multilingual people with fluent English (preferably up-timer English), Latin, and German to work in the research department. He could do that. He was fluent in Latin and German, and had spent several years in England. As for up-timer English, he was a regular user of the various libraries around Grantville. Not that he was well known of course. Anybody growing up in the Stiefel-Meth sect learned the value of keeping their head down and being inconspicuous.
He placed a hand inside his satchel where his notebooks resided. His personal notebooks, with all his notes about the research being undertaken by the great Herr Dr. Gribbleflotz. The doctor was publishing information that Kurt couldn't find in Grantville's libraries. Did he have a source of information the censors hadn't gotten to? This advertisement suggested a way to find out.
A position as a researcher with his company, even if it was in Grantville rather than in Jena, was an opportunity not to be missed. Kurt copied the address for applications, and for the first time since arriving in Grantville to see the truth of the Corona Conflagrens miracle nearly two years ago left a library early. He needed an early night if he was to get to the Gribbleflotz Spirits of Hartshorn facility before any other applicant tomorrow.
HDG Enterprizes, Jena, 1634
Dr. Phillip Theophrastus Gribbleflotz glared at his special aluminum pyramid with the strategically placed faceted gems. He picked up his pen and dipped it into the ink. The pyramid wasn't working, but the world's greatest alchemist couldn't just write "it isn't working" in his note book. That kind of comment lacked any hint of scientific credibility.
Phillip paused in thought, idly chewing on the wooden shank of his pen. Then he remembered how the Americans would record the lack of results. He dipped his pen again and wrote "No invigorations of the Quinta Essentia of the Humors were observed." It was nice. It described the lack of observed results in suitable language, but then, why couldn't he see anything? Phillip started worrying his pen again.
The obvious answer was that there was nothing to see, but that couldn't be right. Maybe… Phillip sat up straight. Of course! The changes in the Quinta Essentia were invisible to the human eye. What he needed was some method of detecting the invisible forces.
***
He'd found it. Photography. More specifically, Kirlian Photography. With Kirlian Photography one could record the image of a person's aura. All one needed was some simple electrical equipment.. . and some photographic equipment. That last brought Phillip back to earth. What was the availability of up-timer photographic equipment?
He went to the door of his office and called out. "Hans. I need you."
The normally reliable Hans Saltzman didn't answer. Phillip went searching. The first person he found was Ursula Mittelhausen, the housekeeper for HDG Enterprizes.
"Frau Mittelhausen, have you seen Hans?"
"He is in Halle helping set up the Oil of Vitriol facility, Doctor."
Phillip stifled an unsuitable exclamation. Just when he needed his personal assistant, Hans had to make himself unavailable. Well, when everyone else failed you, there was only one person left to do the work. "I need to make a trip to Grantville. Please book a seat on the train."
"Of course, Doctor. The evening train? Do you wish for me to also book accommodation?
Phillip considered the work he had backing up, and the expense of accommodation in Grantville. "At the Higgins. I don't know how long I'll be. I need to ask about 'photography.'"
Ursula perked up. "Michael's sister, Maria Anna, sent a photograph of herself that one of the up-timers took. Are you going to be working on photography now, Doctor?"
"I wish to investigate the application of photography to the detection of the invisible forces of the invigoration of the Quinta Essentia of the Human Humors."
"So you'll be taking photographs, Doctor?"
"Purely for science, Frau Mittelhausen."
"Oh!" Ursula was crestfallen. "I was hoping that I could have my photograph taken so I could send it to my sister in Leipzig.
Grantville
Phillip had the choice of talking to the dreaded Frau Kubiak, or to Maria Anna. It wasn't that difficult a decision to make, so he caught the bus to Grays Run. He easily found the property where Frau Mittelhausen said Maria Anna worked. There was a sign declaring the house to be the head office of Brennerei und Chemiefabrik Schwarza. He looked around. It was vaguely similar to the property of Frau Kubiak-a large house on a few acres of land with a number of outbuildings. Obviously it was only a small company.
The door was answered by a little old lady, an up-timer.
"I am Dr. Phillip Gribbleflotz. I believe Maria Anna Siebenhorn works here?"
The little old lady shook her head. "Oh dear, I'm sorry, but Maria Anna's not in at the moment. She's in charge of the new explosives division at the Schwarza Gewerbegebiet and won't be home until late. .. Gribbleflotz did you say? The Aspirin King?"
Phillip grimaced. "The Aspirin King" was not something the world's greatest alchemist wished to be known as. They could at least get the name right. "Yes, I am the Gribbleflotz behind Gribbleflotz Sal Vin Betula."
"Do come in, Doctor. Your people were most helpful when Celeste and I wrote asking about photographic chemicals."
They were? Phillip hadn't seen a letter from this company. "You wrote asking about photographic chemicals?"
"Yes, and we got such a nice letter back from your Mr. Saltzman."
Phillip made a mental note to remind Hans just who was in charge in Jena. So, the next question was, had they done anything with the information? "Did you take Maria Anna's photograph?"
"Oh, yes." The woman fluttered a bit. "Would you like me to take yours?"
Well, it seemed he'd come to the right place. "Yes please, Frau. .."
"Sebastian, but everyone calls me Lettie. Come on in."
Several days later, the Spirits of Hartshorn Facility, Grantville
Dr. Gribbleflotz was doing what he did best, pontificating on his latest hobbyhorse. Michael Siebenhorn glanced over at his sister. She smiled back and shrugged. When one worked for the doctor, one learned to put up with his little foibles. He didn't force them on anybody, and the open disbelief of most of his senior laborants only made him work harder to prove his theories.
Michael shuddered. One of the consequences of the doctor's continued failure to invigorate the Quinta Essentia of the Humors in test subjects was Kurt Stoltz being authorized to work on artificial cryolite so he could make pure aluminum. Dr. Gribbleflotz had theorized that the impurity of the materials might be why his experiments weren't producing the results he expected. Well, Kurt was welcome to the task. Even the stink of ammonia that hung around the Spirits of Hartshorn facility was preferable to being around hydrofluoric acid.
"I have been unable to observe anything happening when I use my pyramid to invigorate the Quinta Essentia of the Humors in test subjects. I believe the reason I can't see anything is because the actions taking place are not detectable by the human eye. However, a special photographic technique I have read about should allow me to observe the otherwise invisible forces at work and help me progress my research. The diagram you are looking at is taken from a reputable up-time source, and both Frau Sebastian and Frau Frost believe that such a device should produce the Kirlian images I desire."
Michael dragged his attention back to what Dr. Gribbleflotz was saying. At least this wasn't going to be anything as dangerous as hydrofluoric acid. The diagram was a simple electronic circuit, easily understood by anyone with knowledge of the up-timer science. Of course, actually making the device needed a level of expertise he knew the doctor lacked. For that matter, so did he. What was needed was a specialist, someone who knew how to make a transformer. Fortunately, such people were relatively easy to find in Grantville. "Where are you intending to use this…" Michael paused to think up a suitable name the doctor would enjoy. "Kirlian Imager, Doctor?"
"Kirlian Imager… I like that, Michael. Yes
. I will of course use the 'Kirlian Imager' in my laboratory for my research, but also, I am running short of the aluminum for my Candles of the Essence of Light demonstrations, and I hope that I might be able to add the Kirlian Imager to my seminars."
Michael grimaced. He suddenly had an idea where this meeting was heading, and an explanation for his sister's presence. It wasn't going to be a simple request to make a Kirlian Imager. No, nothing that easy. "That will require a lot of the new photographic materials. Can Brennerei und Chemiefabrik Schwarza supply your needs?"
Maria Anna, Michael's little sister, answered. "Lettie Sebastian knows a lot about photography, but not a lot about chemistry, and while Celeste Frost knows a lot about chemistry, she doesn't know a lot about photography. Together they make a competent photographic chemist, but neither of them understands production on the scale Dr. Gribbleflotz requires."
Michael sighed. He'd guessed right. "So you want me to develop the information your friends have into procedures to produce photographic chemicals?"
"Yes." Phillip smiled. "I've already talked to the Frau Kubiak, and she is happy to make the necessary funds available. I'm sure you'll have no trouble recruiting additional workers for a new production line."
Michael struggled not to swear. He shot his sister another look. She was smirking quietly in her corner. The little witch. He knew why she was smirking. She'd been trying to get him to produce the chemicals her friends needed for their photography project for weeks. Well, it looked like she'd succeeded this time. One didn't turn down Dr. Gribbleflotz. Not when he had taken you, starving and desperate, off the streets and then trained you in the new alchemy. It wasn't even as if the doctor was interested in the potential fortune Maria Anna insisted photography could bring in either. For someone who must be one of the richest men in Thuringia, the doctor displayed a sometimes distressing disinterest in making money.
Michael tried a last desperate rearguard action. "Doctor, I am currently running not only the Spirits of Hartshorn facility, I'm also running the production for the new fuel tablets. Couldn't you find someone else?"
