Grantville Gazette Volume 24

by Eric Flint

  "I found the subject awkward, sir."

  "I can imagine. Would you care to express an opinion now, Adam?"

  Adam had rehearsed several answers to that question, should it arise. But what came out was, "It made me angry, and frightened."

  "A physician is required to control his emotions." Abrabanel gave Adam a professional look.

  "Of course, doctor. But have you seen a food riot?"

  "Not up close."

  "Nor I, up close. But I ask myself what happens in an epidemic when the chloramphenicol runs out."

  "Then we will do what we can. I'll expect you back in three days, Adam."

  Adam rose to leave, then hesitated at the door. "You gave me chloramphenicol."

  "Yes." The doctor looked up at Adam.

  "It's scarce. Someone else didn't get it. That person may die in my place."

  "If there were more urgent need, I'd have waited to treat you."

  "I'm no longer sure I wish to study medicine, doctor. Perhaps later, if they'll have a former syphilitic."

  "There is no record of your infection. And as for the cost of the medicine, it would seem I lost some chloramphenicol in an accident. Clumsy of me. That was good research, lad. You earned it. Return in three days. And while you wait, consider your life, Adam Tyrrell. Do not travel the road of your uncle and Henri Rossignol."

  "Yes. Chloramphenicol may not always be available."

  "I mean… consider marriage." The doctor returned his attention to some papers on his desk.

  ***

  Adam found Stephano in the cafeteria. As they walked, Adam spoke. "It would seem the doctor disapproves of sodomy."

  "Does he know about you?" Stephano asked.

  "He counseled me regarding marriage. It may merely have been his idea of fatherly advice, being as I've no family now."

  "Kind of him," Stephano said.

  "He offended me," Adam replied. Which felt odd, considering that the doctor was also saving his life.

  ***

  When Adam returned for his first follow up, he gave the doctor a short paper on the economic troubles of the United States in the last quarter of the twentieth century as reported in Time Magazine. On his next visit, he gave the doctor a paper comparing the development of the microcomputer industry to various enterprises in Grantville, including the role of four up-time teenagers in the development of a sewing machine industry. Adam had been careful to emphasize the role and nature of geeks in both developments.

  Adam repeated this brand building process until his last follow up visit. On that day, he first visited the library to verify that a certain science fiction book was still on the shelves and in the catalog. He then went to Leahy and gave the doctor his commentary on the book. Afterward, he returned immediately to the library, where he found the book gone, along with its catalog entries.

  He collected Stephano from a carrel and took him outside.

  "I've dangled the bait. He-or apparently they-took it," Adam reported.

  "I watched a librarian remove the book. So, we wait?" Stephano asked.

  "We wait."

  "If it goes bad, do you think they will let us share a jail cell?"

  "Let's not wait to find out. The doctor pronounced me cured. Take me home," Adam said, adamantly.

  "At least that part of the waiting is over," Stephano smiled.

  ***

  Later, in Stephano's rooms, Adam felt himself retreating back inside the robot again. This frightened him, but Stephano was patient. Flesh is stronger than armor.

  ***

  The next morning, they went to the Y to collect Adam's belongings. He was moving in with Stephano. As they walked, Adam said, "It would seem that no ruffians broke down our door last night."

  "I had thought they wouldn't. Door breaking doesn't seem common here," Stephano said. "But I'm never certain with these Americans. Just when I think I know them, I find they still surprise me."

  "Political weather changes, even in their world. Consider their Ku Klux Klan, their McCarthy hearings, which they even called 'witch hunts,'" Adam said. "And let's not forget their military was still witch hunting gays up until the Ring of Fire. The up-timers are under great stress here in Grantville. We need friends. Somewhere here, there are people of great subtlety. Finding and courting them may take some time, but I judge that the up-timers prefer spirit to servility. Let us start boldly, and see how it goes."

  "It's worth a try," Stephano agreed.

  At the Y, Adam found a message waiting for him, asking to him see Doctor Abrabanel at Leahy. Adam didn't have much to move, so they did that first. They both wanted that to be done, to be made official. Then they went to see Dr. Abrabanel. They entered the doctor's office together.

  "Perhaps your friend could wait for you in the cafeteria," the doctor suggested pleasantly.

  "If this is about my treatment, I'd prefer that Stephano stay. If it's about that last book report, I insist he stay."

  Stephano closed the door from the inside, not making a move to leave.

  "He's read the book?" The doctor asked.

  "And my report," Adam answered. "I gather that the librarians don't take science fiction seriously. This was a large book. Huff-duff, and how to recognize a huff-duff antenna by its movements. Radio intercepts. Signal traffic analysis. Computer assisted cryptanalysis, with some hints regarding early computer design. The Pearl Harbor intercepts. The Yamamoto killing. The battle of the Atlantic. Pseudo-random number generation for one time pads by way of Riemann-Zeta functions, with suggestions how they might be computed without electronic assistance. Hints about proper generation of random numbers and other cipher keys. Large number factoring. Allusions to game theory, information and coding theory. Operational security. Portable radios that can reach from Naples to London. Names of cryptographers, some real. You might wish to remove the Alan Turing biography. I found it fascinating, also. Mostly it was just hints, but there was enough detail for years of research."

  "I liked the part about allowing a ship to be captured with its code books so they could replace some codes so that the Germans would not guess that the English had learned by cryptanalysis that the codes were compromised. With a little more work, the author might try writing a history of the de Medici," Stephano said wistfully, in his thickest Tuscan accent.

  The doctor looked pinched, but said nothing.

  Adam looked at Abrabanel. "Who is the last survivor of Madame Rossignol's circle?"

  "How much did they teach you, Adam?"

  "Enough. Lord Bacon himself was among my teachers. I remember him fondly. Would you believe it? I used to puddle in his lap when I was small. Are you qualified to test me?"

  "That could be arranged," the doctor said, sitting back.

  "Cipher cracking is a rare skill, Doctor," Adam pointed out.

  "I know it," the doctor acknowledged.

  "And you have much need of it here, given the activity in that library," Adam added. "You'd need the largest Black Chamber in Europe to handle that much suspicious mail."

  "Understand this, Adam Tyrrell. They have a constitution here that guarantees against unreasonable search and seizure. Opening mail without a warrant is a serious crime. The up-timers won't want their fingerprints on that. It would be politically dangerous."

  "So there are rules. It still needs…" Adam stopped. Fingerprints??? That would be another up-time expression, and one with some real meaning. He made yet another mental note, then continued, "It still needs the largest Black Chamber in Europe just to handle the ones known to be working for hostile powers."

  "You wish to offer your services?" Abrabanel asked.

  "Will that buy us protection from official harassment?" Adam spread his hands in an inquiring gesture. "In Paris and London, I'm a known homosexual. That information could easily arrive here. My boyfriend…" Adam pointed a thumb over his shoulder. "… is known here, in Florence and perhaps Rome as well."

  "Maybe Rome," Stephano shrugged. "Definitely here. Dr. Nichols is
an insightful man."

  "We need the usual assurances regarding official harassment and blackmail," Adam finished. "Delivered in person by someone of convincing rank."

  This protection was Adam's true goal. It would make it possible to stay in Grantville, near the precious libraries. He and the doctor stared at each other for a moment, appraisingly.

  "I will make inquiries," the doctor finally said.

  "Are we done, Adam?" Stephano asked, adding, "I'm hungry."

  "Yes, I think so. Doctor? The usual assurances, given in person by someone of very convincing rank?"

  "I'll get back to you, Adam."

  ***

  As they left, Adam said, "Speaking plainly feels good."

  "Yes," Stephano agreed. "But let's not do it often, shall we?"

  "It's hardly necessary. The idea of gay liberation is in the same libraries along with all the rest of the stuff they're spreading. They can't erase it any more than they can expunge references to Elvis Presley."

  "Do you think they'll go for our ideas?"

  "Whoever 'they' are, I think they'll at least test me. Truly, I'll be satisfied if they merely leave us alone. Now, I need to do some research. I think I've overlooked something."

  Fingerprints.

  ***

  Stephano hadn't been allowed in this room.

  The man behind the desk had the look and manners of a clerk. The man behind the man behind the desk looked more like some nightmare from Scandinavian mythology. Adam resolved to make no sudden moves.

  "You are Adam Tyrrell, of London, son of William Tyrrell of London, until recently medical student in Paris," the man read, droning. Definitely a clerk, and either a very good sport, or very dangerous. The clerk's Swedish accent and the troll behind him argued for the latter. "You claim past association with Francis Bacon, Henri Rossignol, and Thomas Tyrrell, all late of the Black Chamber of Francis Bacon during the reign of James Stuart, King of England and Scotland."

  "And before that during the reign of Elizabeth. Does the gentleman there speak English?" Adam pointed to the… uh… man.

  "I'm not certain he even speaks Swedish. Definitely not English. Ignore him. You claim to be a cryptanalyst, trained by the above named persons."

  "That's correct."

  "Describe those persons, Mr. Tyrrell." The clerk took up a quill, clearly not as bored as he pretended.

  "In what manner? Their appearances?"

  "In whatever manner you please, Mr. Tyrrell." No, he was not bored. He was displeased.

  Adam described their appearances, also adding some description of their homes while the clerk made notes.

  "Examine these papers, Mr. Tyrrell." He pushed them across the desk with a grim smile.

  Adam took the papers. Most contained jumbled letters and numbers, apparent cipher texts. "May I ask who you are?" Adam asked.

  "I am a clerk. Do what you can with those. Paper and ink there. I will return with lunch and to examine your progress." He might have offered a pencil, rather than ink. The clerk got up and walked to the door, then gestured to the troll.

  "Come!" the clerk barked at the dangerous one.

  Adam began to examine the papers more closely.

  "Stand! Stay!" the clerk pointed the troll to a spot just outside the door before closing it. "Stay!"

  Nice theater that. Adam resolved not to need a chamber pot until the clerk returned, then made a note to find his own troll someday, should he be lucky enough to live so long. He turned his attention back to the work, choosing the easiest looking ones.

  The room had none of those wonderful up-time clocks. Some indefinable time later, the door opened and the clerk entered. "Your lunch. Show me your progress."

  "Thank you." Adam took the food and pointed to his solutions so far, then decided this was a good time to ask after the pot. The troll accompanied him without obvious instruction, causing Adam to nearly dry up. When Adam returned, the clerk was glowering at his work. He left without comment. Adam went back to work.

  It was late afternoon when the door opened again. An obviously higher ranking man led the clerk back in. The man sat behind the desk. The clerk stood to one side. The troll stayed outside. Adam pegged the new man as a Swedish officer.

  This man, who had a badly crippled arm, looked Adam's work over. Then he looked at the clerk and said, "That will be all."

  The man stiffly left, causing Adam to remember advertisements for something called Preparation H, the last of which was rumored to rival chloramphenicol in price. The clerk looked like he could use some.

  The man with the crippled arm sat back and grew something that might pass for a smile. "I remember the statuette of Harmodius and Aristogeiton in Bacon's study. It was quite unique, an inspired piece, but also slightly embarrassing. They needn't have been portrayed quite so… affectionately. But I remember no black Japanese vase featuring women with umbrellas."

  "The doomed but triumphant lovers. I loved that piece. You must have visited after May, 1620, when I broke the vase," Adam relaxed into his chair a bit. "I'm not likely to forget that date. My father had the vase glued back together and placed in our parlor as a chastisement." Adam grimaced at the thought, then wondered if Hand knew that Harmodius and Aristogeiton were tyrannicides. "I've never broken a bit of pottery since."

  "A hard lesson. I visited in 1622, as I recall. I will also confess that I was at first quite fooled by 'Madame Rossignol.' I was trying to place 'her' in the Rossignol family tree and wondering if all their women had such large Adam's apples." The man indicated that item on his own throat.

  "The up-time term is 'drag queen,' sir, and I've no idea where they got that term. More politely, they use 'transgendered.' Madame is a cousin of Antoine Rossignol, Cardinal Richelieu's cryptanalyst. Or perhaps was his cousin. She was dying when I last saw her. Please understand that Madame was not affiliated with any faction of King Louis' court. She was of the circle of Francis Bacon, as was her lover, my Uncle Thomas. They retired to Paris when Bacon fell from favor, where they lived private lives, not caring to choose among the various factions."

  "That matches my information. Can you recommend replacements for two of my codes?" The man waved a couple of Adam's solutions in the air.

  "Certainly, sir."

  "Good. Now, what am I to do with Adam Tyrrell?" He stared fixedly at Adam.

  "I have some suggestions, sir, but… ah… I don't believe we've met."

  "Colonel Erik Haakenson Hand, at your service."

  "A colonel?"

  "What, you expected maybe His Majesty's cousin?"

  "Oh, not at all. I am seeking someone who can… ah…"

  "Who can protect a sodomite from the law?" Now that definitely was a smile, twisted, but nonetheless a smile.

  Sometimes speaking plainly was more frightening than fun, but Adam managed to keep an even disposition. "Yes, Colonel. I seek protection for myself and any associates."

  "Well then, how about His Majesty's cousin?"

  "Probably such a man would do, if he's not out of favor. But can you make such an introduction?"

  "I just did." Yes, a very twisted smile. The colonel had a refined sense of humor.

  "Oh." Adam realized he was in the Swedish Consulate, sitting across a desk from His Majesty's Royal Cousin. He mentally filed this under "Be Careful What You Ask For."

  "So I ask again, what is His Majesty's Trusted Kinsman to do with Adam Tyrrell?" Hand was a man who could insert Capital Letters into his words, without raising his voice.

  "I… uh… have a list of… suggestions right… uh

  …" Adam found it, "right here." He handed it to Hand. It was several pages. "Have you read my other essays, colonel?"

  "I have." Hand began reading, nodding, hmm-ing, then chuckling. Then…

  " Damn!" He had reached the fourth page. "Fingerprints?"

  "Fingerprints."

  "And Black Chamber personnel may be leaving fingerprints on letters they read?"

  "The books say they should.
Fingerprint references are all over the library: encyclopedias, dictionaries, novels… especially detective stories. I begin to believe that to remove all sensitive references of that sort, not just regarding fingerprints but huff-duff for example, would gut the library. If the fingerprinting idea isn't known widely yet, it is only a matter of time. Gloves will soon be standard in all Black Chambers. Notice also that the books say the prints may linger for years. So those who have kept their correspondence might dust their collections. In that paper, I describe how the fingerprinting of incoming correspondence might be used as a sort of device-like the up-time passive sonar-to probe the existence, sizes and interests of mail opening operations around Europe. It seems a simple enough process, but then, one might think the same of the airplanes. I hear that the airplanes are not as simple as the books make them sound."

  "What is passive sonar?" Hand glanced through the pages, looking for it.

  "It's not in that paper. It's a device for listening for submarines, which can give the direction of any noise heard. I have taken some notes on it if you wish to see them, Colonel."

  "Yes, please. Who else have you discussed this with?" Hand asked.

  "Only my friend. He helped do the research. The library is rather large."

  "They think it is small, Adam." Hand resumed reading Adam's proposal. When he reached the end, he put the papers down, looked across the desk and said, "Adam Tyrrell, if I truly am the first you've spoken to regarding this material, you have earned some protection already."

  "And my friend as well?"

  "Yes. The Lefferto is to be part of this project?"

  "He is, and we may need to hire others. They may or may not know that the work has intelligence value."

  "And you mean this to be an independent espionage research and development firm, rather than a governmental Black Chamber?"

  "Yes sir. I suspect the up-timers had such firms. I believe we can make it pay by publishing surplus library research in a magazine format, which will also serve as a legitimate business cover."