Grantville Gazette Volume 24

by Eric Flint

  "So you need no money from me until you have results?" Hand raised an eyebrow.

  "Probably no money, Colonel, but we will need legal protection. Also, a computer, instruction in its use, access to any cryptography books that they may have taken off the shelves, and assistance learning the up-time math. If things progress well, we may need consultants in a variety of fields, such as radio or chemistry."

  "I can't promise a computer, but could press for it. The books may not be difficult, at least for me. The math instruction is routine. And this magazine you propose to publish, it can also be used to disseminate propaganda?"

  "Oh, yes, sir! That's part of the fun."

  "This fingerprint game sounds intriguing, if it works. I see I have two choices, Adam Tyrrell. I can hire you to keep you from working for someone else, or I can lock you up to keep you from working for someone else."

  Adam nodded-sagely, he hoped. "May I ask, Colonel, if anyone else had already reached that conclusion?"

  "Doctor Abrabanel seemed to think you should be taken seriously, otherwise, no."

  Adam felt mildly offended. Perhaps it showed.

  "Understand this, Adam Tyrrell," Hand said in his best Stern Colonel voice. "His Majesty is a deeply Pious Man who will Not Approve of you and your friend. But His Majesty is also a Practical Man who understands that sometimes the Needs of the Realm have their own logic. Results Matter. You will not allow me to regret helping you. You and your friend or friends will Be Discreet. Practice discretion, and I may be willing to offer assistance if needed. You understand?"

  "Don't Ask, Don't Tell, Colonel?"

  "Let me be very, very clear. I do not ask. I insist. You Will Tell Me these things, so that any problems can be nipped in the bud. Do You Understand, Adam Tyrrell?"

  "Of course, Colonel." Adam said, relieved to finally find someone who spoke his language.

  "And since you must stay in Grantville to do this, we will have to bring the up-timers in on it. They control the computers in any event. Where I might settle for an oath, they may insist on more, perhaps citizenship. Also, they are very strict about mail privacy. Any mail you open will be your own, or given to you at my direction."

  "Of course, Colonel."

  "You will have a Swedish assistant."

  "As you wish, Colonel." Adam imagined a troll.

  "I hope you like blonds."

  "Beg pardon, Colonel?" Adam shook his head to clear it.

  "He's blond. Also, his loyalty is beyond question. He was to learn radio soon, so we'll just bring him here early. It will take a couple of weeks. He will find lodging in your quarters. Did I mention you are advertising for a lodger?" The colonel had a sweet smile when he wished. He was almost displaying it now.

  "Our quarters are not large, Colonel." Adam hoped he didn't look as taken aback as he felt.

  "Then perhaps you are also seeking larger quarters. But that would be none of my affair." Then the colonel sat up straight with a sudden inspiration. "On second thought, it is my affair. You will work where you live, and someone trustworthy will be there at all times. I will arrange rooms for you and the Lefferto-and for your new Swedish friend-in a very nice, modern building, with excellent plumbing. You and your friend will like it very much."

  The colonel sat back with a look of pure pleasure. "It's about time someone lit a fire under some dithering asses in this town. Your project sounds like just the spark. After all, you managed to cut through the red tape this far."

  "Uncle Thomas was better at it, Colonel. I wasn't sure I had succeeded at all." Adam was now wondering if he was pleased to have succeeded.

  "You nearly didn't. May I ask why you bothered? With your Rossignol connection, you might have gotten a good offer in Paris."

  "They didn't have chloramphenicol, and their library isn't as good." Adam paused for emphasis. "Besides, the factions there have a way of getting a bit rough, even inelegant. Here, I have some hope of staying aloof from any factional fighting, although Stephano and I were rather concerned about the up-timer tendency toward witch hunting. Finding some patron of high rank seemed prudent."

  "Witch hunting? They're adamantly against the practice!"

  "They no longer believe in witches, sir, so they substitute others. In the 1950s, it was Communists. Homosexuals are a traditional target for some, especially in their military. The victims even call it 'witch hunting,' though there are no witches. The analogy is exact. I suppose the practice is common to all peoples. I've been working on a essay on the subject if you would like to read it."

  "Yes, please."

  "Have you heard the way they use the word 'faggot,' especially around the 250 Club?" Adam shrank a bit.

  "Oh. Them." Hand sneered.

  "We hear it elsewhere, as well, but it's more frightening from that lot," Adam grimaced.

  "So you are scared of them."

  "Sometimes, Colonel. But more often, I just feel sorry for them," Adam said.

  "Sorry? Why?" The colonel looked closely at Adam.

  "They've lost everything, sir. It's quite pathetic. The stress must be intolerable at times."

  "Bear in mind that I can get you out of jail far more easily that I can get you out of a lynching. Bring your friend tomorrow morning," Hand said, waving dismissal.

  ***

  "How did it go?" Stephano asked.

  "It would appear we have caught a big one. A Swede, not an up-timer," Adam said dryly.

  "How big?"

  Silence.

  "Adam, talk to Stephano…"

  "He will find us larger quarters. We will live and work there, with a blond Swedish friend." Adam shifted on his feet nervously.

  "Adam, you frighten Stephano…"

  ***

  The Up-time Reader's Monthly

  Volume 1, Issue 1

  Editor-In-Chief: Huckleberry Finn

  Chief Researcher: Tom Sawyer

  An eclectic monthly compendium of snippets and observations gleaned from the up-time libraries of Grantville, Thuringia (formerly Grantville, West Virginia) with an emphasis on a larger understanding of the culture and times of the up-time world that was and will now never be, presented for the educated reader.

  Limited copies of this, our debut edition, are distributed free at USE Embassies and other select locations. To purchase extra copies and subscriptions see back cover.

  Free referrals to reputable researchers and copyists on request, but the Editors cannot assume responsibility for private transactions.

  In this issue:

  The Stark Depiction Of War In Up-time Literature

  Reviews of three famous up-time novels of war: The Red Badge of Courage, All Quiet On The Western Front, and The Cruel Sea, which depict the progressively greater horrors of up-time war through tales of the nineteenth century American Civil War and the two World Wars of the twentieth century.

  Fields Of Study

  We begin our taxonomy of up-time academia with brief descriptions of the subjects of Physics, Chemistry, Biology and Economics. In future editions, these and others will be examined in closer detail, with discussion of sub-fields.

  When You Come To A Fork In The Road…

  In this first installment of our examination of colorful American expressions, we consider the wit and wisdom of up-time sportsman Yogi Berra.

  The Reference Desk

  Descriptions of the famous Grantville collection of Encyclopedias, with usage notes and sample passages. In future editions, we will present commentaries on other valuable reference books such as Roget's Thesaurus, and Robert's Rules of Order.

  Historical Notes

  In this issue, we outline the unification of the Germanies during the 19th century. In the next issue, the Italian Unification.

  Letters To The Editors

  In future issues, we will print reader comments on our articles and essay answers to some of your research questions.

  ***

  Adam and Stephano each had a couple of magnifying lenses and wore silk glov
es to avoid adding their own fingerprints to any which might be found on their mail. They added each letter to indices by date, name and subject. They debated while opening the letters. It was the old argument.

  "All of the research in the first issue is yours, so I must be The Editor," Stephano insisted, while examining an envelope.

  "Remember that I paid for this issue, so that means I'm The Editor. Besides you're doing more of the research now," Adam reasoned.

  "Very well, I'm Tom Sawyer. And I'm starting a new column called The Picket Fence. "

  "You'll paint that column yourself. I've read that book," Adam said, peering through his strongest magnifier.

  "We have a new order here," Stephano said, reading a letter he'd just extracted. "Fifteen additional copies of Issue 1 plus nine subscriptions, all from the same person. Someone named Reubens in Haarlem."

  "Mail gets to Haarlem fine. Reubens works for the Cardinal-Infante. Put it in the boast stack. I mean to brag about it. And we'll definitely want to check that one for fingerprints."

  Stephano opened the next one, and whistled. "One hundred first issues plus fifty subscriptions from Morris Roth in Prague."

  "All for himself? He must be forwarding them somewhere. And we'll have to check that one thoroughly for fingerprints as well. Roth will want to know if anyone, like Wallenstein, is reading his mail." Adam examined another letter for signs that he was not the first to open it, then carefully opened it. "I have another research request for you in this letter, Stephano. Someone wants an explanation of baseball."

  "Already written," Stephano waved dismissal. "We can put in The Editor's Reply in the next issue. I expected that one."

  Adam held up the next letter. "And here, Stephano, I have another request for a copy of The Cruel Sea."

  "Another anti-submarine warfare researcher." Stephano moaned. "They do take the long view. I'll send him a note saying that he can buy a printed copy next month. Better yet, we'll just put a notice in the next issue. Perhaps we could start a 'Recently Republished' column."

  "We should demand kickbacks from the printers," Adam observed.

  "It's called 'paid advertising.' And we should also charge them to review the books they are reprinting. Ah! I have a research request just for you, Adam!" Stephano looked cheerfully mischievous.

  Adam looked across the table glumly. "Let's hear it."

  "It would seem there's an abbot in Campania looking for Prester John."

  "Him again? Perhaps we can refer that to someone. Do you suppose Veda Mae would be interested in moonlighting as a researcher?"

  "Why not? She's the reason Prester John fled to Ethiopia in the first place." Stephano logged the letter and placed it in the finished stack, with an exaggerated gesture of finality.

  Life for Adam was good again, but he did wish Madame and Uncle Thomas were around to share it. They would have so loved Stephano. Across the table, Stephano was frowning at the next letter.

  Yes, it was very good to be alive.

  In the back of his mind, Adam considered some nagging cipher problems from Colonel Hand's most recent bundle.

  ***

  The Dewey System

  Written by Iver P. Cooper

  Kurt's expression was one of triumph, a triumph he carefully avoided giving voice to, however much he felt like shouting. It wouldn't do to give away his secret. He had only half-believed the stories about Grantville and its hoard of knowledge. But here it was-this book, this blessed book, told him where to find the riches he had always dreamed of finding.

  And this treasure wasn't one of the common ilk, that could be found with the aid of the encyclopedias. Indeed, Kurt believed that the key information was available only in this single library book. Kurt had begrudged the time he had spent in the "library skills and etiquette" class, but no more. The skills had helped him find the book.

  Soon, he would leave behind the noise of Grantville, and make his fortune.

  But wait a moment. Everyone knew that Grantville was the Mecca of spies. That's why Kurt had done his own research, and not hired one of the "licensed researchers." They were all spies, of course. One of them was probably watching him right now. Kurt turned his head ever so slightly, and looked out of the corner of his eye, hoping to catch one in the act.

  No one looking his way, huh? Well, that was suspicious. All those people sitting at that long table and not one of them was looking his way. Clearly, they were all spies, and had caught his movement just in time to evade detection.

  Or were they? No matter. He already knew what he needed to know, and so it would do them no good to watch him further. It would take a few days to buy all the tools and maps he needed, and then he could forget the library.

  Or could he? That book, that damn book. It could be a year before someone else read it. Or a month. Or even a day. Who knew what rivals he had for the treasure, or how many or few steps, they were behind him.

  But if he took the book with him… No, he couldn't. The library staff searched everyone before they left the building, and you couldn't take any books, or packages, or even a coat into the bathroom. Apparently, the library had suffered some losses before.

  So he couldn't remove the book from the game. But there were only a few critical pages. If he found an isolated place in the stacks, one hidden from general view, and waited for the right moment, surely he could rip those pages out, and either effectively hide them on his person, or conceal them in some obvious trash and toss them into the library garbage can. It wasn't as though anyone searched the garbage!

  He moved through the stacks, looking back to the reading area from time to time, to check the sight lines. Finally, he chose a strategic location. With his body hiding his actions as best as possible, he opened the book, and ever so slowly, to minimize the noise, started to make the tear…

  "May I help you?"

  Kurt reacted as calmly as a cat whose tail has been stepped on. "Acch!" he cried. Once his pulse had slowed, he responded, still with his back turned to his tormentor. "No, I am fine."

  But he sensed that he was still being watched. Finally, reluctantly, he turned. It was a middle-aged man; almost certainly, judging from his bad teeth, a down-timer.

  "Do you need help? Perhaps in finding where to shelve that book? Its proper place is given by the Dewey decimal call-"

  "No, no. See, I do it myself." Kurt shoved the book into a gap in the volumes. "Happy? Leave me alone." Kurt stalked off, thinking he would deal with the book another day.

  ***

  Thomas Hobbes watched him go. Then he studied the bookcase, reached for the volume in question, paged through it carefully, and found the telltale rip. He closed the book abruptly, like a crocodile snapping its jaws on its prey.

  ***

  Kurt was angry, with the damned interloper, and with himself. Finally, he calmed down. It wasn't as though the fool knew which book Kurt had shelved, Kurt was sure of that. Kurt would deal with the book tomorrow. And if he ever came upon the damn busybody alone, at night, well, he'd help him into a ditch somewhere.

  For now, it seemed a good time to celebrate his find, with a little bit of drinking.

  ***

  Kurt was a bit woozy when he reached his own street, and fumbled for the keys. It was a moment before he realized that he was in the center of a rough circle formed by six men.

  Kurt was shocked. Grantville was a safe town, even at night, at least in this quiet neighborhood. He relaxed fractionally when he recognized the men, they were researchers from the library. Young scholars, not muggers.

  "So, Kurt, did you have a good day at the library?" said a blond man with a small scar above his left eyebrow.

  "Good enough. I will need to go back tomorrow."

  "No need," said Scarface. "You're leaving town tomorrow. At the crack of dawn, I predict."

  Kurt started to reach for his cudgel. The six produced theirs, faster, and Kurt thought better of initiating violence.

  "That wasn't my plan."

  The s
hortest of the six chuckled. "You know, Kurt, the SOTF Library is the greatest repository of knowledge in the history of the world. Greater even than the Library of Alexandria."

  "And it is the making of our livelihood," added a third.

  "It is more than that," said a fourth. "Its very presence is a miracle."

  "So we take its desecration very seriously," said Scarface.

  "The Library at Alexandria was lost in a day, to fire, but a library can be lost little by little," said Shortie.

  Scarface hefted his cudgel. "Say, by ingrates who take the library research and etiquette course and then have the audacity to rip pages out of books, denying them to fellow researchers."

  "Like us," the six said in chorus.

  Kurt tried to back toward his door, but the two nearest it blocked him. "I am sure we can come to an understanding…" he said, rather nervously.

  "Indeed we can," said Scarface. "Do you know the Dewey System?"

  The question took Kurt completely by surprise. His fear evaporated for a moment, as he mechanically considered the question on its merits. "Yes, of course. 100 is philosophy and psychology, 200 is religion, 300 is-"

  "Neh, not that system," said Shortie. "That's the American Dewey System. I mean the German Dewey System. Which is…

  "Are you going to leave town tomorrow morning, without coming within a mile of the library, or… 'Doo-wey' beat you to a pulp?"

  Kurt looked at Shortie, Scarface and the others, and gulped. "I'll leave."

  Scarface snickered. "Oh, by the way, Kurt. Just to make sure that the crime of desecrating books doesn't pay, a certain passage from a certain book you started to rip is going to be published in the newspaper, day after tomorrow. One of the editors owes me a favor. So you better get out of town fast, before you have competition."

  Kurt deflated further, if that were possible. "I will."

  The six library vigilantes watched him slink into his lair.