by Eric Flint
***
Marc Kronzburg was in a very uncomfortable position. How did he. .. how could he… what could he do or say to turn down business? Ever since the two live broadcasts from Magdeburg, the atmosphere around the station front office had been so tense you could cut it with a knife. He'd sat in on several meetings with Mr. Grover and Deanna Dee trying to find a loophole in the station contract with the Pentecostal Church. They had even called in Huddy Colburn, the GE's business broker consultant, to examine the contract to see if there were any errors that they could use to invalidate it.
But it was no use. Roy Copenhaver had tightened up every clause that John Grover originally proposed. They were stuck with the Saturday night show. So far, at least, no broadcast since had caused any surprises. They were the same mixture of good music, talent contestants, and upbeat moral values that continued to make the Old Timey Radio Hour the most popular show on the station.
Marc continued to increase the price on the spots inside the hour so many times that he'd lost count. When he said, "the only radio sets that aren't tuned into this show are the ones that are broken," advertisers just nodded and signed the price bump.
The live weeknight revival remotes, however, that was another story. Basically, they didn't have to sell any time to the church during the week at all. There was nothing in their contract that covered that one-way or the other. The problem was, they did have a contract with Art Berry to make available to him at least three hours a month for his RCE remotes as a condition to his providing remote broadcasts for the station's regular news reporting. At the time, they had all been thinking of it as five or ten minute opportunities for Art to generate a little more remote business. But it wasn't clearly specified in the contract. As Huddy pointed out, "Folks, you done opened up your barn door and pulled down your trousers on this one."
It seemed, in John and Janet Rogers hurry to lock up Art's capabilities so her newscasts and stock and agricultural market reports could continue uninterrupted by one of Art's inevitable tantrums, they had forgotten to assign a value to the three hour blocks. All it said was that if the station had a pre-existing scheduled live show on during that hour Art couldn't have it. But they hadn't specified morning or evening, or most importantly, they had forgotten to reserve the internal spot sales to the station!
Art hadn't noticed the flaw either; at least so far he hadn't mentioned it. But if they turned down Fischer and friends from buying direct, he could easily go to Art and get a much cheaper rate and they'd be out the ad revenue, and still have to broadcast a shortened Old Timey Radio Hour! Sure, the church would have to cut back to a half hour each Saturday night, but they would be wide open to sell their own spots to the same advertisers that were paying the station right now.
Luckily, several weeks had gone by with no mention of continuing the revival or the revival broadcasts. Now that Maria's husband had returned home to take over the church pulpit, that good fortune had come to an end.
"Marc? Are you still with us?" Fischer smiled, but also looked puzzled at his friend's non-response to his question.
"Oh! Yes, of course, Reverend Fischer." Marc improvised, "It's just we've got so much going on at The Voice of America this summer. I was just trying to work it out in my head if we can find an open slot before the Fourth of July.
"Let me tell you what. Let's finish up here with the collections, and I'll get with our program manager and see what we can do. Is that fair enough?"
Even Maria Kurger looked up from her tally sheet when she heard that. In all the years she'd been dealing with Marc, he had never once paused a second to come up with the exact number of spots in each hour of the broadcast year that he had available to sell. When she learned how to use the new church computer, her first thought was that it must have been modeled after Marc Kronzburg's brain.
"That's fine, Marc," Fischer answered after a moments thought. "But, we'll be happy just to wait here while you go get the station schedule. It would really mean a lot. Okay?"
"Uhh… of course, Reverend. Wait right here. I'll be right back." Marc stood, decided to flash his best closing smile and added, "Can I get either of you some fresh pastry or something to drink before I go?"
Maria looked Marc right in the eye and answered in her most forceful, no-nonsense tone of voice, "No thank you Marc. We'll be fine right here."
Marc couldn't help flinching. Then he hurried out of the room closing the door behind him.
Fischer turned to Maria. "What is going on with him?"
"I don't know, Reverend. That's not the Der Kronz I know."
***
At least five minutes passed until the door opened. John Grover walked in by himself.
"Reverend Fischer! Maria! How are you doing this morning?" John was smiling, but it was clearly not his "let's be friends" smile.
"Fine, fine, John." Fischer answered, "Now, would you like to tell us what's going on?"
"Yes, I would, Reverend." John slid into his normal chair at the head of the conference table and crossed his arms on the table. "I'm worried about you."
John paused a moment, then continued. "You know that even with all the ad sales from the radio station, we still get the bulk of our money from government contracts. It's government money that helped Gayle put the station on the air in the first place, and the government that pulled me in to help Gayle run all these projects that pay the freight around here.
"Now, they haven't told us one word about what we do over the airways. I'd tell them where to stick their suggestion if they did, but it's a matter of being responsible to our listening public and our major contract customer that I have to consider whenever I have a decision to make about what goes on the air."
John drummed his fingers on the tabletop, then said, "Reverend Fischer, I don't know a lot about your faith and I will not tell you what to say or believe. That's not my place.
"But when you feel the need to announce that you've had a dream and we end up with crowds hanging around the GE compound for days, or you decide to take a swipe at the legally elected sovereign of the government… I can't believe that I'd ever say something like that, by the way.
"When you feel that need, it causes me one hell of a lot of concern." John leaned back in his chair. "And I'll be damned if I'm going to put all the work we've done here to get General Electronics to the point we are now to let you say whatever you want to say, contract or no."
Fischer and Maria were speechless at John's outburst. You could see Fischer's face begin to darken as the implications to the church and his ministry sunk in.
Then, smiling, he started to respond to John's worries. "John, I want to thank you for being so honest and forthright in expressing your concerns. I take it that you instructed Marc not to sell us any more weeknight time either?"
John nodded.
"That clears that up. That's okay, I understand." Fischer smiled again and continued, "Listen, I understand what you're worried about, I really do. But you've got a federal election coming up sooner or later. As I recall, when the SoTF Congress was elected, you let all sides on the air to express their opinion. If I remember correctly, several of the candidates were practically running on an anarchy platform, right?"
Again, John nodded.
"John, I'm sorry if you think I went too far. But not making that prophecy was not in my power. You have to just believe me on that. And as far as insulting the emperor, maybe I could have phrased it better, but all I said was that he would live out his days on his throne in Sweden and we would have the opportunity to elect a new emperor. What's so wrong with that?"
John shook his head. "Fischer, you're dangerous. Technically, you're absolutely right in everything you said, but that doesn't make it any less dangerous. Every day, we're reporting on run-ins between anti-Swedish and pro-Swedish elements. Just because Denmark has surrendered and France seems to be having a shake up doesn't mean that the USE is not still in danger of failing. We are and we can't abide the kind of civil unrest you seem
to be feeding.
"Hell, ask Roy Copenhaver if you don't believe me." John leaned forward. "Ask him what kind of a mess he's having to deal with over in Fulda. Then, multiply that by all the other states and the Swedish occupied territories."
Fischer adjusted his seat, then sympathetically replied, "I don't want that either, John. Really, I don't. But, there's got to be some way we can work out how to make this happen and let you sleep at night at the same time."
***
It was almost an hour later when John opened the door and called out, "Helga, could you get Marc in here?"
Marc had been sitting on the couch in the reception area just in case Mr. Grover needed him. He dashed right in.
Signaling him to take a seat, John began, "Marc, Reverend Fischer and I have worked out a gentleman's agreement. I'd like you to write him up for an hour block for his revival under the usual terms. Then, when he's ready to go on the air, I'd like for you to be there on the front row. It will be somewhere in our coverage area so you can go up ahead of time and tend to some of your sales calls in that area. Don't worry about expenses; the Reverend will be paying those."
Fischer laid his hand on Marc's shoulder and smiled, "Don't worry, Marc. I'm not going to try to convert you. John just wants you to be there as a reminder that I'm responsible for what is going out over the air. It'll be fun!"
***
"Dieter, I'm worried about you. The Devil is pushing us hard." Chalker was sitting up in his bed in the Manning Assisted Living Center. While still confined, he had been catching up on the progress his church had been making. In the last week, three of the homes in several cities where home churches were being held had been burned to the ground. No one knew if it was zealot Lutherans or groups angry over Fischer's perceived anti-emperor comments. "Sister Nemeth always said there'd be trouble if that rebel flag was allowed to fly."
"Now, Brother Chalker," Jennifer Copenhaver interrupted, "That doesn't have anything to do with us at all."
"I don't know." Chalker looked pensive. "There were a lot of evil groups that adopted that flag back up-time. There had to be some reason that it attracted so many skinheads and Hell's Angels and neo-Nazi's. It never made any sense to me why Mike Stearns, of all people, would be defending it either. He never seemed like that kind of a boy.
"Maybe the devil isn't behind it and isn't trying to drag us down. But it also makes no sense how good Americans like Mike and them would agree to an emperor for any reason."
The attacks on the home churches were unexpected. The plan to fill the offering plates of the local official churches had been working so far; there was no official notice of the activities of the gatherings and the ideas they were spreading. However, that this would start happening when the Bible study was just getting into the Book of Revelations had a lot of the Pentecostals uneasy.
Seeing the old man's mind wander, Fischer got back to the subject, "Reverend, you were saying something about some homework you wanted me to do."
Chalker perked up. "Oh, yes. Here. Dieter, I've been thinking. I'd like for you to read these speeches. Some of them are religious, some come from the old civil rights movement, and some of them are political speeches I especially liked. Not much to do with this world, I'll grant you. But the way every one of them is structured, there are some very fine lessons in swaying an audience in how they put them together."
He fumbled around the papers until he found the one he was looking for. "This one right here, for instance. The politician who gave it never got elected, but people talk about this speech to this day. He was what we called a Populist. If you can find a way to work these techniques into your sermons, it will stand you good."
Chalker thrust the papers into Fischer's hands, then laid back on his bed. "Now, you be safe on this revival tour, Dieter. You too, Sister Jennifer. I'll be praying for you."
Chapter Twenty-Two
Weimar, State of Thuringia-Franconia, United States of Europe
"Gentlemen, if there are no more questions of our host, we should be letting him get prepared for his service tonight." Marco Garb stood up. The private meeting in the RV parked near the revival site had gone as well as could be imagined. The gathered merchants and industrialists represented a lot of the private wealth in the State of Thuringia-Franconia. And they were satisfied that Fischer would support them in obtaining statehood for the occupied territories, and moving the Swedes aside so the USE could be run by Germans.
Garb and Fischer shook hands with the powerful men Garb had gathered to gain backing for Fischer. As the last important visitor stepped out of the RV, Fischer touched Marco's arm and asked him to remain behind for a moment.
"Herr Garb, I want to thank you for your support of our mission. There's another subject I've been praying over that I need to speak with you about." Fischer folded his hands together and then continued, "Herr Garb, may I have your permission to ask for your daughter's hand in marriage?"
Garb had been expecting this ever since he'd first met Fischer back in Grantville. "You have my enthusiastic support, my son. I can't think of anything that would make me happier than to have my beloved daughter under the protection of such a fine young man.
"Have you planned when you are going to ask her…" He grinned. "Or is this just a postscript to mollify her old man?"
"No, no, I haven't asked her yet. I don't know. Maybe the next time I get back to Grantville."
Marco stood, spreading his arms to welcome Fischer into a hug. "Son, I'll do you one better. I'll ask Constanzia to come and visit us in during the revival in Erfurt. With the military base there, I have a number of interests that I'll need to deal with. We may have you in the family sooner than you thought!"
***
"Herr Garb!"
Marco was still considering the implications of the betrothal of his daughter to this very powerful young leader, and wasn't paying attention as he walked away from the revival campsite, so he was somewhat startled to hear his name. "Oh, Herr von Lichstedt! I had forgotten you were going on this tour as well."
"I thought it would be a good opportunity to see the progress of the rail construction along this line. Then of course, I heard that you would be making some introductions to our friends." Georg Heinrich Vitzthum von Lichstedt, noble of the county of Schwarzburg-Rudolstadt, and elder of the Grantville Pentecostal Church, fell into step with Marco Garb. "And did the meeting go as planned?"
"Oh yes, you've judged the situation quite well, Herr von Lichstedt. I believe he will prove to be a very effective asset to our continuing interests."
Garb reached into his pouch and pulled out a small leather bag, heavy with coin, "In fact, here is a little gift I was asked to present to you for your wonderful services. We have many more rewards planned for you as well."
Erfurt, State of Thuringia-Franconia, United States of Europe
Constanzia seemed to be having a wonderful time as Fischer walked with her, seeing the sights of old Erfurt. Now, standing in the green little park filled with trees, swans, and grass next to the Kramerbrucke, between the River Gera's two main channels in the heart of the Innenstadt, he thought he'd found the perfect time and place.
Fischer took both of Constanzia's hands in his and turned her to face him, then dropped to one knee. The look in Constanzia's eyes changed from curiosity, to astonishment, to wonder, then finally to pure joy as she realized what was about to happen.
"Constanzia, my beloved," Fischer began, "You have become the salt in my life. Before you, I was a hollow man, unable to feel the joy around me. I can't imagine ever losing you again."
Tears swelled up in Constanzia's eyes, and began to flow down her cheeks and into the dimples formed by her broad smile as Fischer asked, "Constanzia, will you marry me?"
Constanzia dropped to her knees and embraced her fiancee in her arms as she kissed him. They both understood her reply, although they never quite found time for the words.
***
Marc Kronzburg took his seat to the side of
the front row at the revival site. He had felt uneasy all day as he conducted his business for the Voice of America around Erfurt. It was nothing he could put a finger on. But, since the Jews had been banned here in 1458, he still felt that he was being watched, even though-technically-that ban had been lifted with the coming of the USE.
In fact, unless there were still some secret Jews undercover, he didn't know a single Jewish family that had tried to move here.
Maybe it's just the ammonia smell. The long, tentacle shaped plaza on the southeastern corner of Erfurt called the Anger may have been a village green at some time as its name implied, but was better known as a wholesale market for blue dye made from woad, a flowering plant that was fermented in men's urine, dried on rooftops, and ground into a powder. Erfurt's woad business continued to be very good.
Looking around at the crowd filing in to take their places before the revival began made Marc even more anxious. Maybe it was just instinct. Ever since that episode at his cousins' bank, Marc was always aware of how to get out of any strange location he found himself in. Here, with the hill behind him rapidly filling with pilgrims hoping to be healed by Der Fischer and the stage in front of him backed up to a medieval stone wall, Marc was feeling very vulnerable as he waited for the service to begin.
For sure, he thought, this is not fun.
***
Fischer sat in his RV going over the final corrections to his sermon. He wondered how John Chalker could always know the perfect thing to lead him to at the right time. This up-time speech was just the latest instance. Fischer had no personal opinion of the St. Andrews Cross flag that the USE had adopted. However, he continually heard comments opposing it. They seemed to be grouped around two points of view.
