by Eric Flint
He helped me to my feet. "I see you've met Kinalik the angakok," Father Amancio said drily, pointing to the body with the harpoon in its back. "Apparently Kinalik had a few more followers than Uutaaq thought."
My head began to swim and I staggered.
"Careful, Antonio, that was a strong blow you took."
My arm went around Father Amancio's shoulder as my Bosqueros deployed around us.
"I am in your debt, truly, Father Amancio."
Father Amancio shook his head. "I think not, Antonio. It was merely a payment for a debt I owed you. Thanks to your words, I know what path I will follow." He smiled at me. "And I think from now on I shall be called Father Wolf. Time for a new beginning."
* * *
It was the end of October when we finally arrived with the cryolite in Essen. A bribe to a Basque naval officer in Oquendo's fleet in Rotterdam had eased our path up the Rhine.
"That went well," I said smugly, patting the pocket that held the letter of credit Balthasar Coymans had given me. "Now I can return to Cartegena in style while I look for this platinum ore they want me to find."
I looked over at Esteban. "They weren't as happy as I'd thought they'd be with the cryolite. Although they seemed to accept the idea of calling it orsuksite as Father Wolf requested."
Esteban shrugged. "It suits their purpose. It will be hard to keep the mining expedition a secret, but calling it orsuksite will at least misdirect a few people. But you're right, they weren't too happy. They expected us to bring back a lot more."
I snorted. "More than eighty tons? The first season? In those conditions?"
"Well, they were thinking of Frobisher, obviously, who brought back nearly a thousand tons of ore in a single season. But I explained to them that it was more important to get the infrastructure of the mine established this first season than to bring back a large amount of cryolite . . . orsuksite."
"Well," I said, "It seems to have altered their plans."
"Indeed," Esteban said. "They'll be doing more experimentation, apparently, in hopes that they can develop the processes they want."
"Just one question, Esteban."
Esteban looked at me. "What?"
"What in the hell is a zeppelin?"
* * *
Author's note: The narrator of the story, Antonio de Erauso, born Catalina de Erauso, is an actual historical down-timer. Here is some information from the book
Lieutenant Nun: Memoir of a Basque Transvestite in the New World
http://books.google.com/books?id=FAtuo0MYVZwC&printsec=frontcover
"Catalina de Erauso led one of the most wildly fantastic lives of any woman in history. Refusing to be regimented into the quiet habits of a nun's life, she escaped from a Basque convent at age fourteen dressed as a man, and continuing her deception, ventured to Peru and Chile as a soldier in the Spanish army. After mistakenly killing her own brother in a duel, she roamed the Andean highlands, becoming a gambler and a killer, and always just evading the grasp of the law. Distinguished for her fighting skills and cursed with a quick temper, Catalina de Erauso spent much of her life balancing precariously between valor and villainy. She is an adored folkloric hero of the Spanish-speaking world."
A Gift of Blankets
Written by Kerryn Offord and Vincent Coljee
Quarantine House Alpha, Grantville, 1632
"How do we feel today?" Katharina Anna Schrey asked Quarantine House Alpha's most important patient.
John Thompson Sims looked up from his sick bed. "Lousy!"
Katharina smiled down at the elderly doctor. He'd been her friend and mentor since she started the long course of training that would eventually qualify her as a doctor. "If you can complain, that is a sign you are getting better."
John rolled his eyes. "How badly did I have it?
"Not too badly. There were only a few pustules on your face, and with any luck, they'll barely leave a scar."
John nodded his understanding. "And the child I was treating, what happened to him?"
"He recovered. The whole family is now out of quarantine and has been placed in the refugee center."
"That's good to know." John shook his head in gentle wonder. "I wouldn't have thought my old vaccination would have been much good after thirty odd years. It's nice to think the older people in Grantville have some protection." He stopped when he saw Katharina's shaking head. "No?"
"Dr. Ellis drew blood from the team. We helped you fight the infection by pumping you full of anti-serum."
"Oh!"
"There is a bright side." Katharina smiled at Dr. Sims disappointed face. "Now there are two immune doctors. You and Dr. Abrabanel."
John shuddered. "Do you know how soon I can leave?"
"Dr. Abrabanel will visit later this evening. If he gives you the all clear, we can let you out tomorrow."
John's head sank back into his pillow. "You're all heart, Katharina."
Days later, a meeting room at the Leahy Medical Center
The people of Grantville had been extremely lucky. In a time when smallpox was endemic, they arrived in Thüringia between cyclic waves of the disease. It took an average of five years for the pool of vulnerable people in a community to grow large enough for the next wave. Children born since the last wave made up most of these pools. That's why smallpox was known as a childhood disease in this era. Either it killed you as a child, or you survived. But Grantville was different. Since smallpox was dropped from the national vaccination program in 1972 only the military and a few people traveling overseas might have been vaccinated, and even the military stopped vaccinating against smallpox in 1990. Only about half of the up-timers had ever been vaccinated, and if those vaccinations were more than ten years old, they were nearly useless. That meant that almost the entire up-timer population was vulnerable. If smallpox spread through Grantville, at least one in three up-timers could expect to die. That was if the medical services could cope. If they couldn't, well, there was evidence to suggest that the entire up-timer community could die.
The inevitable had to happen. Smallpox arrived, but the people of Grantville hadn't been standing idle. Precautions were being taken. Precautions most people probably didn't even notice. Then there was the processing of refugees by the sanitary commission. All refugees entering the Ring of Fire were examined by public health officers. The ill were quarantined until they either died or were declared well enough to enter the community. And the doctors had been busy looking for a vaccine.
Dr. Jeff Adams looked around the table. "Five days ago we discharged our first case of smallpox, a young boy from a refugee family. That means we finally have some smallpox virus to start the variolation program Dr. Abrabanel has been advocating this past year. Now we have to work out how to best use the limited supply of virus."
Hope Underwood, president of the Grantville chapter of the American Red Cross, looked over at Dr. Adams. "Isn't using smallpox virus dangerous? Isn't that why they used cowpox back up-time?"
"Immunization using smallpox isn't dangerous if it is done properly, Frau Underwood," Balthasar Abrabanel answered. "I immunized my daughter using the dust from a dried smallpox pustule with no ill effect. You are basing your fears on the abysmal techniques western medical doctors used." Balthasar shook his head in disgust. "Cutting into the arm and smearing the live virus into the wound. What do they expect but that the patients will die?"
"And anyway, Hope, we need a sample of cowpox before we can make a vaccine, and we haven't been able to find any. That's the only reason we're even thinking of using deactivated smallpox," Jeff said.
"What? But there are cows everywhere."
"Yes, there are cows everywhere, but that doesn't necessarily mean cowpox is everywhere. Les Blocker has had feelers out as far as Magdeburg, Leipzig, Nürnberg and Erfurt, but he hasn't heard a whisper of cowpox."
"Didn't Jenner use cowpox for his vaccinations? It must be around."
Jeff gave Hope a wry smile. "There's some question as to what Dr. Edward
Jenner actually used. There's even some suggestion he used smallpox. Whatever it was he used, he was in England. Just as being an island protected England from rabies, it's possible that being an island stopped the spread of cowpox to the continent."
"That means we have to send someone to England to get some infected cows, then," Hope said.
"Maybe, but we can't afford to send anybody just yet. Anyway, horsepox should be a viable alternative, and Les is pretty sure there's horsepox on the continent. It's just a matter of finding an infected animal."
"And until that animal is found, we variolate using deactivated smallpox virus," Balthasar said.
Jeff nodded. "Right. We variolate until we can vaccinate with cow- or horse-pox."
Quarantine House Alpha
The house was on the very edge of the town, an older house, occupied by only half a dozen down-timers, though how they managed to rent such a desirable property Georg Lenkert had no idea. He was sharing a much smaller place with a dozen other guys, and even that stretched his budget.
Georg noted the gas and water meter readings, leaving just the electricity meter to go. Before the Ring of Fire it would have been accessible from outside the house, but like so many houses in Grantville, the owners of this one had enclosed the porch to give more living space. Georg knew where the key was kept, but it was good customer relations to check if someone was home first. And besides, if he was lucky, the Girl would answer the door.
The door opened at his knock to reveal . . . the wrong girl. Georg managed to hide his disappointment. Maybe the right girl was inside. Clipboard in hand, he tapped the official badge of the utility company he wore. "Meter man, Fraülein. I wish to read the electricity meter."
Lise Gebauer smiled and stepped back from the door. "Sure. You know where it is?"
Georg nodded and made his way to the meter, then finished preparing the invoice. The note on the invoice said that this establishment was authorized to pay by check, so he went in search of someone to give the invoice to.
* * *
His dream girl was sitting on the sofa in the lounge with a monster of a cat in her lap having its ears gently rubbed. "Lucky cat," Georg muttered.
He waved the invoice. "Fraülein, I have finished. Do you wish to pay now?"
Katharina Schrey called over her shoulder toward the back of the house. "Hans, meter man. Could you bring the check book?" She turned back to Georg. "He shouldn't be long."
Georg moved closer. She was making a fuss over the cat, so he decided to do the same. He knelt beside her and held out his hand for the cat to sniff. After a moment, the cat started to rub his head against the hand.
Georg smiled shyly and rubbed the cat's ears, his fingers daringly close to Katharina's. "He's a fine looking cat. Does he have a name?"
"The girls call the fleabag Trojan. And if you've seen the kittens Frau Patton's prize Siamese had last month, you understand why."
Georg turned at the new voice. He'd been so intent on Katharina that he hadn't heard the man and woman enter. He passed the prepared invoice to the man. "I've seen the kittens. Frau Patton is not very happy. But what do kittens have to do with the cat's name?"
Lise gave Georg a sympathetic smile. "Ignore Hans. That's his idea of a joke. Dr. Ellis suggested the name." She grinned. "He called him a Trojan horse. You see, the fleas came into the house on Trojan, just like . . ."
"The Greeks in Virgil's Aeneid. When they gained entry to the city of Troy in a wooden horse." Georg finished.
"Yes, like that. And they infested Katharina's bed . . ." Lise turned to her friend. "I told you not to let him sleep with you."
I should be so lucky. Georg felt Katharina looking at him. For a moment he thought he'd spoken out loud.
"You've read Virgil?"
Georg let out a quiet sigh of relief. She couldn't have heard him if she could ask a question like that. Not with that hint of excitement in her voice. He returned to petting Trojan to hide his blushes. He hadn't actually read Virgil. His Latin teacher had assigned him the task of translating the poem. He'd considered it a complete waste of time, as undoubtedly, the poem had been translated hundreds of times before, by better scholars than him. And he'd been right. For a price he'd obtained another student's translation, which he'd carefully copied, making several deliberate mistakes so as not to make his teacher suspicious. But if his dream girl was impressed by scholarship. . . . "It was a long time ago. My Latin teacher insisted that I translate Aeneid. I didn't do a very good job, but I could follow the story."
"Poor, Katharina. For a moment there, I bet you thought you'd found a fellow scholar." Lise smiled. "Katharina also reads Greek"
Georg glanced at Katharina. She was flushed, probably embarrassed by her friend singing her praises. With a sigh, he stood up. He still had half a dozen properties with meters he had to read today and it was past time he was gone. He traded a receipt for a check from Hans before making his way to the door. "It has been a pleasure meeting all of you. Until next month."
Once out of sight of the house he stopped. So, her name is Katharina, and she is educated. Maybe he should see about taking some classes.
* * *
Katharina looked up at the smiling faces of her friends. "Did he really say what I think he said?"
Hans nodded. "He's smitten. Jealous of a cat. And the fleabag, at that."
Katharina reached a hand up to the right side of her face. The side the meter man had been looking at all the time. "He didn't notice my face."
"You make too much of the pox scars."
Katharina looked at the unblemished face of her friend. "That's easy for you to say, with your perfect skin. You didn't see the looks on people's faces when I stopped using the face paint."
"But this guy, this . . ." Lise looked at Katharina expectantly.
"Georg Ludwig Lenkert ." Katharina answered.
Lise's eyes brightened. "You know his name. So you are interested."
"I read the name on his identification card, Lise."
Lise turned to Hans. "I think she's protesting too much. What do you think?"
"I think it is none of my business." Hans grinned. "But he didn't seem to mind looking at your face."
"Hans is right, Katharina. You had no trouble going out without face paint until those kids started making fun of you. Maybe it's just an up-timer thing. Have you noticed how perfect their skin tends to be?"
Katharina slumped into the sofa. "That's because they didn't have smallpox up-time." She gently fingered the scars. "Georg really didn't seem to mind them, did he?"
"It was as if they didn't exist," Lise confirmed. "Now all you have to do is arrange to meet him more than once a month."
"How? I don't know anything about him."
Lise stepped up behind Katharina and put her arms around her. "Don't worry. Hans can find out where you can accidentally bump into him. Can't you?"
"Of course. Consider it my contribution to the star-crossed lovers."
Katharina blew Hans a raspberry.
The VoTechCenter, Grantville, two weeks later
Georg almost froze at the door. When he enrolled in a course on up-timer history the last person he'd expected to see in the classroom was his dream girl. He found a seat where he could look at her without her seeing him.
The VoTechCenter, Grantville, two months later
Katharina was getting frustrated. Two months of attending classes at the VoTech and Georg barely noticed her existence. She turned to Lise. "If Georg doesn't say something tonight, I'm giving up."
"You can't give up now. Maybe he's shy. Maybe you have to make the first move."
She released a sigh. "Very well. I'll sit next to him tonight."
"You'll need to do more than that. Ask him to join us for coffee after class."
Katharina glared. "You're asking too much."
"Katharina, it's been two months with nothing to show for it. You have to do something to catch his attention."
"All right. I'll ask." Kathari
na collected her dignity before storming off.
* * *
"She has to do something to catch his attention?" Hans was all smiles as he repeated Lise's last comment.
"Well, she doesn't seem to be aware just how much time Georg spends staring at her when she isn't looking."
"And of course, Georg is unaware of how much Katharina stares in his direction when he isn't looking." Hans placed a gentle kiss on Lise's nose. "Come on, we have classes of our own to attend."
The High School Café
Georg had been only too happy to accept Katharina's invitation to share a coffee with friends after class. After two months of watching her from across the room, he'd almost built up the nerve to approach her. Having Katharina make the first move had been a godsend. Sitting beside her and her friends, he looked for something to say. There was always the old standby. "Where do you all work?"
