Müller called, "Heinz! Call for an ambulance! Electric shock." He knelt beside Else and said, "I'll take over the CPR. Turn off anything dangerous before the ambulance gets here."
Between emergency treatment and getting the lab into a safe condition, things were busy and confused for the next few minutes. After the ambulance crew got through with the defibrillator and it looked like the patient would probably live, Conrad finally had time to ask, "What happened?"
Else shook her head. "He was re-running the experiment I just finished. Did you tell him he could do that?"
"No, of course not. There was nobody else here? He didn't want anybody else to know. Now, why? He wasn't taking that data for our benefit . . ."
Heinz put in, "Kobolds."
"What?"
"All those times things weren't where they were supposed to be. Maybe some of the time it was us being absent-minded. Maybe some of the time it was him looking at stuff, and not remembering just where it was before he picked it up."
Conrad called John Grover. Grover called army intelligence. Two agents had a long discussion with Marius Fleischer.
* * *
"Fleischer talked, no problem," the intelligence officer said. "He didn't even try to clam up. Unfortunately, he doesn't know anything useful. He has no idea who he was working for. It was dead drops in both directions, money and instructions in, reports out. The only time he met anybody face-to-face was when he was recruited, and he didn't get a name—which would have been fake anyway. The guy spoke perfect high German, like some local burgher. Maybe he was a local burgher, or had been."
Grover sat back in his chair. "Wow. Tradecraft like that? Sounds like some Russian faction."
"Not necessarily. Could just as easily be somebody who read a bunch of spy novels. Maybe a foreign spy, maybe just a free-lancer selling secrets to anybody who'll pay."
"You catch anybody else?"
"No. By the time we got to talk to him, he was overdue to shift the position of a half-brick underneath a mailbox someplace. Whoever was servicing his drop quit doing it. So. What did Fleischer get?"
"Well, the general scope of what we're working on. Building all the radio gear we can with the parts we can find, developing tubes and new components, and all our vacuum work right up to the minute. Writing up the vacuum work was part of his job—he didn't even have to hide that. We've been asking everybody about their kobold experiences, and it looks like he was poking into just about everything around here that gives clues to what we're doing and how we're doing it—if we're not all being paranoid now. If he got some of Jen's antenna designs, a good analyst might be able to figure out what we're really doing with radio, but that cat got out of the bag, anyway. One big thing he didn't get is a workable formulation for a good cathode coating and a process to make it, because we don't have that yet ourselves. And we don't have any complete tube designs. But it looks like we're getting close, and he probably reported that."
"Kind of careless, wasn't he? Weird, sitting down and running that lab test. I don't see why he took the chance."
"Probably because Else took her notebook home that night, so he couldn't just copy the data. He must have thought there was something important in those results. There wasn't. Well, I doubt anybody else can put together the industrial base to use what he got for a long time."
The officer's face grew grim. "Don't be too sure. Those machine tool factories have been running three shifts for a couple years now, and not everything they've shipped has turned up where it was supposed to go. There's an industrial buildup starting somewhere. Still, you stopped him before he got the real goods."
* * *
The only thing to do was keep the work going as fast as they could sustain it.
They had to order parts to repair some of the equipment Fleischer had dragged to the floor when he fell. At least this time, it was all down-time equipment they'd built themselves. It took four days to get everything working again.
Meanwhile, the materials group delivered a new batch of samples. Else hooked up the test gear. "Let's see what they've given us today. Maybe we'll be lucky." She turned up the voltage while Conrad and Heinz watched over her shoulder. Ten minutes later, the numbers in her notebook told the story. "There's emission, Conrad, but not enough to be useful for a tube. We aren't there yet."
"Well, you know what they say. Any experiment that produces data is successful."
"I keep telling myself that," she said with a rueful smile. "I'd better go show them these results."
Heinz interjected, "This is much better than last time, though. It feels like we're close."
* * *
It took two more batches of samples, and three more weeks. This time one of the samples was twenty times better than the rest. Still nothing like the best up-time cathode coatings, but marginally usable. Else said the magic words: "Conrad, I think it's good enough. Just barely, but good enough. With this, I can design an amplifier tube."
Müller straightened up and smiled. "How long, do you think?"
"Probably a day or two. I'll do the calculations, and give Heinz the drawings for the parts. Then we'll see."
Things happened fast after that. Near the end of the week, Else and Heinz were mounting the delicate assembly in the vacuum chamber and starting the pump-down. The next morning it was baked out and ready. Else finished connecting the test setup. She turned to Heinz with a nervous smile. "You'd better check it too. We've come so far, I don't want to risk burning something out now."
He started comparing the connections on the bench against the diagram in the notebook, lead by lead. Finally, Heinz said, "I agree, Else. It's correct."
Else looked at the bench with a little frown. There was so much test equipment spread across it, that there was no room for her notebook. She settled herself on a lab stool, with the notebook in her lap. "Heinz, you'll have to work the knobs this time. To start with, load resistance to maximum. Grid voltage . . ."
He began stepping the voltage and load controls through the test conditions as she called them out, while she took down the meter readings. By the time they were halfway through, it was obvious. Müller was already on the phone to John Grover. In some mysterious way, word started to spread through the building, and heads began popping out of offices and shops. Finally, the test run was complete. Müller took one long look at the columns of numbers. Then he stepped out into the corridor grinning like a seven-year-old on his birthday, and held out both hands above his head thumbs-up. Cheers erupted.
When he came back into the lab, there was a serene look on Else's face that he'd never seen before. She was gazing out the window at the brilliant reds and golds of the sugar maple outside. One arm was draped casually along the edge of the bench, and the other rested on the notebook in her lap, the pen still in her hand. She looked up at him, and spoke quietly. "Now we know, Conrad. We can do this."
Heinz was still shutting down the power supplies. Without looking up, he said, "Now we got to figure out how to turn this into something we can put in a glass shell and seal it up. We still got work to do."
* * *
The push was on for the payoff. The former jewelers and glassblowers were working the kinks out of their new techniques, getting ready to cut open the precious burned-out up-time tubes. The test samples from the materials group kept getting better. Else was continually revising her repair part designs and performance estimates.
The engineering contingent was starting to look ahead to pilot production tooling for the new tube designs. Conrad and Else walked down to Marcantonio's machine shop one afternoon, to have a brainstorming session with the machine designers there.
"Well, what do you think, Else? Is the job a little less intimidating now?"
"Oh, I still have days when I wonder whether I know what I'm doing. But, yes, this is the most fascinating thing I can imagine. I've decided. This is my career. There's a lot of studying left before I can finish the curriculum, but I intend to be an electronics engineer for real
. What about you, Conrad? It still feels strange to be calling a full professor 'Conrad.' Are you going back to teaching?"
"When the right time comes, I will. Yes."
"So. We'll all miss you, when you do."
"Maybe not. I might be teaching right here. There's starting to be a little loose talk of a college, for engineers, like us. Maybe we'll get you teaching, too. I hear you've been doing some lecturing."
She blushed. "What? Those little talks at the radio club? They're nothing. Nothing at all."
* * *
Toward the end of the year the power lines reached Schwarza Castle. Five months later the Schwarza Castle two-meter repeater went on the air. It was the most ramshackle collection of obsolete junk imaginable. Higher hills a few miles away limited its useful coverage. But it worked. Rolf Kreuzer spearheaded the effort, and the automatic Morse code identifier carried his call sign. And Rolf made his own career plans and signed up for calculus in the spring term. But that's another story.
A Falcon Falls
Written by Kerryn Offord
Saturday Morning, December 31, 1633, Grantville
"Swan Lake! How does she expect us to do Swan Lake? And in Magdeburg. The woman is raving."
Harvey Matowski glanced back up the road. Nearly half a mile away, just outside the high school, he could see the headlights of a bus as it started its next run carrying patrons home from the ballet. He was surprised that it had taken this long for his wife to explode. "Yes, dear."
"There aren't even any suitable buildings. You realize she expects us to put on a performance on an open air stage."
"Yes, dear."
"The whole thing is impossible. And did you hear Her Ladyship? I should move my ballet school to Magdeburg. It's all right for her, but my people have to stay near their jobs. If I move the school to Magdeburg, I'll lose half my senior dancers, and as for the youngsters . . . they have to stay with their parents. If I move the school to Magdeburg I'll lose Cathy McNally." Bitty wailed.
"I'm sure Mrs. Simpson doesn't mean you should move the school immediately, Bitty. Just start thinking about moving. I'm sure some of the dancers are going to want to move to Magdeburg anyway. For a start, there's Carl. I know he's still at the party networking for work for Kelly Construction in Magdeburg."
"Bloody Carl. Bloody Army. If it wasn't for the Army I'd still have Joel to lead and I wouldn't need Carl."
"Yes, dear."
"I'm cold, Harvey." Bitty sniveled, rubbing her hands over her bare arms and shoulders.
Harvey draped the coat he had been carrying over her shoulders. The cocktail dress Bitty was wearing might have been comfortable in the cafeteria where the first night "Meet the Cast" dinner and cocktail party was being held. However, it had never been designed to keep a woman warm outside in the early hours of a mid-winter morning. He was surprised that it had taken his wife this long to cool down enough that she could register the ambient temperature. Mary Simpson must have really upset her.
"My feet hurt."
It was a plaintive cry, but totally understandable. Not only had Bitty been on her feet since the early hours of the previous day, but high heels were not suitable for stalking in high dudgeon half a mile down a road.
Next morning
Bitty looked at the sorry remains of what had been a favorite pair of high-heeled shoes. They were badly cut up from last night's extended walk on the road. Maybe Uncle Mark or his partner Hans Bauer could repair them. It was no use crying to Harvey. He'd only point to the small mountain of shoes littering her wardrobe and ask what was wrong with the other few dozen pairs. Men just didn't understand a woman's relationship with her shoes.
The exertions of the last thirty-six hours were coming firmly home to roost. Her feet still hurt, but she was used to that. Years of en pointe dancing had almost immunized her to foot pain. It was the total lack of energy that was so distressing. While she dressed Bitty wondered where Harvey was. When she opened the bedroom door, the smell informed her that he was busy in the kitchen. Hurrying as best she could, she followed the tantalizing smells to their source.
* * *
After inhaling the last of the pile of blueberry pancakes and syrup, Bitty finally noticed the empty kitchen. "Where is everybody?"
"They were up and had breakfast earlier. I insisted they leave you to wake up naturally."
"Did they have pancakes, too?"
"No, love. I made them especially for you. After last night you needed a pick-me-up, so I made your favorites."
"Thanks. I really needed them. But it's a pity the girls and Joseph are gone. I wanted to talk to them about Mrs. Simpson's commitment for us to do Swan Lake to celebrate Independence Day."
Harvey shook his head. "I'd wait until the end of the Nutcracker season. They have enough to worry about just getting through this weekend. No need to give them new worries just yet. There'll be plenty of time next week.
Saturday, January 7, 1634
Bitty stood back and watched while Amber Higham passed out the paychecks for the previous weekend's short season of Nutcracker. There was an air of noisy celebration among the younger dancers as they compared checks. For most of the boys and girls it was more money than they ever had at one time before.
Glenna Sue Haggerty called out. "Miz B, when's the next season of ballet, and which one are we doing?"
The room went silent. Everybody waited on Bitty's response. She wasn't really ready for this, but she couldn't keep putting it off. "Mrs. Simpson is arranging a season of performances of the arts in Magdeburg around the fourth of July. She has asked that I put on a short season of ballet."
"Where in Magdeburg, Mom?" Bitty's elder daughter Staci turned to Carl Schockley. "Carl. You've been there. Is there anywhere suitable for a performance?"
Carl shook his head. "Not that I'm aware of. There are a few guildhalls and the like. They might be suitable for taking class or putting on small musical recitals, but until the opera house is built, there isn't going to be anywhere to perform for an audience."
"Carl's right," Bitty interrupted. "However, Mrs. Simpson wants an open air performance in Hans Richter Square."
Staci looked shocked. "Where did she get a dumb idea like that, Mom?"
"Kirov's Gala performance in Red Square was on television before Christmas. She seemed to take the view that if the Russians could put on a performance of ballet on an open air stage, then we should be able to."
"Oh. So, Mrs. Simpson wants us to put on a collection of scenes from selected ballets?"
"If only. No. She wants Swan Lake."
"What! But Mom. That's impossible. There's no way we can find enough dancers."
Bitty smiled wryly. "You and I know that. However, I don't think Mrs. Simpson is really aware of the problem. Which leaves us with a second problem. She's already told her society friends that we'll be doing it. If we let her down, well, we can kiss Mary Simpson . . . and her patronage, goodbye.
There seemed to be some brightening of faces at the prospect of Mary Simpson dropping her involvement with the company. Bitty acted quickly to correct their misconceptions. "And no, that would not be a good thing. Mrs. Simpson made a valid case for a move to Magdeburg. And she's right. We'll never make the company pay here in Grantville, and when we move, I'd much rather have her on my side than against me."
"Move the company? Is Mrs. Simpson going to provide enough money to support the company? I mean, most of us have jobs. We can't just move to Magdeburg because she wants you to move the company."
"Magdeburg's out for me," Babette Goss said. "If I go anywhere it'll be to Erfurt to be with my husband."
Lynette Fortney held up her hand. "If you're short of people, I might be able to get a transfer to the law courts in Magdeburg,"
Bitty looked at her remaining senior dancers. Glenna Sue Haggerty and Natasha Fortney were supposed to start teacher training after they graduated from high school. Richelle Kubiak was also graduating this year, but she already had a job lined up with her
foster mother and would probably be staying close to Grantville. Marcie Haggerty had a year to go in her teacher training. Bitty's younger daughter Melanie had only been training as an electrician for a year and wasn't sufficiently qualified to find work in Magdeburg yet. That left her daughter in-law Alice, her elder daughter Staci, and Casey Stevenson. "Alice, do you think you could get a transfer to Magdeburg?"
"I don't know, Mom. I don't think the Air Force has anything going in Magdeburg."
Carl Schockley spoke up. "If the Air Force won't hire you, Alice, Kelly Construction will. We need trained drafts people. Heck, if you're interested I can probably sign you on now and start you on your way to Magdeburg on the next train. Believe me; we need people with your training."
Bitty sighed. "I guess that means you'll be spending a lot of time in Magdeburg this year, Carl?"
"Yes, it's my turn to be based in Magdeburg."
Bitty turned her attention to Staci and Casey Stevenson.
"I'd like to help you Bitty, but what can a physical education teacher do in Magdeburg?" Casey looked over at Staci. "Staci's a bit better off having done the ESOL course, but what can a couple of teachers do in Magdeburg?"
"Teach."
All eyes turned to the source of the comment. "What do you mean, Elisabeth Sofie?" Casey asked.
Stepping forward, a little embarrassed at suddenly being the center of attention, Elisabeth Sofie tried to explain. "Fraulein Casey, you are a teacher. An up-time teacher. What you should do is start a school in Magdeburg. A secondary school for girls. Something that will take girls from schools like St. Veronica's Preparatory Academy and prepare them for the new women's college, or just to teach the advanced skills that the wife of a successful merchant or land owner needs. My Tante Dorothea Sophie has a secondary school at Quedlinburg. If you wish, I can ask her if she thinks it is possible."
"Thank you, Elisabeth Sofie. If your Tante Dorothea Sophie thinks a secondary school for girls in Magdeburg is a good idea, Staci and I will look into it."