A Shift in Priorities - Sequel

[rast]

People who eat potatoes will never be able to perform their abilities in whatever job they choose to have.
(Richard Cobden)

The Wild Men hadn’t tried to run away; on the contrary, they seemed to have been waiting to be approached. In fact, the two groups had already merged, when Remer’s patrol had arrived. They claimed to be the government of the Poblacht na hÉireann, the Irish Republic. – Okay, one had eleven miserable geezers in a state of acute neglect and malnutrition, maintaining they were the landowners – and asking to be paid the rent.

Oh, they wouldn’t mind to be paid in kind, as a starter. Food would be nice, and some decent clothes; yeah, and weapons and ammunition. Otto Remer had been flabbergasted. But Doktor Rüchel had gone along with this approach. After all, this was Ireland. Until now, one had thought there was no government left. But on principle, these dudes were whatever they claimed to be.

A phone call to Prerow had affirmed this stance. Dr. Rüchel had been tasked to negotiate a tenancy agreement with the blokes. As turned out, these Wild Men must have been lawyers and bankers in their first life. Nevertheless, the rent for Hammerhorst came cheap. The Irish government, which also happened to be the parliament, was more interested in non-cash benefits than in reaping in money.

Of course, they were all carrying the pest, as the blood samples, delivered voluntarily on first contact, had proven. They could never leave Ireland, and achieving an agreement with RRA was the best thing they could hope for. Cill Gharbháin was going to be their capital. One would erect prefabricated houses for them and provide foodstuffs and everything… Well, it would be their job to convince other Wild Men that they were the Irish government.

One would keep aloof from them, no doubt. Once a week, supplies would be delivered – without personal contact. And yes, a direct telephone line was to be established. Dr. Rüchel would also act as German ambassador. – Jochen Zeislitz was intrigued in depth. You live and learn… But at least the masquerade didn’t affect pilot training.

 

[rast]

Even when the experts all agree, they may well be mistaken.
(Bertrand Russell)

The Telefunken data transfer networks were in place – and working. Doris Zülch had been promoted; she was now head of customer service – civilian side. The military had taken possession of their network – and wouldn’t allow civilians to interfere anymore. That was okay; the contracts said it was going to happen like this. On the civilian side, you had the universities and a host of large companies for customers. The universities were mainly using unkeyed channels; research and teaching didn’t require secrecy – in most cases.

The industry, however, were as security minded – or even more so – as the soldiers. That made them exacting customers. Doris, by virtue of her years of travels, knew all their key personnel. Hence, she was the ideal person to deal with them. Oh dear, it meant taking residence in Berlin, but the salary was compensating for that hardship. Hanne was living here as well; it was nice to see her – and nephew Oskar – now and again. Her big sister was a true high-up, the confidant of the chancellor, – and as workaholic as ever.

What she was telling, though, sounded pretty much incredible. The country was leaderless. Strauß didn’t rule, he was just letting things happen. And no new laws were passed in parliament. – Well, Doris knew what the industry was thinking of it. They were glad to have free rein. And they surely were not missing any new laws. Even stranger, the population at large seemed to share this attitude. The Berliners were not the only ones to scoff at the situation. And nobody seemed to pity good old Prussia.

The economists, though, and Doris knew quite a few of them, were aghast. Their theories were tumbling into the wastepaper bin by the dozen. What was happening shouldn’t happen at all – according to their accumulated wisdom. But economics wasn’t an exact science, it was more like theology or psychology. Belief was all important. And currently, people evidently preferred to believe that Strauß’s New Deal was going to work. Well, it might… Faith could move mountains.

 

[rast]

Swimming for his life, a man does not see much of the country through which the river winds.
(William E. Gladstone)

Professor Ramsauer was busy analysing the new blood samples arrived from Ireland. He said they were distinctly different from the samples recently gathered here in England. Might this help in the struggle against BAMS? Most probably not, but you never knew. In fact, any bit of additional information could be of use someway. This was a scientific battle, and one still had a lot to learn.

That was why the boss seemed to be at his wits’ end. He was a man who intuitively was groping for solutions – without caring much for the science behind them. That – obviously – had worked quite well as long as one had been looking for simple antidotes. But when dealing with viruses, this kind of intuition apparently didn’t help. Well, even Konrad Schabunde, the renowned specialist for viruses, often had difficulties in perceiving what really was going on in the miniature world.

One was learning, slowly though, but there was progress. The viruses weren’t quite living creatures. They were little machines that infiltrated living cells and forced them to build more viruses. The living cells in turn were producing antibodies to fight the intruders and stop their activities. – The trick was to identify a virus that afflicted BAMS in a way that kept it from multiplying. Unfortunately, one hadn’t found one yet.

But there were millions of viruses. One just had to carry on. A virus that triggered a strong immune response might also do the job. Cells could be killed by autoimmune response. Konrad was sure one would find a suitable weapon – sooner or later. As long as no new outbreak was reported, there was still hope.

 

[rast]

I can prove anything by statistics except the truth.
(George Canning)

The reactor had arrived last week, four trainloads of parts. The PUV engineers were busy installing it in Sheshanaga. That was scheduled to take two months. Proceeding to initial operation would take another fortnight. Thereafter, the hull was going to be completed. Holenarasipur Govindrao Srinivasa Murthy was pleased with progress achieved. TISCO had the elements for the upper hull and the interior segmentation produced already; they were only waiting for PUV to finish their job.

Lahore had calmed down in the meanwhile. One was ahead of the Turks – and about abreast with the Americans. The US Congress, however, had recently cut down expenditure for their NPP project. Hence, one could be reasonably sure that the Indian Federation would be the first nation to join Russia and Germany in the nuclear spaceflight club. Indeed, there were already people in Puri who were planning Sheshanaga’s maiden voyage.

Should one build a second ship? The original conception had been to construct only one, test it thoroughly – and then decide whether more were required. But it was obvious that NPP was the future. In a couple of years, the Germans would have nine, the Russians four, and the Americans – perhaps – two craft. How many the Turks and Japanese were going to build in the end, one didn’t know for sure. The Turks were wealthy enough to afford a whole fleet. And the Japanese project was a private venture; the more ships built, the more profit they should reap in.

Star Udaan Sangh always had been a frugal establishment. But a single ship was very limited in what it could accomplish without taking an excessive risk. Vikram Ambalai Sarabhai, the scientific director of SUS, had started beating the big drum for a second ship in Lahore. Murthy thought the politicians would fuss – as they always did – but eventually would endorse the increase. Yeah, his job here at Panchu might become permanent. About time to consider how to posh up the place…

 

[rast]

It is better to be roughly right than precisely wrong.
(John Maynard Keynes)

Precipitation, that was the key! Hermann Wölken had made a number of calculations. They were only approximative, but revealing nevertheless. Not coldness was the great menace, but drought – or flood. Research had shown that the ice shields of the last glaciation, the Weichsel/Würm/Wisconsin, had started growing early on. For forming an ice shield you needed a lot of snow. One meter of fresh snow produced – under the most favourable circumstances – one centimetre of ice. For an ice shield of thousand metres thickness, 100 kilometres of snow had to fall.

100 millimetres of rain were equal to one metre of fresh snow. Therefore, a 100 kilometres column of snow equalled a column of 10 kilometres of rain – or 10,000,000 litres per square centimetre. The current yearly Swedish average was 800 litres per square centimetre. With this, 12,500 years would be required to accumulate an ice shield of 1,000 metres thickness – provided no melt occurred at all. That meant the ice would not be the problem in Central Europe – for many thousand years.

No, shifting precipitation patterns should form the major source of affliction in the near future. One had to search for proxy data showing what had happened at the start of the Weichsel glaciations. It should have snowed almost continually in Scandinavia. Had there been a drought hereabouts? Because all the precipitation had gone northwards? And how long had it lasted? Or had the precipitation pattern been the same – snow in Scandinavia and rain hereabouts? Then, one should find indications for frequent inundations.

Pollen analysis might be of help here – and looking for the growth of dripstone. Fortunately, the Weichsel glaciations hadn’t been very far-reaching. The greater part of the German territory hadn’t been overrun by the ice. Therefore, one should be able to find what one was looking for in the Central German Uplands.

 

[rast]

It is always too late, or too little, or both. And that is the road to disaster.
(David Lloyd George)

Hindustan Aircraft Ltd. was about to finish two Bhaees. The first was due to be handed over to SUS, the second one to Sikuku Enterprises. Now, they wanted to know whether both could be transferred to Puri. It would accelerate pilot training considerably if three whoppers were available. – Well, sure, the planes were utterly useless without pilots. And it was a splendid opportunity to bolt and take a trip to India.

Having Otti at his heels all the time was unnerving for Max Sikuku. His daughter was too bright and too assertive to just act as his shadow. She was a perpetual pain in the ass. Okay, she was learning fast, this he had to concede. – But a jaunt to the Bay of Bengal should calm his nerves. It wasn’t a big affair, but also no short trip. There was no regular boat service between Daressalam and any port in India. The Sikuku yacht, however, would require five days to Mumbai.

From Mumbai to Puri, transit – using the inner-Indian flight services – would only take four hours. Perhaps he should consider entering into the international flight business. Five days by ship! An aircraft should take only fifteen hours. Well, it had to be checked thoroughly. After all, if money could be earned with such a service, someone would already be offering it. – Although, there were a lot of Indians working in the UnSA; they might appreciate such a link.

Anyway; it was a golden opportunity. He would hand over to Otti – to lead Sikuku Enterprises in his place – for the three weeks of his absence. And perhaps Adele was willing to accompany him. One hadn’t had any holidays down to the present day. Holidays were something for employees – and retirees, not for bosses. Yet, he was training to become a retiree, so, perhaps, he should start practising…

 

[rast]

A crown is merely a hat that lets the rain in.
(Frederick the Great)

Being King of France was pure spoof, thought Louis Philippe II, lying awake in his bed long after midnight. The nation had shrunk to munchkin size. Having been the foremost country of Europe – and the world – for many centuries, its present state was more than pathetic. The size of the current population equalled that living at the time of Phillip IV the Fair at the turn from 13th to 14th century. Yeah, and you had a lot of Moors in country, called by Pierre Pflimlin, the Prime Minister, to help rebuilding la France.

He had tried to dissuade Pflimlin from that approach. The Moors would change the country into something unrecognisable. They wouldn’t go home again. – But the man wouldn’t listen. They were needed. There was no other way. Western Europe had been ravaged by the pest. But North Africa had surplus population. And hadn’t they been French subjects till of late? – Indeed, it was true. But they had been colonial subjects. Nobody – in his sane mind – would confuse colonials with metropolitans.

The irritating thing was that his opinion didn’t count in the least. He was just decoration. – Bien, all European monarchs were sharing this fate, even the Tsar in Moscow. They were accessories, well fed and well furnished, but accessories nevertheless. – It was goofy. And Louis Philippe was discontent. But what could he do? Well, nothing… He was as useless as his Belgian and Dutch colleagues, bootless kings of decimated peoples. Though, it was his job. He had learnt nothing else. Sad, very sad…

 

[rast]

The government solution to a problem is usually as bad as the problem.
(Milton Friedman)

Prerow in summer was a nice place indeed; nevertheless Helga von Tschirschwitz had decided to spend her holidays in Tyrol. She liked rambling, and the Baltic coast line wasn’t inviting for hikers. Tyrol – the southern part – was ideal for this kind of activity. She had booked an accommodation in a small village near Bozen. Travelling by rail took almost one and a half days. Well, the sleeping coach from Berlin to Bozen was promising recreation already on the move.

Right now, she was on the train from Rostock to the capital. Rostock was not a major port, but because of Prerow the line had been modernised and electrified. Hence, the ride was smooth and swift. In Berlin, she would have five hours of wait – apart from the time needed to switch train stations. That was sufficient for a quick foray to the big stores. Some new gowns were needed for the job. The stores would send the stuff to Prerow, no need to carry it along.

Berlin was still divided between the eastern and northern districts, controlled by the councils, and the south-western portion, answering to the Prussian government. But one wouldn’t notice the difference, said those who had been there already. In fact, the stores she intended to visit were all located in council territory. But that had never stopped them from being temples of capitalism. – Helga was curious to see it with her very eyes: another very peculiar German revolution.

At Prerow, it wasn’t perceptible at all. Hans Kammler was ruling there, nobody else. And Berlin always had been something special, ever since the first industrial revolution had turned the city into a huge manufacturing site – and proletarian housing area. People were always talking of the Ruhr, when looking at industry. But that was erroneous. The Ruhr – with coal and steel – was a child of the first industrial revolution. Berlin however – with electricity, automobiles and aircraft – had been leading in the second one.

Anyway, one was just in the process of staging the fourth industrial revolution. And the convulsions in Germany were only the accompanying concerto to this upheaval. The country was lucky to have avoided bloody infighting. But, of course, space was not the solution. It was a sideshow and would always remain just that. Even sending 40,000 colonists to Arx wouldn’t change anything. Humankind was living down here on Earth – and this was going to be so for good. In the future, a petty tang of humans might live in space, but 99.999 percent of humankind was going to subsist down here.

 

[rast]

Liberty is always freedom from the government.
(Ludwig von Mises)

Gudrun had studied her dad’s career as chairman of the KPD, the obstinate communists. There existed an abundance of newsreel film shots and running life coverages for the radio. Dad really had rocked the crowds. It never had been about what he had to say – but about how he had done it. She had checked it: she had inherited this talent. It was a trait she never had cultivated hitherto; but perhaps her success in business had been – to a certain proportion, at least – due to her ability to sway her counterparts.

She had worked with several test audiences already. It worked. She didn’t have her dad’s rough style, but she nevertheless easily could enthral them. That was outstanding; it should facilitate her political debut. Her party would bear the name Freiheitsbanner (banner of liberty). She had already begun recruiting staff. – That was, as she already had anticipated, the complicated part. The labour bottleneck also applied to journalists and students.

The party programme was simple: liberty throughout. The free citizen was the measure of all things. Down the nanny state! – But it didn’t really matter. After all, Dad hadn’t been a communist; he had only judged them as utile stirrup holders. He had never cared for their programme. – Wheedling folks was not a matter of paragraphs…

 

[rast]

I do not believe in the collective wisdom of individual ignorance.
(Thomas Carlyle)

Slow motion, that was the apt term, thought Josef Dembitzer. Yeah, the bloody pest had transmuted European political affairs into a slow-motion film. – Well, it wasn’t a bad thing. The Rodinyadniki, in particular, had been frozen to almost standstill. Their ideas about Russia’s greatness and how to restore it had flatly fallen to the ground. That was a godsend for Europe – and for the Heymshtot a fortiori. Neighbour Bear was best borne when he wasn’t agitated.

But Germany too had gone into gridlock. Nothing was moving, first of all their chancellor. Though that was true only for the political tier. The economy was booming – and this was keeping the rest of Europe in motion. It showed how dominant that country had become. One wasn’t dancing to the Kaiser’s piping, but to that of the trusts. And because everybody was earning in the process, there were hardly any voices of protest to be heard. Was this the fabled capitalism running amok?

Dembitzer was a secret service guy; his knowledge of economic affairs was rather vestigial. However, he knew that the Heymshtot’s leading economists were perplexed. The swift collapse they had predicted was failing to occur. On the contrary, the system was thriving – and expanding. That, again, wasn’t a bad thing. A collapsing German economy would carry down the rest of Europe. Being dependent wasn’t attractive, yet being jobless was much worse.

The Russian economy, by the way, was also turning soundly. Obviously, the bosses over there didn’t need their politicians’ directives either. But they were pretty much domestically oriented. The rest of Europe wasn’t tied in – and hence didn’t really take note. The buyers of expensive Russian automobiles might be aware that border closures had kept them from receiving their purchase in time, but that the cars had duly been produced – and finally delivered.

Would the boom last? Nobody seemed to know. After all, according to the pundits, there should be no boom at all. Or would the pest return? Strauß was still obstinately refusing to reinstate the blockade of the British Isles. One could only wonder…

 

[rast]

Official truth is not actual truth.
(Lord Acton)

The North – Manchuria, to use the adopted modern term – was coming on steam. That was good, because the South – Guangdong mainly, but also Guangxi and Fujian – urgently required modernisation. Some of their machinery dated back to the time immediately after the war in Europe. There still were badges to be found reading “M.A.N.” or “Fried. Krupp AG” or “Rhein. Metallwaren– u. Masch.Fabrik A.G.”. Indeed, because of FEW, Fēilóng and the Children of Zhúlóng one had been forced to keep them running regardless of the consequences.

Exports had drastically plummetted because of recent border closures. Hence, the opportunity for complete overhaul had arrived. It wasn’t easy to broker contracts; the captains of industry were not keen on such matters – and generally hostile to government meddling. It wasn’t the task of Nánjīng to monitor delivery commitments of private companies. Yes, but… – Deng Xixian was struggling with their obstructionism. It kept him busy throughout. Modernisation was paramount; just operating obsolete equipment wouldn’t do.

It had been the curse of the Middle Kingdom in the last century. While the West had launched the industrial revolution of steam power and steel, China had adhered to the traditional ways – and had subsequently been reduced to a third-tier power. That mustn’t happen again. – Therefore he had endorsed Field Marshal Dang’s request. The Great Qing would not buy Xiao Riben nuclear spacecraft, but develop these ships themselves. He had checked it: one had the knowledge and the means required for such a project.

In fact, the Xiao Riben were not even a fusion power. And they had been prominent among the enemies of the Middle Kingdom in that unhappy period finally terminated by Chiang Zhongzheng. It was okay to acquire their ballistic missiles – for which one didn’t have the knowhow yet. But for these nuclear ships, they didn’t have any margin. The domestic scientists – and the heavy industry – had mastery over everything needed for NPP. Dang was absolutely correct: one could do it – and one was going to accomplish it.

 

[rast]

Every science consists in the coordination of facts; if the different observations were entirely isolated, there would be no science.
(August Comte)

NSÓ was shifting orbit. The Ivans were doing that at odd times. Lately, they had been spying on Germany; obviously, they now were bent on looking at the Chinamen’s cards. Yeah, prying for missile launch sites and submarine berths was a popular sport. Raumkolonie was doing likewise; they, however, had to spy out Russia, the largest country on earth. Hence, the station’s orbit had been designed to sway to and fro on a regular basis.

Image transmission via wireless had improved a lot, but was still a rather rough affair. The details needed for intelligence analysis could not be transmitted yet. Therefore, the negative images had to be sent down as material objects. It was done at crew changeover, the reason why changeovers were happening quite frequently. For Raumkolonie, this was done using DELAG gliders, while NASA was employing Titán rockets and simplified Lunobegún capsules.

It was that part of the space business still not absorbed by nuclear ships. One wondered, though, how the Ivans were going to manage ore transport – without gliders. Were they planning to use their NPP ships? It was possible, of course, but would tie up at least one precious craft. Or wouldn’t they send down any stuff at all? This ore matter was pure propaganda, every professional must know that. So, why waste resources? Bring down one load with great aplomb and full media coverage – and then forget the whole nonsense.

Indeed, it might happen like this. It meant the money invested for modifying NSÓ was a true dog’s dinner. And it raised the question whether Himmelsschmiede should be built at all. But Director Kammler wouldn’t decline. Processing iron ore wasn’t worth the while, granted, but Raumkolonie had to be replaced anyway. Why not furnish the new station with an additional processing facility? And one good day, one might find more precious stuff out there. And then, possessing a plant in space might be quite apposite.

 

[rast]

That the sun will not rise tomorrow is no less intelligible a proposition, and implies no more contradiction, than the affirmation that it will rise.
(David Hume)

“Petz” was gyrating very low – and as slowly as possible – above the lunar surface. The idea was to sneak up on the enemy – “Oskar”, the command dinghy, manned by the Ukrainians. But where the dickens was “Oskar”? The Feuerdrache, hanging high above, should know – but wouldn’t tell. Lutenant Yankel Kerschbaumer tried to put himself in Dmytro’s shoes. Where would the bloke move about? He couldn’t land; that would make “Oskar” a sitting duck. And he couldn’t just hover. He had to keep moving.

You had to meet the enemy head-on. The chain guns weren’t pivotable. It was like flying one of those string bag fighters of the Great War, only at a speed not conceivable for Boelke or Richthofen. And you only had fractions of an instant to release the guns. Fumeo was no help in this situation. The rugged lunar surface didn’t allow detection of low flying objects. Of course, the Feuerdrache did have the overview, but they didn’t count in this exercise.

Yankel had Ludvig, the Swede, and Halvar, the Finn, for co-pilots. They were helping him to scan the horizon, but he was the one handling the controls. Darting up would provide sight, but also make “Petz” a prominent target. – Damn, Dmytro was in the same predicament. Was it the good old game of chicken? This might go on for a very long time. – Well, sidestepping might help. The dinghies were very manoeuvrable. Turning away would make “Petz” suddenly unpredictable.

Yeah! Turn! And turn again! That was the perk of the dinghies. They were no inflexible space capsules but real small scooters, capable of manoeuvres that even the Feuerdrache couldn’t execute. But had it helped? Where was “Oskar”? Fumeo said it wasn’t there. Drat!

 

[Pera]

Germans military training Ukrainians. Nice !

 

[rast]

No matter how great your wisdom, you can still make a fool of yourself.
(James Cook)

Alfred ‘Freddy’ Dutschke was at odds with the German people. They were capitalists, all of them, even the workers, setting more store on making money than on achieving social justness. The revolution had not abolished the rule of the trading floor, but rather had strengthened it. The equity owners and captains of industry were reigning supreme – and the councils were supporting them. It was outrageous.

He should stop kidding himself: Strauß had played him for a fool. The devious devil must be in league with the arch-capitalists. Okay, that didn’t exactly come as a surprise, but the scale of it was unprovided-for. However, even the chancellor couldn’t jinx the workers. Their mindset had to be foul in its own right. There was not a trace of class consciousness. How could that be?

Was Marx mistaken? Were workers just indisposed capitalists? Was class struggle not a fight of the poor against the rich, but the assault of the would-be rich on those who had already helped themselves? Was not fair retribution but brazen enrichment the objective? – The French Revolution had been the fight of the citizenry against feudalism, which had been abolished.

The proletarian revolution was supposed to be the fight of the working class against capitalism, which was to be abolished. But the German workers evidently didn’t want to abolish capitalism. They were rather striving to become capitalists themselves; not necessarily big bosses, but modest owners of real estate, houses and other commodities. Well, and some might indeed make it to the top.

It was a desolate situation. Some of his fellow students were still burning for the proletarian revolution, but how could you stage it without proletarians?

 

[rast]

Without doubt, machinery has greatly increased the number of well-to-do idlers.
(Karl Marx)

The big wheel design had finally been selected for the crew compartment of the Phönix. The big cylinder proposal would produce far more space than required. After all, the vessel was not to serve as a colony; the crew would number no more than five hundred. Hence, a wheel – in fact a hollow cylinder 150 metres long – with a diameter of 80 metres had been incorporated into planning.

Klaus Fuchs had seen the latest blueprints. Yeah, the beast looked positively futuristic. It was almost two kilometres long – without the little sun. There would be three NPP craft, the dinghies. And the crew compartment was dwarfed by the reactor farm. A lot of the construction was only girders, separating the individual compartments.

The field generators – abundantly arranged; an outage would be fatal – were hardly apparent. They were, of course, the objects of his particular attention. Without them, the Phönix would be but an ugly piece of scrap metal. They had to keep the little sun in place, feed it with hydrogen, and keep cosmic rays away from the vital parts of the ship.

Their principle had been tested with success, but Fuchs wanted to verify their durability. A test series had been approved already. AEG and Telefunken were building a set of generators, and Siemens a reactor. One had, though, to wait for one of the Four Sisters to become available.

 

[rast]

Political questions are far too serious to be left to the politicians.
(Hannah Arendt)

The matter of common defence was still brewing – or rather simmering gently. Stepan Andriyovich Bandera hadn’t made much headway yet. The Nimtsi weren’t enthusiastic over the idea; they preferred nuclear deterrence. In their appreciation, fighting a ground war didn’t make much sense – if one inevitably was going to end up in a nuclear exchange anyway.

The Baltic countries and the Heymshtot were quite positive, but in no position to ignore the Nimetsky view. In fact, one was missing the Poles. Together with them, one might be able to counterbalance the Nimtsi. But as it was, the Poles were much more of a hazard than forming a cornerstone. It was well known that Moscow had tried to pocket them. However, they hated the Russians as much as the Nimtsi.

The Evegstan countries were also interested in military cooperation, but they would not challenge Nimetsky doctrine. There never had been the slightest chance of defending their clime with ground forces against a Russian – or Turkish – invasion. Nevertheless, the Nimetsky safety guarantee had kept them free all along. Hence, they would not participate in any manoeuvres to sway Berlin.

And, of course, the Russian threat had crumbled away under the pest threat. But that was only a temporary phenomenon; it would come back – rather sooner than later. Everybody in the Eastern European countries knew that. One had to keep striking the iron. Perhaps, this strange fellow, Strauß, could be talked into a general treaty creating a collective security system – one day.

The Kantsler had been to Berlin recently. It must have been a monumental booze. Strauß was good in demolishing beer, but couldn’t stomach much vodka. Brezhnev could guzzle vodka like water, but had no tolerance for beer in addition. Anyway, Leonid Ilyich was of the opinion that one would find a way to implement a treaty organisation. His friend Franz Josef had promised…

 

[rast]

Why is there anything at all rather than nothing whatsoever?
(Gottfried Wilhelm Leibniz)

The Four Sisters – Antje, Bertha, Carla and Dora – were growing in unison. Another twelve months still until completion, thought Peter Vogel, who had advanced to chief engineer for Carla’s construction. Well, it wouldn’t end then, because the Junior Siblings would be started immediately thereupon.

At the moment, the reactors were being installed. That was done by folks from Siemens, hence one had to pay attention twice. You always had to make sure that the site electricians weren’t doing something stupid while wiring. And the reactor dudes, coming from Germany, were far worse than the sparkies.

The Feuerdrache was on base – and off again, erratically, still engaged in pilot training. That was annoying, because you had to stop all activities and hide in the shelters, when then beast was coming down – or taking off. Okay, it couldn’t be helped. The frigging kosmonauts wouldn’t show consideration for the needs of humble construction workers. But it was a nuisance nevertheless.

The small Vogel family, he had married almost a year ago, Lotte, a draughtswoman, was living in a decent house. The residential area was slowly turning green, as saplings were becoming small trees. It was nice here in Ireland, the services were excellent – and everything you bought was duty free. Lotte thought she was pregnant, but confirmation was still missing.

Well, it would be great. There was daycare for the infants; and kindergarten and school hereabouts were excellent. The kid would grow up under the best circumstances conceivable. And the job was safe until 1975 at least. Because, after the Four Siblings, one would have to build the three NPP dinghies for the Phönix…

 

[rast]

It is no advantage to be near the light if the eyes are closed.
(Saint Augustine)

Okay, the Sikuku kosmonauts were in the final training phase now. In four weeks, they would transfer the first jumbo to Bukoba on Lake Victoria. One would, of course, not appeal for being allowed to use the MARFAK facilities at Muansa; Sikuku Enterprises was not a meek supplicant, one had resources of one’s own. Max and Adele – or rather their digestive tracts – were slowly recovering from the journey to India. A fascinating country indeed, but their understanding of sanitariness was kind of weird, to say the least…

Yeah, never again. Better send the legal eagles; they seemed to be outright immune to filth, vermin and spices. – Anyway, the MALU electoral campaign was about to get cracking. He was needed at home, in his constituency – and of course nationwide. The pinkos had Seppel Mobutu, that was quite a boon for them. One would have to work wonders to counter his impact on the voters. The jingoes of the MANaP were still weak, crippled by internal strife and lack of an imposing leader.

Otti had done a great job acting for him, she would have to proceed doing this; he now had to coddle voters and kiss babies. Thank goodness the economy was healthy and people were generally well off. That was important for liberal paroles to fall on fertile ground. Nevertheless, the socialist sirens were promising paradise on earth – by expropriation and socialisation. That was rubbish, of course, but people were prone to belief in fairy tales…

 

[rast]

I feel life is so small unless it has windows into other worlds.
(Bertrand Russell)

It was altogether disappointing, thought Gordon Rupert Dickson. Reality was trumping speculative fiction. It was not only that insensitive foreign kosmonauts were debunking the solar system. No life – and no intelligent life above all – anywhere; no traces of lost ancient civilisations; nothing… But that wasn’t the worst. You still could move – with your novels – to the distant stars and invent aliens and future human empires. His friend Poul Anderson was doing this quite successfully.

But could you conceive stories topping the Chinese Doomsday Bomb? Or the man-eater movement? Or the pest? – His alternative history story about a surviving Red Britain had been a disappointment. “The Yankee and the Red Witch” neither had sold well, nor had it reaped any award. People had not been interested. The frigging Limeys had cast the pest upon the world. Thank goodness they were gone; please, don’t conjure them up again…

Even the British expatriates in the US – and elsewhere – were scrunching their noses at stories dealing with Red Albion – or Churchill – or Edith Rowley in Canada. It was a pity. – His vague idea about witchcraft and intelligent dragons had come to nothing as well. Dragons in the US? Hardly… You would have to place them in England, a kind of medieval England… So, forget it.

So, he had also moved to the distant stars and a distant future. But it was arduous, because everybody hereabouts was doing that. And, unfortunately, the future was giving the impression to speak German – or Russian, but not English. The Russian colleagues – like this Ozimov – were better off. And in Germany, obviously nobody with real talent was bothering to write speculative fiction at all.

Well, he had – tentatively – written three western novels. They were selling quite satisfactorily. It was, perhaps, the kind of alternative story the Americans were actually digging in these confusing times. Nothing in it was true, of course, but folks seemed to like it. Yeah, westerns and civil war stories, that might be the bread and butter stuff for the next few years. With Project Hercules successful, the tide ought to turn again. Until then, it would be forty-fives and Winchesters…