A Shift in Priorities - Sequel

[Bmao]

As I've been saying before, the German's priorities for their spending doesn't seem to make sense. The space program seems like a ludicrous White Elephant project while people are getting hit with floods. How much of that money from the space program could be used to repair bridges, ports, roads, etc, or upgrade it so that when the floods come again the damage isn't that bad? When the German people are having to sell their public property to buy food, something is going terribly wrong; you can't just blame the bad weather for that. Countries like Norway, Denmark and Sweden; places that were hit just as bad, are in a position to sell goods.

Know who else could sell heavy machinery in large amounts? The United States.

 

[luis3007]

The Germans are desperate for hard data about the cold weather and if it will turn into an ice age. So more space investment.

 

[Bmao]

The Germans are desperate for hard data about the cold weather and if it will turn into an ice age. So more space investment.

That's true, but the problem is maintaining a balance between that and ensuring that they can manage living conditions for their people at home, and what it looks like is that they're over-investing in space in comparison to solving the day to day needs of their populace.

 

[luis3007]

That's true, but the problem is maintaining a balance between that and ensuring that they can manage living conditions for their people at home, and what it looks like is that they're over-investing in space in comparison to solving the day to day needs of their populace.

True, but the leading politicians of the Reichstag have surely been informed about the long-term weather perspectives and know that the space investment is necessary. If all major parties are aboard with this there will be no repercussions due to this spending instead of reconstruction.....for a while anyway.

 

[Bmao]

It's not because things are difficult that we dare not venture. It's because we dare not venture that they are difficult.
(Seneca)

It was one thing to stick out great cold, bulk snow and raging torrents. But it was quite a different matter to face ruin. It was a vicious circle: nature had broken man's works, and to repair the damage man was now exhausting his assets. For all practical reasons, Germany was broke. Nevertheless, one kept spending money as if the economy was booming. Andreas Hermes, vice chancellor and minister of finance, was deeply worried.

All sectors of the economy had suffered, none was working with regular capacity, none was producing the revenues it should. The states and the empire were getting much less in taxes and fees than normal. At the same time, expenditure was soaring because the flood damages had to be repaired – and because one was forced to buy fucking expensive aliment abroad. Nevertheless, the system was working, damage was repaired and people were fed.

It was like a second Great War. The war had been much more expensive – and lasted much longer – than those in power had anticipated. The imperial war hoard of 360 million marks, stored in a tower of the Spandau citadel, had been good for financing the first six days only. Thereafter, one had incurred debts. And – it had worked. States, as long as they were able to pay interest, could borrow truly tremendous amounts of money.

Okay, after the war, one did have a serious problem, which only the sellout of the German colonies had eventually solved. But that was a second rate notion. In fact, one had persevered for almost four years, without any opportunity to lend money from abroad. So, yes, one could do it again, even without war bonds, but it was not an approach a conscientious minister of finance could embrace.

The ancient principles of frugality and debts avoidance were in the interest of the people, because in this case the state could do with a minimum of taxes. Budget management by making debts was unsound. It forced the state to dig deep in the citizens' pockets. It was something the godless socialists might do, but not lofty conservatives like Hermes or his colleagues, at least not by their own choice.

Unfortunately, there was no choice. One would have to solve the emerging problems later. – And there would be problems. US industry, hardly impaired by freak weather wreckage, was wriggling into traditional German export markets – as German companies were still unable to deliver. And the frigging Middle Africans were doing it was well. The Russians, by the way, had attempted the same, but had been stopped cold by Father Frost recently.

Even French and Italian producers were aiming for the productive gap opened by the thaw floods. Weights were shifting, internationally and inside the COMECON. The experts thought it would take at least a decade, until all damage was overcome – if the weather returned to normal... But if these Stettin scientists were right, it wouldn't matter anymore. And in this case, debt repayment wouldn't bother him at all...

True, but the leading politicians of the Reichstag have surely been informed about the long-term weather perspectives and know that the space investment is necessary. If all major parties are aboard with this there will be no repercussions due to this spending instead of reconstruction.....for a while anyway.

The German economy, as indicated in one of the previous posts, is not doing well, but they are spending as if they have endless amounts of money. Simply put, it doesn't seem like that they would be able to afford the planned operation Little Sun that calls for launching a ship into space to create climate change. The technology to achieve that on any practical level just isn't there and I think it will turn out as a huge waste of money at precisely a time that the German economy cannot afford it.

The German economy also seems to be hinging on whether the scientists are right, and that their Little Sun project works perfectly. However, what if they are wrong? What if the device proves infeasiable or more likely does not function in the way that it should or anticipated? They're betting it all on the little Sun project while keeping the rest of the economy on bare minimum status; and in the meantime they're losing market share, their less competitive and that the Germans are importing everything.

There also seems to be a lot of group think within the German scientific community, all of whom seem convinced of the viability of the Little Sun project, while taking nothing into the account of costs and practicality. Both Weizacker and Von Braun seem to be saying 'we have all our aspects of the project done, now its up to the others'.

 

[Starslayer_D]

a few million square kilometers of reflective film in orbit aimed at reflecting sunlight onto the snow should do away with winter.... at least untill the solar wind drves your lightsail all topsy-turvy....

 

[Dain]

The German economy, as indicated in one of the previous posts, is not doing well, but they are spending as if they have endless amounts of money. Simply put, it doesn't seem like that they would be able to afford the planned operation Little Sun that calls for launching a ship into space to create climate change. The technology to achieve that on any practical level just isn't there and I think it will turn out as a huge waste of money at precisely a time that the German economy cannot afford it

Err... you realize that everything invested in rebuilding Germany is an even greater waste of funds if the country just gets wrecked again in one of the next seasons, if it doesn't outright become uninhabitable? The 'why waste funds on science projects when you could instead throw it into the bottomless pit of social spending' argument usually has a lot more merit than in this scenario.

You are literally arguing that the government of the most advanced nation of this timeline is making a logical error in taking on responsibility for trying to combat an existential threat - with the world-wide die-off of hundreds of millions of people to be expected in the imminent future - and should instead focus its attention exclusively on playing whack-a-mole with the symptoms. That being slightly more fiscally responsible is more important than a chance to prevent a world-wide catastrophe.

Also, your assumption that the space program as a budget item is anywhere close to the same order of magnitude as the massive reconstruction effort is unfounded as far as I can see - unless we got a budget statement in one of the snippets I overlooked.
Frankly, I agree that the weird science of this particular project is... weird. The scientists should long since have come up with way better and less-likely-to-go-horribly-wrong proposals. However, all solutions would have inevitably been similarly expensive. With the survival of the nation at stake, this does not make them not worth trying.

 

[rast]

The chief danger in life is that you may take too many precautions.
(Alfred Adler)

It always was the same old story: his eminence Carl Friedrich had generated a magnificent yet transcendental theory, and he, Klaus Fuchs, had the dubious pleasure of translating it into reality. Well, von Weizsäcker's inspirations had to be taken dead serious, the man was a genius – of sorts... His fusion model had provided the scientific foundation for the German fusion bomb; however, Fuchs remembered vividly how he had sweated, plotted – and cursed. Transposing Weizsäcker's notes into something technically feasible truly had been no cakewalk.

This here was worse, much worse... Not because of the basic science involved. That part was rather straightforward, to Fuchs' surprise. But the Weizsäcker Device had to be assembled in outer space. This made a very big difference. – Fuchs and his team had soon realised that they needed rocket scientists for this task, but that had only been the start. The rocketeers had no clue how to construct and assemble the hardware; they were only providing transport and manual labour. One needed civil engineers, mechanical engineers, electrical engineers, product designers, puzzle freaks and all sorts of crackpots to tackle this challenge.

In fact, Fuchs found himself erelong in command of a whole army of scientists, engineers and technicians. Well, not exactly in command, but rather exercising the role of chief of staff. Command had been entrusted to Paul Harteck again, who now had the unenviable task to ply the politicians for funds, means and men – but was leaving the drudgery to Kurt Diebner and Klaus Fuchs. Diebner was in charge of bomb construction. One required eighteen 25 KT steropium bombs for the Weizsäcker Device. Fuchs was responsible for the development of what had become called 'the sphere', which had to hold the bombs – and the central hydrogen unit – in place.

The problem with the sphere was that its parts had to go up with RRA rockets and DELAG gliders – and that the stuff had to be put together in vacuum and microgravity. And of course, the eighteen nukes had to be exactly same and to go off at accurately the identical moment. – That was the general idea, at least. How the sphere actually should look like – and how it could be mounted in outer space – was Fuchs' job to find out. – It could be done, no question, but it was a nuclear scientist's nightmare. Damn, he was no project manager; he wasn't used to deal with hordes of people. It made him feel queasy. – But it needed him – or at least someone with comparable knowledge – to co–ordinate all ends.

Composing the specifications for the sphere had just started. To save weight, the framework was going to be engineered in aluminium. How to effect the connections was still under debate. With bolts it could be done swiftly and accurately; but under certain circumstances, they were prone to jamming. This must not happen in space. The engineers were currently trying to find a fail–safe solution. – The rocketeers were insisting that the stuff should be packed tightly; they said transporting play didn't make any sense; every cubic centimetre had to be fully utilised. – There would be a central firing unit for the bombs – and electrical firing for the individual nukes. That had to come together with the aluminium elements and just plug together – ideally. But the electrical folks were saying it couldn't be done that way. It was wonderful...

 

[rast]

Darkness was cheap, and Scrooge liked it.
(Charles Dickens)

With aloofness, he was watching Clara set the injection. It would take several minutes, until the stuff made its impact. He would become drowsy, and the pain would slowly faint to nothing. – One was back to business as usual. The Slater Rebellion, as he had come to call it, was over, had been brutally smashed. Wintringham and his henchmen were ruling supreme. Gangland had survived, of course – and was thriving.

There was one important change, however. His erstwhile drug suppliers had defaulted. Rumour had it they would rather sell vegetables to the Germans because that was more profitable. – But a new supplier had already been found – or rather, he had imposed himself. Delivery was to take place via the transatlantic wheat freighter shuttle. The bulk carriers weren't searched, but were receiving preferential treatment – were waved through, sort of. It was an ideal delivery channel.

The drawback was that payment in US dollars was obligatory. That posed a tremendous problem. – It meant he had to drop all poor customers, who hitherto had paid by serving him. Only members of the party hierarchy with access to forex could be eligible for full supply in future. – Somehow, he fancied to sense the hand of Tony Patterson, his ancient comrade in combat, in this business. But there was no way to verify this guess.

Well, the poor sods would have to switch to alcohol. It was the traditional intoxicant of the working classes in Britain anyway. Wintringham was diverting a considerable part of the Canadian wheat to brewing and distilling. And booze was kept cheap. The guy knew how to sedate the masses, obviously. Keeping them drunk was easier than fighting them intermittently.

Yeah, exotic drugs had been reserved for the upper classes, the traditional masters of the British Empire. Today's upper class were the controllers. So, one could say not much had changed, in a sense. – The former upper crust were in exile now – or had become the dregs of society. And some former lower class folks were the new masters. – Much continuity hence, these Britons were true tradition freaks...

Clara had emptied the syringe. She bowed and left. – Alas, sex was no longer an option for him, although he vaguely remembered better times and Emma Moore, his lover – the treacherous bitch... – The pain was beginning to fade. Omar Bradley closed his eyes and sighed.

 

[rast]

It's good to live alone than to live in a bad company.
(George Washington)

Pedro Álvaro, the man now originating from Pachuca de Soto in the Mexican state of Hidalgo, jumped aback quick–witted when the honking large sedan rushing by threatened to touch him. San Antonio in Texas, a town of mere 350,000 inhabitants, truly featured road traffic more dangerous than the exuberant street chaos found in Ciudad de México, after all a metropolis of 2.8 million people. So many motor cars! It was incredible. Every single male Texan seemed to own one. And he had even seen women driving along alone!

Well, he didn't have a driving license – and, being a Mexican now, couldn't get one in Texas. He should be carrying a Mexican one, forged like his passport. But he hadn't thought of it – and, of course, his money had just sufficed for buying that wonderful passport. – But the Texan police would acknowledge a Mexican driving license, because Texans were allowed to drive a car in Mexico with their Texan license. The principle was called reciprocity. – He knew how to operate a motor car, had done it frequently in the RUM and in Mexico, where the police officers would rather accept a donation of 200 pesos and forgo inspection of documents.

Finding a job hadn't been difficult. Although – another cause of surprise – he didn't qualify for certain occupations because he was a Negro. The Texans were displaying interesting thinking concerning racial relations. He could become a worker, but not a middleman like he had been in the RUM – before his escape, at least not when having to deal with white men. Yet, manual labour was okay for him. He needed money. And the bosses didn't ask nosy questions. He was grafting as warehouser at Braun's Food Services, and as pump attendant at Joey's Garage, and as cleaner at Allneat Valet Service.

If everything went as scheduled, it would take him about ten months until he had earnt enough to move on – with valid Texan documents, this time. It was said the other states were different from Texas, offering equal rights to Negroes, or almost. – Well, Pedro didn't mind the Texan way. It reminded him of Mexico. Apart from the language – and the segregation, there were a lot of similarities: bustling countries full of upbeat people, an exuberant economy, a certain grandeur, visible progress everywhere, proudly displayed. He was wondering whether the rest of the US was going to be similar. From what he had heard he had the impression of creeping socialism at work there...

He had found a billet in the house of a black family at Dignowity Hill, an eastern suburb. It was a mixed neighbourhood of poorer whites, Negroes and Latinos. Delinquency was palpable here. Pedro thought the two sons of the family were criminals. They were leaving house in the evening, and were at home during normal working hours. Their mother said they were swatting night shift at the rail yard. But Pedro had seen them walking away. They were not going due north, but west – where bars and nightclubs – and even gay establishments – were to be found. Well, as long as they didn't attract the cops – who then might track down his faked identity...

 

[rast]

The advantage of wisdom is that you can play dumb. The opposite is more difficult.
(Kurt Tucholsky)

All is not gold that glitters, thought Police General Joseph Pidotaye, while scrutinising the suspects. This was going to be a tough one. Okay, it was not his job to investigate the case in detail, this was done by his subordinates, but he had to brief the politicians – and that was even worse than interrogating the culprits. – It was one of these extremely murky affairs: way too much alcohol, drugs, molls, loss of control... In the end, you had a dead whore – and six people, who couldn't remember anything – they were claiming...

Well, such scenarios weren't uncommon in Middle Africa, where binge drinking on weekends was the rule rather than the exception. What made this case special, however, was the fact that the male suspects were Germans. – Oh, there had been comparable cases in the past, prior to independence. But then, German justice had been responsible for the investigations and the sentences. – These chaps here were freak weather refugees living and working in Middle Africa. Hence, the Middle African justiciary system was in charge.

Even worse, the dead slut happened to be a citizen of the Union of South Africa. Hence, the politicians were going to be twice as alert and attentive as normal. – And the media had already taken scent, although one was trying hard to blanket the affair. Pidotaye had to admit: the victim had indeed been a ravaging beauty, a true sex goddess. These unconscionable journalists were notorious for loving such kind of salacious sensation. It had all the ingredients for raising circulation and rating.

Pidotaye was reminiscent of his apprenticeship in Germany, some thirty years ago. What would Sergeant Xaver Krottenhuber, his training instructor, have done? – Xaver had been intrepid and loyal – and absolutely unswerving. – Yes, Xaver would simply have done what had to be done, neither caring for politicians nor for newspeople. A police officer of his Catholic Majesty King Rupprecht of Bavaria could never do wrong. – That was the proper spirit.

"All right!" Pidotaye turned to the criminal chief inspector biding his orders. "Grill them! Find out who's the killer. They may all have been as pissed as newts, no matter. Someone has to remember something. – I will not accept that all of them go free, because we can't explicitly identify the killer. – Search the site and search it again, look for witnesses. – But listen: don't fake evidence! – I'll get the politicians to face the media. For that I need a dossier listing all facts we know already. When can that be ready? – Hurry up!"

 

[rast]

All animals are equal, but some animals are more equal than others.
(Eric Arthur Blair)

Reconstruction... Yeah, but... Edward Harris, Chief Controller Manchester, shrugged his shoulders and wrang his hands. The mandarins in Westminster evidently had no clue. Well, paper didn't blush. – Bleeding hell! He neither had material nor machines – and not a chance to get something. What he had were people, people galore. The Slater Renegades indiscriminately had destroyed machinery and equipment, transport infrastructure, supply lines, bridges and buildings before their retreat. As result, Manchester's industry was down and out. Therefore, Edward could draw on almost the whole workforce for reconstruction. One could remove debris, stack intact bricks and tiles, collect timber that might be reusable, salvage bolts, nuts and other metallic objects, but hardly more. Even large wooden beams for constructing temporary bridges were missing. Right now, one was using empty oil drums covered by wooden planks – and even doors – as makeshift bridges. These auxiliary float bridges were good for pedestrians, but hardly so for motor cars.

The People's Royal Army and NOBR had been tasked to repair the rail lines. So, at least this worry was taken from Edward's shoulders. Only that repair was making no headway. – Okay, Manchester was getting supplies and foodstuffs via the Manchester Ship Canal from Liverpool. Liverpool had never fallen to Slater's rabble, had been resolutely defended – and troops coming from thence had eventually liberated Manchester. – Yeah, nourishment posed no problem, thank goodness. But resumption of production was still far away. – Edward was unhappy with the existing situation. Folks had no sensible occupation, tidying up the town was not really challenging; it was seen as a kind of occupational therapy – people called it dawdle duty. Now, an idle lot was liable to get into mischief. And alcoholic beverages were delivered in abundant quantities. That was not good...

Edward had tried to stop it, but Westminster insisted that the stuff be distributed. Keeping the populace happy was important. – Heck, boys and girls drunk at noon might be happy, yet they were a nuisance and a liability at tea time. Edward had no propensity to booze, it made him sick. And drunken people he found disgusting. – He had tried to stow away at least a part of the deliveries, the high–proof stuff. To no avail. It had been stolen – or found, to put it mildly... Yeah, idle folks had a lot of time for snooping. – The police chief said looting had become ubiquitous. What Slater's goons hadn't found was now taken away by the good citizens of Manchester... Violence wasn't excessive yet, according to the commissioner. People were still cowed by the atrocities perpetrated by the Slater Renegades – and those done by the liberating forces, thought Edward. But that was going to wear off...

Edward came from a rather modest Manchester working class provenance. There hadn't been much education. Aged eighteen, he had volunteered for the army – and had been sent to India after basic training. Bombay hadn't been nice. A pipe bomb almost had got him. But the worst had come after returning to England. They, the 2nd Battalion of the Loyal North Lancashire Regiment, had been ordered to arrest the Manchester workers' council. They had run into a crowd blocking their advance – and had tried to disperse them with bayonets, which hadn't worked, and with bullets, which hadn't worked either. Because Edward, seeing his sister stand in the crowd, had broken formation and joined the crowd, his example soon followed by many more troopers. It had made Edward a working class hero – and eventually had secured him a slot as controller.

Being a controller was okay. It meant a decent life – for Edward and his family. The kids could attend public school and university. It was all Edward had ever wanted. That made and kept him a loyal follower of SUP doctrine. Also the food crisis and the Slater Insurgency hadn't changed that. – But now, seeing jog trot and a certain couldn't–care–less attitude emanate from Westminster, he was developing second thoughts. This was going to go down the swanny, if not something decisive happened. But – damnation! – he didn't see how to break this vicious circle. He had no means at his disposal, only a ruined city with lots of disaffected folks...

 

[rast]

Every religion has its demons and evil spirits.
(Wilhelm Hauff)

Egyptian Emir Halil Kut Paşa was old and frail. He had been born in 1882 – and thus had celebrated his seventieth birthday last November. But the prime minister, Mostafa el–Nahhas Paşa, born in 1879 and in office since 1926, was even older and still more decrepit. Over the years, the two old men had got quite used to each other – but nevertheless generally were avoiding close contact. Halil Kut never had butted into matters political. He was head of state and hence representing the emirate – abroad and at home, but not in parliament, lobby and cabinet. El–Nahhas, also chairman of the ruling Wafd Party since the year dot, was the one to shape policy and govern the country.

The problem was, however, that the old men – and all of el–Nahhas' ministers in cabinet were also qualifying for regular retirement, at the very least – were ruling over a young nation. One had promoted population growth – and had been successful. With twenty–five million inhabitants, the Emirate of Egypt was by far outnumbering the rest of the Ottoman Empire. – Well, only Halil Kut Paşa and some doters of his entourage were still trying to uphold the fiction that the Sultan in İstanbul had some say–so over Egypt. – Anyway, the gulf between the old crocks in power and the young people in the streets was threatening to become an abyss erelong.

For good reasons, voting age was kept at twenty–five. But very soon, the first age group of the baby–boomer generation would turn up at the ballot. – Change was imminent. The Wafd was the party of the rich, the landed gentry and the grande bourgeoisie. Most of the young were poor and owned nothing. Their hero was the revolutionary Gamal Abdel Nasser, a loser, chucked out by the army for political machinations, who was clamouring for the rule of the men–in–the street, undoubtedly meaning himself and his cronies. Yet, Nasser was powerfully eloquent and vituperative, quite the opposite of el–Nahhas, whose loose ivories tended to obstruct his speech. Even worse, Nasser was said to be in league with the banned Muslim Brotherhood. These outlawed religious zealots were known to be striving against the liberal and market friendly Wafd regime.

Halil Kut didn't like all this. But it wasn't his turf. – He was meeting kings, emperors and other heads of state for making small talk, was opening exhibitions and awarding prizes. Sometimes, he was even holding significant speeches in country, which, however, were all written by el–Nahhas' staff. Otherwise, domestic politics were off limits for him. – Would he live long enough to witness revolution and disorder? Perhaps yes, he felt fine. The physicians were content with his physical shape. He was hard of hearing, had to walk with a stick and was suffering from adult–onset diabetes. All this was normal, said the doctors, no need to worry.

Egypt was doing well, in general. After oil had been found in the Libyan desert, the gravest concern – lack of energy – for economic growth had become moot. In addition, one was profiting enormously from the food crisis in Europe, was selling grain, rice, potatoes and various other foodstuffs for very decent remuneration. Education had been improved effectively. – However, the literate poor were found to be much more truculent than the uneducated fellahin had ever been. – Well, in the old days, life had been easier. But from the co–generals of the Great War era, next to no one was still alive. He, the victor of Kut, who had beaten the English imperialists and their Indian slaves, was a living monument.

 

[Bmao]

Ahh!! Hello Nasser! I was wondering when he would show up. Born right at the end of the POV I imagine. I also can't imagine Nasser siding with the Muslim Brotherhood, given that he was a nationalist in OTL, but then again, with the POD, the Brotherhood might have been able to brand itself as a party that appeals to the young.

If the ruling elites are smart, they'd try to co-opt Nasser and his movement otherwise it turns into a coup. Nasser wouldn't have the impetus of the Suez Canal to give fuel for his movement though.

 

[luis3007]

Nasser needs no coup. He will be democratically elected by the huge mass of literate but poor young people coming to vote. And then he will arrive to power and crash against the new climate which makes Egypt ripe for the northern armies.

 

[rast]

Think wrongly, if you please, but in all cases think for yourself.
(Gotthold Ephraim Lessing)

It was strange, very strange, thought Judith Rosenbaum, while checking the deployment list, most of her girls – almost seventy percent – had gone south. Now, that meant the clients, whom the girls were to protect, had moved to sunny southern shores. Frajln Wach clients, however, were no ordinary Janes and Joes, but the elite of the country – or in fact of several countries, as the bodyguard agency was offering service Europe–wide.

Okay, it was winter still, cold winter, although the month of March should bring the first signs of spring, but did that really explain it? The places she could discern on the spreadsheet were neither the locations for winter sports – nor for holiday at the seaside. What were these people doing down there? – Well, her girls would tell her, once they were back from their missions. But it was strange nevertheless...

Frajln Wach had been Judith's first venture, founded in 1926. Today, she was the mistress of a sizeable agglomeration of security firms – alarm systems, observations, cash transports, property protection, structural protection, you name it... But the female guard and escort service still was the linchpin of her group – and the one that yielded most, although also making most work.

In olden days, girls had been tougher. Nowadays, they came soft, innocent and scatterbrained. Training them to be warrioresses was a true challenge. Only one in fifteen ever graduated. Judith still took pride in drilling them herself, at least in close combat and snickersnee. Therefore, she usually was closely committed to her lasses, even to those that did not become her lovers.

Oh, there had been copycats, once Frajln Wach had proven a success, but the emulators were missing a Judith. Because of her special experience, she simply was the best, even today. – Yet, she was forty–five now – and age was claiming its tribute, she was getting slower, not much so far, but decline had started. Well, she never had trained a successor, that was now turning out a mistake. – But only Fajga Mandlstayn, missing since long and most probably dead, ever had got what it took to be a second Judith...

It truly was a pity, but she couldn't help it now. – Maybe she should also travel south sometime or other – and look for a nice retreat... Selling her group shouldn't be a problem, there had been offers galore in the past. – But, on the other hand, what should she do in retirement? She wasn't the leisure type, had never been, since those Polish hooligans had raped her... – Well, she could purchase a residence in southern Spain or Italy off–handedly – and think about retirement later.

 

[rast]

The grasshopper lies heavy.
(Hawthorne Abendsen)

That bloody idiot Anslinger had indeed weathered every upheaval. He was still hanging around in Washington, as everlasting head of the cursed FBN, making life difficult for all people seeking innocent relaxation or tranquil expansion of consciousness. As a matter of fact, Anslinger's bromidic falsehoods had caused the legislators in Sacramento to criminalise possession and use of dope in California. It was a shame. – And even more so, because the cops had caught Hawthorne Abendsen with two ounces of the stuff in his pocket.

Well, arrest had been short. The judge, an old fart, evidently of the opinion that prohibiting dope was newfangled horseplay, had released Hawthorne on his own recognizance. That was fine, because the Abendsens were broke – at the moment... But the grass was gone, nevertheless. – Now, from where should Hawthorne get inspiration? Writing wasn't easy... But the urge to write was overwhelming.

Caroline, his wife, thought jogging might help. Running over long distances was opening up the mind, she had read. But Hawthorne wouldn't rise to the bait. Jogging was goofy – and bad for his ankles. – Alcohol wouldn't work. He had tried that out. It made him mad and dumb – and awfully sick afterwards. – Mushrooms? Cactuses? How was that stuff from Mexico called? He had to consult the public library...

Hawthorne had been born in Chicago on December 16th, 1928. Both his parents had worked for the federal government and moved house a lot. After The Troubles, his mom, by then already divorced from his dad and unemployed, had moved to San Francisco with him in tow. School always had been difficult for him, but his teachers had observed a certain talent in Hawthorne: he was an apt storyteller.

Hawthorne was working in a record shop – and as part time radio host for classical music. Caroline was serving in a diner. Their income was just sufficient to pay the rent and the groceries. – Hawthorne's dream was writing – writing science fiction. But not the prevailing stuff about space travel and evil aliens that was so popular nowadays. No, his penchant went towards multiple realities and the dubiousness of human authenticity.

He was inspired by Winston Churchill's recent alternate reality novels "Blood, Sweat and Tears" and "Against all Odds", which were selling quite well in the US. However, Churchill's style was far too obtrusive for Hawthorne, he did not cherish blatant heroism. – But indeed, what would the world look like today – if the Central Powers had lost the Great War? And how would the US have fared?

It was an intriguing conception: no superior German science, no Middle Africa, no uplift for China, no German arms and volunteers for the Whites in the Russian Civil War. Hawthorne liked the idea of a Bolshevik Russia; it promised dystopia. How would the victors have treated Germany, Austria–Hungary, Bulgaria and the Ottoman Empire? This was stuff for more dystopia...

But how should he write without that his imagination was released from quotidian duress? Would glue work? Or drain cleaner?

 

[Bmao]

Surely, the part of the plot where he outlines how Germany would be taken over by some tramp from Austria and then unleash the greatest war the world had ever known, with Churchill being a heroic character would be deemed as total asb. He'd be laughed out of the room for sure!!

 

[rast]

ASiP 8th Anniversary Edition

Men occasionally stumble over the truth, but most of them pick themselves up and hurry off as if nothing ever happened.
(Winston Spencer Churchill)

It was embarrassing, downright embarrassing! At the age of fifty–five, he was suffering from impaired potency. He, whom colloquial speech used to call the Capital's Horndog, had problems getting it up. – He, who had screwed famous film and theatre performers, spouses of important men and ordinary damsels alike and galore, had to pray for a boner! – Doctor Jupp Goebbels was deeply worried. – But perhaps because of this unfortunate indisposition, his journalistic instincts, already vibrant before, had been sharpened to high pitch.

He believed – although he couldn't really prove it – that Germany had detonated a fusion bomb last year. The test apparently had taken place over the southern Atlantic Ocean, in an area void of human settlements. But it was only a buzz, nothing he could substantiate with hard facts. The government could – and would, of course – easily deny. That was galling, but only a sideshow – compared to what he had found out elsewhere.

The KWI Met at Stettin was predicting a new ice age! He had an informer inside the institute: a scrubwoman, who was able to smuggle forth office scrap. What Jupp could read there, and what the maid told him she had overheard while doing her job, revealed that the scientists believed Fēilóng had started a new ice age. – Jupp had come to designate the GQDD with its correct Chinese name. Numerous Chinese nuclear scientist had fled to the universities where they once had studied. Jupp had skimmed their knowledge. None of them had belonged to the core team causing the big mess, but they knew enough to provide a reasonably clear picture.

Well, the alleged ice age was a sensation already. But it was topped by what Jupp had found out at Prerow. His snitch at the rocket site was a discontent engineer, one of those who believed fortune and superiors were unjust to him. – To fight the glaciers, the German scientists had come up with a crazy but grandiose scheme: another, better Fēilóng was to be ignited in orbit, creating a little sun which should melt the ice.

Right now, RRA and DELAG were preparing a series of launches for lifting the required materials into orbit. – Jupp had no informer at DELAG's. Their security standards were admirable. Only those in the knowledge loop knew enough to provide useful information. And tapping one of them would be way too expensive; even Jupp couldn't willy–nilly dispense two million marks or even more. – But what he had gleaned from Prerow was enough to paint a complete picture.

Yes, a new ice age was coming. And the government was planning to fight the glaciers by igniting a little sun in orbit. If that wasn't sensational news, there never had been one. – Jupp was an investigative journalist. Not publishing his findings would never have occurred to him. So, he was sitting at his desk now and once more checking the text of his reportage, which was going to be in the headlines tomorrow.

 

[Kitiem3000]

Holy crap, that's going to be quite the headline. Not every journalist gets to report the end of the world.

Congratulations on 8 years btw. I can hardly believe but am very grateful you're still going strong.