A Shift in Priorities - Sequel

[rast]

I had rather be on my farm than be emperor of the world.
(George Washington)

The apostate daughter was back! Only for a short visit, she had said, but since her arrival the fur was flying like fury. Moses, Abe and Wally had taken cover – and were waiting for the thunderstorm to go away. Victoria Keller was the female match of her dad, that the three had instantly realised. Compared to her, the heir of the realm, Tom Junior, appeared like an arrant milksop.

About what were they arguing? Impossible to tell… Right now, Jimena was yelling – something about family… Well, true, Victoria had sinned against the established Keller family discipline. She had disregarded her dad’s will and had done as she liked – and had been eminently successful. The motor car she had driven up with, complete with liveried driver and armed escort, was proving this.

She was a minister – or something like that, a confidant of President Cárdenas purportedly. A powerful woman… Would her dad try to harness her for his purposes? Could that be at the root of the ongoing strife? Was Tom Senior attempting to recruit her as his agent in Ciudad de México? It would fit; that was the way he was working all along.

But, it seemed, the idea didn’t fly with Victoria. She was just coming out of the door, striding out towards the car, signalling her driver to start the engine. And off they went! – There was silence in the manor now. After a while, Matthew appeared and scurried to his wing. Desperate for a drink? – Okay, back to work, Moses sighed. Let’s behave as if nothing has happened.

 

[rast]

Nothing occurs contrary to nature except the impossible, and that never occurs.
(Galileo Galilei)

OŞU was advancing at full tilt. That was the nice side of working for the Ottoman Empire. There was no lack of funds; men and means were made available with no strings attached. The Haberciler were ready. Mapping the Moon could begin.

It was another tedious task, but couldn’t be avoided. Neither RRA’s nor NASA’s maps were accessible, of course; one had to do it oneself. But one could well use these mapping missions for practising manoeuvres and drilling the kosmonauts – or Uzaylılar, as the Turks had come to call them.

The Haberci capsules had a crew of five, of which four would descend with the Kedi landers. The NASA approach of having two kosmonauts remain in the Lunobegún, while three rode down with the Kikimora, was impractical. Having four men – the Ottomans were not training women for space missions – down on the surface should be a definite advantage, particularly when it came to setting up Ay Şehri, Moon Burgh.

Yeah, that was the new development: because Germans and Russians were bent on establishing lunar settlements – and the Russians even had already a crew at work in Crater Klaproth, the Grand Vizier had decided that the Ottoman Empire also should have a colony on the Moon. It had been good news for Wernher von Braun. His job was going to be safe for a long time now. The Sublime Porte needed him and his skills.

The new GAD missile – Gökyüzü Atılgan Dört, Sky Charger Four – was gradually becoming operational as well. It would allow larger payloads for the Haberciler – and hence faster construction of Ay Şehri, but fortunately wasn’t required for the mapping operation and the initial landings. Indeed, things were progressing well.

Uçan Halı would be extended simultaneously. There were ample Göktaşlan and GAÜ missiles available for the task. It would provide precious training for junior Uzaylılar – and allow developing techniques that could be useful as well for building Ay Şehri. – The big wheel had been the Grand Vizier’s idea. Von Braun thought it was silly. But as long as it kept Gürsel Paşa happy…

 

[Pera]

Nothing occurs contrary to nature except the impossible, and that never occurs.
(Galileo Galilei)

OŞU was advancing at full tilt. That was the nice side of working for the Ottoman Empire. There was no lack of funds; men and means were made available with no strings attached. The Haberciler were ready. Mapping the Moon could begin.

It was another tedious task, but couldn’t be avoided. Neither RRA’s nor NASA’s maps were accessible, of course; one had to do it oneself. But one could well use these mapping missions for practising manoeuvres and drilling the kosmonauts – or Uzaylılar, as the Turks had come to call them.

The Haberci capsules had a crew of five, of which four would descend with the Kedi landers. The NASA approach of having two kosmonauts remain in the Lunobegún, while three rode down with the Kikimora, was impractical. Having four men – the Ottomans were not training women for space missions – down on the surface should be a definite advantage, particularly when it came to setting up Ay Şehri, Moon Burgh.

Yeah, that was the new development: because Germans and Russians were bent on establishing lunar settlements – and the Russians even had already a crew at work in Crater Klaproth, the Grand Vizier had decided that the Ottoman Empire also should have a colony on the Moon. It had been good news for Wernher von Braun. His job was going to be safe for a long time now. The Sublime Porte needed him and his skills.

The new GAD missile – Gökyüzü Atılgan Dört, Sky Charger Four – was gradually becoming operational as well. It would allow larger payloads for the Haberciler – and hence faster construction of Ay Şehri, but fortunately wasn’t required for the mapping operation and the initial landings. Indeed, things were progressing well.

Uçan Halı would be extended simultaneously. There were ample Göktaşlan and GAÜ missiles available for the task. It would provide precious training for junior Uzaylılar – and allow developing techniques that could be useful as well for building Ay Şehri. – The big wheel had been the Grand Vizier’s idea. Von Braun thought it was silly. But as long as it kept Gürsel Paşa happy…

Maybo the Ottomans will have the first black man on the moon, like they have the first black pilot in OTL. they seem further in the space race than Mittelafrika.

Ahmet Ali Çelikten - Wikipedia

en.wikipedia.org

 

[rast]

Loneliness is one thing, solitude another.
(Friedrich Nietzsche)

End of the shift. Gherman Stepanovich Titov routed the cessation signal, parked the dozer, connected it to the charging socket and stepped to the airlock. The dozer was part of the original Lunobegún-23 package; it had ridden down in the place normally taken by the Lunikhod. Hence, it was a small vehicle, but nevertheless extremely useful. The airlock led to the habitation cylinder, which had come down as third supply shipment.

Yeah, it was nice to have a safe space where you could get rid of the spacesuit, eat something, take a shower once a week – and hit the head instead of using the nappies. Of course, it was also the place to sleep. – The outer door of the airlock opened. Titov entered, pressed the button to initiate the closing sequence – and started cursing as the button wouldn’t yield. But cursing didn’t help. Where was the frigging crank?

Having turned the outer door shut, he now had to release the breathable air by twisting another handwheel. It took some time until the corridor was aerated. The corridor had been constructed from prefabricated elements. Because the habitation cylinder had been buried under tons of regolith in order to provide protection from radiation, the corridor had become necessary.

All right, air was good now. He could open the inner door. Igor was in – and could help him to get rid of the spacesuit. Boris was out, working at the photovoltaic panels. Yes, the goddamn button had got stuck; one would have to unscrew the cover plate and fix the problem. But not now… Igor had to compose and send the daily report to Achinsk Control. And Gherman was due for a snatch of sleep.

 

[rast]

Experimenters are the shock troops of science.
(Max Planck)

He was a lieutenant colonel now. And the Hammer floated calmly off Raumkolonie. Yes, it had been done; the whopper was in space. Well, he could go on vacation; outfitting the bus would take at least three months. The landing craft and tenders had to be fitted – and all the other stuff. Down at Prerow, he would meet the core crew. But true familiarisation was going to occur later, when one was going up again – to man the Hammer and visit ole Mars…

Of course, they wouldn’t let him scoot just like that. Helga had already warned him. The world knew now that Germany had launched an NPP spaceship. He would have to sit through several press conferences. That was inevitable. There was a major uproar raging in the media – and in international politics, to say nothing about national affairs…

The Raumkobold on duty at Raumkolonie would carry him down. Strange, now that the Hammer was operational – or almost – one had to rely on old-fashioned chemical craft to get from pillar to post. Even DELAG was going to earn in the process. The Große Schwestern were considered the ideal shuttles for the Hammer crew. Heavy lifting, however, would be done with the A14.

The guys from Raumkolonie would take care of the Hammer in the interim. They were glad to have the ship’s reactor at their disposal. Solar panels were nice and dandy, but a 16,000 kW reactor was quite something else entirely. Yeah, nuclear power was making a difference. Well, the boffins were contemplating how to lift such a gizmo to the moon, as power supply for Mondstadt. Why not treat one for Raumkolonie?

 

[rast]

The only way to lead people is to show them a future: a leader is a dealer in hope.
(Napoleon Bonaparte)

Evelyn had fallen asleep – at long last. It truly wasn’t easy to satisfy her. The habitual mix of booze and gak she used to ingest morphed her into a kind of babbling roly-poly doll. But it was done; she was snoring gently. Franz Josef Strauß, however, couldn’t sleep.

Worries were haunting him. He had to marry… An unmarried chancellor was an absurdity, a no-go. Hence, he had to find a suitable woman – a respectable lady, if possible a Bavarian. Well, it certainly was possible… But it would mean a total revision of his lifestyle. A wife – and children, presumably soon…

Of course, he was going to do it. Nobody and nothing would stop him from seizing power in Berlin. – And there was this new starship, Donars Hammer. How should he react to its appearance? – Space was a nice detraction, but no solution to the problems encountered here on Earth.

It was a great achievement, a symbol of German prowess and superior German science. Had Jews been involved? His staff was investigating this at the moment. – The quasi-defunct Krosigk government would certainly try to stage a Mars mission before the March election – in order to claim the merit for themselves. It would be his task to prevent that…

But people were looking to the stars these days. The fledgling Russian moon colony was getting much attention – as was German absence. It was a point where he could attack the laggards – while praising Donars Hammer to the skies – and delaying its departure for Mars…

Well, one didn’t need space. There was no overpopulation, nowhere. And there was no scarceness of resources. It was just a pet fad. Albeit one he could use for his purposes. Being chancellor when the Hammer landed on Mars would be great. He would be the man who led Germany to the stars…

 

[rast]

It is remarkable how long men will believe in the bottomlessness of a pond without taking trouble to sound it.
(Henry David Thoreau)

The fat jumbo circling around Earth was a bad omen, thought Generál Pavel Anatolyevich Sudoplatov. It wasn’t so much a smack symbol of Nyemtsi technological superiority, but rather a sign: the world was on the edge of turning upside down. The Russian media were seeing it that way too: The world as one had come to know it was about to end. A new era was beginning.

Yeah, it was true – in more than one way. Russia was due for major upheavals as the rule of the Peasants’ Party was ending – and the Nyemtsi were posed to conquer the solar system. Indrik Zver, the Russian NPP craft, was far from becoming operational. And who could tell what the transition of power was going to cause? Certainly no acceleration of space projects…

It would affect the whole government structure from the Kremlin down to the oblasts and zemstvos. The KP mandarins were going to be sacked – and being replaced by… Well, yes, by whom? Other people, for sure. The voters could be trusted to ballot away the KP – without caring much who was going to take their place. Peaceniks, tree huggers, jingoes, independent bozos, you name it…

The KP dudes were spent. They wouldn’t fight. Their time had truly run out. Some individuals might balk, but the party as such was going to accept defeat. That was good, because, of course, the police, the armed forces and the civil service were coined to be obedient to their command. Hence, bloodshed might be avoidable.

The new masters? One was going to see… Sudoplatov didn’t dare to hope. The country might lose months, if not years, until a new power structure was in place. NASA certainly would make sure that the Lunoselo operation continued, but everything else might get pretty much delayed. Russia paralysed and the Nyemtsi on the rampage in outer space…

 

[Ciryatur]

I love this space race.

 

[rast]

Arrow-swift the present sweepeth, and motionless forever stands the past.
(Friedrich Schiller)

The Intip Churin and his family hadn’t arrived yet, but a flock of lamas had, yesterday. Well, two flocks in fact, one consisting of purebred white animals, the second of true grey ones. Had to have some ritual importance, white for the sun, grey for the moon, or vice versa… Jeremy Dreaming Fox wasn’t quite sure. All this Peruvian folklore stuff was beginning to itch like a pain in the neck.

Inti meant sun in Quechua, same like Wí in Jeremy’s language. The Intip Churin hence was the Sun’s Son. So far, so good. But a little boy was hardly apt to rule the realm. Jeremy was no adherent of US style democracy; however despotism was very low on his wish list indeed. There had to be a council of some kind, and rules how this council was to be manned. It needn’t be a representative parliament, a council of chiefs – or so – would do.

Well, things were still in a state of flux. And not all Peruvians were adherents of the Inca idea, thank goodness. One would have to discuss the matter in the next powwow. You couldn’t press the tribes into one unitary state; diversity and federalism were the need of the hour. If some villages populated by Peruvians wanted to be ruled by that kid, it should be all right. But one couldn’t allow the Opaque Woodlands on the whole to come under the sway of such wildcat concepts.

The Peruvians were excellent farmers, capable engineers and untiring workers. They were adding much to the progress of the Woodlands. The problem, as Jeremy understood it, was that the ancient Incas had quenched the old tribal structures in their reach of power – and had moulded a single Quechua-speaking people. Therefore, the folks coming from the south were not craving for diversity and federalism.

But one surely would find a congenial solution. One couldn’t do without the Peruvians. Yet, they mustn’t be allowed to dominate the country with hoary conceptions. The Inca Empire had vanished four hundred years ago. Done and dusted. – But guinea pigs, the Peruvian favourite dish, were delicate, roasted or as stew. Could one eat lamas as well?

 

[luis3007]

 

[rast]

While man’s desires and aspirations stir, he cannot choose but err.
(Johann Wolfgang von Goethe)

Heine had served his sentence, the mandatory three months, after which the company pettifoggers had bailed him and his pals out. Well, it seemed to have bitten; the lad was very much subdued, if not tamed – at least for the moment. Adele worried he might carry away long-lasting harm, a psychotrauma or something like that. Max thought it had been a healthy lesson. Howsoever, the chapter was closed; the boy had to take up a profession now. It was about time! Studying biology, for example, was not a bad idea for someone concerned about the environment, was it?

Karl was still attending the general staff academy. Paula was practising somewhere in Ubangi-Schari. She had – at the sidelines – been involved in that recent fever scare, but had not suffered harm. And Otti was running SEM, the stem cell of Sikuku Enterprises. Everything seemed to be as it should. Max Sikuku could have been content. Even SIRAB, the other problem child, was up and running again.

Fudge! Being content – and settling back – was for proles. A rich man, a mogul, could never be content – or settle back. You unintermittedly had to protect your assets against the greedy state and find new business opportunities. Owning a newspaper had proven handy. Therefore, he was in train of slotting together a media group right now. But newspapers and magazines weren’t everything these days. A chain of radio stations was already on the shopping list. Should he also add TV to the package?

Parliament hadn’t yet fixed the date for the national election next year. However, it would take place in October, most probably. Hence, it was about time to crank up the party machine. MALU might well – once again – tip the scales. Reining in either the nationalists or the socialists was important for keeping the economy thriving. The currently ruling coalition of socialists and holy joes was proving that. Those pantywaists were ruining the country…

And there was this German space thing, the Hammer. Now, that was impressive! Nuclear pulse propulsion… Was there a way Sikuku Enterprises could chime in? Had SIRAB a chance to get involved? As far as he had understood the briefings, the bus required chemical rockets for fine-navigation. Nuclear drive was good for covering vast distances, but impractical for close range manoeuvres. Wouldn’t that offer opportunities? He would ask Herbert K’nilowe to investigate that…

 

[rast]

There are no fools so troublesome as those who have some wit.
(Arthur Conan Doyle)

He had begun hunting down his enemies. It was detracting his intelligence personnel from thoroughly spying out the Russians, it was true, but truly important things had to take priority. His chief intelligence officer said it was going to take time, at least three months, until first results became available. His staff had to pervade civilian society in the Middle Kingdom. But a conspiracy of that dimension had to leave traces. One would find them…

Who were his enemies? The question kept nagging at Field Marshal Dang Gangjun. But you couldn’t waste all your time with such shenanigans… On the other hand, there wasn’t much else to do. The area had been secured; the border to Xinjiang – Uyghurstan, whatever – had been favourably abridged. The Russians in Mongolia were behaving restrained. So what? He should order relocation to Manchuria. General Wan and his Fourth Army could manage the situation hereabouts.

Yeah, the Great Qing Empire was standing strong. That was enjoyable, but also more boring than demanding. Well, he ought to focus on armaments. The US equipment was good, but one certainly could improve it while copying it. One had to become independent of foreign armaments again. – That, though, was another long-term process, nothing one could solve in the easy military way.

Perhaps he should coax the Little Man from Sichuan to allow him to secure Tibet. The Indians had – on the stealth – penetrated into the area – and had established a kind of clandestine protectorate. Not that the Indians – and their Aryan allies, rabble that they were – should offer any resistance. But it would, at least, be a challenging operation to plan and execute…

In a word, Field Marshal Dang Gangjun was disaffected. Things were coming his way, but they were so slow in coming…

 

[rast]

The XII Anniversary ASiP instalment:

Enjoy life. This is not a dress rehearsal.
(Friedrich Nietzsche)

The accursed zusie had got caught again. One should have bought a reliable Rechenknecht, not this cheap imitation. But you couldn’t argue with dad, grumbled Fritz Schultz under his breath, saving five hundred marks had beaten any other argument. Yeah, the war generation simply wouldn’t accept modern notions. What had been valid back then must also be valid today…

And yet, dad had been riding at the forefront of technological progress in those bloody days: Unteroffizier Hermann Schultz of the 7th Kanobils. Fritz knew all the tales by heart, having heard them a thousand times. Even so, he had served his term with the signals – Funker Schultz at your command; hence he knew to differentiate between inflated war stories and true recollections.

Fact was, dad didn’t remember much of the actual fighting. But he had vivid recollections of the times before and after the great battle – and of course of the victory celebrations. Apart from the medals, there were some worn and blurry photographs, a couple of veterans’ meeting leaflets – and a fair share of the countless books that had been written in the aftermath.

Bygone glory indeed. Town councillor and factory owner Hermann Schultz was the real thing, a successful conservative politician and pillar of society here in Thorn, member of the quire and chairman of the local rifle club. Yes, and Fritz’ boss. Being junior director under Hermann the Iron German was no bed of roses, not at all… That dratted Rukhershen zusie was only the latest example.

Yeah, and dad didn’t – not even once – consider retirement. He was sixty-five, healthy and full of plans for the future. Mayor of Thorn – or district chief executive, that would suit him, without relinquishing control of the company, of course. Good that Fritz had at least produced the much-anticipated grandson and eventual heir, little Michael, called Michi by everyone. That ensured a fair portion of favour – and a certain indulgence...

His four younger siblings, Else, Wanda, Dörte and Max, had fled the province and were leading fashionable lives in Königsberg, Danzig, Stettin and Breslau. Did he envy them? Yes, sometimes… But Thorn wasn’t that bad. And dad had – in times long past and almost forgotten – been a member of the PDS, the Sozies! Change was possible, even here…

 

[Aristomenes]

The XII Anniversary ASiP instalment:

Congratulations @rast for this amazing TL! May you be gifted with health and endless inspiration!

 

[Dain]

That's quite the anniverary... and now I'm feeling awfully nostalgic about meeting former Unteroffizier Hermann Schultz again.

 

[Pera]

Congratulations Rast with this wonderful worldspanning epos ! Literally every place I, my wife, my parents ever have lived is mentioned somewhere in the story. There must be a frankly incredible amount of research to keep this up on a daily basis. And it is not predictable, this world in 1970 will probably have a lot of things we readers never would have predicted.

 

[malti]

part of my daily routing for the past years has been to log in with a coffee and read the up the latest update - classic. Well done rast and happy holidays !

 

[Archangel]

The XII Anniversary ASiP instalment:

Congratulations, rast!

 

[rast]

The only normal people are the ones you don’t know very well.
(Alfred Adler)

Daniel Gottlob Moritz Schreber had been an orthopaedist and university professor living in Leipzig in the early nineteenth century. His conception of improving popular health by physical exertion had eventually – some years after his death – led to the establishment of allotment gardens, called Schrebergärten in German. These gardens had become an outstanding success; today no town in Germany could be found without at least one area – often with multiple patches – dedicated to the cultivation of Schrebergärten.

This garden here in the east of Munich, beyond the railway tracks, was handled by ordinary people from the working class neighbourhoods. And as had become customary, quite a number of folks had converted their garden sheds into modest bungalows – and were more or less dwelling there. This was good fodder for the kids: nosing out the life – and in particular the sex life – of the residents was cool. You could learn a lot.

The couple living in parcel 88, however, wasn’t really worthwhile stalking. Just old people, no alcohol, no drugs, no excesses. Until Xaver – by chance, skimming through old magazines found in the attic – discovered who the old man really was: Heinrich Luitpold Himmler, the boss of SS Film! Porn! Age-old porn, true, but porn nevertheless. The movies were inaccessible, of course. But there had also been a porn glossy, SS Illu. Perhaps one could find some of these in parcel 88?

The housebreaking went smooth; the residents had gone to the Viktualienmarkt, the daily market in central Munich. But there were no porn magazines, nothing… What a pity! At least one was able to conceal the traces – and make it look as if a football had damaged the window. Herr Himmler, who called himself Hizinger, didn’t raise fuss; the boys had to do some garden work, that was all.

But why was Himmler calling himself Hizinger? Xaver, twelve years old, sallied forth to solve the riddle. It wasn’t easy. Who would let a minor – a lower class minor moreover – browse in libraries and newspaper archives? But one could ask. Aunt Mia, who was ma’s aunt, hence Xaver’s grand aunt, might know. She used to know such things.

Yes, yes, SS Film had been a real sensation. Aunt Mia never had seen one of their movies, but she remembered the gossip. But the business model hadn’t lasted long, too much competition from cheap countries – and public morale had soon turned against such smut. Himmler had, however, salvaged his money – and had founded Füllhorn GmbH, the big factory farming corporation. But Füllhorn had crashed wretchedly in the food crisis that had been caused by the Chinese super bomb.

This time, Himmler hadn’t been able to save his assets. Deep in debt, he had gone into hiding. And had never been seen again… His first wife, by the way, a Hungarian floosie, had been the mistress of King Albrecht for some time, when he still had been the Bavarian crown prince. She was a baroness today, Monika von Lauenstein, often seen in the yellow press, a graceless scandal maker.

 

[rast]

Man cannot stand a meaningless life.
(Carl Jung)

With slight amusement, Ulrike Fraufrau von Drosedow watched the maid mincing about. The girl was priding herself on being screwed by Luigi. Holy catfish! Luigi was humping any dame putting out. It was his way to prove that he was still fit – and potent… The girl was new, a pretty bunny from Puglia, mighty bum, pony brain. She had taken up the job last week. She would learn. – It didn’t matter anyway.

The relationship between Luigi and Ulrike was sexual only on the sidelines. Her money had enabled him to embark on his business. He had faithfully paid back – with interest, increasing her fortune. And the next time, she had financed him again. – She knew that his various businesses were criminal – and she didn’t mind at all. In fact, she loved it. Being a woman villain was thrilling her.

Well, she didn’t perpetrate any felonies herself – and neither did Luigi. He was a boss – a master of evil men, and she was his banker, the woman in the shades. That was awesome. – Every once in a while, one had intercourse, yeah. Why not? But it wasn’t what bonded them together. – Actually, she wouldn’t even mind watching closely when Luigi poked the maid…

He had been afraid the last couple of weeks, but had relaxed lately. It was about that terrible man in Germany, the fiend, the limping Grim Reaper. He had been battling Luigi and his business partners before, a brutal butcher. But they, the German authorities, had sent him back into retirement. Mighty gasps of relief in Luigi’s circles… Indeed, she never had seen him that scared…

There had taken place hastily scheduled meetings between Luigi and his partners in crime. One had rashly introduced new business models – which, however, were dramatically diminishing revenues. – Now, with the terrible man in retirement, one could breathe easily again – and work out new profitable dealings.

She beckoned the maid to bring her another bottle of prosecco. It was time for filling up the level… Ulrike chuckled with drunken glee. Perhaps she should have it off with the girl herself. A sexy bird indeed…