Frank Jackson looked like he hadn't gotten a moment's sleep, either. But he refused more than minimal makeup. Jabe thought it was too bad more up-time politicians hadn't had the sense to know that there was a time to look unphotogenic. Jabe thought that if they had, politicians would have been a lot more respected up-time than they actually were.
Janice double-checked the patch to the VOA radio transmitter, then motioned to Frank. He looked into the camera.
"I have been asked to read the following statement on behalf President Michael Stearns, as well as Emperor Gustav II Adolph of the Confederated Principalities of Europe:
"On October 7, 1633, forces of the United States Navy and United States Air Force, charged with defending the port of Wismar, engaged a Danish naval force intent on capturing that strategic port. Through the bravery of the defenders, the Danes were turned back, suffering significant losses.
"We suffered our own significant losses. Lieutenants Edward Cantrell and Lawrence Wild of the United States Navy were killed defending Wismar, as was Able Seaman Bjorn Svedberg of the Swedish Royal Navy. Air Force Captain Hans Richter continued to press the attack, and was seriously wounded. Rather than attempt to save himself, Captain Richter destroyed the Danish warship Lossen by crashing his aircraft into the ship."
Frank paused for a moment to collect himself. He continued:
"President Stearns has said that out of the sacrifice of these four young men, a new order is being born in Europe. The Distinguished Flying Cross is being awarded to Captain Richter and the Navy Cross and Silver Star for Lieutenants Wild and Cantrell, and Seaman Svedberg. The President had told me that he also intends to ask the legislature to approve a new Congressional Medal of Honor. If it's approved, he will ask that it be awarded to Captain Richter.
"President Stearns has also asked me to announce that he will be resigning as President of the New United States to accept the office of prime minister in a new nation to be called the United States of Europe. I will be resigning as Vice President to better serve as a staff officer under General Lennart Torstensson. Both these resignations will become effective as soon as arrangements for the new USE are finalized. Thuringia and Franconia will become a province of the USE, assuming that's approved by the population in a special election. Ed Piazza will become Acting President until those elections are held."
A baffled almost-smile crossed Frank's face. "I know a lot of things are up in the air, folks, but we'll keep you informed."
Frank shuffled his papers. He looked into the camera, eyes bright with tears. "There's nothing worse than having to sacrifice our young people to war. Especially fine young men from our own town like Hans Richter, Eddie Cantrell, and Larry Wild. But in the years to come, they will be remembered as heroes by those who find they have choices, when they didn't have any before. They didn't die for nothing, folks. I can promise you that much."
* * *
Jabe's documentary faded in, telling the story of three young men left suddenly alone in a completely unfamiliar world, making their way. A young German printer's apprentice who only wanted to be free to choose, and who chose to fly. Who gave his life to protect the people who had taken in him and his family; not because he was forced to, but because he wanted to. As the documentary ended, an hour later, Jabe knew he'd done something truly special.
"A masterpiece," murmured Prudentia.
"Probably the only one I'll ever do. It'll be a real long time before we can make digital camcorders again."
"Perhaps. You may find another way to do the same. If not . . ." She shrugged. "Every true artist should produce at least one great piece, and art is more valuable when it's one of a kind. Shall we have breakfast in the cafeteria?"
At the moment, the only thing Jabe wanted more than a meal with Prudentia was sleep. "Make it dinner at the Thuringen Gardens. I've got to sleep."
Prudentia laughed. "It is—how do you say?—a date."
Jabe and Prudentia walked out of the studio, out of the school, into the daylight. Prudentia gave Jabe a kiss on the cheek and all the way back to the barracks, Jabe didn't think his feet touched the ground. The story of how Jeff Higgins and Gretchen Richter had met hadn't taken long to make the rounds, and it reinforced the vague idea Jabe had had that you impressed a woman you liked by being the gallant knight. Jabe certainly hadn't saved Prudentia Gentileschi from rape and a life as a camp follower, but he knew that he'd impressed Prudentia very deeply, nonetheless. That he'd done so unconsciously, just by being himself and doing his best, made that knowledge all the sweeter.
* * *
When she got to her home, Prudentia found that she couldn't sleep. The Nobili family had cleared part of a room for her to use as a studio, and Prudentia went there instead of her bedroom. A blank canvas stood on an easel. She had spent weeks preparing that canvas and now she burned to paint on it. But what?
Prudentia flipped through her sketch book. She saw the sketch she'd made from the Dr. Strangelove scene; that would make a good piece but it didn't feel right, not for this.
Then she turned the page. She smiled, and began sketching outlines on her canvas.
* * *
Many months later, when Artemisia Gentileschi was able to make her first visit to Grantville, Prudentia shyly showed her the end result, which hung in the McDougal home.
Sculptor of Reality, she called it. A portrait of James Byron McDougal at work on his computer.
Artemisia studied it for quite some time, and smiled. "The Gentileschis have a third generation of artists, my daughter. We've done the Berninis one better."
Ounces Of Prevention
By Kim Mackey
When Pieter Paul Rubens entered the Brussels' home of fellow diplomat Alessandro Scaglia he was surprised to find his friend and patron, Nicolaas Rockox of Antwerp, deep in conversation with the abate.
"Nicolaas," said Rubens, clasping his friend's arm as Rockox and Scaglia rose to greet him, "I didn't know you were acquainted with Alessandro."
Scaglia smiled and motioned for Rubens to take a seat next to him. "We do share an affinity for Flemish painters. Don't we, Nicolaas?"
Rockox laughed. "Indeed we do. And since Pieter has been much occupied with the cardinal-infante's diplomatic missions, we have had to look for new artists to patronize, haven't we?"
"Actually Pieter," said Scaglia, "Nicolaas is assisting me in the purchase of a house in the Keizerstraat in Antwerp and decided to visit when he learned that Anthony Van Dyck had returned from London. You know I've always been partial to Van Dyck's work."
Scaglia sat back in his chair and his eyes sharpened. "But that is why Nicolaas is here. A more interesting question I think is why are you here, Pieter? Is that abominable siege of Amsterdam over yet?"
Rubens sighed.
When the cardinal-infante had become the governor-general of the Spanish Netherlands both he and Scaglia had offered their services to the young Spanish nobleman. Like Rubens, Scaglia had extensive diplomatic contacts throughout Europe. Unlike Rubens, however, Scaglia was acknowledged as one of Europe's premier spymasters. Originally from Savoy, Scaglia had settled in Brussels when the pro-French duke Vittorio Amedeo I had ascended to the Savoy throne. Because the duke had not wished to offend Alessandro's elder brother, Augusto Manfredo, count of Verrua, Scaglia had been permitted to retain control of all three of his commendatory abbeys and pensions held in Savoy. Those, plus the abbey of Mandanici in Sicily that had been granted by the Spanish in 1631 as a gift for his services, had allowed him to maintain a sumptuous lifestyle in one of the best houses in Brussels.
What had especially attracted the cardinal-infante's attention, however, was the abate's antipathy for Richelieu. Throughout the 1620s, Scaglia had worked hard to develop extensive diplomatic contacts in France and England for Duke Carlo Emmanuele I of Savoy. He had built an excellent working relationship with the duke of Buckingham in England and with many nobles of the French court, particularly those supporting the Protestant duc de Rohan and the queen
mother, Marie de Medici. With the deaths of Buckingham in 1628 and Carlo Emmanuelle I in 1630, however, Scaglia had found himself out of favor, especially when he continued to push for the support of French Protestants as a counterweight to Richelieu's growing political power.
Like Scaglia, the cardinal-infante was apprehensive about French intentions regarding the League of Ostend and had encouraged Scaglia to maintain and broaden his contacts with the French exile community in Brussels and elsewhere. Scaglia had further cemented his relationship with the infante when his spies had uncovered a plot by leading Walloon noblemen, including the duke of Aerschot, to disconnect the Spanish Netherlands from the direct control of Spain and create a neutral territory at peace with the United Provinces. While several of the plotters had been arrested, others, including the duke, had not. That fact had intrigued both Scaglia and Rubens. It was clear to both of them that the cardinal-infante was interested in far more than being a simple creature of his older brother, the king of Spain.
Rubens waved his hand in dismissal. "Unfortunately not, Alessandro. The siege continues. The cordon is somewhat looser than it has been because the infante has had to send additional troops to Haarlem and Utrecht to put down riots and unrest by Counter-Remonstrants. The Arminians seem to be content enough with the infante's light-handed rule, but the anti-Catholic fanatics are not and continue to campaign against him."
A difficult knot to cut," mused Scaglia. "If he does not respond with force he emboldens the rebels, and if he uses too much force he makes them into martyrs for the cause."
"Precisely," said Rubens. "In this situation, maintaining adequate troop strength is a must—which brings me to the reason why I'm in Brussels."
Rubens took two manuscripts out of his valise and handed one to Scaglia and another to Rockox. For several minutes the men read with little comment beyond a mild exclamation or two.
When Scaglia was done he looked over at Rubens and smiled. "So let me guess. You have promised the infante that the wonderful mechanics and men of science of the Spanish Netherlands can make this elixir, this . . ." He glanced down at the manuscript again and pronounced the final word slowly and carefully. "Chlo-ram-phe-ni-col. Am I right?"
Rubens nodded. Scaglia looked over at Rockox. "Well Nicolaas, what do you think? The Acontians?"
"Perhaps," said Rockox dubiously. "But even then . . ." He shrugged. "There are too many unknowns here to say for sure. We need an expert's opinion."
Rubens cocked an eyebrow at Scaglia. "Acontians?"
The suggestion caught him by surprise. The Acontians were followers of Jacobus Acontius, an Italian Protestant from the last century who'd settled in England. He'd written Satanae Stratagemata in 1565 calling for the renunciation of violence in religious affairs. The Acontian society was established to further his ideas on religious tolerance and science. Rubens thought of them as similar to the Baconians; more tolerant and less dogmatic, yet more secretive. They were particularly strong in England and the Low Countries.
He knew who they were, of course, but he wouldn't have thought of them as being possibly helpful in this situation.
Rockox suddenly sat forward in his chair. "Ah, I remember now! I believe I know someone who can help us. He would never admit his Acontian connections, but I know he has been very interested in the new science coming from Grantville. And he lives close by, in Vilvorde."
"Vilvorde?" said Scaglia. "Hmmm, is this the man who did the experiment with the tree?"
Rockox nodded. "Yes, Johann Baptista von Helmont. His wife, Margaret van Ranst, is a distant cousin of mine."
Scaglia glanced out the window, noting the position of the sun.
"Let's pay him a visit, shall we? Vilvorde is less than four miles away and it's time for my afternoon carriage ride anyway."
Rubens smiled. Perhaps this wasn't such an impossible fool's errand after all. Together the three men rose and walked towards the front door.
* * *
"What you ask is impossible, gentlemen," said Johann Baptista von Helmont. "Or at least, impossible within any time span that will do the infante's army any good. Five years, at a minimum. Perhaps ten."
Rubens shook his head in dismay. Five years!
"But surely you can get other Acontians to help you? Wouldn't that speed up the process?"
"Perhaps if they were still in the Netherlands. But they have all left, including my young and adventurous son, Francis Mercury! Those that haven't gone directly to Grantville are working in Essen for the Essen Chemical Company, or teaching or taking classes at the new applied sciences university in Bochum that the Republic of Essen has established. If you want their help, you will have to provide them more incentives than Essen is offering, and that will be difficult."
Von Helmont shrugged. "From what my son writes me, the governor-general of Essen, Louis de Geer, has gone to considerable lengths to attract the best scientific minds of Europe, particularly those young people like the Acontians who haven't been weighted down by the Aristotelian nonsense that passes for science education at most universities across Europe."
"But surely the manuscript can help," said Scaglia. "It appears to be quite explicit with regards to the ingredients and apparati needed to make this chloramphenicol."
Von Helmont shrugged again. "Oh, indeed it helps, gentlemen. But the devil is in the details, to use one of the Americans' proverbs."
Von Helmont brought out the manuscript to make chloramphenicol that Rubens had given him. "For example, take the ring nitration phase of this process. Not only do I need very pure sulfuric and nitric acid, which are themselves quite difficult to obtain, but I must also find some way to keep the temperature as close to zero degrees Celsius as possible at all times." Von Helmont shook his head. "Where will the instruments come from? True, Santorio Santorio developed an air thermometer in 1612, but it was notoriously unreliable. I have a precision mercury thermometer on order from the Essen Instrument Company thanks to my son, but they have a six month backlog in all of their orders, and their priority customers in Essen have first call on any emergency equipment. If you truly want to make chloramphenicol any time in the next few years, you will have to get the cooperation of either Essen or Grantville, both in terms of ingredients and instrumentation."
Rubens sighed.
Essen.
In any reasonably normal European political environment, the Republic of Essen would have been still-born or quickly repressed by the Habsburgs. But with the League of Ostend focusing their military and diplomatic efforts on the United Provinces and the Swedish-supported United States of Europe, little outside backing could be given to Catholics along the Rhine who were alarmed at the founding of the new republic.
Still, Louis de Geer was a famous Dutch industrialist known for his pragmatism.
"So Alessandro, what do you think? Perhaps it is time we paid a visit to Essen? At the very least we can perhaps establish some useful diplomatic contacts."
Scaglia nodded and smiled. "And other contacts as well. I am interested in meeting more of these Acontians."
* * *
"God, I am so nervous."
Nicki Jo Prickett twirled when her friend, lover and confidante, Catherine Boyle, motioned for her to turn around.
Catherine eyed Nicki critically and then readjusted the silver barrette that kept Nicki's bun of black hair in place.
"Why?" said Catherine. "You've been to business and diplomatic meetings like this before. What's the expression? Piece of cake."
Nicki Jo shook her head. "Piece of cake? I don't think so. Colette and Josh are both in Grantville. All the other times I've been able to sit back and let Colette handle most of the explaining and negotiating. I was just along to provide the technical expertise and show myself off as the resident, token American. It's like I'm some kind of damn talisman. They want to keep touching me to see if I'm real."
Well, I can understand that," Catherine said softly, moving her hand down to stroke Nicki Jo's neck. "I like touching you, m
yself."
Nicki Jo laughed. "Now stop that! I've got no time for hanky panky!"
Catherine laughed herself and stepped back. Nicki Jo was a year or two older than Catherine, but she had been totally out of her element in the aristocratic society of seventeenth-century Europe. As the daughter of the great earl of Corke, Richard Boyle, on the other hand, Catherine had been learning the ins, outs and intrigues of European nobility almost from birth. When Nicki Jo had been recruited in Grantville by Colette and Josh Modi to help develop and run the Essen Chemical Company, they had hired Catherine Boyle to assist her, along with other members of the Acontian Society who had arrived from England in mid-1632.
Catherine motioned for Nicki Jo to turn again. Clothing for businesswomen in Essen was still more conservative than in Grantville but definitely trending in the right direction, in Catherine's opinion. Nicki Jo was dressed in a dark gray stylish riding skirt with inside pockets and a white, long-sleeved, high-collared blouse. Over the blouse she had a buttoned black vest.