by Eric Flint
“But you said that you could make guns,” Togym insisted.
“I said we could have, before the attack. And even then we would have to tool up. Look, up until the usurper’s army invested Kazan, the main production of AKs was located there. We were making the chambers and chamber clips.” Stefan paused. “All you need to do to get all the guns you want is relieve the siege at Kazan.” And pay for them, he thought.
Togym went off then, muttering about the duplicity of Russians.
Salqam-Jangir Khan was better pleased. He entered the convention as though he had taken the city instead of being forced to the negotiation table. And he hadn’t had to promise to join the USR to get a seat. Well, neither had many of the other delegates. Still, he had a great advantage over the others. He wasn’t a delegate. He was the ruler of his own state. He had nobles and soldiers he couldn’t completely ignore, but while someone like Izmailov had to report back to his principal, Salqam was the principal. It gave him a standing that was unique and he immediately became the center of the pro-slavery faction.
Moscow Kremlin
April 13, 1637
The coup attempt came out of nowhere, and was almost a complete surprise. They had gotten the news a few hours earlier that Salqam-Jangir Khan had made at least tentative peace with Czar Mikhail. And, worse, that Colonel Shuvalov had been turned over to Czar Mikhail.
Three of Director-General Sheremetev’s guards were dead and the last wounded before he knew what was happening, but Captain Golokhvastov had seen the situation, and called a contingent of the oprichniki to the director-general’s defense.
The good news was the bad news. The attackers had gotten into the Kremlin. That meant that Sheremetev’s control was a lot weaker than he had believed. But on the upside, no one had heard the fighting.
Fedor Ivanovich Sheremetev dabbed a cut on his cheek with an alcohol-soaked rag and bit back a curse. “Who?”
Captain Golokhvastov looked at Sheremetev then back at the bodies on the floor. “I don’t know, Director-General. I can think of three men right off who might try it if they thought they had a chance. But I don’t recognize any of these men.” Aside from Sheremetev’s guards and three oprichniki, a dozen men lay dead around them.
“Romanov?”
“I don’t think so, Director-General. Ivan Nikitich Romanov’s venial enough, but he doesn’t have the guts.”
Sheremetev nodded and considered, but not for long. Fedor Ivanovich Sheremetev considered himself a decisive man and, in fact, he was quick to decide on most things. “I’ll need…” He stopped. Best not to tell anyone his plans. “Captain, send a radio message to Bor. I need one of the new dirigibles here as soon as it can get here. Meanwhile, start with these men.” He waved at the bodies. “Learn what you can and find me the traitors who bought them. Oh, and send Romanov to the Amber Room.” Sheremetev had seen pictures of the Amber Room that Peter the Great had had made in that other timeline, and had something quite similar built.
“I will be gone for a few days. Perhaps even a few weeks,” Sheremetev said, looking at Ivan Nikitich Romanov, Mikhail’s uncle. “I have arrangements to make. In the meantime, you will be in charge. I am naming you Assistant Director.”
Ivan Romanov watched the small dirigible carrying Sheremetev sail into the clouds and be lost to the eye. He wondered if with Sheremetev gone he might be able to seize control of the duma. It was a tempting thought, but he wasn’t sure.
CHAPTER 30
A House Divided
Ufa
April 14, 1637
“It’s over,” Anya said. “With Jangir to rally the pro-slavery faction, we’ll be lucky to block slavery and serfdom in the free states.”
“I agree,” said Vladimir. “What about voting rights and representation?”
“We’re going to have to have something like a house of lords,” Brandy said. “We got stuck with that in the USE.”
“Yes, surely. But what’s the makeup of it?”
“What do you mean?” Bernie asked. “It’s a bunch of freaking lords.”
“Fine. But what level? Does Filip here get a seat? He’s a member of the service nobility. If every member of the service nobility or the deti boyars got a seat in the house of lords, the house would never get anything done. And neither would the bureaus, because every bureaucrat and officer in the Russian army would be warming a seat in the house of lords.”
“Didn’t we already go over this?” Natasha asked. “It was in your original proposal, wasn’t it? The bureaus would each get to appoint one senator, and the states would each get two?”
“Yes, we did,” Vladimir said. “But there was some vagueness about who qualified as a lord. And if Kazakh comes in, we have this whole other set of nobility and the issue of what a title in the Kazakh Khanate translates to in the United States of Russia. What I plan to do is try to get Jangir to agree that the czar must ennoble all his state nobles for them to count. He won’t agree to that. He can’t. It would cause a revolution. But if I fight him on it for a while then give in, in exchange for limiting his right to make new nobles of the rank necessary to sit in the senate…”
They talked well into the night, determining what they would give to Salqam-Jangir Khan and what they hoped to get in exchange. And while they talked, the news of the truce raced across Russia.
Kazan
April 14, 1637
Tim took a bite of the mini lamb kabob, chewed, then swallowed. “We don’t have many details, Abdul, but if it works there may be a Muslim state in the United States of Russia. Do you have any word from your cousin?” Abdul Azim’s cousin was the chief of the Kazan delegation to the constitutional convention in Ufa. However, asking Abdul about word from his cousin was a polite fiction. If there had been a radio telegram for Abdul, Tim would have been notified by the radio crew. Not of the content if it was encoded, but of the fact of the message. Still, it was best to be polite when attending what Bernie Zeppi had christened a “cocktail party,” a local get together where much of the business of governing Kazan was done.
“No, nothing yet, and that worries me.” Abdul sipped his coffee and glanced over at the buffet table.
“I wouldn’t be. They are probably pretty busy over there right now.”
“No doubt, but Petr Milosevic is going to start claiming that the Muslims are keeping secrets again.”
Tim hid a grin. Petr Milosevic was the leader of the Russian Orthodox faction on the Kazan city council, and had been less than pleased with the proclamation of freedom of religion in Kazan. He had been complaining ever since that the town was being overrun by Muslims.
From Abdul Azim’s look, Tim was less than fully successful in hiding that grin, but he let it pass. “What do you think the truce means from a military perspective?”
“It’s too soon to tell. Unless it produces some reaction from General Birkin or Iakov Petrovich reacts in some unexpected way, I don’t see how it changes much. Ivan Vasilevich left way too many people here under Iakov Petrovich for us to consider risking a sally, when he went off to ‘relieve Ufa.’ Even if he pulled half of them out to add to his force, I still wouldn’t try it. And his excuse has just gone away. Ufa is no longer under attack by the Kazakh forces. If he attacks Ufa now, it will be a clear attack on Czar Mikhail.”
“Does that matter?”
“Yes, Abdul, it does. A fair chunk of his army is still personally loyal to Czar Mikhail, and at least accepting of the notion that the czar is being influenced by evil up-timers. But if General Birkin orders them to attack the Ufa kremlin, they might well refuse the order.”
Abdul considered as Petr Milosevic wandered over to join them. “What’s the word from Ufa?” Petr asked in a voice that was more suited to a battlefield than a cocktail party.
“I was just asking the general that,” Abdul answered. “The general here was just telling me how the director-general’s hold on his army is less firm than I had thought.”
“Then why don’t we sally?” Pet
r Milosevic demanded.
“Because there is a very large difference between attacking Czar Mikhail and defending yourself when an upstart boy—” Tim pointed at his own chest. “—insults you by attacking. Also they have AK4.7s out there, and a lot of them. I won’t send men out without cover to face that sort of fire. It might be different if we had gulyay-gorod, but my orders were to defend Kazan. I was more concerned with making sure that there was enough food and shot to defend the walls we did have, than to make portable ones.” It was the same argument he had been making since the first attack was repelled, and Petr Milosevic didn’t like it any better now than he had then. But military command of Kazan was firmly on Tim’s shoulders and Petr’s complaints to the czar had been met with expressions of confidence in Tim and instructions not to joggle his elbow. So Petr shut up.
“Well, if it’s not going to have any immediate military effect,” Abdul said, “what political effect do you expect?”
Tim didn’t even try to hide this grin. “I think Sheremetev must be chewing the furniture about now. If he is successful, Czar Mikhail, while in exile, will add the Kazakh Khanate to Russia. That’s more territory, and more civilized, than anyone since Ivan the Terrible has gotten, and Mikhail will have gotten it with much less bloodshed.”
“That’s what makes no sense to me,” Petr complained. “Why on earth would the Kazakh khan even consider such a move? What would he gain in exchange for his rule?”
“Frankly, Tim, that bothers me too,” Abdul added. “And you know how I hate agreeing with Petr about anything.”
Petr laughed out loud at that. It was true they weren’t great friends, but they had learned to work together in spite of that.
“I’m not at all sure…but I suspect that it has to do with our guns. And, perhaps, with the other up-timer knowledge.”
“But they could get that by sending their own agent to the USE,” Abdul said.
“Could they?” Petr asked. “They would have to either go through Istanbul and the Turks, or us and Poland, or all the way around Africa and Europe by sea to get their agent there. And the same again to get him back. If they need the guns now, or even if they expect to need them soon…” He trailed off, thinking.
Tim thought too. It wasn’t just the knowledge. It was the tools, as well. The tools to build the tools. Old Russia had a lot of them. Five years of frantic work’s worth. New Russia had less, only what the refugees could take with them as they ran or sneaked out later. But that was still a lot in relative terms. Damn, he wished he had gulyay-gorod. He was starting to think he was going to need them.
Moscow
April 14, 1637
“So the weak, enfeebled Czar Mikhail, on the run and—how did the director-general put it?—‘hiding in his hole in Ufa,’ has managed to take the Kazakh Khanate with diplomacy.” Prince Ivan Ivanovich Odoevskii snorted sarcastically. “While the great and powerful director-general, the firm hand Russia needed, has managed to lose half an army to take not so much as a town.”
This latest news had made things worse. It was looking less and less like Sheremetev was going to be able to hold power. Not, at least, without a powerful ally. And it wasn’t at all sure that Ivan could keep control with Sheremetev out there on a mission, wherever he had gone.
“We have more important things to deal with than laying blame, Ivan Ivanovich,” Boris Ivanovich Morozov said, “This is likely to make the situations in the bureaus even worse.” Boris wasn’t a nice man and didn’t try to be, but he was an efficient administrator and didn’t like the way things had been going. In the period between the death of Ivan the Terrible and Mikhail Romanov’s escape to Ufa, the rule of Russia had—in fact, if not in name—moved from czar to the bureaus, or at least in that direction. Since the escape of Czar Mikhail, there had been an almost continuous defection of the service nobility to Mikhail’s court in exile in Ufa, to General Shein in Siberia, or just elsewhere. By now, defection was upwards of ten percent. And while ten percent didn’t seem like much, it was often the most effective ten percent, people who would have been promoted except for the entrenched nepotism that permeated both the court and the bureaus. It was the go-getters who got up and went. That wasn’t universal, but it was far more likely. The time servers had a strong tendency to stay where they were and continue with their routine.
That had given Czar Mikhail a smaller bureaucracy, but a more effective one. The defections had also led to increased corruption and decreased efficiency in the Moscow bureaucracy. Not that it could all be blamed on the bureaucrats. The corruption of the Moscow-based bureaus started at the top and spread down from there. Boris Ivanovich Morozov wasn’t sure of all the causes, but he was starting to think he had backed the wrong horse. “What is the latest word from our ambassador to the USE? Will we be getting the new tubes for the radios?”
“I don’t know,” Prince Ivan Ivanovich Odoevskii said. “Check with my clerk after the meeting.”
Grantville Section, Moscow
April 14, 1637
“Are we getting the tubes?” Boris Ivanovich Petrov asked Yuri.
“I doubt it. Apparently Vladimir Gorchakov is one of the major stockholders in the company and he used his influence to get all of them he could. The rest are mostly tied up in USE government procurement. Ah, Boss…Alexis Ivanov is gone. He didn’t come in to work this morning. I sent Stefan Alexandrovich to check on him, and the whole family is gone. And what about Sheremetev himself? Any idea where the director-general has gotten off to? You don’t think he’s defected to Czar Mikhail, do you?” Yuri laughed.
Boris didn’t curse, but it was hard not to. The director-general going missing just now was a horrible sign. Though, as Boris thought about it, not a bad move on Sheremetev’s part. With him missing, he couldn’t be assassinated, and any potential coup would have to worry about his return. So everyone in the duma was afraid to blow their nose and nothing was getting done.
Meanwhile, Alexis Ivanov was one of their experts on electronics, in fact, the best one. Boris had tried to get him promoted to head of that section twice, but both times he had been stopped by incompetents with better pedigrees. The main job of the Grantville section was still the importation and organization of up-time technical data. By now they had a lot of books and articles and expertise. They also had a whole bunch of featherbedding clerks who were all desperately anxious not to rock the boat. Alexis had been one of the drivers of the Grantville section. He had been instrumental in finding the data that let the Dacha produce spark plugs that worked. Not the spark plugs themselves, but the coil. He was also involved in the Russian tube project that was located in the Dacha. His defection would delay Russia’s making their own tubes. At least, this part of Russia.
There was oil in Russia. Rather a lot of it. And internal combustion engines were one of the goals of Sheremetev’s five-year plan for the technological reinvention of Russia.
Yuri was looking at Boris, and Boris could see the question in his eyes. How much longer was Boris going to stay in place? How long before he ran east?
But Boris wasn’t going to run east, for several reasons. First, three of his sons were safe, two in the USE and one in Ufa. Pavel was with Mariya, on the family estates, running the freeze-dried food factory. He had lost some of his serfs, but a lot fewer than he might have expected. And the farming villages were now almost completely dedicated to vegetable production, with most of their production freeze-dried. It was small enough to escape the notice of the Sheremetev family, but still quite profitable. Most important, Boris’ position here, not in the direct line of espionage, but with access into the network of bureaus, left him in an excellent position to learn most of what he wanted to know, and was not so close to the power bases to make anyone nervous. Someday this was all going to break, and Boris didn’t think it would be too long.
Goritsky Monastery
April 14, 1637
Click, click, click. The radio dotted and dashed out its message, and the radio operator to
ok it down, trying to ignore the nuns crowding around his door. When the news of the Kazakh khan’s truce with Czar Mikhail hit Goritsky, any trace of contemplative silence had abandoned the monastery. The nuns went into a frenzy, and a crowd of them hung around. For days now, he hadn’t had a moment of peace.
“General Izmailov has endorsed Salqam-Jangir Khan’s position on the slavery issue,” said one of the old ladies.
“Why, it’s virtually identical to Izmailov’s position,” said another.
“Izmailov is conceding leadership of the pro-slavery faction to the khan,” said the first.
Petr wished they would go back to the monastery, but he didn’t say anything. Over the last weeks, the messages the nuns of Goritsky Monastery sent and received convinced him that these weren’t women he wanted to argue with.
Back in the monastery proper, Sofia went over the transcripts. “Do you think that Salqam-Jangir Khan will actually agree to join Czar Mikhail’s United States of Russia?”
“I’m not sure it matters,” Tatyana said. “Remember when Elena said that the longer Mikhail was besieged the worse it was for him? That’s turned around now. The longer Salqam-Jangir Khan sits in Ufa negotiating with Mikhail, the stronger Mikhail becomes. Well, the weaker Sheremetev becomes.”
“Which is not quite the same thing,” said Elena. “Even if Sheremetev loses power in Moscow, it doesn’t mean that Mikhail wins.”