Grantville Gazette 37 gg-37

by Коллектив Авторов

  "Oh God, no. I'm sure he'll send someone around to interview you but, for goodness sake, Aunt Cora, you're family."

  "That's okay then. You can wait with me? It's hard just waiting."

  "Of course. However long it takes," Nina said.

  "I'm glad you're here. I didn't want to be alone," Cora said. "Someone has gone for Maria's family. Her dad works for Johnson's Grocery. They'll be along soon, but someone needs to be here for Maria."

  "What happened?"

  "The espresso machine blew up. That's all I know for sure. One minute Maria's frothing milk, the next minute she had a piece of steel sticking out of her face and steam was blowing everywhere."

  "The espresso machine?" Nina asked. "But you only bought that one about a year ago!"

  "Yes. The little one I had from home finally gave up the ghost, remember? So, I had Clarence Dobb's folks make us a new bigger one."

  "Clarence Dobbs? But, he's a plumber!"

  "Yes. He makes stoves, hot water heaters, pumps, anything that deals with water. Who better to make me an espresso machine? He took the old one so he could copy the filter piece, and made us the new three-handle machine. I can't imagine what could have gone wrong. She was just frothing a cup of milk!" Cora looked down again at the bloody towel in her hands and the tears started again.

  "Come on, Aunt Cora," Phoebe said. "Let's go get you cleaned up, get rid of that towel and your apron, and get your face fixed and your dress clean."

  They headed toward the ladies room.

  ****

  Reverend Simon Jones walked into Clarence's Heating, Plumbing and Air Conditioning. "Afternoon, Bonnie."

  "Afternoon, Reverend Jones."

  "Clarence around?"

  "He's over at the pump plant. They're working out some kinks in a new design."

  "You heard about Cora's?"

  "Yes. Just a bit ago. How is Maria? "

  "I don't know yet. Mary Ellen's on her way out to the hospital," Simon said. "I'll pass along what she finds out, but I have another problem. Can you call over and ask Clarence to meet me at Cora's with whomever built that infernal device, say in about an hour?"

  "Sure, Reverend Jones. I'll be happy to. Let's make it about an hour and a half. Two o'clock okay?"

  "Two o'clock is fine. I'll be waiting."

  ****

  Reverend Mary Ellen Jones arrived at Leahy Medical center just as Cora and Phoebe came out to the waiting area. "How are you holding up, dear?"

  "Okay," Cora replied. "I'm waiting to hear, though, how Maria's going to be."

  Lise Gebauer came through the door to the ER into the waiting area. "Cora. Maria's going to be okay." She sat down across from the three women. "The wand missed the major nerve cluster in her cheek and only chipped the cheek bone. We've stitched that up. There will be a scar. It punched out a piece of tissue too small to sew back in place, and there will be a pucker on her cheek, but it won't be horrible." Lise took a deep breath. "She was very lucky. The worst of the burns are second degree. Apparently she fell away from the steam and no part of her face was in it long enough to be cooked. There are a lot of blisters. It is going to hurt, but the steam missed her eye completely. We had to cut away a bit of hair on her right side above the cheek, but she'll recover. We should be able to send her home in the morning. Is her family here yet?"

  "No," Cora said. "Her dad is out on a delivery run for the grocery. Her younger sister is in school, and you know her mom got that cough last winter and didn't make it."

  Lise shuddered. "Too many didn't make it through the influenza. . . . We do what we can. Do you want to see her?"

  "Of course!" Cora replied. "I'll sit with her at least until her father or sister gets here."

  ****

  Chelsea Perkins came out of the staff lounge, and checked with the guard at the front entrance. "Anything else unusual, Otto?"

  "No, Frau Perkins. All is quiet. People reading books." Otto pointed to the floor where the body had lain. "The coroner has taken the body, and the janitors have finished cleaning the floor and wall. The front doors should be repainted by noon." Otto looked at Chelsea. "How did it happen?"

  "Someone screwed up. Someone is not going to be happy." Chelsea walked off toward the security office.

  "All right. Albrecht had the outside tour this morning." Chelsea looked at Albrecht and noticed the other guards in the room paying close attention. She knew that this was another test of her leadership. "You have your log book?"

  The guard responsible for walking each circuit around the high school had to stop at a number of places where metal stamps had been placed in small boxes, and click the stamp onto a line of his log book. Before he left for the tour and upon his return, he clicked the log book into the time-clock. It wasn't as good a system as the uptime paper tape that showed when each location had been logged, but it at least proved that the route had been walked.

  "I do, Frau Perkins. Here it is." Albrecht presented his log to Chelsea.

  Chelsea flipped to the last page. "This says you finished at 0630, half an hour after the shooting. How could you have accompanied the door guard if you weren't done?"

  "I was almost done, Frau Parker. I had reached the station outside the front door when I heard the shots. I tried the front door and it was unlocked, so I ran in and saw the intruder on the floor." Albrecht paused. "I assisted with the search and moving the body, and did not clock the round out until I was able to get away."

  "The front door was unlocked? You are very sure of that?" Chelsea asked.

  "Yes, Frau Parker." Albrecht said.

  Chelsea looked at the assignment sheet for the morning, then looked around the room. "Where is Francis?"

  "Francis is at home with the influenza, Frau Perkins," Albrecht said. "He sent word yesterday that he would not be at work."

  Chelsea turned to Karl Bauer, the watch supervisor for the night before. "Karl, why is this duty sheet not updated showing Francis is to be out?"

  Karl smiled. "I could find no one to take Francis' shift, Frau Perkins. I stayed over the night. I did not need to write down my name to remind me that I was working."

  "I see nothing to smile about, Karl. What happened this morning?" Chelsea asked very coldly.

  "Tuesday, the library closes at ten at night, and re-opens at six in the morning," Karl said.

  Everyone nodded.

  "The high school cleaning crew buffs the floors of the hallways during the night, and painting and other maintenance that is hard to do while people are working takes place," Karl continued.

  Chelsea stared at him. "We all know that. What's the point?"

  "There are only two guards overnight on Tuesday . . ." Karl started to say.

  "Karl, I made up the schedule. I am the chief of security. You work for me. You don't need to explain the rules, I made them. You and Albrecht were here alone until the morning shift arrived. Now. No more excuses. What happened?" Chelsea said angrily.

  "At six o'clock this morning, the morning shift had not yet arrived. Albrecht was being slow getting around the school, and had not yet returned. I was waiting in the reference area. I saw through the window a man walking down from the football field toward the school. You know how many people are upset that the library closes on Tuesday, and I thought that if the library was late opening, this man might be angry, so I went out and opened the door. He must have seen me open the door because he smiled. Then I went back to the security office to find Albrecht or someone to work the front security desk."

  "So, you saw a total stranger outside, you didn't investigate him, you didn't check to see if he had a dangerous bag, you unlocked the door, and then you left the front of the library with no one guarding?"

  Karl started to wave his hands and opened his mouth as though he was going to say something.

  Chelsea interrupted. "Never mind. I don't care what possible excuse you have. Guards are supposed to guard, and there is nothing more important to guard than this library. Karl, you're fired. Give m
e your badge and belt right now."

  Karl began to speak. Chelsea held up a hand, and Albrecht and two other guards closed in next to him. He shrugged, removed his badge and the leather Sam Browne belt that was the guard's uniform and handed them to Albrecht.

  "You have five minutes to clean out your locker. I want you off the school grounds in no more than ten. Don't bother asking for a reference. Johann, Ester, you go with him and see him off the grounds." Chelsea stood, staring until Karl was gone from the room.

  "I am so not looking forward to telling this story to the meeting tomorrow," she said to no one in particular.

  ****

  Reverend Simon Jones was waiting at the coffee shop when Clarence Dobbs and a man Simon didn't recognize came in. The shop was open, and many people were looking at the espresso machine from a distance. Not only was Cora a member of his congregation at the Methodist church, but Simon was an accomplished mechanic and wanted to see for himself what had gone wrong.

  "Simon, I don't think you've met Jonas Klein. Jonas works on our water heaters and worked on the espresso machine," Clarence said.

  Simon shook Jonas' hand. "Sorry to meet you under these circumstances, Herr Klein."

  "Yes, Pastor Jones. A sad day."

  "Shall we take a look?"

  The three men went behind the counter. The floor had been mopped, but the failure was clear. The fitting where the steaming wand screwed into the espresso machine was empty. With a heavy sigh, Jonas reached into his tool box and they began the task of disassembling the machine.

  ****

  Cora came into the shop just as the men were finishing cleaning up.

  "Well?" she asked.

  "How's Maria?" Simon asked. Everyone in the shop turned toward her.

  "She's going to be okay. A scar, and a long time healing from the burns, but okay," Cora replied. "Now, what happened?"

  "It's complicated, Cora," Simon replied. "I think we need to go through it with the Saint Philip group. Can you come to the meeting tomorrow evening?"

  "What meeting? What do you mean it's complicated? What happened?" Cora asked.

  "The meeting at the parish hall at Saint Mary's. The part you want will start about seven and you need to be there. We'll go over the accident with everyone and figure it out. It's the group that Father Nick organized to do accident reviews for anyone who will participate. That way we have everyone's thoughts and everyone's ideas and everyone learns from each other's mistakes. This is complicated, Cora, and you should come. Jonas and Clarence and I will be there, and we all will talk through what happened. It was an accident, but it was an accident that could have been prevented. You should come. Please?"

  "All right," Cora said. "I'll be there. Seven at the parish hall. But I still don't know what happened. What happened, Simon?"

  "The boiler's pressure cut off didn't. It could have been a lot worse. This was almost the best possible outcome," Clarence said.

  Cora looked from man to man. "You're not asking me to come to this meeting just so that some excuse can be cooked up, are you?"

  "No, Cora. It's important. Please?" Simon said.

  "Okay, okay. Seven at the parish hall. Got it. Now, let me talk to my staff and see to my business." With that, Cora turned away and went back to work.

  ****

  Each Thursday, a diverse group would gather at St. Mary's for the meeting of the Society of Saint Philip of the Screwdriver. They came from every available faith. The group included engineers, but also included librarians, electricians, plumbers, bankers, lawyers, judges, gunsmiths, machinists, farmers, teachers, and clergy. What brought them together was an involvement with what could loosely be called "complexity."

  The group was in some ways an outgrowth of John Grover's "Murphy Reports" from the VOA and the early electronics oversight group. The direct inspiration came from the joint minds of John, Father Althanius Kircher and Father Nicholas Smithson. After reading the "Wizard" novels of Christopher Stasheff, Father Kircher and Nick had been enamored of the Order of Saint Vidicon of the Cathode. While they had been forbidden by Father-now Cardinal-Larry Mazzare from organizing a group around the fictional saint, they used his symbol, a small pocket phillips screwdriver. Instead of Saint Vidicon, they instead chose as their patron a saint with a sense of humor, who himself spent many years attempting to prevent the works of Murphy's imp: Saint Philip Neri. The coincidence of the screwdriver was too good to pass up.

  The group had grown casually. Its avowed purpose, to the extent it had one, was to reduce the inevitable cost that human error brought to any complex effort. If anyone asked, participants said that they weren't the Grantville Safety committee. They rejected that name and the responsibility. Still, the informal group quickly became the place to report and review accidents of all types. Industrial accidents, embezzlement, undetected frauds, losses to theft and waste, all were seen as manifestations of Murphy's imp, and all were subject to review and discussion by the group. They shared the thought that together they could reduce the butcher's bill that up-time knowledge would cost the world as the complexity of their civilization increased.

  The group wasn't a confessional. Each case ended with one of two results. If they could propose a way to avoid similar incidents, someone wrote up a report and a checklist to help accomplish that. If not, they wrote a report asking for suggestions. One of the proposals in Nick's charter was that they begin distributing their reports more formally to libraries and centers of invention.

  Someone had made a banner with an image of Saint Philip Neri. It was inspired by the image in the Catholic Encyclopedia but the saint was wearing half a beard, smiling broadly, holding a little yellow screwdriver, and standing with one foot crushing a green imp. Below the portrait was the legend: Holy Saint Philip, Protect us.

  There were other banners. "Never attribute to evil that which can be explained by the perversity of the universe." "Even tragedy provides an opportunity for humor." "There are no silver linings without clouds." Another said "TANSTAAFL," with a line drawn through it and "Free Beer" written below. Finally, there was a banner, half filled with a field of green imps. Each imp had a red-circled X drawn over it.

  John Grover and Father Nicholas looked at the group clustered around the folding tables serving as bar and sideboard.

  "Are you sure you are ready to do this, Nick?" John asked.

  "Yes. I've been ready for months. It's not like all of them don't already know what's coming," Nick said.

  "Okay then. I'll see about herding the cats," John said. "Settle down, folks!"

  Slowly the chatter lowered, the mugs and steins were refilled, and people found chairs around the room. John gestured to the chalkboard to one side which had a short list of names on it. "Anyone forget to sign up?"

  A general murmur of negativity ran around the room.

  "Okay. You all notice that Nick's name is at the top of that list, and he has an announcement and a proposal before we start the show and tell. Father Nick, the floor is yours."

  John sat in a chair where he could see the room and Nick.

  "Good evening, my friends," Nick said. "I do have an announcement. Today, with the consent of His Holiness Urban, I am released from my vows as a Jesuit and am returned to the secular clergy."

  " 'Bout damned time!" Simon Koudsi shouted.

  "It's remarkably quick for such a request, Simon. But I agree, and that brings us to my second point." Nick pointed at the image of Saint Philip on the wall behind him, and brought out his screwdriver. "I certainly know you're not all Catholic."

  "You got that right too!" Reverend Simon Jones said.

  "Am I to continue to be interrupted by Simons, or should I simply continue?" Nick said. Through the resulting laughter, he continued: "That leads directly to my proposal. I believe it's time that we move from this casual group to something with more organization, which we can export to other communities. Therefore, in keeping with our principles, I propose the formal incorporation of the European Service
Committee of the Society of Saint Philip of the Screwdriver. Copies of the proposed bylaws are on the table by the door. Please pick one up tonight as you leave. We will have a special meeting to discuss the organization soon. The committee's function will be to sponsor this and other meetings, to publish information gathered, and to evangelize what we've done here. I'm happy to take questions, but you should review the proposed bylaws first, I think."

  "If this Committee is to be the sponsor, does that mean that you still buy the beer Nick?" Simon Jones asked.

  "Yes, Simon. I will continue to buy the beer, and the pretzels and the coffee," Nick said.

  "So the Society is a Catholic order?" The Russian prince and envoy, Vladimir, asked.

  "No! Although the suppression of Murphy's imp is Godly work, this group, and the committee are not specifically related to any church. We use Saint Philip as our patron because his humor and joy are important tools in the face of the tragedies that Murphy brings us, and because having a face, an identity for the group is simpler than some formless up-time corporation. The best analogy I have is that the Society is something similar to the intergroup committees of Alcoholics Anonymous or other such organizations. It's a way for the independent groups to coordinate their work on the nature and perversity of the universe and the application of humor to the banishment of Murphy's works from our works. Read the draft bylaws."

  Vladimir nodded and smiled. "Good. The patriarch would have trouble with me joining a Catholic order!"

  Nick looked around the room. "The work we do here is important." Most of the listeners nodded. "By bringing together our minds and our eyes, the imp can't hide. Together we can find a way to do as John says: Keep Murphy firmly in front of us where we can see him. We know he acts in the world, we know that God has a sense of humor that includes things which can, at best, be seen as perverse. Can there be any doubt that the God who arranged that the bread should fall butter side down seventy-five percent of the time has an odd sense of humor?" Nick paused. "But the fact that Murphy's imp acts in the world should not be a cause for depression. Remember Saint Philip Neri's saying: A joyful heart is more easily made perfect than a downcast one. Joy is our servant and our protection. And with that, I'll end this intrusion into the evening. Look over the bylaws, and at the next meeting we'll discuss if we are agreed about doing this."