by Eric Flint
Fang Yizhi looked blank.
Jim took pity on him. “I know you don’t know who Gustavus Adolphus is, but the point is that the Ring of Fire changed the fate of a battle and of a very influential king. And that’s just one of many changes it wrought.”
“So, since your ideas and gadgets have just arrived in China, it is only now that your Ring of Fire will affect our future.”
“Well, that’s a big maybe,” said Jim. “We know that there have been changes in the weather since the Ring of Fire. In what the weather should have been, I mean. We think that they are a ripple effect of the physical changes wrought by the Ring of Fire, in particular, the replacement of a hemisphere of German air with one of American air, of slightly different temperature, pressure and humidity.
“We think the changed temperature and pressure in Grantville’s corner of Thuringia created air currents that caused changes in adjacent air masses. Which in turn caused changes further away. Like the ripples from a stone thrown into a pond, the atmospheric effects of the Ring of Fire spread out. Not uniformly, like ripples, but chaotically. Within a month, the weather would have been scrambled worldwide.
“Weather, not climate. Weather is what happens in the sky day to day, week to week, month to month. Climate is the average weather over several decades, or longer. The Earth was still in the grip of what we call the Little Ice Age. There was weather change, not climate change.
“But that didn’t mean that the meteorological effects would be short-term. Even years later, a particular day in a particular locale might be hotter or cooler, wetter or drier, windier or calmer, than what it was in the old time line.”
“And our historians think that these changes in the weather would slowly but inexorably alter history in myriad small ways, some leading to larger deviations,” Eric added. “The day on which a ship reached port, and thus, perhaps, whether its owners made a profit or not. Whether a rider ended a day’s journey at one town or pressed on to another, and thus whether that rider was exposed to a disease present in one place but not the other. Whether two lovers could meet on a particular day or not, and thus whether they then conceived a particular child. Whether cavalry or infantry had to cope with mud, or archers with rain or wind, on the day of a battle, and thus perhaps who won the battle and how decisively. The mood of a military commander, a provincial governor, or even the emperor when a particular issue was placed before him. Or whether a disgruntled scholar would choose to throw in with the rebels, and give them sage advice.”
“What do you mean by the Little Ice Age?” asked Yizhi.
Jim answered, “It’s a period in history in which long-term average temperatures were colder than in the time we came from. The glaciers in the mountains advanced downhill, northerly ports were ice-bound for a greater part of the year, crops failed, and so on. It has already started, actually, and it will last until 1850 or so. Some decades were worse than others, of course.”
“What about in the Middle Kingdom?” asked Yizhi.
“When I studied the Ming Dynasty, I was taught that there was severe cold in 1629 to ’43, and severe drought in 1637 to ’43,” said Eric.
“In school, I was taught that China was a bit on the dry side from the 1540s until the 1640s,” said Mike.
“Jim, tell Yizhi about the ‘butterfly effect,’” Eric urged. “You can explain it better than I can.”
Jim nodded. “The term butterfly effect came from a speech by the physicist Edward Lorenz: ‘Does the flap of a butterfly’s wings in Brazil set off a tornado in Texas?’ And that speech was inspired by his observing chaotic behavior in a mathematical model he created to explain atmospheric convection.”
Yizhi closed his eyes briefly. “What’s ‘chaotic behavior’? What’s a ‘mathematical model’? And what’s ‘atmospheric convection’”?
“I know this is a lot to take in, but I’ll break it down for you. Atmospheric convection is the motion of air; imagine wind currents, vertical and horizontal. A mathematical model is a mathematical representation of reality. A model of convection might say that the atmosphere forms convection cells, in which hot air rises, cools as it rises, and then sinks, and would predict the size of the cells and the speed of the air movement based on the starting conditions.
“There’s a certain amount of philosophical disagreement as to how to define chaotic behavior but a good working definition is that it means that a small perturbation in the initial conditions results, eventually, in a large and to some degree unpredictable divergence in the final state. That unpredictability gives it the appearance of randomness.”
Jim could see that Fang Yizhi was perplexed and this was so even after Mike Song, with his far better Chinese, tried to clarify some of Jim’s statements. The problem, plainly, was not just one of translation.
“Yizhi, are you finished eating?” Yizhi had come over for dinner as well as conversation.
Yizhi pointed at his empty plate and said, “Yes, I’m full. It was delicious.”
“Here, come into my lab and I’ll show you what I mean,” said Jim. Fang Yizhi and Mike Song followed him into a rather cluttered workroom at the back of the residence. He pointed to a peculiar pendulum-like object that was fastened to the edge of a table top.
“This is the simplest experiment I know that demonstrates chaotic behavior,” said Jim. “A doubled-jointed pendulum. It can pivot here—call it the hip—and there—call it the knee. And the far end call the foot. Watch how the ‘knee’ and the ‘foot’ move. I have marked them with white and black paint, respectively, to make them easier to follow.”
The jointed pendulum was at rest, hanging downward. Jim grabbed it by the “knee” and quickly drove it halfway around clockwise and released it. The knee traveled in circular arcs, that diminished with each cycle, whereas the “foot” danced erratically about. It was only when the movement of the “thigh” was very small that the movement of the foot became more regular.
“And now I’ll do it again, but I am not going to get exactly the same starting position and speed of rotation. You see? A slight difference in the starting conditions creates a big difference in the path of the ‘foot.’”
“Ah, I think I understand this ‘butterfly effect’ of yours,” said Yizhi. “It is a small change, caused either by the air you brought with you, or by the distribution of your knowledge and goods, that is multiplied by fate. In the preface to the Shiji, it is said, ‘A mistake as small as a hair can lead later to an error of a thousand li.’”
“I’ll have to remember that line,” said Jim, “but what is the Shiji?”
“The Records of the Grand Historian of China, Sima Qian.” Yizhi shook his head sorrowfully. “It appears that your Ring of Fire has the potential to create great disorder under heaven. And I suppose that means that your ‘future’ histories of China are of no use to our policymakers.”
“I wouldn’t go that far,” said Mike. “We know that much of China experienced severe drought in 1637 to ’43, with famine and banditry as a result. That’s attributable to the Little Ice Age, and I don’t think that the perturbation caused by the Ring of Fire will change that significantly.
“And it’s not likely to change the fact that the Manchu, that is, the Jurchen, have built up military power and sooner or later are going to think in terms of conquering rather than raiding China,” Mike added. “But there is time to deal with the famine and bandit problem, and stiffen your border defenses. Just, not a lot of time.”
“I will think upon what you have told me, and consult with others in the Fu She as to how best to convey these concerns to those in authority.”
“Thanks,” said Mike.
“Have you seen the new hall we opened three days ago at the Glorious Exhibition?” asked Jim.
“A thousand apologies,” said Yizhi. “I haven’t. I was in Suzhou this past week, and my boat back ran late. I was worried in fact that I would miss dinner with you.”
“If you aren’t too tired, I’ll take you over ther
e now, and give you a private tour by lantern light.”
Yizhi yawned.
“I am sorry, I shouldn’t have suggested it,” Jim said solicitously.
“No, it’s fine. If I go to sleep now, I’ll toss and turn all night. A little peek at your new attraction will help keep me awake.”
“Let’s go then,” said Jim.
The Glorious Exhibition Hall was close by. Jim opened it up, grabbed and lit a lantern, and took Yizhi across the courtyard to one of the rear chambers, Mike a step or two behind them.
Jim opened the door. “Here you go! The Hall of the Heavens!” Jim aimed the beam of the lantern at one object after another. “That’s a telescope, for seeing things far away, even the stars and planets.”
“I have read Tang Ruowang’s book on the telescope,” said Yizhi. Jim knew, from conversations with Father Kircher, that “Tang Ruowang” was the Chinese name of the Jesuit Father Johann Adam Schall von Bell. “But I have never had the pleasure of using the instrument.”
“We’ll take it outside and I’ll show you how to use it when we’re done here.” Jim aimed the lantern a little further to the right. “And this is a sextant, we use it to measure the distance in the sky between two celestial objects, or between such an object and the horizon.”
Jim pointed the lantern a bit higher, shining it on the wall. “There’s a star map.” He turned and pointed it at the opposite wall. “And that shows the solar system. We haven’t spoken of this before, but we know that the planets all go around the Sun, and the Moon goes around the Earth, in roughly elliptical orbits as shown on the poster.”
“And in the center of the room we have an orrery, a model of the solar system,” Mike added. “Isn’t it fantastic?”
Yizhi was silent.
“Yizhi, have we overtaxed you?”
“No, I am worried, for your sakes.”
Mike and Jim exchanged startled expressions.
“Mike, how could you let this happen? Jim is a foreigner, and wouldn’t know better, but you are Chinese?”
Mike started at Yizhi. “I have no idea what you’re talking about it.”
Yizhi took a deep breath. “You know I am good at memorizing texts?”
Mike nodded. “Yes, you’ve told us that you had to memorize the Five Classics.”
“That’s not all I’ve memorized. I am familiar with the Laws on Rituals, in the Great Ming Code. According to Article 184, it is unlawful for private households to keep celestial instruments or books on astronomical prophecy without authorization. The punishment is one hundred strokes with the heavy stick.”
“But we are from outside the Middle Kingdom!” said Mike.
“According to Article 36, barbarians who commit crimes in China are subject to the same punishments as the Chinese. Ignorance of the law is no excuse,” Yizhi warned them.
Jim raised another objection. “We aren’t a private household; we’re an embassy.”
“And that might protect you, or it might not, depending on the judge, and the influence arrayed against you. You have not, after all, been officially recognized as an embassy. And Article 184 has the same prohibition on practicing astronomy without authorization, without any limitation to private households. And did I mention that there’s a reward for turning in someone who violates Article 184? A fine of ten liang is imposed on the offender, and paid to the accuser.”
“Ouch,” said Jim.
“Then there’s Article 197. It says that no magician or soothsayer may, in the home of an official, predict the future, good or ill.”
“But you Chinese are always consulting horoscopes!” Jim protested.
“Excuse me,” said Yizhi. “The implication is that one cannot prophesy the future of the dynasty. Divining the personal fortunes of a private individual is expressly permitted.”
Jim looked at Mike. “I am certainly not giving up our astronomical instruments and books, but we can keep them hidden until we get a call to Beijing and can get a proper authorization to use them. And I hate to say it, but it sounds like we had best shut the Hall of the Heavens down.”
“I only hope it’s not too late already,” said Mike.
Glorious Exhibition Gift Shop
Liu Rushi entered the gift shop, singing.
“Well, you seem to be in good spirits,” said Martina.
“I am, and you should be, too. I have made some duplicator sales for you; but you need to sign the contracts since I was just the go-between.”
Martina hurried around the counter, and gave a rather surprised Liu Rushi a hug. “Thank you! There’s been too much showing, and not enough selling, around here. Let me see the contracts.”
Liu Rushi handed them over, and Martina studied them, asking Liu Rushi to clarify some terms. “They look good,” the up-timer said. “I’ll have Wei, our boy Friday, make the deliveries later this week, and the buyers should be ready with full payment at that point. And then once we have the money in hand, you’ll get your percentage.
“By the way, you complained about not being able to vary the width of the stroke, and there’s a solution to that.”
Martina pulled out a finely grooved metal plate. “You lay the stencil over this trypograph, and then draw on it with a metal stylus. Where the stylus is over a ridge, the stencil is cut.”
“How does that give you different widths? Do you have to have a set of different styluses?”
“No, you use one with a rectangular cross-section. You can get three different width strokes, depending on whether you press down with the edge, the narrow face, or the broad face. But you would have to hold the stylus at an angle to the surface, not the way you were holding it.”
“Ingenious,” said Liu Rushi. “Does Mike prefer the cyclostyle or the trypograph?”
“I don’t know,” said Martina.
“I should ask him,” said Liu Rushi. “Is he around?”
“Not right now.”
“Well, I’ll look around the exhibition hall, then come back here.”
By the time she returned, Martina was gone, and a man was attending to the gift shop. His back was to Liu Rushi, and for a moment her breath caught; she thought it was Mike. But then she realized that the height and build was wrong, and when he turned, she could see that he was not even Chinese.
“Hello, my name is Eric Garlow, may I help you?” he said.
This was, she realized, the USE ambassador she had heard of. His command of Chinese was excellent, she thought. “I am Liu Rushi, and—” He didn’t let her finish.
Eric Garlow’s eyes widened. “So you’re Liu Rushi! My teacher talked about you in my Chinese history and literature class.”
It was Liu Rushi’s turn to be surprised. “About me? My poetry is remembered four centuries in the future?”
“Someone told you we were from the future? Who?”
“Mike. He gave me a ride in his balloon.”
“It was supposed to be a secret.…” said Eric plaintively.
Liu Rushi gave him a smile. “Men confide in me, what can I say?”
“I can well imagine,” said Eric. “Anyway, it wasn’t about your poetry. Or your painting, for that matter, although I am sure both are known. It was because, even though you were a courtesan—no offense intended—you were able to enjoy a companionate marriage to Qian Qianyi.”
“Qian Qianyi? I have heard of him; he is a jinshi. But I believe he is married already.”
“If I recall correctly, there was a scandal because he insisted on the same wedding rites for you as for a wife.”
“Oh, my. When was this supposed to have happened?”
“A couple of years before—” Eric snapped his mouth shut.
“Another secret?” asked Liu Rushi. “A great bandit uprising? Another invasion by the Mongols or the Jurchen?”
As the Chinese usually did, Liu Rushi used the term “bandit” in a way that seemed odd to westerners, especially Americans. To Eric, the word brought up the image of Jesse James and his small band of ou
tlaws, robbing trains and small-town banks. The Chinese used the term to refer to what amounted to mass uprisings, whose rebels—the “bandits”—were a mixture of deserters from the army, mutineers, peasants and other common folk. Dynasties could be overthrown by such “bandits”—and had been, on more than one occasion in Chinese history.
“I really don’t think I can discuss it,” said Eric. “It should be revealed first to an appropriate official, if at all. But at least five years from now is when you and Qian Qianyi got together. Mind you, the coming of Grantville from the future might have changed that future, in ways that it’s difficult to predict.”
“What do you mean?” asked Liu Rushi.
“Well, just to give one example, in the old future you didn’t ride a balloon into the sky. And on that day, you would have done something else.”
* * *
Wei, Judith Leyster’s camera porter, had insisted on accompanying the USE mission to Hangzhou.
“Miss Leyster, Madam Goss, are you ready to go?” he yelled.
The imminent trip was plainly, at least as far as Wei was concerned, an epochal event. He would be taking the women to join some of the literati women who had visited the Technology Exhibition for what amounted to the Chinese equivalent of a Gals Night Out, on the famous West Lake. And he would be taking Judith and Martina, not by any conventional mode of transport, but on a cycle rickshaw.
In Anhai, Fuzhou and Hangzhou, the westerners had seen people on foot, on horseback, in carts, and even a few of obvious wealth and status being carried in sedan chairs, but no rickshaws. And even the simplest rickshaw, pulled by a runner, had the advantage over a sedan chair in that it could be operated by one man instead of two or more, while being far more elegant than a mere cart.
Steve Jennings had started manufacturing bicycles in Grantville in 1633. Of course, the problem with bicycles is that you had to learn how to ride them without falling over. Cobblestone was not kind to bicycles, and dirt and gravel roads weren’t either. So, in 1634, he had started building pedicabs, with a cyclist’s seat up front and a passenger bench seat over the two rear wheels. And pedicabs were essentially the combination of a rickshaw and a tricycle.