Grantville Gazette, Volume XII

by Eric Flint

  Marie shook her head. "I'm not sure. I know you can't test a design with one of them, but I'm not so sure about the other. The two programs have completely different flight models. I could look into it, though."

  He nodded and jotted down some notes. "Okay, you do that. Now, what sort of information do you need to accurately model an aircraft? "

  "I'd need to know basic information about the aircraft. Thrust, drag, stall-speed, engine horsepower and so on. I'd need measurement data to build a 3-D model of the plane. I'd also need trained pilots, preferably the ones with the most hours logged, to perform virtual test flights to help fine tune the model."

  "Can you recreate a control panel?"

  "You mean on the computer screen?" Marie asked."Yes, you can."

  He closed his note book. "I'd like to have at least three of these simulators up and running by summer. I'd prefer more, but I'm not sure you'll be able to find many people willing to part with their computers. You'll need to model the Belle II and, possibly, another plane or two that might enter service in the next couple of months. With the way things have been going lately, I doubt I'll personally have the time to help, but I'll let it be known that everybody should give you all the help you need. Without a doubt, you're my man. Uh, person.

  "I'll be able to wiggle some money out of the budget for this, but Mike Stearns will give me an earful about it. I'll need your budget within two weeks, and please keep it as low as possible. "

  Marie was startled at the speed of his decision. "Thank you, sir."

  As she rode home from the base that evening, she thought about her assignment. She hadn't expected to be offered a contract to work on the flight simulators, but she wanted this opportunity to get to know the people in the Air Force and be close to the planes. All she had really wanted to do since she was three was fly. The Ring of Fire had destroyed that dream, and Marie had been in a deep depression for several months. The revival of powered flight and the development of an air force reinvigorated her and she quickly overcame her depression.

  She also wondered what her mother would think. Since she first expressed interest in flying, her mother been against it. It had driven a wedge between the two of them, and Marie found herself spending more time with her father, who encouraged her to be who she was. She could never understand why her mom objected to her desire to fly. She thought it might have something to do with wanting to fly for the military.

  * * *

  Two days and five pages of notes later, Marie was overwhelmed. Colonel Wood had sent her a copy of his priorities. She was doing at least ten different tasks, half of them at the same time. She had never worked on a structured project before, and she had no concept of time management and multitasking.

  She read through the list for the tenth time as she sat in her father's den. Why does he want me to change the scenery package before creating the down-time aircraft?. It had been the first item on the list, and she wondered if he had written the list in order of importance. As she continued to look down the list, she recognized other items that they had discussed.

  Marie began to type up the list of priorities, making sure to rank items by their importance. Computers, planes, and controls should be at the top of my list. I should probably get in touch with that computer guy I met a while back in case I need his help with any of that. But I also need to select which simulator I will use. That has to be my first priority.

  Marie finished typing her list and saved the file. "So how do I go about getting the computers? I need machines that are at least five hundred megahertz if I want them to run smoothly." She began to ponder where suitable computers would be found in Grantville. She doubted there would be a gamer or a business willing to part with one, especially the top end kind she needed.

  Except, possibly, for her father. "Dad!" she yelled. "I need to ask you something!" She and Dad had always been close. He was the encouraging parent, and had always supported Marie's interest in flight. This inevitably led to confrontation with her mother, who didn't always agree with her interests.

  Ted walked into his home office. "How many times have I told you not to yell across the house?"

  "I dunno, Dad. But I was wondering if you still had those two old computers."

  "Yeah, they're in the basement," he said. "Why?"

  "Remember when I told you about that job I got setting up flight simulators for the Air Force?" she asked. "Our computers are good, and I'm wondering if you would sell the new ones. If we can get the old ones running, you'd still have what you needed."

  "You know that I did get one of those for work, right?" he asked.

  "Yeah, Dad. I know. But this is important, and they will pay very good money for them."

  "Well," he said, after a few moments of thought, "I suppose I can talk to your mother about it. I don't think she'll be too happy with the idea, but she'll probably give in. You'll have to do all the work yourself, though."

  "Thanks, Dad," Marie said. "You're the best."

  * * *

  By the time breakfast came around the next morning, things had changed. "That's not fair!" Marie shouted. She slammed her fist on the table, rattling a few bowls of oatmeal. "I have a job to do, too."

  "You think I don't?" her mother replied. "You're not the only one who works, and some of us need the computer for more than just playing games."

  "It's not for playing games," Marie responded. "It's for training pilots. And that's why I'm going to get the two we have in the basement up and running. So we still have computers we can use."

  "There you go with your flying stuff again," her mother retorted. "Why can't you just be like your sister for once and be interested in normal girl things? And have you even checked to make sure those computers work? Because they've been down in that basement for an awfully long time."

  Marie hated being compared to her younger sister. It was something her mother always brought out against her in their arguments, and it made her feel like she was some kind of freak because she didn't fit her mother's image of an ideal daughter.

  "Karen!" Ted Moritz interjected. "That's enough."

  Like the typical mother-daughter fights in the Moritz house, this one had gone from being about some issue to being about their personalities. Karen Moritz wanted daughters who did typical girl things. She was disappointed that her eldest had ended up climbing trees and working on projects with her father. They had become very close, and Marie had always known that her mother was jealous of that relationship.

  "Mom, I'm a cheerleader. If that's not normal enough for you, I don't know what is. And that has nothing to do with my job with the Air Force."

  "Fine," Karen said. "Sell your computer. I don't care anymore. But that's the only one you can sell. The one in the office stays right where it is."

  Her mother was one to hold a grudge, and Marie wanted to be anywhere besides home. She didn't want to upset her mother any further or fall behind in the multitude of tasks that she was facing. So following the fight, she stayed late at school on weekdays for cheerleading practice or Rocket Club, and after that she worked on homework until the last library staffer turned the lights off. Marie had left her computer at the base, so she had to travel there on the weekends to work on the simulator.

  Project work caught up with her quickly, though. Reports and budget requests didn't write themselves, and she still had to convince someone to sell a computer or two. That meant something had to take a back seat, and it couldn't be the project. There was no way she would let Colonel Wood down, so the project began to eat more and more of her time.

  * * *

  Marie was leaving the school's library a month later when it all came crashing down. "Hey, Marie! Wait up! We need to talk." She turned around to see Kristin Washaw approaching. Kristin was many things that Marie wasn't—tall, blond, outgoing, and popular, but despite that, they had somehow become friends.

  "Hey, Kristin," Marie said. "I hope you can keep it short. I have to meet with Mrs. Kindred about my Englis
h Lit. paper."

  "Can I walk with you?" Kristin asked. "We haven't talked or hung out in a while."

  "Sure," Marie said, somewhat sheepishly. Both girls were quiet as they started to walk.

  "Is everything all right, Marie?" Kristin finally asked.

  "Yes," Marie lied. "I'm just under a little pressure right now." She hoped that Kristin wouldn't be able to see through the lie, but she knew that it wasn't likely. Kristin was good at reading people.

  "Where have you been? You've haven't been to practice for the last three weeks. You were supposed to have some new cheers for us last week, and some of the girls have been telling me that you're not handing in homework. And I've been hearing that you aren't as involved in the Rocket Club. Have you started taking drugs?"

  "No!" Marie was outraged. "Of course not."

  "Then what's wrong, Marie? You haven't been yourself lately, and I'm worried. You love cheerleading, and you never used to miss a practice."

  "It's just . . ." Marie stopped herself. She wanted to tell Kristin everything, about how she had taken on this large project for the Air Force, the fights with her mother, and how it all was affecting her at school. But should I? She's my friend, but what will she think of me if I tell her about it?

  "I've just taken on a very big project for someone," she said. "I didn't realize that it would have this sort of effect on everything, and I'll take care of it."

  Marie hadn't said anything to the girls on the cheerleading squad about her project or the trouble it was causing her. At this moment, though, she regretted that decision because it caused one of her friends to worry about her.

  "A top secret project?" Kristin smiled. "I thought it would be something like that. But you really need a break. How about you come over on Friday night, and we'll have ourselves a slumber party."

  It felt like a huge weight had been lifted off Marie's chest. "That sounds like a plan. I really need the break."

  "We're practicing today," Kristin said. "If you're not there, I'll find you and drag you over."

  Marie laughed. "You'd have to have the whole squad to help you. Don't worry, Kristin, I'll be there."

  It was the first time she had smiled in weeks.

  * * *

  Marie paced the back of the hangar, nervously chewing on a lock of her hair while she watched Lieutenant Emil Castner test her simulator. A lot had changed in the hangar since December, and the front part of the hangar was now occupied by a partially completed aircraft. The winter snowfall had also revealed a few gaps in the roof, and Marie's equipment was under a plastic tarp.

  She was watching Castner, and was shocked when got up and started to walk away from the computer, the flight still in progress. He flashed her a look of disgust. "This doesn't work for me."

  "What do you mean, Lieutenant?" she asked. "The model is built based on the information Colonel Wood gave me."

  "It just doesn't feel right," he said. "Why do we have to use this contraption? It is nothing like flying. It's not realistic at all. It doesn't feel like flying."

  Marie started at his words. She had thought that using her flight yoke and rudder pedals would provide a more realistic experience. She had also expected Castner, being one of the more experienced pilots, would be able to grasp the idea of simulated flight.

  Although she still had a month before she had to have a simulator ready for testing, she had put a lot of effort into getting this done early so she would have more time to test it.

  "So what should I do to improve it?" she asked.

  Castner thought for a moment. "Make it move. Make it feel like I'm in the plane. If you can't do that, then this isn't worth the trouble. The Air Force doesn't need simulators that don't work. I didn't have a simulator when I entered flight training last summer. I got all my experience behind the controls."

  "Colonel Wood is saying something different." Marie could tell by the tone of his voice that he was disgusted with the idea. She wanted to say more to him, to come up with the magic argument that would get him to love it, but her mind had frozen, and she stood there waiting for some argument to come to her.

  Castner pushed away from the table, nearly knocking the flight yoke to the floor. "We don't need this . . ." he said, and stormed out of the room.

  Marie sat down in front of the computer and fought back tears. She had expected everything to be so much easier, and for everyone to cooperate. You can't let one bad review throw you completely off track. You have another review on in two days.

  "Maybe the other pilots will be more helpful."

  * * *

  Spending an hour in the office of School Superintendent Ned Paxton was the last thing Marie wanted to do any day, especially a Friday. But it was the only time he had available this week, and the Air Force needed a pair of the school district's computers for the flight simulators.

  She had tried every other source she could think of, but most people had refused to sell. The machines that people had been willing to sell would barely run a decades-old operating system, let alone a flight simulator, and she had to turn them down. The schools were the last option, and they were the only organization in town that might have one or two to spare.

  "So tell me what you want them for again?" Paxton asked.

  "Flight simulators, Mr. Paxton," Marie said. "Colonel Wood would like to have some computer-aided training so he doesn't have to risk the few aircraft we have training new pilots. With the war . . ."

  Mr. Paxton sighed as he wrote something on a scrap of paper. "Yes, the war. I know. I suppose that means all those fancy new Gustavs and the Belle will be off fighting at the front. Kinda hard to train pilots when you don't have any aircraft around."

  "Yes, sir. It is."

  "Thing is, everyone is coming to me to ask for computers." Paxton handed her the scrap of paper. "The government. New businesses. Everyone just wants a few of our computers. Granted, your reason seems better than most."

  "What's this?" Marie asked.

  "That's how much it will cost," he replied. "Per computer."

  Marie thought her eyes were going to pop out of her head when she saw the cost. "That's . . . outrageous!"

  "Demand is high," Paxton said. "The government taxes us more than enough, so they should be able to afford it. And besides, the school could always use the extra money."

  Marie sighed and bit her lower lip. She didn't think the Air Force had that kind of budget, but if they wanted the simulator, they needed those computers. "I'll talk to the Air Force and let you know sometime next week."

  March, 1634

  "Be careful with that!" Marie shouted. "Those are fragile, and if you break one, it can't be replaced."

  The young Irish enlisted looked confused, and he probably had no idea why the metal box was so important. "Aye, lass, we'll be careful with your little boxes."

  "Good." Marie couldn't help being short with them. Somewhere in the back of her head, she just couldn't trust anyone else with the computers. She had expended considerable time, effort, and a lot of the government's money, to get them from the school district. The last thing she wanted to do was try to replace one.

  She was nearly at her wit's end from trying to get the aircraft models perfected. She had barely gotten the Belle model running to her satisfaction when Major Horton dropped the technical data for the Gustav in her lap. That had been much harder to complete. Most of the pilots who had any experience flying that aircraft were at the front fighting a war.

  Marie must have done something right, though, as she had been teaching some down-time pilots and flight cadets the finer points of using the simulator. A few had started to visit her in the shed, and she assumed they were the ones who lobbied to get her into someplace better. Her new room was in one of the first buildings on the air base and much closer to the flight school. It also had a ceiling that didn't leak and a floor that wasn't dirt.

  "So how do you like your new digs, Ms. Moritz?" Colonel Wood asked

  Marie nearly jumped five f
eet into the air since she hadn't realized he had entered the room. "It's better than the back of a hangar. It's nice to have a ceiling that isn't a plastic tarp."

  "The secret is that we put the tarp over the roof," he said with a smile.

  Marie smiled and giggled. I'm glad someone around here doesn't have a stick up their butt. "What bring you up here? I thought you were out of town on official business?"

  "Just passing through, Ms. Moritz," he said. "I'm just stopping in to get my mail." He turned to leave the room, but stopped just before the doorway. "Since I'm here, how about you set me up on the simulator."

  "You'll have to give me a minute," she said. "I don't have the computer hooked up yet." Marie slid under the table, connecting the computer with its peripherals. The room had electricity, but the only outlet was a power strip fed by a bright orange extension cord that ran across the floor, so she had to be careful not to overload it by plugging in too many items. The last thing she wanted was to be responsible for the "Great Hans Richter Air Field Fire."

  Once everything was plugged in and running, Marie inserted the program's CD and set up a flight. "How would you like to be the first one to test the Gustav?"

  "I'd be honored, Ms. Moritz," Colonel Wood replied.

  The Price of Dumplings

  by Terry Howard

  "Hey, John Ose, which one of these birds is the scrawniest?" Arch Pennock asked, eying the chickens.

  Janos Tamas stopped what he was doing and looked up from his place inside the open air market stall. Behind him were crates of live chickens. In front of him were half a dozen plucked, gutted birds, hanging head down. Off to one side was a hook over a large kettle of boiling water for plucking. At the other side of the stall was a gutting and sorting area. Livers, hearts and gizzards, and chitterlings each went into separate buckets.

  "Mister Pennock, good morning. What means scrawniest?"

  "The least plump, the smallest."

  "Mister Pennock, if you want a cheap chicken, they are cheaper live."