1634: Turn Your Radio On (17 page)

"Oh, I was out for a walk and decided to catch the trolley home." Fischer decided that she didn't need to know that he'd been sitting on this bench re-reading the same page of yesterday's Grantville Times for the last forty-five minutes. "Since I've been given Monday nights off, I missed you at Bible study this week. What did you think of how Elder Freidrich handled it?"

"Fine, fine," Constanzia responded as she sat down beside him. "Of course, he's not you, but I think he handled the conversations well. And very importantly, he began and ended on time. As a teacher, I appreciate that."

Fischer was stuck on what to say for a moment, but then added, "That was very difficult for me when I replaced Reverend Chalker. I'm sure Elder Johann will do just fine."

Then he took the plunge. "Since we're here, would you like to share a bite to eat with me? I hate to eat alone. Pete is out of town bidding a new job and Susannah is having dinner with her family tonight."

Constanzia's eyes widened slightly. "Oh, I'm not dressed to go anyplace fancy . . . "

"Oh no, no place fancy. What do you think of the pizza place downtown? You do teach Italian, don't you?"

After continuing their conversation on the trolley ride downtown and while sharing a pizza, Fischer decided that the time had come for him to ask the question that Susannah had demanded he ask, "Constanzia . . . ”

As he paused, she thought,
Is he about to ask what I think he’s been leading up to? Surely not! What will I say? How will I tell Catharina, much less my father?

Finally, Dieter found the words he had been searching for, “Constanzia, as you know, I'm just a simple pastor, but God has been good to me since coming to Grantville . . . Well, I don't know if you have a boyfriend or not, and I was thinking . . . I mean . . . Would it be possible for me to ask your permission to call on you?"

Raising one eyebrow, Constanzia said, "You mean, like going out?"

Now it was Fischer's turn to flush, "Yes, like for going out and seeing each other regularly."

"Why Reverend Fischer! Yes! I'd love to see you regularly." Constanzia broke into a big smile and took his hand in hers.

"Well, in that case . . . " Fischer placed his other hand over hers. "I guess you'll need to learn to call me Dieter."

"What are you so damn happy about, Marc?"

Startled by the tone John Grover was using this morning, Der Kronz immediately became cautious, "Why it's the demonstrators, Mr. Grover. They're down the road below the station with their picket signs again."

Three weeks before, on a sales call, one of Marc's advertisers had convinced him that the seventeenth century was the perfect venue for a revival of disco. After dragging Marc into his basement, he pulled out eight boxes filled with the disco hits of the 1970's, albums and disco long playing records alike. Lovingly, he explained how, " . . . the disco dances. Well, they're just like the dances you dance here in this time period, only faster!"

Dubious at first, Marc agreed to listen to one song. As it played, the man flipped a couple of switches and suddenly, the main room lights went out and millions of small lights seemed to dance around the room, each reflecting a hidden spotlight off of a spinning ball covered with mirrors which was mounted on the ceiling.

If there was one thing that Marc understood, it was opportunity. This was definitely an opportunity. An hour later, Marc walked out of the man's store with a firm advertising contract for an eight week, one hour show to be named
The Mirror Ball Disco Hour
and a handful of records to take back to the station to convince Deanna Dee of the necessity and public need for a dance show such as this.

"Oh God, no! Not
disco
!" was Deanna Dee's immediate response.

It took several hours of Marc's best persuasion tactics before Deanna Dee would finally agree to allow the music on the air. And now, demonstrators and pickets outside the station begging for more! Marc could have kissed them all.

In fact, he made it a point to bring fresh pastries every morning since the demonstrators had first shown up, obtained through an advertising trade out of course. Why not? The news of the pro-disco demonstration had made all the local news outlets, except for The Voice of America. As far as Marc could tell, this new show was almost as popular as
Live from Thuringen Gardens
or
The Ole Timey Radio Hour
.

At least, his advertisers thought so, and paid for the time accordingly.

"What's wrong, Mr. Grover? Anything I can help with?"

"Maybe." Grover was definitely in a funk this morning. "Come on in my office, Marc. Maybe you can help with this situation."

As Marc followed Grover into his office, he saw that Conrad Mueller, GE head of the tube design project and station engineer Jennifer Hanson were already there. It was readily apparent that they shared John Grover's mood.

"What's wrong?" Marc asked in a worried tone. "Have we burned out another tube?"

"No, the tubes are fine." Jennifer answered.

"It's Art Berry . . . again," added Conrad.

"Who's Art Berry?" Marc asked.

"It's a long story," John replied. "He's this up-timer radio engineer that got screwed by some goddamned radio station up-time and ever since, he's bent over backwards not to get involved with any corporate politics.

"He's figured out how to set up a universal radio link." John picked a letter up off his desk and waved it in his hand. " Right now. Just as we've made a breakthrough on a solution to the Army contract, a better solution than what Art's come up with, but which won't be ready to go until this fall at the earliest."

"So. What's the problem?" Marc figured he obviously didn't understand something here. It seemed like having a solution now was better than a solution in the fall and while it would have been nice to have had it last year . . . Well, that was spilt milk.

John snapped out the answer. "The problem is that he won't license his solution to GE. The way I read this is that he's basically setting up his own company to provide long-range communications for private business.”

Marc looked confused. “That's not the same thing as what we're doing here, is it?"

Jennifer handled this one, "No. Back up-time we called that 'narrow casting.' Point to point stuff. Here, look at his letter."

Taking a minute to comprehend what Art Berry’s letter implied, Marc asked about the contract with the Pentecostals to provide a ‘remote link’ that Art made reference to.

After Jennifer explained the concept, Marc could feel an opportunity at hand. “If Art Berry can set up a live broadcast from the Pentecostal tent anywhere along the rail line, then he could set up a live remote from practically anywhere else in the USE, right?"

Jennifer looked confused that Marc would ask something that was so obvious. "Well, of course. So long as he's got the relay units to repeat the signal from the starting point to the destination, that's how it should work. Why?"

"It's just so simple. We don't need to license his solution. We just contract with him for live remotes for The Voice of America." Marc looked around to make sure they were all still with him. "Think of what we could do with a live remote broadcast from the main farmer's markets during the commodity reports. Or a live interview with a doctor who's trying to get vaccine to in an area where disease has broken out during
The Medical Minute
. Or for that matter, just live coverage of the Federal government meetings in Magdeburg, or the elections this fall.

"Who knows how much more advertising revenue I could generate with that kind of programming? Besides, if our contracts say unexpected third party discoveries are to be forwarded directly to the government without setting aside GE's rights, won't Art's say the same thing?" Now Marc knew it was time just to shut up until someone else spoke first.

John thought for a few moments. Finally, he smiled and looked up. "You know, Marc, I think you solved our problem. Let's figure out how to hire Art to start providing live remotes for VOA."

April 1634, Halle, State of Thuringia-Franconia, United States of Europe

Fischer was sitting outside the RV after the first night of the Halle revival watching the work being done on its exterior. The first two stops at Jena and Bad Kösen had both been madhouses. The area around the RV's had been crowded with local sightseers and others drawn to the strangers in their up-timer mechanical houses. Since Slater had added fencing around the back of the revival tents during the Naumburg revival last week, the number of local townspeople who were able to just drop in on the tents and RV's where the church members stayed had dropped dramatically. So, it was a complete surprise when he felt a tap on his shoulder and turned see the man dressed in a USE Army uniform with three stripes on the sleeves.

"Sergeant Terrell Nemeth. Reporting for duty!"

"Terrell, what a surprise to see you here! Welcome!" Fischer embraced the Pentecostal's newest minister-in-training. "Sit down and tell me what brings you to Halle."

After Terrell and Fischer had caught each other up on the latest news of Terrell's family back in Grantville, Terrell asked, "What's with the paint crew, Preacher?"

With a smile, Fischer explained, "Oh . . . well, the last night at Naumburg, that fellow came up to the altar and heard the call."

Fischer pointed to the older man standing on a ladder and painting an outline on the side of the vehicle. "Afterwards, he came back to the camp and introduced himself to me. He's a friend of Joachim von Sandrart, who's a really well-known painter around Europe. Since we set our tent up right where the railroad crossed the High Road, he saw us and the Lord brought him to us. He was so dazzled by our RV that he had an inspiration to paint a religious scene on its sides."

Terrell laughed. "Why not? Back up-time, us hillbillies wouldn't be caught dead at the NASCAR racetracks without some kind of a painting on our trailers. I was just a kid, but it seems to me most of them were ads for motor oil or gasoline, or almost nekkid ladies."

Fischer couldn't help grinning. "So, in the interest of getting the job completed before we get to Magdeburg, our artist and his two apprentices are traveling with us and working on the painting wherever we set up camp. He's laying out the grid and his apprentices are transferring his design to the side of the RV. Then he plans to finish up the faces and specific details. I think he's saving the faces till the end. It's a very fascinating process to watch."

They both watched the process proceed for a time, until Fischer asked, "So, what brings you to the revival? I thought you were still posted in Erfurt."

"I am, but I'm working with Warrant Officer Berry to set up the RCE relay for the test broadcast tomorrow night." VOA had agreed to sell an hour on Thursday night for a live broadcast from the revival coming up in Magdeburg. But, only if Art Berry's new venture, which he called the Radio Corporation of Europe, could successfully provide a live hour-long feed before any problems could find their way on the air. Since Art had planned for a relay to be set up in Halle anyway, the Pentecostals had agreed to pay for the test run from here.

"Art got here last week." Terrell grinned and spread his hands out wide. "Since I had to catch a late train, I decided to drop in on the revival and see the master at work. I didn't realize I'd be watching two masters!"

"Do you think the relay will work smoothly, Terrell?"

His face serious again, Terrell answered, "Absolutely, Reverend. Art is a real good guy and definitely knows his stuff. He's really taught me a lot since I transferred over in January. This point to point communication relay system he's devised is going to revolutionize coordination between the major hubs and VOA's broadcast facility."

Leaning forward, Terrell looked very earnestly into Fischer's eyes. "Keep it to yourself, Preacher, but this war should be over by July at the latest. I can't say a lot, but it's no secret that the fleet is getting ready to make its move soon. That means that Hamburg is still in the way and only Christian's capital at Copenhagen is between it and our army under siege in Lübeck."

Terrell paused. "I don't see how either of those strongholds can stand up to Simpson's navy. From there, it's game, set, match."

Fischer was stunned that the war that had been the background of his entire life could be so close to being over, but Terrell's analysis made sense. All those years of wandering, all the towns struggling with displaced refugees and plague and marauding mercenaries and armies stealing their food and supplies . . . all of it was almost at an end. It was truly a miracle. If he had not already seen the power of these people from the future to force their will on the world around them, Fischer would never have believed it.

After Halle, only two more stops at Kloster Mansfeld and Stassfurt and then, the Magdeburg revival that they'd been looking forward to was at hand. Fischer marveled at God's timing, bringing His message to the capital at a point in history like this. Peace at last at the end of sixteen years of war. What was God trying to tell him?

May 1634, Grantville, State of Thuringia-Franconia, United States of Europe

The early morning light illuminated the hilltops, creating the illusion of islands in the dark mists of the valleys below. Fischer couldn't sleep, so he got dressed and made his way up to his favorite spot by the old logging road overlooking the roofs of Grantville.

He was anxious about the journey he was to make today. Perhaps coming up here to pray and study would relax him before boarding the RV to Magdeburg.

The view had certainly changed since the first days he brought his notes up here to learn this up-timer doctrine rooted in the earliest days of Christianity. Then, it had been a collection of twentieth century, flat roofs downtown surrounded by nineteenth-century house roofs and spires. Now, most of the cheaper up-time houses, along with the previously vacant lots, were filled with seventeenth-century two- and three-story brick or daub and wattled half-timbered townhouses with good Thuringian red tile roofs.