Eric Flint: Grantville Gazette.Volume XIII

Bernie could understand why Pter Nickovich was so nervous. Today the czar, the czarina and some members of the cabinet had come to see his baby fly. Bernie looked over at the big shots. They were gawking. Totally gone. You'd think the aliens were landing or something. Then he thought about it. Granted, it wasn't that much of a dirigible. It had no power and there wasn't much you could do with it, not yet. But, Nikita was the first Russian to fly in this time line.

Shit, this was history. For here and now, this was like the first rocket ship to the moon or something. Bernie found himself giggling a bit. Nikita Ivanovich Slavenitsky was a nice guy and usually had a joke to tell or a dirty story. But he wasn't the sort of guy you would think of as Neil Armstrong or whoever. But Nicky was going down in history.

One of the big shots was looking a bit offended. "You find this funny?"

Bernie had forgotten the guy's name. He was the head of the Embassy Bureau, Bernie knew that much. "It's not that, sir. I just never thought that a guy I had a beer with every now and then would make history."

"History?" The guy paused. Looked up and nodded. "The first Russian to fly."

"Yes, sir," Bernie said. "Nikita Ivanovich Slavenitsky and Pter Nickovich have done Russia proud today. Real proud."

The big shot looked at Bernie a bit sharply for a moment, then he smiled. "You will excuse me, Bernie Janovich. I must speak to the czar."

Ivan Ivanovich headed back to the czar in a rather bemused state of mind. He wasn't sure what to make of the up-timer. He hadn't tried to take credit for the flight, even though Ivan knew that Bernie's explanations had been a large part of making it possible. Nor had he been demeaning of the Russian efforts. Ivan didn't know what to make of the man, and that bothered him. He glanced up at the flying carriage. He wanted control of such devices if he could manage it. He thought they would be important.

"We can fly," Evdokia, Czarina of All Russia-and sometimes a real pain in the butt-insisted. Mikhail looked at his wife and sighed. He knew he was going to lose the argument. They were in the best room in the Dacha and it had been an interesting day.

"I know how you feel," he tried, though in truth he didn't. He knew his Doshinka had dreams of flight but he never had. Mikhail's dreams tended to be dark things, best forgotten. "But we have real problems that we must deal with."

Evdokia, thankfully, didn't ignore the problems, though Mikhail was fairly sure she wanted to. "I know, Mikhail. But I think that Pter Nickovich made some excellent points about the usefulness of such a flying ship. More importantly, though, is the useful thing he didn't mention."

"What useful thing is that?"

"Pride. Pride in being Russian. Pride in being a part of something great. Who is, ah, was… will be that up-time general that Mikhail Borisovich Shein is always quoting about eggs?

Mikhail shook his head, not able to remember the name. He thought the general was French but that was all he remembered.

"Well, that's not the only quote. The general Nappy something also said that the moral is to the physical as three to one." She grinned. "I think to the fiscal, it's even more. Let us fill the hearts of the people of Russia with pride in who they are. Not with fear of the bureaucrats."

Mikhail looked at his wife for long time, just taking in the bubbling excitement. She fairly glowed with it. Could Pter Nickovich's big balloon really produce such a reaction? And if it produced that sort of reaction in the Russian heart, what effect would it have on the Polish heart and the Cossack heart? "Very well. I will support the project. I can make no promises, mind."

Evdokia just grinned. Somehow, as pleasant as that smile was, it made Mikhail a bit nervous.

The dog and pony show had been going on for three days. Bernie had been moved into his garage, because of all the important people who had shown up. He didn't mind it, especially. The garage was where he was trying to fix the car, without a lot of success. The VIP visit, Boris said, was going quite well. But it was still a total pain in the butt.

Bernie had spent most of the last three days explaining that it was really Vanya, Misha, Filip, Grigorii and the others who had actually worked out all the improvements. He had just helped a bit. Really, the whole thing was kind of embarrassing. The only good thing about the whole dratted business was the thankful looks he got from the brain cases. They had apparently not expected to be given credit. Finally, he had had to sneak away. When Grigorii Mikhailovich started explaining orbital mechanics and Newton's laws of motion, Bernie's brain started to fry. He just didn't want to hear it again, not right now.

He was having a beer in the kitchen when the door opened unexpectedly. At first Bernie was afraid that one of the brain cases had come looking for him again. But, no… it wasn't a brain case. Jeez. This was the boss, the big boss.

"Howdy, Your… ah… Majesty." Bernie snaked out an arm and grabbed a chair. "Have a seat."

The big guards who followed the czar around were looking daggers-or maybe swords-at Bernie. Apparently they thought he was supposed to be doing something differently, but Bernie was tired and couldn't figure what. "Say, Your Majesty, why is the muscle looking pissed at me?"

Bernie knew that the czar knew some English but it didn't appear to be modern English. "Muscle? Pissed?"

"Ah, guards looking angry. I figure that I've done something I'm not supposed to do. That, or I ain't done something I am supposed to do. But I don't know what."

The czar nodded. "Probably you didn't bow. Bernie, is it?"

"Yes, sir. Bernard, really, but that makes me sound like some kind of old coot. I like Bernie better."

"Do you?" The czar laughed. "I'll call you Bernie, then."

"I'd appreciate it more than I can say. Thank you, Your Majesty." Grinning, Bernie stood up and swept the czar the most impressive bow he could manage. After watching movies all his life, it wasn't all that bad. Not really right, but impressive, in its own way. For some reason the guards were looking daggers at him again, but the czar cracked up. That laugh made Bernie feel better. Looking at the guy, Czar Mikhail, Bernie figured he didn't get to laugh all that much.

Bernie sat down again and repeated his offer of a chair. "I'm playing hooky. I'm supposed to be in one of the lectures explaining that I didn't do anything. You want a beer?" Sure, he was an older guy, and the czar, and all that crap… but he was a guy. Bernie figured he could use a beer now and then, just like anyone else.

Mikhail Fedorovich Romanov was more than a little bemused by the up-timer. He had been impressed, seriously impressed, by the demonstrations. There was a telegraph that allowed messages to be sent from one part of the estate to another. The plumbing system… ah, the plumbing system. He wanted that in his palace. Also the telegraph, all through the Kremlin. That would be good.

The military applications of the telegraph were obvious-if it could be made to work over any real distance. And they talked of radios that might be made that would not need the wires. He had been briefed on most of it, but hearing was not the same as seeing.

Mikhail had also noticed that Bernie was constantly giving credit to the local experts for doing the work and solving the problems. He had wondered how much of that was truth and how much politics. "I noticed you explaining again and again that you didn't do anything. Is it true?"

"Mostly, yeah." Bernie shook his head. "When I got here… well, I was never the smartest kid in class but I figured with a four-hundred-year head start, I ought to be able to teach you guys something. Mostly, though, I'm sort of a glorified dictionary. I explain words that have changed meanings and words that English didn't have, doesn't have, now, that it had up-time. And everyone here is smarter than I am."