They had reached Frank's house and Mike pulled up the truck. Quietly, he added: "We're in a race against time, Frank, is what it is. So far we've been able to run a long way with the initial edge we had. But it won't last-not any of it, including the politics and the ideals. Not unless we convert, if I can use the term, enough of the people in this world so that they can pick up the slack after most of the original Americans have slacked off. Or it'll all start coming apart."
Frank studied him for a moment. "You've been listening to Becky, haven't you?"
"Yes. And, God, do I miss her."
"Yeah, me too. Although that stuff sounds gloomier than she usually does."
Mike shrugged. "I'm not actually 'gloomy' about it, Frank. Neither's Becky, for that matter. I'm just trying to be realistic, so I don't get caught by surprise when the time comes. And, what's probably way more important, don't screw up ahead of time and fail to take steps that'll make it easier."
Frank's eyes narrowed a little. Mike grinned.
"No, dammit! I'm not thinking of coups d'йtat and all that other banana republic bullshit."
Frank didn't quite heave a sigh of relief. Not quite. "Well, that's good. We've been friends a long time and I'd really hate to see it hit the rocks. Which it would if… ah, hell. Yeah, there's no way I'd let my troops get used to break strikes, sure-my resignation's on the table the first time anybody asks. But that's not the same thing as, you know, military rule and all that."
Mike was still grinning. "I said I'd been listening to Becky, Frank. Not Otto von Bismarck."
"Who?"
The grin widened. "It's no wonder you flunked history."
"I got a D, dammit. I didn't flunk." Frank opened the door and started to get out. "I'll admit, I think Mr. Pierce only gave me the D 'cause he wanted to get me out of his class. Still, I didn't flunk. Says so right on the high school transcript."
Once out of the car, he closed the door and leaned through the open window. "So where you off to now? And what is this mysterious meeting you said you couldn't miss?"
Mike grin faded some, but didn't vanish entirely. "Oh, hard to explain. Let's just say I hope to take one of those little precautionary steps I was talking about."
Frank leaned away from the truck, shaking his head. "Glad I'm just a grunt. Even if nowadays I do wear a fancy-hey, now that I think about it, we never did get around to designing a suitable uniform for-harumph!-the Army Chief of Staff. How much gold braid d'you think I ought to insist on? Two pounds? Three?"
Mike drove off.
"Geez," complained Frank, "you didn't hafta peel rubber… We ain't got much rubber left, y'know!" he yelled after the truck.
Smiling, Frank walked toward his house. His wife Diane was already opening the door.
"That boy worries too much," he announced.
Diane shook her head solemnly. "Not enough," she pronounced. Looking down on her, less than five feet tall, Frank was suddenly reminded that she came from a country named Vietnam.
"Maybe you're right," he allowed.
The meeting was held on "neutral ground," insofar as that term meant anything in Grantville. Whatever the future might bring, for the moment Grantville was still solidly in the hands of Mike Stearns and his supporters. But, in the year and a half since it had opened, the Thuringen Gardens had become such a famous landmark of the town that almost everyone would accept it as a suitable place for an informal meeting.
Even the man who had, once, been the duke of the region.
"You're looking good, Wilhelm," said Mike, shaking the hand held out to him.
Wilhelm of Saxe-Weimar smiled and, with the same hand, invited Mike to sit at the small table in the booth. "Does a booth suit you? I thought it would be quieter than trying to speak in the main room."
Mike grimaced. Trying to have an actual conversation in the main room of the Gardens on a Friday night-any night of the week, actually-would have taxed the lungs of an ox. "No, this is fine. In fact, let's draw the curtains."
He reached behind him and did so. When he turned back, Wilhelm was already seated. Next to him was a man who bore a close resemblance.
"I trust you will not object if my brother Albrecht stays. I would have asked Ernst to come also, but-as I believe you know-he is campaigning with General Banйr against the Bavarians."
Mike shook his head. "Not at all. In fact, I should have asked you to bring him myself."
They made small talk until a waitress appeared with a pitcher of beer and three mugs. Then, after taking a sip and smacking his lips appreciatively, Wilhelm set down the mug and folded his hands on the table.
"So, Michael. Why did you ask me here?"
Mike studied him for a moment. The four Saxe-Weimar brothers-Wilhelm, Albrecht, Ernst and Bernhard-still constituted the official ruling aristocracy of the region. Wilhelm, the oldest and senior of the Saxe-Weimar dukes, was a slender man in his mid-thirties-just about Mike's own age. His brown eyes were those of an intellectual, though, not a cavalier. The more so as they peered at Mike through a pair of American-made spectacles. The fact that Wilhelm's command of English had become excellent and almost unaccented, in a relatively short time, was just one indication of the man's intelligence. Truth be told, Wilhelm's English was better than Mike's German-and Mike had concentrated on learning that language.
An intellectual's eyes, yes. But still, at the same time, those of a man accustomed to wielding authority and moving easily in the corridors of power. The eyes of a dean, perhaps, or a college president-and of a major and prestigious university, at that-not an absentminded associate professor still unsure of gaining tenure. Mike had never allowed himself to forget that the man sitting across from him was one of Gustav Adolf's most trusted German allies and advisers.
"I wanted to offer you a position on the Supreme Court," Mike said abruptly. "Not Chief Justice-I'm going to be renominating Chuck Riddle for that-but the next nomination I'll be sending to the Congress. I can't make any guarantees, of course, but I don't imagine there'll be much in the way of opposition."
Wilhelm studied him for a moment, his eyes indicating nothing beyond calm calculation. Then:
"You've decided to move quickly, I take it. You are not required by law to make permanent nominations until the 'emergency period' is over. Which is not for several more months."
Mike lifted his shoulders. The gesture was not so much a shrug as the movement of a man shedding a load.
"Why wait? Damn the formalities. The only legitimate purpose of the emergency period was to give the new government a bit of breathing space right after being formed. Which we don't need any longer. If you start getting into the habit of stretching things like this… it gets to be a habit."
There was a moment's silence as Wilhelm continued his calm scrutiny. "Good for you," he said quietly. "But will you extend that across the gamut? Or is it just to be with the judicial structure?" Wilhelm took another sip of his beer. "I feel obliged to give you fair warning. If I take a seat on the Supreme Court, I will rule favorably on any challenge to having Frank Jackson remain Vice-President while he continues to serve as head of the Army. One or the other, Michael, but not both."
Mike inclined his head, combining a nod with lifting his own tankard. "It's a moot point, Wilhelm-or will be soon, at any rate. Frank's going to resign as Vice-President, as soon as I announce that the government considers the emergency period at an end."