“What’s DKL saying?” Merton asked.
“More delays.” DKL Power Systems had followed closely in Swartz Aviation’s footsteps and had just finished its test engine. They insisted that they had most of the parts for the next half-dozen. But there were delays as people constantly underestimated the stresses that internal combustion put on engines. DKL had gone with a heavier nine-cylinder design that was supposed to deliver a bit over two hundred horsepower. Not that it mattered to M amp;S, because when Farrell had approached them he was informed that it would be six months at least before DKL Power Systems could start on new orders. Farrell didn’t know which companies were ordering the new engines, but aside from the Kitts, the Kellys and the USE Air Force, there were three other aircraft manufacturers still trading on the Grantville exchange: one in Essen, one outside of Magdeburg and one in Brandenburg of all places. And that didn’t count the privately-held companies or the government-backed programs in nations all over Europe. There had been a lot more right after the Belle flew, but most of them had folded since, finding the making of airplanes beyond their capability and all too often finding it out the hard way.
“What about Lufen?” Merton asked.
“No, absolutely not. I am not putting a jet engine near a composite wing. Even if they ever do get it to work without burning up.” Lufen Jet Works was trying to build a jet engine using ceramics to handle the heat. They were using a small, low-horsepower four-cylinder engine to run fan compressors and force air into a combustion chamber. The jets would-if it ever worked-deliver thrust only, but-again, if it worked-it would let a twenty-five-horsepower engine produce thrust equivalent to around two hundred horsepower, because all the twenty-five-horsepower engine would actually be doing was providing air to the jet. From what Farrell had heard, it would be an amazing fuel hog, but would be able to use just about any liquid fuel in the main combustion chamber. There were quite a few groups like that, trying different things to see what would work. The combination of the information in the State Library and lots of bright people doing lots of different experiments was producing some weird results and an incredible number of expensive and sometimes fatal failures.
In any case, with the amount of work they had to do and the number of mostly finished aircraft components that were sitting waiting for engines and final assembly meant that M amp;S had simply run out of room. They had needed a new shop for months and since it looked like RDA was planning to go its own way, M amp;S was in final negotiations for a piece of land near Magdeburg. Georg was up there now looking over the shop. He was going to run the Magdeburg plant so that Farrell could stay in Grantville. Now this. The king in the Low Countries was offering to buy controlling interest in M amp;S Aviation for a fairly tidy sum-with the agreement that they move their main manufacturing facility to Brussels.
“So after stealing our designs didn’t work, they want to buy us out?”
Merton just shrugged again.
Farrell wasn’t surprised, really. Anyone that had something that might fly had three copycats by the end of the week and M amp;S had the Mercury, only a couple of which had been built and one had suffered a fatal crash. And the Saturn, one of which had been built and was flying. And finally the Jupiter, three in actual operation and another when they got the engines from Swartz Aviation. Of course, they had copycats. Hell, they probably had copycats in every major country in Europe, almost all of which were waiting on engines and most of which would crash within minutes of their first takeoff if they ever got them. “Well, what do you think? You own twenty-five thousand shares of the company.”
“Get real, Dad. M and S Aviation is your deal. The shares you gave us when you and Georg started it…it was nice and all, but it’s your baby.”
Georg stared at the ribbons and seal. “King Fernando wants to buy us now, yes?”
“So I’m told,” Magdalena said. “And this whole thing of landing in Grantville, then taking the train to Magdeburg is just silly. I’m going to mention that when I get back. Again.” Once you were a flyer, trains were just plain slow.
“I only just got this operation up and moving, Maggie.”
“You’d like Brussels,” Magdalena coaxed. The more she thought about marrying Georg, the more she wanted to. Besides, the apartment in Brussels was just plain lonesome.
“Farrell doesn’t want to leave Grantville.”
“Have you asked?”
Nearly every up-time face in Cora’s new outdoor eating area turned away from Mary. Which just really ticked her off.
“Well, the king is offering top dollar,” she said loudly. “But that’s not the reason we’re considering it. We’re mostly considering it because this place is a backwoods dive where everybody knows your business and isn’t afraid to start bossing you around. For your own good, of course.”
After weeks and weeks of remarks, Mary was at the end of her patience. She and Farrell had decided to vote against the sale. Right up to the moment she’d read an article in the Grantville Times that out-and-out accused Farrell and Georg of treason.
Flo Richards chuckled. “You go, girl.”
“Easy for you to say, Flo. They’re not accusing you of treason- which it isn’t!”
The loudness of the last three words made Flo flinch. “I know that. And you never know. J. D. and I may go somewhere. You can’t really raise that many sheep in these dratted hills. And I had a lot of fun on the trip to Amsterdam, you know.”
“I’m stifled,” Mary said. “This town is stifling. And it’s getting worse, with all this publicity.”
“It’ll blow over. Nobody was fool enough to take up that bill and try to get it passed. Besides, you wouldn’t have had to sell the company, anyway, if it did pass. Just dissolve it, then move as a private person.” Flo snorted. “I can’t believe some of those idiot politicians.”
Cora bustled up with their coffee, including one for herself. “You know, Mary, I think you’re right. There are too many people who are only too willing to tell a person what they ought to do these days.” She raised her voice. “I’m thinking about selling out and moving to Bamberg myself. Get away from all these old fogies.”
Then she winked at Mary and Flo. “See how they like that one.”
“What’s the matter, Mary?” Farrell had been wondering that for weeks. Mary had gotten quieter and quieter since her mother’s death from flu in January.
“Grantville’s just not the same anymore.” Mary sighed. “Mom’s gone. So many people have moved away. Judy and John are talking about moving down to Bamberg now that the capitol is there. Merton’s moved to Brussels and we only see him twice a month or so. I guess I’m just…I don’t know…stale. Just tired and stale and I’d like a change.”
Farrell kind of felt that there had been plenty of change in the last five years, but in another way he did understand. It was sort of like empty nest syndrome, only different. He and Mary weren’t exactly retirement age-and God knew there wasn’t any kind of retirement system-but they’d often talked about what they’d do once they did retire. Most of that talk had been about getting out of Grantville, going someplace warm in the winter and cooler in the summer. Traveling in Europe, Canada and Mexico.