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Frederick Rosenvelt, governor of New Amsterdam, held open a newspaper broadsheet as he studied its contents. Finished, he quietly folded it back to its original configuration, revealing the front page of a week old copy of the New Amsterdam Times. Pride of place was occupied by a picture of Germanian Chancellor Tanya von Degurechaff, caught in the act of running her hand through her hair shortly after descending on Londinium from the sky.

Rosenvelt's wife had already asked him where she might buy a copy of her leather jacket.

The headline of the New Amsterdam Times explained, with its typical restraint, "Chancellor Degurechaff Arrives Early to Diplomatic Summit." Rosenvelt set the paper down on his desk, on top of the same day's New Amsterdam Post, featuring the same picture and the full page announcement, "DEVIL DROPS BY FOR TEA." Rosenvelt reached for the next newspaper on the pile, this one far more difficult for an American to obtain. There wasn't much call for Germanian party newsletters to be delivered to America, after all, even one with the relatively grandiose name of the National Observer.

Rosenvelt was not exactly fluent in Germanian, but he could puzzle out the language well enough. His task was made easier by the fact that the only portion of the newsletter that he was interested in was the transcription of one of then-representative Degurechaff's speeches.

The Governor's office was silent but for the rustling of paper and the ticking of his grandfather clock. Spending his precious free time reading through a foreign politician's body of rhetoric wasn't exactly Rosenvelt's idea of a good time, but he didn't mind. It was far from the most onerous thing he'd had to do in order to get as far as he had in his career.

The silence wasn't broken until after he had worked through almost all of his reading material. A knock sounded on the door, followed a moment later by the door cracking open as his secretary poked her head into the office.

"Mr. Morrow's here to see you, sir."

"Excellent, send him in."

Charles Morrow had been one of the pioneers who built the Unified States's aerial mage program from scratch. While the Legadonian immigrant Mary Sue had been a more powerful mage and racked up more individual accomplishments during the war, it was Morrow, more than anybody else, who was responsible for the impressive performance of the aerial mage corps as a whole.

Now retired from the military and in his early forties, Morrow spent much of his time raising hell on the New Amsterdam social scene. Not much of a change from his younger days, in truth. It had taken the American entry into the Great War to get him to buckle down and stop chasing tail, and Rosenvelt honestly wasn't even sure that had done the trick.

The two men first met years ago at a "farewell to booze" party on the eve of Prohibition. The staid politician and wild-eyed flight mage had first found common ground over a drink. Over time they had developed an odd but genuine friendship.

One of Rosenvelt's cousins had some business interests in Germania. Morrow had been happy to be hired for a short term job "exploring investment opportunities." Considering that Rosenvelt wanted a first hand report of the country that had been in the news so often recently, he didn't even mind that Morrow had likely spent half his time in beer halls.

"Charlie, good to see you," Rosenvelt said, grasping his friend's hand as he came to stand in front of the desk.

"Governor," Morrow said, before Rosenvelt waved him off.

"None of that, now," he said, before wheeling himself over to the cabinet by the wall. "If memory serves, you take your martini dry, with two olives."

"What would the people of New Amsterdam say if they knew their governor was violating the Constitution so easily?"

"They'd probably ask me for a drink," Rosenvelt said. He could sympathize with the motivation of the temperance movement, but by now Prohibition was more farce than law. The experiment had some value, at least, in showing that even the Constitution couldn't change human nature.

"Ah, what the hell," Morrow said. "I could use it."

"Did you not get a chance to recover?" Rosenvelt asked, frowning even as he mixed the drink with practiced ease. "I instructed the staff to give you some space."

Friends in high places had helped Morrow hold on to his computation orb after he retired. It was a handy thing when it came to moving around the world, though there were few who could use it to fly across the Atlantic in one go. That kind of long distance flight took a toll on the body, and Morrow wasn't as young as he used to be.

"No, no, it was fine," Morrow said, taking the proffered glass and taking a grateful sip. "My body just half thinks it's still on Berun time."

Rosenvelt was old enough to remember the time before powered flight and the modern computation orb. He considered it something of a miracle that within the course of his life would come a time when a man could be disoriented by rapidly changing time zones.

"Speaking of Berun," he said, "how are things in Germania these days?"

"You'll love this," Morrow replied. "I picked it up from a roadside stall."

He reached into his satchel and withdrew a small wooden statue. The carving depicted a woman holding her hand out in benediction while staring out over the world with a stern expression on her face. Rosenvelt would have thought it a depiction of an angel but for two things. First, the statue lacked wings. Second, while the dress the figure was wearing fit with religious tradition, the distinct Germanian military-style jacket on its upper body very much did not.

"Is Degurechaff encouraging this kind of thing?"

If so, he had badly misread her.

"Nah, they're popping up out in the sticks. You know how superstitious farmers can be," Morrow said. "Now, these are all the rage in the capital right now."

The next item he drew out of his satchel was a political armband. A solid red color, interrupted by a white circle. Inside of the white space was a black line drawing of a circle topped with a cross. A computation orb, a feminine symbol, or a reminder of religious iconography... the simple nature of the image belied the complexity involved in interpreting its meaning. Typical of anything related to Degurechaff.

"I gotta say, I don't understand why you're spending so much time studying this girl," Morrow added.

"Every citizen should show an interest in current events," Rosenvelt replied, briefly affecting a professorial air before shrugging. "Besides, I've always found it rewarding to study the roots of other's success."

"You're a pretty successful politician yourself."

It was a fair point. And yet Rosenvelt knew that his friend was only seeing the result of a long and arduous process, a process that he didn't expect would end in his lifetime.

"My cousin was a weak and timid child. He disliked that about himself, so he decided to find out what brave and strong people did, and forced himself to do the same," Rosenvelt said. "He never stopped, which is how he became the Teddy Rosenvelt that you know."

"Yeah, yeah," Morrow said, "you want to steal a trick from Degurechaff, go win some medals first."

"I'll see about getting machine guns fitted to my chair."

The two men shared a laugh, and Rosenvelt counted it as a small victory. It had taken quite some time before he had been able to joke about his disability.

"Seriously, though, I did get a chance to hear her speak. She's... intense," Morrow said. "I'm not sure her style would fly here in America. She talks like she's about to send her boys charging a machine gun nest."

"You might be right," Rosenvelt admitted. He paused for a moment to mix up his own drink. As he did, his eye drifted back to the most recent speech that he'd been reviewing. There was something that had been bothering him. "Do you know what this word means? It shows up all over her speeches."

Usually, the more often a word appeared, the easier it was to figure out from context. This one, though, showed up in so many places that it only got more confusing the more often it appeared. Rosenvelt figured that Morrow could clear it up for him. The man had a solid grasp of the language after all the time he'd spent in the country.

"That? The phrasing is a little funny, but it means 'safety net,'" Morrow said. "Like what they put under the acrobats at the circus."

All at once, like a picture coming into focus, what had been a series of somewhat disjointed, rambling speeches clicked together in Rosenvelt's mind. All of those random promises that seemed only to appeal to specific interest groups weaved together into a single structure.

Degurechaff wasn't blind to the flaws of the capitalist system. Just like the communists, she could point out the problems created by the profit motive when it was allowed to run wild. Unlike the communists, though, she didn't want to tear down the whole thing and start over. She didn't even really speak of punishing any particular evildoers. Instead, she offered to protect workers against the worst dangers of the marketplace, while allowing them to keep the fruit of their own labors.

No, a simple hot-blooded military fanatic could never have come up with something like that.

"I knew there would be something worth learning," Rosenvelt said, basking in the satisfaction of that moment of insight.

"I still think you're giving her too much credit," Morrow said, shaking his head. "I listened to her talk, watched her work. It's all been simple and straightforward, one step to the next."

"One way you know that you're watching a genius at work," Rosenvelt replied, "is that they make everything they do look simple and straightforward."

Germania's troubles were hardly over with the signing of the Treaty of Londinium. Much remained to be determined about the young country's place in the world. Everything that it did would take place in the shadow of the Empire. Governing the country promised all the peace and relaxation of dancing through a minefield.

He was looking forward to the opportunity to watch Degurechaff rise to the challenge.

ooOoo

Visha was kind enough not to mention my drunken ramblings after I had sobered up. I did my best to forget about how I had embarrassed myself after just two glasses of wine. I did make sure to keep in mind, though, the insight she had shared with me.

If I wanted a quiet life, it wasn't enough simply to resign. I was too high profile. People would worry that I might decide to throw my hat back into the ring and take over. No, I needed to be kicked out of public life. Exile was off the table. But there was always hope as long as there was a new election coming. Once I was voted out of office I'd have the choice to stay on and collect a salary as a powerless back bencher or to fade away into the private sector.

Once we returned to Berun, the first thing I did was to force through the securities regulations that the Diet had refused to consider in the past. My reputation was riding high in the wake of the Londinium conference, but voters were notoriously fickle. By overreaching myself, I would create resentment that would outlast any gratitude they might be feeling in the moment. Also, there was an outside chance that our coalition partners would blow up the government immediately, solving all my problems for me.

Unfortunately, the new laws didn't seem to have much effect. It seemed that telling Germanian businessmen that they needed to fill out some extra paperwork in order to stay in business wasn't quite enough to spark a revolt. Foreign investment ticked down a little bit, but it was hard to tell if it was the result of the new laws. Berun was already a backwater as far as international capital was concerned. I consoled myself with the thought that at least the new laws would restrain some of the crazier practices that seemed to be common in this era around issuing and trading securities.

After some reflection, I realized that I had dodged a bullet. If I truly wanted a peaceful retirement, it wasn't enough simply to lose my job. After all, I could do that at any time just be creating a sufficiently shocking scandal. No, I needed to address the underlying problem. I could hardly enjoy my retirement if my successor immediately plunged the country into war.

I had shown the country that it was possible to succeed politically as a bellicose militarist. I had demonstrated that you could form a majority coalition by fusing war-mongering rhetoric with business-friendly policies. Sure, I had enjoyed the advantage of modern political techniques, but now that I had shown the way it would be easy enough for somebody else to copy what I had done. To secure a quiet life, I would not just have to retire, but also blow up my coalition to the point that it couldn't be repaired.

I needed wedge issues.

Fundamentally, wedge issues exist because political coalitions are made up of different people, each with their own hopes, dreams, preferences, and theories. Every person who voted for a candidate other than themselves was compromising in some way. Wedge issues came into being along the fault lines of those compromises. Any time two people agreed on a general principle and agreed to disagree on the specifics, a latent wedge issue was born.

Much of the strategy of modern politics involves trying to make the wedge issues plaguing your opponents the center of discussion while downplaying the importance of the wedge issues lurking within your own party. Of course, voters weren't fools. It's hard to convince them of the importance of any issue when you talk to them as a representative of an opponent. On the other hand, voters tended to be more receptive to what their own compatriots had to say.

For example, my own party had campaigned on the promise of virulent opposition to the Treaty of Triano. The natural wedge issue was the question of what that opposition would translate into in practical terms. Passive resistance? The invasion of the Francois Republic? Restarting the Great War? Of course, other politicians had tried to point out such things. My supporters, the lovable maniacs that they were, simply refused to countenance any such questions from outsiders who they thought had sold out the fatherland. On the other hand, if I had spent too much time in the campaign talking about specifics, the whole party could have destroyed itself by infighting.

The Treaty of Triano was no longer an issue, of course. But the Germanian Workers' Party still had its fair share of fault lines. I just had to bring them to the surface.

So it was that I found myself at the head of a long table filled with military big shots. Admirals and Generals, the members of the General Staff, officers qualified to be given overall theater command, and their naval equivalents, all looked at me to start the day's meeting. Visha and General Lergen were by my side at the head of the table, while General Zettour was in the closest seat to us. It had been two weeks since my return from Londinium, and it was time to discuss the future of the military.

There had been quite a lot of turnover at the top ranks since the end of the war and my own military service. The only other familiar face at the table was General Ziegler, freshly returned from transporting the remains of the Francois invasion force to their homeland. I vaguely recognized a few of the other military leaders, but I didn't see anybody else who I knew personally.

Nobody was smoking, which was a pleasant surprise. I appreciated the courtesy.

"Gentlemen, a whole new world of opportunities have opened up to us with the repeal of most of the troublesome provisions of the Treaty of Triano," I said. "Before we discuss that, though... well, it's our tradition to learn from our mistakes. I'm sure that you've already had this discussion, but I hope that you'll indulge me and share your insights. So, why did we lose the Great War?"

Naturally, everybody in the room had an opinion on that question. Having risen to the top in the meritocratic Imperial military, nobody there would be shy about expressing themselves or unable to back their claims up with facts and logic. The ensuing discussion touched on each point in the familiar litany of mistakes made during the war.

Committing the central army to an all out invasion of the Legadonia Entente. Allowing the Legadonian fleet to escape, later to play a vital role in the Francois evacuation. Agreeing to an armistice that permitted the Francois evacuation, leading to the formation of the Free Francois army. Straining logistics and the Imperial economy to pursue the Francois to Africa while garrisoning half of Europe. Refusing the mediation offered by the Allied Kingdom. All of the naval debacles suffered at the hands of the Allied Kingdom. Unleashing the unrestricted submarine warfare that provoked the Unified States into joining the war.

The defense of the Empire in the later stages of the war hadn't been without its share of mistakes, but by general consensus the war had been decided by that point. The discussion instead revolved around which of the earlier mistakes had been defensible decisions at the time, which had been outright blunders, and how those blunders might have been avoided.

Nobody brought up my personal answer to the question. I was torn between feeling pleased and feeling disappointed.

Once the discussion finally started winding down, I rapped on the table to get everyone's intention.

"I'm afraid we've forgotten our past," I said. "War is a continuation of politics by other means."

I had checked to make sure that the relevant quote existed in this world as well.

"Foreigners might like to describe our nation as a military with a state attached, but we know that to be a vile calumny. Our history is replete with talented diplomats and statesmen, not merely an excellent military," I said. "Unfortunately, that very excellence grew to the point that it dazzled the rest of the government, blinding them to their own responsibilities."

It's a sad fact that mediocre employees will try to shift their duties onto their more talented compatriots. It cheats the employer in two ways. One employee is paid to do no work, while the other was put to work outside of their core competency. In the private sector, the solution was to fire the malingerer. In the government, things were more complicated.

"For example, the invasion of Legadonia," I continued. "I've heard those defending the decision argue that it presented an opportunity to remove an enemy from the Empire's borders. I take it that was also the argument at the time?"

"It was," General Zettour answered. "I remember that day well."

"Implicitly, the political goal being pursued was the annexation of Legadonia?" I asked. "On the theory that no other country could or would intervene? And nobody from outside of the military was consulted on the matter?"

I could see the ripple around the table as everybody's hackles went up at the aggressive questioning.

"We were invaded. It was up to the military to decide how to respond," a general said, apparently speaking for everybody.

"It's acceptable for a private to focus on killing the enemy and staying alive. Their jobs are hard enough as it is. Even a captain or a major can rightly focus on defeating the enemy army in front of him," I said, pausing to take a sip of my coffee. "But a general should know better. Finishing a war requires diplomacy. Compromise. Politics."

Of course, there was no need for all of that if you could smash everybody who objected to concluding the war on your preferred terms. When the list of objecting parties was more or less every country in the world, though, that wasn't a realistic solution.

"Would the rest of the world acquiesce in the face of our annexation of Legadonia? If not, could we tell the entire world to pound sand and make it stick? Those questions should have been asked before starting the debate on how best to destroy the Legadonian army."

I set down my coffee and sighed theatrically.

"In truth, I don't hold the military primarily responsible for losing the war," I said. "You can't blame a hound for running wild after its master drops the lead."

"Chancellor!"

The room erupted with a babble of protest. I gave them a moment to get it out of their system before rapping on the table for silence.

"War is the application of military power in pursuit of a political end," I said. "Anything else is just mindless killing."

The room looked ready to erupt again, but I forestalled any outbursts by leaping to my feet, slapping the table for emphasis.

"The military was in theory a tool of the Emperor. It will in fact be a tool of the civilian government," I said. "Take this to heart. You will give advice as to the proper course of action. I will decide."

I looked around the room, evaluating responses one by one. Overall, things seemed to be going to plan. I made sure to put a bit of extra heat in my gaze when I locked eyes with anybody who looked particularly rebellious.

"We will adjourn for one week. If you are unable to accept the supremacy of the elected government, then by all means resign with honor. You will receive a full pension, as well as my gratitude for your honesty," I continued. "But if anybody does not resign, and instead seeks to subvert in secret the will of the people... well, he will not receive the opportunity to resign."

The most fervent portion of my base consisted of war maniacs, and their strongest belief was support for a strong military. Even they had their differences, though. To some, a strong military was a military capable of serving the fatherland's needs. To others, a strong military was a military that steered the fatherland in the right direction. Of course, there was a lot of overlap between those outlooks, so the group was unlikely to splinter unless forced to make a choice.

Pushing the military as hard as I had should do exactly that. I expected a decent number of generals to resign and to go to the people with their views. It might be hard for them to convince the people to vote for what was practically speaking a military dictatorship, but after all I had managed to collect a decent number of voters in favor of a suicidal war. Shepherding the birth of an ultra-ultra-militaristic party should splinter my own voters quite nicely.

Ordinarily, there might be a risk of a coup after being so confrontational with the military. Fortunately, the only aerial mage contingent in the armed forces was unquestionably loyal to me, so worst come to worst I'd at least be able to take my Type 97 and flee the country safely.

I looked around the room once more, happy to see everybody at the table deep in thought.

"I'll see you in a week."

ooOoo

I had a meeting with some big shots from the auto industry the next day. Before that, though, I carved out some time in the morning to meet with Elya. It was past time to put her on the government payroll.

"Elya, your team was vital to our victory over the Francois occupation force," I said. "The nation owes you a debt of gratitude."

"Thank you, Chancellor," she said, giving a little curtsy.

"I've been thinking that it's about time we established a proper intelligence bureau," I said.

As much as I had talked up the Empire's proud history of accomplishments in diverse fields of human endeavor, it was hard to identify any notable successes in the area of espionage. The military intelligence department of the army had a long and unbroken history of continued existence, but that was about it. Other than that, the Empire had relied on its diplomats to keep their ears to the ground and keep the Empire informed. The efficacy of that approach could be seen in the fact that the Empire had been caught by surprise by three separate declarations of war in the space of five years.

Elya had proven to have a good head on her shoulders. She was a bit young to be organizing a whole new government department, but then I was a bit young to be chancellor. My only worry was that she would be reluctant to take on the task. After all, I had hired her initially to supervise various peaceful endeavors, not to jump into the murky world of espionage and counter-espionage.

"Wonderful!" she replied, a genuine smile on her face.

Sometimes I wondered if all aerial mages loved charging into dangerous situations like crazed maniacs. Well, at least I was sane.

"Of course, we should still be discreet with the budget request," I said. "I'll admit I've had some trouble coming up with a good cover story."

It's impossible to keep the existence of a government agency secret forever. At least, I assumed so. For all I know, Japan had an alien-fighting super sentai team that it kept off the books until long after my death. Practically speaking, though, in a democracy I figured that sort of information would get out eventually. On the other hand, I'd rather not let the whole world see the Diet pass a budget with a big number of marks written next to "spy stuff" on the ledger.

"Perhaps a new Secretarial Department?" Elya said. "Intended to handle any administrative tasks assigned by the chancellor."

I knew there was a reason I trusted her with sneaky activities.

"Perfect," I said. "Your first task will be to track foreign spies who enter Germania. Mostly in order to keep them away from private information, but ideally I would like to know if anybody is poking their nose into any of our business."

"I will find and eliminate anybody who dares to spy on the fatherland," Elya said, writing busily in her ever present notebook.

"Ah, well, sometimes," I said. Spy work wasn't always clean. "If we can control what they see, though, sometimes it will be better to leave them in place."

"Understood!"

"Your second responsibility will be to gather information from other countries," I said. "In particular, from the Francois Rebulic, the Kingdom of Ildoa, and the Russy Federation."

The Francois had recently been humiliated and no doubt would love to take their anger out on us. The communists, of course, wanted to export their revolution to the whole world. The Ildoans, for their part, had been showing worrying sign of social instability. Though we no longer shared a border thanks to the divestment of Osterrian territory, Ildoa was close enough to cause us problems if things really went bad.

"About that," Elya said, surprisingly hesitant. "I've been looking into it. We have an easy enough time blending in and moving invisibly through Germania. People are used to seeing our pollsters by now, so one or two extra girls don't draw any attention. It's harder to slip through a foreign country without being noticed."

It was to be expected. It's always easier to operate in your own backyard.

I still felt a bit frustrated. Part of me was tempted to just tell Elya to deal with it herself. I pushed that impulse down. I was going to be relying on her to be my eyes and ears for the next few years. The least I could do was contribute a few ideas. It was too bad I was naturally such a straightforward, rational person.

The convenient use of poll workers to hide spy movement after the Francois Republic invaded was a pure stroke of good fortune, not the sort of thing I could replicate on command. Although, come to think of it, why mess with success?

"Can't we do the same thing?" I asked. "We'd have to find a local sympathizer who could start running polling operations, but then your people could blend right in."

"Polling is pretty expensive," Elya replied, doubtful. "I'm not sure a private citizen can afford it. We could pay, of course, but somebody might notice what's going on."

It took me a moment to understand her objection. I was so used to the idea of polling operations as profitable businesses that I had forgotten that she had only been exposed to polling as the private tool of a political party.

"Of course, it would have to be in the context of a business," I said. "Our local supporter would sell the political horse race numbers to a reputable newspaper. If they're lucky, they could even hire on as a consultant for a politician who wants access to the full data."

Honestly, even setting aside the useful access to cover identities, just gathering ordinary political polling information would be more than most of the Empire's diplomats ever managed.

"I'm not sure how much money that would bring in," Elya said.

"As long as it's a little bit, we can fill in the rest," I replied. "If somebody is looking at the books closely enough to figure it out, they'll probably already be on to us."

"Ah, right," Elya said. "Although I don't think the Russy Federation will allow such a thing."

"That's true," I acknowledged. "They'll be a tough nut to crack."

I was fresh out of ideas on that front. One advantage to running a paranoid terroristic police state was that it was pretty hard for anybody else to get information from inside their borders.

"I'll start with the expatriates living here," Elya said. "Maybe I can find somebody who knows somebody useful back home."

"All right," I replied. "Take your time and do it right."

"Of course!"

At least she was enthusiastic. I hoped that her sunny personality wouldn't be worn down by any of the morally suspect actions required of her new job.

ooOoo

I took a car out to the luncheon. It felt appropriate, when I would be meeting with prominent members of the industry. Looking out the windows as we drove, it was hard to say whether the automobile business was booming. The cars that I saw looked impressive, but there didn't seem to be that many of them on the road.

Lunch was, well, typical. Germania produced such a wide variety of sausages that some of them almost had to be to my taste. I was still holding out hope that I would discover which ones they were some day. At least there wasn't any K-brot mixed in with the rolls.

The conversation, as expected, revolved around cars. After all, the people present at the table were car company executives, top car designers, and me. I tuned out most of it.

I was far from being a car person. I'd never owned a car back in Japan, as I didn't need one thanks to the country's excellent public transportation. Germania also had a solid passenger train network, and in my new life I naturally felt even less need for a car when I could fly under my own power. I did start paying closer attention when I heard somebody mention the new highway system.

It seemed that car company CEOs of this era were still hot rod enthusiasts at heart rather than stuffy businessmen, judging by the stirring tale one of them was relating of a high speed race on a deserted road. It sounded reckless, but largely harmless. At least until he mentioned that a key moment of the race went his way thanks to the sun reflecting into his opponent's eyes.

"You race on the highway during the day time?"

That brought the conversation to a sudden halt. The CEO, Paul Däumler if I was remembering correctly, looked like a little boy who'd been caught with his hand in the cookie jar. It seemed I had been quiet enough during the meal that they had forgotten they were dining with a government official.

"Madame Chancellor? Ah, well," Däumler said, before pausing to clear his throat. "That is to say, of course we follow the applicable safety rules and regulations."

"Never mind that," I said, "what about the traffic?"

That brought laughter from everybody gathered around the table, laughter that turned a little nervous as it became clear that I wasn't joking. Eventually, through a series of sidelong glances, it fell to Däumler to explain the situation.

The long and the short of it was that very few people ever drove their cars long distances. The highways that I had spent so much taxpayer money to build were fairly busy in and around large cities, but out in the countryside many areas saw only a handful of cars pass by per hour. Däumler took pains to assure me that the roads were wonderfully built, which was small comfort.

It seemed that my plans to modernize the country's infrastructure had failed to take into account the general poverty of the people. In the absence of an affordable, reliable car capable of traveling at highway speeds, the roads that I had ordered built were little more than playgrounds for the rich.

I rubbed my temples for a moment, just long enough to let the wave of embarrassment subside. "How much does it cost to buy a car from your company? The cheapest one."

"2,500 marks," Däumler replied, before turning to the man next to him.

"2,250."

"2,400."

"2,650."

"2,300."

The answers came in from around the table. I didn't exactly manage a household budget, as the government took care of most of my expenses, but I did make a point to swing by a grocery store from time to time and I paid attention to what we were paying the men building the roads. Some quick mental arithmetic told me that those men would be able to afford a car capable of using the road they were building approximately never.

The problem, it seemed, was not just that nobody could afford a car but also that nobody was building affordable cars.

"Wouldn't it be possible, using modern production methods, to build and sell a car for less?" I asked. "Say, around a thousand marks?"

Not only was a thousand marks a conveniently round number, it was also low enough that a reasonable financing package ought to let an ordinary worker buy a car. Perhaps not an ordinary worker, but rather somebody with an ordinary salary who was willing to scrimp and save for a while.

"That, well," Däumler began, using the tone of voice one adopts when telling a powerful person "no."

"It can be done!"

The man who interrupted him hadn't been one of the men to list off prices earlier. I figured he should an auto designer, then, though I had forgotten his name. His attitude, mustache and receding hairline put me in mind of Dr. Schugel, unfortunately.

"Oh, don't get Anton started."

One of the other CEOs said before heaving a long-suffering sigh. I looked to Däumler for an explanation.

"Anton Ehrlich is a brilliant designer," Däumler said, "but his People's Car idea..."

"It will work, I tell you," Ehrlich insisted. "A family car capable of 100 kilometers per hour for 1,000 marks. All I need is a factory built to the proper specifications."

"Unfortunately," Daumler said, "understanding cars is different from understanding car buyers."

"Our customers expect a certain level of sophistication."

"Ehrlich's bug might hit 100 kilometers per hour if you drove it off a cliff."

"You would only hit 1,000 marks per unit if you sold tens of thousands of them... and that's after stripping everything off that makes a car worth buying."

None of the executives were shy about expressing their opinions. It seemed that nobody could even envision the idea of middle class car buyers. Or, rather, they could envision it, but dismissed it as a pipe dream.

There was an opportunity here. Not an investment opportunity. Well, obviously there was an investment opportunity, but none of the corporate titans here were interested. If I were to throw some money at the idea, though, it wouldn't be an investment. It would be a state-owned enterprise.

Is there a more polarizing phrase in any language? The staid conservatives who had joined with the Germanian Workers' Party to form a coalition would recoil at the mere hint that I planned such an interference with the free market. On the other hand, the less economically sophisticated people that made up my own party could easily fall in love with the idea of good paying jobs and cheap goods provided by the state. I couldn't ask for a better tool to drive our political partnership to self-destruction.

The problem was that on this issue I had my own strong opinion. I shared the capitalists' disdain for the idea of the state participating in the market economy. Sure, I could try to justify this particular intervention: the free market had failed to fulfill an important need, so the state needed to step in to show what was possible. Sheer sophistry. If a viable customer base existed, sooner or later somebody who wanted to make money would come along to serve their needs. To use tax dollars to step into the market was to take a big step towards communism and all the inefficiency and misery that entailed.

On the other hand, it would also be a big step towards my quiet retirement. Well, it's impossible to go through life without ever making a compromise.