bbbyouuujhhjhgyh

Erich von Lergen stood silently on the train platform. Around him, the crowd was cheering wildly as their beloved Chancellor left on the first steps of her journey to America. The train would deliver her to the north coast of the country along with her entourage, where a ship was waiting for the five day journey to Washington. He didn't envy her the trip. Nor did he envy the Americans the prospect of negotiating with her. He did feel some quiet despair at the thought that it had become an ordinary thing for his country to be represented on the international stage by Tanya von Degurechaff.

Lergen stood silently as the crowds' enthusiasm reached a peak. He stood silently as the crowd dispersed. He stood silently as the station was filled with the hubbub of ordinary operations. Finally, he sighed, then turned to walk back towards the center of government in Berun.

He was halfway back to his office before he realized he would not be able to bottle up his feelings for the rest of the day. He needed a frank conversation with somebody he respected. A small change in his route brought him to the Ministry of the Interior. He paused for a moment outside of Hans von Zettour's office before he knocked on the door frame and stuck his head inside.

"Do you have a moment?"

"Of course, of course. I could use a break," Zettour said, inviting him in. "To be honest, I'm not sure I would have agreed to come out of retirement if I'd known it would be this much work."

Lergen shut the door behind him, glancing around the room to confirm that its dimensions were as he remembered them. Even so, he didn't relax until he shook hands with Zettour and felt the calluses and strong grip that age had not yet taken away. Lergen finally set himself down in the seat placed in front of Zettour's desk, unsure where to start.

The paperwork covering every square inch of the desk was testament to Zettour's workload. The sizable pile of papers accumulated in his outbox were a testament to his continued vitality and efficiency, even well past the ordinary age of retirement.

Lergen had, like Zettour, understood that the primary purpose of the older man's new job was to keep an eye on the Chancellor. He had therefore expected that she would do her best to sideline Zettour and shift his nominal duties to her trusted subordinates. Instead, she had welcomed Zettour into her inner circle and had even given him supervisory duties that went outside of his official remit.

Lergen still wasn't sure if the move was meant as an olive branch or if it was merely part of a long-reaching nefarious scheme.

Zettour was watching him from behind the desk with a patient expression on his face. Even after many years of working together, Lergen still felt like a schoolboy who had volunteered to visit the headmaster's office.

Eventually, he decided to begin with the obvious.

"We underestimated her," Lergen said.

"We certainly did," Zettour replied, smiling. "The Treaty of Triano is gone, our economy repaired, and we're even on friendly terms with the Americans."

Indeed, it was hard to argue with Degurechaff's record. Even Lergen might have found himself swayed into her political camp, if he weren't so acutely aware that the woman was a time bomb ticking away in the heart of the nation.

"You know what I mean," Lergen said.

The restraints they had so carefully put in place in order to curb the Chancellor's behavior lay in tatters. The men they had counted on to obstruct her agenda were now powerless or, worse, suborned into Degurechaff's cause.

"Yes, it's hard not to feel a bit sorry for Becker and Vogel these days," Zettour said, chuckling.

Lergen had, like many Germanians, expected that Degurechaff would call for elections as soon as she returned from Londinium. She certainly would have received over fifty percent of the vote, freeing her party from the need to maintain a coalition in order to hold a majority. Instead, she had been content to rely on the latent threat of an election in order to push her legislative agenda.

It wasn't until he saw her plan in action that Lergen appreciated the insidious nature of her strategy. By keeping the government in place, the Germanian Nationalist Party was forced to vote as she wished in order to cling to any scrap of power. This, despite the fact that they would ordinarily be the most vocal critics of increases in the compensation offered for workplace accidents and increased scrutiny of workplace safety. Having voted for such measures, they could hardly raise a voice in protest as they went into effect. Even worse was the effect on their voters: the more militant members concluded that the party was ineffective and abandoned their support, while the less engaged voters concluded that if their party supported such measures, they must be a good idea.

By now, Andreas Becker and Klaus Vogel, the leaders of the party, were broken men. They'd be lucky to keep their seats in the next election. The lion's share of their voters would be siphoned off by Degurechaff's party, while the die hard remnant exiled itself to the powerless fringe. All they could do now was vote along with the chancellor and hope they might influence her decisions somehow. The vote on the wheat tariff had been the taste of the future: a break from the chancellor that accomplished nothing but to highlight their own irrelevance.

"Forget about Becker and Vogel, what about us?" Lergen asked. "Weren't we going to keep her on a short leash?"

"As I recall," Zettour said, steepling his fingers, "we were going to keep an eye on her and make sure she was acting in Germania's best interests."

Lergen felt a sinking feeling in his gut. He'd always known Zettour had a soft spot for Degurechaff. And, of course, the man had never objected to the Empire's hardline policies before or even during the Great War. Still, Lergen refused to believe that Zettour would approve of the ruin of the nation out of mere sentiment.

"Her ambitions obviously don't end with the repeal of the Treaty," Lergen said. All of Degurechaff's efforts so far had been aimed at nothing more than building up the power of the weapons she would wield in her attempts to rebuild the Empire.

Zettour held his gaze, unperturbed. "Do yours?"

Lergen found himself at a loss for words.

"At the end of the war, we were all shocked and dismayed. We retreated into ourselves and tried to hide from the world," Zettour said. "Honestly, now I'm finding myself relieved that at least one person has always maintained her unflinching attention on what the future holds."

Lergen couldn't help but wonder why he was the only person who saw the prospect of a second Great War as something to avoid.

ooOoo

Although I'd originally been born on an island nation, I'd never taken an extended journey by boat before. My overall evaluation was that I could hardly wait for the invention of a reliable passenger aircraft.

At least my cabin was nice. A Germanian company that ran enormous passenger liners on weekly voyages to and from America had agreed to provide VIP accommodations and to divert their usual trip to New Amsterdam to arrive instead at Washington, D.C., once they'd been told of the need. I appreciated the gesture, although I couldn't help but muse to myself that ideally I could have made it to the top in a nation that retained a jet airplane for its leader's personal use. Of course, such a country would have safeguards in place that would prevent a populist demagogue like me from taking the reins.

In any event, my sleeping quarters on the ship were far more luxurious than what I enjoyed in day to day life. The one policy that I shared with my predecessor showed in the relatively spartan layout of the Chancellor's residence. It was a place for work, not dynastic opulence. The VIP cabin on the ship, on the other hand, had been made for the kind of person with more money than sense.

The novelty of it did start to wear thin after the first day or so. After that, the sheer amount of time wasted in transit started to weigh on my mind.

I was accompanied on the journey by some diplomatic functionaries, Neumann, as my personal security, and Anna, one of Elya's assistants. Anna was a pleasant enough conversationalist and I had plenty of last minute diplomatic knowledge to absorb, but even so I was feeling stir crazy by the third day of the trip.

I finally changed into flying gear, grabbed Neumann shortly after lunch, and informed the rest of our party that we would be stretching our legs for a bit. Soon the two of us were hovering at six thousand meters. It was a calm, clear day. I could still make out the passenger liner down below, but not easily. It was amazing how small it looked from such a height.

All around us was nothing but sea and sky. I took a moment to spin in place, admiring the view. Then I caught Neumann's eye.

"Race you to the water."

"What?" he asked.

"If your hair gets wet you lose," I said, before spinning to face towards the ocean and accelerating.

I waited until Neumann was in motion and level with me before really pouring on the power. Fair's fair.

I had tucked my hair under my cap before taking off, so there was nothing obstructing my view as the ocean rushed ever closer. The safe play would have been to fly down feet first in order to provide for a margin of error, but this was more fun. Facing straight down also gave me the best possible view to judge my approach.

I waited until I thought it was probably time to slow down, then just half a breath longer. I could almost feel the Type 97 suddenly straining under the load as I slammed two spells through it at maximum power. One applied force directly upward, slowing my fall. The other reinforced my body so it could take the strain of the acceleration.

The interplay between the two spells produced an eerie feeling to which I had only grown accustomed through long exposure. The sensation of a crushing force inexplicably not crushing my body was still odd, but I shunted it to the back of my mind as the water drew even closer. I ended up stopping while still somewhat distant from the surface. Fortunately, a passing wave came through at enough height that I was able to reach out and slash my hand through it.

I spun upright to see Neumann still easing himself down to sea level. I huffed in displeasure as he finally slowed to a stop, kicking at the water.

"Coward."

"With you flying like that, I could only win if you got your hair wet," he said, before giving a mock shudder. "Besides, just watching you stop that quickly makes my spine ache."

"It's a perfectly safe combination of spells."

"Sure," he said, "that's why you've grown to such a remarkable height."

"Hmm, I didn't think you would volunteer for extra evasion training."

In the end, I went easy on him. I kind of had to, as I hadn't brought my rifle with me. Mostly, though, it was because the purpose of the flight was only recreational to begin with. Getting too serious would ruin the fun. I did make sure he got one dunking before we headed back to the ship, though.

As the ship drew closer to the Unified States, we couldn't freely mess around up in the air any more. Instead, I made more of an effort to mingle with the rest of the ship's passengers. It was strange to hear their stories. I had been conditioned in my previous life to think of a five day journey either being the result of a desire to emigrate to a new land or perhaps to make a vacation out of the trip itself, but in these times it was simply normal. Not to say that it was easy or cheap, but for people who wanted to visit far flung family members or who needed to travel on business, the need to budget a week or two for the journey was perfectly normal.

When we pulled in to the dock, it became clear to me that the famous American love of informality didn't interfere in any way with their love of spectacle. The pier was decked out in bunting, one side done up in red, white and blue while the other was black, red, and yellow. A row of police officers were holding back a crowd of people in order to keep a small area clear, and an honest to goodness brass band was playing as I stepped off the ship.

The President of the Unified States, Herman Hooper, was waiting at the bottom of the gangplank to shake my hand as I reached solid ground. The two of us smiled and waved for the cameras before heading for the waiting motorcade.

The passenger section of my car was, courteously enough, Germanian only. In addition to the people I had brought with me from home I was accompanied by Fritz Weber, our ambassador to the Unified States. The drive was short so he didn't have time to give more than a brief rundown of facts that I already knew. It was still reassuring to hear that nothing much had changed while I was in transit.

When we reached the White House I was pulled up to stand next to the president, doing my best to keep a pleasant smile on my face and ignore the flashbulbs as he gave a brief speech to the press corps. I was a bit surprised when he indicated that the both of us would take a few questions.

"Kat Williamson, New Amsterdam Times," was the introduction given by the first reporter he called on, a rather aggressive young woman. "Chancellor Degurechaff, what happened at Duisbusch?"

The president looked like he was going to shut down the question, but I waved him away. I was long prepared for this level of bullshitting. "Germanian agents are looking into the incident. It wouldn't be appropriate for me to comment while the investigation is ongoing."

She didn't look happy with the response, but President Hooper had moved on to another reporter.

"Matt Harper, St. Henry Tribune," wasn't quite as neatly put together as his competitor. "Chancellor Degurechaff, I've seen a draft of the treaty, and I have to ask: what's in it for Germania?"

A fair question, if you weren't anticipating that the current downturn would turn into a depression and trigger a worldwide wave of protectionism. I smiled and decided to give him an honest answer. "Peace of mind."

There was a brief burst of chatter before the president called on another reporter. Another woman. That made two out of three questions from the two women out of the fifteen or so reporters. I wondered if he meant it as a courtesy to me.

"Lane Jensen, Life magazine," she said. "Chancellor Degurechaff, where did you get that dress?"

I glanced down, surprised at the question. I had a few different sources for the more or less identical white dresses that served as the basis for my public wardrobe. Some uneven stitching at the hems marked the origin of this particular dress.

"Sister Edda, from the orphanage," I said. She made the clothes for most of the children. Unfortunately, I never outgrew her work. "She still sends me a care package from time to time."

"Well, I think that's about enough," President Hooper said. "We can talk later when you all have some more serious questions to ask."

He led me inside. I had to admit, if only to myself, that I was excited. I'd only ever seen American landmarks on television in my previous life. Even with all of the crazy things I'd been a part of since I had been reborn, participating in an actual working meeting in the Oval Office would be a highlight.

As we walked inside, Neumann trailed behind with the president's Secret Service detail. He was carrying my computation orb as well, so I kept an eye on his location. Behind him, Ambassador Weber had been pulled into a discussion with his counterparts. Anna had disappeared off somewhere, hopefully making herself useful.

All of that was left behind as we entered the president's private office and he closed the door behind us. I wasn't quite sure how a private meeting like this was supposed to go, so I stayed quiet and let the president make the first move.

"I'll admit, Chancellor," he said, as he took a seat behind his desk, "I had a bit of an ulterior motive when I invited you here."

I glanced around the room. The door had looked to have received significant armored reinforcement, but the wall next to it was ordinary enough. If I reinforced myself as much as I could without an orb, I'd have a decent chance of breaking through. Neumann should react before the Secret Service mages, and once I had my orb we could head for international waters.

I took a breath and composed myself. If he really wanted to ambush me, there was no need to be this polite.

He smiled when he saw that he had my full attention. "Dual core computation orbs."

"I beg your pardon?"

"We've talked to some of the Francois who were at Duisbusch. You know, they figure they were ambushed by a regiment of heavy artillery, a few bomber wings, and a couple of mage battalions," he said, shaking his head. "On the other hand, our analysts say everything could have been carried out by your old 203rd, if they got their gear back together and had the element of surprise."

"Well, I really couldn't say," I said. I certainly wasn't going to admit to any treaty violations in the absence of solid proof.

"Of course, the details are all pretty hazy after so much time," he said, spreading out his arms. "In fact, you've had plenty of time since the Londinium Conference to do research on computation orbs, all nice and legal. We just want to buy a piece."

"You want to buy access to the dual core technology?" I asked.

In a way, it was refreshing to have a nation's two-faced cynicism work in my favor. On the other hand, it was kind of annoying for the Americans to assume that anything they wanted to buy must be for sale.

"Exactly," he replied.

Magic orb technology was the one area where Germania definitely stood head and shoulders above the rest of the world. I hated the idea of giving up that advantage. True, in an all out war with the Unified States, fancy computation orbs wouldn't be nearly enough to turn the tide. And Dr. Schugel should be pretty far along with the next generation technology by now. Still, I didn't really want to give a potential rival such a substantial hand up.

"You know, ordinarily such important technology would only be shared with a trusted military ally," I said. While I was loathe to part with the technology, a guarantee from the Unified States would do more to secure our borders than a computation orb ever could.

"Yeah, well, I'd get kicked out of office if I tried to ally with anybody in central Europe," he admitted, "let alone you guys."

"So you want to purchase cutting edge military technology for mere money?"

"Not just money," he said. "A whole shitload of money. Forgiving the rest of your debt, for starters. After that, you tell me."

I appreciated that he wasn't beating around the bush. And it was true that, at some point, a large enough pile of money became a strategic asset in its own right. Even so, I couldn't make a decision of such magnitude off the top of my head.

"I need some time to think about this," I said.

"Sure, that's fine. If you'll let me offer some advice, though: you'll have less regrets if you sell when the market's hot," he said. "Tomorrow's afternoon entertainment is an air show. We might not be quite as far behind as you think."

Damn it. Americans did have their own tradition of scientific innovation, after all. It was a little arrogant to think that they would never develop a dual core orb on their own. On the one hand, that meant we should cling to our current lead all the tighter. On the other hand, maybe I should sell while the selling was good.

It was frustrating and a little disquieting to realize how much I'd been relying on my future knowledge. I had a rough outline of what commodities would be valuable for the rest of the century and how technology would develop based on my previous life's experience, but when it came to magic I had nothing to fall back on other than my own judgment.

My gut was telling me to say no and walk away. I worried, though, that a flat refusal might anger my hosts and put the trade deal in jeopardy. In that case, it would just be adding insult to injury if they already had orbs that were nearly as good as ours. Well, in any event, taking some time to think things over couldn't hurt. Let the Americans put a few more of their cards on the table.

ooOoo

A diplomatic trip did not just entail meeting with government bigwigs. It was also a chance to improve the country's image among the general public. Such a task was more important in a country like the Unified States, where public opinion could drive government policy. To that end, our evening was to be spent at a dinner hosted by a group of successful Germanian-American businessmen.

I changed out my usual outfit before we headed out. While I had forced myself to overcome my instinctive rejection of dresses, I still preferred to wear pants when possible. I didn't need to worry about maintaining a consistent image when I was separated from the voting public by thousands of miles. While I needed to maintain a bit of decorum, I could also take my own comfort into account. Accordingly, I dressed in a coat and pants that were cut very similarly to my old field uniform.

As a retired veteran, I was technically qualified to wear a dress uniform to this sort of occasion. I felt uncomfortable, though, wearing a military uniform while I was still active in civilian life. On the other hand, I found the actual design of the clothes quite comfortable. It had been simple enough to have a tailor produce a reasonable facsimile sans all the military decoration.

I finished changing fairly quickly, as was my habit. I wound up having to wait for a few moments while Ambassador Weber finished preparing himself before he, Anna, and I headed down to the courtyard attached to our temporary residence. As we waited for the driver to start our car and bring it around to pick us up, I noticed a surprising silhouette tucked away in a corner.

"Is that yours?" I asked.

Ambassador Weber started a bit, then followed my gaze towards the small car parked off to the side. "What? Ah, yes, my little bug."

I was a little impressed that he had managed to obtain the car and bring it to America when, to the best of my knowledge, the people's car wasn't yet on sale to the public. On the other hand, I was a little worried about our country's ambassador being seen driving around town in such a thing.

"I appreciate your determination to buy Germanian," I said, "but surely we pay you enough to buy something better."

That was the wrong thing to say, as it led Weber into a rant that carried through the entire trip to the event venue.

Apparently, he was both a personal friend and a rabid fan of Anton Ehrlich. When he had discovered that Ehrlich was working on a new project, he had pestered the man until he received a line drawing of the people's car. Once he saw it he immediately fell in love, traveling back to Germania on leave in order to essentially nag Ehrlich into producing a car for him. The car sitting in the courtyard was the result of a test run of the factory production line. While other such test products had been scrapped, this one had had its deficiencies fixed by hand before being shipped over to America. Ambassador Weber had then proceeded to more or less abuse his position in order to obtain a valid license plate for the thing.

He wasn't content with merely explaining how he had acquired the car. No, he was determined to regale us with the technical details that, in his opinion, made it so great. He had me going for a bit while he talked about the genius of simple industrial design, but the weakness in his case was revealed when he moved on to talk about the car's inherent charm. He might have been able to snow somebody who had never seen the car he was talking about, but I was not so naive. The only reason to talk about the people's car's supposed charm was in order to distract from its other weak points.

The saddest moment was when he cited the positive comments he had received while driving the car around town. He seemed unaware of his own social status. Germania might not be the same level of world power as the Empire, but still, being the official ambassador to the Unified States had some weight to it. He could walk around town in a tricorn hat and people would compliment his daring fashion sense in an attempt to butter him up.

Still, when he made his impassioned plea that I approve an initiative to sell the people's car in the Unified States, I didn't reject him out of hand. The costs associated with shipping the cars across the ocean and then shipping back most of them after they failed to sell wouldn't be too bad, relative to the national budget, and the man was otherwise good at his job. I didn't mind indulging in a little boondoggle in order to keep him happy.

Whatever the merits of his suggestion, Ambassador Weber's rant at least passed the time until we arrived at our destination. I followed him inside to be greeted by a round of cheers and presented with a mug of beer. I glanced over at Weber.

"Isn't alcohol illegal?"

"Production, sale, and transport across state lines is illegal," he said. "Technically, private ownership and consumption is permitted."

"It's amazing how long many private stockpiles have lasted. And, of course, this is a personal gathering of friends," added the American who had provided the drinks. "Chancellor, perhaps you'd like to say something to mark the occasion?"

I took a drink and looked around. The place had been done up like a Berun beer hall. Contrary to our host's claim that this was a small gathering, I guessed there were upwards of a hundred people present. Just taking a glance at the crowd, the people didn't look too different from what I saw at a lot of my campaign stops. A closer look revealed the differences, though. For one thing, the crowd skewed far older than the typical Germanian drinking establishment. For another, the dress sense was off. A lot of the men were wearing what they probably considered traditional Germanian garb: clothes that had been going out of style when I was a child.

For all that they wanted to emphasize our shared heritage, I couldn't think of anything much more American than treating your ancestry as an excuse to wear a costume. None of these men had been around to pick up a rifle and stand watch on the Rhine when the Empire had needed them.

I took a deep breath and schooled my expression. It was silly to bear a grudge over something like that. I was honest enough to admit that a lot of my irritation came from jealousy. While I'd been stuck enlisting in the military, they had lived out my dream by escaping to a peaceful country to live fat and happy lives. I couldn't let my personal feelings stand in the way of the best course of action.

This crowd was well placed to become early adopters and, I hoped, glowing references for the product of Germanian industry. The first rule of sales is that you don't have to like a customer to like taking his money.

I took another swallow from the drink I'd been holding as I hopped up on a table to address the room. If my audience was primed to connect with their ancestral lands, I'd have to play up that angle.

"I was born in the Empire. I grew up in the Empire. I loved the Empire," I said, the old patriotic lie rolling off my tongue with the ease of long practice. "But even as a young maiden in love, I could understand when the Empire was making a mistake."

That last statement, unlike the first, was true. I had not only spotted the Empire's mistakes, I'd complained about them at the time. I had the black marks on my military record to prove it, ridiculous as they were. Fortunately, anybody who spent any time interacting with me would quickly understand that the allegation that I was an unstable hothead too eager to attack the enemy had no basis in reality.

The crowd had fallen silent, taking their cue from my solemn tone of voice. I paused for a moment and surveyed the room before I continued.

"The Empire had a great military. It thought that wars of conquest would make the Germanian people great," I said. "They had it backwards. The great military only existed because of the greatness of the Germanian people!"

The Empire, once it unified, was the largest single country in western Europe. It also came into existence already enjoying technological parity, at a minimum, with its neighbors. It hardly took a brilliant mind to build an excellent army under those conditions. Most of the credit rightly belonged to the private citizens who were productive enough to fund and staff such a project.

Just like back home, flattery was enough to draw applause.

"I have always believed that if the Germanian businessman is given a fair shake, he can compete on even terms with the rest of the world," I said. "Look at the success you all have had, in this distant land."

More direct flattery drew a more vigorous round of applause.

In all honesty, I did have faith in the abilities of the average Germanian engineer or laborer. I was less sanguine when it came to design and marketing, although this group of expatriates had done well enough. Well, sometimes when a product was well built customers would find oddities of design endearing instead of annoying.

I took a moment to promote some of the recent products coming on the market in Berun. As this group of people was squarely in our target market, it was worth the effort to point them towards some specific items. I made sure to mention the people's car project as a sop to Ambassador Weber, although the average attendee at this get together was too wealthy to be interested in a cheap, under powered car. I had higher hopes for the rigid dirigibles being produced by the Bützow company. They had started work immediately upon the lifting of the restrictions of the Treaty of Triano and would soon be offering a sort of aerial cruise line service in Europe and beyond.

I had found myself daydreaming from time to time of an idle life on permanent flying vacation. It seemed like the kind of thing that would appeal to overworked businessmen. Floating around the great cities in the world, enjoying the fruits of Germanian engineering. Unfortunately, it would be a little hard to get permission to land in the City of Lights.

Well, I had to bring things back around to politics eventually.

"In Parisee they claim I want to conquer half the Francois Republic. First, I'll tell you-" I said, before I had to wait a moment for the hissing to subside. "First, their army is still larger than ours by a sizable margin. More important though, who wants to rule over a bunch of Francois?"

That got a cheer. It was a little sad how most of my successful rhetoric was buoyed by everybody's dislike of the Francois. I hoped that if I got a line or two in the history books, that detail would be overlooked.

"If you open a history book and tell me the business of the Empire was war, I can't disagree. We were certainly good enough at it," I said. "But I tell you that the age of imperial conquest is over! The business of Germania is business!"

That brought another cheer. Everybody liked to hear that their work was important.

"Gentlemen, a toast!" I said, raising the glass that I had set aside at the beginning of my speech. "To the Unified States of America! To Germania! And to a happy and profitable relationship for many years to come!"

The crowd cheered and took a drink along with me before dissolving into general hubbub. I was finally able to seat myself and start tucking into dinner. I barely noticed Anna detaching from me and heading off to mingle with the crowd. It had been a long day, and not even the effort that had been made to provide "a taste of home" could deter me from digging in with a will.

I was halfway through my second plate of sausage when I realized that Ambassador Weber was trying to get my attention.

"Chancellor, this is Ambassador Waldner from the Republic of Osterry."

"Ah," I said, forcing myself to ignore the food and turn my attention to the somewhat nervous looking man. "I hope the recent chaos in Ildoa hasn't been causing you too much trouble."

"No," he said, "well, it's not our biggest problem, that's for sure."

Now that I heard him speak, I realized that he had just finished giving a speech to the crowd. I hadn't been paying close attention, but I did remember that rather than praise for Osterry his speech had included a lot of pleas for generosity in trying times.

Osterry had buoyed its economy in the face of reparations payments by taking out a lot of loans, mostly from the Unified States. Now that the Unified States was facing some economic turbulence, renewing those loans was going to be tricky. While I'd been able to negotiate a reduction in reparations obligations directly, it would have been hard for Osterry to do such a thing after turning them into loans.

"Money troubles?" I asked. "I'd imagine with the market as it is borrowing from the Unified States will be difficult."

"Yes," the ambassador admitted, before visibly bracing himself. "Perhaps Germania could help us out? Your economic achievements have been remarkable."

I snorted. "Pulling our economy up from rock bottom doesn't mean that I can just throw money around like some crazy American."

"We can't offer fiscal rewards, it's true," he said, before leaning forward and lowering his voice. "But, Chancellor, many of our people want to rejoin our countries."

"Is that so?"

"Of course! Walking the streets of Wien, one in every two-no, three in every four men that I speak to will ask about such a thing at the first opportunity."

I laughed. Imagine, a country willing to throw in the towel on independence after six years because of its first financial downturn. I had to admit, it wasn't the worst scam that I'd seen. They obviously planned to play to my ego, take my money, and always promise reunification a few years in the future. If nothing else, objections from the rest of Europe would save them from ever having to follow through.

"Well, then, hold a vote. You get three in four voters to approve, I'll talk the Americans around into supporting us, and we'll go from there. Simple, right?"

And after that I'll make sure to allocate funds to build a power plant that runs on fairy dust and unicorn glitter. Shaking my head, I turned back to my meal. I came to this event to meet useful people, not con artists.

It wasn't until a half hour later, during the middle of the post-meal meet and greet, that I realized that the con man might have given me the graceful way out that I had been looking for. I still wasn't comfortable giving the Americans a flat no or setting a price that was clearly unacceptable, but asking for something just a bit outside their comfort zone would be perfect.

The form of the promised aerial display was a little different than I was expecting. We were invited to a park on the outskirts of town. When we arrived I could see the setup: two long, thin poles each holding a ring a foot or so in diameter well off the ground. The poles were separated by almost a hundred meters. All around them was green grass. A boundary line had been marked out in chalk, and a ring of bleacher seats set up outside the boundary.

A large grandstand was set up in the middle of the field, obviously the VIP seating. That would be my spot, then. I left my companions to sit among the general admission crowd and made my way up to where the president was waiting. He had brought a companion: General Morrow, a well known American aerial mage, although I'd never had a chance to take his measure in combat.

We made small talk while we waited for the show to start. General Morrow took the opportunity to explain the rules of what they were calling aerial lacrosse. Each team consisted of six men, each equipped with a computation orb and a stick with a net on the end of it. The game ball could only be manipulated by way of the nets and sticks, and each team was trying to get the ball through the opposing goal. The rules around advancing the ball and permitted defensive maneuvers were a little opaque, although I gathered that mage blades were strictly prohibited.

Further conversation was cut off by the arrival of the competitors. The teams were introduced as the Thunderbirds playing against the Blue Angels. I was a little surprised that such an upstart sport already had organized teams, before I remembered how much Americans loved their college sports. The players, circling the field and working the crowd, certainly looked to be the right age for college. Aerial lacrosse must have fit in right alongside football and ordinary lacrosse.

It was a little remarkable, when I took a moment to think about it, that American universities were wealthy enough to field what many smaller nations would consider to be a respectable air force. What a country.

Such thoughts were driven to the back of my mind as the game officially began. As confusing as some of the rules could be, it was certainly fast paced and exciting. It seemed like the kind of thing that would make for great television.

The flying ability on display actually wasn't terrible, either. It was a little hard to judge aerial mages working in such cramped confines, but all in all I'd say if these kids had been reporting to the front as rookies back in the beginning of the war, they'd have been in the upper half of the recruits. I did my best to turn off my inner critic and just enjoy the flow of the game.

When the players left the field at halftime, the Blue Angels in possession of a slim lead, President Hooper opened up where he had left off.

"Have you had a chance to think things over?"

"I spoke with the Osterrian ambassador last night. You know, he thinks his country is ready to unify with Germania. He says three out of four adults would vote for it if given the chance," I said, smiling. "Of course, I could never approve such a thing without one of the victorious allies from the Great War speaking in favor. Not to mention that somebody would have to do something about all that debt."

"You're asking for an awful lot," President Hooper replied.

"You know, I asked Mr. Daimler once why his cars were so expensive," I said. "He told me: because they're worth it."

The two men chuckled, but didn't bother to respond directly. The three of us settled back to watch the second half of the game, which ended in a hard fought victory for the Blue Angels. I was a little confused when a horde of aerial mages descended on the grounds immediately after the game with all sorts of equipment. Eventually it became clear that they were setting up some kind of obstacle course.

"As I said, Chancellor, we're in for a special demonstration today," President Hooper said.

The twelve men who had been playing aerial lacrosse lined up to take on the course. A large clock and leaderboard mounted by the finish line let the crowd keep track of everybody's performance. The course itself was interesting: hoops to fly through, bars to fly over and under, horizontal and vertical slaloms, all sorts of changes of direction.

The men completing the course were, still, perfectly adequate in terms of performance. The first one through finished at a time of three minutes thirty-four seconds. It wasn't slow enough that I would have had him cashiered out of hand, but I was fairly confident that I could take his orb and crack three minutes. I wasn't quite sure where the president was going with his little demonstration. If he had some kind of bleeding edge orb up his sleeve I wasn't sure why he was bothering with this dog and pony show.

The twelfth man put up the best time, at three minutes and twenty five seconds. Almost as soon as he crossed the finish line President Hooper turned to me with a smile.

"Perhaps our guests can show us how it's done?"

I almost stood up when the penny dropped. He was setting us up! He planned to run college students through the course to set a mediocre time, get us to put up our own score, and then knock us off our high horse with his newly developed super orb.

I didn't dare to go out there and put my own reputation on the line. I mean, with the Type 97 I was fairly confident I could run through the course at a minute forty-five, but the Type 97 was, after all, over ten years old by now. An American super orb might allow its user to finish in under a minute for all I knew. I couldn't risk the loss of face.

Fortunately, I had people for that kind of thing.

I leaned over the side of the grand stand. "Neumann! Get out there and run the course."

He looked a bit surprised at the order, but complied readily enough. I sat back and did my best to maintain a poker face. Neumann had a heavier build and a minor phobia of high g-forces, but even so he should be able to put up a somewhat respectable score somewhat under two minutes. He gave one final look over to me before he took off.

It got harder to keep up my serene expression as he butchered his way through the course. Sloppy transitions, lazy turns, even little bits of showboating, they all grated against my nerves like acid on my skin. I had a white knuckle grip on the bleacher, but at least I managed to keep from casting any strength enhancements and giving the game away by tearing a chunk out of the wood.

Even so, my smile was no doubt noticeably stiff when he clocked in at two minutes and eleven seconds. "Excuse me for a moment."

Without waiting for permission, I made my way down from the grandstand and out onto the field. I was in no mood to wait politely so I'd have a good view of Americans' coup de grace.

Neumann took one look at my expression and immediately stopped preening for the crowd, hanging his head as he followed me toward the bleachers. I led him into the tunnel connecting to the players' dressing rooms before I said anything. I counted to ten to calm down before I spoke, then made sure I was speaking in Germanian to try and thwart any eavesdroppers.

"What the fuck were you thinking? Did you even notice how much time you wasted out there, or were you too busy showing off for the redhead in the third row?"

"Well-"

"I let it slide the other day because we were just flying for fun, but I can't believe you'd be so sloppy in a real competition. Do you understand that you weren't just embarrassing yourself out there, you were embarrassing your country? You were embarrassing me!"

"I just-"

"What would Weiss say if he saw something like that? Do I need to send you back for remedial training? Or is this what passes for acceptable flying these days? Do I need to go train our new recruits myself?"

ooOoo

President Hooper sat, calmly observing the field in front of him. He didn't let himself stare at the clock displaying the absurd time the Germanian man had just put up, nor did he crane his neck to follow Chancellor Degurechaff as she stalked off the field. Presidential decorum, they called it.

Charles Morrow was not so restrained.

"She's really giving him both barrels," he said, standing on the edge of the grandstand and craning his neck for a better look.

"Can you tell what she's saying?" Hooper asked.

"Nah," Morrow said, "but I've been on both ends of an ass chewing enough times to know one when I see it."

Hooper shook his head. "She must have wanted him to sandbag his performance."

That got Morrow to take his attention off the show and turn back to face Hooper. He looked skeptical at first, before the light of understanding dawned across his face.

"And then, what," he said, "try to sell us their out of date equipment?"

Hooper didn't bear the chancellor a grudge. He'd done his fair share of sharp dealing. Still, he was thankful that her man had drawn the curtain back on the true potential of a dual core orb. It would have been embarrassing to pay through the nose for Germanian cast offs. Of course, the price would only go up now that the cat was out of the bag, but at least they would be getting top shelf gear.

"Something like that," Hooper said. "Well, we've seen what we're up against now. We can't even contemplate joining a war in Europe with that kind of magical performance gap."

As it was, they were damn lucky that the Empire had only ever managed to fit out one brigade of aerial mages with the dual core orbs. If every Imperial mage had been packing that kind of firepower then the war in the air would have been even more brutal than it already was. Even worse, every military analysis he had seen had suggested that air power was only going to be more important in the wars of the future.

"That's not even the worst of it," Morrow said. "A sub could unload ten or twenty men on our coasts easy peasy. Just imagine if all of them could fly like that."

Hooper grimaced. They'd been damn lucky so far that no criminal groups had shown up with well trained aerial mages. That couldn't last forever. It would be even worse if they had to face down an enemy nations' commando team with cutting edge technology. The idea of the American military finding itself badly outgunned while trying to defend the homeland was personally offensive to him. Not only that, but it would be the end of his political career-maybe even his political party-if such a thing were to come to pass.

"Damn it," Hooper said. "Can't we just throw more money at research and development?"

"That's what we've been doing so far," Morrow replied, gesturing towards where the top aerial performers gathered from the Navy and the nascent Air Force were still hanging their heads at being beaten so badly.

Hooper sighed.

"Well, if seventy five percent of Osterry wants unification," he said, "it would take a war to keep them apart, whatever our opinion."

He usually tried to avoid sticking his nose into European affairs, but a general statement in favor of holding a plebiscite was about as innocuous an intervention as he could imagine. The Allied Kingdom would give him a hard time, but with all the money and effort the Unified States had put into the Great War, he figured he was entitled to have his voice heard.

"Bit of a shame, not getting all that money paid back," Morrow said.

"It's just money," Hooper said, shrugging. "On the bright side, if all goes well we'll have a nice surprise ready the next time Albion sends the Black Cats over for a friendly competition."

While he did feel that the Unified States needed to improve its computing orb technology for strategic reasons, in his heart of hearts he could admit that he was also sick and tired of having foreign nations lord their superior aerial performance over him. If turning things around meant he needed to funnel a bit of money to Germania, then so be it. Besides, they'd make it back on grain sales soon enough.