Chapter 6

Prosperity

One unindoctrinated into recent history would never guess that the world’s most destructive conflict ended only fifteen years previously.  Martial innovation quickly turned into commercial enterprise.  Business surged, fine arts had a voice again, and utopia seemed around the corner.  The Capitol Building and the Nord River Bridge became world-recognized symbols associated with the city, and what was once the small firm of Bosch Architecture and Engineering quickly garnered international acclaim.

St. Augustine’s, in its fourth iteration, dominated the center of downtown several blocks from Resolution Plaza.  The doors stayed open by day, and something was almost always going on inside.  Gerhardt passed the Cathedral every morning on the way to work and would occasionally slow to listen for a few minutes if someone happened to be playing music.  He considered the term “Industrial Baroque” that had since been applied to his artistic genre; it seemed to him to be somewhat of a misnomer.  The Industrial part arose from the temporal epoch more than it did any specific aesthetic, while Baroque referred to his juxtaposition of simple angular lines with flowing arcs that defined much of his supporting structures.  He carried themes of simplicity and openness into his other works as well including his collaboration with Herr Bonhoffer; the stark lines of the Nord River Bridge exemplified his aesthetic of combining minimal elements to complete the structure in its most robust form.

Bosch Architecture and Engineering currently resided in a mid-sized downtown structure of his own design, sharing space with a bank, a shipping company, an insurance company, and several law firms.  The going rate for such prime real estate in the center of the business district would have been pricier than Gerhardt would have chosen, but the developers who commissioned the building offered him a substantial discount on the lease. Every time he entered the building, he reminded himself of his turn in fortune since the war, which he would never have achieved had he not put his faith in his professor’s advice.  Every day, he made a vow to himself that he would continue to pursue his vision for as long as he was able.

“Herr Bosch!”  Gerhardt’s thoughts shifted outwardly.  He glanced across the marble lobby towards the voice that called him from the reception desk.  “Someone came by to see you yesterday, said he was an old friend.  He wanted to know if he might be able to drop by later this afternoon.”  Gerhardt wheeled his bicycle beside him, veering from his original course towards the speaker’s direction.  The receptionist noticed the break from Gerhardt’s usual protocol to leave it outside, “nice bike, looks brand new.”

“Just got it.” Gerhardt acknowledged.  “After riding that clunker for 15 years, I thought it was time for an upgrade.”  His semi-custom-built bicycle was, in fact, the largest personal expenditure he had made in a long time.  It was still too new and too nice to leave outside.

“Beautiful color.” 

“Oh, thank you.  They call it ‘sapphire.’  So, did this person identify himself?”

“He didn’t give his name, but he did ask when you might be available.”

“I was on site all yesterday, and I’ll probably be out of the office most of the afternoon today as well.  If he calls back, tell him he might be able to catch me at lunch, but I can’t guarantee it.”

“I’ll let him know if he comes back.”

Gerhardt stashed the bike in a closet on the same floor as his office.  He enjoyed a large space with windows across the entire back wall.  The room had a pleasant ambiance, and he didn’t mind spending many long hours there, losing track of time immersed in his work.  

This morning proceeded as any other; he fielded several international calls followed by a meeting with one of his engineers.  The latter entered just as Gerhardt finished up his last conversation.  Gerhardt singled out several geoengineering surveys from the mass of papers spread out on his desk, and once he hung up the phone, directed his attention to the engineer.  “I need you to examine the buildings around these three sites, determine our minimum and maximum setbacks, and get an idea of the extent to which we’ll need to underpin the surrounding structures.  Herr Bonhoffer is planning to be here next week to consult on the excavation, so we’ll need a preliminary report before he gets here.”

“Yes sir, I’ll have an estimate by tomorrow morning.”

Gerhardt waved in an apprentice immediately after dispatching the engineer.  “I’m assigning you to head up the tests of our new post-tensioned tie back system.  We’ll need it to be deployable by the time we’re ready to excavate…”  

Once the apprentice left, Gerhardt reminded himself, now I need to schedule the wind tunnel tests. 

“Ger…” 

The interruption grated on Gerhardt’s ears.  Dietrich’s voice immediately called up his last brush with death in the brick mazework of canyons by the old rail yard near the dock.  “So, you managed to find me again,” he said without looking up. 

“You haven’t changed much.”

“Nei, just busier.  Are you here to pay me back?”

“…uhm, not… exactly.”

“I hope you’re not here to ask for more money.”

“…no… but I couldn’t help but notice your recent acclaim since you’ve hung out your shingle.  Your infamy has gotten you some name recognition.  I suspect that’s why your design won that contest, and probably why you got to rebuild St. Augustine and the Richtgebau.”

“Actually,” Gerhardt responded pointedly, “all designs for the RP contest had to be submitted anonymously.  Each of us was assigned a number and nobody knew who won until after the judging.”

“I bet somebody figured it out.”

“Maybe they just liked the design, Dietrich.” 

“You can’t say they didn’t know who you were when you submitted your plans for the cathedral or the Capitol Building.”

“I was asked to rebuild the church, but the Richtgebau was a competitive contract.”

“So, I’ve read… Bosch Architectural Engineering or whatever it’s called is now edging up on Peter Hanning Architects as the top designers for municipal projects.  Between the two of you, you get more contracts than any of the other firms in the nation.  You can’t deny your notoriety has played in your favor.” 

“By the way, when were you planning to pay me back?”

“Your particular situation makes that difficult, but I’m sure we can figure out something.”

Gerhardt continued what he was doing, choosing not to make eye contact with his visitor.  “Perhaps I should start charging interest.”

Dietrich didn’t immediately answer, and Gerhardt hoped he would just go away.  “Looks like work’s keeping you busy,” he finally ventured.

“In fact,” Gerhardt stated, “I have five architects, three engineers, and two apprentices working under me.  Furthermore, Sentinel International Investment Group has commissioned BAE to design the tallest skyscraper in the world.”  Such a load kept Gerhardt happily occupied and his company constantly expanding.  True to his promise, all his energy went into bringing to life the vision he had seen coming home in the car.

“You ever get married?” 

Gerhardt blinked at the oddity of the question, finally lifting his head to make eye contact with Dietrich.  The Graf wore a black suit and the Cross of War.  His appearance reminded Gerhardt of a time he would rather have forgotten.  Dietrich’s frame was as thin as ever, but his face looked puffy and dissipated.  Not much was left of his hair but fine white wisps sparsely but evenly distributed over his head.  It would probably have looked fuller if he had washed it more recently.  “I’m curious because Matilde sometimes asks about you.  I found out she moved across the mountains during the war, and that’s probably why you didn’t get a response from her.  She’s back in the area again and has taken up residence not far from the estate.”

Gerhardt raised an eyebrow.  “Are you proposing to arrange a date?”

“Ahhh,” he fumbled a few moments, “I don’t know if you would call it a date, but… a meeting.  You could join us for dinner one evening.  I have a few things I would like to discuss with you as well – but of course, it involves nothing in the realms of finance.”

The Grand Ball

Several months elapsed from Dietrich’s casual invitation to the time when an elaborate formal summons to a grand ball at the von Strieben estate arrived at his office.  It gave him three weeks to find the appropriate apparel and figure out how he was going to get there without a car.

It rained on the day Gerhardt made the trip to the estate.  Public transportation would not have brought him so far off the beaten path, so he rode the 58-kilometers to his parents’ house the previous day so he could borrow their car to make the drive into the mountains.  Though he rarely thought about it now, the fact that he had flown last time he visited the estate rekindled his regrets that he never got back to flying.  Perhaps one day, when he had time, he would buy a small plane for personal use.  Driving took much longer, and the roads into the mountains were not always reliable.  Ski touring had been a passion since his youth, and for a less formal occasion in winter, he might have enjoyed making the trip on skis.  Clouds threatened the ride to his parents the day before, but at least the rain held off until after he had acquired the car.  He followed a winding road up a hill that he knew would eventually round out into a relatively flat plateau; he’d never approached by land before, and he appreciated the ruggedness of the terrain in a way that he could not by flying over it – not that anyone would choose to fly in on a day like today anyway.  When the gradient finally leveled off, the von Strieben estate loomed gray on gray against the mountains and the low-lying clouds.  A few aircraft stood in the field beside the stone manor and several more automobiles lined the circle at the entrance.  In another field, horses grazed alongside a few cows, sheep and goats. 

His parents’ matte black, post-war jalopy seemed uncouth in comparison to the assortment of fine cars in the driveway, so Gerhardt parked at the opposite end of the circle.  He adjusted the rear-view mirror so he could give his appearance one last check.  Other than the gray that streaked his temples and flecked the edge of his mustache, his physical features hadn’t changed much since he last saw Matilde.  Formal dress was the order of the evening, though Gerhardt hadn’t been to one of these affairs since the war.  During the war, he would have dressed in parade military uniform adorned with his medals and decorations, but tonight he wore a standard tuxedo and a short version of an aviator’s white silk scarf.  By this time, the rain subsided into a steady mist that had more of a penetratingly cold effect than a saturating with moisture effect.  He stepped out of the car, avoiding puddles as best he could as he made his way across the circle.

The valets and butlers were adorned in nearly identical tuxedos to his own, except they wore bow ties.  They never engaged him directly as he passed through the entrance but seemed to greet him with an odd kind of stare.  The treatment made Gerhardt feel awkward, as though he hadn’t chosen the correct attire.  Dietrich appeared in full military dress, wearing the rank of oberst leutnant, “I’m sure our guest of honor needs no introduction,” he announced as he led Gerhardt into the main hall with one arm draped around his shoulders.  His breath carried the scent of red wine.  Gerhardt recognized several others from the unit and saw still more people he did not know. 

“Matilde,” Dietrich called out as soon as he spotted her across the room, “come say hello to our guest.” 

Gerhardt would have scarcely recognized her as she glided towards them.  It wasn’t her features so much as her demeanor that had changed from the way he remembered her.  Her movement looked more as though she were skating on ice than walking, bringing her to a stop just in front of the ‘guest of honor.’  She tilted her head to one side as she looked up at him.  Her hand brushed aside the scarf that lay across his shoulders to caress the satin on his lapels before reaching up to stroke the edge of his mustache.  Her touch felt different now, distant and cold, as her fingers brushed his hair off his forehead.  Eyes that had always been transparent to him were now murky and unreadable.  Her hand dropped to the chain before traveling down his chest.  “Good to see you survived,” she intoned, straightening his scarf back to its original symmetry.  A boy at the cusp of adolescence, also dressed in a tuxedo, took his place by her side.  “This is my son, Manfred.”

“Nice to meet you Manfred,” Gerhardt nodded in formal acknowledgement and shook his hand.  He surmised Matilde had long since married, but whatever disappointment he felt remained buried deep within him.  He couldn’t blame her for moving on with her life; he had certainly moved on with his.  His suspicion was confirmed when a man slightly younger than himself in naval military dress joined them. 

“…and this is Richard, my husband.”

Gerhardt repeated the same polite ritual, showing no outward emotion. 

“So, I understand you were the old flame,” Richard laughed half-heartedly.  “Looked for a moment there like there might still be a spark between you.”

Gerhardt smiled slightly with a self-effacing shrug.  “It’s been a long time.”

Richard offered, “perhaps, then, you would like to have the first dance.”

“I would be honored.”

Dietrich entreated the maestro to strike up the orchestra, which started playing a waltz.  Gerhardt took Matilde’s hand, so she followed him out onto the floor.  People ringed the great hall, and about halfway into it, he realized the two of them were going solo.

“You dance well, considering,” Matilde whispered into his ear about halfway through their number.

“Did you get my letter?”

“Yes.”  They took a few more turns, but she didn’t elaborate. 

“Did you write me back?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“I didn’t want to disappoint you.  At that point, you were kind of… damaged goods.”

Gerhardt repressed a laugh.  “Damaged goods, how so?”

“An experience like that is bound to be traumatic.  I didn’t want to have to watch you wrestle with your demons, and I didn’t want to live my life in the shadow of your regrets.”

Gerhardt found her supposition amusing.  “Actually, I’m doing just fine.”

Everyone clapped at the end.  Matilde made a slight curtsey before skipping off to Richard who stood across the room, audibly praising her for her grace.  Gerhardt turned to his host, nudging him with his elbow, “you didn’t tell me she was married.”

“I thought it best you work that out amongst yourselves.”

“A heads-up would have been nice.”

“Here, let me offer you some wine,” Dietrich responded reaching for a glass as a butler swirled by with a tray. 

Gerhardt took the offering and drifted away, sipping at it with little interest.  The orchestra was in full swing now, and most guests were enthralled in the dance.  Instead of joining them, he meandered back into the foyer and up the huge marble semi-spiral staircase to the level above onto the balcony that faced the circle.  In the early darkness, the moon shone through the thin veneer of haze.  What am I doing here? 

“Gerhardt!”  He didn’t know how much time had passed, but his host’s voice prompted him to dinner, one of those seven course affairs he knew would wear well beyond midnight.  

“A toast!” Dietrich stood up, “A toast to the glory of Richtenstadt!  May she rise again, Über alles!”

“Über alles!”  Everyone repeated to the clinking of glassware. 

Dietrich took slow measured steps as he announced in a loud voice, “everyone, it is with great pleasure that I announce, I’m running for a seat in the Richtgebau.  The time is nigh… time to rebuild our great nation… to lift up our Volk from out of the ashes of disgrace and regain our proper place as the one, true world leader.” 

“Herr Bosch,” one of the guests prodded, “I understand you’re the one responsible for designing the new Richtgebau.”

“Ja,” Gerhardt nodded.  He would not have brought that up himself.

“Impressive design, befitting the center of government for the imminent Thousand-Year Reich.”

“Dankeshön.”

The host seemed annoyed at the mention of anything that didn’t pertain directly to him.  By the end of dessert, Dietrich walked with an unsteady gait and his speech had taken on a perceptible drawl.  “The first thing we need to do is annul that heinous Treaty of Laurien,” he stated matter-of-factly, “rebuild our military might, and create the greatest war machine on the face of the planet, then… let no-one dare challenge us!”

“We seem to be doing fine as it is.”

Dietrich stopped, letting his gaze settle on Gerhardt.  “Fine?  We’re doing fine after being pummeled into the ground and… humiliated by our worst enemies?”

“Our borders are intact, and we have a thriving economy.”  Gerhardt commented off-handedly.  Everyone’s stare pelted him at once, so he elaborated, “at our current rate of development, Richtenstadt stands to become one of the most technically advanced, and wealthiest nations in the world.  That being the case, why would we want to set ourselves back with another war?”  He eyed many of the guests in turn, none of whom offered an immediate response.  “What’s wrong with reconciliation?”

Dietrich’s voice sounded incredulous when he spoke.  “Why would we want to reconcile with our enemies?”

“Why not?  Technically, we started the war over natural resources in Rhyacia, anyway.  With strong foreign policy, we should be able to acquire whatever we need through fair trade.”

Dietrich blinked at him as though he hadn’t heard him correctly.  “It’s not just about some natural resources.  We held Rhyacia for a thousand years before the Francinians overran it.”

“Rhyacea went back and forth for generations; we could never hold it long for much the same reasons we didn’t manage this time, either.  Perhaps if we had focused just on Rhyacea, we could have held it this time, but we overstepped our limitations by pushing further into Devonia.  It took seven countries six years to stop us, and it got us nothing.”

“A minor setback.  Teutonic rule is inevitable.  It is our divine destiny.”

“Putting ethical constraints aside, starting another war would be strategic suicide, even if we could rebuild our military overnight.”

“Our military was nothing!  We should have prepared for all-out war against Devonia, but our leaders were too shortsighted.  The only thing stopping us now is Girardeau’s treaty; that is an injustice that we must avenge.”

“More than fifteen million people died in that conflict, and in the end, not one centimeter of land was gained on either side.  If the Allied Forces had decided to push it, the outcome of the war and the terms of the Treaty of Laurien could have been a lot worse.”

“You’re defending Girardeau… after what he did to you?”

“The Allied contingency was to firebomb the capital and take everything up to the Valhalla Mountains.  If it weren’t for him, everything up to your estate would be annexed to Francinia right now, and I might still be a prisoner of war.” …or executed.

“Was that in that contract you had to sign?”

“That was spelled out quite clearly in the armistice.” 

“You made a mistake acquiescing to Girardeau.  Some say your signing that agreement constituted treason.”

“Our military and political leaders signed the armistice, and nobody has accused them of treason.”

“But you, personally, didn’t have to sign that covenant of non-aggression.”

“We all had to sign whatever was laid before us, either that or face harsher retribution.”

“Retribution?  To whom?  To Richtenstadt… or to you?  Your accepting defeat and conspiring with Girardeau was a traitorous act.  We never, under any circumstances, should have surrendered.  Had I been grand marshal or chancellor, I would have fought to the last man standing and we would have turned this war around.” 

“With what?”

“…the blood and guts of the noblest people in the world.”

“We lost enough blood and guts in that war, and such assertions border on delusional.  I sometimes wonder if you suffered some kind of head trauma I’m not aware of?”

“Me?  I got through the rest of the war fairly uneventfully – oh – though I did manage to score 277 kills by the end of it.  I would think you were the one with the traumatic brain disorder, being shot down and crashing into a field and all that – did you hit your head on landing?  And after being captured and paraded through the Francinian capital… just like Teluricus…”

“Enough already.”

“Maybe the more honorable thing to have done in your situation would have been to shoot yourself rather than let yourself be captured, but I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt considering the impact of the crash probably did affect your judgment.”

The aircraft was in better shape than I was.  The image of the leprechaun girl materialized in his mind.  What if he had turned his weapon on himself?  How could he have known then what would happen?  “If my wingman had done his job, then maybe I never would have been shot down in the first place.”

“Oh, so now you’re blaming me.  Well, the experience has not only adversely affected your judgment, but your stay in Francinia seems to have turned you into a pacifist sycophant as well.  While you were busy making your grand finale, I was making sure the rest of our unit got back home safely.  I don’t care what happened to you after you were shot down, no self-respecting human being would allow himself to be bound in chains and led around through the main corridor of Laurien as a war trophy.”

“Sorry to say, I’m not impervious to the effects of scopolamine.”  Gerhardt got up and left the table, deciding he would rather risk the drive down the tortuous mountain roads in the dark than spend one more moment at the von Strieben estate. 

The main hall looked huge with nobody in it, and when he reached the foyer, he was startled by the apparition that greeted him – the mirror image of Dietrich – a stern looking woman, tall and thin, wearing a widow’s black dress and wisps of white hair down to her shoulders.

“Herr Bosch.”

“Frau von Strieben?”

“I would like to have a word with you, if I may.”  He followed her downstairs on a route that bypassed the dining room into the kitchen where she motioned to him to take a seat.  “I must apologize for my son’s behavior.  I also understand he borrowed a large sum of money from you some years ago.”

Gerhardt nodded, not immediately wanting to disclose the amount.

“Did he tell you what it was for?”

“He told me it was to pay back taxes for the estate…”

Betrayal

The sound of boisterous laughter and the patter of unshod feet shuffling past his door woke Gerhardt the next morning.  He remembered being so tired that he accepted Frau von Strieben’s invitation to stay in one of the rooms upstairs, where he had promptly fallen asleep in his tuxedo.  Cracking the door open, he could see Dietrich and Matilde who must have thought they were alone.  They stopped and kissed at the top of the stairs, holding each other in a long, passionate embrace. 

“What are you going to tell Richard?”

“I’ll tell him I’m pregnant.”  They both burst out laughing again. 

“Seriously, what will you say to him?”

“He’s so drunk he won’t remember what happened last night.  He’ll never know I didn’t come back to the room with him, and I sent Manfred out to the barn because he wanted to sleep in the loft.  I promised him a pony ride.  You will give him a pony ride, won’t you?”

“Shh… of course I will, dear.” Dietrich said softly. 

“What are you going to tell Gerhardt?”

“I think I already told him.  Nobody respects a traitor.  Go now, go to Richard; hurry before he wakes up.”

The irony of Dietrich’s command to her seemed lost on the couple.  Gerhardt waited until they both disappeared down the stairs before moving from where he stood.  Frau von Strieben saw to it that someone fetched his overnight bag from his car, so he bathed and changed, then discovered she had also arranged an elaborate breakfast to be served along with whatever else he might need before he left.  Out on the front lawn, he noticed the Silver Phantom sitting in the driveway.  His first instinct was to go smash it into scrap metal himself, but it would be a shame to destroy such a work of art, especially one for which he had helped pay.  Technically, that car should be one fifth mine.  I could have bought a right decent car with ten thousand Kroner.  Instead, he turned his gaze away from it and trundled towards his parents’ vehicle at the edge of the circle, then tossed his overnight bag in the back seat and cranked the old car’s engine to let it start warming.  The noise was loud enough that he popped some rubberized noise blockers in his ears like the kind he used to wear in flight.  Dietrich emerged from the house a few moments later, apparently surprised to see that Gerhardt had yet to leave the premises.  Gerhardt watched his tachometer, hoping the RPMs would drop at any moment.  Dietrich approached the vehicle, signaling him to roll down the window. 

“You are a consummate liar,” Gerhardt stated. 

Dietrich’s eyes narrowed to two, ice-blue slivers.  “You… are a traitor.”  His voice dripped with disdain as he shouted over the engine.  “I should have shot you down myself when I had the chance.” 

Gerhardt half expected his former colleague to pull out a pistol and shoot him right there.  His heart raced as he looked past his cruel host at the aircraft in the field, resisting the urge to challenge him to a duel in the skies above the estate right then.  The pitch change from the RPMs falling distracted him from his fantasy and he refocused on Dietrich’s unchanging expression.  He leaned forward slightly through the open window.  “I should have let that guy bash your brains in with that crowbar.” 

Homecoming

The sound of the car rumbling up the drive brought Gerhardt’s mother out to greet him.  The driver took the sound blockers out of his ears as soon as he cut the engine.  With accruing age, the car rattled, the engine got louder, and the wind noise had become unbearable.  His mother opened the door for him and asked enthusiastically, “so, how was the date?”

“Pfffwww, I would hardly call it a date; she’s married and has a son.”  Gerhardt retrieved his overnight bag from the back and the two of them started walking towards the house together.

“Well, that narrows the list.  I hope you weren’t too terribly disappointed.” 

“She’s changed since I knew her.  I don’t think we would be compatible now.”

“Well, how’s your old friend, Dietrich?”

“Dietrich… he really disappointed me.”

“Oh?”

“He showed a much darker side.  Maybe it was because he was drunk, but… well, let’s not talk about that.  Anyway, I think you’re due for a new car, or at least an overhaul on this one.”

“We don’t need to spend money on luxuries like that.  Neither of us drives enough to justify a new car.”

“Well, maybe I can work on it.  I don’t have a place to do a complete overhaul, but I can at least have it running a little smoother.  I might be able to take it into town and rent a bay.”

“We’re not in any hurry.  I don’t have any place far to go, and your father doesn’t see well enough to drive anymore.”

“Really?  I knew he’s been having problems, but has his eyesight gotten that bad?”

She stopped him just in front of the door and lowered her voice.  “The problem has been progressive, especially these last two years, but in the last couple of weeks his vision has taken a turn for the worse.  His central sight is completely gone.”

“Has he seen a doctor about it?”

“He was in denial, but I finally convinced him to go about a month ago.  Unfortunately, there’s not a lot they can do for him.  They told him it would just run its course.  I want you to be aware; it’s a sensitive issue with him.” 

“What’s he going to do about work?”

“He insists he’s able to continue, but I don’t let him near the machines anymore.  He tells me how to set up the jigs and the routers but it’s not the same.  It’s been difficult for him.  Thank heavens he can still read, though it’s tedious for him.  He can only see what’s in his periphery.”

“… but what if one of you needs to see a doctor or if there’s an emergency?  You’re going to need a reliable car.”

She opened the door to the house and motioned her son inside.  They found his father sitting in his great chair in the front room holding the paper when they came in.  He fluffed out the pages and lowered the paper just enough to peer over the top in Gerhardt’s direction. “Gerhardt, is that you?”

“Yes Papa.”

“I hope you’re planning to spend a little time with us instead of coming in touch-and-go like you usually do.”  His father’s reference reminded Gerhardt how during the war he used to fly home for visits and land in one of the open fields. 

“If you like, I’ll stay the night and plan to get an early start in the morning.”

“Yes, we’d like that.  Oh, and I broke one of your cups a few days ago, do you think you can make another for us?

Gerhardt smiled.  “That’s why I made ten place settings.”

“Ohh… I’m sorry to say… we’re now down to seven complete ones.”

Gerhardt surmised his father’s clumsiness might be a byproduct of his failing eyesight.  “Sure, was it one of the green ones?”

“Yes, that’s the one.  By the way, I read a couple of days ago that the Hanning Firm got the contract for the new opera house.  Did you put in a bid for it?”

“I did.”

“I’m surprised you didn’t get it, especially after what you did with the plaza, and the cathedral… and the Capitol Building!”

“Can’t win every contract, but having seen the preliminary designs for it, I think it will become a national landmark when it’s finished.”

“That Hanning fellow is one of your biggest competitors, isn’t he?”

“Their firm and ours have been vying for most of the municipal contracts for the last several years.  It’s probably just as well that I didn’t get this one because I have my hands full right now with the Sky Tower.  On top of that, I’ve got another proposal pending I’ve been working on for several years.  It’s… big.  Besides, diversity is a good thing.” 

“Oh?” His mother prompted, “what’s this proposal?”

Gerhardt smiled, “I don’t want to let on too much about it before it’s official.”

“We won’t tell anyone,” his father assured.

“All right, but keep it a secret for now…  I’m working on a bridge to span the channel.”

“How long have you been working on that?”

“The idea came to me when I was in Francinia, but it hasn’t been without controversy.  The Department of Civil Infrastructure dismissed it as impractical the first time I presented it, so I went back to the drawing board and completely redesigned it.”

His mother responded, “is that even possible?”

“It’s possible.  The question is will it be politically feasible.”

“Speaking of politics and Francinia,” his father cut in, “François Girardeau has been named the new Secretary of State.  That’s an outrage after what he’s done!”

“He’s actually a good choice.”  Both of his parents voiced their surprise to hear their son say that.  Gerhardt explained, “he’s done more than anyone to foster reconciliation, and to avoid a second global conflict.”

“…but… isn’t he the one who had you…”

Gerhardt could feel his face turn red.  “It wasn’t his idea… exactly…”  He shrugged because he would rather change the subject.  “…and regardless of our personal differences, his statecraft has been unquestionable.”

“It’s a wonder he’s still in politics this long after the war,” his father commented.

“He managed a long time in a difficult position.  Our side accuses him of being too unforgiving while the Allied Powers criticize him for being too lenient.  Either way, he’s not afraid to speak his mind or stand behind his position.   That’s not something many politicians can do.”

“I hadn’t thought about it,” his father replied, “but you’ve met him in person; did you ever get a chance to sit down and really talk in-depth with him?”

“I stayed at his house the last four days I was there.  We discussed a lot of things, including the fact his son was…” he choked on his words.  “Well…” he lowered his voice, “let’s not talk about that.”

His mother anticipated what he had tried to say, “you must have been the one who shot him down, then, aren’t you?”

Gerhardt’s voice trailed off.  “Yes.”

Chapter 7

Second Chances

The groundbreaking ceremony for the opera house took place eleven blocks from Resolution Plaza, but after the much-heralded laying of the foundation, work progressed sporadically for three years.  The newspaper reported constant battles between Hanning and his investors and contractors.  The latter wanted to cut costs while Hanning insisted that doing so would place too many design constraints and curtail the scale of the project.  Stalling meant spending more money, and funding began to wane, but Hanning wouldn’t budge.  The running joke became that the city council would have to commission one of the great composers to write an opera to commemorate the tribulations of the opera house if it ever finally opened.  Complaints accrued with the continuing delays, and the public finally called for the abandonment of this half-finished mess.  The fiasco ended with Hanning’s financial backers demanding reimbursement and the contractors refusing to continue working on it. 

Gerhardt picked up a paper on the way to work one morning, wheeling his bicycle by the outdoor newsstand near his office.  He leaned against the top tube of the frame as he perused the headlines, ‘Opera House Scrapped: Hanning Firm Files for Bankruptcy.’

“That’s too bad,” Gerhardt muttered out loud.

“Hey, you gonna pay for that?  I should charge you a handling fee!” 

It took Gerhardt a second to realize the newsstand owner was addressing him.  He was so engrossed in the article that he reached into his pocket for some loose change and flicked a one kroner piece casually to the attendant without putting the paper down.  He didn’t bother to look at the coin because he knew by feel what denomination it was.

“Now are you going to get out of here so other customers can buy something, or are you just gonna stand there blocking everybody with your bike?”

Gerhardt’s gaze swept across the immediate area; no one else was around, but to placate the newsstand owner, he took a few steps to his right so that he wasn’t standing directly in front of the display.

Ten seconds later the newsvendor yelled at him again, “hey, what are you still doing here?”

Gerhardt pinned him with his glare.  “I’m reading here!”

“Well,” the owner pointed across the street, “go read somewhere over there!”

The vendor’s rudeness amused him, but he realized his own behavior probably appeared cavalier.  In concession, he rolled his bike a few more meters up the sidewalk before continuing to read.

“Hey, Bosch!” the guy screamed at him.  “You always have to get your way, don’t you?”

The man’s recognition of him felt a little unnerving.  Gerhardt gave an exaggerated shrug.  “What, you own the whole sidewalk now?”

“You obviously think you do.”

“It’s public property.”  Gerhardt checked his watch.  Meetings beckoned, and this guy was going to be a jerk any way he looked at it, so he folded the paper and strapped it to his rear rack before walking the rest of the way to his office.  Then, as if it fell from the sky, an idea struck him...         

The conference room in the Hanning office boasted a beautiful red hardwood rectangular table with several impressive architectural models corralled to the center of it.  Gerhardt and his two lawyers sat at one end as several other lawyers and most of the partners in the Hanning firm buzzed in hushed voices amongst themselves at the other.  The most notable object in the room, a large porcelain oxblood vase, stood watch over the proceedings from its perch on some shelves behind the conference table.  Gerhardt’s gaze drifted towards it, caught by the copper reflection of the ceiling lights glinting off its surface.  Without thinking about it, he started tapping his pen from end to end on the tabletop in slow steady pulses.

“Would you stop that, please?”  Peter Hanning called from across the table.  “We’re trying to work out some important details here.”

Gerhardt put the pen in his coat pocket and folded his hands in his lap as he glanced down from the vase to the contract sitting open in a leather folder on the tabletop.  The last time he had attended such a formal signing was under less auspicious circumstances.  Inwardly, he sympathized with Herr Hanning who undoubtedly took the formality as the official affirmation of his defeat.  

Gerhardt hated to see the Hanning Firm go under, and while he knew he was taking a significant risk, he calculated the potential payoff for both parties to be enormous.  I just hope this doesn’t put us both under the till.  Gerhardt had never met Peter Hanning in person, and he surmised the combination of the man’s small stature and demure demeanor made it easy for contractors to take advantage of him.  After much ado, he, Peter and the other stakeholders signed the document concluding the sale of the Hanning Firm.  Peter’s demeanor afterward confirmed Gerhardt’s earlier observations, so Gerhardt consciously tried to tone down his sometimes overbearing presence.  Nevertheless, Herr Hanning stalked past him out of the room without slowing to acknowledge him, and never once averted his gaze from the floor.          

Peter Hanning’s office door was open when Gerhardt passed by it on the way out of the building.  The sound of things being moved clumsily caught Gerhardt’s attention, and it occurred to him that he might offer some help.  He leaned in the doorway for a moment to see what was going on.  The firm’s former owner busied himself by pulling his larger personal items from the shelves and indiscriminately throwing them into crates.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m clearing out my office.”

“We’re not consolidating our offices to the new location for another few months.”

“I’ll not be moving with you.”

“You’re not resigning, are you?”

“The company’s no longer mine.  There’s no reason for me to stick around.”

“Herr Hanning, I bought your assets, I didn’t fire you.” 

“You and I have been each other’s biggest rivals for a long time, but I don’t think the way you do in terms of winners and losers.  Over the years, you’ve turned this into a kind of duel.  Well, congratulations, you won; now you can go home and gloat.”

“Don’t presume to think for me.  If anything, it’s been a constructive rivalry.  I don’t know about you, but it has inspired me to do some of my best work.”  Peter gave him a vague sort of look as though he didn’t know what to make of Gerhardt’s presence in his office at that moment and he really didn’t care.  “I like your work, Peter, you’re a great architect.  Your vision is one of the reasons I acquired your company.”

“Well, apparently, I’m not competent to run my own damn business anymore.”

“Look, everyone can have a bad break, and contractors can be a pain to deal with sometimes.  As much as I don’t like doing it, cultivating a hard-hitting attitude sometimes has its advantages…”

“Well, that’s one thing you do quite well.”

Gerhardt responded with a mild shrug.  “Be that as it may, I don’t want you to leave, and I think you should see this project through exactly the way you envisioned it.”

“How am I going to do that?” Peter’s voice shook with frustration.

“You just keep doing what you’re doing and let me deal with the contractors.”

Peter put the typewriter he was holding back down on his desk.  “Listen, Herr Bosch…”

“Just call me Gerhardt.”

“I don’t know how compatible our approach to business would be, or architecture for that matter, but I think it’s fair to say you have acquired a certain notoriety…”

“You mean now, or because of what I did during the war?”

“Both.”

“That shouldn’t matter; it doesn’t change the company’s mission.”

“… but it does matter because it affects the company’s philosophy and how it moves forward from here.  To be perfectly honest with you, I’m not sure staying on as your business partner would be a wise career move.”

“That’s your choice, but what are you planning to do instead?”

“I don’t know.  I’ll find a job at another firm somewhere.  Now that you have the contract, I’m sure you can redesign it in your Industrial Baroque or Nouveau Minimalism and build the most beautiful opera house the world has ever seen.”

“It’s your project and your vision; I’m not going to finish it for you.”  Peter wasn’t accustomed to such bluntness, and he seemed to vacillate between continuing packing or considering whether to hear out his potential new boss.  Gerhardt continued, “I’d be willing to work with you on it, sure, but as I say, it’s not my project and I wouldn’t presume to change the concept.”

“Well, I don’t feel very inspired to do anything with it now.”

“That’s giving up rather easily.”  Peter’s lack of reaction was hard to read.  “There were plenty of times I’ve felt the same way you do right now, but for better or worse, I decided to keep going, and in the end, I usually accomplished what I set out to do.”  Gerhardt picked himself up off the doorframe.  “Whatever decision you make, I’ll respect it, but I’ll be disappointed if you leave, and I think you should at least stay on long enough to finish what you started.”  Gerhardt tapped on the doorframe, then preempted Peter’s silence.  “I’ll be in my office downtown if you need me.”

Convergence            

The once separate companies BAE and Hanning became Bosch-Hanning Architecture & Engineering overnight.  It was all over the papers, and the resurrection of the opera house project created quite a stir in Aisengard’s social circles.  Though he wouldn’t admit it to himself, Gerhardt secretly looked forward to having a field day with the contractors.  For the moment, he enjoyed one of the most beautiful sunsets he had ever seen.  Looking out over the channel from the observation deck of the nearly finished Sky Tower, he could see all the way to Francinia.  Though the interior of the floor was mostly complete, cold wind gusts occasionally burst through the open spaces between the wooden enclosures where the temporary elevators came up the exterior of the building.  Gerhardt’s steel safety helmet reminded him of the wartime designs, updated with a polyfoam liner.  Its light blue color was about the only thing that differentiated it from the typical front soldier’s helmet. 

A supervisor in a suit and identical, bright green helmet came to brief him on the day’s progress over a blueprint laid across a construction table.  Gerhardt knew he was tired, but a spec or blob that he couldn’t blink away appeared in his vision.  The lines at the center of the paper began to waver until he shifted his eyes to bring them back into focus.  Movement behind him caught his attention, “Oh, Guten Tag, Herr Hanning.  Come have a look.”  Peter Hanning squeezed in between them.  Gerhardt made some extra room for him, though the construction supervisor either didn’t notice or didn’t acknowledge the newcomer.  “Good work, your team has put us slightly ahead of schedule,” Gerhardt said to the supervisor before turning his full attention to Peter.

“I was curious what the new office will look like, then I heard you were still here, so I came up to see the observation deck.  Impressive view.  I’ve never seen anything like it.”

The supervisor interpreted Peter’s presence as a dismissal and took his leave.  Peter commented, “It’s hard to imagine how a box could be built this high, straight up out of the ground.”

“The strength comes from the five-core structure.  The central core is connected to the four cores at the vertices by an outrigger truss system at each transfer floor.  The transfer floors act something like a short span of bridge deck.  While the building can stand on its own, the buttresses allow much greater stability and reduce sway.  The buttresses also make the building more robust to damage; it won’t collapse even if it were to lose several floors.  The use of the outrigger system allows us much greater flexibility in the floor plan and more natural light penetrating the interior of the building.  The taper of the buttresses has a natural dampening effect over a range of frequencies and the spacing between the transfer floors stops the tube, so to speak, at irregular intervals, eliminating a single, resonant frequency…”  He noticed Peter’s eyes had glazed over, and he wondered if in his rambling he hadn’t lost his colleague’s attention.  In the silence Peter made solid eye contact with him, “you know… I feel like I’m apprenticing all over again.”

“There’s a lot we can learn from one another,” Gerhardt said, knowing Peter was still on the fence about his decision.

“You are just so… intimidating.” 

Gerhardt tilted his head at him, trying to figure out exactly what he meant by that, but he wasn’t going to try and second-guess him.  Peter continued, “you’ve apparently made some headway on revamping the construction contracts for the opera house.”

“I’ll be glad to see that finished.  When it is, it will be an architectural landmark for centuries to come.” 

“Everyone listens to you.  They respect you but they don’t have any faith in me.”

“I do.”

“Did you see the way that guy just ignored me?” 

Gerhardt shrugged in response.  He didn’t want to offer empty explanations, and he realized his stereotyped gesture replaced his words when he didn’t know what to say. 

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” Peter said, “but I have to forewarn you, I have a new apprentice coming in.”

“Great!  I take it that means you’ve decided to stay.”

“Maybe, that will be partially contingent on how you receive my new apprentice.”

Gerhardt waited to hear what was so shocking about this new apprentice, but Peter simply waved goodbye.             

The Introduction

The news vendor who set up shop near the former BAE’s offices made a point of flagging down the cyclist who generally rolled in around eight.  Gerhardt slowed to a stop when he saw the man step into the bike lane.  “Hey, I noticed you were packing up your stuff yesterday.  Are you moving your offices?” 

Gerhardt picked his bike up onto the curb to get out of the path of traffic.  “We’re eventually planning to move into the Sky Tower, but we’re relocating to the adjacent building until the upper floors are finished.”

“Bold move you buying out Hanning, but you may have taken on more than you can handle with that opera house.  You better get it done, otherwise it’s gonna end up like your last flight.”  He made a diving motion with his hand and whistled the appropriate sound-effect.  “Pffft… and if you don’t finish, people ain’t gonna be happy.”

“We resume construction next week.”

“It’s all or nothing with you, isn’t it?”  He shook his head.  “So, you gonna buy something today?”

Gerhardt looked in the direction of the newsstand.  “I took a subscription, so I’ve already read the paper this morning.”

“Then did you read about the new statue they’re proposing to put up in Resolution Plaza?”

“I did,” Gerhardt repressed a smile.

“Do you think city council will approve it?”

Gerhardt shrugged.  “I don’t know.”  No way in hell.

“What do you think of the idea?”

Gerhardt smiled enigmatically.  “Politicians…” He decided it best to leave it at that. 

“I guess your moving means there won’t be anyone around to chase away my customers.”

“Speaking of which, here comes one now.”  Gerhardt made his escape once the newsstand owner turned around. 

“Hey!” the owner yelled at him when he saw that no one was there. 

“Heheheh.”  Gerhardt trotted up the sidewalk accompanied by the clicking of the bicycle chain through the derailleur.  He spent most of the rest of the morning putting office furniture on a rented truck that he left parked at the rear of the building overnight, then secured his bicycle in the back to drive to the new temporary space.

“You could have hired somebody to do that,” Peter noted after watching Gerhardt make several trips to his new office with sizeable chunks of furniture. 

“You know, I could use a hand with this desk,” he responded, thumbing behind him towards the truck that sat in the parallel parking at the entrance below, though he realized Peter wasn’t the most physically active specimen he’d encountered. 

“Ah…” Peter said at the appearance of a woman in a blue suit dress coming down the hall.  “Fraulein Klara Weick… Meet my partner, the inimitable Gerhardt Bosch.”

“Pleased to meet you,” Gerhardt said, “…oh…” he brushed aside the tide of hair that flopped over his forehead, then wiped his hand off on the front of his shirt.  “Sweaty palms,” he said before offering his hand.  During his physical effort, he had taken off his coat, unbuttoned his shirt collar, and stuffed the chain inside his shirt.  “I apologize for my appearance.”

“Oh, no worries,” she shook his hand.

“My new apprentice” Peter announced.

“Ah, excellent.  I look forward to seeing some of your work.”  From the strength of her grip, he surmised she might be into mountain climbing, and had she not been so nicely dressed, he might have asked her to help him with the desk.  Instead, a few of the building’s caretakers offered to assist with the task of bringing it up on the service elevator and moving it into his new office. 

After spending some time arranging the furniture, he sauntered past his partner’s office.  “Peter,” you wouldn’t happen to have 5 kroner I could borrow for lunch, would you?  I just blew my afternoon budget tipping the movers.” 

“Sure, I can float you some cash.”  He threw out a five kroner coin.  “So… what did you think about my apprentice?”

“She looks sharp.  I’ll be interested to see her portfolio.”

“I wasn’t sure how you would…” Peter floundered for words.

“How I would what?”

“React to the fact she’s a woman.”

Gerhardt shrugged.  “What’s that got to do with anything?”

Peter breathed a sigh of relief.  “Well, at least that’s not going to be a problem, then.  I’ll tell you what.  How about I take us all out to lunch.”

“I can’t refuse that offer” Gerhardt smiled.  “Much obliged.  You need your five k back?”

Peter shook his head.  “No, you keep it.  You might need it for something later on.”

“Thanks,” Gerhardt responded and moseyed out of Peter’s office.

Being new on the block, Gerhardt didn’t want to step out for his afternoon meal in a state of shambles, so he changed his shirt in his office and made sure he brought his dress up to proper workday decorum.  With his collar up and buttoned, the black chain hugged the outside edge of it.  Sometimes the conscious awareness of its weight so close on his neck induced a wave of claustrophobia that lasted a few minutes until he forgot about it again.  On his way out, he detoured by the restroom to comb his hair.  His mouth twitched at the image in the mirror that had begun to show his age.  Shocks of blond streaked through gray-white were all the color that was left in his hair, and while he still kept his mustache trimmed so that it stopped right at the edge of his mouth, white-blond mottling caused it to lose some of the sharpness in its delineation.  “I’m getting too old for that.”

Hidden Influences

A few uncertain stares greeted the trio as they entered a nice restaurant a few blocks from the new office.  The maître d’ commented, “Well, if it isn’t the Bosch-Hanning duo,” on their arrival.

“Three of us will be dining today,” Gerhardt said pointedly.

“But of course, Herr Bosch” the maître d’ tilted his head, then raised an eyebrow slightly.  “Would you like to try the buffet, or do you prefer to order from the menu?”

The three of them traded glances before agreeing the buffet would be fine.  Once at their table, Gerhardt said, “so, Fraulein Weick, I see you brought some of your work with you.  Mind if I take a look?”

“Of course not, Herr Bosch.  Please do.”  She handed a tube across the table to him. 

He carefully pulled out the contents and unrolled them, then held one of the sketches before him like a newspaper, surveying it for several moments.  His eyes automatically drifted down and to one side to put the object of his focus just outside his retinal center, where, for some reason today the lines tended to warp.  “Impressive,” he said, then began pointing out a few flaws and how she might fix them.  They were typical apprentice mistakes that he’d seen a thousand times before, but her work had more… vision than most.  “Where did you study?”  He offered a few guesses, surprising both of them with the accuracy of, not only what institution she attended, but also with which professors she studied.  The maître d’ swirled by to remind them that they should take advantage of the buffet before dinnertime.

Gerhardt gently rolled up the draft, replaced it in the tube and handed it back to Peter’s apprentice.  “Thank you, Fraulein Weick.  Sorry to cut it short, but it looks like we’re going to get run out if we don’t eat now.  I would be happy to resume this when we get back to the office if you’re not otherwise engaged.” 

“Of course, Herr Bosch.”  He felt a little uncomfortable by the fact she seemed to be in awe of him, perhaps because of his reputation, or perhaps she had grown more accustomed to Peter’s reserved mannerisms.  Almost no one was in the line this late in the afternoon and the maître d’ intercepted him as they returned to their table.  “Herr Bosch, there is a Herr Mazeppa here who wishes to speak with you, if that would be all right.”

“Sure, send him over.” Vague remembrances of this enigmatic fellow who visited him when he first set up his prestress lab played in his mind.  Though he hadn’t particularly relished the encounter, he wouldn’t be rude to the man.  “I don’t suppose the others will mind.”

An older, extraordinarily well-dressed gentleman approached the table, “Herr Bosch, Herr Hanning… Fraulein Weick,” he acknowledged the apprentice and Gerhardt wondered how he knew her name.  “Herr Bosch, you may recall, we’ve met once before.”

“I remember you, and I am well aware of who you are, Herr Mazeppa.   After all, almost every piece of heavy equipment on site is made by your company, and I’ve since come to learn you’ve financed more than half of the commercial holdings in the capital,” Gerhardt fought to suppress a laugh at a thought that popped into his mind, “and you’ve commissioned several… interesting works of art as well.”

“Yes…” the industrialist smiled vaguely.  “Not to mention the fact that we produced much of the hardware you used during the war.”  He spoke pointedly, first directing his attention to Peter.  “As you know, Herr Hanning, I have a vested interest in seeing this opera house through,” then shifted his focus to Gerhardt.  “I hope you are more successful than your partner was in this endeavor.”

“It’s Peter’s building.  I’m sticking with his original design.”

“Wise choice.  Nouveau Minimalism would have been too stark.”  A half-formed smile played on Georgy’s lips.  “Herr Bosch, your unwavering dedication to rebuilding this nation after the war is commendable, but you could do so much more.”

Gerhardt narrowed his eyes while trying to suppress a frown.  “What do you mean?”

“Have you ever thought about trying your hand at politics?”

Georgy’s question caught Gerhardt off guard, and he responded earnestly, “no, and I’m not sure getting involved in politics wouldn’t be crossing boundaries that I’m not supposed to cross.”

“Technically, you are correct, but I’m sure you could find ways around that.  Girardeau won’t live forever and then perhaps some of these constraints placed on you… won’t have to be adhered to quite so rigidly.”

“I don’t think I’m particularly well-suited to politics.”

Georgy considered Gerhardt’s self-assessment.  “That would depend on what agendas you pursue and on what backing you receive.”

“I don’t break my promises.”

Mazeppa’s eyes settled on him with an almost demonic look in them.  Again, they reflected the most extraordinary gemstone quality Gerhardt remembered from their first encounter.  The man’s words resonated softly in a low baritone.  “Maybe not intentionally, but I’m sure… I’m sure on some deep-seated level you would like…” that same half-formed smile materialized again, “revenge.” 

A cold sensation settled into Gerhardt’s stomach, and he swallowed hard to clear the knot in his throat.  “What would that achieve?”

“If you had the chance, wouldn’t you go back and do it all again?  Wouldn’t you play the scenario where you don’t get shot down, Richtenstadt wins the war, and you’re immortalized as a hero instead of being denounced by some as a traitor?”

Nobody thinks I’m a traitor, that’s just Dietrich’s absurd rhetoric.  Gerhardt hesitated to speak, then finally said, “revenge always comes at a high price.” 

Georgy silently moved behind Gerhardt and leaned over to whisper in his ear. 

“There’s a chance now, that chain could be taken off of you,” Gerhardt’s entire body felt like ice when Georgy touched him lightly on the shoulder, “…without killing you.”

Without looking at him, Gerhardt responded softly, “I’m not sure I want to take that risk.”

“Think about it…”  With that, Mazeppa wafted out of the restaurant, leaving a bitter chill in his wake. 

The three of them finished their meal in silence, not daring to discuss openly the event that had just taken place.  Only once back in the relative safety of the office did   

Peter ask, “what did he say to you?”

Klara commented, “did you see the look in his eyes?  I had the creepiest feeling he was trying to buy your soul.”

Gerhardt responded, “that was my impression as well.”

The White Fox Returns

Like clockwork, a few weeks after the consolidation of the Bosch-Hanning firm’s offices, Gerhardt’s old colleague resurfaced.  Gerhardt blinked a few times in disbelief when he saw who stood in his doorway.  A flood of rage passed over him, but he let it roll by without reacting to it.  “What brings you here today, Graf von Strieben?”  Will he never go away?  …and who the hell let him in here?

“I’m in the city for the afternoon session of parliament.  I was in the area, so I decided to drop by.”

Gerhardt leaned back in his chair and put his hands casually behind his head.  All these years later, the movement still caused a faint pull across his right ribs.  “Given our last conversation, the only reason I’m not concerned you’re about to shoot me right now is that it would be a bad career move for you politically.”

“Forget what I said.  I was angry and slightly hungover.”

“Slightly?”  Gerhardt leaned forward again when he put his hands in his lap and tilted his head towards his guest.  “You also called me a traitor.  That’s not so easy to forgive.”

“Well… get over it.  Maybe that was overstated, but reconciliation is not an acceptable option.  Hopefully now I can finally make some headway in redeeming Richtenstadt from disgrace.”

“Richtenstadt doesn’t need to impose world domination or exact retribution in order to redeem itself.”

“It’s our divine right…”

“Ja, and what’s to keep any other country from making the same claim?  Every nation in the world has the right to self-determination, and as long as we have that, then why would we need to start another war?”

“You’re some fine example.  If you’re so content to live in subjugation to Francinia and the rest of Devonia, why don’t you defect and move over there?”

“We aren’t living in subjugation.  If we took Laurien tomorrow, even if we held all of Devonia right now, how would that change how Joe Schmo in Strassenburg lives his life?  How is it going to change the way I live mine?  It isn’t, and starting another war would be undertaking huge risks for very little gain.”

“You know what your problem is?”  Dietrich paused theatrically.  “You have no vision.  If Richtenstadt united the world under one rule, then we could finally achieve perfect order and there would never be another war.”

“How many empires in the past followed that same ideology?  Most people, myself included, don’t want to see all that we’ve rebuilt destroyed by another senseless conflict.”

Dietrich almost didn’t let Gerhardt finish his last sentence before stating emphatically, “all of this… all of what we have here and now, all your overstated architectural frou-frou… is transient.  Teutonic rule is inevitable, and it is the only way we can achieve the full glory of our potential.”

Gerhardt suppressed rolling his eyes at such a statement.  “Think about this for a moment: you get most of your financial backing from Georgy Mazeppa – who’s Slavic by the way – and he doesn’t care one iota about your political ideology.  He’s an elitist; he controls an international company that owns monopolies across every sector of heavy industry.  Perpetuating an endless cycle of war and reconstruction is what he thrives on.  He doesn’t care who gets wiped off the map in that process.  Can’t you see that he’s using you to further his own agenda?”

“I know how to handle people like Mazeppa.”

“Apparently, he knows how to handle you.  I read he’s dedicating a bronze statue to you in Resolution Plaza.”

“You resent that, don’t you?”

“Actually, I think it’s kind of funny.”

“Well, next to you, I was the top scoring ace of the war, and I didn’t get shot down.”

Gerhardt suppressed a laugh.  “I thought this statue was going to be a tribute to your great political achievements, or is it still too early in your career to commemorate that?”

“Centuries from now, I will be remembered as the greatest chancellor Richtenstadt ever had!”

“Whoa!  Fast-forward from parliament to chancellor!  Next thing you know, you’ll proclaim yourself the sun king!”

“Very funny.”

“So… how’s Matilde?”

“She’s doing fine,” Dietrich’s voice turned sullen.  “Why?”

“Did she decide to leave Richard to marry you?”

“No…”

“Does Richard know?”

“About?”

“About you and Matilde.”

“Did she tell you about that?”

“She didn’t need to.”

“But you’re mad at me because of it, aren’t you?”

“I’m not, but Richard might be.”

“I know how to handle Richard.”

“Careful, that might not be such a good political move.”  Gerhardt looked at his watch, “and speaking of which, don’t you have a session of parliament to get to right about now?”

Dietrich mirrored Gerhardt’s gesture.  “Ja, I gotta go.  You and Richard… both of you… just need to get over it!”

Gerhardt wasn’t sure why, but as soon as he heard the elevator bell ring and doors close behind Dietrich, he started laughing.