"No shit, Sherlock." Bernie snorted. "Oops. Sorry. I forget sometimes that I'm not back in the world. I guess I shouldn't say things like that anymore. Somebody might take it the wrong way."

The man rose. "Perhaps I could join you at your table?" He walked the two feet that separated them. "I would like to know what 'no shit, Sherlock' means. You Americans, you have such odd expressions.

And another one I don't understand is 'having a screw loose.' And how that is different from 'being loose'

or 'screwing around'?"

"Sure, join me." Bernie used his foot to move a chair out from under the table. The stranger might buy him a beer if he answered some questions. Bernie was broke again. He was drinking too much beer lately, and didn't have enough money to pay for it, not from working on the work gangs. "Have a seat." "I amKniaz Vladimir Yaroslavich of Muscovy." The stranger took the vacant seat. Vladimir waved and the waitress and mimed his desire for a pitcher of beer. The waitress nodded.

"Ah... isKniaz your first name?"

"No.Kniaz is a title. It can mean anything from a prince to a duke or perhaps a count." Vladimir shrugged. "I am a relatively low rankedkniaz . So, what did you mean by 'all this'?"

"I mean all of it." Bernie waved at the room, carefully not waving with the beer mug. "The Ring of Fire mostly, I guess. It kind of shot my career down the toilet. No cars to work on, at least not any of the really good ones. I did my part. I was at the Crapper and Jena. But there's too many mechanics for the private cars we have running. No way I'm going to tie myself down into the Mechanical Support Division with dopes like G.C. Cooper and Bobby Jones working for the government.So now I'm stuck on the work gangs, trying to get by."

"You are not in your army?" Vladimir asked. "I thought most of the young men were in the army."

"Nah. Reserves. I'll go if they call, but not until. I didn't end up covered in glory like Jeff Higgins. Imagine a nerd like Jeff Higgins ending up a hero." Bernie still remembered Jeff from when they had been in high school together. Bernie had been a senior and a football star. Jeff, a few years behind, was a glasses wearing nerd. "Not me, though. Just the breaks. They haven't been running my way since the Ring of Fire." He paused a moment, thinking, then shook his head. No matter. "What's Muscovy? Your turn to answer a question."

It was a question Vladimir had gotten before. "Russia, but most nations of western Europe don't call it that yet."

"So what are you doing in Grantville?"

"Spying." Vladimir grinned.

"Are you supposed to tell people that?" Bernie grinned back. "I mean James Bond would never just walk up to someone and say 'Hi, I'm a spy.'"

"Well, it saves time. Officially I'm a representative of the czar, here to determine if the stories about Grantville are true." Vladimir grinned again. The grin was one of his best things. It gave the person he was dealing with the feeling that he was being let in on the joke. "Everyone in Europe has spies in Grantville.

I'm expecting spies from China to show up any day now."

Bernie laughed. "Yeah, China. Why not? So, what vital secret are you trying to get out of me, Mr. Spy?"

"How many planets are in the solar system?"

"Huh?"

"How many planets are in the solar system?"

"Why do you want to know that?" Bernie looked at Vladimir with puzzled face.

Vladimir took a sip of beer. "Do you know?" "Well, yes. Nine, but so what? Everybody knows that."

"I'm afraid not. What people outside of Grantville know, if they know anything, is that there are six."

"Six?"

"Yes. Mercury, Venus, Earth, Mars, Jupiter and Saturn. And they only know that if they're educated and not too conservative. Otherwise they think that the sun and all the planets go around the earth. And now that I have done my work for today, care for another beer?" Vladimir took up the recently delivered pitcher and poured Bernie a refill. "And after that, we can do tomorrow's work, if you like. What are the names of the other three planets?"

"Gee, I don't know, Vladimir." Bernie smirked. "Well, I might know. But a beer isn't going to buy that information. A sandwich might, though."

Bernie wasn't quite sure how it happened but by the end of the evening he had a part time job. As a spy, no less. He did make it clear that he wouldn't betray the folks in Grantville. That didn't seem to be what interested the Russian dude, though.

The next morning Vladimir mentioned to Boris that he thought he had spotted a spy. He failed to notice the looks exchanged by Boris and Grigorii. They listened politely and, just to be on the safe side, Boris put a watch on Henning for a few days. Not that he thought there was much chance that the lad was a spy. Both Boris and Grigorii knew exactly what was going on. Grigorii was worried about Vladimir's involvement with the young woman. She was a commoner, though he wasn't entirely certain of that. The outlanders, and especially the up-timers, handled rank differently. Boris was, too, if for rather different reasons. While Russia had agents, sometimes those agents didn't choose to come home. Vladimir was showing some of the signs.

Spring, 1633 Vladimir was buying a house just outside the Ring of Fire. In a way Boris approved but he worried that the princeling was too enamored of these up-timers.

Finally Vladimir tore himself away from the view. "Your network?"

"Progressing." Boris looked around the area. Castle Hills, it was called. "Several good down-timer prospects. The up-timers are not nearly as good. Too many James Bond movies, I think. Bernie Zeppi is especially bad. I would fire him except hiring up-timer spies is so difficult. I only use him when I want the target to know he is being followed."

"Perhaps then he should be offered other work," Vladimir suggested. "He's not that stupid and better someone that is not a good spy if we're to send him to Muscovy."

* * * The loud ringing of his old Big Ben alarm clock jerked Bernie out of his dream. It was a pity, really. In the dream, he'd been cruising in the restored 1972 Dodge Charger. He'd had the paint done just the way he wanted. No flags for Bernie, no sir. Flames, that's what he wanted. Red, orange and white flames on the black car. It would have been better than the old "General Lee."

Bernie laid against his pillow, daydreaming for a moment. It hurt, in a way. He had the car and he'd been saving for the paint job. Now it sat in the garage on blocks, useless. No gas yet, and not for a while longer. Life sucked.

He was drifting back into the dream when his bedroom door slammed open. He jerked back awake.

"Bernard." John Zeppi's voice held a certain amount of irritation. "You are a pig. Look at this room. It's a sty. A sty."

Bernie, still a bit groggy from the beer last night, nodded. "Yes, Dad. I'll get it cleaned up."

"The girls were never like this." John turned away, grumbling as he walked.

Bernie laid back on his pillow and did a bit of grumbling himself. Twenty-two years old with a curfew and Dad telling him to clean his room. No car. No prospects. The Russian guys were probably going to fire his ass. He was a lousy spy and he knew it. Then it would be back to doing labor on a work gang.

His sister had moved in with the kid, now that rents had shot up so high. All the complaints about Tom Ruffner and how rotten men were. Every day. All day. Shit. He had to find a way to get out on his own again. Then he looked at his clock.Ohshit. I'm late for the meeting with Boris again.

Bernie is a possibility, Boris thought.Not brilliant by any stretch of the imagination, but not really stupid, either. Right now he was muttering about girls, again. Bernie, it had to be admitted, had girls on the brain. Not surprising in a twenty-two year old. This was the most recent in a series of weekly interviews that Boris was paying Bernie for. It covered things like what he had seen when following people around and general knowledge.

Boris changed the subject. "Tell me about carburetors?"

Bernie looked at Boris clearly working out how to explain. "The carb does two things. It controls how much fuel and it mixes it with the air . . ."

Boris didn't really give a damn about carburetors but he listened anyway. What he was trying to gauge was how clear Bernie's explanations were when he understood the subject he was talking about.

Several times he had to call Bernie back and have him explain what was clearly obvious to the youngster. A couple of those times it turned out that Bernie didn't actually know why it worked just that that was how the part was made. Bernie knew that a venturi was needed and he knew that it was a narrowing of the barrel but he didn't know why the barrel had to narrow. "It just does, dude. I can look up why in the library if you really need to know."

That was less than encouraging to Boris, who was thinking in terms of how Bernie would answer questions in Muscovy when the library was weeks away.

The conversation drifted to other areas where Bernie had less knowledge. He knew that a transistor wasan electronic doohickey but not what it did or how it worked. About lasers he knew even less. They were just lights, very intense lights that burned through stuff.

Brandy laughed. Then, seeing Vlad's face, laughed some more. She couldn't help it. "Good grief." With difficulty, she repressed a snort. "Who have you been talking to, Vladimir?"

"Bernie Zeppi." Vladimir grinned at her laughter. "In his defense, he did warn us that it was just a guess."

"That explains it. If it's not part of an engine, Bernie doesn't care. Lasers aren't necessarily very intense; they are just all one color. Coherent light all traveling in the same direction." Brandy was bragging just a bit. She hadn't known that much about lasers herself but it had come up in researching compact disks recently. She decided to change the subject before Vlad asked for information she didn't have. "So, how are you doing in the library science class?"

"Well, I think." Vladimir grinned. "And your up-time English is getting easier for me, some of it. Perhaps another month, then I will join you in the Research Center more often. It certainly helps to know what to look for, rather than to wander through that massive amount of information without a direction. And the 'modern' English! I wonder if I will ever fully learn it."

"Well." Brandy settled back in the booth at Marcantonio's Pizza and took a sip from her wine glass. "It's really the only way to do it. I've seen people who wanted one specific bit of information spend hours just looking at pictures from the future."

"Enough of work." Vladimir motioned toward the waitress. "We will deal with work some other day.

Tell me about you."

Vladimir Yaroslavich was pretty happy with the results of the last few months work. "Well, Boris, what do you think?" He put down his tea cup. "Not so bad, eh? This should work. Bernie is not my first choice, but of the available up-timers, perhaps he is the best. He is at least not as arrogant as the other up-timer possibilities. The really qualified up-timers will not be tempted. They are too dedicated to this 'new US' of theirs."

Boris nodded. "Or too busy getting rich."

Bernie was one of several people that Vladimir and Boris were cultivating and one of two or three possibilities for recruiting to go to Muscovy. Others were being cultivated as information sources in Grantville. Few of them were up-timers.

Vladimir wasn't lying when he said every country in Europe had spies in Grantville. Spying works best when there are lots of spies. That way you can trade information or turn the other agents to your side.

Then there were the scientists from all over Europe who were showing up daily to see if their names got mentioned in the history books. Some of them were fairly decent sources of information.

"There are no better choices," Boris agreed. His finger traced a circle on the table. "Bernie at least knows more than some. He can read the English and interpret all these unusual words and phrases.

Neural net? What does that mean?" "I don't know." Vladimir shrugged. "That's why I'm going to make Bernie an offer." Then, in a fairly bad imitation of Marlon Brando, "I suspect it will be an offer he cannot refuse."

"A place of my own?" Bernie wanted to be sure what was being offered. "You'll furnish me with a house? And a shop? And people who will work for me?"

"Yes, we will. You understand, we are not asking you to tell us secrets. We wish only to understand this technology of yours. The cars, for instance. How does one build a car?" Vladimir looked interested.

"With a lot of blood, sweat and tears." Bernie shook his head, remembering the days at the shop.

"Sometimes the darn things are like people. You just can't make them do what you want."

"And there are other things, Bernie. Things we would like to know. The shape of an airplane wing is one.

There are a hundred little details that you grew up with that we have never seen. They seem natural to you but are strange to us." Vladimir used his hands to help him explain things, drawing the shape of an airplane wing.

"Boris, here, will make the trip with you, and introduce you to people. You will meet the czar, and give him some gifts from me, and from you. Any books you might have, your clothing, all that can go with you," Valdimir added. "It is a long trip. And you will be there, perhaps, for a long while. Of course, you will be paid for your time."

Bernie thought hard for a few moments. Life at home with Dad was no picnic He really didn't have any strong ties to Grantville, when he thought about it Even the girls he used to date were off getting married and working jobs. He couldn't afford to take anyone on a date, anyway. He couldn't drive his car. Why not?

"Why not?" Bernie said out loud. "Why the heck not? When do we leave?"

"As soon as possible. I made the trip in winter, but believe me, you don't want to." Vladimir shuddered.

"A week, two weeks, whatever you need. I will arrange the trip. Pack carefully. And be sure to bring any books you have."

NON-FICTION: Refrigeration and the 1632 World:

Opportunities and Challenges

by Mark H. Huston

Barflies have an amazing working knowledge on a lot of subjects. They are, on the whole, a bunch of pretty bright people, having great fun playing at this "what-if" exercise that is Eric Flint's 1632 universe.

Hanging out in cyberspace, and in real life with some of these 'flies, has been an educational, intellectually stimulating, and an occasionally intellectually humiliating, experience. While putting this article together, I have learned more than just the basic history of refrigeration, which by itself is fascinating. (In fact, I knew quite a bit to start before I started this, but that is another story.) I have learned much more about how truly complex life really is.

It has been said that it is a truly wise man who realizes that the things hedoes not know are far, far more important that what he trulydoes know. I have finally figured out what that means.

As one of those (hopefully) bright barflies, I can come up with a pretty good technical argument and occasionally spin a halfway acceptable yarn. Occasionally even contribute! But I was unprepared for the "AH-HA" moment that hit me during the third rewrite of this article. That "AH-HA" is this.

We do not know what we do not know.

We do not even know what questions to ask.

We are unconsciously unaware incompetents.

In all things associated with this universe-up to the "AH-HA" anyway-I seriously and consistently underestimated the complex interdependence of industry, suppliers, and processes, which make up our modern world. If I need to order five gallons of ammonia, or thirty pounds of R-22, I do not have to invent that infrastructure to make everything from the containers the material is shipped in to the tires on the delivery truck. It is beyond the comprehension of any single individual. Even the most talented engineers you know couldn't do it. The young and aggressive ones would think they could, but the wise ones would know better.

Doing what needs to be done in this fictional world is hard. Even those tasks that we consider easy to do. For Grantville to survive and prosper, up-timers and down-timers will need to recreate the systems and that web of interdependence. Mike Stearns is right. Open the library to all comers. It is impossible to do otherwise.

So when you are kicking back on the sofa after reading one of the many Gazettes, or some of Eric's original books, and the thought crosses your mind, "Why did they do it that way? That is silly. It would be easier if they just painted it blue, or built a sterling engine, or used a rigid design airship. . . ." Stop and think.

Think about what you donot know, and start from there.

In this article, we are going to discuss refrigeration, how the various processes actually work, and analyze the resources available to Grantville. We are also going to look at ways we can move majorindustries forward by utilizing existing refrigeration resources. Finally, we want to look at how we can develop down-time methods of refrigeration with down-time available technology and speculate on the market forces that will drive investments. We are also going to touch briefly on the process of air liquefaction, which is critical for industrial gasses.

Refrigeration is one of those things that nobody thinks about, but many processes and systems depend upon. It is nearly as critical to a technical and manufacturing economy as our famous nitric acid. A substantial portion of the refrigeration industry keeps food cool, chemical plants and refineries running specific processes, and operating rooms at the correct temperatures. Modern machining and manufacturing depends greatly on climate control.