"It doesn't matter what the reason is," said Gretchen. "Never look nervous. Our enemies might be watching."
Spartacus and Achterhof were waiting for her in one of the back rooms of the city's central Freedom Arches. This building had served for almost a year as the more-or-less official headquarters for the Committees of Correspondence—everywhere, not simply in Magdeburg. It would no doubt retain that position, even though Gretchen's new apartment building would sometimes double as an informal headquarters.
The building was located next door to Magdeburg's original Freedom Arches, which was still in operation and which still resembled a tavern. The new Freedom Arches, on the other hand . . .
The first time Melissa Mailey laid eyes on the thing, she'd rolled her eyes. "Oh, swell. It's a cross between Chateau d'If and the Lubyanka. Who was the architect? Frank Lloyd Rack? Mies van der Thumbscrews?"
When informed that the architect had actually been a city employee and one of the mayor's top assistants, she'd been a little dumbfounded. Why would a proper gentleman like Otto Gericke lend his assistance to such a project?
She'd asked Gericke herself, three days later, at one of the soirees hosted by Mary Simpson.
"You see the CoCs as a force for revolution, Melissa. Which you mostly support, albeit with some reservations. But I am in charge of a city—the largest, fastest growing and most dynamic city in the Germanies. In some respects, in the entire world. And from my standpoint, the Magdeburg Committee of Correspondence is a stabilizing force. I hate to think what the situation with disease and crime would be, were it not for the CoC patrols. Not to mention—I am first and foremost a scientist, don't forget—that they have an almost mystical faith in science and invariably support any initiative the city undertakes for scientific education and progress."
She must have had a surprised look on her face. He'd gotten a wry smile. "Melissa, I am often at political loggerheads with the Committees of Correspondence. By and large, however, I think they are a force for good. And regardless of anything else—whatever may be the delusions of the Crown Loyalist party—they cannot be ignored or shuffled aside. That being so, I think it is entirely in my interest to give them institutional validity. Yes, I know that from a purely architectural standpoint that new headquarters of theirs is a blocky monstrosity. But it helps them feel secure, and I find a secure CoC quite a bit easier to deal with than one which is edgy and apprehensive."
Gericke had shaken his head. "However politically radical you Americans may be in some respects, Melissa, you enjoyed a sheltered life as a people. There was nothing in your history equivalent to the aftermath of the Peasant War, when the aristocracy butchered a hundred thousand farmers after their rebellion was defeated. That was only a century ago. Many of those people sitting right now in the CoC headquarters on October 7th Avenue are the direct descendants of those slaughtered folk. If you were to inquire among the members of the Ram Rebellion—some of whose representatives you can now also find in that same building—the number would be even higher. It would not take much of a provocation for the CoC in Magdeburg to launch a violent uprising. That uprising would succeed rapidly here in the city, be sure of it. Whether it would spread across the USE or be crushed is harder to gauge because there are so many variables involved. But either way, it would be a bloody business. I'd just as soon avoid it, if we can."
He hadn't sounded very optimistic.
The meeting room was on the second floor, where most of the smaller meeting rooms were located, as well as the offices of the city's CoC. The big assembly hall was on the first floor, along with the offices of various organizations affiliated to the CoC. Those included the city's trade union s as well as the regional and national trade union federations; the sanitation commission; credit union s; life and health insurance cooperatives; the retirement insurance association. The smallest office held the just-launched employment insurance cooperative.
The building's basement, just as was true of the city's official Rathaus, was given over to a huge tavern. And, just as with the one in the basement of the Rathaus on Hans Richter Strasse—or the now famous Thuringen Gardens in Grantville—that tavern was a social and political center.
German traditions of self-organization were already deeply rooted. The up-time Americans, smugly certain as Americans so often were that their own customs were unique, had been surprised to discover the ubiquitous town and city militias with their accompanying shooting clubs. They'd thought the tradition of armed self-defense—not to mention the National Rifle Association—to be quintessentially American.