“I came because I have a question. Is it possible to ‘pull the engine’ of a ‘car’ and have it transported to another place?”
Wilkie nodded. “Sure You can pull any engine. But some of them won’t do you much good. What kind of engine is it? And what do you want to use it for?”
“I’m told it is a 1972 Dodge Charger.” Vladimir waved the bill of sale Bernie had sent. “I don’t really know what that means, but that’s the car. Bernie Zeppi wants me to pull the engine and transmission and send it to him in Russia. I’m here to find out if that is possible.”
“Not a bad choice.” Wilkie leaned back in his chair and motioned Vladimir to another. “It’s a good bit less complicated than some. No computers in it, at any rate. And I remember that car. Bernie bought it for a couple of hundred dollars back when he took my classes. We restored it together, out in the shop. Me, Bernie, all the class. Leon McCarthy, from the body shop classes, even got involved and fixed a couple of dents. But why pull the engine? Why don’t you just put it in neutral and pull it with horses? Bernie’s car has a stick shift so you don’t have to worry about protecting an automatic transmission over a long tow. That car’s got a rear wheel drive, though, so make sure you disconnect and remove the drive shaft or you’ll wreck the transmission. How far does it have to travel and what are the roads like?”
Most of the response was meaningless to Vladimir, beyond the apparent assurance that the vehicle could be towed intact as long as certain precautions were taken. He could figure those out later. For the moment, he concentrated on the last question, which he did understand.
“It has to go to Moscow and will make a good part of the trip by way of the Baltic Sea.” Vladimir shrugged. “The roads are fairly bad. Horrible, by up-timer standards. On the other hand, we can use more than two horses if we have to.”
“Russia used to have oil wells up-time.” Wilkie leaned forward. “Are you folks planning on getting into the oil business or do you figure on buying gas from the Wietze oil fields? I gotta tell you, they aren’t getting much high octane yet.”
“I have no idea,” Vladimir admitted. “For all I know they want to use the engine as a planter for up-timer roses. I am also told to send those.”
“Well . . .” Wilkie shrugged away the possibility of Russian oil fields. “If you can get it onto and off of the boat, it really might be easier just to tow the darn thing. Sure, it weighs more than a wagon. But it’s also got shocks and ball bearings on the wheels. Most of the time it’ll be easier to pull than a wagon, even with the engine in it.”
* * *
Brandy was in the research center when Vladimir found her. “What’s up?” she asked.
“Your Mr. Wilkie says that Russia in the up-time had oil fields. If they were there in the up-time, they will be there now. I wish to locate them. And I shall have to arrange for some people to come here for training at the oil field. In fact, I should probably have a number of people come here.”
Brandy sat down at the table across from Vladimir and nodded. “Probably not a bad idea. Who will you have come?”
“We already have a fair sized staff at the Residentz.” Vladimir had bought a half-acre lot in Castle Hills, the upscale housing development that had grown up just north of the Ring of Fire. Then he’d put a fair-sized mansion—or smallish hotel—on the lot. “But this is too much for just a few people to absorb. I’m going to write Natasha and have her pick the best of the people from our lands. As well, I’m sure she knows some students who would be interested.” Vladimir looked Brandy in the eyes and said in a serious tone, “Russian politics are not pretty, Brandy. Not pretty at all. It hasn’t been that long since Czar Ivan the Terrible and the Time of Troubles. It will take a lot of work, but I believe most strongly that Russia must take advantage of the knowledge in Grantville. That is why, although it will be atrociously expensive, I will send Bernie his car. I will send books. Eventually, I hope to send teachers.”
“You’re not trying to be Peter the Great, are you?” Brandy asked. “I just don’t see you going around cutting off beards and all that silly stuff.”
“Not silly, my dear. Not silly at all.” Vladimir made a vague gesture and frowned. “It was a symbol. And symbols can be very powerful. The beards might have been the wrong symbol at the wrong time, perhaps. But something had to be done. Or rather, would have had to be done, had it not been for the Ring of Fire.”