December 17th, 2027
Burkhart Schleider, universally known as Arzt, embodies the synthesis of wisdom accrued over fifty-odd years with the practical skills of a seasoned nurse practitioner, representing the closest semblance to a doctor left in Mittenwald. Short in stature, his visage marked by skin folds from rapid weight loss and weather-beaten lines narrating tales of resilience, his appearance, with silver streaks piercing through once-dark hair, mirrors the rugged life he has led.
The miraculous restoration of power by Brenda had garnered her enough mythic stature to necessitate his visit to Tal de Ruhe. Summoned by Otto, Burkhart approached Brenda, confronting the latest testament to his ingenuity in her ankle injury. His hands, having mastered the art of substituting scarce medical supplies with resourcefulness, evaluated her condition, delicately balancing the diagnosis between a break and a severe sprain—a judgment that could dictate a lengthy recovery or enable her return to the communal effort of reconstruction.
He surmised a mild fracture. Subsequently, he engaged several children in the simple craft of papier-mâché, guiding The Berg on precisely supporting her foot as they applied the cast, before hastening to address the multitude of other demands on his time.
Confined to her bed, Brenda's foot immobilized, her mind meandered through a historical maze, ignited by the realization that her bathroom's dimensions mirrored those of two amalgamated servants' quarters—a stark reflection on the treatment of personal servants in the 1700s.
The construction of Tal de Ruhe was established upon the cleared remnants of the original edifices dating back to the 950s, serving both as a manifestation of their burgeoning wealth and an effort at rewriting history.
Their estate, perennially within view of the elbow of the oxbow bend of the Isar River, would later overlook the area known as Isarhorn Nature Camping Park. Initially a manicured square on 770 hectares of land, flattened and cleared in the 1700s, it eventually witnessed nature's gradual reclamation, symbolizing the family's decline in subsequent centuries. The catastrophic impacts of World Wars I and II led to the final devastations of the family businesses, resulting in the estate's outer forest lands being parceled and sold over time. Presently, the property retained 329 hectares.
The ruins of the previous 1400s castle, situated between the Isar and the opulent Manor, signified not just the pinnacle of prosperity and control but also a pivotal shift in cultural attitudes towards servitude. Once viewed merely as property, a transformation, often reminisced about by her father, had redefined servants to near-family members under this new ethos. Yet, the sight of these cramped spaces invoked in Brenda a deep sense of unease about their former living conditions. Living in the main house—a status highly sought after by servants—she resided in a room of lavish decor, a stark contrast to the tiny closets serving as servants' quarters on either side of her bathroom. This stark juxtaposition highlighted the luxury she enjoyed relative to their modest accommodations, emphasizing the persistent social divides even amid evolving dynamics of servitude.
Were she a floor higher, her gaze could traverse the wing's low midpoint, extending over the Isar River. Her current view encompassed a bustling courtyard where robust men wielded pickaxes against the frozen earth, and women sifted through the debris. This choreography of labor, ripe with potential mishaps that never transpired, unfolded before her. Even swathed in layers against the cold, she could distinctly identify Sophice, visibly disgruntled—likely less by the labor itself than by the fact that she was not exempt from it. Brenda indulged in a fleeting bout of schadenfreude before her attention returned to the bed substituting her computer table. The Berg barely accommodated it, yet its solidity was reassuring.
Immobility of the body did not equate to idleness of the mind; Brenda entertained thoughts of greenhouse construction, lamenting only her stubborn insistence on letting Wilhelm rest.
Her initial instinct was to transform the entire courtyard into a greenhouse. However, the practicalities of maintaining access between the wings and the Manor quickly rendered this idea impractical. The prospect of navigating some form of airlock system—perhaps even just a series of grocery strips—would prove to be a logistical nightmare for the kitchen staff and exceedingly cumbersome for the maids and others. She then considered the possibility of a central tunnel that would pass through but remain separate from the greenhouse, connecting each wing directly to the Manor. This idea remained a viable option. Alternatively, she thought about leaving the kitchen end of the courtyard open to the air, preserving essential passageways. The complexity of the situation overwhelmed her. She needed to put her thoughts down on paper, or now that they had power again, perhaps one of the computers was operational.
"Milady, a Mr. Zalinka wishes to see you," Pike called out through the door. The Berg was instantly alert, standing upright as if she had bypassed all transitional states of rising. She positioned herself between Brenda's bed and the door, ready to act as a barrier or intermediary as needed.
"Do we know him?" Brenda asked, signaling that someone had already allowed him inside the Manor.
"No, he says he is from Walchenseekraftwerk," Pike replied.
"Does he have something, or does he want something?" Brenda inquired further.
"He says a bit of both, my lady."
"Of course, it's never simple. Veronika, would you please wake up Wilhelm? Alright, give us a couple of minutes," Brenda directed, preparing to deal with yet another unforeseen complication.
A burgundy sweater was draped over her, and with gentle hands, she was eased into a sitting position, her lower half still tucked snugly under the bedding.
Wilhelm, now fully dressed, settled into his rocking chair, adopting an air of disinterest. However, The Berg, vigilant as ever, subtly ensured he maintained a respectful distance.
"Zalinka, that's not German, is it?" Brenda ventured, seeking clarity amidst the chill that seemed to permeate even her layers of clothing.
"Polish, ma'am," he responded, his voice steady and imbued with an academic tone she recognized.
"You're easily twice my age, I'd wager. 'Miss' will suffice," Brenda corrected gently, a hint of warmth in her tone.
"Miss, are you familiar with 5G technology?" Zalinka ventured, his question floating in the air like a cloud of breath in the cold.
"Cellphones? What should I know?" Brenda's eyebrows arched in curiosity.
"In late 2025, Bavaria's population centers were equipped with new 5G towers," the forty-something-year-old, bookish man recited.
"And Mittenwald? Were we included?" Brenda's interest piqued, her gaze sharp.
"Indirectly. The Army base and the dam received coverage. It's crucial because, once power is restored, the system is designed to automatically reestablish connection."
"And has it been successful?" Brenda mused aloud, her mind already racing with possibilities.
"Indeed. We now have a 5G network covering Mittenwald, the dam, and a 10-kilometer radius around each. Communication is limited to local calls, but it's a start. It even attempted to restart internet services, which, lacking an external signal, led me to establish an intranet. It's functional at the dam but requires tweaking at your station."
Brenda frowned, processing. "So, it's like internal email between here and the towns? File sharing, and videos too?"
"Precisely. And importantly, if we manage to secure a satellite connection..."
"I barely managed to get a dam operational. 'Miracle worker' is merely a term for those seeking inspiration."
"My apologies, Miss. I didn't mean to imply... I was suggesting if anyone outside tries to reach us, we'd be prepared."
"So, you need access to one of our computers?"
"A specific one, housed within a particular building at the Army base."
"You should speak with Irma Schröder."
"I did, Miss. She directed me to you."
Sighing, Brenda conceded, "Well, I dislike sending you back and forth, but return to her. Tell her I'm not fully versed in this but see no harm. She should decide; it's a job for The Ghost."
"Thank you, Miss," Zalinka said, exiting.
As he was leaving, Brenda asked, "What's your first name?"
"You couldn't pronounce it, Miss."
"Try me."
"Zdzisław."
She smiled warmly. "It's been nice to meet you, Mr. Zalinka."
Once alone, Brenda turned to Wilhelm, her voice tinged with disbelief and wonder, "Cell phones? Will wonders never cease?"
"Was his initials Z.Z.? And you didn't ask his middle name?" intoned Wilhelm with incredulity.