Carrying their ready-cases, they followed Hector through Maid Marion’s entrance chamber, and to their cabins.
“I’ll just drop off my bag. Then you can take me to see Captain Paxton.”
“Yes, sir.”
Hector led him to the Captain’s Day Cabin, not that Johannes needed any help finding it. But this ship did not belong to Family, so he observed the niceties.
“Hello, Fred. Thank you, again, for your hospitality. Young Hector, here, did an admirable job. He also told me that you wished a meeting as soon as I could manage it.” He extended his hand. Paxton’s lack of hesitation surprised him.
“That will be all, Hector. I’m sure Mr Yrden can find his own way back.”
Another surprise. He had expected an escort off the crew deck, at least.
“Sit down, Johannes.”
He sat. Paxton took his chair behind the desk, and leaned forward. “Johannes, I have a further message from Jaswinder. She didn’t want it delivered over the comm. Figured maybe someone might have an ear out.”
Now Johannes leaned forward. “What is it?”
“Here.” Paxton handed Johannes a datastick. “You can read it at your leisure. However, I’ll tell you a part of it ... no, I haven’t read it. Matt recalled Venture, asking all Family ships to drop the recall message at every platform and station. That caused Captain Bettina Yrden to make a beeline for African Nations, where Maid Marion had business. Bettina dumped her entire cargo on me, passengers included.”
Johannes stared at him. The entire cargo? And passengers? What would cause Matt to ask for something like that – and from the Paxtons? Paxton read his expression.
“Yeah, I had the same thought. Figured Matt had it in for me, screwing up my schedule like that. Me and Bettina got into it, but good.” He started chuckling. “But your wife, Johannes, she’s something. She reminded me of the first time we met, when you had her dressed up for your brother. We had a good laugh about that.”
Did they?
“Johannes, Matt didn’t act as your Family head; he acted as League President. You know what that means.”
Johannes went still inside. “Haida Gwaii.”
Paxton nodded. “He didn’t want Venture, he wanted Jaswinder. He put it in a special code so no one other than the Captain and Jaswinder would know this. You gotta figure they want Haida Gwaii hyperspace-ready.”
Johannes nodded, then shook his head. “But she’s not complete, Fred. She’s nowhere near complete. As she sits, her unfinished shape is impossibly asymmetrical. They can’t expect Jaswinder to figure out a field node arrangement that will keep her safe in a jump to hyperspace. It’s beyond reason.”
“Maybe.” Paxton sat back and ran his fingers through his thinning hair. “Twenty years ago, we would have thought that distorting the fields in hyperspace would result in our destruction, not our salvation. If anyone can do it, it’s your wife. She’s probably the only one who can do it.”
And that, Johannes thought, didn’t make anything better. Matt, do you know what you’re doing to me, to us?
“Thank you, again, Fred. Is that everything?”
“Just about. Do you want an escort back to your cabin?”
“The way things have been between us lately, I’m surprised you ask.”
Paxton laughed. “True, true. But that Jaswinder. She sure smoothed things over – at least between us two. That’s one hell of a woman you married.”
He held out his hand again, and Johannes took it.
“I’ll find my own way. No need to disturb one of your crew. I’m sure they’re all busy.”
“Likely. We’ll talk again before Yamato.”
Johannes walked in a slight daze back to the passenger deck. Matt, Matt, you ask too much of her – of us. You don’t know what you’ve set in motion.
* * *
Plender University
Tuesday 18 May
Helen White looked up at the knock on her door, interrupting her thoughts. She made a mental note to put the next part of the plan into motion.
“Hello, Alan. What can I do for you?” she asked her teaching assistant.
“I just heard that one of the department heads saw old Professor Preston at the market. He almost didn’t recognize the man. We were lucky we got rid of him when we did. His mind is gone.”
She frowned. “We don’t speak of Professor Preston. But, if what you hear is true, then we can only pity him. But we do so in private. Do not spread rumours.”
The T.A. should know better. The unwritten rule of the University stated that no one referred to Preston at all.
She closed the screen that had held her attention. She sat back and regarded Turner. He could do with some bulking up, she thought, get some exercise. At nearly two metres, he couldn’t weigh much more than 80 kilos. She brushed those inconsequential thoughts aside, knowing that it stemmed from a lack of a personal life since taking on Preston’s project.
“Pity?” Turner’s eyebrows went up. Then he smiled and said, “I heard his mind began going when his pet course got cancelled.”
“Professor Preston hasn’t set foot on campus in two years. You gain nothing by bringing this up,” she said.
“But his—”
“We don’t speak of his course,” she interrupted him. “The University cancelled it. Let it go.” She watched confusion, doubt, and then enlightenment pass through his expressions. “Now, where do my students stand in keeping their papers on track?”
Turner examined his fingernails. “They’re doing well, Professor White. Not, perhaps as well as last term’s students, but I think we’ll have an excellent showing.”
White sighed. “Well, I guess you can’t expect every class to exceed the one before it. This one needs a kick in the pants. Let us repair to the dungeon, and see if we can’t bring something up to enthuse them.”
Turner laughed at her expression. “The University would have a fit if they heard you calling our archives ‘The Dungeon.’ It’s not that bad.”
“Unless we get some funding, it will soon approach that,” she replied, standing. “Come along. Let’s see if we can find some relic to drag up into the light.”
Turner followed her down to the sub-basement, where the History Department housed its archives. They did not speak again until they had reached that haven.
“You should know better than to broach that subject upstairs,” Helen said to the young man who towered above her.
“Surely you don’t think that someone has planted listening devices in your office?” Turner replied as they walked down the aisle between shelves of boxes containing the archives.
“What I think or believe doesn’t matter. If anyone overhears, if a comm station is accidentally left on, or if someone has remotely activated a comm station on purpose,” she saw shock come to his face at that, “and that someone overhears anything that gives them the slightest suspicion, then it will threaten the project. We’ve worked too long and too hard to allow a careless word to bring it all down. The Professor may no longer have his wits about him, but we continue this project. His project.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry,” Helen replied. “Just don’t do it again. In fact, never even mention Professor Preston again. I don’t care if the entire population of the University engages in gossip about his banishment or dementia, none of us will bring it up.”
“But if we avoid it when others ask, won’t that also draw attention?”
Turner had brains, she had to admit. “True enough. If asked, if it becomes unavoidable, then yes, you can engage. But we feel that a doddering old man whose mental faculties have deserted him really has no place in an institution of higher learning. Banishment might be harsh, but Professor Preston’s time has passed. And then we go on to other, more pressing subjects.
“Now, what word?”
Turner looked to the door, but it remained closed. Even so, he lowered his voice. “It becomes more difficult by the day to get word fro
m the others. The security measures you’ve demanded actually make it doubly hard.”
“With reason.”
“I still don’t understand. We’re doing nothing illegal, nor compromising anything secret – neither here nor overseas.”
Helen patted him on the arm. “I know. Yet, we all agreed to this when we took on the project, so I expect you to follow all protocols, whether you understand them or not.” She could see that he had not given sufficient thought to it. “Alan, consider it in terms of academics. We want to be first to publish our results – publish or perish, right?”
“I guess so,” he said, still doubtful.
“There’s money in this – believe it or not. And either the team and University get it here at Plender, or someone else does somewhere else. If anyone knew what we were doing, they’d do their best to figure out why. Plender does not have the resources to go head-to-head with one of the big universities. They could gather all the data much faster than we could, analyze it, and publish before us, even though we have a big lead.”
And now, she could see, he got it.
“I understand.”
He didn’t, but that didn’t matter. As long as he believed her lie, he would not jeopardize their mission. He pulled out a box, removed a reader from it and showed her the results.
“Good. Very good.”
He gave her a smile. “And once we have all the data?”
She gave him a look that quelled his questions. But she had the same one herself. Once they had the data, what then? To whom could they sell it, and for what price? If Professor Preston had made no error, the necessity to sell would drive them, and who might afford – or be willing to pay – the immense cost? Would anyone bid that high? Could anyone bid that high? And if not, what might they do? The horror of the decisions needed – that she would have to make – dismayed her. Surely they might find somebody willing. She would have to give it more thought.
* * *
Germany
Tuesday 18 May
“What are you thinking of, Liebchen?”
For a moment, Sidney Tremblay didn’t know where he was. Rather, he didn’t know when he was. He glanced out the window of their private room in the train, and watched the last houses of Moselkern passing by, and it all came back to him.
He turned to the young woman sitting by his side, the one who accompanied him whenever his job took him to Germany. She had a pretty face, a good figure, and lacked something in intelligence – which attributes had attracted him to her in the first place.
“Just recalling the first job I had in Moselkern, Gretchen. That happened four years ago.” Four years and a lifetime. He wondered if old Dieter Braun still played at being a seeder or if, in fact, he still lived. In any event, no word of the old fellow had crossed his desk since the takedown that had changed his, Sidney’s, life.
“Ach, Four years ago I was only—”
“Later, Gretchen.” He didn’t really want her to remind him of the disparity in their ages. “Do you remember what you are to do while I’m reporting in to work?”
The pretty brunette looked up at him with a bit of a pout on her face, exasperated that he might think her less than capable of remembering the simple instructions.
“Of course, I do. I take our luggage to our hotel room. Then I go out to meet the man in front of the Kölner Dom. He’ll be wearing a ‘Typhoon’s Disciples’ shirt – I hate that band – and have the white envelope in his left hand. I give him the envelope with the money, and he gives me his with the tickets for the play. Then I go back to our room, and wait for you.” A wide smile spread across her face, and her eyes looked adoringly up at him. “You didn’t have to do this.”
He smiled back. “I wanted to. You deserve it.”
“But, on such short notice, you can only get tickets from scalpers like this guy. You’ll pay at least double what they usually cost.”
Sidney laughed. “It’s worth it if it makes you happy.”
She threw her arms around his neck, pulled his head down, and kissed him. He allowed it, and knew that she would indeed make it worth the price of the tickets later that night – if he had, in fact, had to pay for them. As he hadn’t, he wrote it up as pure profit.
“I’m tired,” he lied. “Let me get some rest before we get to Köln. We have a long day ahead of us.”
Gretchen gave him another kiss, caressed his face with her hand, and then settled back to read her book on the reader he had bought for her. It took so little to keep her happy – and she knew how to keep him happy, too. He leaned back against the seat, and closed his eyes. Pity it would end shortly.
He couldn’t afford to use the same girl too often – it would leave a trail back to him. If she got caught, he could lie his way out of it, say she had stolen from him. That would leave her to face the music alone. Better than him. But if she had a long list of the people he had sent her to meet, and the authorities caught more than one of them – he preferred to not think of that. Instead, he turned his head away, and watched the countryside go by.
After a bit, he turned back, and regarded Gretchen. He’d leave her with the special gift he had planned. And that would end it. Yes, a night to remember her by – one last, good night, the best that money could buy.
* * *
London, England
Tuesday 18 May
Kiera looked down at the payslip in her hand, the total somewhat short of the money they owed her, and then looked up to the smarmy smile on Richard Harten’s face.
He raised his eyebrows in a question that mocked her. “Anything wrong, Ms West?”
She forced a small smile.
“No, sir.” His eyebrows rose just a little more, taunting her. “I just, I just thought...”
No it wasn’t worth it.
“Thought what, Ms West?”
“Nothing, sir. Thank you, sir.” She folded the slip, placed it in her uniform pocket next to her order pad, turned, and left the manger’s office.
Outside, the restaurant hummed. She walked over to the server’s station, feeling a great empty pit open up in her stomach.
Marie looked at her closely, face showing concern. “What is it Kiera?”
Wordlessly, numbly, she reached in her pocket, pulled out the pay chit, and presented it to Marie, who stared at it suspiciously.
“Bastards!” Marie said harshly, but quietly enough that no one else would notice. “How much?”
“At least seven hours. You remember the big party last week – where we both put in three over-time hours? They’re gone. And at least four more.”
Marie’s lips pressed tightly together. “I guess I have that to look forward to, soon as I end my shift.”
“You’ve been here longer,” Kiera objected. “And you’re stronger.”
Marie laughed bitterly. “Stronger?”
She shrugged. “At least in a stronger position. Your husband works. If you lost this job, you wouldn’t face the same thing I do – a total disaster. That scares them a little. I don’t.”
Marie snorted, then looked out over the floor. “My Table Six needs looking after, Kiera. Probably wants a refill. Wait here.”
Kiera watched as the older woman walked away, her long braided ponytail extending halfway down her back. Marie nodded at the various orders the diners at her table gave, entered them on her pad, and hit ‘send’. When she arrived back at the serving station, Geoffrey, the bartender, had the drinks ready. Marie placed them on a tray, and returned to the table.
“How goes it, Kiera?” Geoffrey asked.
“Payday,” she replied. “Same as usual.”
He grimaced. “Bastards.” He looked at her, lips tightly pressed together. “Tips?”
“Who knows?” she said. She lifted her order pad, and shrugged.
Geoffrey nodded. “Yes. Unless they pay cash or you catch the entry, you can’t know. I suspect that some of mine go to Diana.”
Kiera bit back a bitter word. “She still sleeping with Richar
d, then?”
How anyone could do that, she didn’t know. Surely the extra tips – should Geoffrey’s supposition hold water – couldn’t be worth having that worm crawling over one’s body, into one’s body. She shuddered at the thought.
Marie returned, and Geoffrey left for his bar, having seen a customer step up to it.
“If you need a little extra...” Marie gave her a small smile.
Kiera shook her head. “I’ll manage.” If she got all her tips, she would. If she didn’t, it would be a near thing. “Thanks.”
Marie had a young, school-aged son. Children cost. No way the woman could afford to give her anything without hurting. Kiera had never hurt anyone – not knowingly. She looked over the floor, and saw Diana heading their way. Sometimes she wanted to make an exception.
“I’m going to collect and go home,” she told Marie. At that moment, she couldn’t face Diana – not with Geoffrey’s accusation so fresh. She didn’t want to burn any bridges. Besides, a word from Diana to Richard could see her job disappear. She left before Marie could say anything or Diana could reach the serving area.
In the staff rooms, Kiera changed out of her uniform, hung it up carefully in her locker, and then put on her own clothes. The stylish shoes went in the locker, too, and her less-fashionable pair took their place. At least they didn’t hurt her feet.
She washed her face and hands, unclipped her blonde hair and let it hang loose about her neck. After brushing it out, she picked up her jacket, and walked to The Corsair’s staff office, located just before the employee entrance.
“My pay chit, Ms Kranston.”
Old Ms Kranston accepted it, looked it over, and called up Kiera’s file on her computer.
“All on your chip, or some in cash?”
“What do I have for tips?”
Kranston gave her a sharp look, but held herself back, waiting, no doubt, for an accusation. Rumour had it that Kranston loved to fire staff. Kiera would give the old woman no excuse.
Not With A Whimper: Preservers Page 3
