Not With A Whimper: Preservers

by D. A. Boulter

Yes, she knew better than to argue. She knew what awaited her should she fail to please. He had only once had to hint that she might return to her job waiting on tables for her to make herself more amenable to his every desire.

  He felt himself getting ready, just contemplating that. Perhaps the drink would wait. He hurried to the lift to take him up to his new flat – the one that, with his higher salary, he could easily afford.

  Finding her there, ready to greet him, did not surprise him in the least. He had let her know that he would arrive either today or tomorrow – and thus expected her to remain home, ready for what she would know he wanted. She did not disappoint.

  She stood there in the semi-see-through garment he had given her. His lips creased in a smile. Having her waiting for him made up for the loss of seeds that he otherwise could have diverted to his private stash.

  He hadn’t added to that since he’d begun training. With the trainees watching his every move, he couldn’t afford to take even the smallest chance.

  * * *

  Plender

  Saturday 12 June

  Damn her for taking the chance. Now they’d have to work hard to regain the data lost. Helen White stopped herself mid-curse. The woman had paid for her foolishness with her life. To damn her seemed small recompense for what she had already brought them.

  Helen looked at the report with renewed horror. Londiwe had lost her life in Southern Africa, labelled a spy for the North Americans, and executed for that same. She looked up from her desk, deep in the bowels of Archives.

  “They had no reason,” she said to Connie Phelps, who had taken charge of the communications end of the project.

  “No, they had no reason. And if I had known any government would react like this, I don’t know that I could have taken this responsibility. How am I to continue? Any request I make might lead to another death.” Connie looked unnaturally pale.

  “We have no choice, Connie,” Helen began, but Connie interrupted her.

  “Yes, yes we do.” She fixed Helen with a stare that Helen recognized. “We can stop this now – must stop this now.” Wisps of light brown hair had escaped her severe bun, and Helen could see the other woman had been crying.

  Helen hated to do this. “No, we can’t. And I can’t replace you at this late date.” She could, but she didn’t want to. It would cause unnecessary questions abroad, perhaps eroding the confidence the others placed in them. “You will continue. You know the necessity, and no, we don’t have enough yet.”

  “I won’t be responsible for another death.”

  “You won’t be. I will.” She stood to place them at equal height, woman to woman, not boss to underling. “You bring any decision that you feel uncomfortable with to me. I’ll make it. You’ll merely relay it to the recipient. They need to hear your voice, to see your face on the other end of the comm when it’s operating with vid. They need to know you’re still here. Without you here, it all collapses.”

  Again, untrue. But she needed to manipulate Connie into continuing, so she used every means at her disposal. She should, she supposed, hate herself for doing so, but couldn’t afford the self-pity which would follow. Necessity came before all else.

  Connie brushed away a tear that had made its way halfway down her cheek. “I need a few days.”

  And Helen wished she could give her colleague that. But she couldn’t. If she did, it seemed likely that Connie would never return.

  “I’m sorry. We need you here. Things up top aren’t getting any better, you know.”

  Connie looked like she had decided to bail. Helen figured she had one more chance.

  “Leaving will disrupt the schedule. Already, if the analysis fulfills expectations – and I see no reason why it would fail at this time – we run short of time. Leaving might sentence more people to death than staying and relaying unpalatable orders. Can you live with that?”

  And Connie’s face crumpled. Helen allowed herself a few seconds of self-loathing, and then took her friend’s hand. “We do the best we can with what we have. You know the importance of the project.”

  Connie closed her eyes. She squeezed Helen’s hand, and Helen gave a short thank-you to whatever gods watched over them.

  “I need an hour.”

  “That, I can grant you,” Helen said with a smile. She regarded the other woman, and spoke her truth. “We truly have no other reasonable choice.”

  “No, I guess not.”

  * * *

  London

  Sunday 13 June

  Given freedom of choice, Kiera wouldn’t have come here. The Gentlemen’s Club had a reputation, which the inside made clear it deserved. However, having entered with Sidney at his word, she looked around in wonder. Nothing she had seen had ever approached the opulence of this place. Nothing she had ever dreamed of had come close. Sidney’s card had gotten them in the door. Now he showed her a small wad of cash, and held it out.

  “I want you to rent a room, pick up the keys, and then return here.”

  “Rent a room?” she only belatedly realized what he had said, her attention taken by an amazing tapestry that covered an entire wall.

  “Yes.” He smiled at her. “The Club has various rooms for rent.”

  Knowledge came swiftly. “By the hour?”

  He nodded. “By the hour, the day, the week, the month. Whatever a member requires.”

  Kiera began to get a bad feeling about it. Why would he wish to rent a room for her? He could have her back at his flat, whenever he wanted her. There remained only two reasons that she could think of why he might want to rent a room here. The first had her insides quivering. The room had something that his flat didn’t. The foolish face that she put on for him had no basis in reality. She had heard of some of the goings-on by those who wished ‘something extra’, and she feared that. But Sidney had never shown a proclivity towards any such kinks.

  The other possibility didn’t frighten her so much as repulse her. She might have to pay for the good life, which Sidney had introduced her to, in ways she hadn’t expected.

  “And what does the member require?” she asked, dreading the answer. Whatever his answer, she knew she would acquiesce. She couldn’t bear the thought of going back to serving food in whatever dingy diner that might take her on, cheat her, and pay her barely enough to survive. No, she couldn’t go back to that. She wanted to leave places like that – even the better ones like The Corsair – in the past, never to return.

  Sidney smiled at the play of emotions that went across her face, and then subsided into a quiet resignation.

  “The member requires that you rent the room for two hours.” He placed the cash in her hand. “Get two keys – not an unusual request. After you bring me one of the keys, you will then go to the man standing by that column.” He pointed with his chin.

  She looked over to see a rather handsome man, younger than Sidney, but no youth –perhaps thirty years old. Tall, well built. He could be an athlete. He wore his dark brown hair reasonably short, kept his face clean-shaven. “Smile at him, bat your eyes, or whatever. Offer him the other key. Don’t mention my name. Convince him. But don’t be too obvious. Then come to the room, where I’ll let you in.”

  She swallowed. Sidney wanted to pimp her out.

  “He’s an important friend, but one who I shouldn’t be seen talking to. He’s important to both of us.”

  She dredged up a smile. It took everything she had to not let her sorrow show. “Does he have a name?”

  “Good girl.” Sidney patted her on the arm. “Pierre Fontaine. Go now.”

  With that Sidney turned about and wandered off.

  Kiera wet her lips, and then meandered around the room, looking at this and that. After renting the room, she continued her circuit. She passed one key card to Sidney, and moved on. She ended up next to the man, who had moved over to the bar to sample some of the wine they had on offer. Sidney had disappeared.

  “Hello,” she said.

  He perked up. “Bonjour, M
ademoiselle.”

  “It’s a lovely room, isn’t it?”

  “That it is.” He turned around on his stool, and looked out over the area. “What do you find most interesting here? The tapestry? The paintings? The furniture?”

  She leaned in close. “The exit to the back rooms.”

  His eyes widened, and then a smile came to his face. He looked her up and down. “I like a woman who knows what she wants.”

  “I’m Kiera,” she told him. She turned her hand over, showing him the card she had concealed in her palm.

  “Pierre,” he replied.

  “From France?” she asked, noting his accent.

  “From France,” he agreed. “Is this a problem?” His eyes seemed to laugh at her.

  She shook her head slowly, deliberately.

  “More an enticement,” she replied, holding his gaze, and allowing her best seductive smile to come to her face. She raised an eyebrow.

  He gave her a nod, and accepted the card.

  “I’ll meet you there,” she told him.

  “Not necessary. I do not mind that others see me go to the rooms with the loveliest woman in the place.”

  He held out his arm, and she took it. He lied – she had seen some truly beautiful women in the Club – but it felt good, nonetheless. Together, they walked at a stately gait through the door to the hallway.

  Pierre looked down at the card. “Numero Cinq. My favourite number.”

  He slipped the card into the reader, and the door lock clicked open. Pierre let her enter, and she saw Sidney sitting at a small table in the main room. She saw no bed, but did see another door on the opposite wall.

  Fontaine entered, and let the door swing closed. He stopped suddenly. Kiera looked up to his face, worried.

  “A nice little subterfuge, Monsieur.” He changed the direction of his gaze, and took in Kiera’s face. “Hardly worthy of you, Mademoiselle.”

  His voice came out smoothly, but she could see tension in his body. But before she could apologize or say anything, Sidney spoke.

  He indicated the door. “Please wait in there, Kiera. You know what to do.”

  With one last look at Pierre, she nodded, turned and went into the room. As she had expected, it contained a bed – a large bed. Fortunately, she saw no implements of torture. No whips, no cuffs, nor anything like that. She sighed in relief. Then her relief left her. Yes, she knew what to do, and began to undress. She hung her clothes in the small closet and then turned down the bed. She arranged herself on it, tastefully covered, and waited.

  * * *

  “Hardly fair of you, Sidney,” Fontaine said.

  Sidney didn’t reply. He merely poured from a bottle to the two glasses that he had brought with him.

  “Your favourite vintage,” he said, proffering a glass.

  Fontaine took it, and tasted the wine. “Bon. Now you will explain why you resort to such a low trick. What do you wish?”

  Sidney shook his head. “No trick, Monsieur Fontaine. When we finish our little discussion, I will leave you – the two of you.”

  Fontaine’s eyebrows went up. “Very well, let us begin our ‘little discussion’. I await the answer to my question with bated breath.”

  “I understand that your new space station has an ag-dome.”

  “Haida Gwaii? Yes. The Families will use it to grow crops to provide food for both itself and for our ships if we cannot get supplies elsewhere.” He took a seat opposite Sidney. “You wish to question me about our station?”

  “As an enforcer with Agri-Inc., I wish assurances that you will not use patented seeds on your station without permission. Already, we have word that ‘seeders’ attempt to – and sometimes succeed in – transporting contraband seed off-planet. They find customers on the colony worlds. Some of them travel upon Family ships.”

  Fontaine’s eyes narrowed. “And you expect me to do exactly what about this? I am not the head of my Family – in fact, several of my relatives occupy positions higher than do I.”

  Sidney nodded. Thus far, it went well. Fontaine would have a ready-made answer should any choose to question him about the meeting – if anyone should find out about it.

  “But I don’t know them. I do know you.”

  “You expect me to pass word on.” Fontaine took a sip of his wine.

  “Exactly. I know that smugglers will pay a fair bit to seeders for a list such as this.” He reached in his pocket, and pulled out a sheet of paper. Better paper than an electronic file. He could burn the paper – or even eat it. Technicians could recover a deleted file if he didn’t have time to scrub his reader thoroughly.

  Fontaine looked at the list, and his eyes widened. “You suspect that a smuggler might try to use one of our ships to get this off-world?”

  Sidney smiled brightly. “Exactly. Now, we might catch such a smuggler at the other end, when he tries to get down to a planet, but if he sold it to the Families themselves, or bribed a member or otherhire, we would find it quite difficult to stop the smuggling.”

  Fontaine studied the list.

  Sidney continued, “I understand that you Families are not exactly bending over backwards to give Inter-Planetary Corporations tours of your new station.”

  Fontaine smiled. “We have not yet completed it, monsieur. You might find a tour at this time premature.”

  Sidney laughed out loud. “And after you have finished it, you would welcome me aboard for an extended tour?”

  “Unlikely. The TPCs have not been kind to us of late. And they grow less kind as time passes.” He leaned back in his chair, eyes on Sidney.

  “So, probably not.”

  Fontaine looked again at the list. “You know of such a seeder that wishes to sell such a treasure trove?”

  “Treasure trove. I like that expression. Yes, I have word that such a person exists. Based on my work, I understand that he could get a fair amount for such a package. That would give him the wherewithal to bribe even a Family member. One of your ships could pick such a person up from Earth, take him to a colony world, and land him there without him having to go through customs on this end, or on the station or the port on his planet of choice.”

  Fontaine nodded. “And you want me to assure you that no Family member will take such a bribe, do such a thing.”

  “Precisely. We cannot have our patents violated.” He stared Fontaine in the eye.

  Fontaine folded the paper, and slipped it into his pocket. Sidney smiled to himself. His inner smile grew broader when he saw Fontaine’s eyes go to the bedroom door. After a moment Fontaine’s attention returned to Sidney.

  “Just out of curiosity, Monsieur Tremblay, what is the going rate on the black market for such as we find on your list?”

  Sidney named a figure. Fontaine’s eyebrows went up. Sidney allowed his smile onto his face.

  “Quite reasonable, considering the overall situation. Any off-worlder could get his money back – that, and other perks,” he said, eyes tracking over to the bedroom door and then back again. “I’ll leave you now. I have other business in The Club. I hope you’ll see fit to notify me if such a person approaches you.”

  Fontaine smiled, finally. “I’ll talk to my Family Head about it. He will, no doubt, wish to confer with other Family Heads. The FTL does not wish any further enmity between it and the TPCs.”

  Sidney rose. “The FTL has wise heads.”

  * * *

  Kiera waited, tension growing with each passing minute. She looked over to the closet. Perhaps she should just get dressed and leave. Sidney asked too much of her. Only the thought of going back to The Corsair to plead for her job – and knowing that that bastard Richard would probably ask for the same as recompense for providing it – kept her from doing so.

  How had she gotten herself into this?

  The door handle turned, and her stomach jumped. But she dutifully put on a seductive smile, and ensured that her position indicated one of acceptance and seduction.

  “Well, he’s gone,�
� Sidney said, and her stomach relaxed. “You did well, and I’m sure that he got my message.”

  She blinked, not having to fake bewilderment. “I don’t understand.”

  He gave her a sympathetic smile. “Don’t worry your pretty head about it.”

  She caught that certain look in his eye, and stretched languorously. “We still have the room for 90 minutes before they kick us out,” she said.

  His smile broadened. “That we do, my dear. That we do.”

  * * *

  Wednesday 16 June

  “You should get out, Kiera,” Marie said. “That sounds just awful. What kind of a man is he?”

  They sat at the kitchen table, sampling some of Sidney’s very expensive wine.

  “You just got lucky,” Marie continued when Kiera said nothing. “Next time–”

  “Why should there be a next time? He got what he wanted.” Kiera now wished that she had kept silent about The Gentlemen’s Club.

  Marie leaned forward, shaking her head. “He used you – was willing to use you. You let him. Don’t believe for a minute that he won’t do it again if it advantages him in any way.”

  “I don’t want to talk about it.” And she didn’t. All she had just wanted sympathy, not a forecast of more to come.

  Marie’s face cleared. “As you wish. But do you know what they talked about?”

  “Couldn’t hear a thing through the door.” She rose to her feet. “I need to do something. Let’s go shopping.”

  Marie downed the rest of her glass. “Yes, let’s.”

  Together they walked out of the flat, took the lift down to street level, where Kiera flagged down a taxi.

  “You’ve gotten used to money, haven’t you?”

  “Pardon?”

  “You didn’t think a moment about taking a taxi instead of the Tube.”

  Kiera considered that for a moment. “No, I guess I didn’t. And I guess I have gotten used to it.” She looked over to the woman sitting beside her. “And you don’t have to tell me what you are thinking. I can see it in your face. You’re thinking this will end badly, that he’ll kick me back to the street, to my former life. He’s not like that.”