Not With A Whimper: Preservers

by D. A. Boulter

  A recording replied in English, the language she had chosen. “Monsieur Fontaine regrets he cannot take your call at the moment. Please call again after 1900.”

  Kiera glanced at the chrono in the corner of the comm screen. 1710. She had almost two hours to prepare herself. She quickly undressed, set an alarm for 1800, and lay back on the bed. She needed a quick nap – if her busy mind could quiet itself long enough for her to fall to sleep.

  The alarm rang, and she silenced it with a wave. Feeling less than refreshed, she stumbled out of bed, and staggered into the washroom. Sometimes, she thought, a short sleep did more damage than good.

  “Aiee!” The spray of freezing water from the shower had her instantly wide-awake. She turned up the hot, and took a quick warm shower.

  Drying off, she looked in the mirror. Would he like what he saw when no clothes covered the merchandise? Would she do well for herself and Sidney?

  She shrugged, and took up the hotel-supplied hair-dryer. Over its roar, she contemplated her course of action. A direct look in his eyes followed by a slow strip might work. But, he might prefer to undress her himself. Then the short walk to the bed – or rather longish walk if he rented a room anything like hers. She trembled in reaction, and cursed herself. She had known the consequences when she accepted Sidney’s first offer.

  “Like hell I did.” No, she had not thought that he’d use her much as a pimp used his girls. How had she fallen this far?

  Looking at the plush towels, the fine, smooth sheets, the little refrigerator that contained alcohol worth more than she could have formerly afforded in a month, and she had the answer to that question. A tear leaked from her right eye. Did all men think so little of her?

  A chime caused her eyes to dart to the comm. Quickly tossing on the hotel robe, she rushed to answer it.

  “Kiera West,” she said.

  The screen snapped on. In front of her, she saw the face of Pierre Fontaine. His eyebrows went up a fraction, then his lips parted in a smile.

  “Kiera!” Did she see real warmth in his eyes? “My comm listed a call from your room. I had no idea you were even in France.”

  “I came a day early,” she said, willing him to play along. “And, as I have need of a case of M. Thiebeau’s wonderful wine, I thought you might accompany me. I know how you love it.”

  Fontaine’s face went still. Then his smile broadened. “Mais, certainement! Avec plaisir. We shall travel together, n’est pas? But more of that later. Perhaps you might come and visit me. We shall dine together tonight, and leave for the vineyard tomorrow.”

  Kiera breathed a silent sigh of relief. “Thank you, Pierre, I would love that. When should I come over?”

  He glanced somewhere off to his right. “I shall come to you, Mademoiselle, after I have made a reservation with the dining room. Would half an hour give you sufficient time to ready yourself?” He paused; she nodded. “Excellent. I hope you have an appetite.”

  She laughed. “Oui, monsieur, I have hunger!”

  He laughed with her. “Until soon, mademoiselle.”

  “Until soon, monsieur.”

  Kiera let out her breath, and shook her head. That had gone as well as she could have hoped. She dropped the robe across the chair, and chose the most revealing dress that Sidney had suggested she pack – not that all the dresses weren’t revealing, but this one did a little something for her that she thought Sidney couldn’t see. It revealed, yes, yet it revealed in a dignified way.

  She just finished slipping on her shoes when the door chimed.

  Pierre Fontaine stood tall in the door, looking very handsome in a fine dark suit. He smiled, the smile reaching his eyes, and doing something to Kiera that Sidney’s smiles had never done.

  He took her hand lightly by the fingers, brought it up to his lips and kissed it, his eyes never leaving hers. She had seen that done in vids, but had never experienced it herself. She felt both foolish and giddy.

  “You look most lovely, mademoiselle.”

  She smiled back at him, hearing the sincerity in his words. “And you very handsome, monsieur.”

  He looked behind her. “Sidney is elsewhere?”

  “Back in England,” she said, and his eyes widened a fraction. “But he sends his best regards – and a little something.”

  She caught the trace of something on his face that might have hinted at anger or disgust, but it vanished almost before it appeared.

  “Then I have you to myself this evening.”

  “For as long as you wish,” she replied, and caught again a flash of something cold.

  But his smile grew, and warmed. “And we waste that time standing here. Come, let us dine, for you have, as you said, hunger.”

  He held out his arm, and she took it in the way she had seen actresses take the leading man’s arm in vids. Pierre led her to the lift.

  The dining room confounded her every expectation. The wood of the tabletops shone in the light, polished to a high finish. Intricate carvings on their legs, and the carved backs of the chairs stunned her.

  Pierre sat her before going to his own side of the table – in a little bower, shaded by actual, live trees. She felt as if they dined on the outside instead of inside the hotel. Wait staff brought menus, but Pierre waved them away and ordered for the both of them. Her schoolgirl French wasn’t up to following the conversation, but Pierre winked at her and said, “Trust me.”

  It didn’t matter whether she trusted him or not. Sidney had spelled it out quite clearly, telling her to obey, to meet his every desire – and to surpass them if she could. Important, he said. Very important to both of them. Trust. She doubted she could trust Sidney to operate in her best interests.

  “So, my dear, tell me of your journey to my side of the channel. What travails did you endure?” He grinned again. Then the grin faded, and he looked at her seriously “Tell all. Leave out nothing.”

  She looked around, wondering at the wisdom of that.

  “Others cannot hear.”

  Obey. So, she told him, and his face hardened. She paused from time to time, but at each nod she continued.

  “I have the whiskey up in my room.”

  He stared at her for a long time, then finally nodded. But before either could say anything further, their meals arrived.

  Kiera had never tasted anything quite so good – and Sidney had taken her to some very fine eateries. Perhaps, she thought, this wasn’t so much better but good of a different kind. And perhaps, she also thought, the company made a difference. Pierre smiled and joked – and none of the jokes related to sex.

  He, she frankly admitted to herself, charmed her. Too soon they had finished.

  “Let us finish our business,” he told her, offering his hand.

  She rose, and they walked together, hand in hand – for he had not released it – to the lifts.

  “So,” he said, opening the case in his room, “Sidney sends me whiskey. Very kind of him.”

  Kiera bit her lip, then spoke the truth. “I think we both know that the case contains something else besides the whiskey.”

  He turned to her and raised an eyebrow. “What you think does not matter, my dear.”

  She felt like he had slapped her face. She wanted to turn away and cry, but his following words changed that.

  “It is what you know that counts. At this time, you know for certain that the case contains whiskey. I think it best for you that this remains the extent of your knowledge. Let me worry about anything further.” He smiled the smile that made her feel safe and warm. “And let me assure you that the case of wine that you return to England with will contain wine, and wine only.”

  Kiera felt something relax within her. Sidney had said nothing about actually picking up the wine, only as using it as an excuse for her trip. And that might raise flags if she happened to meet the same French customs inspector – though that possibility seemed passingly remote, as she didn’t have to go through French Customs again. And she wouldn’t have to worry
about her package. She felt that she could trust Pierre. She gave a start. When had she begun thinking of him by his first name? She turned on her own smile. Perhaps this wouldn’t be so bad, after all.

  Pierre’s eyes went up as she stood and reached behind her to undo the zipper on her dress.

  “What do you do?”

  “I am to hold nothing back,” she replied, but her hands faltered. What if he didn’t want her?

  He tilted his head to the side, and observed her long enough for her to begin to flush.

  “Sidney is a fool. He does not know what he has, and he risks it unnecessarily. No, please, Mademoiselle Kiera, do not do this. Not for him. He is not worthy of you, and I would not have you think of me as one who would take advantage.”

  He closed the case with the whiskey, and carried it to a closet. When he returned, he raised an eyebrow. “You remain?”

  He walked over, and took her hand.

  “You are trembling? What problem do you foresee?”

  She shook her head. “He will ask.”

  That got an amused chuckle from him. “And you will not lie?”

  “No.”

  “Very well.” He stepped back, and looked her up and down. “What instructions did you receive?”

  “I am to do whatever you desire.” She hesitated a moment, and then repeated, “Whatever.”

  “Ah.” He again tilted his head to his side. “I understand. Well, then, Mademoiselle Kiera, I desire that you take off your shoes.”

  So, he intended to do it. She sighed quietly, and stepped out of her shoes. He did likewise. Then he threw himself on the bed without undressing further.

  “Now I desire that you come to bed with me.”

  Her hands went again to the zipper, but he shook his head.

  “As you are.”

  Confused, she walked over to the bed, and lay down next to him.

  “Bon. Very good. Now, s’il vous plaît, close your eyes, and breathe deeply and evenly.”

  She complied, wondering when she would first feel his touch – and where. The anticipation grew acute when after two minutes he did not move.

  “Bien.” She felt him rise. “That is all I desire.”

  Kiera opened her eyes, and stared at him.

  He laughed, amused. “Do you not see? You have gone to bed with me, obeyed all of my commands, have done everything I desired you to do. You have fulfilled your duty.”

  Kiera joined him in laughter. “I have, haven’t I? And I can tell him that honestly.”

  Pierre gave her a Gallic shrug. “And should he ask further, you can demure. You can say you do not wish to talk of it. His own imagination will go where it will. Let me take up the mantel of villain if it makes things easier for you.”

  Feeling tons lighter than when she had entered his room, Kiera rose and walked over to him. She put her arms around the Frenchman, and held him tightly. “Thank you.”

  After she released him, he put his hands on her shoulders, and pushed her away until he could gaze into her eyes. “You deserve better than Sidney. Think on that.” He let his arms fall away. “Tomorrow, I shall show you the sights of Paris, and we shall get you your wine. We shall meet for le petit déjeuner at, say eight-thirty?”

  She nodded, feeling limp. “Eight-thirty would be wonderful.”

  Back in her room, she went to bed feeling like someone had given her a reprieve. Then she thought on his words: You deserve better.

  * * *

  Calais, France

  Sunday 20 June

  “Ah, mademoiselle, you have the wine, I see.”

  Startled, Kiera turned around to see the same French customs agent who had let her into the country.

  “I am off work, mademoiselle,” he said. “If you have time, we might enjoy a coffee before you return to England.” He looked at his watch. “Your train leaves in 45 minutes.”

  She smiled at him. “I’d love it. And, yes, I have the wine. You could be a gentleman, and carry it to the coffee shop for me.”

  He laughed, and took the heavy case from her. He hefted it twice. “Twelve bottles,” he said.

  She raised her eyebrows. “Correct. How did you know?”

  “After ten years in the business, I know. Come, let us get our coffee.”

  The coffee tasted great, and she enjoyed it all the more knowing that she carried nothing other than wine – nothing that could get her into any trouble at all as long as she declared it on the other side. And she had every intention of doing just that.

  * * *

  Springfield, Mass

  Wednesday 23 June

  “Hello, Dad,” Johannes said.

  The old man gave him a shaky smile. “Johannes! Good to see you.”

  “I brought you a visitor, too. Becky, come on in and see your grandfather.”

  Becky came through the door, and a smile lit her face. “Hi Gramps.”

  Her eyes took in the room, the lack of any monitors, but she didn’t allow her face to show that she knew what it meant. “It’s so good to see you again.”

  “And you, Rebecca,” her grandfather said, a quiet look of adoration coming over his face. “You look so much like your mother – and she was a beauty.”

  “Still is,” Johannes gently reproved him. And that, he thought, was truth. He, too, noted the lack of monitors, the airy room with the calming blues on the wall. He, too, knew what it meant. “Matt wanted to come down, but—”

  “No,” Collin Yrden said, eyes suddenly sharp. “We can’t risk so many on-planet at the same time.” He coughed, and held his handkerchief in front of his face until he recovered. “Especially not at this time. I still get all the reports, you know.”

  Johannes nodded. The old man’s mind hadn’t gone, only his body failed him. “Your grandson, Owen, sends his greetings.” He held out a datastick. “He’s in a course on FTL-1, Dad. You should see him. So serious, so bright.”

  “I did, Son, I did. He came down to visit me between finals and graduation.” He turned his head to once again regard Rebecca. “And you, how go your studies?”

  “I’ll graduate in two years, as you well know. Top of my class.”

  Collin grinned, taking years off of his apparent age. “And how many in your class?”

  “Just me,” she said, returning his grin.

  “Pull up a chair, and tell me all about it.”

  While she talked, Johannes sat and listened. He studied his father’s face. Suddenly, he stood. “I’ll be back shortly.”

  He returned a few minutes later with his portable comm unit. He hooked it up to the wall-screen. “Dad, I have Matt, Jaswinder, Ellen, Owen, and Jordan on a conference call.” The wallscreen divided into five sections, each one showing a face. He aimed his comm-unit at his father, so they would be able to see him.

  “Ah, my family.” Collin’s eyes went from picture to picture, to Johannes, to Rebecca. “You’ve done well. Made an old man proud. Matt, Johannes, I only wish your mother had lived to see what fine men you’ve become. Ellen, Jaswinder, a father couldn’t ask for better women to marry his sons. And my grandchildren, wonderful, every one.”

  The wallscreen divided again.

  “Elsie and William have joined us, Dad,” Johannes said.

  “Elsie, my daughter, you and William brought such joy. Are any of your children about?”

  “No, Dad,” Elsie said. “Katy and Brett are not in-system.”

  He nodded, slowly. “Good, good. Give them my love; give all my grandchildren my love. Tell them how proud I am of them. I’ve enjoyed their letters, news of their accomplishments, their stories. Tell them.”

  “We will, Dad,” William spoke for all.

  “I’m tired of talking,” Collin said, and closed his eyes. “Your turn.”

  Johannes moved to one side of the bed, and Rebecca took the cue, and moved her chair to the other side. Each took one of Collin’s hands, and held it. Matt began speaking, talking of trivialities, memories of old times. Each took a turn. Occasiona
lly, the old man smiled, or nodded slightly. Once he chuckled as Elsie told on Matt and Johannes for a trick they’d pulled on her on her eighth birthday.

  Collin’s breathing evened out, and Johannes thought that perhaps the old man slept. He looked at the faces of his family, and felt no shame that tears rolled down his cheeks, even as they did down those of the others. Though Collin slept, he still might hear, so they kept on talking non-consequential family talk.

  Then Johannes felt a tremor run through his father’s body. Collin Yrden breathed out with a sigh ... and didn’t breathe in again.

  Johannes looked into the porta-com. “He’s gone. We just made it in time.”

  After each said their final good-byes – who knew, perhaps the spirit lurked nearby, and could still hear – the wallscreen’s subdivisions disappeared one by one as they disconnected. Finally, only Matt remained.

  “Thank you, Brother. How did you know?”

  “I just knew, Matt. I think he just waited until family came.”

  “You’ll take care of everything?”

  “Nothing to take care off. Dad had it all arranged. I only need to sign one paper, and everything will happen automatically.”

  Matt laughed, a laugh tinged with sadness. “That’s Dad, all right. I just wish he could have felt space beneath his feet. We owe him everything.”

  “He will,” Johannes said. “It’s in his will. We’re to bring his ashes up. His and mom’s. That and the few things he didn’t dispose of, that he thought we might want. He had them all packed and ready to ship.”

  Matt looked at his brother a long minute. “And then nothing will hold us to this planet.”

  “And then nothing will hold us to this planet,” Johannes agreed.

  CHAPTER 9

  London

  Tuesday 29 June

  “Hold on, sir.”

  Sidney Tremblay had barely stepped inside his outer office when his secretary stopped him with a gesture.

  “Mr Tremblay, Mr Coleman would like to see you.”