Connie Phelps, a serious-looking woman in her mid-forties – or possibly a severe woman in her late thirties – according to Johannes’ estimation, gave him the once-over. He didn’t seem to fair too well in her judgment, he thought, as she dismissed him as not worth the bother.
“The archives are not a tourist attraction,” she stated.
Winkler frowned. “Mr Yrden, an alumnus of this University, wishes to endow Archives,” he said coldly.
Her eyebrows went up. She looked at Johannes. “The Archives?”
He nodded. Her expression warmed about twenty degrees Celsius.
“That’s different.” She granted him a smile. “If you’ll just come with me.”
He gave the Dean a nod of thanks. “I’ll see you after the tour?”
“Of course, Mr Yrden.”
He followed Ms Phelps along the corridor to an elevator, and then down.
“I’m sorry, Mr Yrden,” she apologized. “We don’t often get benefactors interested in the Archives, and I had only just started my break. We’re preparing for the new semester, and I don’t get much chance to relax.”
“I was well aware of that,” he replied, hoping that she would catch on.
She turned, and looked up at him. “When did you graduate? I don’t recall seeing you here, or seeing your name on the check-out lists of the years before I arrived.”
“I didn’t graduate. I merely took some distance courses. History, mostly, which got me interested in archives. History can be fascinating, can’t it? You can see the cycles, if you look closely enough, and even predict the future by looking at the past.”
Her face went suddenly still. He smiled encouragingly.
“I suppose that’s possible,” she said noncommittally. “I find it more interesting learning about how we lived in past times, with less technology.”
He gave her a nod. “Then we have an area of mutual interest that we might discuss further.”
She studied him until the elevator reached its destination, three floors below ground level. “If you truly have interest, then I know just the place to start the tour. Please follow me.”
He did so without speaking further. She led him into a cool, temperature-and-humidity-controlled room filled with antiques – almost a museum.
“Who are you?” she asked.
“Johannes Yrden, a rich benefactor,” he replied, smiling a little.
“Okay, I can work with that. This room,” she said, her voice taking on that of a lecturer, “belongs to the oldest part of the University. Due to lack of funds, we have not been able to renovate in decades. Only the lighting, heating, and humidity control now work as they should. We could only afford to replace those electrical lines. Not even the comm works in here.”
And that settled it. “I took a course offered by a Professor Preston. Does the name sound familiar? When I last saw him, he suggested that Archives needed some looking into.”
“When did you last see him?”
“About a week ago. He came up to our space station for a tour.”
Her eyes widened. “He’s up there?”
“Yes, and he has a terrible theory. He suggested that you might be able to help.”
“Please sit down Mr Yrden.” She took a seat at the desk just inside the door. He accepted the other chair. “We – some other archivists and myself – have begun gathering ‘The Knowledge’. All the old patents, all the descriptions of working with old, old, tech. We’ve digitized most of what we’ve acquired from associates all over the continent – and from other continents – though officially we just barely keep lines of communication open. If Harold is right – and I believe he is – the colony worlds will need all of this. Do you understand what it would mean to lose it?”
“I think I do. I did have a long talk with the professor. I, and the Head of my Family, appreciate what you have done, and continue to do. Professor Preston speaks highly of you – you do realize he won’t be coming back down?”
“Good.”
“I’m prepared to offer you a good deal for what you’ve collected.”
“The price may be higher than you think,” she replied. “And our database is massive. We’ve digital copies of every book that has come out, of patents, of industrial processes, of blueprints, of assembly instructions, and technical specifications for things as arcane as incandescent light bulbs and magnetic tape. We have formulae for adhesives made from common materials, for ... well, you name it. Along with that, we possess recorded video of actual practitioners of various arts, explaining what they do as they do it.”
“Very impressive, Ms Phelps.” He looked around. “So, what is the price I’ll have to meet to obtain ‘The Knowledge’?”
She gave him an indecipherable smile. “Make me an offer.”
He returned her smile. “How many?”
Her surprised look gratified him. But she should have known that if he’d talked with Professor Preston, the old man would have demanded no less.
“Fifty-seven – spread across all the continents – minimum. Some have families that they won’t leave without. You’re looking at about two hundred.”
“The Yrdens can’t handle that, so some will have to lift with other Families. The Family Trading League has contacts everywhere – as traders, we have to. How soon can you be ready to go? And how soon can I get my hands on the database?”
She eyed him. “Each of us will carry a portion of it.”
He laughed, amused. Then he let the amused look fade. “No, Ms Phelps, that will not do at all. Accidents happen. Some governments may take exception to the notion, should they find out. They want the colonies to remain reliant on the home world. I won’t take the chance that we might lose a significant percentage of what you have so carefully gathered.”
He raised his hand as she started to make an objection. “And, would you ask some of those in more repressive regimes to try to smuggle this stuff out on their persons? What if the authorities catch them? If they merely emigrate, on the other hand, heading for the colony worlds of their home countries, carrying nothing more than whatever their countries allow them to carry, we can take care of them, transfer them en route. They’ll head for the colony world, but never get there – unless they have chosen that destination.”
“You don’t understand. We don’t have it all in one place. And some of those, who you would have turn it over to us here, would face just as great a danger from that, if not a larger one, than carrying it out on their persons when they leave.”
She looked up at him through narrowed eyes.
“We already lost one to a breach in communication security. She trusted our protocols.” She took a deep breath. “How can I trust you? How can we trust you?”
He shrugged. “Look us up. The Yrden Family pays its debts; our motto is ‘Fair Trade’. On the other hand, I’m not sure you have much choice in the matter. No one else will do what we can do. Beyond that, isn’t your goal to keep the knowledge alive?”
Phelps glared at him. “That’s not fair.”
“Let me try a different tack. Do you recall a Professor Jaswinder Saroya? She taught here twenty years ago.”
Phelps closed her eyes. “Yes, yes, I do,” she said finally. “A scientist. She left suddenly the year I graduated. Why do you ask?”
“She’s my wife. She’s behind this – she’s the link between us and Professor Preston. Now, can you pass a message to Helen White for me?”
Her eyes widened. “You know about Helen?” Then she shook her head. “Of course, you know about her; you’ve talked with Professor Preston.”
“Is she one of the fifty-seven?”
“Yes, yes she is.”
“Does she live with family?”
“No.”
“Tell her she’s about to take a sabbatical.”
* * *
Spaceport
Monday 05 July
The train rolled into Spaceport.
“I can’t believe that I’m actually h
ere,” Helen White said, gazing through the window.
Johannes recalled the last time he had taken this train from Plender to Spaceport. That time, he had a woman with him as well – Jaswider Saroya, whom he had saved from people hunting her. They had wanted to acquire her discovery – how to increase speed in hyperspace. He had known nothing about it at the time, had thought her a common streetwalker.
As Helen rose from her seat, Johannes smothered a laugh. She wore an entirely respectable business outfit. Jaswinder had looked like a street-level prostitute – a disguise that had fooled him entirely. And she had blackmailed him into accepting her as his courtesan, and taking her up to Venture – away from those who hunted her. Different circumstances entirely.
“Something funny?” Helen asked him.
“Just recalling the last time I took this train.”
“Oh,” she asked politely, “when was that?”
“A lifetime ago.” He didn’t really want to talk about it.
She smiled. “I think that way often. But it was a good experience?”
He cocked his head to the side.
“A good experience,” he agreed, though it hadn’t been – not from his perspective, not then.
However, he had made the best decision of his life there, even if he resented it at the time. Without Jaswinder, the Trans-Planetary Corporations would have crushed the Families, Yrdens included. Instead, the Yrdens had flourished. They had obtained the wherewithal to make the Family Trading League a reality and, with Jaswinder’s help, they then totally outclassed the TPCs, putting them out of the race, thus ensuring the survival of the Families.
Above that, he had gained a wife he loved, and two wonderful children.
Twenty years ago. A lifetime.
They stepped off the train, and caught the subway to Spaceport. Again, his memory took over, as he remembered the insults that some grounder had thrown at Jaswinder, and her reaction, which had left the uncouth port-rat curled up on the platform, holding himself, unable to board the subway car. Another smile came to his face, unbidden.
At Spaceport proper, they got out. Funny how history seemed to repeat itself – just like Preston had said.
“Do you need anything in particular from the stores here?” he asked Helen, much as he had asked Jaswinder. Helen, at least, had had time to pack. Not as much time as she might have wanted, though, in her case, she could call down for Connie to send up anything she might have forgotten, or simply desired.
“I think I have everything – excepting, perhaps, shipboard footwear.”
Jaswinder had had little more than a change of clothes – and her research. With Helen, the research would follow.
While Helen perused the offerings of the store, Johannes went to a tele-vid chamber. He made the call to Haida Gwaii. He needed to call up to Jaswinder, had to make the attempt. Even if Matt’s mission caused him to shuttle between Earth and FTL-1, he needed to maintain some sort of link. If he didn’t.... He didn’t want to think of that.
The call went through – thanks to whatever angels looked out for him.
“Jazz,” he said, and her face appeared in the screen, looking dishevelled, tired, eyes bleary.
“Yes, Johannes, what is it?” Her voice came back after the delay.
“Just need to hear your voice, see your face,” he replied, feeling suddenly foolish. She looked exhausted.
“Can this wait for another time? I’ve only had two hours of sleep, and I have to get up in another two.”
He kicked himself. Another thwarted attempt. She wouldn’t see what propelled him, would only see him as someone who disturbed her rest.
“No problem. Go back to bed.”
Her tired thank-you came over as more perfunctory than anything else. Just something to soothe him while getting him out of her hair. They couldn’t keep going on like this. He cursed after he disconnected. Upon disconnection, the door slid open, but he didn’t move.
The fates gave, and the fates took away. They had brought her to him through a seeming accident, and now it seemed they wouldn’t let him keep her. Would he have to face the fact that her work, that science, meant more to her than he did, than her family did? And if he did, what then?
“Not fair,” he spoke aloud. Not fair in the least. She fought for them all. And he had to fight for them all, too. Not just for Family and the FTL, but for everyone on every planet. The Keepers of the Knowledge, as Helen White had called it.
Speaking of Helen, he turned around to leave the booth, but stopped abruptly, for she stood right there, looking sad. Sad for him?
Of course. She could see into the glassed-in booth, might have seen Jaswinder, though she wouldn’t have heard their aborted conversation. But she would have heard him say, ‘not fair’.
“Let’s check in,” he said, slipping past her, and forcing her to walk quickly to catch up. “Got everything you need.”
“Yes.”
He didn’t like that tone of voice. Sounded too sympathetic. He didn’t want sympathy. He wanted his wife back.
Johannes checked them in at the hotel. After receiving the room keys, he felt a tap on his arm.
“Yes?”
“Look at those people,” Helen said, pointing. “They look more like farmers, than ship or station personnel.”
The desk clerk laughed. “They are farmers.”
Johannes and Helen turned back to her, Johannes already knowing the explanation, but more than willing to allow the clerk to give it.
“They’re bound for Liberty on one of Amalgamated’s ships. Leave tomorrow morning for Topside One.” She looked over to the roughly-clad people again. “Almost indentured servants – no, never mind ‘almost’. I wouldn’t change places with them for the world.”
Johannes stared at her, wincing inwardly. If Preston is right, you’ll change your mind – if you survive the initial strikes.
Thinking like that wouldn’t help. He couldn’t save everyone. He had saved Jaswinder, twenty years ago. And then she had saved them all in return. Now, now she worked to save them again. Without Haida Gwaii, everything they now worked for would slip away. But, even without Haida Gwaii, if he could save Helen and hers, humanity would regain it much faster than otherwise.
He smiled his thanks to the desk clerk, and then turned away, leading Helen to the bank of elevators. His smile disappeared as if never there. He couldn’t save everyone.
* * *
Tuesday 06 July
The trip up to FTL-1 passed by in a haze. Johannes had so many things to think about that he didn’t know which to turn to next. He looked at the woman by his side. Helen White looked excited beyond measure. Going up into space! Or maybe the idea of escaping the Earth and what she believed lurked just over the horizon – war – energized her.
He returned his thoughts to what he had to organize – everything. At least Matt, as Head of the Family Trading League, had gotten all the Families to back the initiative. And they had made room on FTL-1 for him to have his base of operations.
He couldn’t do that from the USNA, not when he needed to lift 56 people – plus families where applicable – from various parts of the globe, some of which weren’t on speaking terms with each other.
The rockets silenced, and the shuttle glided through space, leaving them floating in their seats. Only their seatbelts kept them from drifting around the cabin.
Helen gasped. “Oh, my!” She reached for one of the space-sick bags, put it to her face, then fought to not vomit. A triumphant, though slightly rueful smile came to her face.
“Close,” she said.
It no longer bothered him at all.
Two hours later, they docked.
“Hello, Bill,” Johannes said as the Station Supervisor – and Head of the Tannon Family – met them at the dock. “I’d like you to meet Helen White.”
Tannon reached out and took her hand.
“Good to have you with us. I’m in the know. So, we’ll just escort you to your quarters, and then
I’ll see Johannes, here, set up in your offices. We’ll have to move fast.”
“I know,” Helen said. “But I’m exhausted. I didn’t sleep more than an hour last night. Too excited. Now, I’m crashing.”
“Fine. First, get some sleep.” Tannon glanced at the chrono. “It’s late. You can report at 0800hrs tomorrow. We’ll have someone escort you to breakfast, and then to the operations room from there. Better to get started well-rested.”
Johannes walked with Helen, who stumbled as she walked. Her exhaustion exceeded his. He put an arm around her to steady her, carried her bag, and led her to her quarters. After seeing her safely ensconced in her room, with a cursory initiation to station life and regs, he left her to either read the regs or, more likely, just collapse on her bed and go to sleep.
Leaving her, he walked back to the Station Supervisor’s office, where he let Bill lead him to his operations room.
“We’re keeping this on a need-to-know basis, Johannes. We don’t want anything leaking.”
He understood. They had already lost one of the researchers, according to Helen. If word got out, anyone having anything to do with the Families or with Plender U would become suspect. And, it might cause the Families’ final orders for goods to find no contractors to fill them. Although the various Families had spread their custom throughout the various countries and continents, word had begun to circulate about the increase in orders. Only a fool wouldn’t notice the number of flights going to FTL-1.
“Bill, have you thought of bringing some of the new orders up through different stations. Maybe have one or more of our ships use Topside One, and some more Euro Alpha, etc.? Diversification might delay the realization.”
Bill opened the door to the operations room. “Yeah, the Paxtons thought of that some time back, and we’re doing it.”
“But?” Johannes had heard the doubt in Bill’s voice.
“But we can’t disguise the fact that more of our ships than usual are coming into Earth Orbit, loading up, and shipping out.” He shrugged. “And we’re removing staff from Earthside offices, too. We’ve actually shipped some people and goods out to Colony worlds on TPC ships, but I don’t think we’re fooling anyone.”
Not With A Whimper: Preservers Page 12
