Not With A Whimper: Preservers
D.A. Boulter (c) 2018
Copyright page
This book is a work of fiction. All characters and events are fictitious and any similarity to people, living or dead, or to actual events is purely coincidental.
Copyright (2018) by D. A. Boulter, all rights reserved
Cover Design by D.A. Boulter
Images: Background w/ planet: l_g0rZh (from Depositphotos.com)
Spaceship: algolonline (from Depositphotos.com)
Space Station: Andreas Meyer (from 123rf.com)
Not With A Whimper Books:
Not With A Whimper: Producers
Not With A Whimper: Destroyers
Not With A Whimper: Preservers
Not With A Whimper: Survivors
Yrden Chronicles Books:
Trading For The Stars (Book 1)
Trading For A Dream (Book 2)
Other Amazon Books by D.A. Boulter
Courtesan
Pelgraff
Pilton's Moon / Vengeance Is Mine
ColdSleep
The Steadfasting
Prey
Enemy of Korgan
Ghost Fleet
In The Company of Cowards
A Throne At Stake
D.A. Boulter’s blog: http://daboulter.blogspot.ca/
D.A. Boulter can be contacted at: mailto:[email protected]
This series is dedicated to Mrs Jennifer Hanes, my grade 12 English teacher, who believed in my creative abilities. Thank you, and Rest In Peace.
Note:
Although the 4 books of the Not With A Whimper Series take place concurrently, and can thus be read in any order, the preferred reading order (according to the author) is: Producers, Destroyers, Preservers, Survivors.
This will present the reader with the fewest spoilers, though some are unavoidable as characters from each book interact with those from the others, and thus some scenes are repeated, though from a different viewpoint.
CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 3
CHAPTER 4
CHAPTER 5
CHAPTER 6
CHAPTER 7
CHAPTER 8
CHAPTER 9
CHAPTER 10
CHAPTER 11
CHAPTER 12
CHAPTER 13
CHAPTER 14
CHAPTER 15
CHAPTER 16
CHAPTER 17
CHAPTER 18
CHAPTER 19
CHAPTER 20
CHAPTER 21
CHAPTER 22
CHAPTER 23
CHAPTER 24
CHAPTER 25
CHAPTER 26
CHAPTER 27
CHAPTER 28
CHAPTER 29
CHAPTER 30
Author’s Note
Books by D.A. Boulter
CHAPTER 1
Plender University, Plender, Mass United States of North America, Earth
Two Years Ago
Helen White walked on stiff legs toward Professor Harold Preston’s office, wondering why he had acted as he had. A gruff “Come in” welcomed her knock on his door.
He turned to her, and a sad smile came to his face. A hand came up to brush the grey hair back off his forehead. Before he could get in a word, however, she spoke, the hurt showing in every word.
“Why, Professor? Why?” She shook her head, her shoulder-length black hair swinging about as she did so. She looked at him, still in stunned disbelief. “You didn’t even let me speak.”
“The Board had made their decision before we even entered the room, Helen.” He turned his palms up. “Nothing you might have said would change their vote. Nothing you might say – either before or after the final act of this farce – will change that decision.”
She couldn’t accept that. “Had I spoken, others would have stood and made their opinions known, too. We had the weight of numbers. Even now, if I speak out, others will rally.”
He laughed, amused. “And when have numbers ever changed a mind? You’ve taken my class; you know the truth.”
She shook her head, her hair swishing back and forth again.
“Numbers count.”
“Not when they have no power behind them.” Preston sighed, and sat down at his desk. He opened a drawer. From it, he began pulling out his belongings, placing them in a box he had apparently brought with him in anticipation.
“What are you doing? They haven’t even voted yet. And you still have a chance to change their minds. Don’t give up.”
Preston looked up and caught her gaze. “If they have courage, they will do the right thing.” He tilted his head. “Do you believe they have courage? Courage costs, you know. I’ve worked with them for years; I don’t believe they have the kind of courage it takes, the kind of courage you would have shown.”
She let out a half-snort. “Which you wouldn’t allow.”
“Friends don’t let friends sacrifice themselves for nothing.”
Helen bristled. “Not for nothing. For right. If no one stands up for right, wrong wins.” She frowned. “And, now, everyone will believe that I bowed to pressure, that I gave in on a matter of principle.”
As she spoke, Professor Preston continued moving his possessions into his box.
“Very true. They will think you have no backbone – which is good.”
“Good?” Her voice rose in volume and pitch. “Good?”
He took a deep breath, and then let it out slowly. “Yes, good. If you had spoken what you hold in your heart, you would follow me out the doors of the University, never to return. Maybe not today or tomorrow, but surely before the start of the next semester. And,” he shrugged, “if you do speak out now, the same thing will happen.”
She opened her mouth to say something, but he held up his hand.
“And who, then, would complete our project? I doubt that we have time to begin again from scratch – probably not even time to rebuild after the collapse it would suffer without you here to guide it. Using the Plender University as a base had both pros and cons. Now we see the cons.”
Helen felt the shock of his words running through her like a cold blast of Arctic wind.
“So soon?”
A knock at the door stopped Preston from doing anything more than nodding.
“Enter.”
A woman’s blonde head poked around the corner of the door.
“They’re ready for you.” He could see tears at the corners of her eyes.
“Thank you, Francis. We’re on our way.”
Professor Preston stood, and took Helen by the arm. “Time to face the music, my dear. Show them once more that you’ll bend for the sake of the University. Please.”
* * *
University of Plender President Carl Burtram looked down at the last item on his agenda, and his lips tightened. Caught, pressured beyond anything any man in his position could take and not give in, he nonetheless moved forward without regret. He only hoped the old professor would not fight it, but knew that hope as a false one. When had Harold Preston ever done anything the easy way?
“Professor Preston, have you anything to say?”
Burtram sighed to himself as Preston rose to his feet and walked slowly to the dais, his face lacking all expression. Burtram didn’t figure that would last long. The grey hair told of his age, but his bright, sharp brown eyes belied it. And he walked with confidence; he carried no notes.
“President Burtram, Dean Winkler, esteemed colleagues,” Preston began, his eyes catching each in turn. “I don’t need to tell you what this very meeting portends; you all know it only too well. So, I won’t.”
Burtram felt a measure of relief flow throu
gh him. So, Preston had decided to not rub their faces in it, but Burtram doubted that the old professor would give in so easily.
Preston took a deep breath.
“The past informs the present, and presages the future. We all know this as fact.”
And here it comes. Burtram resigned himself for the deluge.
“My course, ‘A Historical Look at the Future’, examined that precept, prepared future historians to use this to inform themselves not only about what caused events in times past, but also what may cause events in times to come. It prepared them to not only inform others of what happened, and why, but to show to us all the pitfalls which may lie in wait for us should we make various decisions, bring forth policies which have – in earlier times – caused calamity.”
He paused a moment, to again catch the gazes of various members – especially those who might waver.
Burtram struggled to keep an expressionless face. Damn the man. Didn’t he realize what a vote in his favour would do to Plender University?
“To willingly forget circumstances which have brought us to our present condition ensures that we shall find ourselves unable to mitigate disaster – or to reap full benefit of good fortune – should similar befall us once again. That, none of us should countenance.
“We, here in these halls, are the ‘Keepers of the Knowledge’, knowledge hard-won by those who preceded us. We have the duty – dare I say, ‘sacred duty’ – to preserve it untainted, such that we might pass it along, pure and clean, to those who follow us, so that they might investigate in whatever way they see fit, sure and certain that their efforts will not fail from use of polluted sources.”
Preston stopped to take a sip of water. All the other attendees merely watched without moving, without signalling either their agreement or disagreement. Burtram’s eyes sought out Helen White once again, and noted that she still failed to show any emotion at all. As Preston’s protégé, she should have at least acknowledged his words with a nod. A good sign? Perhaps the old man hadn’t been able to rouse her to the passion that everyone knew she possessed. Perhaps she saw the futility of it. Perhaps, he hoped against hope, she recognized the validity of the Board’s position.
Preston put down the glass, and looked again at his audience.
“Yes, and as well as ‘Keepers’, we hold the title of ‘Preservers’. We preserve the Knowledge in a pristine condition, such that those who wish to use it come to no false conclusions.” He gifted them with a small smile. “However, if we merely preserve the Knowledge as we would an artefact without preparing those who would make use of it to understand how one can best examine – and draw conclusions from – what we have preserved, then we fail of fulfilling our duty to them, to ourselves, to those they would serve. We fail in our duty to History itself.”
He took a last deep breath.
“Should we not fulfill this duty, History shall condemn us.” He stopped speaking, and looked from person to person. Burtram met his gaze with a steady one of his own, though he felt his guts churning. “To allow my course, ‘A Historic Look at the Future’, to fall from the curriculum of Plender University, to bow to the pressure from outside Academia, would signal a surrender to expediency, and will place us on the wrong side of history. Bring back the course for the next semester ... and the ones after that.”
He took one last look around, and then surrendered the lectern. With a slow but steady step, he walked down the long table, head erect, eyes straight ahead. He didn’t look back as he opened the door and left.
No one spoke.
President Burtram rose to his feet.
“As the professor kindly pointed out, we all know the consequences of this meeting; we all know the decision we must make. Has anyone else anything to say on the subject?” He looked over to Helen White in particular, and raised his eyebrows a fraction. She gave her head a minute shake. Good. She understood.
“If no one has anything further to contribute to this discussion, I’ll now ask everyone except the board of governors to leave the room.” The other speakers and petitioners stood, and then left, quietly, solemnly. He remained, facing the board. They would have to vote now.
* * *
Helen White found Professor Preston in his office, finishing the packing of his things.
“You made a powerful speech, Professor,” she said, but then shook her head as he didn’t stop packing. “You have no faith.”
“Not in this Board.”
“Why?” she asked.
“Those august members already knew which way they would vote before calling this meeting, as I already told you. They put it on for show only – to satisfy the forms, if you will. If they could find the backbone to stand up to the government – for that’s where the pressure comes from – they would not have called the meeting in the first place. However, when they vote against me, it will tell us that we have correctly assessed the dangers. Others will understand, too. You know this board; you know my reputation. What pressure would outsiders need to bring to bear to completely silence me here at Plender? Not merely to kill the course – that would take only moderate pressure – but to expel me, which will show the Board’s weakness to every other institution in the nation?”
Her eyes widened. She hadn’t considered the wider implications. “They really want you gone that badly? All the more reason to raise our voices.”
Preston nodded, and when he spoke, his voice reflected a weary man, tired of fighting. “It comes upon us. But, had you backed me – or worse, had you backed me and brought others to the cause – they would have felt forced to let you go, too. I couldn’t allow that.”
He gave a short laugh, “And, besides, as I said earlier, who then would bring our plans to fruition? We made Plender University our base – it gives us standing. It also leaves us vulnerable. Perhaps we made a mistake. However, if we have erred, we cannot correct it in time.”
Helen winced, acknowledging the truth of the matter. “And we are the hope of the colonies.”
“And we are the hope of the colonies,” he agreed. He looked away from her, to the picture hanging on the wall. He had always liked the symbolism of that sunrise coming to the planet. He took a deep breath.
“Helen,” he looked back at her, voice strong once more, “you now must take up the mantel. I’ve done all I can to prepare you for this. Like the board, you must reject me. Let them feel they can intimidate you. Show them that you recognize me for the leper I’ve become. You cannot afford contamination. The time for direct communication between us has passed.”
“Then you have no hope at all?”
He laughed, and reiterated his main point. “Were there a question, they would not have called the meeting.”
Preston extended his hand, palm up towards the door.
“You know what to do.”
She rose and faced him for what might be the last time. She nodded, meeting his gaze. “I know what to do.”
* * *
A mere formality – the vote.
The board of governors at the University of Plender had their orders, and none dared disobey.
“Considering his obstinacy for the past year – since we first approached him about cancelling his course, ‘A Historical Look at the Future,’ – and his further dive into obstructionism since we did cancel it last term, Plender University must now completely disassociate itself from Professor Harold Preston.” The Chair looked around to the other board members. His bald pate shone in the lights of the conference room.
“Must we do this?” Linda Campbell asked. “We already removed his course from the curriculum. What more could they want?”
The Chair shook his head sadly. “Yet he continues to give his so-called ‘expert opinion’ on the news vids. His position here at Plender U gives him authority. And he continues to stand as an example, a resource to others, who also should know better. If Plender wishes to remain open at all, we have no choice.” He shrugged. “The greatest good for the greatest number.”
>
“Can’t we impress upon him the folly?”
The Chair snorted. “Many have tried; all have failed. We gave him his chance; he threw our offer back in our faces. He deserves no further consideration from us.”
“He made a lot of friends during his tenure here,” Linda said. “They contribute a substantial sum to the University through trusts.”
The Chair looked grimly at her. “We will face that problem if and when we come to it.” He looked around at the faces before him. “All in favour?”
After counting the raised hands, he brought down the gavel. “Unanimous. Professor Harold Preston is no longer accredited to this University, and his presence here will occur only through invitation.” He looked at each member of the board in turn. “No one shall issue such an invitation.”
Linda Campbell sighed. “He should have kept quiet. A pity that he didn’t learn in time.”
* * *
Moselkern, Germany
Four Years ago
Some people never learned. In the case of seeders, that suited Sidney Tremblay just fine. No matter how many of them he took down, they didn’t stop trying. That kept him in a job that he enjoyed, giving him authority that he otherwise could never have attained. Authority, with the power of the police behind him. Long may the seeders grow their crops!
“Is this the place?” he asked, well knowing that it was, for he had studied vid of it before making the station aware of his needs. The local police force had provided him with two officers – neither of whom seemed overly thrilled with the assignment. Nationalists, probably. Tremblay didn’t care how thrilled or unthrilled the job made them as long as they did their duty as prescribed by law.
“Jawohl, Herr Tremblay,” Officer Lindermann, the more senior cop, said. “It belongs to one Dieter Braun, age 64, widower. He lives alone.”
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