Which fit exactly with the information he had obtained elsewhere. But he said nothing, allowing the officers to believe they provided a service.
The younger officer turned about to look at Tremblay, light blue eyes seemingly troubled. “I do not think Herr Braun will resist. Hardly a need for two officers.”
Tremblay nodded, appreciating the hostility that the officer tried to hide. He supposed he would have received more willing co-operation had he worked for Agri-Inc.’s German competitor, Gesunde Landwirtschaft GmbH. It didn’t matter. The German officers would do their job, even if reluctantly.
“I suppose not. However,” he said to placate the two, “with you here, chances of anything escalating will go down considerably. Better for him, better for me, and better for you. If he co-operates, he will get a small fine; if he assaulted me – which has happened – he would face prison time. He will not assault me while I have two uniformed officers standing behind me. So,” he shrugged, “a small fine.”
The three men exited the vehicle, Tremblay taking out his sample case. They opened the gate, and Tremblay noted the distinctive curl of the shade-loving plants that Braun had planted on the north side of his house. Their genes belonged to Gesunde Landwirtschaft, and produced a delicious root vegetable. They interested him not at all.
Tremblay led the two officers around the house. He needed no more than a quick look. No, Braun at least had the intelligence to not plant any of his forbidden crops outside, where a chance visitor might spot them.
“Front door,” he said.
Officer Lindermann pressed on the plate. They heard the buzzer.
Braun, looking every year of his sixty-four – and then some – opened the door, eyes going to the two officers, and then to Tremblay. His eyes tracked down to the sample case, with Agri-Inc.’s logo prominently stamped upon it.
Tremblay almost smiled. He could see the sick knowledge come to Braun’s eyes. But, smiling would show malice, and he wished to keep this as mundane as he possibly could.
“Herr Braun,” he began in German, “I’m from Agri-Inc. You know why I’m here. Let us keep this civil. Show me to the plants. I will confiscate them, and you will have to pay a small fine. And that will end it.”
Braun glared at him. “Yes,” he replied in English, “I would recognize you by the smell alone. You have the stink of the Trans-Planetary Corporations about you.”
Tremblay ignored the insult. Let the old man get in what shots he might. Let him feel he’d done some damage. He couldn’t win, so there seemed little benefit to making the old guy feel worse than he would.
“Please, Herr Braun. We have a warrant.” Lindermann held up the official document.
Tremblay could hear the sympathy in the officer’s voice. Meanwhile, he caught yet another glare from Officer Felsberg. He ignored that, too.
Tremblay gave Braun a small smile, one that would look self-deprecating. “Why delay the inevitable? The sooner you allow us in, the sooner you will see us gone.”
He thought the old man would put up resistance – futile resistance – but Braun surprised him. The man stepped back, and indicated the two officers.
“Please, gentlemen, come in.” He then switched his gaze to Tremblay. “You, too.”
Tremblay let that pass as well. It would earn him points with the officers.
“Thank you, sir,” he said.
Always best to remain polite. If he ever worked another case in Moselkern, the police would not have reservations.
Braun led them down to his cellar, where Tremblay took in the grow-op. The old man had a small patch of grain – Agri-Inc.’s legal property – just ripe enough for harvest. Tremblay appreciated that the seeder had carefully labelled each pot, each plant. It made it all the easier.
He opened his case, and pulled out his shears. After clipping the heads from each stalk, he carefully placed them in a sample bag. He then checked the other plants – some of whose genes belonged to Agri-Inc., some of whose didn’t. The former, he pulled, and placed in other sample bags, which he labelled appropriately.
“Officer Lindermann,” he said, indicating the latter, “the genes of these plants belong to Gesunde Landwirtschaft. As per our agreement with them, I will confiscate the plants, but turn them over to you. An agent of GL will come to your station to pick them up.”
Lindermann nodded, his lips tight. And that surprised Tremblay for a moment. Then he nodded to himself. The man wasn’t just a nationalist, but a sympathizer. Tremblay gave a mental shrug. As long as the officer did his job, he could sympathize all he wanted.
When he put Agri-Inc.’s share of the confiscations in his case, old Braun looked relieved. Tremblay sighed audibly. “I’ll have the seeds, now, sir.”
And the relief went away. Tremblay expected that Braun would deny having them, but again the German surprised him.
Braun winced, and opened a tool kit. He pulled off the top shelf – loaded with actual tools, some greasy – exposing his treasure trove. He reached in, and carefully lifted the container – once used to sort screws, washers, and the like.
Now, set on the bench, Tremblay could examine it. Each tray had its own neat little label, which again made things all the easier.
“That’s quite a collection, sir,” Tremblay said, remaining polite. He pulled more sample bags from his case.
“You filthy TPCs don’t own the genes. You can’t patent seeds that have existed for thousands of years.”
He had heard it all before. People always thought they could sway him with diatribes or convert him with logical arguments. They bored him. “The law says otherwise, Herr Braun.”
“The law!” Braun practically spat out the word. “The law that companies like yours bought with bribes.” The man glared at him with true hatred.
Tremblay knew how to handle that, too. He looked up at the German, even as he poured the contents of the first container into a sample bag, allowing several seeds to drop onto the basement floor, apparently unnoticed. But the German noticed. His eyes widened fractionally, then he quickly looked away.
“Yes, I’ve heard that before, Herr Braun,” he said, keeping his eyes on the old man. “Nonetheless, you must admit that I abide strictly by those laws. I do not overstep them in any way.”
A few seeds from the second container fell to the floor as he made a gesture before dumping the remainder into a second bag. More followed with some of the other samples, and Braun fixed his gaze on the wall. But Tremblay knew that he saw everything.
One label surprised Tremblay. “Spelt? Where did you get that?”
Braun’s eyes flicked over, then back to the wall as a few seeds fell on the floor, Tremblay’s interest obviously elsewhere.
“Spelt is an ancient grain. It belongs to the people.” But Braun didn’t sound as angry as he had previously.
“Wrong. It belongs to Agri-Inc. And Agri-Inc. sells spelt seed to any who wish to grow it.”
That got to Braun. “Only after you genetically modify it, making it an abomination.”
“Making it better,” Tremblay countered.
The German just shook his head.
“Well, all done.” Tremblay carefully placed the last sample bag into his case and closed the lid. He looked Braun in the eye. “See that grow lamp? It uses a particular bulb, Herr Braun. And all modern electrical appliances – including bulbs – have their own signatures. That’s how you came to our attention. After that, some judicial investigating made it clear. You played the fool.”
Felsberg glared at him, put out. The officer apparently thought that Tremblay shouldn’t “kick the man while he was down”, but Braun merely nodded.
“I guess I did,” he agreed.
Tremblay reached into his pocket. “Here’s a nice sample of good Agri-Inc., shade-loving root stock. It’ll grow well in this climate.” Perhaps the old man would replace the GL crop with Agri-Inc.’s. It cost nothing to try.
Braun took the packet, keeping his eyes up. Then he followed the
officers and Tremblay back up the stairs, where Tremblay wrote him out a ticket.
“Pay at any bank. The police will get their share, Agri-Inc. will get ours, and everyone will forget about this little incident.” He circled the fine amount, and handed Braun his portion of the ticket. “I hope I don’t have to come back, Herr Braun. I hope you’ve learned something.”
He didn’t wait for a reply.
In the vehicle, he gave his thanks to the officers. Felsberg ignored it, but Lindermann seemed more receptive, though not happy. Well, maybe he should add something to sweeten what they found distasteful.
“If you’ll give me your numbers, I’ll make sure you get a favourable mention in my report. I want to thank you for helping make this as conflict-free as possible.”
Felsberg grunted, but Lindermann gave him a small smile. “Just doing our duty, sir.”
“I’d appreciate one last bit of aid, if you don’t mind?”
Lindermann raised his eyebrows.
“It’s too late for me to want to travel back to Frankfurt, so I’ll spend the night here. Tomorrow will be soon enough to return to England. If you could recommend a good accommodation – and a nice Weinstube where I might relax and enjoy some of your very good Mosel wine – I’d appreciate it. If either or both of you happen to show up after your shift, you can educate me on the merits of your favourite wines – on me, of course.”
Lindermann made his appearance an hour later after dropping him off. He walked over, and sat at Tremblay’s table.
“Guten Abend, Herr Tremblay.”
“Guten Abend. You gave me good advice. This is a fine Weinstube. Please, order what you will.”
After he had made his order, Lindermann sat back and relaxed. “Thank you, Herr Tremblay, for your actions today with Dieter Braun.”
Tremblay raised an eyebrow. Did the man suspect that he had dropped the seeds on purpose? Had he seen that? Would he report it? But no, the off-duty officer continued, and relieved Tremblay of that fear.
“Herr Braun is a good man. Quiet. You could have dealt with him much more harshly. I have seen it so when I worked in Frankfurt.”
“No necessity existed. The seeders believe they operate for the benefit of all. They are merely misguided.”
Lindermann sipped at his wine. “In respect to Herr Braun, I agree. Others do not have philanthropy in mind.”
Interest sharpened, Tremblay leaned forward slightly. “I fail to understand, Herr Lindermann.”
Lindermann looked around the small establishment. The Weinstube served only wines from grapes grown by the vintner who owned it. The patrons talked quietly, none looked like he or she would make trouble.
“I looked into Herr Braun’s finances when you first informed us of your mission. I saw nothing out of the ordinary.”
Tremblay canted his head, and stared at the officer. “His finances?”
“You do not know?” Now Lindermann took his turn to stare.
“I fear you have me at quite a loss.”
“It is something new in this game you play with the seeders, sir.”
Game?
“Oh?”
“A market for non-modified seeds has sprung up. Some seeds – like the Spelt you confiscated – bring a high price in that market.”
A nearby couple rose, and pushed their way past Tremblay’s chair. He used their exit to scoot forward a bit, giving them more room – and buying him time to take in what Lindermann had said.
A high price? And he had some fifty of the seeds in his case.
“Who could they sell them to? And where on Earth would the buyer think he could plant them that we would not discover it? I can see a small grow operation like Herr Braun’s, but these buyers would have to grow in quantity to make it worth ‘a high price’.”
Lindermann smiled. “No, Herr Tremblay, not on Earth at all. On the colony worlds.”
CHAPTER 2
Spaceport, Manila
Tuesday 18 May
“Becky, time to get undressed and ready for bed,” Johannes told his daughter.
“Dad, I’m sixteen. Mom wouldn’t make me go to bed so early.”
“Your mother isn’t here,” he replied, smiling.
But her absence ate at him. Venture’s schedule should have seen her docking at the station above over ten days earlier. Tradeships didn’t always keep to schedules, not if the trader picked up time-sensitive goods or if she felt that the ship could obtain a greater profit by altering the route. But a ten-day delay, when Jaswinder knew he waited for her, seemed strange.
“When will she get here?” Becky asked, running a brush through her long black hair, hair much like Jaswinder’s of twenty years earlier.
“Now, that’s a good question. I don’t really know.” His mind went back into the past, recalling how he stroked Jaswinder’s hair as it grew back to the length it held prior to her flight from Plender.
“Dad?”
Something in her tone brought Johannes’s attention fully back to the present.
“Yes, Becky?”
“I’ve heard you guys fighting. I know that’s why only you came here with me. Are you and Mom going to split up?”
It figured. Becky heard much more – and put together what bits she heard much better – than anyone gave her credit for. And she read people.
“Honey, I don’t know,” he answered honestly. “I surely hope not. But, whether we stay together or not, you have to know that we both love you and—”
The comm light flashed, and its bell chimed. Johannes gave an inward sigh. Saved by the bell – literally. He went to the screen, and looked at the header. Paxton on Maid Marion? What could he want? And how did he know that Johannes waited on the planet below? Johannes steeled himself for the tirade as he tapped the screen to accept the call. Fred Paxton’s narrow face came on, and Johannes forced a smile to his lips.
“Hello, Fred. What can I do for you?”
Paxton looked at him closely. “More what I can do for you, Johannes. Venture dumped her load on me, and headed back to Earth. Your wife requested that I inform you. There, my duty’s done.”
Johannes felt like the bottom dropped out of his stomach. She’d left him here? Gods, it couldn’t have gone that sour so quickly, could it?
“She didn’t ask me this,” Paxton continued, “but I’m offering anyway. I’ve a berth for you and your daughter to Yamato if you want it. Be easier to catch a ride back to Earth from there – if that’s what you want.”
Johannes blinked. A Paxton offering an Yrden something? “Thanks, Fred. I’ll take it. How soon do we need to lift?”
“As soon as possible. Manila has a shuttle coming up with cargo and some passengers for me. It leaves in three hours. I put a temp-res on two seats for you. You have one hour to confirm.” Paxton smiled slightly at the shocked look Johannes gave him.
“I appreciate that, Fred,” Johannes said. And he did. He wouldn’t have expected any kindness at all. “We’ll start packing immediately. See you soon.”
“Soon,” Paxton replied, then cut the connection.
“Becky, get packed. We’re leaving right now.” He turned to look for her, but she’d already gone into her room, pulled out her carryall, and had it open. She began stuffing her clothing into it as Johannes looked on, bemused.
* * *
The hotel’s limo carried them to the ’Port, where they checked in with the shuttle company. The attendant smiled her professional smile at them.
“Welcome to Shuttle Port, Mr Yrden, Ms Yrden. If you’ll complete the transaction, we’ll have you on board and up to the station in no time.”
Johannes nodded. First he and then Becky stepped onto the scale along with all their luggage. The attendant entered it into the computer, which generated his ticket.
He produced his credit chip. “Thank you. We appreciate your effort on our behalf. I know you had little notice.”
The attendant’s smile grew broader. Johannes had the feeling that she dealt with up
set customers more than she would have liked, and his sudden departure – two hours notice – could easily mean problems on his part, which she might fear he would take out on her. Credits flowed from his chip to her console.
“Everything is in order, sir. We hope you’ll come back and visit again.”
“I hope so, as well. We had a magnificent time here. Thank you.”
“Yes, we did,” said Becky. “Thank you all so much.”
They left the attendant, and stepped into the launch ready room, where they donned their protective suits. They waved off proffered help by the attendants, who had enough novices to worry about without adding seasoned spacers to their list.
“You did a good job, back there,” Johannes commented. “I know that Manila fell short of your expectations.”
She pursed her lips, and looked at him, perhaps wondering if she should say what she thought. She would, he knew. She always did.
“It didn’t, really, Dad. I just wish Mom were here with us.”
So did he. But that discussion would have to wait until they got back to Earth. Things didn’t look too good for them if she would leave him stranded, without word. He thought about that throughout the take-off and during most of the flight. At least, with the roar of the engines, Becky couldn’t bring up anything else.
After docking at the station, they disembarked and walked quickly to Maid Marion’s berth.
Manila possessed one of the few stations where a ship the size of Maid Marion could actually dock, rather than stand off and send shuttles and workboats across. A few others had plans for such modifications. Haida Gwaii would definitely possess such – when finished.
One of the young Paxtons met them at the gate. Despite the sour relations between the two Families, he managed to greet them cordially.
“Mr Yrden, I’m Hector Paxton. My uncle would have you come with me. We’ll avoid the passenger check-in that way. He’d like to see you as soon as you’re settled.”
“Very kind of your uncle to show us such hospitality, Hector. Come along, Becky.”
Hector looked at Becky, and his practiced smile became real. Johannes figured him for about fourteen, just at the age where girls became important. Becky smiled cordially in return, but obviously had little interest in a boy two years younger than herself.
Not With A Whimper: Preservers Page 2