Not With A Whimper: Preservers

by D. A. Boulter

  “Thank you, Pierre, I’d enjoy that.”

  She heard a small sigh from Sidney. She turned to him, and smiled sadly. “I’m sorry that they’ve called you back, darling. Can’t they run the company for two days without you?”

  He shrugged his shoulders, and sighed dramatically. “It seems they can’t. But I’ll see you soon.”

  He stood, and held out his hand to the Frenchman. “Pierre, good to see you again. Thanks for ensuring Kiera has a good vacation here. Maybe next time we’ll get to go to the opera together.”

  “Safe trip, Sidney.”

  Pierre retook his seat as Sidney walked out of the hotel restaurant. He looked across the table at Kiera.

  “And thank you, Mademoiselle, for not doing what I think you wanted to do.”

  “I’m not sure I know what you mean.”

  He canted his head to the side. “Tell me you were not about to tell the very honourable Monsieur Tremblay where he could shove it.”

  She laughed out loud, then covered her mouth. “I can’t.”

  “Bon.”

  She gave him a puzzled look. “But why wouldn’t you want me to end it? Last time you said that I deserved better.”

  “And you do. But, right now, I may have need of Monsieur Tremblay, and I also need him to think he has something on me.”

  Kiera winced. That meant only that Pierre wanted to use her just as Sidney did.

  “Courage, mon amie. I would not ask that you do so were it not to your benefit. And I mean true benefit, not the benefit of having someone like Sidney – or even me – paying your bills for you, keeping you like a pet bird.”

  She stared at him. “And what are these benefits?”

  “That, unfortunately, I cannot say, I must not say. I merely ask you to trust me in this.”

  Trust him? She didn’t even know the slightest thing about him. How could she trust him? Except, he hadn’t used her even when she had offered that use. He had shown kindness when that hardly benefited him. Perhaps this once, this once she might trust a man – although she would remain prepared for the bitter truth should he turn out to be like the others of his gender.

  She looked him in the eyes, noting how he patiently allowed her to examine him.

  “Very well, Pierre, I will do as you say. I will not end it – yet.”

  “Bon.” He stood, causing her to rise with him. “Let us discus further what I would like of you up in my room – where no ears may hear.”

  She took his proffered arm, and walked with him to the elevator. It didn’t escape her notice that Sidney lurked in the lobby, and watched them make the trip. She allowed herself to melt into Pierre, to show Sidney that she obeyed his commands like a ‘good girl’.

  The lift doors closed.

  “You saw him, hien?”

  “I saw him.”

  “I commend you.”

  What he commended her for, she didn’t know, and she thought it better to not ask. At least that way he might think her brighter than she felt.

  Once in his room, he directed her to a chair. “Sit, please. Let us talk.”

  She sat.

  “Tell me if you will, what occurred during the last week.”

  “Occurred?”

  “With Sidney. How do you two go on together, what do you talk about? When did he decide to come to Paris to see me?”

  She began talking and, after a while, found that Pierre very skilfully directed her here and there, without seeming to do so at all. She knew that he interrogated her, but never had an interrogation seemed so natural, so fun. She didn’t understand exactly what he wanted, what he looked for, so she held nothing back.

  “Does Sidney know what he has in you, Kiera?”

  “I don’t know what you mean.” And she didn’t. Had he given her a compliment, or had he just insulted her?

  “I am an observant man. The way you talk, the way you act when Sidney is about differs greatly from when he is not here. You have intelligence which you do not show. Why is that?”

  She closed her eyes, feeling both warm and cold. The man had noticed her. Her. He also now had something on her, something he could use against her with Sidney, should she change her mind about leaving him.

  “Sidney,” she sighed, “wants someone gullible, malleable. Someone who will look up to him, want to do anything to please him. When first we met, I was tired, very tired. You know what I mean?”

  He nodded. “Not at your best.”

  “Far from my best – and dispirited, desperate. I would have gone with practically anyone at that moment.”

  Pierre nodded again. “I understand.” Then he grinned. “With practically anyone? Even a man such as myself?”

  She laughed. “Perhaps not that desperate.”

  He joined her in laughter. She would not have dared make the same joke with Sidney.

  The door chimed.

  “I expect no-one. I wonder who might be calling. Sidney?”

  When Pierre opened the door, Kiera saw him stiffen, then step back allowing one of the hotel employees inside. The man, she saw, carried her luggage from her room. Pierre thanked the man, and then came back to her, a slightly embarrassed look on his face.

  “It seems, cheri, that Sidney has checked out and let the staff know that you would share my rooms.” He held up his hand. “Not my doing in any way. Sidney wishes, I think, to both save money on the room, and to further earn my gratitude, making me more amenable to his offer.”

  Kiera didn’t know what to say. She didn’t have the cash to rent a room at the hotel, and if she used the credit chip that Sidney had given her, he would get the statement, and see that she had done so.

  Pierre shrugged in his peculiar manner. “I believe,” he said slowly, “I believe that allowing the situation to remain as-is presents us with the best of a bundle of bad choices – at least for this night. Tomorrow, we might make different arrangements. I might take you to the country, where we might book two rooms – and him none the wiser. Here, if you engage another room, or I engage one for you, he might hear of it, putting what we attempt into jeopardy.”

  She tried to copy his shrug, and failed miserably. “I am to offer you anything, Pierre. I have offered you anything. If you wish to take me up on this offer, I will not say no.”

  His eyes went wide with horror.

  “But you mistake me! I can sleep on the couch or the floor, should you fear I might take advantage.” He undertook to present a charming smile. “I would, naturally, prefer the comfort of the bed, but I have done without before, and a single night will not, I believe, cripple me. I merely suggest that we should appear to have done what Monsieur Tremblay expects of us.”

  She felt the relief wash through her, along with perhaps just a tinge of disappointment. For a decent man like this, she would do much.

  “The bed is yours, Monsieur. I would not take it from you.”

  He looked up, as if for help from a greater power. “But no, being a Frenchman, I cannot allow that. You must take the bed.”

  She started to laugh. “But I cannot – being a good Englishwoman.”

  He gave a sharp nod of his head. “Then it is settled. We both shall sleep on the floor. I give you a promise, on my honour as a Frenchman, that I shall not encroach on your side of the floor.”

  “But, Pierre, I thought your honour – as a Frenchman – would demand that you do so.”

  He waved that off with a gesture of disdain. “You mistake me for an Italian.”

  Through teary eyes, she looked up at him and gasped out, “Enough. You win. We shall share the bed. I will trust to your honour.”

  Pierre drew himself up, presenting a most haughty sight. “As you should, Mademoiselle, as you should.”

  CHAPTER 16

  FTL-1

  Saturday 24 July

  Owen Yrden showed up at her workout session. She glimpsed his face in the small viewport while she struck the punching bag. She stopped punching, put a smile on her face, and waved him in.
>
  He wore sweats much like her own, though she wore the Space Force blue, and he wore grey.

  “Hey, Owen, good to see you. Come on in.”

  He approached a little tentatively. She stopped hitting the bag, and stepped forward to meet him. “Good to see you.”

  “I ... uh ... I hope you don’t mind, Major.”

  She laughed. “I invited you, didn’t I? No, I don’t mind at all. Good to have someone to train with.” She paused, looked at him through slightly narrowed eyes, and frowned.

  “What is it?” The worry came out clearly.

  “It’s what you called me: Major. Here, in this room, I’m Sharon and you’re Owen. Here, we’re partners.”

  His lips tightened. “I don’t think my father would like that.”

  She shrugged. “He isn’t here, and he isn’t training with us.” Time for the smallest of digs. “Besides, you’re a man, now; you have to make your own decisions – for better or for worse.” She let that sink in, then decided to give him a way out. “If you decide that you,” she stressed the ‘you’, “prefer to call me Major, then that’s what you should call me. Now, let’s see you hit the bag.”

  A slow smile came to the boy’s face. “Okay, Sharon.”

  She returned the smile to show her pleasure. Then she held the bag for him, and watched as he began to strike it. He had decent form, good balance, and some strength. After he had warmed up, she pressed on. Best to give him something that he could take with him, something that would make him want to return to practice with her.

  “So, suppose I were this Ben character, and I’ve just challenged you. Take a shot at my nose.”

  Owen’s eyes widened. “What if I hit you?”

  “If you connect, then I’ll have learned something and I’ll give you a pat on the back.”

  He still looked doubtful, so she struck him on the shoulder, not lightly. “Got a chip there, Yrden?” she snarled at him. “Want me to knock it off for you?”

  His right fist flashed towards her face. Her arm came up in its practiced way, deflecting him to his left, leaving him off-balance and open for her counter. She stopped short of actually hitting him, giving him only a tap to show that she could have done so.

  “Not bad. Want to see what I did?”

  She had him strike at her again, this time in slow motion. Her arm came up in response, pushing him to his left lightly, then her left fist gave him a light tap as he turned. “And again.”

  His eyes watched her form, her movements. A very serious young man.

  “Your turn,” she said. She began the punch, and allowed him to counter – again in slow motion. And again and again, until he had it. Then she began speeding up, forcing him to react more quickly until they moved at almost full speed.

  Too soon, the session ended, with both of them sweating. “Good job, Owen,” she complimented him. “Next time, I’ll bring a knife.” She laughed at his expression. “A practice knife. All bendy, and such. You’d have a hard time cutting butter with it, let alone flesh.”

  His grin pleased her no end. “I’d like that, Sharon.”

  Her name came out almost naturally, though she could tell he still wanted to fall back on formality.

  She put her arm around his shoulders, and guided him towards the showers and change rooms. The moment she touched him, she could feel him tense, but her easy attitude and comradeship had done its work, and he relaxed. Her peripheral vision caught him glancing down, and she held back the smile of victory that threatened to make itself known.

  “See you after the shower.”

  “Okay, Sharon.”

  She showered quickly, complimenting herself on a job well done, even while wondering how far she would allow this to go. Certainly General Wingrove would be pleased if she seduced young Yrden, but he would think of it as corrupting her, not as her gaining something entirely for herself. She hadn’t had a bed partner in some time. She wondered if Owen ever had.

  Dry and dressed, she exited her changeroom, to find Owen already out, hair still damp, but looking good in his station clothes.

  “Mr Yrden.”

  “Major Temple.”

  She laughed. “Well, work for me, and classes for you, I guess. See you again tomorrow?”

  “Definitely.”

  * * *

  Paris, France

  Saturday 24 July

  When Kiera woke, she found that, true to his word, Pierre had not encroached upon her side of the bed. In fact, he lay on his side with his back toward her, legs drawn up, and at the very edge of the large mattress.

  She, however, had made no such promise, and she found herself pressed into said back, with an arm draped over his body, her legs drawn up behind his. She gasped, and slowly, carefully tried to remove her arm without disturbing him.

  “I am comfortable. If you are comfortable, you need not move.”

  She felt her face grow red. “I’m sorry, Pierre—”

  “I am not.” She had nothing to say to that. “We are two adults, cheri; this should not bother us. Nonetheless, if you are awake, then I need not fear disturbing you by arising. We have, after all, much to accomplish this day.”

  She could, she decided, grow to like this man. She gave that a second thought when he took possession of the washroom. She heard the shower running, and could not wait, so she entered.

  The flush of the toilet caused him to open the shower door slightly, and poke his head out. “Ah, je regrette Mademoiselle, I have forgotten my manners. Allow me but five more minutes, and the room belongs to you.”

  True to his word, five minutes later he exited the bathroom, a towel tied around his waist. He bowed formally. “All yours.”

  She bowed back. “Thank you.”

  When she came out, one of the luxurious hotel towels wrapped around her, using another to dry her hair, he beckoned her to the table.

  “Sit, please.”

  He took the chair opposite her.

  “I have used my time to think wisely, and we must be clear on my conclusions.” He looked her directly in the eyes. “This is important.”

  She nodded at him to continue.

  “I walk a path that forks. If circumstances dictated that I take the left fork, then I shall send word to you. You are then free to do as you wish, to stay with Sidney or to leave him. If you choose to leave him, please inform me of such.”

  Why? Would he then want her to come to him? Would she want to?

  He made a motion to capture her attention.

  “However, should circumstances dictate that I take the right fork, then I ask you to remain with Sidney for a time.” He paused and looked straight into her eyes. “In that case, I have instructions for you. You must not forget, and you must react promptly, no, immediately when I give you the word. Do you understand?”

  She didn’t think she did, but motioned him to continue.

  * * *

  FTL-1

  Monday 26 July

  Pierre Fontaine left the shuttle at a quick walk, heading for the station supervisor’s office. On the Concourse, he took the lift up past the temporary quarters, where passengers and contractors stayed while waiting to board in the former case, or where they stayed while working on the station in the latter.

  “Pierre,” Bill Tannon said, standing and reaching out his hand. “Matt told me you had a request but refused to say anything more than that it involved shuttles. What’s up?”

  “I have need of five shuttles on stand-by for a special operation, and one more for myself, that will stay with me in France – or wherever else I need to place it.”

  Tannon let out a soft whistle. “You realize what’s going on, don’t you? We need every shuttle we have.”

  Pierre held up his hand. “I know. I believe this trumps it.”

  “How long would you need them?” Tannon asked, punching something up to his screen. He frowned.

  “Until the end.” Pierre gave a Gallic shrug. “It is what it is, Bill. They will be the last shuttl
es up from Earth – if Monsieur Yrden’s friend and my client have it correct.”

  “Who’s your client?”

  “I must keep it confidential, mon ami. Should even the hint of this get out, I lose my cargo and he goes to prison.”

  Tannon sighed. “I have my own headaches. I don’t need any of Matt’s or yours. I just have to run this station. You want Transport Operations. You go and talk with Johannes Yrden and Jill Paxton. As well as scheduling the shuttles, they have their own mission. If you can convince them, then go ahead. Otherwise, I fear you are out of luck.”

  Pierre scrunched up his face. “A Paxton and an Yrden working together on the same project? Pas possible.” He grinned at Tannon. “Is there blood on the deck, yet? Jill, she can take on ten in a barroom, if she wants.”

  Tannon chuckled. “Very nearly. I expect it at any second.”

  He looked around his office, which, Pierre noted, had many personal fixtures missing. Last time he had visited, Bill Tannon had plants, photographs, and other detritus scattered around. Now it appeared rather Spartan.

  “I go then. I shall speak with Johannes and Jill.”

  “Wear armour.”

  Pierre laughed. “And a helmet. Au revoir, Bill.”

  “Until next.”

  Pierre had almost reached Transport Operations when Johannes stormed out the door and nearly ran him down. They both sidestepped the same way, then again. After that, Pierre realized with whom he danced, and stopped.

  “Johannes!”

  Johannes paused, looked at his face. Recognition came. “Pierre. Don’t go in there.”

  “What happens, mon ami?”

  “War.”

  Shocked, Pierre took Johannes by the arm. “Then we must talk now. I need shuttles. Immediately.”

  “What? No, not that kind of war, the female kind: Jill Paxton and Helen White. Discretion being the better part of valour, I decided to run.”