Not With A Whimper: Preservers

by D. A. Boulter

  “Ah.” Pierre had to chuckle. Then he stopped. “But I must talk with you and Jill about shuttles. Perhaps you first?”

  “Come with me into the bunker.”

  Pierre raised his eyebrows quizzically. “Bunker?”

  “Where I spend all too much of my time these days – where they can’t get at me.” He led Pierre into the Men’s Room.

  “But this is ridiculous,” Pierre protested as Johannes splashed cold water on his face. Johannes didn’t answer, just stood there, bent over, splashing water. “What happens here?”

  Johannes finally straightened. He ignored the question. “You said you needed shuttles. The war is over shuttles. What do you need? Perhaps I can spare one for a day.”

  “I need five on stand-by, and one for myself until the end.”

  Johannes stared at him. “What you ask is impossible.”

  “Then you must make it possible. I would not ask were it not necessary, and Bill says I must come to you. He says you have a mission – besides the transport of goods. I give to you that my mission has at least equal importance.”

  A long sigh met those words. “Then we must face the enemy together. There, you will tell your story.”

  “But non, mon ami. It must remain very secret. I cannot allow more to know than the minimum. I must not.”

  Johannes pressed his lips together. “Then you must consider us four the minimum – if you want six shuttles.” He shook his head. “You will not get them.”

  “But I must.”

  Johannes opened the door. “Then come with me – and prepare your words very carefully, my friend. We walk into a minefield.”

  Johannes and Pierre sat opposite each other at the small table. Jill and Helen did likewise – the better to separate the combatants, Johannes said outside the hearing of the two women.

  “Why are we here?” Jill asked.

  “Jill, Helen, this is Pierre Fontaine. He tells me that he has something of great importance which will affect our missions.”

  Pierre thought that the expressions he received varied from wary to antagonistic, but he smiled at each in turn, nonetheless.

  “I speak to you of the future of mankind – assuming that this war that we prepare for does come.”

  And that got their attention.

  “I have a client, and he has a cargo of immense importance. I need to get this client and his people into space – away.”

  Sighs came from either side.

  Jill jumped into the silence. “I suppose this client of yours rates higher than Family. And that he – or she – wears the garb of a saint.”

  Pierre smiled and shook his head. “If he does, he soils them so badly that the saint would rather the clothes be burned than returned. This man is filth, slime. Were you to walk over him, you would dispose of your shoes later.”

  That raised eyebrows.

  “But his cargo – a different matter, entirely. Without him, no cargo. With him, perhaps a chance to see the colonies flourish, to see us flourish in a galaxy without Earth. For this, I put my hands deep in filth, in slime. For this, I smile at him, and call him friend. For this, I offer him a place in the Families.”

  Jill exchanged looks with Johannes. “Jesus Christ!”

  “Oh, no, cheri,” Pierre said. “Definitely not Jésus Christ. More a minion of Satan. But I digress. He has a name: Sidney. He works for Agri-Inc., and finds himself with the key to The Vault.

  “He tells me that the top officials of Agri-Inc. have begun migrating to space. A chance remark from his companion, who has much more intelligence than he, has driven him to the same conclusion that Monsieur Preston has come to, though much later. He has talked with colleagues in other Trans-Planetary Companies, and found that this situation exists elsewhere. They migrate to space to avoid the coming conflict.”

  Johannes turned his palms up. “We already are aware of what is probably coming, Pierre. So, where does this Sidney fit in?”

  “For the low, low price of his place in the Families, the evacuation of his people – about thirty – and a paltry sum of money in gold (perhaps in the millions), he gives me the key to The Vault.”

  “Thirty people?” Helen put a hand flat on the table. “And what do they have that mine do not?”

  “I know not who yours are, Mademoiselle. Nor do I know what they have.”

  She turned to Johannes. “You didn’t tell him.”

  “I didn’t tell him, and I know as much about this Sidney character as you do. He has told me nothing other than his need for six shuttles – five on standby, one for himself from now until the end.”

  “Impossible,” both Helen and Jill said together.

  Pierre regarded them in turn. “You must make it possible, as I have told Monsieur Yrden. No shuttles, no deal.”

  “My people come first,” Helen declared. “We have a sealed deal with the Families. As I understand it, you have no deal, just a proposal.”

  Pierre sat back. “I will listen to this deal. Perhaps you have right, perhaps I have error. Do you bring something that may save all humankind?”

  “I do. We have The Knowledge.”

  “The knowledge? What is this knowledge?”

  “All of it,” Johannes said. “Helen works for Professor Preston. For the last several years she and her colleagues have collected forgotten knowledge from around the world. They have sorted, catalogued it. They have the books, the blueprints, the histories, the patents – not just those of today, but from the beginning.

  “We all know that Earth governments have kept the colonies on short leash. They permit only certain technologies – and they transport those technologies from their factories here. If Preston and your Sidney’s superiors are correct, they will get no more from Earth after the upheaval.”

  “Mon Dieu. I had not thought of this. And soon they will not be able to support us.”

  Jill nodded. “And we become planet-bound like them – thirty-odd colony worlds, all separated from each other with no hope of trade, support, even contact. And she,” she pointed to Helen, “sells it to us to give – not sell – to all who need it at the cost of removal of her researchers and their families – some 200 people.”

  “A worthy cause, an apt price,” Pierre agreed, and received a smile from Helen for that. “My cause also is worthy, Sidney’s price apt.” At this he smiled, “Gold or other precious metals notwithstanding.”

  Having had Pierre’s support, Helen softened “And what does this Sidney bring?”

  “I have said so twice already. The key to The Vault.”

  “Yes, yes,” Jill said, somewhat acerbically. “What vault?”

  Pierre stared at her a moment. “The Vault – the Doomsday Vault.” At a lack of comprehension, he elaborated. “The seed vault in Spitzbergen that holds the unmodified seeds of the thousands of plants of Earth. We – and the colonies – can grow only those genetically modified plants as the Trans-Planetary Corporations like Agri-Inc. sell us. They spent a hundred years buying corrupt officials in order to gain a monopoly on our food supplies.

  “This war, if it comes, will see that monopoly shattered. The TPCs will cease to exist. They have not our caches–” He stopped himself. “They have not our resources. The Families will control trade. If we have the seed, we can ensure that each colony gets what it needs – and we, as well as they, will reap the benefits.”

  He looked to each face in turn to see if his words had any effect.

  “Sidney – I think of him as ‘The Seed King’ – has authorization from Agri-Inc. to access The Vault. Authorization given to him because those who normally would control this now hide in space.”

  Johannes shook his head. “If your Seed King goes to the Vault and tells them he’s withdrawing all of Agri-Inc.’s seed, don’t you think that its guardians will request confirmation?”

  “And now you come to the greatest problem,” Pierre said. “We take not just Agri-Inc.’s seed – we take all of it.”

  Jill found he
r voice before any of the others. “We would have to fight our way in and out unless…” She stared at him. “You mean to wait until the missiles are flying.”

  Pierre shrugged. “I must. I can think of no other way. When things get to a certain point, I will have Sidney and his friend take a holiday in Northern Scotland. I will park my shuttle somewhere nearby. No one will target these places. When the missiles fly, I pick up Sidney and Kiera, take them to Spitzbergen. There, I meet the other five shuttles. Sidney, as Agri-Inc.’s rep, offers those at The Vault sanctuary for their help in removing the seed. There is tons of it, so we shall need this help.

  “We take the seed and its keepers to Haida Gwaii – this station, perhaps, may not survive. From there, if Haida Gwaii is ready, we leave. If she is not, we tranship to our trade vessels.”

  The silence lasted for the longest minutes that Pierre had ever experienced. He did not interrupt the thoughts of the other three. Surely they would see the importance.

  Finally, Johannes took a deep breath and let it out. “That’s, uh, stunning.”

  “Audacious,” Jill added.

  “Worthwhile,” said Helen.

  The others looked to her. She held up her hand while she appeared to order her thoughts. Her hand sank once more.

  “We are The Preservers. We preserve the knowledge; we preserve the very seeds of life. We offer this to those who need – without charge – so that they can prosper, and in prospering, can likewise support us, and allow us to prosper. And we need not sacrifice one for another.”

  “No?” Jill asked.

  “We do sacrifice one shuttle now – Pierre takes it as his own, as he says. We continue to lift my people and yours,” she indicated Jill, “as well as those supplies you have on order. Only at the last moment, do we need to divert to pick up the seed.” She let loose with a half-laugh, half snort. “At that time, we will have no further Earth-bound use for those shuttles. Hopefully, we will have all of my people up and away before the war, but once it starts, with nuclear bombs going off, we will pick up no further supplies, nor people, I think.”

  “Except on Spitzbergen,” agreed Pierre, “which no one will even think to target.”

  “Which no one will think to target,” confirmed Johannes. “Nor want to.”

  “And,” continued Pierre, “should the war be not so all-consuming as we believe, we can either abandon the mission, or later return the seed, having only removed it for safety’s sake.”

  “No,” replied Jill. “If we take it at all, it will mean absolute devastation.” She frowned. “But I cannot ask any pilot to risk herself in such a situation.”

  “I risk myself,” Pierre told her. “Explain, and you will find many who risk themselves, who volunteer. This cause, it is worth it. My Family – our Families – will remember us always as...” he stopped as the word would not come.

  “As the Preservers,” Helen filled the void.

  Pierre smiled. “Yes. As the Preservers.”

  CHAPTER 17

  FTL-1

  Tuesday 27 July

  Owen walked down the hall from detection class, fuming. Ms Paxton had caught him out, and Ben Paxton had laughed at him. But he’d gotten his own dig in at Ben, and that felt good.

  He rounded the corner into the Family Quarters hallway. Steps sounded behind him, fast, catching up.

  He turned just in time to see Ben Paxton barrelling down on him, face twisted in anger.

  “You shit,” he growled out, hand moving in a low strike to catch Owen in his stomach.

  Ben moved just like Sharon had with her practice knife. Without even thinking about it, Owen batted his hand aside like she’d taught him, and a second later Ben Paxton fell into a door on the other side of the corridor, not knowing how he got there.

  His father was going to kill him, Owen knew, but felt the triumph of the moment overriding the dismay. Whatever punishment his father meted out, this moment had paid for it already. But Ben Paxton shook his head, and began to get to his feet, obviously thoroughly pissed off. The fight to come might endanger both their places in the detection class.

  “How’d you...?”

  “Easy,” Owen interrupted, thinking fast. “Wanna see?”

  That stopped Paxton short. He cocked his head over to one side, and considered Owen.

  “Mean it?”

  “Yes.”

  It took Paxton a moment, then he relaxed. “Okay, show me.”

  Half a minute later, Paxton hit the door again. This time, they heard the lock work, and Ben grimaced as he looked up at the number on the door. “Shit, now I’m for it.”

  The door opened to show Michael Paxton, Ben’s uncle and Paxton Rep on FTL-1. He looked down at Ben, then up at Owen, standing there, both breathing slightly faster than normal. His face hardened. He let Ben get to his feet, and directed his annoyance that way – to begin with. Owen figured he’d be next, though any punishment would come through his father. But this would do nothing for their relationship with the Paxtons.

  “Ben, you know better—”

  And Owen interrupted him, speaking quickly. “Your uncle is right, Ben. Stupid of us to do this in the Quarters. Sorry, Mr Paxton. Ben, how about if I meet you in 10 minutes in the gym? We can practice there, and not wake anyone up.”

  Ben stared at him, and Owen stared back, willing the young man to say something before they both got what they deserved for this stupidity.

  “I’ll ask Ginny Fontaine if she wants to join us, okay? She and I often practice together.”

  “Great,” Owen agreed, picking up his reader from where he’d set it down. “And maybe Roy?”

  He didn’t know Ginny, but Roy Tannon sat next to him in Detector Class, and seemed to have no allegiances.

  Micheal Paxton looked from one to the other, then shrugged. “No more rough-housing in the corridors.”

  “No, sir,” they replied together.

  Paxton closed the door, and both Owen and Ben breathed out sighs.

  “That was too close,” Ben whispered, not wanting his voice to carry through the door, though those same doors kept out most sounds from the corridors. Still, who knew if the Paxton rep had turned on the intercom?

  “I’ll call Roy, you call Ginny, and we’ll meet at the gym,” Owen said as they walked side by side away from the door where Michael Paxton might still be listening.

  Ben stared at him, then a slow smile came to his face. “You mean it? I thought you were just trying to get us out of trouble.”

  Owen snickered. “I was. But why not? And then, if your uncle checks, he’ll have confirmation.”

  Ben patted him on the shoulder. “You’re not all bad, Yrden.” He turned to his own door and gave Owen a small wave. “Ten minutes.”

  Owen walked the rest of the way to his own door, and gave a small fist-pump. Yes! And, if it all worked out, he’d not have to defend himself from antagonism in the class. Old Ms Paxton might let up on him, if she saw him and Ben friendly, and, best of all, he could earn points with his father.

  He opened his door, walked into his small room, put away his reader, and pulled out his gym bag. He smiled at himself in the small washroom’s mirror as he washed his hands. No, he’d made a mistake. Best of all would come when he told Sharon of his victory. She’d be proud of him – and that, he admitted to himself, meant more to him than anything his father might say.

  * * *

  Wednesday 28 July

  Sharon watched as Owen did a triple somersault, through the air, and came out, feet absorbing the momentum as he touched down on the wall, left foot moving toward the grab-hold that he didn’t really need, anchoring him there. A wide smile split his face.

  “Feeling good today, Owen?” she asked, her own smile answering his.

  “I solved my Ben Paxton problem, Sharon,” he told her.

  She noted that his use of her name had become natural, not forced. She had begun to solve her own problem, too. She could report that to the general, who had become somewhat pert
urbed at her seeming lack of progress.

  “That’s wonderful,” she replied, her smile widening. “How did you do it?”

  Owen laughed, his voice clear and joyful. “Your doing. I taught him the knife counter that you taught me.”

  She raised her eyebrows. “This is the young man that you wanted to punch in the nose?”

  Owen laughed again, and pushed off slowly. She joined him in a flight across the zero-g room, and both rolled, landing on their feet together.

  “He and I got into it, and I threw him, just like you showed me. I knew we would both get in trouble if we fought, so I offered to show him how I did it. I threw him again – unfortunately, against his uncle’s door. That’s Michael Paxton, their Family Rep – he’s not a very nice man.”

  “Oh, no!” Sharon let Owen’s enthusiasm carry him on, and just responded enough to keep him going.

  “Oh, yes.” He pushed off again, a little harder, and she joined him again. “Bounce this time, and head for the entrance hatch.”

  They did the manoeuvre in unison, and ended up at said hatch. She wondered if he wanted to quit already, but he then indicated the centre of the room.

  “Let’s meet there, and I’ll tell you about it.”

  He pushed off strongly, hit the opposite wall, and headed back. She pushed off less strongly, and they met in the middle, grasped each other’s hands and ended up in a stationary tumble, which Owen corrected for. She felt the warmth of his hands, saw the grin on his face, and made the decision to up the stakes slightly.

  “So, tell me, how did Mr Paxton react?”

  Owen laughed again. He had a nice laugh. “I didn’t give him time. Told him that Ben and I were practicing, told him we were stupid to do it there, and said we should go to the gym. Ben asked if he could bring his friend, Ginny, and I brought another guy from our class, Roy.” He squeezed Sharon’s hands. “And it worked. Old Man Paxton just shrugged, and told us not to roughhouse in the corridors any more.”

  “And you went through with the gym meeting?”

  “Oh, yes. We had to, just in case Old Man Paxton decided to check up on us. But we had a lot of fun, and Ben’s a ... well, not exactly a friend, but not an enemy any more.”