Prophet of ConFree (The Prophet of ConFree)

by Marshall S. Thomas

  "Eyes, what do V and H stand for?" I asked.

  "V is for Victim, H is for Hostile," the unit replied.

  "Well, good," I said. "That will make it easier to sort them out when the shooting starts."

  "There'll be no shooting," the Professor said, "except maybe for that bitch, H01, if we get a chance."

  We compiled a considerable dossier on that site and the inhabitants. There were quite a few female detainees. We didn't see any male detainees. Prof looked at every face but could not find his daughter. However, there were a lot of individual cubes and rooms, and there could have been many detainees locked in their rooms. We sent the eyes into every cube and room we could find, locked or not, and identified more prisoners. The girls all wore pullover pink smocks, presumably a detention uniform. There were numerous female overseers but none were as evil as that first one we saw. Some of them seemed genuinely concerned for the welfare of the girls. I even overheard the Prof whispering, "Bless you," as he witnessed a young female overseer tenderly caring for a detainee with an injured foot. The girls exercised in the quadrangle and ate meals together in the cafeteria. By the end of the day we had identified thirty-one female detainees, most of them teenagers. Either Household Industries dealt exclusively in females or the males were held elsewhere. It was getting late.

  "Sorry, Professor. We may be missing some place, but – no luck so far."

  "That's all right, Prophet. Perhaps tomorrow will work out."

  Δ

  Bees parked our aircar in the Household Industries lot right in downtown Star City. I proceeded through the darkened glass doors of the main entrance of Household Industries while the rest of the gang waited in the car. I found myself in a spacious, well decorated, softly lighted entry hall that resembled a hotel lounge, with luxurious plush, thick wall-to-wall carpeting and little islands of airchairs and low tables recessed into the floor and scattered around the hall. Several modern reception desks equipped with wide d-screens and guest chairs faced the main entrance. A hot young honey stepped forward and approached me. She had luxuriant, shoulder-length dark brown hair, a stunningly beautiful face with clear hazel eyes, light brown skin and a silken low-slung dress that revealed quite a bit of her lovely, tender breasts. She was not wearing a bra and didn't need one.

  "Welcome to Household Industries, sir. I am Maya. May I help you?" I noticed two security thugs, clad in ill-fitting blue suits, standing against the walls, trying to appear invisible.

  "Why yes, thank you. I, um, I've heard about Household Industries and I understand you have household helpers available for lease. Is that, uh, true?" I was trying to act uneasy. I was evidently the only customer. It was mid-morning. The key card of the Camarilla Towers was sticking slightly out of my left jacket pocket. It was meant to reassure them at first glance that I was probably a clueless wealthy traveler.

  "Yes sir, it certainly is. We can help you there. Let's sit over here – and your name?" She led me to one of the conversation pits and we sat by a low table.

  "Um, Richard. My name is Richard."

  "Would you like some refreshments, Richard? Dox, juice, ice water?"

  "Oh, no thanks. Actually I have some questions."

  "Certainly. That's why we are here."

  "Your…household helpers. If I am interested, do I get to choose exactly what I want?"

  "Oh, of course! We have a very wide choice of domestic help – whatever our customers want, we can supply. Males, females, hetero and homo, bisexuals, various races, young or older, kitchen helpers or household experts, experienced maids, security help, female or male companionship – pretty much anything you want. You'd be surprised, some of these arrangements have even led to happy marriages. Although we're not a lonely hearts club."

  "So, do I get to see your helpers? Are they here?"

  "Well, first you look over the brochures. Each candidate has a brochure that shows pix and has all the stats for the subject. If you can narrow down your interests to one or two, we can talk further. And of course you will see and talk with your choice before we make a sale. Tell me, are you interested in females or males?"

  "Females."

  "Here is a sample brochure. These particular girls are not currently available but it gives you a good idea of the details we include." She reached under the table and pulled out three glossy brochures, showing three incredibly sexy young females in full color 3D pixes. Bio info – probably faked, I imagined – was listed along with physical descriptions.

  "What kind of girls are you interested in, Richard? Are you single?"

  "Oh. It's not for me. One more question. I see the brochures mention short-, medium- and long-term contracts. If we want to purchase one of your helpers – purchase outright – can we do that?"

  "Certainly. Of course we cannot sell human beings – that's illegal. Our household helpers are individual contractors. They are currently under contract to our company, but they are seeking further employment opportunities. Once you pay us our finder's fee, we lease them to you, for whatever term you may specify. They are your employees thereafter, and any salary is up to you. They are legally bound to you by the length of the contract. If you want them for the long-term, you pay us the one-time long-term finder's fee and they are bound to you for the long-term. Which means forever unless you choose to transfer them to someone else. We relinquish all further financial claims or interests of any kind, and the contract will specify that."

  "I see. Thank you. That clarifies it."

  "You said 'it's not for me'. Could I ask who it is that you represent?"

  "Certainly. He is an upper management official in a galactic engineering firm headquartered in ConFree. He's interested in discretion and asks if you can guarantee that any transaction he may make here will not become public knowledge."

  "All of our transactions are highly confidential. We guarantee individual anonymity. Customer information will never be shared with anyone else, not even government officials. That will be in the contract. We have never had a complaint of that nature. We are very careful. Our business requires discretion and confidentiality of the highest order. All we require from the purchaser is enough personal and banking information to ensure that we can transfer the purchase price from one account to another – and we will do that right here, with seller and purchaser both present."

  "So we can interview the applicants right here?"

  "Yes – it’s convenient for everyone."

  "All right. My employer is outside. He didn't want to come in until I could assure him that it would be discreet and appropriate. Do you have any private rooms in which we can meet? Just to let you know – I am his financial advisor. And he listens to me."

  "Certainly. Please have him come in."

  Δ

  "Professor Carlos is single," I explained to Maya's breasts. "He has many responsibilities and no social life." The Professor and I were in a luxurious private room with the delectable Maya and a table full of dox, tea, juices, ice water and snacks. Bees, Smiley and Arie were out of sight in the entry hall at one of the conversation pits looking over the sample brochures and having dox. "The professor wants some feminine companionship around the house," I continued. "He appreciates youth and beauty and he likes children. He is looking for an attractive young girl, no older than thirteen. He's a wonderful man and will treat her right. We wish to purchase her for the long-term."

  "We can certainly help you, Professor," Maya said, flashing him a dazzling smile. "We have some lovely homeless young girls who would leap at this chance. Please give me more information on what exactly you will expect from your choice. Do you wish her to have any specific skills? Cooking, sewing, musical skills, any type of past experience that will interest you?"

  "I am looking for a virgin," the Professor said. "I appreciate youth and innocence. I don't want a girl who has been corrupted by the world. She should be beautiful and innocent. As to skills, at that age, we can teach her whatever she has to learn."

  "I'm sure we
can help you. Please excuse me for a moment; I'm going to consult our records."

  When Maya returned she brought three brochures with her. "All three of these girls appear to meet your requirements," she said, with a smile. She passed the brochures to the Professor. He picked up the first one and opened it. I could tell instantly that it was his daughter. His face paled, he gasped, and he froze as if he had just seen a ghost. Don't lose it, Prof, I thought.

  "Are you all right, sir?" Maya asked.

  The Prof made a visible effort to calm down, took a deep breath, then spoke. "This girl is remarkably attractive. And it says here she is a medically certified virgin. Certified by whom?"

  "Certified by an MD from Star City Community Hospital. As well as previous doctors. But we only trust our own doctors."

  "I have my own doctor accompanying me, and she will examine the girl – if I decide to purchase her. Do you have any problem with that?"

  "No problem at all, Professor."

  The Prof was examining the 3D image. It showed a sultry, dark-eyed lovely with silky black hair, long slender slim arms and legs, perched on a lounge. "Are you sure this one is a virgin?" he asked.

  "Absolutely certain, Professor."

  "You've made her up to look like a prostitute. I'm looking for someone more innocent." He tossed the brochure aside in contempt and picked up the next one. Good move, Prof, I thought.

  "That's just our photographer, Professor. He sometimes tends to make women look more edgy than they really are. I promise you that Cecilia is both innocent and sweet. She's one of our nicest girls. I believe she is exactly what you are looking for."

  "Cecilia. Is that her name?"

  "Yes sir."

  "How about this one?"

  "Heidi? Yes, she's another adorable virgin. She's looking for a kind employer. You would love her. Everyone who meets Heidi falls in love with her."

  The Prof's comset buzzed. "Excuse me," he said. "Yes." He listened a bit, then got up. "I'll be right back," he said, and left the room. I stayed.

  "The professor seemed quite taken with Cecilia," Maya said, with her radioactive smile.

  "How much?" I asked.

  "I beg your pardon?"

  "How much for Cecilia?"

  "Well. For a virgin of such exceptional beauty…"

  "Please cut the sales talk. We both know he wants her. How much?"

  "Eight hundred thousand Quatar credits."

  "I don't want to buy Household Industries. I just want the one girl."

  "That's the price, sir."

  "There are only a few exceptionally corrupt and stupid all-powerful despots with enough left in their planet's treasury to afford that. And their financial advisors would advise against it. The professor is willing to pay good money for what he wants, but you've got to be realistic. Your price is much too high. You insult us. We're not that stupid."

  "I'm sorry you think so. I assure you, that's the going price and it is fair. We have to make a profit, she cost us quite a lot."

  "How much is Heidi?"

  "Heidi is priced at five hundred thousand credits."

  "I'm surprised you can stay in business with prices like that. I'm going to tell the professor that eight hundred thousand is too much and strongly advise against the sale."

  "I'm sorry."

  "Drop the price."

  "Look. She is our most expensive girl. Out of them all. It's because she is an absolutely adorable virgin. We've been treating her good. She's worth it."

  "We'll pay in ConFree credits."

  "ConFree credits?"

  "ConFree gold. Two hundred thousand in ConFree credits."

  "Just a moment." She consulted a calculator, but I'm sure she knew the answer already.

  "We can't possibly do that. But for three fifty–"

  "Out of the question. Two hundred fifty thousand, I'll go there, but that's it. ConFree credits. You can retire for life with that."

  "I'm just a simple receptionist," she smiled. "Let's continue this conversation later, all right? Let’s see what the professor wants."

  "Fine with me."

  Δ

  When the Professor returned, I could tell something had changed. What, I did not know. When he sat down, he said, "I am interested in both Cecilia and Heidi. I may want to see them both. We're only in town for a few days. When can I see them?"

  "We can have them both here tomorrow, if you are seriously interested."

  "I am seriously interested in leasing one of them on a long-term basis. I must first consult privately with my financial advisor. Please give me your comcard." Maya did so.

  "Good," the Prof said. "Please do not contract either of these girls to anyone else before checking with me. I'll be in touch with you, probably tonight. If I want to examine the – merchandise – and we are in agreement about the pricing, I'll plan to examine these girls tomorrow afternoon. Will that be all right?"

  "Perfectly."

  "Excellent. Until then, my dear Maya, farewell."

  Δ

  We drove back to the hotel in silence. Once we were inside our suite and the scrambler was activated, we gathered around the central table and the Prof spoke.

  "Rob has located my daughter at the compound," he said, calmly. "She was in an outlying building the eyes had missed. She now has returned to her room in the main complex and has four eyemotes targeted on her. Her designation is T01, T for target. The label on the tacmap will be a bright fluorescent gold. She's the only one with that color. For those of you who don't know what happened with our host in Household Industries, she handed me a full color brochure of my daughter. I thanked God and Deadman when I saw that. I almost broke down. It was as if an angel had come down from Heaven and was standing by my side. I wish to thank you – all of you. We are blood brothers and sisters, pledged to each other, for as long as we shall live – and we're immortals."

  "Professor, we are all so happy for you," I said. "So it's all set. We pick up your daughter tomorrow at Household Industries, and pay with a funds transfer from Bird's Matheson Engineering account. No fuss, no blood. Just as planned."

  The Professor was silent for awhile, staring into space. "No, my friends," he finally said. "No. It's not that simple. Bird is a saint – as I said before – opening his entire bank account to us, his entire fortune, for whatever it would cost, to get my daughter back. Can you imagine that? He is one of us, the thin black line, pledged to do whatever has to be done, our own holy band of brothers and sisters. Yes – all we have to do is show up there tomorrow and I will finally greet my own daughter. It is everything I want, all I have dreamed of, since that cursed day when she was brutally taken from me. No. It is impossible."

  "Why is it impossible, Professor?" I asked. Damn it! My blood was icy in my veins. Professor was looking over a printout from Rob's eyemotes. It showed his daughter, clad in a pink smock, sitting on a bed. Professor picked up his comset.

  "Rob, it's Professor. Is she still there?"

  "Yes, Prof. I've got four eyes on her. She'll not be getting away from us."

  "Good. Good. Thank you, Rob."

  "Hey, no problem."

  The Prof put down his comset. "What do you see?" he asked. "A father, concerned about his daughter. Touching, isn't it? Would you call me greedy? Caring only about myself? Unconcerned with others? Where would I be without the help you all give me? Nowhere. Where would we all be, unless someone else pauses, reflects, and does the right thing. Yes. The right thing. Remember what the Director of ConFree told us – shouted at us – on graduation night? Do the right thing! She drilled it into our heads. That’s what Ambassador Wester told me – he said that's why he was granting me leave. He was doing the right thing. Yes. It's a good motto to live by, isn't it?"

  I had an increasingly bad feeling about what the Professor was saying.

  "If you saw someone lying on the road bleeding, would you stop to help? Would you first ask who this person is, do you know him, do you care about him, do you have time to help h
im, should you help him? Or do you just help him?" It looked like the Professor was getting angry.

  "Do I just hand over the money, snatch up my daughter, and go on my way, problem solved?" He looked us over. We were silent.

  "And what about all those other shattered families, who have no idea where their daughters are? All those other mothers, fathers, brothers, sisters. Families who do not have the resources that I do? People who we do not know. Does that make it all right to walk away, if we do not know them? The latest count of victims is thirty-four. They’re in a very lightly guarded compound. Shall we walk away from them? And think about them every day for the rest of our lives? Or shall we do the right thing, and go in tonight, in cloaked armor, and kill all the guards, and liberate my daughter and everyone else, and take them all with us – to freedom, and a new life? Tell me, my friends. I will do whatever you say. I just want to let you know about the consequences. We have to consider the consequences. Not only in terms of what happens to all those other girls, but what happens to us, in the future, as we think about what we did, or did not do, in this situation."

  We looked around at each other. Bees was dabbing at her eyes with a tissue. Smiley had one fist at his mouth, watching the Professor closely. Arie appeared fascinated.

  "How can we transport them?" I asked. "Thirty-four can't fit in the Tri-Ark."

  Prof picked up his comset. "Rob, Prof. Don't you have a cargo shuttle in the Voodoo Honey's shuttle dock?"

  "Sure do."

  "And how many people will it hold?"

  "People? It's meant for bulky cargo."

  "How many people will fit in there?"

  "Oh I dunnno, maybe fifty, if you want to stuff them into the cargo hold. Why?"

  "I'll tell you later." He put down the comset and I had never seen a more relaxed, peaceful smile.

  "My wonderful, loving friends," he said. "I am forever in your debt. Please tell me what we are going to do."

  Δ

  That night we ditched the aircar in the forest and met Rob in his cloaked Tri-Ark at the rendezvous point a short trek away in a forest clearing. We armored up in the Sweet Stuff, which had everything we needed because we had always been prepared for a battle. When we were all ready we took our seats. Bees leaned over Rob, in his pilot's seat, and said, "Bless you." Then she came to each of us in turn and touched each on the faceplate and outlined the sign of a cross before our eyes. "God bless you. May God be with you," she said. I wasn't sure what God she was praying to, but I didn't care. I'd take all the help I could get.