Chapter 11: Filles du Roi

Optio Samantha Redburn sat in the Officers' Club, having lunch with Lieutenant Carruthers, the engineer who was in charge of all facilities on Thule.

"So what's this big problem you've got?" he asked, as the scantily clad concubine waitress left with their order.

"Well, I'm supposed to be running a whorehouse," Samantha began.

The Lieutenant, looking far younger than his 36 years, snorted into his Manhattan. "I bet your mother's proud of that!"

"Like you wouldn't believe," she confirmed sarcastically. "But to make it brighter for Mom, at least it's a whorehouse without any whores."

"What? Nobody?"

"At the moment, no." She sighed. "I got four when that last draft arrived Sunday of last week, two more when that private went nuts on us on Tuesday, gave one of his away to her brother that night, Wednesday had three boys turn 14 and CAP test out at over 6.5 so they took the remaining five. The one boy is still shy a concubine."

"I'm sure one will pop up with the third draft weekend after this," the lieutenant reassured her.

"Great, except I don't need just one."

He flashed her a quizzical glance.

"I have over the next six months, some three hundred boys and girls, mostly boys, coming of age and the AI estimates that of that total, I can expect maybe 20 concubines." She leaned back, took a swig of her Twilight Dove and made a face. No, she decided, let's not order this mocktail again. She decided she didn't like lavender soda.

"So you need a few girl concubines."

"I need about five hundred and eighty girl concubines, all unassigned. Notice any ready source of supply around here?" She indicated the elegant creme-white Streamline Moderne dining room, done in a style evoking a restaurant for a four-star hotel from the 1930's. The room was filled with men and women in full-dress officers' uniforms representing all four branches of the Confederacy military, all sipping fancy cocktails and sitting at tables with real cloth napkins and gleaming cutlery and glassware that matched the room's retro style. The only concubines present were already owned by somebody else, functioning as waitresses and bartenders, and dressed up in costumes based on the one worn by Josephine Baker in her Danse Banane, only skimpier.

"OK, I'll concede you have a challenge."

"Yes, it's a challenge all right. Do you have anything in the way of a solution?"

Lieutenant Carruthers leaned back in his chair and took another swig of his cocktail. "The Office of Targeted Extractions."

"The what?"

"Targeted Extractions. It's this tiny department that's officially attached to DECO, but operates fairly independently. It's small but stuffed full of oddballs. They're headed by this completely off-the-wall Decurion named Whitefeather – apparently the Old Man and him go back aways." He took another sip of his Manhattan. "That's the crew that snagged your dad. If anyone can help, they can."

"So I should talk to the Colonel, then."

"Yep. Well, as Governor and as senior military officer, it's his problem as much as it is yours. Get the Old Man involved."

"I probably already am involved," advised a voice from behind the Lieutenant.

"Oops," Carruthers whispered. "Colonel, Sir, may I get you a drink?"

"Thank you Carruthers, I'll have a Bronx."

"Very good, Sir." The lieutenant gestured to the waitress.

Two days later, a high-speed supraluminal message drone showed up in the Thuleat system – not the routine weekly message drone, carrying routine messages between Earthat and the colony, but a special courier. It triggered a special meeting, in which every officer and NCO was "invited" to participate, and further "invited" to bring one concubine, preferably their straw boss. In order to accommodate all the bodies, the Junior Ranks Club was persuaded to offer their facilities.

Bob's pod was the only one with 100% attendance from his pod: Samantha's Aunt Alice got in under the young CS officer's ticket. Even the usually unflappable Alice felt a little overwhelmed surrounded as she was by almost every NCO and officer in the Brigade, and other services besides.

Each table was served coffee or tea – no cocktails – and glasses of water. Most of the concubines wore their shifts, although a few scattered through the crowd were wearing different apparel. The Colonel's (former) wife wore a string of pearls and her "hooker heel" shoes, with her hair up in a fancy wave ... and that was pretty well it.

As the noise died down, Michael stood up and strode to the podium. "We have been chosen for a unique honour," he announced to the assembled throng, using his lapel device to project his voice rather than an old-fashioned microphone. "A special operation is under way, and we are the lucky recipients of the fruits of their labour.

"I refer to the Office of Targeted Extractions." The enormous wall behind him lit up with the title, "Operation: Filles du Roi"

The crowd erupted in surprise. If the Office of Targeted Extractions was involved this wasn't military, necessarily, but it certainly held potential to be interesting.

"The name translates into English as 'The King's Daughters'. Let's talk about the background behind that name. Prior to 1663, the King of France and his advisers regarded New France as an outpost rather than a true colony, and had allowed the local population to be largely voyageurs, soldiers and priests – men, in other words. The few women present had had to pay their own way to get there and therefore most of them were either indentured servants or nuns.

"In that year, they realized that with the expanding English colonies along the Atlantic coast, they needed to treat New France less as an outpost and more as a true colony, and that meant families with children." He paused for dramatic effect.

"And that meant women."