Statesman (15 page)

He closed on me, and I knew I could not avoid this confrontation. So I played it as aptly as I was able. I made as if to leap out of his reach just before his extended needle reached my suit. He lunged, hoping to catch me just before I lifted. But I did not leap; I whirled and caught his extended arm instead. I twisted it into an aikido configuration, quickly relieving him of the needle; but before I could secure it for myself, he jerked around, and it flew away, beyond our recovery.

I tried to convert to a throw, hauling him across my back. In this gee, he wouldn't go down, he would fly into the sky. But he hung on to me, and he was indeed younger and stronger than I, and reasonably versed. He executed a counterthrow, and it was effective. I sailed.

But in the struggle, he had not watched the lay of the land. I flew toward the outcropping I had been headed for, and low enough so that I did not clear it. I contorted myself around, got my feet in front, and landed against the glassy vertical face of the crag. I used this to push off toward the spot where the needle was falling.

Too late he realized what I was up to. He tromped toward the weapon, but I beat him to it and picked it up. Now I was armed and he wasn't. “Approach, idiot,” I invited him.

I knew he heard me, for all suits are tuned to the common frequency. But he did not reply in words. He looked around—and saw the police vehicle coming down the road. My rescue was at hand.

I could tell by his attitude, even masked by the suit, that he had come to a decision. His hand went to a suit pocket.

Oops! If he had an illicit laser pistol—He did. Apparently he had decided to be hung for the whole course, knowing that he couldn't get away anyway. He was going to take me out first, then perhaps turn the weapon on his own suit. He had nothing to lose now.

I scrambled in slow motion for the crag, needing to get behind it. One touch of the laser beam would finish me exactly as the needle would have! But the distance was still too great; he could fire from where he stood and tag me before I reached it. The bobbies were now crossing the rock, and would reach us shortly, but it would only take seconds for that laser to do its work.

I gazed hopelessly at the shining, mirrorlike face of the crag. I felt like a butterfly pinned to a board, and that bright surface was the board. He could hardly have had a better target!

Unless—

I gauged it as carefully as I could, as he took his stance and aimed. It wasn't right.

I hurled the needle at him. My aim was beautiful; he had to leap out of the way to avoid it. He sailed; it took him some time to come down, and that gave me a chance to improve my position. But I did not flee toward the crag; I knew he would land and reorient before I could get beyond it. I made my way sideways, placing myself directly between him and the bright cliff face. I seemed to be a better target than ever!

He landed and got himself righted. The police vehicle was now quite close. If he was going to hole me, he had to do it soon.

He fired—and I was already moving to the side, having read his intent by his body attitude. My talent was serving me despite the masking effect of his suit. The beam missed me and struck the crag behind me.

He corrected and fired again, but I was moving again, and the second shot missed. I raised an arm to wave at the bobbies, just in case they didn't realize what the situation was. “Here!” I said. “He's lasering me!”

He fired a third time, as I gambled all and leaped straight up. The laser passed between my spread legs, reflected from the glassy crystal face of the crag, and scored on my attacker. Air puffed out of his suit, and he flew up, propelled by that leak. But his flight was his doom, for he would be dead of suffocation and decompression before they could catch him.

I had done what I had tried to do: use his weapon against him. Twice the reflected beam had missed him, but the third time had been the charm. Had that not been the case, he would have picked me out of the sky without difficulty, for I could not have maneuvered there to avoid him. I had gambled and won.

But I was no longer concerned about my own health, but about Smilo's. I hurried to his body—and as I approached he lifted his head groggily. He had survived! He had been stunned, but his suit had not been holed. I more or less fell on him, hugging him as well as I could in our suits. He had saved my life again, by putting the limo out of commission. How glad I was that he had not sacrificed his life in that effort!

The rest was simple enough. Apologetic about the breach of their security, the authorities of Titania were eager to show their solidarity in the cause of peace, and supported the Dream. But they had a requirement: since they could not in conscience pledge support to a Saturn project, they pledged it to the Tyrant's project. It was necessary for me to assume the mantle of director of the galactic colonization effort. Of course I had to clear it with Chairman Khukov. “Why do you think I sent you there?” he replied somewhat laconically, four hours later when his response arrived. Even at light speed, a communication between Uranus and Saturn takes hours.

Of course he had known that the nations of Uranus would be more likely to support the former Tyrant of Jupiter than they would the present power of Saturn. I was no threat; I had no government. Thus I was a convenient focal point, a figurehead. But the project was real, and with the considerable economic and industrial potential of Uranus supporting it, it was becoming feasible.

The main project required a solid base, with standard gee, available raw materials, a pool of industrial workers, and plenty of safe space for testing. The environment of Uranus was unsuitable; it had no large moons, so that all its gee was centrifugal, and its environmental resources were being strained to maintain its industrial base. Its pool of qualified workers was large, but it seemed easier to move them to a distant site than to put the site in their vicinity. The space around the planet was filled with activity, making it awkward for testing dangerous new systems. Most Uranian nations had distant colonies that they used for such activities.

This was the key to the solution to the problem. There happened to be a quite suitable moon in the Titanian Commonwealth of Planets, and after due hassle the Uranian nations of the Common Market agreed to use this site.

Thus it was that I went with my small party to Triton, the large moon of Neptune. That is, with Spirit, Forta, and Smilo. I hoped we would not soon again be wandering the barrens in space suits.

One might have supposed that the political history of Triton would be similar to that of Neptune. That was not the case. Titania had dominated both in the prior century, but the two were pretty much isolated from each other. Triton was of similar size to the giant moons of the Jupiter system; in fact it seemed much like my planet of origin, Callisto. Of course it was much farther out from the sun, so the light lenses were close to six times the diameter of those of the Jupiter region, and it took four hours for light to reach it from the sun. This made this region less than desirable for human colonization, and both Neptune and Triton had received convicts from Uranus. That, however, was in the past, and today both regions were doing well.

Triton's surface was cold, but was not made of ice; there were rocks of conventional nature, and indeed, there was mining for that most precious of metals, iron. There was a modest atmosphere of methane, which helped hold in a little heat and made it slightly easier to maintain the city-domes. The huge size of the planet in relation to its population made the enormous light lenses feasible, and it really wasn't evident, inside the main city of Auck, that this was the System's most distant outpost of true civilization. It is true that the planet Pluto is farther out from the sun, but Pluto is actually smaller in size than Triton and has only scientific observation stations on it. But this same isolation from the main population centers of the Solar System was what made this region so well fitted for this particular project. If anything went wrong, the disaster would be less. Of course that was not the way it was presented to the residents of Triton; for them it was explained how great the benefits of this massive technological effort would be for the region.

And massive it was! The estimated cost of the main projector was approximately one trillion dollars, and there would be massive subsidiary investments, apart from the inevitable cost overruns. I knew just the man I would have wanted to supervise, but he was on Jupiter, and old, and Jupiter was the one planet from which I could not draw. My reputation as Tyrant facilitated progress elsewhere, but the controlled Jupiter press excluded all mention of me. Which was really too bad on several grounds. Not only did it deprive the citizens of Jupiter of news that would surely interest them, and exclude that planet from the thrust into the future that this project represented, it was also a lamentable step backward. Never during my Tyrancy had there been any restriction on the press or speech. But it was not my business; I was in exile.

But I was in charge here, by the unlikely collusion of the rulers of Saturn and Uranus, and I intended to do the job properly. The Dream had not originated with me, but it had become mine in much the way of a woman, being at first intriguing, then compelling, and finally my life. I knew that this was my final project, and I was satisfied that it be this. What a beautiful thing we were making: the instrument for man's conquest of the galaxy! So I labored diligently in my fashion, interviewing personnel interminably so as to have the proper infrastructure for the purpose. Spirit was of course organizing that, with Forta very ably assisting; Megan had sent me an extraordinarily capable woman!

I dislike going into tedious detail on routine matters that are in any event available in the public record, so will just say that once again we succeeded in assembling an efficient and massive structure whose personnel were uniformly dedicated to the Dream. Technicians of Saturn and Rising Sun worked with those of the nations of Uranus for the common goal. Saturn was paranoid about the militaristic capacity of Prussia, and not sanguine about that of Gaul, and had never really appreciated the Titanian Empire, but here the effort was cooperative, and friendships were being formed. The scientist of Saturn who had made the theoretical breakthrough for the light drive traveled himself to Triton to participate; I was present with Forta, assisting in translation and facilitating the personal interaction, but there was no problem. The scientific community did not share the political suspicion. The leading Prussian scientist approached the Saturn scientist, pumped his hand in the occidental manner, and exclaimed “Genius!” He referred to the nature of the breakthrough. I knew that it was going to be all right.

As the construction proceeded and the personnel meshed, my position became more token than legitimate; the project could proceed without me. I remained on Triton mainly as a symbol; the planets were contributing to the project of the Tyrant, for the benefit of mankind, not for the aggrandizement of any individual nation or philosophy of government. That was what made it work. That and Spirit's constant adjustments, eliminating inefficiency wherever it threatened.

I was hardly aware of the diminishing need for my participation, before Forta took up the slack. I had taken Smilo for a stroll around the premises of the enormous new dome that had been cultured and lifted as a bubble from the deep atmosphere of Neptune, and set entire into the ground of Triton. I used the leash, because the tiger understood that this meant that no one was to be attacked, and the personnel had become accustomed to his presence. In fact, someone had fashioned a mascot, a model of a saber-tooth tiger, with the legend Smile, O Tyger . There were posters depicting a gigantic tiger's paw reaching for the stars. A sports organization had even formed, termed the Tiger's League. So I enjoyed these excursions, and so did Smilo. There are worse things than being a mascot, as both of us understood.

But when I returned to our suite this day, Spirit was out. A woman stood awaiting me. She was dark-skinned and had fairly short black hair, and her body was lanky. Her face carried a somewhat challenging expression.

“Emerald,” I breathed, recognizing her. Of course it was Forta in mask and costume, but it was also my Navy wife Emerald, as she had been at about age twenty-five. Emerald had been something special. Of course all my women are special, but she more so than usual. She was a tactical genius, whose career had been stifled by Navy prejudice against Blacks and women, until she joined me. Then she had taken over my body and my career with equivalent dispatch and success. I believe that physically she was the least endowed of my women, having a rather boyish figure, but she may have been the most effective lover. We had separated for career reasons, not from any personal disaffection, and indeed our careers had continued. I had in due course become the Tyrant of Jupiter, and she the Admiral of the Jupiter Navy. I had appointed her to that position, and she had brought the support of the Navy to my position at the crucial moment. In a sense, our marriage had never stopped; there was no way I would ever act against her interests, or she against mine.

Standing there, gazing at her, I experienced an abrupt and powerful surge of nostalgia and desire.

Emerald in the contemporary frame was about sixty-four, getting somewhat plump, and long married to another officer, but the Emerald of my memory was exactly this young figure.

I remembered the first time I had approached her, only to solicit her participation in my Navy project, and she had demanded sex and then agreed to be my wife. I hadn't asked her to marry me. But her intellect and determination had swept aside my hesitancy, and never to my regret. While it is true that a man normally prefers an acquiescent woman, he can also appreciate a dominating one. Women come in all types, and all are wonderful in their fashions.

“Well, get it on, Worry,” she said abruptly, her voice exactly as I remembered it. Perhaps my memory was even guided by Forta's interpretation, because when I had been memory-washed, my Navy experience had been the last to return to me, and even a decade later I could encounter lapses. But she had used my private Navy nickname, Worry, too, which lent further authority to the emulation. That was from my song, “Worried Man Blues.” She certainly did her homework, and I appreciate that.

She strode up to me, reached up, caught my head between her hands, hauled it down, and planted a decisive kiss on my mouth. And I swear, that was an authentic Emerald kiss. Juana had been ever reticent; Emerald was as thorough a change as could be imagined, and I was amazed again that both parts could be so aptly played by one who could have known neither at these ages.

She disengaged with equivalent abruptness, grasped my arm, and hauled me along to the bedroom. “Do I have to do everything for you?” she snapped. Abashed and delighted, I removed my clothing while she stripped hers. In moments we both were naked, and she remained exactly as I remembered her, her breasts small, her hips narrow, her body slender throughout but dynamic.

She shoved me back on the bed, then leaped atop me, forcing my knees apart with the type of expertise found in judo so that she could get in between them. Her very flesh seemed to move independently, rubbing against my belly and legs. Her breasts pressed hotly against my chest as her thighs closed about my member, bringing it urgently alive. “Bet I can polish you off within three minutes,” she said challengingly as she manipulated my anatomy with the flexure of muscles I had hardly remembered existed.

“Make it three hours!” I pleaded.

“That's inefficient.” She proceeded to the culmination, her hands all over my body, and sure enough, despite my best intentions, I found myself climaxing within her in just about three minutes.

I found I couldn't leave it there. I'm seldom satisfied with things exactly as they are; I need to know the causes and effects and underlying truths. So as she made to get up and leave, I held her. “You have had your will of me,” I said. “Now talk to me.”

“That's not the Navy way, Worry,” she said. “We have a ship to run.”

Which was exactly what the real Emerald would have said, in fact had said, more than once. Emerald had never been my creature; I had been hers. In private. In public she had always deferred to me, in the manner of all my women. Sometimes I had suspected that it was a conspiracy between them, to manage me; if so, it had been successful. It has been said of me that I was always a man for the women; there is more than one way that truth can be taken. But Emerald had needed no conspiracy to handle me. I remember when Spirit walked in on us in bed one morning and ripped off the sheet to get us up, exposing us both naked. Then the other officers, male and female, had trooped in for a staff meeting. Emerald had retaliated by spreading her legs before Spirit's husband and inquiring whether there was anything there that his wife hadn't shown him. One seldom sees a man blush like that.

“Penny for your thoughts, Hope,” Emerald said, pausing. After all, today there was not a ship to run.

“Just wondering whether there was anything there Spirit hadn't shown him,” I said.

She laughed. “No. She showed him more than I had to show.” She cupped her left breast with her left hand, as if weighing it.

“Give me that!” I said, taking the breast in my own hand.

“Watch your step, Worry, or I'll have to do you again.”

She was so absolutely like the original! I grabbed her and hugged her and kissed her, overwhelmed by her aptness in the role.

“Damn,” she muttered as if to herself. “He's calling my bluff.” She took hold of me where it counted. Sure enough, I was coming alive again. I was amazed; I had thought the days of my consecutive arousals were past. “Well, in the interest of scientific investigation...” she said, and proceeded to work on me again.

“It was a joke,” I protested insincerely.

“Not any more,” she said, taking me in. Those internal muscles of hers began to work, and she deep-kissed me simultaneously, her tongue mimicking the action below. It took much longer, this time, for indeed I was not forty years younger, but the process and the culmination were sheer delight. Indeed, my second climax seemed longer and stronger than the first, though perhaps I deceive myself in this.

Subjectivity can be wonderful stuff.

Again she made to depart, but again I held her. “You bring me such memories, you're so skilled,” I said.

“How did you learn all this?”

“I study my trade,” she said.

Evidently so! I reached to touch her mask. “I can hardly believe...”

She drew back. “You must play fair,” she murmured.

I sighed. “I have never known a woman like you.”

“Surely true,” she agreed, and now she left. Soon she was back at her secretarial work, in her own guise, as if nothing had happened.

I have covered this episode in rather more detail than I might otherwise have done, because it was the last time in my life that I was able to perform consecutively. That may be a matter of no consequence to a woman, but to a man it can be significant. It seemed, in its fashion, to signal the misfortune to come.

Emerald was with me each time thereafter, just as Juana had been with me on Uranus. I seemed to be reliving my early years. I wondered how she would manage my next bride, who had been of an entirely different configuration, physically and emotionally. But I could wait for that; having Emerald with me like this seemed, in an almost tangible way, to be restoring my youth.