Statesman (19 page)

Forta prepared me by doing the dialysis on the day before; we seemed to have succeeded in keeping this aspect of my existence secret, though probably Phobos fathomed it. Shelia did join me that night in bed, and though I was not quite up to the act of love, I sincerely appreciated her nearness and comfort. I woke refreshed in body and mind.

Spirit had flash cards with the pertinent facts, in case I should suffer any lapse. We would be making the address from Phobos, but it would not be appropriate to have women participating. In deference to this, the President of Phobos did not participate; a leading male member of the Knesset stood in for her. This was male business, on the surface.

The address was set up in the form of a private meeting between the Tyrant and the King of Rabia, but it was being broadcast throughout the environment of Mars, and we knew that the other planets of the System would be snooping on it. That was why certain things would not be openly spoken. We knew that the fanatics of Mars had threatened militaristic action if Phobos were given any part of Mars' iron; the King was more moderate, but had to have solid reason to overrule them, for some of those states employed assassination as a political tool. The majority of the IPEC nations were realistic about the benefits to be reaped by this accord, but had to seem to be against it until the extremists acceded. It was really to those extremists that I was making my pitch.

The King came on in holo, seeming to be right in the room with me, and I with him. The distance between Phobos and the surface of Mars is such a small fraction of the distance that light travels in a second that the delay in transmission of signals is really not noticeable.

I reviewed the proffered terms of the agreement, pointing out the price for Phobos' cooperation. Phobos would free Deimos provided the Holy City remained open to all worshipers of the three faiths involved, and that there be peace between all Martian nations, and that Phobos administer the tube for the transmission of freight and keep the records thereof. “There will thus be no favoritism or distortion of records,” I pointed out. “Phobos will receive a set share of all transmissions, and all transactions will be immediately publicized, so none of the iron exporters will have opportunity for error.” This had been an extremely uncomfortable issue with Rabia, because while it had honored the iron-production guidelines, at great cost to itself, others had not. It was actually an advantage to have those records administered by a common enemy. The private sales to consumer planets would also be put on record, because Phobos would now have to clear those shipments from Mars; any attempt to exceed the fifty-fifty quota would quickly become apparent. I did not reiterate the likely effect on the price of iron sold commercially in the System; that was understood.

“I appreciate the clarity of your summation, Tyrant,” the King said. “However, I regret to say that we are not prepared to have Phobos interfere in any fashion with our affairs. We see no reason why the tube should be set up at Deimos; indeed, deep space might be a better—”

He broke off, for something strange was happening. A veiled figure was entering the chamber. It was actually in mine, but the holography made it appear with complete realism in his chamber too. The figure was in a wheelchair.

“But the Triton Project cannot spare vital technicians for routine projection duty,” I said, paying no attention to the figure behind me. “Phobos has the necessary personnel, so it behooves us to take advantage of them.”

The King's gaze was nominally on me, but actually fixed on the figure behind me. I knew that the gaze of all the unseen viewers was similarly focused.

Slowly, as I talked, the figure lifted the veil clear, and Shelia's face was revealed. The mask employed in this case was exceptionally fine, and she had practiced diligently with it; it would be almost impossible to distinguish it from the real thing by visual means alone, which was all that was available to the viewers. I knew that the holo records of all the Mars nations would be frantically searched for matching images of Shelia, and her motions and actions would be studied. I knew what they would discover: This was that woman. My innate ability to read people is superior to that of any machine I know; if the nuances of personality could deceive me, they could deceive anyone. They would verify that this woman was my former secretary Shelia.

But of course Shelia was dead, killed by Big Iron. And Big Iron was dead on Jupiter, killed by the Tyrant. What, then, could this manifestation portend? The iron magnates of Mars would be shaken. I could not see them, apart from the King, but I knew.

When the King did not answer me, I launched into a friendly reminiscence. I described my prior compatibility with the essential industry of iron on Jupiter, and the manner we had brought prices down to what we deemed to be reasonable levels. As I spoke, Shelia stared meaningfully at the King, who froze.

Suddenly it seemed that he wanted to terminate this interview, but he could not; our business had not been completed, and others were watching. He might have little respect for women as a species, but he knew who Shelia was, and his own cue cards were now advising him of the confirmation of identity. He knew he was seeing a ghost. Like General D of Gaul, whose dead daughter had manifested in my presence, he was having difficulty maintaining equilibrium.

“Of course there was an unfortunate incident,” I continued. “I regret I had to discipline those companies somewhat; perhaps I overreacted. But I am a Latin; my emotions can dominate my better judgment. I'm sure you understand.”

The King looked doubtful; evidently he was now getting conflicting cues from the other representatives of Mars. There was no consensus, which left him in the lurch. I signaled Shelia, unobtrusively.

She wheeled forward. “Hope!” she exclaimed. “I fear they mean you ill!”

I paused in my monologue. “Is someone here?” I asked, looking about. My gaze passed right by Shelia without focus; it was as though she weren't there.

I shrugged. “I beg pardon,” I said to the King. “I suffered a momentary distraction.”

“Hope, they are evil people!” Shelia cried. “They mean to kill you!”

I suffered myself to be shaken, as by some unheard voice. Then a bit of the Tyrant's madness began to manifest. My eyes widened slightly and my lips thinned. “I feel a chill,” I muttered.

“I am sure that some accommodation can be made,” the King said quickly. Now his attention was on me.

“Don't trust them!” Shelia urged me, speaking like a paranoid conscience.

“I'm not sure,” I said. Saliva appeared in the corners of my mouth, and my gaze flicked erratically about the room as if searching for something.

“You are tired, Tyrant,” the King said. “Let us conclude this business expeditiously, so you may rest.” If there was one thing for which the Tyrant was remembered, it was his siege of madness, which had manifested in some amusing and some devastating ways. No one could be certain in what manner or with what force this loosening cannon would strike. But they knew one thing that would set it off instantly.

“No!” Shelia cried. “They are iron! ”

I hesitated as if distracted. The King strode across the chamber and his hand reached for mine, seeking the handshake that would seal the agreement. In the age of holo and recordings, such a signal had legal force. “It is agreed!” he said. “Peace and trade, to mutual advantage!”

I blinked, becoming aware of my situation. Automatically my hand came to join his holo-hand. “Peace and trade,” I agreed.

Shelia, disgusted, wheeled her chair about and rolled out.

It was done. We terminated the meeting with the customary amenities. I knew that there would be sessions between the King and the extremists, but it would be apparent to all who studied the holotape that something strange had occurred, and that the King had elected not to risk the loss of a significant agreement that promised not only to elevate the price of iron, but to return Deimos at least nominally to Mars' suzerainty.

For there was indeed no telling what the Tyrant might do in his madness. He was capable of the most unpredictable and bizarre acts. The agreement might not be ideal, by the standards of the Mars extremists, but the possible consequences of the loss of the agreement were likely to be considerably less palatable. The members of IPEC knew that the Tyrant had no brief for iron as an industry, and that both Saturn and Uranus supported the Tyrant's project and would feel constrained to take umbrage if the Tyrant took offense at anything occurring at Mars. They would realize that even if this were an elaborate ruse, the consequences to them would be the same. And they would never be quite certain that it was a ruse. Moslem customs and beliefs differed from those of the Saxons or Hispanic cultures, and the appearance of a ghost did not have the same significance to them. But if I had looked about again, and seen and heard Shelia, all bets would have been off. The King had had to play the game. Too much was at stake to do otherwise.

Hope Hubris always had seen ghosts. Now others were seeing my ghosts too.

Earth was amazing. The planet was blue, and half covered with clouds, and so pretty that it brought tears to my eyes. All that atmosphere!

We docked at Luna, which had been colonized by the Ceylonese and was now known politically as Serendib. It was much like any other planet, airless and cratered, with its city-domes brought up to standard gee by gravity lenses. Then we took a shuttle to Earth proper, and landed at the capital of Delhi.

We stepped out into the unfettered ambient air of the planet and gazed about us in wonder. We breathed. It was hard to get used to the notion of breathing outside a ship or bubble or dome; I kept thinking that my breath would catch, because there was nothing to contain the air. I knew that Spirit and Forta were experiencing similar reactions. It just didn't seem natural to be on the surface without cover.

And there was the sun. It bore down at exactly Earth-norm intensity—without a concentrating lens. I found myself peering into the sky, trying to spot the outlines of the lens that my background believed had to be there.

We rode in an open car toward the central city, and passed a lake. We almost gaped. Here was this enormous open body of water, just lying there! A fortune in liquid, being used for decorative purpose, one of myriads on the surface of this marvelous planet.

The city was beautiful, I'm sure, with the architecture typical of its culture. But I have virtually no memory of it, only of the wonder of air and sun and open water. I was in a daze as we reached our suite. Perhaps I was overdue for dialysis, but I think it more likely that I was simply overwhelmed by the reality of the dream planet that was Earth. The rootstock of humanity had come from here, and perhaps that contributed to the awe of it. I had never been here before, but in a sense I was coming home.

I had my dialysis, and rested, and a new woman joined me. She was Hispanic, and young, and beautiful.

At first her signals were uncertain, and I realized that this was because neither Forta nor Spirit had met her, and knew too little of her to make for a comprehensive emulation. But I knew her, and she firmed for me as I reacted. “Dorian Gray,” I said.

That was the name I had given the woman who had shared my captivity during my memory-washing.

She had been an agent, intended to subvert me, so had not given me her name. Now she was dead, and all I had to remember her was her son, Robertico, whom I had promised to take care of. I had done so; he was now about fifteen years old, and remained on Jupiter. My daughter Hopie had been his baby-sitter and effective big sister, though there was no blood relation between them.

My affair with Dorian Gray had been illicit. I have known a number of women, but always legitimately, with that exception. I don't count the Navy, of course. The Jupiter Navy had required a sexual event on a minimum of a weekly basis, and discouraged permanent romantic associations for enlisted personnel.

When I became an officer, I had been able to marry, on a temporary basis, and that had been an improvement. As a civilian I had married Megan and been true to her until our separation, when I had been served by the women of my staff. But Dorian Gray had been out of turn, as it were. I had just been mem-washed, and did not know whether I would ever be free again, and she was there and supportive and she filled a temporary but overwhelming need. Though assigned to subvert me, she cooperated with me, and enabled me to recover my memory faster than my captors realized, so that I could turn their play against them and win the Jupiter election instead of throwing it away. She had paid with her life, not the first or the last woman to do so, and I had never been able to repay her service, other than by taking in her baby son.

Thus I had mixed emotions about encountering her now. But I knew it was only an emulation, and it was the way that Forta could serve me, and so I accepted it. For the first time I instructed her in the nuances of the signals of characterization, so that she could become her role more perfectly, and soon she had it down as well as my recollection could make it. I admired that talent, akin to my own in a complementary sense.

So it was that Dorian Gray lay with me, and though the postdialysis period was not my best, I did have sexual congress with her, and it was much as I remembered it. Then I had been incapacitated by loss of memory and isolation and uncertainty and torture; now I was incapacitated by the failure of my kidneys.

The parallel seemed close enough.

Next day we met with the Prime Minister of Earth, who was a woman as tough and politically realistic as the one I had encountered on Phobos. There are not many women in power in the System, but those who are are as competent as any man. Natural selection plays its part, I believe. Certainly she was no-nonsense with me.

She wore a colorful toga, looking native, but she addressed me in English, so that Forta did not have to translate. The meeting was physical—that is, without holo—and private, with only the two of us. I accepted this peculiarity because I knew that the Prime Minister was no fool, and wanted privacy. There was thus no record of our conversation.

“Tyrant, Jupiter has not been the same since you departed,” she informed me brusquely. I read her with surprise; she was not making a compliment, she was making a statement of opinion buttressed by fact.

“I have been out of touch with the Colossus recently,” I said. “My concern is with another matter.”

“We shall get to that in a moment,” she said. "I thought you should be advised that, though Jupiter's government remains nominally democratic, the moment your wife stepped down the predators moved in.

Bad things are happening there."

I could have protested that I was unconcerned with Jupiter politics, being in exile, but in this privacy there was no need for any such ploy. I had many roots on Jupiter, and I was aware that things were not ideal; now I could get solid information. “Who is running the show?”

“Tocsin.”

I made a soundless whistle. Tocsin had been President before me, and had been completely unscrupulous. He was the one who had had me abducted and mem-washed in an attempt to make me throw away my bid for the presidency, and he had used every political device to keep me out, and had tried to have me assassinated too. All that had stopped after I became the Tyrant, and he had caused me no more trouble. But it seemed that once I had departed the scene, Tocsin had seen his chance to return to the arena, and that was bad news indeed. My wife Megan, in her integrity and generosity, had of course restored the representative system of government and stepped promptly down, but now the sharks were feeding again. “I had hoped for better,” I said with deep regret.

“Of that I am aware, Tyrant,” she said. "You will do what you deem it proper to do, of course. I merely want you to understand that Earth would not find it amiss if the Tyrancy were to be returned to Jupiter.

When Jupiter sneezes, the entire System shudders. You were always practical and fair."

As Tyrant of Jupiter, I had tried to foster good relations with the other planets of the System, and Earth, after an initial period of doubt, had in due course recognized the Tyrancy as the legitimate government of Jupiter. Trade had improved, and Jupiter tourists had increasingly flocked to see the historic sites of Earth. But Earth, traditionally, did not interfere in the affairs of other planets, except to serve as arbiter when requested. This was an unusual statement the Prime Minister was making. “I represent Saturn now,” I said cautiously. “I have stayed well clear of Jupiter, lest there be any misunderstanding.”

“You represent humanity now,” she said firmly. “Your project cannot succeed without the participation of Jupiter, and the present powers there will never accede to your interest. You must reconsider your position, Tyrant.”

Shaken, I nodded. If this woman told me that Jupiter was going wrong, it was certain that it was. I realized that I had been naïve to turn my back on my planet; I had thought I was honoring the exile that my wife had crafted, but I had reckoned without the sharks.

The Prime Minister turned abruptly to the subject we were supposed to be on. “Tyrant, you know that Earth will support the Triton Project. We would be glad to participate. Our need for new geography and new resources is critical. But we have little to offer.”

I was surprised again. “But India expanded to govern all of Earth, after the diaspora to the System,” I said. “It was the only nation to eschew the exodus. With all of Earth's territory and resources—”

She smiled grimly. “Tyrant, we had a population of a billion before the colonization of the System, and that was seven centuries ago. In addition, not all the citizens of other nations emigrated; a number elected to remain, accepting the new government of the planet. The major regions became client states, and we have tried to treat them fairly, though of course they are now Indian states, populated primarily by our people. Today Earth has a greater population and fewer resources than it had then. Our need to expand is desperate. If we could this time go to space, to colonize some totally new system or constellation of systems—” She shook her head, smiling wistfully, and I saw that the Dream had taken her. “We are at your mercy; we will pay any price we can manage, to join in that project. But we have nothing you need.”

No wonder she had made this interview private! She would be deposed in short order if her constituency learned of this statement. She trusted me to be discreet, and I would not disappoint her.

But I had of course come prepared. “There is a price you can meet,” I said. “But you may not wish to.”

“I suspected you would have a price,” she agreed. “The greatest statesmen always have teeth in their negotiations.”

That was an interesting way to put it. “Saber-toothed teeth,” I agreed, smiling. I intended to take Smilo for a tour of an Earthly jungle; it would be the rarest of treats for him.

“That, too.” But she was not smiling.

“I have been testing the light-projection technology myself,” I said. “I have not asked any other party to risk what I would not risk. But there may be risk.”

“You have traveled freely about the System, and you seem as sharp as ever.”

“I am not. I have lost my kidneys. I believe this is coincidental, but it is true that the condition manifested after I began using projection travel, and that if it were known, there would be alarm and suspicion about the projection technology. That alarm needs to be abated before it begins.”

“It surely is coincidence,” she agreed. “But I understand. There must be no question about the safety of projection, before the System trusts its billions to it. If there were accruing physical complications in those who projected—”

“Precisely. It will be necessary to test it thoroughly, not merely for efficacy of travel, but for the subtle effects on personnel. My consultants inform me that a suitable test would consist of perhaps a hundred thousand living people, from all races and of all ages and cultures, traveling perhaps a hundred times each, back and forth across the System. This would of course be expensive in the material sense, but the greater problem is to find that number of volunteers to take such a risk. I think that if any planet were to provide the volunteers, the rest of it could be organized.”

“A hundred thousand lives,” she murmured. “And a formidable staff to manage the logistics of the projections, and the feeding and care of the volunteers. The records alone would require a heroic effort.”

“And the services of many doctors and specialists,” I agreed. “There must be no question at all of incompetence or incompleteness. The major projector at Triton should be ready by the end of the decade; by then there must be no question of safety.”

“Earth has the requisite numbers and diversity,” she said. “Are you saying that such a unit of personnel made available for such testing would constitute an acceptable entry for the project? That we could share in the colonization of the galaxy?”

“Yes.”

She didn't even hesitate. “I shall issue a call for volunteers. It will take several months to process them and establish the initial records of age, culture, and health.”

“It will take a similar period to establish the testing stations,” I said. “This is apt to be pretty dull work for the volunteers; they will simply be shipping back and forth across the System, without pause for tourism.”

“But those volunteers, once proved out, will be the first to be granted visas for emigration to the galaxy, if they choose,” she said. “But I think it would be better, Tyrant, if you could make appearances at certain sites to present the case. You are known throughout this planet; there will be a greater diversity of volunteers if they hear it from you personally, as it were. My government is necessarily somewhat remote from portions of the globe.”

“I shall be glad to,” I said.

We shook hands. All of this was unofficial, but we had our understanding. Earth would join the Triton Project.

We took a genuine airplane flight to the State of China. There are airplanes at the big planets, of course, but they fly from bubble to bubble, never touching land. This craft took off from land and returned to it, a novelty to us.

Most of the Chinese had emigrated to South Saturn centuries ago, but the Prime Minister was right: many remained. The expanding population of India had taken over most of the land surface, but certain regions had been designated reservations for the original culture, and these were pretty solidly oriental.

Things were peaceful; those who did not like this state of existence had emigrated.

I gave a public address at the great city of Peiping, with Forta translating, and explained the need for volunteers. “Only a few will be chosen,” I cautioned them. “For those it will be a risk, for we do not know the long-term effects of repeated projection. But we must be sure that each race of man can survive projection in health, before we allow emigration to the galaxy. You have the chance to do a significant service for humanity.”

They did not react significantly, and I thought they were cool to the notion. But I discovered that this was merely the polite reserve they showed to the visitor; before I departed China, more than a million volunteers had registered. Perhaps no more than thirty thousand of these would be accepted for the program; but it was a rousing vote of confidence.