Statesman (22 page)

To see her face, and hear her talk as Spirit, and then to trace my gaze down her body until the blouse ended and her bare flesh commenced, and on the site at which my own flesh penetrated hers—it was as though I were making love to my sister.

That shocked me on two levels. Of course I knew that it was not my sister, yet it summoned a long-buried memory of the time when I may indeed have made love to Spirit. I had been fifteen, and she twelve, and I had dreamed of love with my fiancée Helse; but when I woke I had known that Helse was dead, and there had been only Spirit. I had never since been quite certain of the truth of that situation, and had not dared to inquire. Certainly there had been nothing of that nature between us since, and I hadn't thought about it—until this moment, when the question of it resumed with sudden force. But the other shock was perhaps more fundamental. One would expect that the appearance of making love to my sister would appall me, and send my body into an emotional retreat in disarray. Instead my body responded with greater urgency, throbbing with eagerness for the culmination. This dismayed me, but I could neither doubt its reality nor escape the situation I was in. I could not disengage while the President was on the phone.

I lay there, steeped in my shame, realizing that there was an aspect to my passion that I had long suppressed. As a youth of that same age I had seen my beautiful older sister raped, and though I was appalled, I had also suffered an erection. Did that mean that I secretly wanted to rape her too? Surely not! I had recoiled against sex, and against the male reaction, ashamed of my heritage, until Helse had taken me in hand and shown me what natural, unforced sex could be. Now I was back at that early pass, caught as it were between my sisters: the one for whom I may have illicitly lusted, and the one with whom I may have completed that lust. Where was my true desire?

Now I remembered what Roulette, my Navy wife, had said to Hopie, my adopted daughter: that the one woman I had truly loved in my life had been Hopie's mother. I had always believed that I had loved two: Helse early and Megan late. But love has many facets, and in the total picture there was indeed one I loved more. That one was my sister Spirit.

But that had been familial love, not sexual love! Love and sex are not synonymous, though oft confused.

One may have sex without love, as in the Navy, and love without sex, as in the family. Where the two overlap, ideally, is in marriage. How could anyone accuse me of the wrong type of love for my sister? I would do anything for her, and she likewise for me, but sex was not an aspect of that relationship.

Yet here I was, throbbing within the body of the emulation of my sister. My mind exonerated me, but my body condemned me.

Then their conversation concluded. The holo clicked off, and the unit swung out of range. Forta smiled at me apologetically, then pried at the edges of her mask and wedged it off, revealing her natural face, gummed with the adhesive for the mask. Then she applied the Coral mask, and rearranged her hair; since she had black hair, as did both my sister and Coral, she had not used a wig this time. She drew off the blouse, her breasts popping out from under it, and changed the signals. Coral was back. It was the first time I had actually watched a complete change, with clothing and mask. I was fascinated. And my erection remained almost painfully firm within her throughout. It was as though I were having intercourse with three women in succession, without withdrawing my member. I had lived a long time, and had experienced many things, but I think this was unique!

“Where were we?” Coral asked. She looked down at our connection. “Oh, yes, now I remember.”

I had to laugh, and it was good for me to laugh now, for it dissolved much of my tension and doubt. She could not know what had been running through my head, and I hoped she would never know.

She leaned down to kiss me, and her fine breasts lengthened toward me as if drawn by my proximity. I reached up and hugged her with my arms, pulling her fiercely in to me, and as our lips met I detonated in her with a seeming force that I thought I was no longer capable of. And she joined me, her body convulsing, legs and abdomen and mouth, climaxing with that abandon that supposedly exists only in legend. We threw our essence each into the other, each drawing from the other, in a union the like of which the description “sex” seems hardly to do justice.

In due course I held the formal meeting with the President. This was by holo, as was customary, with translations, but now our dialogue was official. It went, approximately, like this:

“What is your business with us, Tyrant?” the President inquired.

“I wish to enlist the participation of Venus in the Triton Project,” I replied. “We have need of the resources of Venus.”

“I can speak only for my own nation. We have many nations here, and we do not speak with a unified thrust. Atalanta would feel privileged to join you, but we are not a rich nation.”

“Our needs are in more than materials,” I said. “We plan to project ships of colonists to many other planets, elsewhere in the galaxy. We have little way of knowing what conditions they will face there, but there is a fair statistical probability that some will be like Venus. We wish to develop a residence that can be adapted readily to any of a number of high-pressure situations, without requiring sophisticated procedures or highly trained personnel. Perhaps a technique for building such a residence from natural materials found on such a planet.”

“But nothing is better than bubblene,” the President protested.

“Some systems may not possess gas giant planets,” I reminded him. “That would make bubblene impractical to cultivate—unless it could be done in the atmosphere of smaller planets, such as this one.”

This caught him by surprise. “Bubblene—grown here?”

“We believe that the proper formula for seeding, and null-gee laboratories floating at the critical levels, could make this possible,” I said. “If Atalanta and the other nations of Venus were to cooperate in such a project, none bearing the entire expense alone, the Triton Project would be prepared to supply expert personnel. I realize that this is a great deal to ask of you—”

“If such a thing should come to pass,” he said, hardly bothering to conceal his eagerness, “to whom would the rights to that process belong?”

“To Venus, of course,” I said. “With the Triton Project guaranteed the first licensing rights for other systems. Those of the Solar System would be entirely yours.”

It was as if a calculator were clicking in his head. Bubblene, the stuff of city-bubbles, was the most precious stuff in the System. The giant planets had had a monopoly on it, because it could be grown only in their massive atmospheres. To break that monopoly, to make it possible for a small planet to produce it—that was the stuff of dreams. If successful in this, Venus would become a major economic power in the System.

“And the Triton Project would expect to pay for its right to license this technology in other systems by granting Venus appropriate colonization rights in the galaxy,” I continued after a pause.

The President licked his lips. “Tyrant, I cannot speak for other nations, but I am sure that if you approach them similarly—”

“I shall be happy to,” I said.

“But who will supervise the research? We of the planet of love tend to have certain territorial jealousies...”

“I will supervise it, through duly appointed intermediaries,” I said.

“So it will be an aspect of the Tyrancy.”

“Of the Triton Project,” I said. “Which is under the joint auspices of Saturn, Uranus, Neptune, and their client bodies. I merely represent their interests.”

“The Tyrancy,” he repeated as if he hadn't heard. But our meeting was being recorded; my qualification was on the record. I was the Tyrant, but I claimed no power in my own right; I was working for others, and it was important that I maintain that distinction.

I traveled, bringing my tiger and my message to each of the leading nations of Venus. I never got used to the inordinate pressure of the atmosphere, and Forta had to sedate me for the longer trips across the surface. Thus my memory is hazy about the details, but I believe we traveled mostly by high-velocity rail, the train zooming along its set track with all the authority of singlemindedness. We covered the lowlands, or Planitia, of Niobe, Leda, Aino, Lavinia, Guinevere, and Sedna. We covered the highlands, or Terra, such as Ishtar, Aphrodite, and Rhea. We covered the regions between, stopping at the major city-domes. All this took time, for the land surface of Venus, being free of water, is much greater than that of Earth or Mars or any other solid planet; Venus is in fact huge when seen from the ground. Each nation required its own presentation and its own acquiescence. But in due course they did agree, and Venus, under the loose authority of the Tyrant, joined the Triton Project.

I need not relate further the problems we had concealing Spirit's absence from our party, or my own diminished condition of health. We never had quite as close a call as that first one, but many times we had to do fancy footwork. Sometimes Forta emulated Spirit, and on occasion she even emulated me, so that I could appear healthy and vigorous when in fact I was in the middle of dialysis. She was a wonder! I was bemused to see myself as others saw me, signals and all, and not totally pleased; still, the truth is the truth. I was no longer young, or even middle-aged, and it showed unconscionably.

But privately I was in a kind of a state of shock for some time. The experience of being in a woman who looked and sounded exactly like my sister preyed upon my mind, of course. But the worst part of it was my own reaction of the time, which had been positive rather than negative. I should have become instantly impotent, easy enough physically in my weakened state, and I had not. I condemned myself for that. All these years, these decades—had I secretly lusted for Spirit?

Forta became Coral, and tempted me, but my ardor was less than it should have been. This, too, bothered me. The real Coral had been a wonderful person and a terrific lover, and no doubt remained so today, for she was alive on Jupiter, as many of my women were. The emulation-Coral was in all ways equivalent; I could fault no part of Forta's impersonation. Why had I been potent for my sister, and not for my lover?

Actually, I reminded myself, I had been potent with Coral—but that had been in the same sequence as the manifestation of Spirit. That climax could have been a mere surrogate for the temptation just past.

Who can say what is in a man's mind as he embraces a woman, thinking of another? Was Spirit the one I truly desired? If so, how could I ever face my sister again, in reality?

Over and over I rehearsed it in my mind, trying to avoid the conclusion that threatened. I had been making love to Coral, and was already deep within her when the call had interrupted. Then Forta had changed masks, appearing as Spirit, then momentarily in her own guise, and finally, at the end, as Coral.

And we had had the most emphatic culmination of all.

Then, on perhaps the tenth or the hundredth rendering of that sequence in my troubled mind, it dawned.

Like sunlight striking through the impenetrable cloud cover of Venus to illuminate the surface, understanding came to me.

“It's all right!” I exclaimed joyfully.

Forta jumped. “I should hope so,” she said, quickly re-checking the tubing. For it happened that I was amidst dialysis at the time; it is as good a time as any for reflection.

“I mean me!” I cried. “I'm not perverted!”

“Tyrant, I never suggested that you were,” she said, still troubled by my inexplicable activity. Normally I lay on the bed during dialysis, reading or thinking or sleeping.

“Come and make love to me,” I said.

Again she was taken aback. “Now?”

“This instant!”

“But you are in—”

“Woman, I know exactly where I am! Just strap down the tubing and be careful not to jog it; it won't interfere. Get your clothes off.” Meanwhile, I was struggling with my own as my member swelled imperatively.

“I'll change,” she said. She meant her personality, becoming Coral.

“No! As you are!”

She gazed at me, perplexed. “Tyrant—”

“Just do it, woman! I'll explain after!”

Hesitantly, she obliged, evidently ready at any moment for me to change my mind. Her lanky body came into view, well formed but by no means spectacular; she only became impressive when she used her supports and makeup and posture and signals to complete an emulation. Now she was doing none of this, and it showed. She was herself, and none too sure of herself.

I gestured her in. She got on the bed cautiously, on hands and knees, straddling me. I reached up and grabbed her hanging breasts in my two hands, hauling them down to my face, while her body followed to accommodate my urgency. I pressed her breasts into my cheeks on either side, and kissed the deep hollow between. Then my hands slid down and around to cup her buttocks, which were somewhat spare in this position.

Obeying my desire, she straightened out her legs and got into position to take in my member. It was the position Helse had used, when I was fifteen, but this was not Helse. Her weight settled down on me, her legs outside mine, her breasts against my chest, her face above mine, perplexed.

I stared at that deeply scarred visage. Then I took her head in my hands and brought her face down to meet mine. I kissed her savagely, my tongue forcing its way into her reluctant mouth. I bucked against her, but neither my position nor my strength was sufficient to enable me to gain the action I needed to complete the act.

Taking her cue from me, Forta began to move her torso, bringing her abdomen forward, then back, up and then down. It was the reverse of the thrusting done by a man; her downstroke was the one that gave me the deepest penetration. Working that way, she brought me to the highest pitch, and then to the culmination, our mouths still joined.

Gasping with the fulfillment, I broke the kiss but not the embrace. Her head rested lightly against my shoulder as I stroked my hands along her back. “Forta, it's you, it's you!” I whispered beside her right ear.