Statesman (24 page)

What, then? I had discovered that South Mercury did not want to deal. Could this be related?

There it was! They knew I would be hard to dissuade, so they had added this fillip of persuasion. If I departed the planet promptly, mission incomplete, I could have my secretary back. She was hostage to my decision.

Black rage overcame me. I may have faded out for a moment, for I found Doppie sponging off my face.

“Are you all right, sir?” she asked. “I think you fainted.”

“Yes, thank you, Spirit,” I agreed, reminding her that she had a role to play. The suite was surely bugged. “You see to Smilo; I have a call to make.”

She went to tend to the tiger, and I made my call. It was to the official government number.

“Have you killed her?” I rasped as the bland face appeared in the air before me.

Evidently my call had been expected. “By no means, Tyrant,” the man said. “She is merely being detained for clarification of her status. It seems that she went out without the proper identification, and was picked up—”

Forta had not gone out; I hardly needed to read the man to know that lie. She had been abducted from the suite. They knew I knew that; that was not the point.

“Show me that she is safe,” I said.

“Why, certainly, sir,” he agreed. “This is merely a formality.”

The formality of forcing me to depart the planet in a hurry. They either knew or suspected that Forta was my lover. That was surely another sore point with them: fraternization between races. In a moment the picture of Forta formed. She was in a prison cell, alone, seeming dazed but unhurt. “Forta,” I said.

She glanced up. “Sir,” she said. She never got a role confused; she was my secretary now.

“Where are you?” I asked.

“Temporary detention center,” she said. “I—it seems I should not have gone out—”

“An understandable error,” I said. Obviously she understood what must not be said.

“I'm sure it will be cleared up soon,” she said. “But, sir—if you would do me the kindness of bringing me my purse?”

“I shall,” I said.

Her image faded, to be replaced by that of the official. “Visiting is permitted?” I inquired curtly.

"Naturally, Tyrant. We are a civilized planet. It will only take a day or so for her papers to be corrected.

You will have time to arrange for your transportation out, and should be able to pick her up at the time you depart."

Uh-huh. “But I will bring her her purse now. Please provide me with the address.”

“Tyrant, we shall be happy to transport you there.” Oh, they were the soul of overt courtesy, knowing that they had me by the private hairs.

I nodded curtly. “In five minutes,” I said.

Then I checked for Forta's purse, which rested beside her bed. I knew it had her special makeup in it, and two masks, and two wigs. She was able to emulate either Spirit or myself on short notice. The equipment was nonmetallic and would not alert the detection beams of the prison. I took the purse and rejoined Doppie.

“Spirit, I hope Smilo can survive without our company for a while longer,” I said. “We must visit my secretary, and deliver her purse to her. I realize you are upset, but please say nothing until we return.”

Doppie nodded, having no idea what I was up to, but ready to play her part. She was, as I have said, a good woman.

I took her arm, and we exited the suite. An escort was awaiting us. He conducted us to a vehicle, and we rode to the detention center. It was an imposing structure of stone; this was one resource Mercury had in quantity.

We were permitted to enter the cell with Forta, and to talk with her privately. The government of South Mercury was making a show of accommodation, but the point was clear: my secretary would remain a prisoner until I left the planet. They had cobbled together a legal rationale for this that I could not disprove with the resources at my disposal. They would let Spirit and me out, but not Forta; I could not change that. This was the convention of this sort of thing; the reality was that my secretary was as much captive as if chained naked to a rock in a deep tomb.

But I was not exactly helpless. I had formulated my plan on the way, and knew that Forta understood.

She had, after all, been my secretary for three years, and knew how to study people so as to emulate them; she was familiar with the way my mind worked. I hoped she grasped enough to follow all the way through.

I took her in my arms and kissed her. I knew there would be a camera on us, and we had to get out of its coverage. The authorities might assume that I was simply trying to aggravate them by this gesture.

“Where?” I whispered in her ear as we embraced.

She made a tiny indication with her head toward a rear upper corner. I saw no lens, but of course it was concealed. Now I could judge the manner of its coverage. It would have a gap in the corner immediately below it. Of course it was intended mainly to detect escape attempts, and it would cover the entire front region of the cell.

“Your purse,” I said, handing it to her. Then I turned my head and addressed Doppie, who was standing somewhat awkwardly behind us. “I have private business with my secretary; will you watch for intrusions?”

Doppie, obviously embarrassed, turned to face the front of the cell, her body partially shielding us from observation from the front. Of course that was not where the real spying occurred, so the authorities did not intervene; whoever was on the camera figured that I wanted to do some intimate handling, and that did not matter. The more intimate my relation with Forta, the better hostage she made; if I wanted her enough to make love to her right in the cell with my sister present, I would never let her be stranded on Mercury. So they were happy to allow me to proceed; no one would bother us from the front.

We stood in the corner, our heads near the pickup lens. The ceiling of the cell was not high, for though space in planetary domes was not at the premium it was in city-bubbles, neither was it plentiful. I positioned myself so that my head blocked virtually the entire field of its vision, and Forta positioned herself so that Doppie's body cut off most of the view from the front. Then, silently, quickly, efficiently, we stripped our clothing. Because I could not bend down, lest my head move clear of the lens, Forta helped me. Without hesitation she put her clothing on me, and mine on herself. I was taller than she, but not by a great amount, and her clothing was highly adjustable; she made it fit me handily. In a very short time the exchange was complete.

Then, facing me and standing close, she donned the Hope mask and the Hope wig, fitting them together with her special expertise. She took her makeup stick and worked on my face, drawing scar tissue. She gave me back the purse. Last, she drew down my head, below the level of the lens, and set a wig on my head; then we turned about and straightened up so that now the back of her head, which resembled mine, was blocking the lens. This maneuver would be taken for some sort of body kiss occurring just out of camera range. Even such evidence of our dishabille as showed peripherally would be taken for our desperate love scene.

We separated. Forta seemed to have inserted wedges in my shoes, for now she stood almost as tall as I, and of course I hunched down to lessen my height. “We'll clear this up soon enough,” Forta said in my voice. It was like seeing a holo recording of myself; her emulation was perfect.

She led the way to the gate, and Doppie followed, seeming relieved that our sordid tryst was done.

Doppie herself did not know what we had accomplished; she would find out in due course. That was part of the beauty of this maneuver: If Doppie didn't suspect the exchange, no one else would.

I watched them go. Then I sat on the prison bunk, staring disconsolately at the floor. All I had to do was maintain the ruse long enough to let them get back to the suite. Then, God willing, hell would break loose.

After a time I got up and went to the toilet cubicle of the cell. I didn't think anything could be seen here, but I played it safe, sitting down to urinate, hiding my penis, using tissue to wipe myself though I didn't need it. If the prisoner had just made love standing up in the cell, she would need to clean up now, so I took the time required.

Time—that was all we needed. Time and nerve. I hoped that Forta had the savvy to play it correctly.

She would have to assume the role of Spirit for this, which would put Doppie in an awkward position; Doppie would have to become Forta, and she might not like that. But, correctly played, this would win all the marbles.

I returned to the bunk, lay down, and slept. Evidently my appearance had passed inspection; there had been no commotion. I would need my rest for the scene to come; meanwhile I wanted to be as much like Forta as I could. I found it intriguing to be playing the role of the role-player instead of watching her or having sex with her.

When I deemed the time to be propitious, I retired to the sanitary cubicle and methodically stripped my costume. I washed the scars off my face, tore up my wig, and flushed it down the toilet. Then I did the same for my dress and underwear. The shoes were harder, but I finally managed to separate them into components and flush them also. How fortunate that Mercury, being a planet, insisted on showing off by using water facilities, even though it had to be expensive mining the extra water. Naked and masculine, I sat on the pot and waited.

I was right: the process of hell breaking loose was audible in the distance, and then in close. Men charged into my cell. I stepped out to meet them, naked. “Are you going to beat me now?” I inquired.

“That's the next stage, isn't it?”

The men gaped. I fancied I could almost see the officials on the other end of the lens pickup doing the same. They had thought they had a woman hostage, and suddenly here was the Tyrant! There was no news crew, for the press was controlled here, but it would be next to impossible for them to suppress this news!

Indeed, Forta gave them no chance to do that. In a moment a holo formed, Spirit's face in it. “Oh, Hope!” she exclaimed for what I knew were cameras. “I knew it! They've humiliated you! They've stripped you naked!”

The man in charge managed to stifle his gasp. “Get the prisoner some clothes,” he said, and an underling took off. At least I think that's what he said; he spoke in Afrikaans, and there was no translator handy.

“And they've tortured you!” Forta cried with horror, still in the role of my distraught sister. “Your legs—all scarred and bandaged!”

The scars were from prior loop-sites, and the bandage concealed the present loop. But who would believe that at this moment, when my kidney ailment was not even known? “Just get me out of here, Spirit,” I said urgently.

The face of a higher government official appeared, evidently overriding the prior transmissions. “We are being framed!” he exclaimed in English. “We never touched the Tyrant!”

Spirit's visage reappeared. “Then how is my brother locked in your cell, naked and scarred?” she demanded half hysterically. And without giving him a chance to formulate a reply, she continued: “You meant to force him to do your will, didn't you! To endorse apartheid! But he resisted your torture, and now I've found him, and I demand you free him instantly!”

“But we never—” the official protested, obviously at a loss in this abrupt and astonishing turn of events.

“So you refuse!” she said indignantly. “Well, my brother is here as the representative of the Union of Saturnine Republics, and we consider this to be an act of war.” Her head turned as she addressed an offscreen party. “Saturn Commander, what is your authority?”

Now the head of a Saturn Navy marshal appeared. “My fleet is at the disposal of the Tyrant, Hope Hubris.” He faced me, and I read in him a certain grim humor. Evidently he had been properly briefed, and knew the nature of this ploy, and enjoyed it. Saturn never had had much liking for Mercury, and navies of any stripe enjoy the flexing of muscle. “Sir, what are your orders?”

“All I want is a pair of trousers and a fair-trade agreement,” I said innocently. “I never thought I'd find myself like this!” Indeed, not until Forta had been abducted.

“We never—” the Mercury official cried, but was unable to continue, being overwhelmed by the preposterous situation.

I had intended only to reverse the ploy on Mercury, giving this planet a taste of the Tyrant's medicine in response to its attempt to coerce me. Now it occurred to me that I had opportunity to do more than that.

The government would never accede to the trade agreement after this embarrassment, even if it had been willing before, which it had not been. Suddenly I realized why it had balked: It was not merely the problem of apartheid, it was power itself. If Mercury participated in the Triton Project, there would be plenty of room and resources for everyone, whites and blacks and all the shades between. There would be no way for the present regime to control those others. So it preferred to remain restricted, and in charge. It would never yield power voluntarily, or allow a situation to develop that forced the eventual yielding of that power. This government was a loss to me; it would never deal.

Accepting that, I had two choices: use my leverage to free myself and Forta and depart the planet, mission failed—or draw on the power of the Saturn Navy to overthrow the present government and install one that would participate. It would be a major move, of questionable ethics—but Mercury had started this quarrel. It was evident that Forta and the Saturn authorities had analyzed this similarly. That was why the marshal was placing himself under my command; that would make it a takeover by the Tyrant, not Saturn, and that would be far more palatable politically to the remainder of the System.

“Sir?” the marshal inquired, prompting me. I remembered how my onetime wife Emerald had done that, when the Jupiter Navy backed my takeover of the government of the United States of North Jupiter.

“I seem to have no choice,” I said with staged regret. “I must assume power in South Mercury. Orient on the major cities, and destroy them if I die.”

“Understood, Tyrant,” the marshal said with ill-concealed relish.