Chapter 9 — GANYMEDE

Politics works in devious ways. My losing campaign for governor of Sunshine attracted the notice of the president of U.S.J., who was of my party. I received a call from New Wash, inviting me and my family to visit the White Dome for a private conference.

Megan's eyes gleamed. "This could be important, Hope. It means he is considering you for an appointment."

If she thought it was important it probably was. I hastened to accept the invitation and to make the required appearance before the president.

President Kenson was gracious. He was a tall Saxon, in his fifties—height seems to be an asset in a candidate—with a lovely wife. He had been in office two years, having turned back Tocsin's determined effort to move from the vice-presidency to the presidency. Naturally Tocsin had tried to portray Kenson as incompetent, soft on Saturnism, ultraliberal, filthy rich, and other political crimes. Only the fourth had been true, and hard-nosed use of the leverage of that wealth had enabled Kenson to turn the tables and defeat Tocsin in a very close campaign. Megan had been glad to see it. It was not that she favored Kenson in all things—no truly clean person achieved this high an office, she claimed—but she knew what a disaster Tocsin would have been. But whatever else he was or was not, Kenson had immense personal magnetism. This was another necessary attribute for a politician, of course; I just had not encountered it at this magnitude before. My talent was blunted because of my tendency to like this man; emotion always interferes with' judgment.

Hopie ran around the halls, enchanted by the complex that was the White Dome. "They're darling when they're little," the president remarked, smiling. Then he glanced at Megan. "And beautiful when grown." Fight it as I might, I found my appreciation for this man magnifying. He was like a power source, radiating competence and goodwill. I knew he had a mean streak and was a ruthless political gut-fighter when campaigning, but none of that showed now.

Kenson was a charming host but also an efficient one. Very shortly I found myself closeted with him and talking business. He had evidently sized me up as rapidly as I had him, and, of course, he had done his homework on my background. "Hope, we are opening a new embassy," he said. "It's a critical one, and delicate; it must be handled correctly. I believe you are the man for the position."

"An ambassador, sir?" I asked, not crediting it. I had supposed he was considering me for some bureaucratic position without much significance, so as to be able to lay claim to some support from the Hispanic community. Of course, some embassies were quite minor; it depended on the planet.

"Ganymede," he said.

If he had intended to floor me he had succeeded. Communist Ganymede was the current sore spot of the Jupiter sphere of space. "Gany? But—"

"But we have had no diplomatic relations with that satellite since the revolution," he said. "However, that is changing; I would much rather be in touch with my enemy than out of touch; it's safer. But the identity of the ambassador is critical. He must have stature, competence, caution, and courage." He smiled, and again that incandescent camaraderie manifested. "It is amazing how few politicians fit that description."

No understatement! "I—"

"I do not deny that this post has been turned down by more than one nominee," he continued, as if this were a personal communication that only I was privileged to hear. "They are afraid; not for their persons but for their reputations. The far right will seek to blacken anyone who goes to Ganymede. Success in this position may appear as damning as failure. But there is no more important spot at the moment, and I believe you can handle it. After all, you cleaned up the Belt."

"Yes!—"

He clapped me heartily on the shoulder. "Excellent! I'll set the wheels turning." He winked. "Nice device, that mustard-six. I remember it from my own training in the Navy. I kept smirking when I thought about it, and I was in a strategy session at the time. I probably made a fool of myself." He did a little jump, as of someone feeling a sudden burn.

I had to smile. I hadn't realized that news of that episode had reached this far. "I—"

"It's really good to have a man of your caliber aboard, Ambassador Hubris!"

In this manner I became Jupiter's representative at Ganymede. The president had been too diplomatic to mention my two outstanding qualifications for the office: I spoke Spanish fluently, and I was unemployed, politically. I remained bemused by the proficiency with which he had dazzled me into acceptance; when he smiled at me, I would have accepted appointment to the post of Assistant Slop Inspector. He had a talent for personnel management that I envied. I would have to study it, with the hope of making it my own.

Megan understood. "I was sure you would like Kenson," she murmured. "His talent is the complement of your own. You understand people; he manages them."

"He managed me," I confessed. "I really don't know if I should have accepted the post or even if I did accept it. Ganymede... I mean—"

"You had no choice," she said, "from the moment his eye fixed on you. I confess I had hoped for something less controversial, but..." She shrugged.

I stared at her. "You had a hand in this."

"Not really," she demurred.

"You are too modest. What did you—"

"I merely mentioned to one of my friends that it would be unfortunate to allow such a talented person to lie fallow for any length of time."

And that friend had had the ear of the president. He had done it for Megan, not for me. That angered me. "I—"

She turned to me, her head cocked slightly sidewise, her eyes wide, in her fashion challenging me to make something of it. My ire melted; I could not oppose anything she wanted for me. "Thank you, Megan," I said humbly.

She only smiled, faintly, and I felt rewarded. I had married her, I claimed, to forward my political career; she was certainly doing that.

The announcement of the resumption of diplomatic relations with Ganymede generated a furor in Jupiter. There were angry editorials in the media and cries of "Impeach the President!" from the conservatives. They were serious, too, which shows how foolish they were. Somehow there always seemed to be greater outrage when an attempt was made to encourage communication and peace, than when the effort fomented confusion and war. I came in for my share, but I was sheltered by the competent mantle of presidential favor. It was assumed that as a defeated candidate for office I had been desperate for any political appointment, so was not really to blame. Perhaps there was truth in that.

Then there was an especially violent eruption on Io, generating a spectacular visual effect, and the fickle attention of the public eye shifted to that.

Spirit remained on Jupiter to caretake my consultancy firm. That had turned out to be such a good business that we couldn't afford to close it down; we had hired a young man who had some of my talent, and used him for preliminary work. Many cases could be handled by the application of common sense, and when a difficult one developed, he would arrange for me to interview by vid-phone. This wasn't ideal, but we believed it would suffice.

I took Megan and Hopie with me, of course. Megan wasn't easy about the matter, but she didn't want to send me in alone or give any public impression of doubt. She bore, after all, a certain responsibility.

Thorley's comment didn't help: "The liberal set may be about to experience the end product of their naïveté." Naturally he considered liberalism to be three-quarters of the way toward Communism and liked to imply that the true liberal would be a Communist if he only had the courage of his convictions. That sort of insinuation could work both ways, of course; the conservatives were sometimes equated with the dictatorship of the Sixth Reich, this century's incarnation of the historical Nazi party. With no more justice.

I had been ten years on Jupiter, after fifteen in space; I experienced a panoply of nostalgic impressions as the chartered shuttle ship jetted outward to rendezvous with Ganymede. Gany was physically the largest moon in the Solar System, popularly called a planet to distinguish it and the other giants—Io, Europa, and Callisto orbiting Jupiter, Titan orbiting Saturn, Triton about Neptune, and, of course, Earth's Luna—from the myriad bits and pieces that drifted everywhere. Basically a body was called a planet if gravity-shielding could bring its settlements to normal Earth gee. Pluto, technically a planet, was marginal because of its small size, but it didn't matter; only research stations were there. Old Earth had had a similar problem with the definition of islands and continents.

We never saw Io, but as we passed the vicinity of its orbit I shivered; it was there that my mother had died, aground in the sea of sulfur storms that was Io's hell-face. It was there that I had first seen the picture of Megan. Rationally I doubted the significance in that juxtaposition of events, but emotionally it was one of the guideposts of my life. Megan, too, seemed absorbed, and I knew she was thinking of her Uncle Mason, the scientist, a good man. On that we emphatically agreed.

Then she put her hand on mine. I turned to face her and saw her eyes shining with tears. Then her face blurred, and I knew my own tears were flowing. In that moment I saw her as the beautiful girl of sixteen whose picture I had glimpsed, and my love for that girl expanded from my protected inner heart to encompass my whole body and being, and hers.

"Mush stuff!" Hopie protested, and I realized I was kissing Megan. I brought the little girl up to share our embrace.

A gunship came out to meet us and escort us to the planet. If there had been protests to the establishment of the Jupiter Embassy at this end, none was in evidence. We tuned in the Gany newscast, which showed a massive crowd cheering the opening of the embassy compound.

I knew better. Spirit and Shelia had done some spot research for me, and the news was not good. The premier of Ganymede was a temperamental fanatic, a natural orator, devoted to his family and capable of lasering to death a companion without notice. He had forced out his predecessor, then executed him on a trumped-up charge. A minor bloodbath had followed, as supporters of the prior regime had been systematically eliminated. But over the years, as he had come to terms with the realities of his planet's situation, he had become more moderate. Ganymede was dependent on Saturn for its weapons and most of its technical equipment. Gany's major cash crop, sugar, was boycotted by Jupiter. Saturn bought the sugar but didn't need it, which put Gany in an inferior position. Saturn made various demands, and these were increasingly onerous as Gany's economic situation deteriorated. Gany was locked into the Saturn orbit economically, but socially it was no mutual admiration society. This opening of a Jupiter Embassy, in fact, was being done at Saturn's behest, in exchange for a similar one Saturn was opening with the Rings. The Saturn Rings had been taken over by the last vestige of a former government of South Saturn, driven out by the present one, and represented every bit as much aggravation to Saturn as Gany did to Jupiter. So it was a major exchange deal, promising to significantly ease interplanetary tensions. Jupiter had pressured the Rings to accept the Saturnine presence, as Saturn had pressured Gany to accept Jupiter's. Therefore the Gany premier deeply resented it, as did his counterpart of the Rings. He didn't like being told what to do, even if it did make sense on the larger scale. He should have been the one to decide to reopen diplomatic relations with Jupiter—had he wanted to. I understood his position.

Now Gany would be exchanging ambassadors, setting up its own embassy on Jupiter. This would, of course, be another outlet for Saturn's activities in New Wash. All the personnel of the Gany Embassy would be hand picked by Saturn, and all would be Saturnine agents. There would be no contacts between Jupiter and Gany not sanctioned by Saturn. It was, in short, a sham, just as the exchange of embassies between Saturn and the Rings would be. All the key parties understood this; only the ordinary people were ignorant, as perhaps they deserved to be. But it was a potential avenue to peace, so was perhaps justified.

Naturally I was expected to keep my opinions to myself. But it had occurred to me that I just might make the contact genuine. That was the real challenge of my position that President Kenson also had not mentioned, consummate politician that he was. He had in effect thrown me into the lion's den, giving me opportunity to tame the lions and so increase my power—or to be destroyed by them. Double or nothing. Megan was right: a man did not achieve high position if his hands were entirely clean; he had to know how to scheme and flatter and put a fancy face on ugly business. Kenson was obviously a master at this—and I was learning much. The System powers were playing a devious strategic game, and it was difficult for the underlings to grasp the full significance of the position of each pawn. But somehow I was not completely satisfied to be a pawn.

We arrived at the dome-city of Vana with due fanfare. The premier himself was on hand at the old docking port, stepping forward to shake my hand vigorously and put an arm around my shoulders in a display of public camaraderie. Then the cameras were turned off and the premier departed, hardly bothering to notice me further. I knew why; he did not like being a pawn, either, and he hoped to encourage me to leave as soon as possible. It had to be my choice, though; nothing that could be traced to any failure on his part. He wanted to be able to express sincere public regret at my decision to vacate. The situation reminded me of that of the railroad companies' treatment of their passengers.

We were conducted to the embassy compound. It was an old fortress, later converted to a prison, converted again to diplomatic use. The back wall was notched by the burns of laser beams: prisoners had been executed here. I hoped Megan would not recognize its nature but feared she did, for she hurried Hopie on past the wall.

The main building was a warren of tiny cells, and in some there were manacles attached to wall mountings. In one there were white bones. Very little effort had been made to conceal the prior use of this place. The campaign of private discouragement was definitely on.

We had a small household and office staff—Shelia, Ebony, and Coral—but were expected to hire locals for most of the maintenance work. This turned out to be an awkward chore. Megan did not speak Spanish, and it seemed that none of the eligible employees spoke English. In addition, they were a slovenly bunch, by no coincidence completely unsuited for the kinds of work we required. We needed a governess for Hopie, as this was the diplomatic style; the Vana employment service sent us five candidates, all of whom were middle-aged males. I called in and explained the problem, and they promised to locate some more suitable candidates. But somehow nothing happened. This was typical; it seemed that the city of Vana was very short of English-speaking cooks, maids, and handymen. We had to make do for the time being without local employees, which made a bad impression.

The power was erratic, tending to fade out at the most awkward times, such as when Megan was trying to cook in the antiquated kitchen. Even the gee wavered, making our stomachs unsettled. At times there were piercing noises of adjacent construction. In addition, it was difficult to go out into the city freely; we immediately picked up an entourage of grim-looking men carrying laser rifles. "For your security, señor," one explained when I inquired, but somehow they seemed more menacing than protective. We made a household rule: Not one of us went out without being accompanied by Coral, who could demolish half a dozen men in about as many seconds if the need arose. She carried an amazing arsenal of assorted weapons, none of which showed. What did show was her comely figure, so that few Ganys believed she was dangerous, though they knew her function.

In addition, we suffered an immediate flood of defectors, who claimed to be fleeing political oppression and who demanded sanctuary. Now, this is a legitimate function of an embassy. It is considered planetary ground of its sponsoring planet, and very few powers ever violate that privilege. But I knew even before I interviewed these people that they were impostors sent by the Gany government to make my position untenable. We lacked the facilities to care for this mass of a hundred or so people, and they were not about to make our job easy. We would become a zoo, with the animal gates open.

Quick and firm action had to be taken, but I knew the local authorities would not cooperate. So I arranged for a stiff test of motive. I placed an interplanetary call to a person I knew. Theoretically the call was private; actually I knew it was monitored by the locals. The call was to the Jupiter Naval Base at Leda, routed through the Jupiter base on Ganymede, Tanamo. As an ambassador I had the authority to make such calls, and as a retired Navy man I knew whom to reach. There was a six-second delay each way, because of the distance; thus there were twelve-second pauses in the dialogue.

"Ambassador Hope Hubris to Captain Emerald Mondy," my opening went. There was a delay of a good minute while the Navy ran her down; then her face appeared on my screen. Emerald was a decade older than I remembered her; she was my own age, but somehow I thought of her as I had known her personally, unaged. At forty-one she was not the lithe and angular creature she had been; her brown face had filled out, but she retained the slightly rebellious expression I remembered. She had once been my wife; we had separated for tactical rather than emotional reasons, as was often the case in the Navy. Of course she remembered me well; no doubt she had kept track of my political progress over the years. Her words alluded mischievously to the time of our intimate association. "What can I do for you, Ambassador, that wouldn't gripe your spouse and mine?"

"You can contact Rue for me and ask her to approve immigration of approximately one hundred defectors seeking political asylum from Ganymede," I said. "If the Belt will take them, then I'd like a transport ship dispatched here to pick them up."

Emerald considered, after the transmission pause. "I'm sure the Belt will take them," she said. "The Belt is always short of men. I will start the scutwork and have a ship dispatched in forty-eight hours. But, you know, Ambassador, it's not exactly cushy living in the Belt, especially for untrained recruits. How many speak English or French?"

"None," I responded. "They'll just have to learn. Thank you, Emerald; give my respects to Rue."

"I won't give her those," she replied with mock severity. "She's still hot for you, Captain, and she's only thirty, you know. Lot of juice left in her."

I smiled as the connection ended. Emerald had always been a blunt speaker. She was also a strategic genius, which was why I had married her. She had risen in the Navy much as I had risen in politics, in fits and starts, but I was sure she had not yet seen her apex. She was sure to become the first female admiral of this century. Rue, on the other hand, was not in the Navy. That name was short for Roulette, for she had been in a pirate band that ran big-time gambling. She had been my final wife in space, the most stunningly beautiful woman, physically, I had ever known, fiery of hair and temperament. At age thirty, she would indeed still be lovely. She was now the wife of Admiral Phist and was the Belt's liaison to Jupiter. I had excellent connections in these women.

Next, I spoke to the refugees assembled in our compound. "You will all be pleased to know," I informed them in Spanish, "that I have arranged for your expeditious emigration to the Belt, where you will find gainful employment at the prevailing wages. Of course you will have to learn one of their languages, and it will take some time to learn the ways of the sparse planetoids, but you will be forever free of Ganymede, so I know you will find it worthwhile. The transport ship will dock at Tanamo in two days, and you will be given clearance to board it there."

My announcement was greeted in silence. I left them to their thoughts.

Within a day all of them were gone. My bluff had worked. Genuine defectors would have accepted the deal; provocateurs on the Gany payroll could not afford to. There had never been any ship dispatched; Emerald had played along with me, knowing that I knew it could not be done that way. Only direct presidential authorization could have moved out those defectors that promptly. But those who had monitored my message had not realized that, and certainly the pseudo-defectors hadn't.

Emerald was a good woman. I trust it in no way diminishes Megan if I confess that there are times when I remember my Navy wives and associates with pleasant nostalgia. We understood each other in ways that only personnel of the Navy would understand.

But I had solved only one problem; others remained. When Hopie screamed at night, and we rushed into her room to discover a rat scrambling away from the light, I decided it was time to take action. Rats—in a planetary dome? That could hardly be by chance. Those creatures had to have been bred elsewhere and placed there. Hopie moved into our bedroom, and I pondered morosely.

By morning I had worked out a program. "Megan, I want you to learn to sing some songs in Spanish," I said. "Can you do this quickly?"

She knew I was up to something, and such was her distress at the situation that she did not question it. "If you tell me how to pronounce the words."

I went to the local library with Coral and did some research. At first there were objections, but I showed my credentials and charmed the library clerk, and she helped me locate what I needed and copy it. I could not be denied access to the library, and, of course, I was not regarded as very important in the practical sense; this gave me the freedom I needed.

Megan had no trouble learning the songs; she had been a professional singer, after all, and still possessed a remarkable voice. I was trusting that the premier did not know that.

I called him. Naturally I got through only to the barrier office. I announced that the Jupiter ambassador was coming that evening to pay a social call on the premier, and bringing his family to meet the premier's family. I cut off before the functionary could protest.

And so, self-invited, we called on the premier. Even a sham ambassador has some leverage; I could make a most unkind headline that would arouse both Jupiter and Saturn, if openly snubbed. After the matter of the defectors, the premier knew that I would do just that. He, of course, had known I was bluffing about the shipment to the Belt but, had he intervened, it would have tipped his hand. Perhaps at that point he had begun to appreciate the quality of the opposition. Also, I knew the premier would be intrigued by my temerity in visiting and would be braced for my complaints about the embassy facilities. He would look for an opportunity to further humiliate me, if he could do so without directly soiling his hands. I intended to provide him that opportunity.

Everything was very proper as we arrived. There would be no open show of animosity here. The premier was ceremonially garbed, and his wife accompanied him to the door to greet us. I sized her up immediately: she was a decent woman, in awe of her husband but closely guarded in her heart. I knew she had suffered things she could not utter.

We were treated to a fine meal, and the premier was genial, though he watched me carefully. He wanted me to make my move before he made his. We conversed in Spanish, leaving Megan out of it. I had warned her that it would be this way, and she bore it with grace.

As the meal ended I said, as if casually, "But where is your son? I understood you had a son."

The premier almost glowered but caught himself. Now he knew I knew, and his anger intensified. "He is indisposed, Ambassador."

"But I promised my little girl she could meet your son," I exclaimed innocently. "She will be most disappointed—" My words were polite, but my stare advised him that I intended to have my way in this.

The premier's teeth showed in what was barely a smile. His wife had generally remained out of public view, and his son was never exhibited. There was good reason for this; it was an extremely sensitive matter. Natives of Gany had been executed for acting less brashly than I was now, but the mantle of Jupiter protected me no matter how obnoxious I became.

"Fetch Raul!" the premier snapped at his wife as we adjourned to the parlor. Surely he was picturing me against the execution wall and aiming the laser himself.

She brought Raul. He was a boy of about ten, thin and small, and he walked mechanically, only when urged. When released, he stood by himself before the room's piano and twisted his fingers in front of his face, tuning out the rest of the planet. He was, as I had known, autistic—the secret shame of the family. By my insistence on seeing him I had let the premier know I could tacitly blackmail him, for the Jupiter press was not censored in the manner of the Gany press. I could demand better service at the embassy and get it now.

"Go meet Raul," I told Hopie. I had warned her privately what to expect. She was only five but pretty savvy for the age, perhaps possessed of some talent similar to mine. I knew Raul was harmless if treated diffidently, though the wrong approach could provoke a savage tantrum. The premier was so tense, he was having trouble maintaining his composure.

"You know, my wife sings," I remarked. "She's really quite good. Would you like to hear her?"

The premier had little interest in music, but his wife did. He grasped at this straw, to divert attention from the autistic child. "Yes, yes," he agreed gruffly. "Let her sing."

"Perhaps your wife will play," I said, indicating the piano. It was one of the electronic ones, similar to Megan's own, set on a table so as to emulate the style of the mechanical pianos that had existed on old Earth.

"No, no, Señor Ambassador," she protested, blushing. She was not expert; she practiced to divert herself and knew she would only embarrass us all.

"Then perhaps if my wife could accompany herself—"

"Yes, yes," she agreed quickly. She spoke in Spanish, but her intent was evident to all.

Megan sat at the piano, near Raul, who ignored her and the world of normal folk. He contemplated his moving fingers with total fascination. Megan checked the piano to be sure it was in tune, adjusted it, and began.

First she played and sang an operatic selection in English. The premier understood the language but did not deign to acknowledge, and his wife could not follow the words at all though she obviously appreciated the music. Thus this selection was to an extent lost on its limited audience. But I watched Raul, using my talent, and confirmed what I had suspected. His fingers slowed slightly, as if part of the music were reaching his mind.

"Now," I murmured to Megan.

She began the first of the Spanish songs I had had her learn. It was a pretty one, popular with children, very quick and light, with a catchy refrain. She sang it well—probably better than it had ever been sung on Gany before, for there was no singer of her stature here. The room filled with sound, and Hopie began moving to the beat, as a child will. "Oh, lovely," the premier's wife breathed in Spanish.

I took the premier's elbow unobtrusively. He stiffened, furious at this familiarity; he touched others freely in public but did not like others touching him. "Raul," I murmured.

He looked at his son and saw the boy's gaze turning to Megan. The restless fingers paused, and the expression of complete indifference was shifting to one of faint interest.

"He hears!" the premier whispered, awed.

Megan finished the song, and the boy froze again. His gaze became blank. Whatever current had passed through him had been turned off.

She started the next, another pretty one with a strong Latin beat, and again Raul responded. He began to move, ever so slightly, to the music, copying Hopie. There was no question that the song reached him.

The third song Megan played and sang was the planetary anthem of Ganymede. The premier, startled, stood to attention, and his son copied him, standing straight but not tuned out. There were tears running down the face of the boy's mother.

When Megan finished that one, she smiled at Raul, and he smiled back. "A miracle!" the premier's wife exclaimed.

"Sometimes music helps," I said. "The right music, sung with proper feeling. One cannot expect too much, but..."

That was the turning point. The premier's stifled rage was replaced by an opposite emotion. Thereafter we were welcome at his home, Megan especially. She worked with the premier's wife to discover what music would reach the boy most effectively. And by a seeming coincidence, a number of quite qualified people showed up to work at the embassy. The sinister men of the street disappeared. We had no further significant difficulties of any kind.

 

As time passed I came to know the premier better. He was a ruthless and, at times, violent man, but he was in an environment that required such qualities. He did have firm principles, and he was trying to improve the lot of his planet. Gradually we spoke more candidly to each other, as he recognized that it was not my purpose to judge him, humiliate him, or to work against his interests. I had, after all, been as ruthless as he, in the course of my prior military career. It was my purpose to improve relations between Jupiter and Ganymede.

"How would it be," I inquired musingly, "if we arranged to find something to do?"

His eyes narrowed appreciatively. "What do you have in mind, Señor?"

"Suppose we were to commence negotiations for the resumption of sugar purchases by Jupiter, the orderly transfer of Tanamo to Ganymede suzerainty before the lease expires, that sort of thing?" His eyes fairly popped."

You would do that?"

Tanamo was a major Jupiter Naval base situated on Gany, the one I had invoked for the mock defector shipment. It operated under a long-term lease arranged before the revolution that had changed the nature of Gany's government. Tanamo's presence was perhaps the leading sore spot of the present Gany regime. But there was no way Gany could take over the base without provoking war with Jupiter, and that was not to be contemplated. That lease would terminate in another decade, but it was not known whether Jupiter would give up the base even then. Treaties are honored by governments only when it suits their convenience, and Jupiter's interplanetary record in this respect was no better than Saturn's, no matter what the school texts might claim.

"Sometimes capitalistic and communistic purposes coincide," I said. "I would like to facilitate peace in our time in the Solar System, naturally—"

"Naturally," he agreed dryly.

"And the elimination of trouble spots should help," I continued. "It is possible that the position of the premier who arranged for the resumption of territorial integrity—"

"And the reputation of the ambassador involved—" he added.

We looked at each other, smiling. We both could profit.

"Of course, there is always a certain quid pro quo," I said. "Ganymede has been accused, perhaps erroneously, of fomenting revolution elsewhere in the Jupiter sphere, and of serving as a supply conduit for Saturn arms."

He nodded. "Were this the case, it might be that it would not be entirely under the control of the local authorities," he pointed out. "There might be debts to pay...."

"Granted. Yet perhaps a dialogue with the appropriate party..."

"Perhaps a dialogue," he agreed.

"And some have claimed—naturally I do not personally credit this—that there are political prisoners who might safely be released: intellectuals, misled youths, ill folk."

"If, perhaps, an initiative were made."

I nodded. We had an understanding.

And so it was that I, in the dutiful performance of my office, relayed to my government the Gany petition for early consideration of the transfer of Tanamo and other matters.

And the antimatter, as the saying goes, hit the matter.

I received a close-coded message from President Kenson: "What the hell are you doing, Hubris?" But the lure of progress toward genuine peace was too strong; the president had to permit the initiative. When the furor raged, he had to support it. When Congress passed a resolution of condemnation, Kenson had to assert his position by appointing a Jupiter/Gany committee to explore matters. And I received an invitation to visit the Saturn Embassy on Ganymede.

The man I met was one Mikhail Khukov, a captain in the Saturn Navy. I knew the moment I saw him that he was a meteor. That is, a man with the background, intelligence, and drive to blaze to the top, if not assassinated on the way. Saturnine politics, I knew, were played in true hard-ball style; one small error of judgment could render a person dead, figuratively or literally. This one intended to make no mistakes, yet he was also a creature of calculated risks. His type had to be.

He shook my hand, western-style. Technically the Solar System has no east or west, but the terms derive from antiquity: Jupiter is west, Saturn is east, and all else is indeterminate. "So glad to meet you at last, Captain," he said in English. "I have admired your conduct of the matter of the Belt."

"I regret I am not acquainted with your own record."

"Nor would you wish to be, Comrade Capitalist," he said heartily, dismissing the subject. "So you lit a fire under the tail of your own president."

"Well, I was sure he would support an initiative for peace."

"Don't we all—in our fashions. Exactly what concessions do you seek?"

"Naturally I would not interfere with existing negotiations—"

He laughed. "You have the power, Hubris! Do you not know it when you see it?"

I had to smile. "I had thought to conceal my observation." For he did indeed have a talent similar to mine; the genius of judging people. He was reading me even as I was reading him. We were in a contest of skills—a contest that had no discernible object other than understanding, and no reckoning of points. We could not deceive each other. "We can do each other much good—or ill," he said. "Have we reason to do ill?"

"I see none, when we allow for certain distinctions in our situations."

Such as his murderous political environment. In his situation I, too, would have had to kill or be killed. His was basically a pirate government. I did not necessarily approve, but I understood.

"Do you play pool, Captain?" he inquired.

"Does a black hole squeeze?"

"It has been long since I have matched against my own rank." I was no longer a captain, technically, but there was indeed a kind of interplanetary camaraderie of rank: a lieutenant competed against other lieutenants, and a commander against other commanders. Every unit had its ladder of proficiency, but at the level of captain or above, there were few to compete against. Evidently it was similar in the Saturn Navy.

We adjourned to the embassy pool room. The table and equipment were top-line, as that of such establishments tended to be. I had not played regularly since leaving the Navy, but such skill is never truly lost; I knew I could, after wearing off the rust, give a creditable account of myself. But the point was not really to win; it was to match against one's own rank in as varied and exotic a manner as possible.

We played. I do not remember who won; I think we split games. He was out of shape, too; Saturnine officers are not given undue leisure. It was fun; I realized again that I missed the Navy, and this was like being back in it. While we played, we continued to measure each other. I judged Khukov's talent to be less than mine, but he was a harder man; he had the kind of backbone that my sister Spirit had, so he used his powers more effectively than I did. Essentially I won over people, who then served my interests loyally; he served his interests directly.

"Perhaps we could exchange favors," he said.

I had known he was working up to something; he saw in me a way to magnify his power in some way. "Perhaps."

"I speak no Spanish, yet I must deal with those who do. I distrust interpreters."

I could appreciate why. Ganymede was an often unwilling partner to Saturn; if he used a native interpreter, his words might suffer more than was comfortable, and there could be much he missed. That could be dangerous. "You might learn the language," I suggested, realizing what he wanted of me.

"There might come a time when you found it advantageous to comprehend Russian," he said. "You will in due course be dealing on that level."

"I'm only a minor ambassador!" I protested, intrigued.

"And I'm only a Navy officer, on inclement duty. But sometimes it is possible, how do you put it, to make of a sow's ear a silken purse?"

There could indeed be advantage to knowing Russian. He read in me the same ambition I read in him: to achieve the ultimate seat of power. The odds were against either of us making it, but careful preparation and special skills could help. I nodded, interested but not committed.

"But one reservation," he said. "I prefer that such ability not be known."

Again I nodded. A man could learn a lot, if those about him believed he did not understand their language. Such secret understanding could on occasion make a life-and-death difference. "I have no need to advertise such a skill as the speaking of Russian, either," I said.

We shook hands, trusting each other as no two people lacking our avenue of understanding could. This was not a matter of friendship or even of compatibility; our loyalties and philosophies were diametrically opposed. But in this we were united, as two panthers might unite to preserve a favored hunting ground.

Thus it was that over the course of the next year I taught Khukov to speak Spanish with very little accent—he was an apt study—and he taught me to speak Russian with, I trust, similar finesse. Neither of us told any other party of this deal. Nominally we were playing pool and discussing ambassadorial matters. We never became friends—a too-complete understanding is no better for friendship than a too-complete familiarity is for romance—but we knew that neither would betray the other.

 

Meanwhile, Megan had not sat idle in the Jupiter Embassy. She set about learning Spanish herself, openly, and encouraged Hopie to do the same. Indeed, Hopie entered the local school system as she came of age. We had faced the choice of private tutoring, which seemed affected and expensive; or sending her to the Navy Dependent School at Tanamo, which Megan would not hear of for several reasons, such as her aversion to military commitment and her refusal to separate our child from our family; or letting her go to a Gany school. That course seemed simple enough, and Hopie was welcomed there. The original alienation shown by the population had entirely disappeared. But after a year our course seemed less certain. The schools of Gany are not for simple education. It is the revolutionary philosophy that political education is fundamental; that a person cannot function as a responsible citizen if his political attitudes are wrong. For example, he cannot be a truly selfless team member if his philosophy is one of self-interest. He can not budget his money wisely if he is dedicated to immediate gratification at any cost. It is attitude that is critical—and so the Gany schools educate for that as thoroughly as for the literary and technical and social skills.

Hopie was a bright child and a pleasant one. She got along well in school, as she mastered Spanish, made friends, and learned the lessons well. When she began debating the liabilities of capitalism at home, Megan grew uneasy. When Hopie challenged some of the Jupiter versions of history, such as the manner the so-called Mid-Jupe Canal was arranged, Megan became angry. And when the child began praising the dedication of Saturn to System peace, Megan had had enough. "I shall not suffer my child to become a Saturnist!" she exclaimed.

I tried to reason with her, pointing out that the child did understand that there were different ways to view every issue and that the Gany school espoused merely one view, not the ultimate truth. But Megan replied that even a little bit of brainwashing was too much. In this we had our first significant disagreement, for I was unworried by propaganda, knowing it to be a standard tool and a two-edged one, while Megan simply could not tolerate it for the child. I tried to point out that there was indeed a question about the Mid-Jupe Canal, but that only upset her further. We had come up against a Saxon/Hispanic schism that was best left buried.

In the end Megan took Hopie back to Jupiter, while I remained on Ganymede. I had a post to fill and things to do here that were too important to leave; I simply could not yet return to Jupiter. And so we separated, and it hurt me deeply, and Megan, too, but we were helpless in the circumstance. It had never occurred to me that anything could drive us apart, least of all our child, but for this occasion it was true.

Shelia and Ebony and Coral expressed their condolences and seemed to regret the situation as much as I did; but all three had suffered their own privations during schooling, and understood. None of them attempted to console me directly, for a reason they presumed I would not understand: All three of them were too strongly attracted to me to risk it. This effect on women is one of the liabilities of my talent. I appreciated their discretion.

The premier expressed regret but did not interfere. "Women have their own perceptions, which men must tolerate," he said. "Raul will miss her." But Raul was now making progress independently, now that the channel had been opened; his mother was singing to him and doing well. The premier was a busy man, not given to much concern about the private problems of others.

Khukov understood. "My wife—when I joined the Party..." He shrugged. I had not known he was married, and it seemed that was no longer the case. Only a few citizens of Saturn actually join the Party, of course—those who are seriously interested in government and power. Evidently Khukov's wife had wanted a different kind of life.

"This is new to me," I confessed in Russian. "And painful."

"Ah, yes," he agreed in Spanish. "There is no pain like it. But you and I, we must sacrifice all else in the pursuit of our destinies."

"I love Megan," I said. "I will never give her up."

"It will not be by your choice," he said with the wisdom of experience.

I also received a note from Thorley. "Methinks I judged your wife too harshly." Naturally he approved of the direct expression of opposition to the Communist indoctrination but had evidently supposed that Megan did not. I appreciated his interest; it reminded me that though he and I still opposed each other philosophically, we retained a kind of friendship personally.

The committee on the sugar and Tanamo issues was hopelessly deadlocked. The problems were these: the sugar market that had once been Ganymede's had been apportioned among several other Latin countries on and off Jupiter; they raised a howl of protest at the notion of losing those shares. Sugar was their major source of income; without that market some of them would quickly bankrupt. The Tanamo transfer was opposed by the Jupiter administration itself, though President Kenson remained publicly noncommittal so as not to undercut my position. The base could not be allowed to fall under Saturnine control.

These two objections blocked the other parts of the negotiation. Neither Saturn nor Ganymede would agree to halt the export of arms and subversion to nations of the Jupiter sphere unless Tanamo were yielded, and the premier was adamant about regaining the sugar trade in return for whatever prisoners he might release. The barriers were, ironically, with the Jupiter side, rather than the Gany side. Megan's protestations to the contrary, there was some merit in the Gany political indoctrination. Not a lot, but some. A contrary political view was a serious matter here; this was something few of the folk on Jupiter could appreciate, because of their much greater freedom to adopt any political configuration they chose, or none.

"Those bureaucrats will never lift out of the mire," Khukov said to me. "It is time for us to finish what we started." He had been instrumental in getting Saturn's acquiescence to the negotiations, and I knew that failure would reflect adversely on him where it counted: in the Party.

"Can either of us accomplish what they can not?" I asked.

"If we can not we do not deserve the power we reach for!" He gestured with his pool cue. "Let me make you a little challenge, señor, to test our mettle as captains against each other. I will take one issue, you the other. Let us see who is the better politician."

"Agreed," I said. "Shall we play for the choice of issues?"

"Indeed! Tanamo and sugar, winner's choice."

So we played, and he won; he could beat me in pool when he chose. "Sugar," he said, smiling grimly.

I sighed. "You took the sweet one, Comrade!" But we both knew that both issues were intractable, and that both of us were more likely to fail than to succeed. But we both had much to gain by success.

Khukov put in a word to Saturn, and I to Jupiter. The essence of each was that he wished to arbitrate the sugar issue, and I the Tanamo issue, in nonbinding fashion. We would make recommendations for the governments of Ganymede and Jupiter to approve. Saturn, theoretically having no direct interest in either case, would stand aside. Of course, Saturn hoped to gain a naval base and lose the liability of the sugar trade if we succeeded, and to lose nothing if we failed; it was easy for Saturn to be gracious.

"What the hell are you up to this time, Hubris?" President Kenson demanded privately after summoning me to New Wash for an emergency conference.

"Sir, isn't the cessation of the shipment of Saturnine arms to our sphere via Ganymede worth the discontinuance of a Naval base whose maintenance on a hostile planet is costing us more than we like? Haven't we been looking for a graceful way to cut our losses—just as Saturn wants to cut its sugar losses?"

He pondered. "Why should we assume those sugar losses—which are more than monetary—ourselves?"

"No need," I said. "If you don't like the proposal Captain Khukov makes, turn it down."

He stroked his chin. "Yes, of course. But I do not want to be forced to turn down your proposal. That would look bad. But we can't risk that base going to Saturn."

"It won't, sir. It will be useless to Saturn."

"Hubris, you were a Navy man. So was I. You've got to know better than that."

"Sir, I was in longer than you were. As a Navy man I know what I am talking about. Let me explain."

"Captain, you had better," he said grimly. He quirked a smile. "Show me your power."

He had invoked the old Navy challenge. I obliged. His jaw dropped. "I didn't know that!"

"Few civilians do, sir, and few officers without the need to know. That's why the bureaucrats on the negotiation team are stymied. As a commander in battle I had to know."

"Let me check this out, Hubris." He reached for his phone.

In moments he had confirmation from our own military staff. "Idiots!" he swore, referring to those on the committee who had not researched this information. Then he turned to me. "I think you're a damned genius, Hubris. You're due for promotion. I can give you an embassy that will thrill your wife."

"Thank you, sir, but I prefer to make my own way."

"Oh?"

"I plan to run for governor of Sunshine again."

He squinted at me. "Exactly where are you headed, Hubris?"

I glanced around his office meaningfully.

"Oho! You've already caught that virus!" He had won reelection handily the year before and could not run again; the nomination would be open. "Well, I'll not interfere. Certainly you'll have my support for governor. Go to it, Captain!" He shook my hand and dismissed me. He didn't take my ambition seriously; he was patronizing me. But his magnetism was such that I appreciated even that. And his support for my upcoming gubernatorial race would be invaluable.

The trip to Jupiter enabled me to stop by Ybor, consult with Spirit, and spend a night with Megan. She confessed that she missed me, and that, having become accustomed to family life, she felt distinctly awkward without it, though she did have Hopie. She was most affectionate, and the night was a delight. It was also wonderful for me to see Hopie again. I hoped to return to Jupiter in a few months, and now I felt more urgent than ever about it. Perhaps separation does make the heart grow fonder—or maybe it simply forces a person to realize what he is missing.

 

"I have a gift for you," the premier informed me by phone. "Are you free to come here tonight?"

The ambassador could hardly not be free to visit the premier at his behest, but I knew it was more than that. "Certainly," I agreed. "But it is not necessary to promise me any gift. In fact, my position requires that I decline all—"

"This one you can not decline," he said smugly. "It is my thanks for what you did for Raul."

"But I was glad to—"

"A woman."

This grew more awkward by the moment. "Premier, I am a married man!"

He smiled on the screen, full of some secret. "This one you will take into your house, I am sure. She is in need of rehabilitation. I will expect you tonight." He cut off, leaving me in a quandary. What would Megan think if such a woman even came near the embassy? Yet I could not openly insult the premier by failing to make the appearance.

I pondered. There had been something about his attitude. On the one hand, he enjoyed serving me as I had served him on the first occasion, forcing the social visit and the display of his autistic child. But there was more. The premier knew I loved Megan and knew she had returned to Jupiter because of the child, not because of any marital falling-out. He was a family man himself, and no supporter of adultery. He really believed I would be pleasantly surprised. Maybe he had found a superior cook for the embassy, though we had no problem there. Still...

"Would you like one of us to chaperon you?" Shelia inquired mischievously.

"Go spin your wheels by the Wall!" I retorted. We had become so acclimatized to our residence that the dread execution wall had become a thing of humor.

"I'll go find a blindfold," she said contritely, and rolled her chair away.

It was a minor exchange, but it served to remind me how well off I was. Shelia could never walk or dance, so probably would never marry, though she was physically capable of conceiving and bearing a baby. Her tragedy was mountainous compared to mine, yet she always appeared cheerful and was certainly competent. Here I was chafing because my wife was away for a few months, and I might have to deal with a new cook.

Still not entirely at ease, I made the required appearance.

There was a woman there, all right. She seemed to be in her mid-forties, perhaps older, and not in the best of health. I could tell by her bones that she had once been beautiful, but physical and emotional toil had broken her down. Rehabilitation? What she needed was some joy of existence.

She looked at me. Slowly her eyes widened. "Hope?"

Then I recognized her. "Faith!" I cried, stepping forward to take her in my arms, my eyes stinging with tears.

For this was my older sister, whom I had not seen in more than a quarter of a century. She had been taken away by pirates when I was fifteen, and I had not been sure she was even alive, and had been afraid to inquire. In retrospect I condemn this cowardice of mine. I might have rescued her from many years of drudgery had I searched her out. But, of course, it was more complicated than that; it was not merely the fact of losing her, but the manner of it that had caused me to tune her out of my life as if she were already dead.

I took her back to the embassy, of course. The premier smiled as we left, putting his arm around the shoulder of his son, who was much improved. "Now I think we are even," he said. Surely he was correct; he had returned a lost family member to me, in exchange for the one I had helped return to him. Such private obligations can be very important to Hispanics and perhaps to others, too.

I introduced Faith to my staff, and they welcomed her. I think they were as relieved and gratified as I at the way this had turned out. I did not try to pry into my sister's history, for it was nothing she was eager to share in any detail, but I did pick up an approximation.

Faith had volunteered herself to become the plaything of a ship of men, in order to prevent them from robbing and raping the other women of our refugee bubble. It had been a gallant sacrifice on her part but had not been successful. I had to advise her, as gently as I could, of the fate of the rest of the refugees. As far as I knew, only she and Spirit and I survived. At age eighteen Faith had been a stunning beauty, with fair hair and a form that caught every eye; in fact, it had been that form that precipitated the problem that led to our flight from Callisto, for men would not leave her alone. She had gone to the ship from our bubble, and it seemed she had been passed from man to man and from ship to ship to ship for some time—some years—until that life took its toll on her beauty. Finally she had been traded to a Europan merchant ship for supplies, and in due course carried to the home port, where she had become the creature of the dome. As she lost her sexual appeal she had had to do other chores, becoming a workwoman, maid, or cook—whatever was required. In short, she had been reduced to a peasant woman, and so she remained. All the expense our father had put into Faith's education had been wasted, as had Faith's phenomenal initial beauty. But she had survived, when a woman of more pride would have been cast out. She had earned a reasonably secure place by tutoring children of the better families in English. "I became very good at that," she said wryly. "It was certainly better work than..." She shrugged.

"I will take you with me to Jupiter," I told her. "Spirit is there."

"Spirit!" she exclaimed. "I remember her as a child of twelve, with a finger-whip!"

"She still has a whip," I said, smiling. "But she is no longer a child. She is a woman of forty, her face is scarred where she was burned by a drive unit, and she is without a finger." Spirit had never sought corrective surgery for either condition. It made no difference to me, but it may have been one reason she never married on Jupiter. Yet in the Navy Spirit had proven her ability to capture any man she chose, so I really don't know.

"What could I do at Jupiter?" Faith asked wearily. "My life is past."

"I will find something," I promised. "You will never suffer privation again."

She smiled. "You were my protector, then." She meant when we were teenagers. Indeed, it had been my job to shield her from unwelcome attentions—a job at which I had signally failed. Perhaps it had been, in part, that guilt that had prevented me from seeking her. The premier had done for me what I should have done for myself.

I became her protector again, trying to make up for that long neglect. I arranged for the paperwork to grant her entry to Jupiter as a resident alien, for she lacked the citizenship Spirit and I had obtained via the Navy. I saw that she was fed well and that she did not feel threatened. Well, in that I may be overstating the case; it was my tight little staff that did the job; they adopted her as they would a foundling. And, like a late-blooming flower, she became healthier and more cheerful, beginning to suggest the creature she once had been.

As yet I had no notion as to what position I would find for her at Jupiter. Well, she could become part of my staff until a suitable situation offered. Spirit would surely have input. Faith was bilingual, and that was a genuine advantage in the state of Sunshine. In fact, there was a shortage of bilingual teachers, but I wasn't sure she would be interested in that type of employment, now that she was free of bondage. Surely she had memories that were best forgotten.

Meanwhile, it was good to have her with me. She helped fill the gap in my life made by the absence of Spirit, Megan, and Hopie. Women have always been important to me; I relate well to them and suffer in their absence, especially when they are my kin.

 

I had the essence of my solution to the Tanamo problem already, but Khukov took three months to study the sugar issue, researching every aspect, talking with all parties, including representatives of the Jupiter business community involved in the handling and processing of the commodity and the Latin nations now providing it. He was hampered by having to use an interpreter, for he concealed his new knowledge of Spanish. Perhaps he was taking his time for that reason: to offer no clue to any other party that he had means to grasp the essence much more rapidly than was evident. But he researched in English, too; he even asked to talk with the chief procurement officer of the Jupiter Navy. I suspect he learned much more about the Navy than he did about sugar. But I kept my counsel and even helped him by introducing him to Admiral Phist, my friend and the husband of my former wife Roulette.

"Beware of that Saturnine," Phist advised me privately after the interview, which took place physically at Tanamo. "He is one sharp officer. He reminds me oddly of someone—" I met his gaze. Suddenly he laughed. "Of course!" Then he sobered. "But that makes him doubly dangerous."

"Not if I get where I'm going," I said. "I understand him."

Phist shook his head. "You know I'll serve you loyally if you do, and I'm not the only one. The careers of the officers in your unit did not end when you resigned from the Navy."

Phist typically understated things. I was sure my friends in the Navy now had a good deal more power than showed. "Give my regards to your wife."

"Rue is a good woman," he said seriously. "It is unfortunate that she and I both love others."

"Still?" I asked, surprised.

"Still. But we do have a good marriage."

"I'm glad to hear it." I found myself flattered, for myself and for Spirit, for we had been the prior spouses of both parties of that marriage, Navy associations were something that civilians did not understand. Civilians tend to think that sexual fidelity is the most important aspect of a marriage; those in military service know that the heart can travel an independent course. I shook hands with Phist and departed.

At last Khukov was ready. We set it up for an interplanetary broadcast: two proposals to be presented sequentially. Of course, the concerned governments would not rule on them immediately, but it would be a fine show. If our proposals failed, the issues would die—and with them the hopes of two captains for advancement.

Khukov presented his proposal first. In essence, it was this: Do not interfere with existing sugar quotas at all. Let the Jupiter government purchase a set quantity of sugar from Ganymede at a set price and use it for the Navy. Not necessarily for its own consumption, though there was an enormous demand for sugar to use in reconstituted foods and beverages. For trade elsewhere in the System. "The problem of hunger is endemic," he concluded. "The food exists but cannot be economically distributed to the needy. The Jupiter Navy, however, makes routine training missions everywhere. Cost of transport on such a mission would be minimal." He smiled. "The trainees could think of the cargo as weapons. It would be a fairly simple matter to trade sugar at far-flung posts for raw materials, equipment, labor, or information, at a net saving to the Navy. Sugar is, in fact, currency in space; it becomes quite precious in regions where all food has to be imported. I believe the supply officers of the Jupiter Navy will verify that this is true."

And I, as a former officer, knew it was true. Sugar was used on isolated outposts to make potable alcohol, among other things, and that greatly enhanced its practical value. If the Navy had a lot of sugar to trade it could make a lot of good trades. Whether this could be done at a profit was uncertain, but certainly the initial cost of the sugar would be largely offset by such use, and morale would improve.

"In return for the reopening of a valued market and the economic stability this would contribute to the planet of Ganymede," Khukov continued, "and as a simple gesture of amity, certain personnel will be permitted to emigrate in a disciplined manner. The list of names is too long for me to present on this occasion, but it will be released to the media. Here are a few examples." And he read a dozen names, all of which, I knew, were of notorious political prisoners that Jupiter had tried without success to get released before. It was more than a "gesture of amity"; it was a striking counter-offer. The impact of those names would affect Jupiter society like the detonation of a black hole: the seemingly impossible abruptly made real. I knew then that President Kenson could not afford to turn down this offer; Khukov had sweetened the pot too much. The sugar trade would resume.

Now it was my turn. "If Jupiter vacates the Naval base at Tanamo, neither Ganymede nor Saturn will feel further need to supply military equipment to powers in the Jupiter sphere," I said, knowing that this was a concession Jupiter was desperate for. "There has been some concern that the base might be abused, but this is needless. The equipment there is military, not civilian, and is therefore locked against unauthorized use. To use any of it, from the largest space dock to the smallest water dispenser, one must have the proper key. Without that key the entire base is little more than a metal monument. It is, of course, mined; use of an incorrect key or an attempt to force the equipment will trigger detonation."

I paused to glance at my audience, though there was only the holo-camera. "One might suppose that the keys can merely be passed on to the new personnel. This is not the case. Each key is a magnetic pattern, a portion of which is tuned to the specific individual authorized to use it; if any other person attempts to use that key, it is inoperative. Key and operator go together, and naturally the key-keepers are carefully selected and trained. When a keeper changes, a new key has to be made, and the lock revamped to accommodate the new pattern. This adjustment is complex; in fact, it requires the presence of very sophisticated equipment. Such equipment exists only at Jupiter and Saturn; no one else can change the locks or keys. The equipment must be brought to the base along with specially trained personnel for this delicate operation."

I paused again. I wanted to be sure this got through to the average viewer. I had had to get special permission to reveal this information, and I wanted to do it exactly right. "Obviously the base will have to be operated by its present key personnel, regardless of the sovereignty of the facility. I'm sure suitable arrangements can be made. Now let's suppose that some power like Saturn wishes to change the locks and keys and personnel, for its own purposes. Do you suppose the present personnel will acquiesce? Will they operate the gates to admit and facilitate the equipment and personnel employed to effect their replacement? The lock-changing equipment is bulky; it can be transported only by a sizable vessel, and Ganymede lacks port facilities elsewhere to accommodate such vessels." Once more I paused. "In short, the little pig is not about to open the door to let in the wolf—or the bear."

That was the essence. Saturn could not change those locks covertly. Jupiter personnel would operate the base for the benefit of Ganymede alone, and facilitate its use as a commercial port for the shipment of sugar and such. I believed that my proposal would be approved, disappointing as it might be to Saturn; it was definitely advantageous for Ganymede.

Khukov came to me and shook my hand. "I rather thought it would be that," he said in English. "May all our problems admit of such ready solutions."

Thereafter he returned to Saturn, his job done, and I made plans for Jupiter and reunion with my family. I could not claim I had enjoyed all of my experience on Gany, but certainly it had provided me more than it cost me, including a planetary spotlight that would enhance my future as a politician. For one thing it had returned to me my long-lost sister—an event more significant for my peace of mind than I had allowed myself to believe before the event.