Chapter 11 — REVOLUTIONARY

I proceeded on through the other stages of my apprenticeship, learning how to install apartment cubes, lay out major halls, organize waste processors, put in power and communications lines, and handle the mountainous paperwork required for every stage. By the time I was ready to assume the helm, more than a year had passed, and I was none too certain I was ready. But I knew it had to be done.

The fundamental problem with Jupiter Bubble Company was that it was huge, impersonal, and inefficient. There was little dedication to speed, price, or quality, and those who attempted to improve these things were either fired or shuffled elsewhere. Paperwork had become an end in itself, and experimentation was discouraged. There were no values, no company spirit. The structure was rotting from the core and didn't seem to care.

On my way up I had taken note of the minority of genuinely dedicated workers and supervisors. My first act as company president was to summon these people for a conference. Gray was among them but only one among many.

"You, all of you, are about to assume the management of this company," I informed them. "Each of you will be put in charge of a particular aspect or program relevant to your expertise. You will select your own personnel from those remaining in the company and designate their duties. They will answer directly to you, and you will answer directly to me. This will be done personally; if you find it necessary to write a memo, it shall be confined to one page, preferably less. There will be no paperwork, apart from minimum specifications for complex aspects. I trust your judgment, and I will hold you responsible. If you tell me a program is good, I will support it; see that you do not let me down."

They turned, to each other, not quite knowing what to make of this, but I was serious. I put Gray in charge of the Micro Bubble task force: to develop a viable program for producing the type of small-bubble complex he had described to me, and then to implement it. I put the others in charge of programs relevant to their interests and competencies. I gave them autonomy and authority. I stressed that our company interest, as of that instant, was first for quality and reliability, then for value, then for service to our customers, then for efficiency, and finally for profit. "We shall be losing money for a time," I admitted. "But we've been losing money for three years; that's nothing new. Once we change, that will change."

Then I got more personal. "I have come to know you men as I worked in this company," I said. "But you are the minority. We all know that we have quite a number of inadequately trained and motivated workers and deadwood executives. We are not going to fire any of them, but we are going to demote them. If they wish to leave the company, we'll gladly let them go. But those who stay will be well treated here. We are going to treat every worker as a winner, as someone special. We are going to treat every client as someone special. We are going to care about our people. We are going to be like one giant family. We are going to provide medical assistance for any worker who needs it, and day care for the children of any worker who wants it, and honest counseling for any worker who asks for it. Each of you will be like a parent to your group, and I will be a parent to you and a grandparent to them. We are going to have love here—love of our product and love of our customers and love of each other. We are going to have company-sponsored entertainment. If one employee marries another, we will give them a wedding on company premises at company expense. If one of our employees dies, the company will cover the memorial service and will offer what support we can to the survivors. Religious services and political meetings will be welcome, provided that no proselytizing or recruiting is done on company premises. And we shall sing together."

Still they gazed at each other uncertainly, half suspecting that I was not serious. The changes I was proposing were too great, too different. They simply didn't know what to make of it. No paperwork? Weddings on company premises? Singing?

"Now, we are going to make mistakes," I continued. "That is inevitable. We shall be tolerant of errors, while avoiding total foolishness. We are going to be highly hospitable to new ideas, to innovation, to alternatives. We..."

I paused, for one of the company men had moved quietly to a door and flung it open. A man was revealed there, listening.

"Ah, a spy!" I exclaimed, recognizing the intruder. I had checked out all suspicious characters and knew that this man was in the employ of Saturn, an industrial agent. I had used my facilities as Tyrant privately to get information on him directly from the source: Chairman Khukov had provided it. "Come forward!"

Apprehensively the man approached me. "Comrade, we have nothing to fear from Saturn!" I informed him. "We need have no secrets here. Come to my office in the morning, and I will provide you with any information you desire. I hope that your planet will reciprocate. I appoint you company liaison to Saturn. Now we shall welcome you warmly." And, as the others stared with astonishment, I began to sing: "Meadowlands, Meadowlands, meadows green and fields in blossom!" I gestured to the others to join me. Most were blank, but some did know the song; hesitantly they joined in. Gray laughed and sang loudly; he was no Saturnist and loved the joke. In due course we were singing it with greater enthusiasm, and indeed, it is a pretty song.

That, I think, was what broke the ice. After we had sung together we felt more like a family. The people I had chosen began to believe in this seemingly crazy dream of mine, to fathom the way in which it could operate. I stepped off the platform, still singing, and took the hands of those nearest, and they took the hands of others, and soon all of us were linked in a big circle, including the Saturn spy, moving our feet in time and swaying our bodies in a kind of dance. On one level it was indeed crazy, but on another it was the essence of what I wanted: company unity.

I was taking a serious risk in this, and I knew it, but I felt that the importance of the move warranted it. You see, what I was doing here was very like what I had done as an officer of the Jupiter Navy, thirty years before, and much more recently as Tyrant. Few people had my talent for understanding and influencing others; it was the principal trait that had brought me to the Tyrancy. I was using it freely here, openly for the first time. If any of these caught on...

I think, in retrospect, that it is possible that some did. But if so, they did not betray my identity to others. Perhaps it was curiosity that moved them, waiting to see what I was up to. Or perhaps they liked what I was doing with the company, so supported it despite their knowledge.

 

It was very much like chaos at first. Our output and our cost-effectiveness plummeted. But I had expected this, and I had had a good deal of experience in this sort of thing. The new lines of command rapidly took form, and as the new formations formed, the work improved. Naturally, great numbers of employees left, in perplexity or horror, but we worked to keep the ones we really wanted. Always we fostered the feeling of family, of total commitment and support, of the importance of every single person associated with Jupiter Bubble. We stressed endlessly the concurrent commitments to quality. Every worker became a quality control expert, passing on no work that was not, in his judgment, up to snuff. We hired personnel to take care of the increasing number of children in the day-care unit. There were none under two years of age, because of the procreation cutoff, but women with children in the three- to five-year-old range flocked to our banner, because here they could work for a fair wage without having to sacrifice their children. A number of them were quite competent, and they were dedicated from the start.

We also attracted creative males: those who had been stifled at other companies, who wanted to be respected, to have their novel notions seriously considered, and to feel important. We soon had capacity employment, and a waiting list developed for potential employees. Indeed, they liked it here—not for superior pay, for our scale was standard, but for the feeling of worth as individuals they experienced here. In return they gave us their best effort, and in an amazingly brief time the benefits accrued.

Of course, I am oversimplifying here; there were endless details to cover and continuing minor crises to accommodate, and the process took years. But Spirit ran the Tyrancy while I made spot appearances as Tyrant, and Amber was the appropriate contrast to the stresses of company and Tyrancy management, being a completely malleable young woman who lived only to please me. It may be unkind to say it, but had my other lives been anything other than hectic, I would soon have gotten bored with Amber. But as it was, she represented a calm haven and constant sop to my aging masculine ego, and I found I could live with that. Oh, true, at times I dreamed of the glories of my past life, when Helse had initiated me into the magic realms of sex and love, when Emerald had managed my Navy career toward the apex, and when fiery Roulette had dazzled me... as perhaps she still did. But I knew I was no longer fifteen, or twenty-two, or thirty; I was passing my mid-fifties, and physically and sexually I was not the man I had been. Emotionally and intellectually I remained viable, I trusted. The proof of my current manhood was in the progress of the company—and that was part of the progress of the Tyrancy.

But at this stage that proof was far from apparent. When I was about a year into my presidency of the company, a significant event occurred, though I was not to appreciate just how significant for another year. My business took me to the great city of Cago, in the State of Prairie, a center for the food industry. I had a peripheral interest in food production, a matter I shall go into in due course. I was traveling as Jose Garcia, of course; it would hardly have been feasible as Tyrant.

I had just about concluded my business when the trouble started. I was departing the mayor's office, having taken care of some paperwork, and saw that a demonstration was in progress. Curious, I joined the throng in the main hall to watch. The demonstrators were mostly young, and a number of them—perhaps the majority—were female. They held placards proclaiming, GIVE US OUR BABIES and NIX ON NULL-POP!

Now I understood. These were the first people who felt the onus of the population control measure now in force. I knew that it was necessary to halt the exploding population of the System, and that the United States of Jupiter could not dictate population control to the other nations of the planet; we had to set the example ourselves. That was working, but at this stage, the benefits were less apparent than the sacrifice. The festering slum-cities of RedSpot, the result of overpopulation that depleted its resources, seemed far away, while the denial of babies to the families of Cago seemed immediate. Naturally they felt it keenly. I understood this, but, of course, the policy could not be changed until planetary growth had been gotten under control. So the young would-be mothers marched in protest, and they certainly looked ready to reproduce. As Tyrant I knew why this had to be, but as Garcia, I had sympathy for their cause.

I knew that such demonstrations had been increasing, for as women grew older, their chances of bearing healthy children diminished, and their desperation increased. The ban on babies would be lifted in due course, but for some women, that would be too late. The situation had been especially serious here in Cago; I had been warned of this before I traveled here, but that had not dissuaded me from getting my business done. There had been some un-pretty episodes.

There was one today. As I watched, a quite comely young woman strode to the entrance to the mayor's complex, carrying a suitcase. The police guards at the entrance watched, evidently more interested in her appearance than her message.

The woman stood before the entrance, set down her case, and removed her blouse. One guard had taken a step, about to escort her away from the region, but stopped. What man would interfere with a beautiful woman in the process of disrobing before him?

Disrobe she did. In moments she stood gloriously naked. Then she stretched out her arms. "What use is this body to me if I cannot have my baby?" she cried. Then she bent to touch a stud on the case.

"Watch out!" a guard cried. "That's a bomb!"

The guards charged, but the case had been activated. It flared, bathing the woman in intense light.

"No—that's an incendiary laser!" I exclaimed, starting forward myself.

All of us were too late. The woman shrieked as her skin was scorched from her body, a thin veil of smoke rising. Those lasers were used to incinerate garbage, eliminating the problem of collection and disposal; they were normally set at intervals in residential areas, for neighborhoods to use. This one had evidently been partially dismantled, its protective housing removed, so that it represented a danger to the user.

The woman fell, writhing. Her hair and much of her skin had been burned away, and she was dying in as painful a manner as was possible. The two guards stood over her body, appalled. So was I; I was sure that her medical expense limit had been used up, so that she would not be treated. She would certainly die, which was what she had intended.

"What a waste!" one grunted. "Body like that—"

"Pigs!" a woman in the crowd cried, and hurled a fruit.

The guard whirled, drawing his sidearm. His laser flashed, and someone in the crowd screamed.

I did not see much more than that, for I was making a hasty retreat. I knew that real trouble was about to flare, and for my own safety I wanted to win clear of it while that was possible.

For a while I wasn't sure of that possibility. The immolation had electrified the crowd, and the lasering of a demonstrator had galvanized it to action. All manner of objects were flying at the mayor's office now: vegetables, shoes, coins, and even feces.

More guards rushed out of the office complex, lasers drawn. More beams were fired, and there were more screams amid the crowd. I ducked low, knowing that anything could happen, while the missiles and beams crossed over me. I found myself beside a young woman, a demonstrator, who had similar sense. "Oh, this is getting out of hand!" she exclaimed. "There'll be the Tyrant to pay!"

Interesting figure of speech. "Would the Tyrant really get involved?" I asked. "This seems to be focusing on the mayor."

"The Tyrant would do anything," she said darkly. "The mayor couldn't stay in power a moment if the Tyrant didn't back him."

I pondered that as the mayhem increased. It was no longer feasible to retreat; the throng was surging angrily forward, growing as it came. We remained huddled in an alcove. I, in my guise as Tyrant, had not favored the Mayor of Cago, though he was of my party; I regarded him as a regressionary force and perhaps a racist. But his power was solidly entrenched, and I had had plenty of problems to keep me busy without seeking new ones. Thus Cago had been relatively untouched by the Tyrancy; its local political machine remained intact. Only Tyrancy programs like population control affected the natives here directly. It was a program the mayor supported, however, so evidently he had become the symbol of its implementation here. The Tyrant was a more distant figure, therefore less objectionable. An interesting perspective.

But now, as I observed the viciousness with which the police of Cago pitched in to the fray, it occurred to me that the population measure might be only an incidental symbol of a greater grudge. I had known that the mayor kept a tight rein on his domain, running the city mainly to please himself. Apparently direct force was the principal component of this control. Those lasers were dangerous, even if set at nonlethal intensity.

A beam seared into the wall above my head, gouging a channel. Nonlethal? That was kill-focus!

The incident had become a pitched battle. The broad hall was now jammed with people, most of them plowing determinedly forward. There were bodies on the floor, but far too many living people for a few police with lasers to stop. The throng surged on, overrunning the police, and I heard the cursing and thudding as fists and feet pounded the downed men. This crowd was now more than angry, it was vicious!

Then they were crowding into the office complex, whence new screams sounded. "They're raiding the mayor's staff!" I exclaimed.

"We hate the mayor and all he stands for," the woman said. "It's a den of thieves."

Evidently so! Now the throng in the hall was thinning as it drained into the office complex, and we were able to stand. "This isn't over," the woman said darkly. "I never meant to get involved in violence. I'm going home."

"And I'm going back to the airport," I agreed. "Nice meeting you, Miss—"

"Mrs.," she said. "Culver. My husband didn't want me to get involved in the demonstration; now I know why!" She glanced at my good clothing. "And you are—?"

"Jose Garcia," I said, expecting her to forget the name as soon as she heard it.

I was disappointed. "Garcia!" she exclaimed. "The Garcia?"

"Uh, I don't know how many there are—"

"Jup Bub? The good employer?"

"Yes, I am with—"

"Oh, you must come and meet my husband!" she said. "He's always admired your style."

"I'm just trying to run the company properly," I protested. But she was hauling me on, and it seemed easiest to follow. At least it would get us clear of this region of riot.

As we reached her cell the news was being broadcast: A mob had taken over the mayor's office and was holding him and his staff hostage for city reforms, starting with the Pop-Null program. That was wrongheaded, I knew, but how was one to reason with a mob?

Mr. Culver was indeed happy to make my acquaintance. It seemed that I had become something of a hero to the working class in the year I had been running Jupiter Bubble. I had not realized this and was flattered. It had been some time since my days as a rising Hispanic politician, honored by the masses, and I enjoyed the return of this role. In the persona of Jose Garcia I had returned to the essence of Hope Hubris.

But events proceeded inexorably onward. The mayor had sent out a distress call, and it seemed that the Tyrant was indeed answering. I was sure it was Spirit at the helm, operating in my name as always. But I discovered that firm action did not appear the same from the worm's-eye view I now had, as it did from above.

Because the mob had threatened to murder the mayor and his staff if any attempt were made to rescue him, and because it had the power and evident incentive to do it, the Tyrancy acted indirectly. A valve was opened in the hull of the city-bubble, and the Jupiter atmosphere started leaking in. It would take some time for the pressure to rise significantly, but there was horror the moment this was announced. The pressure of the external atmosphere was a terror, and any break in the integrity of the hull was alarming. The valve was filtered, so that no actual poisons entered, but still, the threat was potent.

"The valve will be closed when the mayor of Cago and his staff are released unharmed and the offices vacated without vandalism," the Navy officer in charge of this proceeding announced on the city-address system.

"I knew there'd be the Tyrant to pay!" Mrs. Culver wailed. "He stands behind his own."

This bothered me. Of course, the Tyrancy had to support the mayor, but this was nothing personal. Privately I would have preferred to be rid of the mayor. I disliked being in the position of brutalizing an entire city to save this brutal mayor's hide. But what could I say?

"This has gone too far," Mr. Culver said. "That mob will never give over—and neither will the Tyrant. We'll all pay for this foolishness—and for what? For opposition to a policy we know in our hearts is necessary."

I was getting to like this man.

His wife was subdued. "You're right, of course. There's nothing I want so much as having our baby, but riot and murder isn't the way! We've got to get out of this somehow."

Easier said than done. Hard on the news of the valve came the news of the city's reaction. Angry workers attempted to storm the valve—and were mowed down by the disciplined lasers of the Navy troops. There was no bluffing here; they were shooting to kill. After fifteen were dead the attack abated, but the city as a whole was twice as fearful and angry. I was wincing at all of it; this was being seriously mishandled. No further deaths had been necessary, and it was doubly unfortunate that they were occurring in the name of the Tyrancy. But what could I do from this vantage?

"Maybe a negotiator," I suggested. "Someone that both parties would listen to, who could work for a compromise. If you contact the Arbiters Guild—"

"Those deals are fixed," Mr. Culver said flatly. "We've been screwed before."

Oh? That would be something for the Tyrancy to look into! "Well, some public figure, perhaps, who—"

"Like the president of Jup Bub!" he finished, though that had not been my notion. "You'll do it, won't you, sir? You understand the needs of the working man, and you rank high enough, so maybe the Tyrant would listen to you!"

"I, uh..." I said, for the moment overwhelmed by this development.

The woman took my hand. "You will, won't you, Mr. Garcia?" she beseeched.

What choice was there? I did, in a guise they didn't know of, have a certain responsibility in this matter, and I probably could do something, both because of my talent with people and because my sister Spirit would surely recognize me. "It is difficult to deny a beautiful woman," I said.

She flung her arms around me and kissed me. I suppose no matter how many women a man knows, that particular type of thrill never abates.

Thus I found myself approaching the mayor's office, where he was being held hostage. The mob leaders were glad to see me, now that they were aware of my identity and mission. I sensed immediately that they had gotten themselves into more than they cared for but were riding the tiger and couldn't get off.

"Give me an open public line to the Tyrant," I said. "I will try to achieve a compromise settlement."

The mob leaders acquiesced. Jose Garcia was indeed a man they respected, as the Tyrant was not. Of course, they had little to lose; if I could not strike a fair bargain, I could become their hostage too.

The mayor's screen illuminated, and in a moment the White Bubble was on the line. The mayor's secretary had been released for this duty; the mayor remained bound and looked somewhat the worse for wear.

"I am Jose Garcia, of Jupiter Bubble," I said. "May I speak to the Tyrant, please?"

The secretary at the other end kept a straight face. Of course, the average citizen could not call in and be put right through to the Tyrant! "One moment, sir; I will put his secretary on."

Shelia appeared. She, too, kept a straight face, but I knew she recognized me. "I am Jose Garcia," I repeated. "I have been selected to negotiate for the City of Cago, and if I could perhaps talk to the Tyrant—"

"The Tyrant is not available at the moment," Shelia said smoothly. "But if you will describe your business further, Mr. Garcia, I will try to determine whether a direct interview is warranted."

Of course, the Tyrant was unavailable! But I had a role to play. "Señora, this is important. Twenty people have died, the mayor is held hostage, and the city is under siege by order of the Tyrant. I must talk to him directly!"

"Hey, don't push your luck," one of the mob leaders whispered to me. "You aggravate the Tyrant, he'll send a ship to blast us all out of the atmosphere!"

What kind of a reputation did I have? But Shelia was responding: "We are aware of the situation in Cago, Mr. Garcia. We did not know that you were there, but if you are in a position to negotiate, I can relay your statement to the Tyrant."

I became visibly excited. "People are dying here!" I repeated. "The mayor and his staff are hostage, and they will be killed if something is not done. If the Tyrant cares at all for the common man, as I do..."

Shelia didn't respond immediately, taking stock. "Let me check," she said. She spoke inaudibly into her intercom. Then: "The Tyrant is tied up in a meeting he cannot leave at the moment, but he is cognizant of the situation in Cago and will negotiate privately through me, if it can be kept brief. Will your party accede to that, Mr. Garcia?"

I turned to the mob leaders. "This is the Tyrant's personal secretary," I said. "I believe she knows almost everything the Tyrant knows, and she has his ear at the moment. I think we can trust what she says. Is it satisfactory to deal through her?"

The mob leaders exchanged glances. "We care only about results," one said, and the others agreed. "If she can deliver—"

"The trouble started because of the Pop-Null program," I said to Shelia. "The women here want their babies."

"If they get their babies," she replied, "then every other woman on the planet will want hers, and all the ills of overpopulation will return. The Tyrant will not relent on that."

Indeed he would not! But there were avenues for compromise. "We know that babies will have to return, or the species will end," I said. "Can the schedule for return be established, so that at least our women know with what they are dealing? As I recall, the women supported the Tyrant when he sought power, and some reciprocal gesture now—"

Shelia consulted with her other party, whom I suspected was Spirit. The schedule for the return of babies had already been set but not announced, pending the appropriate time to announce it. This seemed to be that time.

"The Tyrant agrees that in one year, pending good behavior, permits matching the death rate will be issued in Cago. In two years that will be extended to the nation as a whole."

I heard an intake of breath. Suddenly there was news of the schedule of the restoration of births! Surely the women of Cago would eagerly accept that. We had planned to start it in certain major cities, then expand a year later. But I pushed for more. "There have been deaths here, because of the overreaction of the mayor's police and the murders at the valve. Those police must be put on trial and restoration made." I saw the mob members tense; I had already gotten them much of what they wanted, and they were concerned that I was pushing too far.

"The Tyrant will grant permits for births to match the number of deaths resulting from this crisis," Shelia replied. "An investigation will be made into the incident and appropriate action taken. That is as far as the Tyrant will go."

I knew the mob leaders would accept this. "But how can we be sure the Tyrant will keep his word?" I demanded.

"We accept!" a mob leader cried, shouldering me aside.

"But no action to be taken against the people in this room!" I exclaimed. "Amnesty—"

Shelia smiled. "Amnesty," she agreed. "But I think if you open your mouth again, Mr. Garcia, the Tyrant may reconsider."

"Agreed!" another mob leader cried, hauling me back. They had had to act to prevent me from throwing away all that I had gained, for the Tyrant was known to be mercurial when challenged. But they were vastly relieved and pleased.

That ended the occupation of the mayor's office. The mob dispersed peacefully, and the valve was closed. The mayor was suspended from office, pending the completion of the investigation; no action was taken against the known mob members, and twenty birth permits were issued to the women of the city. Those at the head of the "eligible" roster would profit. And Jose Garcia was a hero.

Yet soon after my success as a popular figure came a personal tragedy. It started, for me, with an article by Thorley. In it he set forth the suggestion that a member of the Tyrant's cabinet had been corrupted by a person of the opposite sex and that funds for that department were being abused. "Does the Tyrant know?" he asked rhetorically. "If so, why doesn't he act?"

Now, this was fighting language. Shelia showed me the column and awaited my reaction. I read it with anger. All my cabinet members were good people, dedicated to their jobs; I knew I had not misjudged any. Yet Thorley was not a man to manufacture charges from air. "We'll deal with this openly," I snapped. "Issue a news release: my challenge to Thorley to name the cabinet member."

"Are you sure that's wise, sir?" she asked. "If the name becomes public, you could be placed in an awkward position."

I should have paid closer attention to the warning, but I was in the office only briefly, about to return to my role as Garcia. "I don't believe there is anyone," I said. "But if there is, I'll deal with it openly. The Tyrancy may not be popular right now, but we cannot afford to have any suggestion of scandal touch it."

"As you wish, sir," she agreed.

In due course the challenge was published, and thereafter Thorley named the member. It was my sister Faith.

Now I wished I had listened to Shelia! It had not occurred to me that the suspect would be a family member. Certainly I would have preferred to handle this quietly. But I was stuck with an open situation.

I talked to Spirit, as I also should have done before. "What's going on here?"

"It seems to be true," she said. "A handsome and poised man has been courting her for influence. She meant well, but he was recommending corrupt cronies, and she has authorized their appointments. I don't believe she suspected, but she should have. She's blinded by love."

Faith—once the most beautiful of young Hispanic women, then the plaything of pirates, finally a respected member of my cabinet. She had enormous support among the masses, for she had truly labored for the welfare of the poor and had accomplished many excellent reforms. But this was scandal, and now I had to act.

I summoned my sister. When she appeared at the White Bubble, I was struck by her elegance. In her mid-fifties, she was a handsome woman, and her dedication to her position enhanced the aura of class. It was hard to believe that she had gotten involved in this sordid thing.

"Is the charge true?" I asked, and knew that it was; her reaction betrayed her.

She spread her hands. "I love him, Hope."

"He has interfered with the Tyrancy," I said. "An example must be set."

She gazed at me and turned away. That hurt me; I wish she had protested in some more obvious way.

We arrested the man and put him on public trial within days. We suspended Faith from her office. I hated this, but it had to be done.

There was no question of the man's guilt. The facts came out quite clearly. All of the suspect appointments were nulled, and the man was sent to labor in space.

And Faith was found in her Ami apartment, dead. She had taken a euthanasia pill.

Now the storm broke in earnest. For the condemnation of the man there was applause, but for the fate of Faith there was horror. Demonstrators marched and not only in Ami. WHY DID FAITH HUBRIS DIE? the banners demanded.

The answer I remember best is the one made by Jose Garcia. In that guise I was known as an ardent supporter of the common man, so I was one of the ones the media sought for comment. "I believe she died because the Tyrant lost track of basic human nature," I said, expressing the recriminations of the Tyrant far more accurately than they knew. "He has become insensitive to the feelings of others, including his closest family members. He failed to realize how seriously his sister would take the scandal and the destruction of the man she loved. He should have handled this matter privately, allowing her to retire and to join her lover in exile if she chose. Perhaps this is a reflection of his isolation from the passions and needs of the common folk. I'm sure he is extremely sorry now."

"Now that the damage has been done?" a reporter asked, and I nodded affirmatively.

"Do you believe that the Tyrant is losing control and perhaps should be deposed?" another pressed.

Now, that was a leading question, well worth avoiding. But in my mood of grief and regret I stepped into it. "Sometimes I think so," I agreed.

It was not long after that that the Resistance contacted Jose Garcia. "Do you believe that the Tyrancy should be ended?" an anonymous visitor asked.

I controlled my reaction. The Resistance had been bedeviling the Tyrancy increasingly. This was a nonviolent movement that spread ideas rather than physical mischief; it seemed to have no organization, which made it almost impossible to uproot. It supported the return of Jupiter to democracy without reversing all the reforms made by the Tyrancy. The problem with that notion was that every out-of-power movement espouses lofty ideals, but few retain those ideals when they achieve power. I was sure that it would not be safe to give over the reins until the reforms were complete. But it didn't necessarily appear that way to the common man. Thus the Resistance was dangerous, and we needed to be rid of it but had no handle on it.

I realized that Jose Garcia might represent that handle. If he joined the Resistance and worked his way into the confidence of its leaders, this could be the key to an important success.

But it disturbed me deeply to think that it had taken the death of my sister to open this particular avenue. Certainly, if I could have traveled back in time and replayed that matter, I would have acted to protect Faith. I had indeed neglected her; I had hardly paid attention to her in the past two years. Now, too late, I thought about her constantly.

I think, in retrospect, that this was the true beginning of my madness. Something had snapped in me, and it could never quite be mended. Perhaps Faith's demise only foreshadowed my own. But this was not apparent at the time, and indeed my grief gradually diminished in intensity and faded into the background, so that I was not aware of the change that was occurring in me.

So I answered that I did have some question about the Tyrancy but did support many of its reforms, so was not ready to commit myself to any rash course. After all, I reminded my querant, I owed much to the Tyrancy; it had put me in charge of a major company and allowed me to reorganize it to my satisfaction.

That, it seemed, was the correct answer. The Resistance was not looking for rabid partisans but for thoughtful, concerned citizens who had sensible doubts about the Tyrancy. I certainly fitted that description at the moment.

Thus I became a revolutionary. But this was only the beginning and really did not intrude on my life. Later that was to change, but only gradually, so that most of my life was unchanged.

 

My promise to balance the budget had seemed a mockery in the early years, as the deficits became greater than ever before. But as the company improved, became competitive, and then was the leader in Bubble technology, and other companies emulated our methods in order to become competitive with us, what had been a financial liability became a financial asset. Jupiter industry began contributing massively to the health of Jupiter society. Similarly the reduction in medical expenses helped, and the population control program, spreading to RedSpot and other Latin Jupiter nations so that their population pressure was easing in the same fashion ours was. Already the reduction in illegal immigration was measurable, and the related expenses were dropping proportionately. The Tyrancy might be condemned for the cutoff of procreation, but the job was being accomplished. And you know, as the economic situation improved, so did the attitude of the citizens. When the Tyrancy was two years old, I was being lasered in effigy in every major city; by the time it was five years old, I was being accepted as a necessary evil, and when it was eight years old, I was being hailed as an economic genius. Of course, by that time the antidote to the sterilizing agent in the food was being made available to just about anyone who asked for it, and babies were being born again, to families whose situations were secure. The hardships of the immediate past seemed to be forgotten. Contrary to popular belief, popular memory is short, and the conditions of the present color the public impression of both past and future.

I won't say that everything was wonderful, just that we had at last balanced the budget and were now retiring the planetary debt at a significant rate. Jupiter had again become the economic and social leader of the System. Buoyed by this, the people tended to overlook the remaining problems, such as the persistent illicit drug trade and the inability to fit every citizen in the job he most wanted. But we were working on these too.

Let me just give one example, the one that pleases me most, perhaps because it can be indirectly traced to my own management policy at Jupiter Bubble. I had set up task forces to explore new notions and develop them if that proved feasible. Some of these cost the company a good deal of money, because not every bright new notion makes sense, but that is only evident after it has been tried. Some merely wasted time. But some few did pan out, and these made up for all the rest.

One of our executives, Caspar Yonner, had transferred in from the Jupiter Fungus Company—known colloquially as Jupfun—and he had fungus on the brain. He had had a notion to develop a strain of fungus that would grow outside a bubble, directly in the atmosphere. Naturally that nonsense had not been tolerated there, but naturally we had considered it more carefully. It did sound scatterbrained, but the potential reward was so great that we decided to take the risk.

You see, much of our food is bacterial in nature. It is relatively inefficient to grow grains and vegetables, and colossally inefficient to grow animals for slaughter. But the right kind of fungoid cultures, yeasts, or bacteria can generate an enormous amount of protein in a very short time, to just about any specification. From the vats emerged imitation animal flesh of many flavors, nutritious and inexpensive, and this was shaped into steaks or bacon or chicken legs to supplement the plant-derived food. Thus the fungus industry was one of the vital ones, which was why the Tyrancy had nationalized one of the inefficient fungus companies. It had floundered under our tutelage in the usual fashion, losing its best personnel. We had hired Yonner because his credits were good.

Culturing bacteria was a tricky business, because the cultures propagated extremely rapidly and mutated often. The solar radiation seemed to be mostly responsible. If a single cell were mutated, remained viable, and bred true to its modification, in a single day we could have a thousand tons of pseudo-vanilla pudding that looked and smelled like rotten eggs, and tasted worse. In such event, about the only thing to be done was to flush out the bubble to kill off the mutated strain, repressure, flood it with saprophytic agents to digest the refuse, and start over. Yonner had been this route several times and had noticed that sometimes the mutated culture returned in the same form in the replacement batch. Either a similar mutation had occurred, which was highly unlikely, or somehow one or more spores had survived the depressurization.

Actually the terminology is deceptive. Originally the farm bubbles were all in space, orbiting beyond the Jupiter atmosphere, so that opening a lock meant depressurization. But in this case the bubble had been in-atmosphere, just below the residential level, where the pressure was about six bars and the temperature slightly higher than Earth-norm. So despite the term, it was actually pressurization that occurred, as the hostile gas of Jupiter squeezed in to stifle the living organisms. Then, when it was pumped back out, it flushed out the dead material with it. Except that it seemed that not all of it was quite dead.

Yonner had reasoned that if some spores could survive depressurization, they might be selected to grow and replicate in it. That could lead to atmospheric farming, dispensing with the need for agricultural bubbles. Perhaps a current of fungus could be developed that could be harvested. That could lead to a virtually infinite supply—solving much of the food problem of the planet.

Of course, there were cautions. We didn't want to pollute the Jupiter atmosphere. It was uncertain whether fungus could propagate in the atmosphere, or whether such a strain would be edible, or whether such a harvest was feasible. So we let Yonner study it. For three years he and his team researched and experimented and struggled, trying strain after strain in special capsules of Jupiter atmosphere at different pressures. The expense mounted. But this was Jupiter Bubble; we knew the atmosphere could be harvested for inorganic material, so we were more tolerant of a notion about organic material than his original company was.

And suddenly he had it. He found a strain that would flourish at the conditions extant in the cloud layer just above the inhabited zone. Water, pressure, temperature—the lab tests proved that it was feasible, and it was an edible variety. Its tolerance was limited; it could not survive beyond that fairly narrow range, so could not spread out of control. It looked very good.

Now, in an ordinary government it would have required decades of bureaucratic consideration before such an experiment was permitted. But I studied the data, consulted with the experts available to the Tyrancy, and concluded that the potential benefit outweighed the potential risk. So when Yonner put in his petition for approval, it was granted immediately by the supposedly distant Tyrant.

It worked. The strain of fungus propagated phenomenally well, suffusing the swirling clouds, and in a matter of months the first harvest was possible. It didn't amount to much, for as yet the spores were spread very thinly, but it proved it could be done. Within a year there were commercially viable harvests, and thereafter it became something very like a cornucopia: seemingly unlimited protein from the clouds. We had solved the problem of food for the hungry masses of the System.

I think this would be about as nice a note on my place in history as any. True, I was a tyrant; true, I authorized the demise of many old folk, facilitated the suicide of those of any age, and prevented the birth of many babies. But true, also, that the system I set up, and the specific company I reorganized, may have done more good for humanity than any other. If this doesn't justify me, then I don't know what does.

But meanwhile the Tyrant was not exactly idle. We had had continuing trouble with the importation of illicit drugs, despite the clinics. There were some that were simply too dangerous to tolerate, so were not provided by our clinics, and these were becoming big business. Unable to persuade a certain Latin government to take serious steps against the producers and exporters of the most serious of these drugs, we took firmer action: we invaded.

It was an almost surgical measure. The other Latin governments, in debt to us and dependent on us for much of their food and other key supplies, sat tight. In a month the target nation was ours.

Using the enormous leverage of our external farming expertise, we prevailed on other governments to make increasingly binding commitments to us, until all of Jupiter represented a sphere of cooperation. Officially all the original separate nations remained, but in practice they had become vassal states. But their poor were no longer starving, and their populations were under control. Certainly there was muttering about the Tyrant of Jupiter, but I think there was also an underlying acquiescence because, of course, the Tyrant was Hispanic. Competent and honest administrators replaced the corrupt ones who had governed before, and the lot of the average citizen improved.

Of course, I may not be objective about this. It will be for history to say whether my realm was benign, like that of Asoka. But I did the best I could. So though my madness was developing like hidden cancer within me, the Tyrancy itself, organized by more stable minds, was good.