Chapter 6 — AMBER

The next two years saw significant developments in both the planetary and personal schemes. I don't want to dwell unduly on matters that are already a matter of public record, so I will skim somewhat, touching mostly on what is not in that record. I want the story of the Tyrancy to be complete, and I have no certainty that those who survive me will care to make it so.

I think it was about ten hours later when Ebony woke us. "The Saturn ship's pulling in," she said, touching my shoulder.

"Go away," I mumbled, turning my face away.

She had been with me for over fifteen years. She knew what to do. "Get up, Tyrant, or I'll haul you off that bed."

When I did not respond, she took hold of my chest and turned me over, rolling me toward the edge of the bed. I grabbed her and hauled her down into me. "You sleep too."

Captive, she moved one hand to my rib cage and tickled me. "No fair!" I cried, and wrestled her into place for a kiss.

Ebony was no beautiful woman, but she knew how to kiss. I realized immediately that I was getting into more than was feasible. She, like Shelia and Coral, was ready to take me as far as I cared to go. But I could not afford to go there at the moment; I had business coming up. So I broke without comment, but I squeezed her shoulder briefly by way of saying "Another time." I don't know whether those who don't know me personally will understand about this. Helse introduced me to the joys of sex, and the Navy had introduced me to the advantage of doing it with any woman handy. I had been a long time away from both Helse and the Navy, but the old reflexes were returning readily enough. My staff understood me; not one of the girls had touched me while I remained with Megan, but they regarded it as open season now. I am sure that none of them ever spoke to any outside party of what passed privately between us; it was, as it were, all in the family. In this context it was Ebony's turn. When convenient.

I got up. Coral had gotten up during the scuffle, not interfering. The girls never interfered with each other; they meshed perfectly. It was comfortable being with them, and this helped me considerably in those early days of my separation from Megan.

In due course Spirit and I, both cleaned and changed, boarded the Saturn shuttle ship. I wore a voluminous, flowing cape that someone had deemed to be the fitting attire for a Tyrant making a call of State. It might seem strange to have the leader of Jupiter so blithely step into the power of Saturn, without even his bodyguard, but, of course, I knew Khukov personally, and the whole of the Solar System was hostage to our understanding. I was as safe as I could possibly be, here.

We relaxed and had an excellent meal served by a comely hostess who spoke English. The personnel were uniformly courteous, though they did not speak English. We were permitted free run of the ship.

"Where would you put it?" I asked Spirit in Spanish.

"Officer's dayroom," she replied.

I nodded. We rose from our completed meal, went to the region reserved for the ship's captain, and knocked on the bulkhead. In a moment it slid open, and we entered.

Inside stood a pool table, and beyond the table stood Admiral Khukov, cue in hand. Without a word I took another cue, oriented on the table, and took the first shot. Spirit took a seat in a comfortable chair and watched. No one seemed surprised; this was the only way a truly private meeting could be arranged.

We played, and he beat me handily. "Ah, Hope, you are out of shape!" he said in Spanish.

"Tyrants don't get much practice in the important things, Mikhail," I agreed in Russian. We smiled at each other; obviously our conversation was private, for he would never have betrayed his knowledge of my language to others. My response showed that I understood, for no one aside from my sister knew that I spoke Russian. We had taught each other when we both served on Ganymede. It was one of the private understandings we had.

We continued playing. Now we spoke in English, so Spirit could understand. "There will be the usual apparatus, every word and gesture recorded and analyzed from the moment you board the flagship. Speak no secrets there."

"My brain is not out of shape, Admiral!"

"When your wife cried 'For the love of God!' and you turned away, Karzhinov knew that nothing would turn the madman aside. He faced the gulf of the holocaust, and his mind broke. We of Saturn know the nature of war on our soil; we fear it deeply. He will retire; his successor is not yet known."

So my ploy had been successful! I prayed that never again would I have to hurt Megan that way. "We, too, know the meaning of losses," I said, remembering the destruction of my family in space.

"Yet our two planets proceed to ever greater military effort," he said. "We can destroy Jupiter nine times over, and you can destroy Saturn ten times over, but there is no end to the race of new weapons."

"Madness," I agreed.

"Madness," he echoed.

We gazed at each other, each perceiving the pain of the past and fear for the future in the other. No, we did not want this!

"Two scorpions in a bottle," I said.

He smiled briefly. "Would that they were male and female!"

"Yet perhaps..."

"Is it possible?"

There was a period of silence. Then I changed the subject. "Shouldn't you be there, not here?" I asked.

"First I must negotiate a significant agreement, to show that I alone can defuse the crisis."

"What do you need?"

"Your dance with the premier of Ganymede is very pretty."

"This would be more difficult at light-hours range."

"Yet the game can be played with caution. I cannot say precisely what moves I will need to make, but if the madman responds only to me..."

I nodded. "And thereafter?"

"What would you have, Hope?"

I glanced at Spirit. "Disarmament," she said.

He grimaced. "Of course. But there is the People's Republic of South Saturn."

"Which has no significant navy," I countered. "It is the interplanetary threat that concerns us."

"And us!" he agreed. "We do not desire destruction, but we have had no trust."

"Until now, Mikhail."

"Until now," he agreed. "Yet it must be gradual. First a hold, then failure to replace aging craft."

"Agreed."

We reached across the table and shook hands.

"I have a gift for you," he said after a moment.

"We did not come prepared for the exchange of gifts," I protested.

"You give me the power, that is enough. Accept my token with the assurance that there is no harm in it and certain hidden values."

I shrugged. "Of course."

"And for the formal meeting: only a truce and token withdrawal. My present authority is more limited than yours, Tyrant."

"Understood."

We played several more games, and I began to give him more of a challenge. Then we had to leave, so that there would be no suspicion. As I had suspected, not even the crew of the shuttle knew that the admiral was aboard.

In due course the shuttle docked at the flagship, and we were ceremonially ushered aboard. We met under the cameras with Khukov, using translators, he addressing us in Russian, I responding in Spanish. We both talked tough but agreed to a temporary truce while Chairman Karzhinov considered his retirement. My words were reasonable, but there was a certain glimmer of madness in my expression, and Spirit cautioned me more than once, quietly, as if fearing that I was about to be set off. The Saturn officers present affected unconcern, but they noticed. Yet I responded fairly well to Admiral Khukov's direct attention; it was evident that he had a superior touch. This was hardly surprising; it was that touch that had brought him to his present level of power—and would take him that one step beyond. Saturn was safer when his hand was at the helm, especially when dealing with the lunatic Tyrant.

Thus the official meeting was perfunctory but satisfactory. It was obvious that the admiral and the Tyrant distrusted each other but were ready to deal. What would count would be the success of those dealings.

Khukov formally introduced me to his aide, another admiral, who would be in charge of the Saturn Jupiter-sphere fleet during Khukov's absence. "Speak to him as you would to me," he said, flashing a caution signal by his body language that only he and I could read. "He converses in both our languages, Russian and English, and is empowered to act without delay."

So the other admiral could push the button if attacked but did not speak Spanish. He was surely competent, for Khukov knew his personnel as I knew mine. Indeed, as I shook his hand, I felt his power as a person. This was one good, tough, honest man who would not act carelessly.

As we prepared to depart the flagship Khukov held me one more moment. "Tyrant, allow me to present you with a token of my esteem for you," he said in English.

A young girl, really a child of ten or eleven, approached. She held her left hand up. On the middle finger was a platinum ring, and mounted on the ring was a large amber gem. In fact, it was not merely the color of amber; it was amber itself.

I took the child's hand and peered at the amber. It was clear and finely formed, and deep inside it was embedded an insect—a termite. I smiled, taking this as a kind of little joke, for a termite is not a pretty bug. But I was aware of something else: the one whose hand I held was no ordinary child. There was a curious vacuity about her, a lack of human emotion and expression. Had she been lobotomized? No, to my perception her reflexes were normal, merely uninvoked. Mind-wash? Possibly.

"This is an interesting gift," I said, glancing up at Khukov. "But it becomes the girl, and I would hesitate to take it from her."

He smiled. "No need, Tyrant."

Spirit caught on. "The girl is the gift," she murmured.

"The girl!" I said, startled.

"As you say, it would not be kind to take her treasure from her," Khukov said. "I know you treat children well, Tyrant, and she is of your culture. You will find her interesting."

"But—"

"Thank you, Admiral Khukov," Spirit said firmly. "We shall see that she is properly treated. What is her name?"

"Amber," he replied, and at that, the girl's eyes widened and her head lifted in recognition.

"Come with us, Amber," Spirit said gently. The girl did not change expression, but she stepped toward Spirit. Evidently she understood.

So we returned to the shuttle and to Jupiter, bringing Amber with us. And strange was the avenue that acquiescence opened for me.

The first thing we noted was that Amber was mute. She understood what we said and responded to it, but she did not speak. We had our medical staff examine her and ascertained that she had no congenital or other inhibition; she could speak but simply did not.

The next thing we learned was that she was older than she seemed. Without her birth record we could not be sure, but physically she was about thirteen, not eleven. She seemed younger because she had not yet developed. This did not seem to be any artificial retardation, just natural variation. There had been a time, historically, when few girls developed before that age, but modern nutrition and care had reduced the age. Hopie had assumed the physical attributes of maturity by the age of twelve, for example. The intellectual and social attributes took longer to complete, but, of course, this could be a lifelong process, anyway. Amber was healthy, just a little slow. It was difficult to verify her intelligence nonverbally because she did not volunteer things. If, for example, a person told her to assemble the pieces of a simple plastic puzzle, she would do so but without any particular initiative. It was evident that she could do it faster, but she lacked the drive. Our conclusion was that she fell within the low-normal range. Certainly she was no genius.

Why had Khukov given her to me? I was sure he had not done so frivolously. He had to have had excellent reason. Members of my staff worried that it could be some kind of trap, that she carried poison or a weapon, but I did not accept that. First, there was no evidence of anything like that about her person; our personnel were sharp enough to catch anything potentially dangerous. Second, Khukov would not have done that. He didn't operate that way, and he had no motive. His own success depended on my cooperation, and he wanted me to remain in power. So whatever there was about Amber—and there definitely was something—it was no threat to me. He had said I would find her interesting; in that he was correct, merely because of the mystery of her. But there was more than mystery. He had had compelling reason to put her in my hands.

We set her up with Hopie, who had a room with Robertico. Hopie was entitled to a room of her own, but she was generous in this respect; she shared. Robertico was devoted to her and slept quietly when she was near. Amber, though only two years younger than Hopie—possibly only one year younger—was so obviously better off with company that it seemed best to move her in. The two of them became like sisters, and Robertico a baby brother.

Hopie found the riddle of Amber as intriguing as Spirit and I did. She talked with the girl, or rather to her, for Amber never responded in words. Hopie soon became a kind of translator for Amber, ascertaining her preferences and informing us of them. Amber liked Hispanic food and didn't care for sonic showers; she preferred to wash up with a damp cloth. She always wore the amber ring; the only time she became truly distressed was when the medics tried to remove it for examination. They had finally compromised by examining it on her hand, the radiation showing up her finger bones as well as the interior of the ring, and she had no objection. Hopie wanted to teach her to read, for she seemed not to know how, but Amber just stared blankly at the printed words. She was unable to relate to anything more technical than pictures.

Meanwhile, the crisis of Saturn abated. In accordance with the truce we pulled back our ships, which were oriented on Saturn, and they pulled back theirs, which were oriented on Jupiter. The fighting on Ganymede halted in place. Admiral Khukov returned to Saturn and worked his magic there, and in a fortnight he was formally announced as the new Chairman of the Council of Ministers, along with assorted other titles appropriate to the power base. Our Navy cooperated by showing evident respect for his prowess as a leader, retreating somewhat when he challenged and failing to do so when others did. Gradually the citizens of both planets resumed their breathing.

The formal arrangements were to spread out over some months, but the informal ones proceeded immediately. We dismantled our mock invasion of Ganymede, quietly returning our troops to their bases. The official death toll remained at just about twenty thousand gringos, but no list was published, "for reasons of security." The families of the men were satisfied to know that their particular loved ones were not on the list and did not inquire about the others. That was just as well, for, of course, there were no dead on either side.

Saturn abandoned its effort to corrupt Tanamo Base, and the premier of Ganymede retained his power. Trade, originally limited to sugar, gradually broadened; it again became possible and even acceptable to smoke Gany cigars. Of course, that market was small; the ancient habit of inhaling from burning tubes of tobacco had been banished for health reasons centuries before, and with the addictive compulsion gone, few bothered to draw on cigars merely for the taste. But symbolically it was important to Gany, and it was true that they had always made the best taste-only cigars.

The ongoing business of government socked back in the moment the crisis abated. First to reach me was Senator Stonebridge. He came armed with statistics and graphs, a bewildering array, but the essence was this: "Tyrant, the budget cannot possibly be balanced without a substantial reduction in spending," he informed me forcefully.

"What does the government of Jupiter spend most on?" I inquired with assumed naïveté.

"Well, that depends on your orientation. The social services—"

"I'll have to consult with my sister Faith before I approve any reduction there."

"Sir, your sister has grandiose aspirations for the eradication of poverty at the government's expense!"

"So I gather. What other categories?"

"The military. But, of course, no chances can be taken with planetary defense—"

"Suppose we were to put a freeze on all military spending?"

"You mean to hold the level at the current—"

"No. To stop spending for arms entirely."

He tried to laugh, but it didn't work. "Sir, in the face of the present System situation—"

"How much would it assist in the balancing of the budget?"

"But it is pointless to—under no circumstances could—"

"I have never seen you at a loss for figures before, Senator."

He coughed. "Assuming that other income and outlays remain constant, such a step would, on paper, achieve the objective. But—"

"Assume that Saturn is no further threat to Jupiter," I said. "What would interfere with a zero military budget?"

He came to grips with this problem. "Sir, there are existing contractual commitments that—"

"What commitments?"

"Orders for new weapons systems, research and development costs, maintenance—"

"Who made those commitments?"

"The government, of course! It—"

"The former government," I said firmly. "Today there is the Tyrancy. I have made no commitments for new weapons."

"But, sir, you cannot renege on it. It would devastate the credibility of—"

"I expect to make my own credibility. What would be the immediate consequence of a cancellation of all military commitments?"

He got canny. "Well, sir, a substantial portion relates to pensions and care for those disabled in action."

Ouch! I couldn't cut off payments to the wounded and retired! "Keep that portion," I said.

"And if the contracts with private enterprise are canceled, quite a substantial portion of Jupiter industry would be bankrupted. Those companies have made heavy investments—"

And the last thing I wanted was wholesale bankruptcy in our major industries. That would throw millions of people out of work and make twice the problem for Faith, as well as being a poor reflection on the Tyrant's ability to manage the economy. "Point made," I said. "It is not feasible at this moment to balance the budget by cutting off all military expense. But I do plan to cancel all new military projects, and that should result in a substantial and increasing savings over the years."

"But Saturn—"

"Let Admiral Khukov worry about his own planet. Meanwhile I will see what I can do to cut expenses elsewhere. My job is not done until I balance that budget."

He shook his head. "Even with the best of intentions and the most favorable developments, sir, it remains a Herculean task."

"Name another major expense."

"Well, there is the interest on the planetary debt, which itself is now contributing significantly to the deficit. If present trends continue—"

"Suppose we simply abolish the planetary debt?"

"Sir, you can't be serious!"

"Insane, perhaps, but serious. If thy debt offends thee, why not cut it off?"

"Because that debt is owed, ultimately, to our own citizens! The life savings of retirees are invested in planetary bonds—"

And to wipe out those life savings would make instant paupers of a major class of citizens and have Faith on my neck immediately. Also, there was the matter of keeping faith—no pun; Jupiter could not become known as a defaulter. So scratch one simplistic solution. "What are your suggestions?"

"Well, first there should be currency and tax reform. I believe that to abate inflation it would be wise to consider what is termed the gold standard."

"Which is?"

"To back all Jupiter currency with metal of value. Of course, that does not mean literal gold; there is not enough of that, and too much of it is in the possession of marginal or even hostile powers. But a so-called basket of metals, including especially iron—"

"But we need iron for fuel!" I protested.

"That, sir, is why its value is assured. Any currency pegged to iron will endure. It would become difficult or impossible to inflate the currency without backing, if all of it could be redeemed for specified metals of verified value. Historically the most stable periods have been when—"

"The gold standard," I agreed. "Set about it, Senator."

He was gratified; he was a hard money man, as the truest conservatives tended to be. "Now, about tax reform—"

"The flat tax," I said.

"Well, that would be too extreme. I was thinking of a modified—"

"Why?"

"The flat tax? Sir, the first consequence would be to reduce revenues at a time when—"

"But the level can be set anywhere, can't it? One rate for all, no exceptions, exclusions, or loopholes. Set at the point that would bring in the same revenue as now."

He took a breath. "Sir, I am not at all certain you would endorse some of the complications. For example, the people at the lowest end of the earnings spectrum would pay a proportionally greater portion of their income than they do today, while those at the top would save substantially. Since you tend to sympathize with the lower range—"

"What about a minimum wage that prevents them from suffering? So they actually receive the same amount, after tax, as now?"

"That would be effective in that instance, sir. But it would drastically increase the labor cost of industry, which would in effect be paying the added burden. Prices would have to rise, sometimes considerably."

I sighed. "There are no easy solutions, are there, Senator?"

"No easy solutions, sir," he agreed, smiling, I might be the Tyrant, but he was establishing his authority in his bailiwick. We would be balancing the budget his way. Actually, much of my experience as Tyrant was the process of discovering my formidable limitations; I could not simply say "Do this! Do that!" and have things happen magically. Every action had a consequence, and these consequences hemmed me in, so that my absolute power was far more apparent than real.

I went to Nyork to address an audience personally, as I am, of course, a politician and can't make as much of an impact when distanced from those I talk to. I knew that there was substantial concern about the nature of the newly installed Tyrancy and the recent Saturn crisis, and I simply wanted to reassure them with my human presence. Coral opposed it as a safety hazard, and so did the Secret Service guards, but I had always been a man of the people and needed this contact. After all, every member of that audience would be checked for weapons, and no known troublemakers would be admitted. I should be safe enough.

I was mistaken. From one of the floodlights a laser beam speared down. It scorched into the lectern where I was supposed to be standing. It had evidently been set long in advance and timed for the moment I took the floor. But I had been delayed a few seconds by a trifle—a child had begged for the touch of my hand, and like the vain creature I was, I had obliged—so I had approached the lectern late. The very precision of the trap's timing defeated it. Had it functioned late, it would have caught me. As it was, I felt the heat as the lectern scintillated in the beam and began to melt.

Then Coral's own laser caught the floodlight. It exploded, and the laser stopped.

I proceeded to my address as though nothing had happened, but I was shaken. Not so much by the attempt or its near success; I had faced death many times before and was somewhat fatalistic about it. But the seeming ease with which the assassin had bypassed all the efforts of my safety squad—that showed me how vulnerable I was. It was indeed dangerous for me to appear in public, even a friendly public.

My talk was a rousing success. Perhaps Spirit had arranged to pack the hall with my supporters; I didn't think to ask. But certainly they were with me and were reassured by my explanation of the Saturn crisis, now over, and my plans to balance the budget and improve the lot of every citizen of Jupiter.

But I realized that even if this audience were representative of the majority of citizens, I could not often risk such appearances. The majority would not assassinate me; the deadly minority would. This was the point at which it really came home to me that my old open ways were over; I would have to accept the increasing isolation that my bodyguards urged on me. They could not protect me from every devious threat that some fanatic with endless time and cunning devised. That floodlight, as it turned out, had been in place for a year; its original bulb had at some point been replaced by one containing the laser mechanism and timer. In the future the experts would check all bulbs, but there would be some other mechanism. I simply was not safe in public.

I had condemned President Tocsin, in part, because of his isolation from the public. I still condemned him, but now I had a trace more understanding. Isolation was not necessarily self-chosen.

Yet I hated to give up my public contact. My strength was in relating to people, and I felt deprived when I could not exercise it. I understood the pitfall of allowing myself to be surrounded by those I knew well; that was the true isolation. I had to be freshened by my constant input from the real planet.

I mentioned this to Spirit. "I am being channeled into the trap of inadequate feedback from the people," I said. "Yet, if I don't isolate myself, sooner or later an assassin will catch me. What can I do?"

"I face the same problem myself," she said. "I am now too public a figure to employ my male disguise. There have been more attempts on our lives than I have bothered you with; we are all hostage to our position."

So she—and my staff—had been shielding me from this ugly reality. Spirit had always been my strength in adversity. "There has to be an answer," I said.

She quirked a smile. "Go to Q."

To Q. She meant QYV, the secret organization that had first bedeviled, then assisted me. To Reba, the woman who was my sole contact with it. She had accepted my manuscript, sent the information about the sub, and let me know that my next contact should be personal.

I sighed. Like most women, Reba was smitten with me. Now that my marriage had fractured, they considered it to be open season on me. Most women did not have access to me, but Reba was one I needed. It was time to make that call.

"We shall hold the fort for a couple of hours," Spirit said, smiling knowingly.

"Here is the address, sir," Shelia said, handing me a slip of paper. The same smile tugged at her lips.

"I'd rather be with you," I murmured to her. The smile disappeared, replaced by a flush. Suddenly I felt guilty; that was not the kind of teasing to do.

Spirit summoned a Secret Service man who was about my size and complexion. "Take his suit," she told me. "Our makeup man will render you into his likeness. That will do for this."

The makeup man was good. He applied firming paste to my cheeks and color to my brows and did this and that to the rest of me, and when I stood beside the SS man before the mirror, we looked like twins. I practiced walking the way he did, and left, alone, to seek the address on the paper. Neither Coral nor the SS complement were happy about my exposure, but they had to allow it; I was, after all, the Tyrant.

I left the White Bubble in the SS shuttle. Theoretically I was either going off duty or was on some errand for the Tyrant, so no one paid attention. I debarked at a private access in New Wash Bubble and went my way. Of course, I was being tracked by other Secret Service men, so that I could be rescued if anything threatened, but I seemed to be alone. It was a good feeling; the tension of my office drained out of me, and I felt like an ordinary working man. It was wonderful.

I took a taxi to the address, for off-duty Secret Service men did not rate limo service. The cabbie zoomed expertly along the vehicle route, seeming at every moment to be about to collide with a wall or some other vehicle. I had almost forgotten the experience! Probably this was one of the lesser things that I was only now recalling, that had been deleted from my memory by my recent mem-wash. I loved it. Cabbies were like Navy drone pilots, in their fashion, careening around the system with hazardous expertise. I tipped him well, but not so well that he would remember me long, and approached the indicated door. It slid open at my approach, revealing a gloomy interior served by a moving belt. I stepped on, and the panel slid closed behind me.

The light went out, putting me in total darkness. The belt carried me into a chamber—I could tell by the sound and the feel of the air that it was of fair size—and deposited me in the center. Then I was seized by a field I remembered from thirty-five years before: pacifier. It did not hurt me, but it slowed me and robbed me of volition.

Hands came, catching my suit, drawing me forward. I moved as urged, as I had to when under pacifier influence. I wasn't pleased to be subjected to this, as I had come voluntarily to do this woman's limited bidding, but could not protest. It reminded me of the time when I was fifteen and pirates had used a pacifier on our refugee group and slain my father while I watched helplessly. But this was not that, I reminded myself. I knew by the touch that this was Reba, the woman I had come to see. She brought me to the end of a couch or bed and stopped me there. Still I could not see; the darkness was impenetrable.

Then she worked on my clothing. I did not resist. She drew off my jacket and shirt, and I moved my arms to assist, following the implied directives. She took down my trousers, and I lifted one foot and then the other, cooperating. In due course she had me naked, still standing. What did she have in mind? Evidently not ordinary sex.

Now her hands slid lightly across the skin of my body, my arms and chest and back. There are ways and ways to touch; this was expertly caressing. The fingers were slippery smooth, perhaps gloved in plastic, and slightly cool.

They moved on down my torso, brushing my belly and spine, down to cup my buttocks, down the backs of my legs to my feet, then up inside. They climbed to my private region and explored it, becoming ticklish. My body reacted, melding from flaccid to rigid, but I remained otherwise unmoving.

The hands returned to my upper structure, and their force increased. Now the fingers kneaded my flesh, squeezing the muscle of the arms, moving up to massage my shoulders. At this, too, they were expert; it felt very good. They worked over my neck, causing unsuspected tensions to ease. They traveled down my backbone, bearing relief of tightness. They kneaded my buttocks and my thigh muscles and my calves. They returned to work on my member, causing it, ironically, to harden further rather than soften.

Then the hands went to my shoulders, turned me around, and pushed abruptly. I fell backward, my legs catching on the edge of the bed, so that I landed bouncingly on my back, my feet remaining on the floor.

She took hold of one foot, moving it outward. Then the other, out, so that my knees were widely spread. Then the hands hauled on both legs, so that I had to slide down until my posterior almost overhung the edge. What did she have in mind? So far she had not spoken, and I had been able to see nothing; touch was the only communication.

Now she got on me, her naked body straddling mine, facing toward my spread knees. Her thighs dropped down outside mine, her feet remaining on the floor, so that she was able to stand in her fashion. She took my member and guided it, slowly settling down on it, until all her weight was on me and the connection was complete. Still I did not move, obeying her unstated directive. She required my body to play with in her fashion; she had it.

Those hands reached down, caressed that portion of my anatomy that remained exposed, then moved on. One finger slid to the aperture below and nudged and pushed, and, lubricated by something, entered. I felt very much as if I were a woman, being entered by a man, especially considering the intimate contact above that site. That member of hers drove to its full depth, then stroked an interior organ of mine and put pressure against it.

I had been accepting what was happening as if I were indifferent, also in the manner of a woman. I cannot say that I found the situation comfortable emotionally. But now, as that finger squeezed that organ, my system became urgent. I started to thrust, as well as I could in that awkward position.

She moved with me, rocking back and forth, her own anatomy clenching. That finger thrust harder, becoming uncomfortable, almost painful, compressing what it found. I tensed urgently, then fountained, that finger seeming to guide and enhance each spasm. I had thought I had experienced the ultimate intensity with Coral's tree; this was far beyond that, though not actually as pleasurable overall.

It subsided at last. Her finger came out, and her torso lifted, freeing me. In a moment a cloth washed off my anatomy. Then the hands tugged on me again, causing me to sit up, then stand, and they dressed me. When that process was complete, the hands pushed me forward. I stepped onto the moving belt, which now moved in the opposite direction, and was carried to the door panel. It opened, and I stepped out, blinking in the light, abruptly free of the pacifier field.

I had never even spoken to her, yet somehow I knew that she would take care of my need. She had, in a very direct manner, had her will of me; now she would serve my interest effectively.

She had also given me a considerable experience, and food for thought. I was somewhat sore in the crotch, as a woman might be, after a too-violent effort by a man. But I had been forced to respond, and the discomfort had become part of the pleasure. I had never had any comprehension of sadomasochism or of reverse roles, but now I had an inkling. In absolute darkness Reba had shown me much.

 

Back at the White Bubble, the girls treated me in a manner reminiscent of my female associates in the Navy: knowing, curious, superior, competitive. Perhaps they had reason. "Did she teach you anything, Tyrant?" Coral inquired.

"Um," I mumbled, preferring to avoid the subject.

"Are you limping, sir?" Shelia asked.

I straightened up. "Num."

"I hear those older women can have a lot of experience," Ebony put in.

"Um."

"Did she answer your question?" Spirit asked.

I spread my hands. "She never spoke!" I said, realizing that I had been so bemused by Reba's technique that my mission had been neglected.

They all laughed. Then Shelia tapped her armrest. "She sent a message, sir: There will be an alternate identity created for you."

So QYV was addressing my problem! Reba simply had had to make her impression on me, her way. That she had certainly done. I might be the Tyrant, but she had reminded me how it felt to be subject to the will of another person. To be helpless while one's most private parts were manipulated, leaving no physical refuge. The way most of the citizens of North Jupiter were with relation to the Tyrant. A lesson in humility—and the Golden Rule. That was worth remembering.

My daughter Hopie had been wrestling diligently with the problem of education. I could see the impact of Thorley in her attitude now.

"Daddy, the problem starts with the low respect teachers have," she said earnestly. "Very few educated people want to go into that profession; those who can get more challenging or better paying positions elsewhere do so, leaving the bottom quarter of those qualified to go into teaching as their last alternative. No wonder the curricula they fashion lack relevance!"

"No wonder," I agreed, suspecting what was coming.

"First we have to elevate the profession, to attract the top graduates," she continued. "Then we have to give them free rein to revamp the system, stressing excellence. It will take time, but—"

"How do we attract top graduates?" I asked warily.

"Why, we upgrade their pay scales to be competitive with those of industry," she said.

That's what I had feared. "More money." I groaned.

"Well, you don't get something for nothing, Daddy."

"And where do we get the extra money?"

She shrugged. "That's someone else's department."

I sighed. My balanced budget retreated as I approached it, assuming the attributes of a mirage. "I'll try to raise more money," I said. "Meanwhile, see if you can come up with some temporary expedient to improve education using the present personnel."

She surprised me. "Thorley said you'd say that. I'm working on it." And she hurried away, fresh with the vigor of her generation.

I took a break of sorts, going to see Robertico and Amber. The two got along adequately, for neither spoke. Amber was spelling Hopie as baby-sitter, for that did not require words. At the moment they had an entertainment holo on: cowboys and Indians of the ancient Earth that never was. Amber was viewing it with curiosity rather than interest, while Robertico crawled around, trying to grab the three-dimensional images.

Hopie had done a good job with both of them, I realized. I had assigned her these tasks in addition to her education post, and these matters had largely vacated my awareness. Hopie had taken hold on all fronts, and that pleased me greatly. I resolved to tell her so, the next time I encountered her. But, of course, her proficiency was to be expected, considering her parentage and upbringing. There were aspects of her appearance and intellect that stamped HUBRIS clearly on her, as well as others that established her independence.

"Come here, Tico," I said, picking up the boy. He was now in watertight pants, no problem to handle. "Soon you will be learning to walk—and to talk. You may be a little slow, because of the time you spent in the nursery without proper attention or stimulation, but now you have plenty. What do you say to that?" Robertico smiled, then scrambled back toward the holo, his fascination unabated. I let him go, smiling. I turned to the girl, who had watched the interchange without expression. "And you, Amber—what is your background? I want you to be happy, too, and to learn to be a complete person. Why don't you talk?"

She only shook her head, evidently understanding me but unable to respond verbally.

The mystery of her intrigued me, as it had before. Khukov had given her to me and surely not for any idle reason. Now, still fresh from my experience with Reba, I was highly attuned to the problem of helplessness. This girl should talk and smile and have initiative, instead of being like a person caught by a pacifier field. Teaching her did not work, but that suggested only that she was balked from responding. My eye fixed on the orange gem mounted on her ring: amber, her namesake, surely somehow linked to her secret. I took her hand, feeling again that strangeness in her, and stared into the ring. There was the embedded termite.

What was a termite? An ugly insect by human definition, and a destructive one. On occasion some got loose in a bubble and methodically devoured whatever organic fiber they could find, silently tunneling through and through until the structure collapsed. They had to be exterminated. In the old days on Earth they had been a constant threat to buildings. Yet termites were actually a kind of civilization, like the ants and bees, being organized into an efficient society. They were in a sense a parallel to the human species, adapting nature to their need, uncaring about the resulting erosion of prior structures. Why should Amber carry a termite? What did that symbolize?

Then another aspect of the termite existence occurred to me.

They were supposed to have a number of phases, or stages, of development. They didn't just hatch from grub to adult; they moved through several aspects, some land-bound, some winged. I really did not know much about it and doubted that I needed to; all that was needed was to grasp the key.

Did Amber have stages? If so, what would they be? How would they occur?

I pondered. The girl seemed to have the potential to speak but did not. That could be like a silent phase. Perhaps the correct signal could switch her to a talking phase. But what would that signal be?

"Amber," I said, and her gaze came up to meet mine. Her eyes were pretty, in that large, childlike way, and seemed almost the color of her name.

"Talk," I commanded.

She merely stared at me, remaining mute.

I pondered again. If a verbal command did not do it, what kind would?

I looked down at the gem. That was the one thing she would not part with. There had to be a reason, and not any fascination with termites. Was the gem the key? How?

I became aware of a change in her as her gaze followed mine down to seek the gem. Her body relaxed, as if coming home after some difficult activity. Yes, surely this related!

"Amber," I told her. "Look at the amber gem. Stare into it. Lose yourself in it."

She obeyed. Her body relaxed further. I still held her hand, and I felt her going into a light trance.

Hypnotic suggestion—triggered by the gem! Certainly that made sense. Now she would be receptive to my directive.

"Talk," I repeated.

She remained as she was, unresponsive. That was not the correct directive.

I pondered yet again, sure that I was making progress but baffled by the necessary detail. If only I knew the correct command!

This girl was Hispanic; her aspect conformed, and Khukov had said she was of my culture. Many of us were bilingual; could she understand Spanish?

I tried. "¿Español?"

"¡Si!" she agreed.

I jumped, startled by this unexpected success. "You do speak Spanish!" I exclaimed in that language, thrilled.

Gravely she nodded.

"But you did not speak it before!"

She nodded again.

"But why not?"

"I—was in the wrong mode," she explained.

"But you seemed to understand English."

Once more she nodded. When I did not ask a direct question, she did not answer in words. She was still unusually passive. It remained my task to find the way to full communication.

"You are in the Spanish mode now," I said. "In this you can speak and understand, for you are Hispanic. You have learned English, but you do not speak it."

She nodded affirmatively.

"Why don't you speak English?"

"It is a passive mode."

Not much help. "What can I do to help you speak English?"

She shrugged. She didn't know.

Apparently Khukov, or some other party, had in some way programmed her to speak only in her native language and barred her from the other she had learned. Why?

I tried another tack. "Where are you from, Amber?"

"Halfcal," she said.

I knew it was true; I should have recognized the accent immediately. She was from my home state! That offered a clue to part of Khukov's rationale; he had known I would appreciate helping another of my kind.

"Are you a refugee?"

Her gaze was blank. She didn't know.

"What is your family? Your home city?"

She didn't know. Perhaps she had been mem-washed, so that only her knowledge of her planet and nation of origin remained, stripped of detail. Possibly that information would return, as the effect of the wash diminished with time. It was hard to be sure with children; sometimes they threw off the effect rapidly, and sometimes their loss of memory was permanent. I feared that the latter was the case here.

"The gem," I asked. "The amber in the ring—that enables you to change modes? From English to Spanish and back again?" She nodded.

"So you were locked into English, a language you understand but do not speak, until I told you to change to Spanish?" I wanted to be sure I had this aspect right; I did not want to lock her in any wrong mode.

Again she agreed.

"But you remember what happened when you were in English?" She nodded, and I continued: "You remember about me and Hopie and Robertico and how you came to Jupiter?"

As usual, the nod. She could speak now but lacked the habit.

"Do you know why Admiral Khukov gave you to me?"

Negative nod.

"Would you prefer to return to Saturn?" Now she showed some emotion, shaking her head vigorously no.

"You are satisfied to be here?" She smiled, and in that expression I found a familiarity I could not define. Déjà vu—but I could not place its origin.

"Then we shall keep you here," I reassured her. "We want you to be happy. You may have a room of your own if you wish—"

No, she did not want that. She liked it as it was. "We shall have to see to your education. Can you read in Spanish?"

She spread her hands; she did not know. I went to the blackboard Hopie had set up for Robertico. The old mechanisms are often the best, for teaching. I wrote AMBER. "Can you read that?"

She concentrated. Then she smiled again. "It is my name!"

I soon verified that she could read but not well. "We shall work with you, and soon you will read well enough, in Spanish," I said. "Hopie will teach you. She has an interest in practical education."

"Hopie... is unhappy," she volunteered.

That got my attention. "My daughter, unhappy? Why?"

"She said, in English—I cannot translate well, but I remember—she talks to me when she is tired."

"We all get tired," I said carefully. "It is natural to talk to a friend."

"She said her parents separated, and it hurts her because she cannot put them back together. She worries that it is her fault."

"It's not her fault!" I exclaimed, disturbed. I had not realized that my daughter felt this way, yet it was immediately obvious. She had said nothing to me, of course.

"She says you sleep with other women and they are good women, but—"

I shook my head. "Men may be of an inferior species to women. I am guilty of all she says." How could I not have realized?

"I do not understand."

Of course, she didn't, just as my daughter didn't. Children are relatively innocent creatures, until corrupted by adults. But I could not leave it at that. "What is it that confuses you, Amber?"

"What is wrong with sleeping?"

Oh. "To sleep as you do, a period of unconsciousness—that is a good and necessary thing. All people do it. But to sleep with a person of the opposite sex—that has a different connotation. It means that they are engaging in sexual relations."

She gazed at me, uncomprehending. I realized that another major aspect of her education had been neglected or washed away. I was tempted to let it go at that but realized that she would have to know about this sort of thing, too, and that now was the time for her to learn, and that it was best that I tell her.

"A man and a woman can develop a close acquaintance," I said. "Sometimes this becomes love. Sometimes they give their bodies to each other, experiencing a deep intimacy and pleasure. Sometimes they are intimate without love. Normally this is restricted to married couples, but in some institutions, such as the military, they are unmarried. Whatever the situation, such a union should not be made without careful consideration. Hopie feels that although I have separated from her mother, I should not be intimate with any other woman. She may be correct. But men have different perceptions about these things, and so I act in a manner my daughter does not approve. I am deeply sorry to have hurt her in this way."

She just gazed at me, unspeaking, and I was uncertain of how much she understood. Well, I had tried to make a fair presentation; that was all I could do.

"I must return to my business now, Amber," I said. "But I will talk with you again. I am very glad to know that you are able to talk and to read. There is nothing wrong with Spanish; it is an interplanetary language, as is English."

Still she did not react. Discomfited, I left her.

 

I continued with the hectic business of setting up a government, consulting with experts, interviewing prospects, checking my facts.

I talked with Gerald Phist, who was in charge of industry, and his wife, Roulette. We had been close in the Navy, with Phist my second in command (after Spirit), and Roulette my wife. As I had explained to Amber, the Navy was a special situation. When I left the Navy, Rue had married Phist at my behest, but she still loved me, and he still loved my sister, who had been his wife. I think he was disappointed that Spirit was not present; she had had to go to another bubble to organize a chain of command. Spirit, as I have said, was always the true strength of the Tyrancy; she constantly welded the necessary connections, keeping the structure tight. It had been that way in the Navy, too, when she was my executive officer.

Phist was aging gracefully, being about fifteen years my senior, and Rue remained stunning, being about ten years my junior. My eyes tended to stray to aspects of her form, and when they did, she would wiggle that aspect, and Phist would laugh. Both of them understood perfectly my situation with women, which was one of the things that made them comfortable to be with. My amorous relationship with Rue was long over, but it had not been ended by my choice or by hers, and we all knew it.

"Hope, I propose two major solutions to the problem of crime," she said briskly. "Legalization and elimination. Legalize everything possible and eliminate the rest."

"Um, yes," I said, apprehensive about what she contemplated. "But you know I have a problem with costs." My gaze drifted to her décolletage.

"No cost," she said, giving her cleavage a little quiver, so that my eyes snapped away. "Expenses should be the same or less than they are at present, and the programs may become self-supporting."

"That sounds too good to be true!" I said.

"She tends to seem that way," Phist remarked.

"The problem with drugs is the market," she said. "Jupiter has been going to phenomenal effort and expense to stop them from being imported, but the suppliers override that effort because of the enormous profit to be made. The same is true of gambling. The solution is to expand on the program you had in Sunshine: Legalize everything. Then there will be no premium for illicit things; the marketplace will determine their value."

I remembered the program I had instituted, with her help, when I was governor of the State of Sunshine. We had provided drugs to addicts at nominal cost, undercutting the criminal suppliers. Since a sizable proportion of the crime in the state had been related to such drugs, crime had plummeted. We had obtained our own supply of drugs by confiscation from illegal sources and refined them so that they were as safe as such things could be. A number of other states had emulated our program, but the majority had not, and the old types of crime remained. As for gambling—Roulette had been named for an aspect of her father's business—she saw no harm in it. With certain reservations I agreed. Compulsive gamblers were a problem to themselves and society, but most people were not compulsive. Prostitution was merely another business, the consequence of the civilian restrictions on sex.

"Legalize those vices that do not harm other citizens," I agreed. "But what of lasers, projectile weapons, theft, violence, embezzlement, child abuse, and so on? We can't afford to legalize everything."

"Elimination," she said. "Lasers and other weapons hurt other people and often their owners. A laser-pistol in amateur hands is six times as likely to injure or kill a friend or family member as a criminal. Ban them all, unless the person is with the police or military or has a special permit."

"But there must be twice as many weapons in the hands of private citizens as there are citizens!" I protested somewhat rhetorically, for I knew her rebuttal. During my years as a politician I had more than once locked horns with the nefarious PLA, the Planetary Laser Association, whose guiding principle was that every citizen should have completely free access to laser weapons. "LASERS DON'T KILL PEOPLE, PEOPLE DO," they proclaimed. "We can't even find them all, let alone take them away from citizens who believe they need them for protection. The best we could achieve would be the disarming of the law-abiding; only the criminals would still have weapons."

"Not if you eliminate the criminals," she said. "Then the law-abiding citizens will have no need of weapons for private defense. Outlaw the weapons. Anyone possessing one will be a lawbreaker by definition. No criminal will give himself away by carrying a weapon that clearly identifies his nature."

"And how do we eliminate the criminals? I don't like the death penalty."

"I have discussed that with Gerald," she said, glancing at her husband. "He advises me that there are a number of inclement positions in space—jobs that few people volunteer to perform despite increasingly high pay scales. One-man isolated planetoid stations, missions on Io, outposts on Charon, ice-scavenging in deep space—that sort of thing. Those jobs could be done by criminals."

"But some of those jobs are important!" I said. "We don't want some criminal messing them up."

"Any criminal that messes up in space dies," she said. "This is not execution; it is the law of space. Space does not forgive a little error in judgment. One tiny hole in a suit, unpatched—poof!" She spread her hands expressively, and her bosom bounced, my eyeballs with it. "That's why people don't like space. But if a criminal were sentenced to three years of that, his term to be extended if he did not perform adequately, he would make very sure he would perform. It's not a judgment call; in space either you survive and accomplish the job or you don't."

I turned the notion over in my mind, liking the configuration of it. How well I remembered the rigors of space! As for the station on Charon—that was the satellite of Pluto, farthest conventional planet from the sun—at that distance the sun seemed to be no more than a bright star, and the cold of space seemed to infuse the domes. Physically it was reasonably comfortable; emotionally it was devastating. There was a high attrition due to personality breakdown. And Io—that was the true hell of the System, on the face toward Jupiter. My mother had died there, as well as most of the women of our refugee party, destroyed by the savage volcanic activity. It was true: that was a fitting punishment for even the worst of criminals—and the study missions there were scientifically productive.

"I like it," I said. "Set it up and consult with me when ready to implement."

She smiled and approached me for a kiss. I accepted, feeling awkward not because of the presence of her husband but because of my recent discussion with Amber. My daughter Hopie did not like my intimate associations with women other than Megan; she understood intellectually but not emotionally.

"You can do better than that, Captain!" Rue snapped, shaking me by the shoulders.

"I—my daughter is disturbed by—" I faltered.

"The one they think is my daughter," she said. "You had better show me some respect!"

I had to laugh. I took her and kissed her again with greater vigor, and she was still man's desire. I loved Megan, my true wife, but that did not subtract from what Rue had been.

Even so, her mouth quirked when we broke. "Someone's been at you," she said. "Someone with real experience."

I felt myself blushing, remembering the devastating experience with Reba in the dark. How had Rue known? Somehow my women always knew my secrets!

Now it was Phist's turn. I had put him in charge of industry, knowing that his experience as a military equipment procurer and whistle-blower made him supremely qualified. I suspected that he had the most difficult task of all those that the Tyrancy would be coming to grips with, for the relation of the Jupiter military-industrial complex to the government most resembled that of a multiheaded hydra to its prey. Our task was to tame that monster without killing it, for its disciplined survival was crucial to the welfare of the planet.

But as he opened his mouth we were interrupted. Hopie hurried in. She had free access to me always; Shelia never stopped her. "Daddy, something's wrong with Amber!" she exclaimed. Then she paused, noting my company. "Oh!"

"You know Admiral Phist and his wife Roulette," I said. I turned to them. "My daughter, Hopie."

Roulette smiled. "Well, I ought to!" she exclaimed.

Hopie flushed. "Are you really my—"

Roulette sighed. "I wish I could answer you, Hopie."

"Talk to Amber in Spanish," I said quickly.

"I don't care what other people think!" Hopie said, flustered. "I just want to know who—"

"Amber talks in Spanish," I said. "Not in English. I discovered that today."

Roulette shook her head sadly. "It isn't right to mislead you, Hopie. I am not your mother. I would like to have been, but that privilege was not destined to be mine."

"Then who—"

"If you will just say something to her in—" I started.

"Butt out, Daddy," Hopie snapped. "If not you, Roulette, then who is it? I believe I have a right to know."

"It is not my place to answer that, dear," Roulette said. "But does it really matter? You have a life that others would envy, and a family—"

"Half a family!" the girl retorted. "And a philanderer for a father."

Phist looked at me, but I gave him a take-cover signal. It was better to have this out, and better in company than alone. Hopie could be an imperious girl, and there was some justice in her complaint.

Roulette patted the couch beside her. "Come sit by me, Hopie, and we'll talk. There are things I can tell you."

The girl joined her, perching uncomfortably. "If you know who knows—"

"Things that Hope Hubris believes but that are not necessarily true," Roulette continued. "To understand him you have to understand the Navy. In the Jupiter Navy, men and women are not encouraged to love, but they are required to make love. That is, enlisted personnel are not permitted to marry, but they must perform sexually every week or be rebuked. Officers have greater privileges, but still, it is difficult to have children or a normal family in the civilian manner. To survive in the Navy they must conform, in this as in other things. A person can leave the Navy, but his way of life is likely to be set—his underlying values."

"What has this to do with my—"

"Now, Hope is separated from his wife, just as he was separated from me when he left the Navy. This has nothing to do with love and everything to do with circumstance. When he left me, he had relations with other women, and I with another man. He would have stayed with me if he could, and I with him. It could not be. We each had to make our separate lives. Now he is apart from the wife that followed me, and that is not his choice, but he must make his separate life again. Of course, this means other women. That is the Navy way. That is what those in the Service know is right, however the civilian sector may perceive it. You must not condemn him for being what he has been conditioned to be. I am sure Megan understands."

"She does," Hopie said. "But I don't!"

"She loves him, as I do. As many women do. We love him for what he is, not what we would choose him to be. We know that he believes he has loved only two women in his life but that, in fact, he loves only one."

Now Hopie was startled. "One?"

"It was no easier for me to accept than it is for you. I wanted him to love me, but he was only smitten with me because of my shape and my youth. His first romance was with one not much younger than I was then—"

"Helse. She was sixteen."

"And his second romance with one older—"

"Megan. She's fifty-six."

"So there really wasn't room for Juana or Emerald or me. We were passing fancies, relatively. Just as his present women are. Just as, to a lesser extent, his two major romances have been. You have to keep that perspective on him. For your sake, not his."

Hopie was obviously shaken. "How can you say such things about him, with him right here listening?"

"Because they are true. Because you need to know. Because he will not tell you. You must not let your misconception damage your relationship with him. He is a man destined for women, and a worthy one despite or because of that."

"My misconception!" Hopie snorted. "That's a neat way to put it!"

"Because you are of illegitimate birth," Roulette agreed, smiling. "But your origin is no fault in you, just as Hope Hubris's nature is no fault in him. You are a good girl, and he is a good man."

Hopie cocked her head. "Did he really rape you?"

"He really did, dear."

"And you call him a good man?"

"Yes. He is a good man because he raped me. A bad man would not have had the courage or the ability."

"I don't understand that at all!"

"He was the third to try it. I killed the first two. Hope Hubris was the first and the last to master me."

Hopie glanced at Phist. "But—"

"She tolerates me," he said. "For the sake of the situation. It is the Navy way—and the pirate way. I never mastered her."

"You never even tried!" Roulette said, reproving him.

"But—" Hopie repeated. "To—to have sex with—"

"As I said, we do not always get to have sex with the one we love," Roulette reminded her. "If I had my true choice, I would be in bed with Hope Hubris right now. But—"

"Why not?" Hopie said stoutly. "Everyone else is—"

"No. He has lost his wife. I have not lost my husband. Hope is free; I am not."

"But from what you say, your husband would let you—"

"Of course, he would," Roulette agreed. "But we honor the code that we live by. As does Hope. I am sure he has not touched any married woman or any unwilling one. You must not condemn him; your standards are civilian and do not apply."

Hopie shook her head, neither positively nor negatively. "I'll try, Roulette. But you must tell me one thing."

"One thing," Roulette agreed.

"You said he only truly loves one woman. Who is that?"

"Your natural mother."

"But I don't know who she is!"

"One day you shall know, dear. Until then you must keep an open mind."

Now Hopie was close to tears. "But if I don't know who she is, how do I know she loves me?"

"She loves you," I said.

"But she never cared enough to keep me!"

"She couldn't keep you," I said. "She was single, and your father was married. That sort of thing is not understood in the better families."

"But she doesn't have to be anonymous!"

"I think I understand," Phist said. "If she were to reveal her part in this, it would destroy the reputation of your natural father. She must love him—"

"She does," I said before I thought.

He turned away. I understood why but could not speak of it. He was the best of men.

Roulette glanced up at him. "Oh, Gerald, I'm sorry!"

Hopie looked from one to the other, perplexed. "What—"

"We deal on levels, and levels," Roulette said. "Let me share my song with you, Hopie."

"Your—"

"After Hope mastered me I became part of his culture. I had to take a folk song, in the manner of all the personnel in his unit. That is how I became Rue, instead of Roulette. I want you to share my song, because I fear you will one day need it. It will do until you are given your own song."

"But we don't have songs here!" Hopie protested."

"Then it is time to start. Hope is called Worry, after his song, 'Worried Man Blues.' Gerald is Old King Cole. Your Aunt Spirit is the Dear, after her song."

"The Deer? An animal?"

"Dear, as in 'I know who I love, but the dear knows who I'll marry.' Make her sing it for you sometime."

"I will," Hopie said, brightening.

Then Roulette sang her song:

Come all ye fair and tender maids

Who flourish in your prime, prime;

Beware, beware, make your garden fair

Let no man steal your thyme, thyme...

 

"That's beautiful," Hopie said when she finished. "But so sad."

"Life can be sad—and beautiful," Roulette said.

Hopie looked around. "But I'm interrupting," she said, her realization coming somewhat belatedly. She stood, glancing at me. "Spanish." She departed.

"Who is Amber?" Phist inquired.

I summarized the history of Amber.

Roulette pursed her lips. "You had better brush up on your song, Hope. That girl is mischief."

"You haven't even seen her!" I protested.

"I don't need to. I can tell a missile by its description." And she smiled in that private, sometimes annoying, way women had.

Phist resumed his presentation. "My preliminary study shows phenomenal waste, fraud, and inefficiency throughout the planet. I had supposed that this was largely a function of military purchases, but I see now that it is endemic. The entire framework requires overhauling."

"I dread to ask the cost," I said.

"Ideally there should be no net cost. The object is to make the apparatus function more efficiently, so that it serves the planet better than before and leads to further improvement. But initially—"

"We don't have initial cash," I said.

"Then it will have to be done indirectly. I think the best approach is to nationalize key companies in key industries."

"But they did that on Saturn," I protested. "Everything is run by the state, and every season they have record crop failures and industrial inadequacies."

"Because the fundamental Communist philosophy is flawed," Phist said. "It provides inadequate motive for individual effort. When a man is not rewarded for his accomplishment, he loses incentive. When that extends to an entire planet, that planet is in serious trouble."

"But if we nationalize, we'll be in the same trouble."

"Not necessarily. We need to do it right. We have to take incentive into account and make our selected companies models for the others. To produce the products more efficiently at cheaper prices and higher quality and better reliability than the competition. Then the other companies will have to match our level or suffer erosion of their markets."

"I hope you're right," I said doubtfully.

"We'll start with the most troublesome companies in the key industrial sectors," he said briskly. "One in metals, one in construction, one in transport, one in agriculture—"

"Agriculture?"

"That's an industry too," he said. "And a vital one. Without food we'll starve."

"Um, yes," I agreed. "Now, I mean to reduce military hardware production, so—"

"You're sure that's wise?"

"I have a tacit deal with Admiral Khukov. There's an enormous amount of resources to be saved in defense, and for the first time we have a trustworthy opportunity to reduce Jupiter-Saturn tensions."

He nodded. "Khukov's like you in certain respects. He's trustworthy and he handles people well. Very well. I'll dismantle the military industry, but I'll need cover."

"Cover?"

"The powers-that-be aren't going to like this."

"I am the powers-that-be!" I said.

"You are the nominal power. You'll need Mondy to make that power actual. Meanwhile stand by me, and I'll do the job."

"I'll tell Spirit," I said.

He sighed. "I do miss the old days."

"Don't we all, dear," Roulette said, taking his arm. I was surprised by her manner; she had softened considerably in twenty years and was no longer the fiery pirate lass I had known. It was obvious that whatever she might say about her passion for me (which was perhaps more complimentary than actual), she had developed a genuine fondness for her husband. She had not been soft during our association. She had been able to appreciate only violent passion; I had had to hit her to make her respond. Now I knew that she could respond also to gentleness—and Phist was a gentle man. He still loved Spirit, but surely Roulette gave him much to appreciate. To have a woman like that again—

"Don't we all," I echoed.

"You're jealous of Gerald!" Roulette exclaimed, pleased.

"You never called me 'dear,' " I grumbled.

"Oh, that makes it all worthwhile!" she chortled.

Even Phist had to smile. "You broke her in well, sir."

"Too well," I agreed.

Smiling, they departed.

 

Several days later I had another opportunity to visit Amber. Her face brightened when she saw me, and again I experienced that déjà vu. It was as though I had seen her before, but I could not place where.

This time Hopie was there. "You know, Daddy, about what Roulette said..." she began somewhat diffidently.

"All true," I murmured, embarrassed.

"It helps me to understand. I shouldn't have judged you."

"You are my daughter," I said. "Judge me as you will."

"Just hug me, Daddy," she said.

So I hugged her. I knew that her adjustment was not complete, but perhaps, in her deepest emotion, she was coming to terms with the new reality. I could not blame her for not liking a sundered family; at her age I had lost mine, except for my sister Spirit, and I knew the horror of that. I would have protected her from this experience if I could have.

Amber was watching, her face blank. Hopie glanced at her. "Oops, I didn't think," she murmured. "You'd better hug her, too, Daddy."

Because the girl did not understand affection shown to one and not to another? Perhaps Hopie was right.

"Amber, I will hug you too," I said in Spanish.

She came to me somewhat timidly, and I took her in my arms and squeezed her. She was somewhat stiff, unfamiliar with this, but I could tell by her bodily reaction that she liked it. She had probably been denied such simple, direct expressions of familiarity or affection.

"I'll have to give her hugging lessons," Hopie said judiciously in English. Then, in Spanish: "Amber is improving in writing."

"Good enough," I said, turning the girl loose. "Did I explain to you, Hopie, how she changes languages?"

"No. She's been locked here in Spanish ever since you changed her. She doesn't understand English anymore."

Which was odd, now that I considered it. She had been able to tell me what she had heard in English, yet could no longer understand it directly. "Amber, may we experiment with you?" I asked.

She shrugged, not objecting.

"Look at the gem," I said. "Look deep at the termite; go into your trance."

She obeyed. Hopie watched, fascinated.

"English," I said.

Amber did not react. "Do you understand me now?" I asked in Spanish.

She gazed at me, uncomprehending.

"Do you understand me now?" I repeated in English.

She nodded affirmatively.

"But you cannot speak in English?"

She spread her hands, acquiescing.

"She's back the way she was before!" Hopie exclaimed, also in English.

"It is the gem that does it," I said. "It puts her in a trance, and then the spoken name of the language puts her into that mode. But she only actually speaks Spanish."

"Does it end there?" Hopie asked.

"Why, I hadn't thought—" I said, surprised.

"Amber, look at the gem again," Hopie said.

The girl did. "Le français," Hopie said. She had been studying French in school. This was not a language I knew, other than the merest smattering of words.

There was no reaction from Amber. "Remember, she doesn't speak," I said in English. "But we can verify it." I faced the girl. "Do you understand me now?"

She did not react.

"Ce chemin, où méne-t-il?" Hopie inquired. I may have misrendered that; I can't be sure.

Amber looked at her, smiling as if she had spoken foolishly.

"C'est tordant, c'est rigolo," Hopie said.

Amber smiled, agreeing.

"Voilà ce qu'il me faut!" Hopie said, pleased.

"Now will you enlighten me?" I inquired with a bit of an edge, though I was pleased that my daughter shared my facility with language. I can learn any language I choose to, but, of course, it requires time and effort, so I don't do it without reason. I had mastered Spanish, English, and Russian but never had occasion to learn French.

Hopie smiled, enjoying my discomfort. "First I named the language," she said in English. "Then I asked 'Where does this road lead?' I thought—you know, it's a kind of road we are following here, and maybe—"

"Understood," I said. "Good question."

She smiled, pleased. "Then I said, 'It's terribly funny!' and she agreed, and I knew she did understand, because she doesn't smile unless she has reason. So I exclaimed, 'That's exactly what I want!' Daddy, it worked! Now she understands French."

"And nothing else," I agreed.

"She's like an old-fashioned computer. You tell it the code, and it is instantly set in that mode and doesn't react to anything in any other mode, even though it has all modes in its circuitry."

"Like a primitive computer," I agreed, nodding. "But she is a human being."

"People do funny things to people," she said, frowning. "They mem-washed you, Daddy."

"I recovered," I said. "But Amber—I don't know how far we should meddle until we understand exactly what has been done to her. We don't want to hurt her."

"Of course, we don't!" she agreed. "But checking languages shouldn't hurt her."

"It shouldn't," I agreed. I felt a certain unease, fearing that we were doing something risky or wrong, but I couldn't define it. "If we proceed cautiously."