Chapter 9 — HELL TO PAY

There was a problem at the zoo. There was a white elephant at the New Wash facility, and it cost a fantastic amount to maintain it, for elephants are not native to space. A lively public debate had developed: keep the elephant or abolish it? Spirit had decided to let the issue be settled by a referendum, for this was exactly the type of nonpolitical matter that could arouse and divert public attention from the problems of the Tyrancy. We tried to keep the population as contented as possible, giving it small bonuses to distract it from the more serious issues. That may seem cynical, and surely it is, but it helps keep the peace. The ordinary citizen is equipped by neither education nor temperament to decide affairs of state, but he thinks he is, so it is best to divert him. That is one reason why politicians, historically, have had very little substance in their campaigns.

However, I wanted to make sure of the situation, because the vote promised to be divisively close, and that would force me to make the final decision. I wanted to get out of the White Dome for a while, anyway. So I arranged to take the girls to the zoo. Of course, my security force would be along, but this would be anonymous. I had to put on common-man clothes and a little holo-camera, and Hopie and Amber donned girlish jumpers so as to look like innocent teenagers. We would go see the elephant.

The excursion was fun. We followed a circuitous route, changing bubbles several times, making sure no one realized our origin. There was no sign of the security men; of course, they had infiltrated the crowd before I arrived. Coral acted as a cabbie, taking us through the city in a cab rented for the purpose. The girls chattered merrily in Spanish; there was no point in setting Amber to English and having her mute. Certainly we could all three pass for Hispanic tourists, and there were a fair number of those here too.

The zoo was impressive. It was set up in a cluster of small bubbles in the New Wash vicinity. We didn't bother with the others; we headed straight for the elephantarium. We had agreed that after we saw the elephant, and if our anonymity remained intact, I would go home, but the girls could stay and enjoy the rest of the zoo.

We entered at the null-gee lock at the bubble's admission pole and proceeded to the central orientation chamber. The animal, of course, had the favored equatorial rim of the whirling bubble; the spectators could make do with low-gee for their temporary visits.

We were, of course, accustomed to the city-bubbles. This one was different. The naturalistic environment extended in a full sphere around us, like a giant map: plain, jungle, desert, and lake, all there in living color. The sun-beacon projected the concentrated light to half the sphere, leaving the other half in deep shadow, simulating day and night. It rotated slowly so that a complete circle was made in twenty-four hours. This was mostly for the benefit of the living plants; the elephant could choose its place and time, obtaining the light or the darkness whenever it desired.

We became part of a party of about twenty-five sightseers, mostly children. The canned tour announcement came on: "This is the Elephant Dome. It was constructed in 2586 and has been in continuous service since. Its ecology is completely self-contained except for the elephant and its diet; the insects, field mice, snakes, and assorted birds reproduce themselves and maintain their populations in equilibrium without interference by man. We do monitor the air, but this is minimal; it regenerates naturally. If mankind were to disappear tomorrow, this community would continue indefinitely."

"Not likely," I muttered. "The necessary concentration of the sunlight, twenty-seven-fold, has to be done by gee-lens, and that technology has to be maintained by man."

"Oh, Daddy, don't talk back to the recording," Hopie said impatiently. She nudged Amber. "Isn't he funny? He argues with canned announcements!" Amber grinned dutifully. She was a great deal more expressive than she had been when she arrived; two years of our influence had been good for her.

"Elephants are the largest of all contemporary land animals," the voice continued. "More than six hundred varieties have existed in the past, but only two survive naturally. The one in this bubble is a genetically crafted Mammut americanum, or American mastodon. We call call her Mammy, of course." The announcer paused to allow suitable chuckles of appreciation. Naturally Mammut became Mammy! "She stands seven feet tall at the shoulder and would weigh six thousand pounds if subjected to normal-gee. However, she is fifty-two years old and in indifferent health, so we have scaled down the gee to eighty percent."

"That's not very big," Hopie said. "I read where African males weigh twelve thousand pounds and are over ten feet tall."

"Don't talk back to the recording," I admonished her.

"I'm not!" she protested. "I'm just making a clarification."

"So good to know the distinction."

"Fifty-two," Amber said. "Your age."

"Thank you so much for reminding me," I said, frowning, and I knew she was smiling. "But I'm not quite as fat as the elephant."

The recording continued with information about elephants in general and Mammy in particular: how large her brain was; how padded her feet; how versatile her trunk. "There are forty thousand muscles and tendons in her trunk; it is an extremely precise appendage. Her ears are large and have many blood vessels; she flaps them to make a breeze and cool her blood."

"I want to get in close and get some pictures," Hopie said.

"Let's hear the spiel through first," I said. "Then there'll be the tour through the habitat."

"Mammy consumes fifty thousand pounds of hay every year," the spiel continued, "in addition to thousands of gallons of mixed grains, about six thousand pounds of dried alfalfa, and thousands of potatoes, cabbages, apples, and loaves of bread. She drinks about eight thousand gallons of water."

I considered those figures. The cost was phenomenal! We could feed a lot of people with fifty thousand pounds of grain! The water use wasn't so bad because it was recycled, but the food—well, surely they recycled that indirectly, via the manure, but still I had to consider whether it was worth it.

"...relatively inefficient," the voice continued. "Mammy actually eats twice the food that would be required by an animal of her mass with superior digestion."

It looked bad for Mammy.

Then we proceeded to the tour of the grounds. Our party descended to the rim. The canned lecture followed us, explaining that the elephant was very careful where she went and would not cross a ditch more than five feet across and five feet deep. Thus we could walk in perfect safety along the marked path that was protected by naturalistic ditches and barriers. The elephant could swim well enough, with all of her body submerged except the tip of her trunk, but concealed vertical mesh under the lake region prevented her access to the marked trail in that direction.

We filed along it. "Oh, there she is!" Hopie exclaimed, pointing. "Coming toward us."

"You don't want to wait here," a more experienced visitor said. "Watering time in five minutes."

"Oh."

We moved on, not wanting to get wetted down in the simulated rainstorm coming up. We skirted the shore of a pleasant little lake.

I heard a little hiss. I looked—and there was a smoking spot on the turf at my foot.

My military experience gave instant recognition. That was a laser score!

"Girls, get out of here!" I said, and dived into the lake. Lasers are deadly but not through water. I was under attack, but my guards would manifest almost immediately to cover the situation. All I had to do was stay out of range long enough to let them function.

There was a splash beside me, and a thrashing. Someone else had jumped or fallen in. In a moment I saw that it was Amber. Did she know how to swim?

It was evident that she did not. I stroked to her and caught hold. "Relax!" I shouted at her head. "I've got you!"

She heard me and stopped thrashing. I hauled her to the most convenient shore, which happened to be in the elephant's domain. We staggered out, my arm around her waist. I had to trust that my would-be assassin had been routed by my bodyguards and would not fire again. Still, I hauled Amber under a thick bush, to get us both out of sight.

It could only have been a minute, perhaps less, that we were there before the guards found us. But it seemed like a small eternity. Because I had made a remarkable discovery.

Amber, completely soaked, had her hair and dress plastered to her body. But she was not a mess; she was beautiful. Suddenly I saw the features of Helse on her. Not precisely but approximately. Amber was about fifteen years old, just a little younger than Helse had been. She was Hispanic, as Helse had been. She was very much like a younger version of Helse.

I gazed at her silently. I saw now that she had developed in two years. Of course, it had been happening all along, but I had not been noticing.

Not only that.

Her development paralleled that of my anonymous helmet lover. So did her appearance, now. And her manner, as she gasped and clung to me, frightened.

I focused my talent on her, reading her, and in a moment I had no doubt. This girl was that woman.

The guards appeared and brought us back to the marked path and out of the zoo. I hardly noticed. My mind was in a whirl.

Amber had not realized that I had caught on. That was the way I wanted it, because I had some complex thinking to do.

Things were falling into place: these mysteriously appearing chips; Shelia's attitude; the anonymous woman's inexperience—they all fit now. Amber, lonely, liking me, unable to express it directly because she couldn't talk in English and knowing she shouldn't talk about this in Spanish...

But the helmet woman had talked in English! How could that be?

It could indeed be, I concluded. Amber could not speak English, but she did know the language. In a feelie a person's imagination governed. If she imagined she could speak there, then she could—and so she had. And she had gotten what she wanted.

What she wanted? I pondered the past year of helmet love, and knew that I had wanted it too. Had I realized the identity of the woman, I would never have done it; but now I did realize, and though I was shocked, I knew I still wanted that woman.

Fifteen years old. Fourteen when it started. Below the age of consent. Yet the age of consent had been all but abolished by the Tyrancy; any two people could do what they wanted together, provided both understood and acceded.

But the fact remained that she was younger than my daughter. That bothered me.

What was I to do? I wrestled with it, then went to Shelia. "I have caught on," I informed her grimly.

She made no pretense at ignorance. "Then you know why she wouldn't tell you."

"Yes. I would have cut it off at the outset, before—"

"Before you loved her," she agreed.

I nodded. "But you—why did you collude in this?"

"She needed you—and you needed her."

"But she's a child!" I protested.

"Not anymore."

I thought again of our year's affair. No, not anymore! "What do I do now?"

"Why, you love her, Hope."

"But she's younger than Hopie!"

"So?"

"Don't you see—she—how can I—?"

"Helse was sixteen," she reminded me.

"Helse was a woman!"

She nodded agreement.

And, of course, my definitions were skewed. I had been fifteen when I knew Helse. She had seemed adult then. Now I looked back on that age, and it seemed to be that of a child. It was not so.

"Don't you see the complications?" I argued. "She came as my... my ward. Like another daughter. How can I—?"

"We shall keep your secret, Hope."

"Coral, Ebony—they know?"

"They know. It was Coral who first recognized Helse. That was why Chairman Khukov gave her to you."

Obvious—in retrospect. Khukov shared my talent and perhaps my tastes. He had recognized the physical potential in the girl and seen what she would become. The fact that she was a variant idiot savant was incidental. "You demon!" I muttered.

"You would have done the same for him," Shelia said. "In fact, you gave him his position."

"Let me think," I said. "She doesn't know I know, and I don't know how to tell her or what to do after I do."

Shelia handed me the chip. "Tell her here."

Maybe so. I didn't feel free to talk to the child Amber, but I could do so with the anonymous woman. I took the chip.

I donned the helmet and played through our latest scene. It happened to be of violent sex. I had hit her, and she had hit me, and then we had clutched each other and done it standing up. In the scene our blows had been painless; we were playing at violence, just for the variety of it, knowing that we would never have done it in real life.

Playing at violence. Playing—as children did.

No wonder! She was a child! And I in my second childhood.

After the act we stood together, just holding each other. Children?

"Amber," I said, not sure how the helmet woman would react to this.

"You found out," she said.

"I found out," I said, half appalled that she should have had this programmed, anticipating my realization.

I moved back to a prior congress and repeated the word.

She responded similarly. I went back to our very first act together—and she responded to the name.

From the outset she had been ready, just waiting for me.

For a year she had waited.

A child?

I returned to the most recent scene. "I finally realized," I said. "But what are we to do now?"

"Whatever you will," she said simply.

"No!" I protested. "You are the one at risk here. You must decide. You must come and tell me what you want—in life."

"Hope, I cannot speak this language in life."

"And I cannot touch you like this in life," I retorted. "But now that I know, I cannot continue this way, through the helmet. Come to me, tell me in Spanish if you must, but tell me. To love you—or to leave you alone."

She was silent. We had progressed beyond her preparation. I removed the helmet and took the chip and gave it to Shelia.

"I think I shall not monitor these anymore," Shelia said.

"As you wish," I said curtly, and proceeded to my other business.

 

Megan was now speaking out in public, not exactly criticizing the new policies of the Tyrancy but making constructive suggestions. She wanted attention paid to slum clearance, conservation, women's rights, and planetary aid. She had traveled to Latin Jupiter and bought a bright and beautiful scarf there, which she wore proudly. "The people are talented and good," she said. "But many are oppressed by their governments. We of wealthy North Jupiter cannot be satisfied while hunger and misery remain elsewhere. We must help in whatever ways we can but especially through education. The poor people cannot wait for gradual reform; in their frustration they will turn violently against their governments. The Tyrant should go for himself to see the situation to the south; then perhaps he would better appreciate the need."

Megan refused to participate directly in my government, but I valued her input in whatever manner it came. "Set up a Latin tour," I told Shelia.

 

The ship lifted above the great rushing band of clouds that was the base for the United States of North Jupiter and slid south around the planet. I watched with my usual goggle-eyed tourist's fascination. I had been over twenty years on Jupiter, but still its atmospheric dynamics awed me. You can, as the old saying goes, take the man out of space, but you can't take the space out of the man. I had been raised on a surface that was solid, with no atmosphere beyond the dome; later I had spent fifteen years in space, mostly aboard ships. Atmosphere remained a strange thing to me, in my unconscious mind. The way it thickened and swirled as if possessed of its own volition, its cloud patterns never quite repeating themselves in detail despite their consistency on the planetary scale...

We crossed into the mighty maelstrom that was RedSpot. I saw the endless swirls and eddies that rimmed it, stormlets paying homage to the Lord of Storms, and for a while I flirted with the trance state. To my eye the vortex seemed to accelerate, to make its grand counterclockwise rotation in seconds, so that I could appreciate the whole of it. It became a monstrous mouth that consumed the smaller swirls, one after the other, or at least sucked away much of their power. That was, of course, how it nourished itself: it was the System's hungriest vampire.

I felt a hand on mine and emerged from my reverie. It was Amber, beside me, for, of course, I had her along, as I normally did when contacting the officials of other nations. It had become accepted as one of the idiosyncrasies of the Tyrant, this constant presence of his ward, the mute girl; in fact, it was now expected. It seemed to lend an air of validity to the encounters, in the minds of the officials.

So she was with me physically. And emotionally, via the helmet. But the two were not yet merged, for she had not come to me in the manner I required, to tell me that she wanted me to love her in life as I had in the helmet—or not. I had to have that independent statement from her before I could act. My memory of Reba's lesson remained clear, and I did not want to impose a relationship of this nature on a virtual child who was in most other respects subject to my will. This much would be Amber's choice—and if she did not tell me yes, then I would leave her alone, and all would be as it had always been, overtly. I had to have this much assurance of the fairness of my position. This much.

Now we descended into the vortex of RedSpot, and the great swirl of it took us in, perhaps an analog of our emotional situation. The clarity of it was lost with proximity, and soon it was as if we were in a normal atmospheric current. That was the way of human objectivity, I realized: from up close, the daily routine seemed ordinary even if from afar it clearly was not. We could appreciate reality on the physical plane, on occasion, by rising above it, but how could we ever do so on the emotional plane?

We docked at RedSpot City, the capital of this nation. Externally it was a cluster of giant bubbles, much like any other complex. Internally, I knew, it had its own identity. But I was not properly prepared for the reality.

The halls of the upper class were spacious and elegant. Parks, gardens, and fountains abounded, and there were many statues. We toured the Plaza of the Constitution and saw the majestic cathedral there, whose spires reached up toward the center of the bubble. Amber was plainly awestruck, and I was mightily impressed myself. Then we were received at the National Palace, and the phenomenal Castle, traditional home of the president of RedSpot. We admired the University Library, its enormous facade reflecting ancient Aztec and Toltec art.

"But what about the residential areas?" I inquired.

There was a certain confusion while they tried to persuade me that such regions were not really of interest to me. Ah, but they were, I insisted innocently. I reminded them that I was Hispanic myself and had come from a Hispanic planet; they were my people and I wanted to see them personally. What I did not remind them of was that it was evident that much of the aid rendered in prior years to this and other Latin Jupiter nations had been wasted. So I needed a closer look at their real nature, to justify the intransigence I had in mind—and they preferred to deny that justification without stating why.

They could not deny me, though misgiving was manifest on every RedSpot face. Soon Amber and I were treated to an impromptu ride through one of the neighboring sections. They tried to confine it to the favored gee-norm level, but I asked to see the upper reaches, where the poor folk resided. Because courtesy required that I be humored, and because my lone say-so could cause another massive North Jupiter loan to be approved for RedSpot, they obeyed again. We went directly to the top.

Gee was noticeably diminished here, for this was nearer to the center of the mighty city-bubble, with correspondingly smaller centrifugal force. That was why it was not a favored level; prolonged residence here would weaken the body, making activity on the full-gee levels difficult. It had been to avoid a similar fate that my family had emigrated from Callisto, the better part of forty years before. We had been threatened with residence in the half-gee coffee bean plantation, and we could never have won free of that, once committed. This level of RedSpot was not that extreme, but still it was not healthy.

The travel-hall was a complete contrast to the broad lanes of the display region. It was low and narrow, the lighting was bad, the air was polluted. The fact was that RedSpot City was so congested, so over-populated, that its recycling mechanisms were unable to keep up with the demand. The diameter of the main bubble was no greater than that of Nyork or Cago in North Jupiter, but its population was swelling so grotesquely that it was now the largest city of the planet, and soon it would be the largest of the entire System.

Amber coughed, unused to such foul air, and I was not enjoying it myself. In addition to the pollution there was a certain stench, suggesting that the sanitary mechanisms were also overcapacitated. But I held firm; I wanted to see the people of this nation as they really were.

We came to a park area, but it was no longer a park. Instead it was a grotesque conglomeration of junk. Old containers, crates, segments of packing material and things I could not quite identify were piled around haphazardly, filling the chamber.

"The park... is now a garbage dump?" I inquired, appalled.

"We shall send a crew to clean it up!" my guide promised hastily.

I knew this was more complicated than that. Remember, it is my talent to read people, and this man was excruciatingly eager to get me away from here. Therefore I resisted. "Let's take a look at it now," I said.

I helped Amber to get out of the vehicle, remembering as I took her hand the secret that lay between us. She was now in the Spanish mode, so could talk, but she had remained silent. Perhaps my insistence on extending this tour to the seamier side of the city was also a sublimation of my need to gain some sort of commitment from Amber, whatever its nature might be. As long as we were here, we were together without suspicion. Or perhaps it was more sinister: if she disliked this oppressive region, she would have to initiate some sort of gesture to inform me, and once she had done that, she might find it easier to inform me of the more important decision.

I studied her covertly as she stepped to the floor. She was slender but attractive enough in her public dress. For this occasion her outfit was in the style of RedSpot, a full skirt with a frilly border, and she had a flower in her hair. She looked completely Hispanic and completely innocent, a little girl just merging into maidenhood. I found her wholly desirable and condemned myself for that. I had always had contempt for those older men who took very young mistresses; now I understood their position better than I liked.

As we approached the piled junk a small boy emerged. He spied us and retreated.

"Wait!" I called in Spanish. "Let me talk to you!"

But the boy did not reappear. "Please, Señor Tyrant," our guide said. "We must get clear of this region."

"In a moment," I agreed. I stepped to the crevice where the boy had vanished. Sure enough, there was a passage there.

This was no dump. It was a region of makeshift housing. The poverty-stricken masses of RedSpot had had to fashion their own residences, squatting in the park.

The odor was worse here, suggesting that these folk did not have proper access to sanitary facilities. I was appalled that such conditions should exist in the middle of a giant city-bubble of Jupiter, but not really surprised. I had verified what I had suspected. RedSpot really did need economic improvement loans!

Amber stood beside me, not reacting, so I pushed farther. I hunched over and entered the aperture, drawing her in after me. In retrospect I realize how foolish an act this was; I had been too long away from poverty.

"¡Señor! Señor!" the guide protested, horrified, and the guards strode forward.

But I moved on into the labyrinth—for so it turned out to be—of the slum village, Amber behind me. I found myself in a kind of twisting alley that wound through the jammed hut-chambers. There was literal garbage on the floor, and the passage was fraught with projecting ridges of plastic, for the chambers were not neatly fashioned.

I heard something behind and glanced back. A man had materialized, and he held a knife.

Now, belatedly, I realized my foolhardiness. I had left our guards behind and entered a largely lawless region. I could get myself killed before the guards could break through to rescue me.

But the man's attention was on Amber, not on me. "Girl, come here," he said gruffly.

Amber shrank away from him and toward me. "She is with me, señor," I said.

Another man appeared on my other side. He, too, bore a blade. "What is your price for her?" he demanded. I was armed, of course. I had a laser, and I put my hand on it in my jacket. "Señors, I wish you no mischief," I said. "But the señorita will not go with you. Now, if you will stand aside, we shall depart; I regret intruding on your territory."

Both men closed on us, knives extended. I fired at one through my jacket, scorching him on the right ear, then spun to cover the other. He hesitated, so I seared him on the same ear. I knew better than to bluff with this type.

There was a stirring in the chambers of this region, and I knew we would soon have more company. I hustled Amber back, watching all around us. In a moment we were out, standing before the alarmed guards. I knew why they had not pursued us into the slum passage; they had feared this would only get us immediately knifed, and themselves as well. Their relief at seeing us unharmed was manifest.

We returned to the vehicle and moved on through the level. I saw that the two guards and the guide were tight with apprehension, despite our safe return, and in a moment I realized why. "I did a foolish thing," I said to them. "You warned me but, of course, could not prevent me without causing affront. If you three will be so kind as to forget this embarrassing incident completely, it will be a great favor to me. I would not like to have to explain it to either my kind hosts or my own people; it would damage my image."

The three exchanged glances, then smiled with relief. "It is forgotten!" they agreed emphatically. Of course, they would keep the secret; their own heads were on the line, for their neglect in protecting me.

"And the people of the slum—I wounded two in the ear," I continued as an afterthought. "If they should appear with some complaint—"

"There will be no complaint," the guards reassured me grimly.

Yes, I was sure of that. We had a minor conspiracy of silence, to mutual advantage. In the process I had been reminded of something I should never have forgotten: that it is not smart to attempt too boldly to mix with the disadvantaged. They may have been wronged by their society, but they are not necessarily nice or polite people.

Amber sat very close to me now. She, too, had been shaken, realizing how precarious existence can be for all of us. Perhaps that was a worthwhile side effect.

 

We docked at Callisto, winding up my Latin Jupiter tour. My people were nervous about this, because I had departed this planet as a refugee, not as a legitimate emigrant. But politics and power change things, and I suspected I would be safer here today than I was back on the colossus. I felt nostalgia for the home planet; my roots, however brutally severed, were here, and I wanted to walk the soil of Halfcal again. Also, I had a specific mission here, an ironic one, that was best handled personally and privately.

I took Amber to the city-dome of Maraud, my home turf. It was good to see the barren, airless terrain of Callisto again, with the great old ice mine and the hemisphere that sealed in the city, with the gee-lens above it that concentrated the sunlight twenty-seven-fold. How the old, once-familiar things tugged at my soul today!

But the neighborhood where my family had lived was gone, or at least changed. Increasing population had forced more crowded quarters, and the look of it differed. The street where my lovely sister Faith had been braced by the scion, setting off our ruin—I could not tell which one it was now. Our old domicile—impossible to tell exactly where it had been. Too much time had passed, too much recent history had intervened. It might have been easier to locate Amber's root-location, elsewhere in Halfcal, but she had no desire to do that, and I didn't push it.

What of that scion, the young punk whose misshapen vengeance had so threatened us? I didn't even inquire, knowing that today, if he lived, he would be nearing sixty years old, a completely different person. I was not here for this sort of retribution.

We were received at the domicile of the current leader, Junior Doc. The name had become a kind of title in an ongoing repression that had endured for centuries. Junior was actually about my age, which meant he hadn't been in power when I departed Callisto; that helped. It made it possible for him to assure me that things had changed and that families like mine would not be forced to flee today.

"I am most gratified to hear you say that, señor," I replied. "Because Jupiter is being overrun by illegal immigrants, and this is causing us considerable expense. I have talked to the authorities of RedSpot about this, and they have graciously agreed to take positive steps to restrict the flow of people from their border." Because I had made it plain that no loans or financial guarantees would be extended otherwise and that the all-important rate of interest on the loans extant could be raised or lowered at my whim. Every point those rates increased was like a sledgehammer blow to the economy of RedSpot.

"But you are of Halfcal stock!" Junior protested. "Surely you cannot turn your back on your own kind!"

"Surely not," I agreed. "But there are ways and ways."

"As you know, Señor Tyrant, we are very poor," he said cunningly. "A good loan would enable us to take better care of our poor."

"Odd thing about good loans," I remarked. "In the past the money has somehow found its way to the coffers of the richest class, while the poor have been benefited very little, and, of course, those loans are seldom, if ever, repaid."

"Much of our budget goes necessarily to defense," he continued almost without pause. "If we were to receive sufficient military aid, then more of the basic resources would be available for our basic needs."

"Odd thing about military aid," I remarked in the same tone as before. "Somehow it seems to have made the military commands of Latin nations so strong that they have then taken over the governments of their countries, replacing republics with military oligarchies or outright dictatorships."

"There may be something to be said for an enlightened dictatorship," he observed, glancing at me sidelong. "Certainly when conscientious reforms are undertaken. If Halfcal were to receive, for example, a preferred price for its coffee exports, I'm sure certain reforms—"

"Odd thing about reforms, señor. Either they fail to proceed far beyond the stage of rhetoric or they become too effective. An oppressive government that ceases to torture its citizens can be overthrown by those who are less concerned about human rights, so the effort is wasted."

"Small danger of that here," he murmured, but for some reason did not push the point. "However, direct economic aid should be effective—"

"Odd thing: the donations of food and machinery and materials we have made in the past have somehow turned up for sale on the interplanetary black market."

Junior sighed. "You are a hard man to bargain with, ¡señor! But surely we could find some accommodation?"

"If the bubble-folk were to stop arriving in our atmosphere, so that we were not constantly distracted by these unfortunates, we might be inclined to contribute somewhat to their betterment at home. Food, perhaps—the same we use on Jupiter."

"Yours is dosed to make your people sterile!" he protested.

"Temporarily infecund," I agreed. "The antidote is in the hands of the government. Your birthrate would decline, of course. Is that too great a sacrifice?"

He considered. "Antidote available to the elite—assuming any of them used that food? No, I think we can accommodate that sacrifice."

"We do expect most of that food to go to the poor." That was the same pitch I had made to RedSpot: food that would not only help feed their impoverished but would drastically curtail the birthrate of that class—the class that was encroaching on the territory of the U.S. of J. If that food found its way to the black market, it would be easy for us to withhold the antidote; that enforced proper distribution. RedSpot had been similarly hospitable to the notion. Thorley and other commentators were to castigate me roundly for this device, but it seemed at the time to be the expedient course. I was, after all, the Tyrant; the hard decisions were mine to make.

His eyes almost glinted. "Certainly they would be more inclined to remain at home if their situation were bettered. I think it very likely that few, if any, would seek your skies."

I nodded. Underlings would work out the details: aid for Halfcal, a cutoff of the flow of refugees for Jupiter. We parted with understanding smiles.

But on the ship, on the way home, Amber spoke up. She addressed me in Spanish, of course. "I do not know about these things, but I think Hopie would ask—"

"How can I torpedo my own kind?" I finished with a sigh. "I would just have to explain to my daughter that no matter how bad things may seem to the poverty-stricken natives of Halfcal, they would be worse in space. We cleaned out the pirates, to be sure, but space remains dangerous for those inadequately prepared, and the chances of any given refugee making it safely to Jupiter are only one in three or four. And what will he find there? Only unemployment, if he can't speak English—and most of them can't. He will hardly be better off than he was before."

"She would say, 'But you were a refugee!' "

"I would reply: 'I am no longer a refugee. I am the Government of Jupiter. My loyalties have changed.' "

"She would say, 'You have been corrupted by power.' "

"I am the Tyrant," I agreed.

And it came home to me with special force now: I was, indeed, the Tyrant. Power had not corrupted me, it had merely changed my perspective. But how was any Halfcal refugee to perceive the distinction? I was now acting exactly the way any dictator did, with seeming callousness for the common man. Yet what else could I do? The rationale, as stated indirectly to my daughter, was valid. No single man could repeal the basic laws of economics.

"Who is Megan?" she asked abruptly.

I was not entirely comfortable with this question from this source at this time, but I answered. "She is my wife."

"Why isn't she with you now?"

"She cannot bring herself to participate in the Tyrancy."

"But she loves you?"

"Yes."

"How can that be?"

"She would say that it is possible to hate the sin but to love the sinner."

She was silent. I was braced for questions about my relations with other women and with Amber herself, while I remained married to this great and good woman, but they did not come. Apparently Amber now understood as much as she needed to.

 

Amber came to me when I was alone in my room. I knew Shelia and Coral had arranged to provide us this privacy. My skin experienced a cold wash; I was abruptly afraid.

She stood before me silently. I forced open my mouth and whispered: "You are in English?"

She nodded. I would have to change her over to Spanish to have her talk. I was tempted to avoid the issue by declining to do that. I compromised. "Amber, it is you in the helmet," I said. She nodded again. "But there you can speak." Once more the nod.

"But not in life." I sighed. "Amber, I am afraid of you now. I don't know whether I should change you over to Spanish and let you talk."

She remained mute and unmoving. I looked into her face and saw a shine in her eye. Tears were forming.

They melted me. "Oh, Amber!" I exclaimed, and stepped into her and embraced her. She hugged me back, and our tears flowed. No, I could not deny her!

But neither could I accept her—yet. "Amber," I said gently into her hair as I held her. "I do not truly love anyone, in the sense that love is normally understood. But you—what I feel for you is close." I kissed her, and she returned the kiss, exactly as she had always done in the helmet. "But this—this is not yet right. There are things I—we—must clear first."

She merely gazed at me. I thought again of putting her into Spanish mode but delayed it again. I knew that she would go along with anything I decided; I was the one who was hesitant. So I tried to explain, to myself as much as to her.

"Amber, I am fifty-two years old. You are fifteen. You have been placed in my charge. It is not right for me to do this with you."

Again the tears formed in her eyes. She thought I was rejecting her.

I embraced her again. She was not Helse, and I knew that; she differed markedly in personality and abilities. But the way she looked—it was as if she were just coming into Helse's range, physically. Perhaps all girls, all Hispanic girls, have a similar aspect at that age. Megan, who was Saxon, had also resembled Helse, and in that resemblance my fascination had been caught, though Megan was a totally different person. I knew better, but I knew I had to have this girl. Maybe it was a retreat to an impossible past, but it was necessary.

"Amber, I'll do it," I told her. "But you will have to help. We shall have to tell my daughter Hopie, and that will be the most difficult part. Then I must notify my leading critic, for reasons that you would not understand. But for you: Hopie will come to you, and then you must tell her how you feel. She may then become your enemy. Are you prepared to face that?"

Slowly Amber nodded.

I felt, almost, regret. This was going to complicate my life significantly. But my nature gave me no choice.

 

I talked to Hopie. It was every bit as bad as I had feared. I tried to come at it obliquely, but I suspect that there was no approach I could have made that would have avoided her reaction. "Hopie, I have to ask you to do something that I fear you will not like," I said.

"What else is new, Daddy?" she inquired brightly.

"This does not relate to education. You have been doing well enough on that, and I'm pleased."

Her eyes narrowed. "You're up to something."

"I will need your cooperation, and this may not be easy for you," I continued grimly. "And I must ask you to go to Thorley and inform him of the situation."

"Thorley's not so bad," she said. "He really helped me on education; you know that. I could almost like him, if he weren't so conservative."

"You will not like telling him this."

"I can tell him whatever I need to; he doesn't have to like it," she said confidently. "But what is this big mystery?"

"It involves Amber." My throat tried to tighten.

"She's doing very well, Daddy; she's gotten taller and she's filling out and she's happy."

"I am aware of that. But her status is about to change."

Hopie abruptly sobered. "Daddy, you can't send her away! She's like a little sister to me! She's very good with Robertico, and she makes no demands at all. And she thinks the world of you."

"Not to send her away," I said with difficulty.

She relaxed somewhat. "What, then?"

"I want you to continue to—to treat her as a sister. To go places with her, to help her deal with those who do not understand her nature. To be her friend."

"Daddy, that goes without saying!" she chided me. "I love her!"

"So do I," I whispered.

"Of course! You understand her best of all. So what's the problem?"

"She will not always be spending the night with you anymore. You must accept that without being angry."

"Not with me? Where would she sleep, then? Daddy, she doesn't like to be alone."

"She will not be alone."

"With whom, then? There's really nobody—"

"With me."

"Oh. You have special languages for her to listen to?"

"In a sense." I wished I could postpone this indefinitely.

"Daddy, exactly what are you trying to tell me?" she demanded.

"I want... to take Amber...to be my mistress."

This was so far from her expectation that she missed the implication entirely. "Mistress of what, Daddy?"

I took a shuddering breath. "To be my sexual companion."

Now it dawned. "To what?"

"I—she and I have had a relationship via the helmet. An affair. Now we want to make it real."

She stared at me. "Helmet—the feelies? You and Amber?"

I nodded.

"Sex? As in the Navy?"

"Yes."

"With her?"

"Yes."

She considered. "I don't believe this!"

"Believe it," I said miserably.

"You—she—Daddy, she's younger than I am!"

"Yes."

"And you mean to—to force her to—to satisfy your lusts?"

"No force."

"No force!" she exclaimed, her face flaming. "Fifteen years old, absolutely dependent on you for her very life and you want her body, and you say there's no force?!"

"She wants it too," I said.

"She wants not to be thrown out into space if she says no!" she cried. "She's afraid she'll be tortured if she tries to resist the mighty Tyrant!"

"No. No fear. She came to me, via the helmet. She—"

"And you raped her in the helmet? And now you want to do it for real? And you expect me to go along?"

"Hopie, I wish you would try to understand," I said. I put my hand on her arm. It was a mistake.

She became violent. She threw my hand off. "How could you!" she cried, and punched me in the right eye.

The pain flared, but I did not move or resist. "I do love her, in my fashion."

"In your fashion!" she exclaimed derisively. "The way you loved Roulette in the Navy?"

"Somewhat like that," I agreed. "But without violence."

"And what of Megan?" she screamed.

"Your mother and I are separated. She understands."

"She's not my mother!" Hopie said. "I don't know who my mother is! Sometimes I hate her for being secret—and for making me a bastard! Why did you have to do it, Daddy? What was wrong with your wife? You just had to—"

"You misunderstand—"

She slammed me in the nose. The pain exploded, and almost immediately the blood flowed from a burst blood vessel.

I let it flow. "I'm sorry," I said.

"Sorry!" she mimicked. "Why weren't you sorry before you started all this?"

"If you would talk to Amber—"

"I'll talk to her!" she cried. "You bet I will!" She ran out of the room, and I knew that her rage was forty-nine percent grief.

Coral came in to medicate me and clean me up, for my blood was all over my face and shirt. "I didn't think you wanted protection this time," she murmured.

I nodded. "There is some punishment a man must accept."

"She'll settle down, in time."

"I knew she would be angry," I said. "But I didn't realize how angry."

"Daughters don't have to be understanding of adult weakness." Under her skilled hands the flow of blood eased and stopped, and so did the physical pain. "You'll be bruised, sir."

"Not only physically," I agreed.

 

Hours later, when I was lying sleepless in my bed, my nose bandaged, Hopie came quietly to me. "Oh, Daddy!" she said.

I sat up and gazed at her, unspeaking. She threw herself into my arms and sobbed. She cried for about fifteen minutes, then disengaged. "I will tell Thorley," she whispered, and left. Then I slept.

 

Next morning Shelia handed me a feelie chip. "From Amber?" I asked, startled.

"From Hopie," she said. "I have not played it."

I was thankful for that. "Hopie said she was—"

"She's already gone." She glanced sidelong up at me. "That must have been some session you had."

I touched my bandaged nose. "You guessed!"

"She shows similar wounds."

I nodded, knowing it was the emotional carnage she meant. I took the chip and played it at the earliest opportunity, apprehensive about what it would show. Hopie had evidently forgiven me my transgression, but the whole story was not yet clear. My talent blurs when applied to those I love; I did not know my daughter's mind.

The scene was of Amber, sitting in the room they shared, the helmet on her head. Hopie entered, saw her, and took up a similar helmet.

My muscles tightened. The helmets show the programmed scenes when used separately with the chips, but because they tune in on the user's brain signals, they can interact when used close to each other. This can cause unpredictable effects and is not recommended for amateurs. It is the closest approach to telepathy that we presently possess. Hopie was within the interactive range, deliberately.

The scene dissolved and re-formed: now it was no longer what Hopie had programmed to set the situation; it was the shared dream of the two girls.

Amber's scene was a field of pretty flowers, the horizon far distant, showing that this was not the interior of a bubble or dome. The sun as seen from Earth shone brightly down, warming her. She was in a simple print dress, sitting cross-legged. She held a daisy, and she was picking off the petals in the age-old "He loves me, he loves me not" ritual. But the query was never completed; no matter how long she picked, there were always more petals. She could have been at this for hours.

Then a man strode toward her, his boots trampling down the living flowers. I winced; the man was me, imperfectly rendered but recognizable. In real life I would never trample flowers; they were too valuable. But this was hardly intended to be the real me; it was something else, and I doubted that I would like it very much.

Amber looked up and saw the me-figure. She smiled welcome.

The me-figure smiled. He reached down and more or less lifted her to her feet. Then he took her by the hair and held her cruelly while his free hand ripped off her dress.

Amber's face showed surprise and shock. Obviously she had never expected such an approach from me. But she did not resist. She even tried to help with the removal of the clothing. Perhaps she did not realize that the me-figure was not being animated by the real Hope Hubris but by his angry daughter, who was attempting to show how badly I was acting.

In moments Amber was naked. The me-figure leered and developed an impossibly monstrous erect phallus, one that would have torn the girl apart if forced into her. He started to do just that—but then was engulfed in flames. He screamed as his hair blazed up.

The scene shifted to show the source of the flame. It was a dragon with a long and sinuous neck, burnished scales, and a switching tail. It inhaled, reorienting on the target, then belched out another fierce jet of fire.

The me-figure tried to flee, but the flame pursued; it was obvious that he could not escape a horrible death by burning. But as the fire arrived naked Amber leapt to intercept it, spreading her arms to take the brunt of it on her breast. She, the ravished, was sacrificing herself to save me.

Abruptly the dragon vanished. The scene reverted to its original state: girl with flower. Evidently Hopie had not intended to have Amber burned, but Amber had power over her own scene-figure and could do what she willed.

Again the me-figure approached, and again he attacked the unresisting girl. This time the act was halted by the arrival of a huge turbaned pirate bearing a sword with a blade four feet long. He swung it violently at the me-figure, lopping off an arm. The sword evidently had a laser-buttressed edge, so that it cut right through flesh and bone.

Again Amber leapt to protect me. She jumped to intercept the next cut, losing one of her own arms. And again the scene abruptly abated; Amber was not supposed to be the target.

The third attack was more subtle. This time the me-figure did not rip off Amber's dress; he merely took hold of her, dragging her away. She scrambled around to get her feet properly under her, so that she could come along willingly.

The scene darkened. A quick pan of the sky showed that a storm was forming, the clouds roiling in great gray masses as they never did in a Jupiter bubble. A wind came up, flattening the flowers and tearing at the me-figure's clothing and Amber's dress.

Then snow pelted down, and its very touch froze the flowers, for they turned instantly gray and stiff. Soon the two figures were plowing through ankle-deep drifts.

A poncho appeared, settling around Amber's shoulders, but there was none for the me-figure. Instead the wind tore at him so persistently that his clothing tore away, exposing him further to the elements. He would soon freeze to death.

Amber removed her poncho and set it on the me-figure, trying to protect him from the deadly chill. But the poncho dissipated into mist as she did so, and was gone. Another poncho formed around her. She tried to give this also to the me-figure, but again it misted out, re-forming about her. The message was plain enough: only she could be warm.

The snow quickly became knee-deep, and the wind cut through cruelly. The me-figure faltered, his motions slowing; he was literally freezing to death. He tottered and fell face forward into the snow.

Amber got down and tried to lift him up, but her strength was inadequate. She turned him over, brushing the snow from his face. His features were frozen; he did not respond to her ministrations. He was preserved as an icy statue.

Amber bent to kiss his frozen lips, but still there was no response. She tried once more to wrap the poncho around him but, once more, to no avail. He was gone.

Then she gazed up at the snowy sky, and her face was wet with tears, not with snow. "Why are you doing this?" she cried in English, the language she was locked into.

For an instant the scene froze, not in the cold sense but in the still sense. I knew what was happening: Hopie had never before heard Amber speak in that language and was so astonished that she was forgetting to animate the scene.

Then she recovered. Her own figure appeared in the scene. "You're talking English!" she exclaimed. "How can you do that?"

"This isn't the real world," Amber reminded her. Then, realizing: "You are doing this?"

"Yes. I'm in the adjacent helmet. They interact."

"But—why are you killing your father?"

"Because he means to abuse you," Hopie said grimly.

"Oh, no, no!" Amber cried. "He is a great and gentle man, and he would never hurt me!"

"Amber, don't you understand? He wants to have sex with you."

"Yes. And I with him. I love him."

Hopie was flustered. "But you—you're a child! It isn't right! He's abusing his position, his power over you!"

"Oh, Hopie, please understand! I have no life without him! I love him utterly! All I want is to be with him completely."

"To be... one of his women?" Hopie asked disdainfully.

"Oh, yes!"

"But you know he can't love you! He doesn't love anybody, really! He only uses women! They love him, but it's one-sided. How can you even consider letting yourself be—"

"He loves each one a little," Amber said. "None of them as much as Helse or Megan or you. But enough."

Hopie paused, shaken anew. "You really mean it, don't you? You want to be one of his mistresses! You don't care what it means!"

"He only touches those he really respects or cares about. I thought there was no chance for me, and when I found there was—oh, Hopie, don't deny me this, my only real pleasure in existence! You know I have no life of my own! You're his daughter; you have everything, but I have nothing!"

"I'm his daughter," Hopie repeated. "His illegitimate offspring. You call that everything?"

"He only ever loved one woman enough to have a child by her. What could be more precious to him than that child?"

Hopie considered. Then, slowly, her militancy crumbled. She began to cry.

Amber went over to her. "Oh, Hopie, don't be sad. You have been so good to me, I don't want to make you unhappy!"

Hopie reached out to embrace her. The two girls clutched each other, both crying, while the snow melted away and the flowers returned.

"Show me how it is with you," Hopie said at last.

Amber was perplexed. "How it is?"

"We're connected now. How do you feel about my father? Just let your feeling go, and I will read it."

Amber let her feeling go. It expanded to fill the scene—not a picture, not a sound, but sheer, inchoate, encompassing emotion, such total longing, need, desire, passion, and love that it swept aside all considerations of age, sex, propriety, legality, status, and doubt. Her body might be marginally adult, but her feeling was the essence of womanly abandon.

I, the object of it all, found myself awed. This emotion—it vaporized anything childish or playful or innocent. This was the very depth of reality. To be loved so utterly—could I possibly be worthy?

A brief eternity later it ebbed, for it had been only a glimpse. A peek into Heaven, Hell, and Purgatory combined, into Nirvana and Nothingness. Amber's entire brain was misorganized, without the normal feedbacks and governors. Her love was absolute.

"I never understood," Hopie breathed.

Neither had I, I realized.

"You never felt the lack," Amber responded.

The scene dissolved.

 

"Missive from Thorley," Shelia informed me, handing me the letter. Thorley, of course, clung quaintly to the printed page, despite its inefficiency, because he identified literally with the press. It is a bias I appreciate, for when I wish to express myself with unstressed candor, this is the medium I choose. The written word. Its magic supersedes technology.

At my leisure I broke the archaic wax seal on the envelope and read:

My Dear Tyrant:

I feel it incumbent upon me to advise you of a private interview I had most recently with your adopted daughter, Hopie Hubris. She came to me with what I assumed was to be a concern relating to her post as Minister of Education, but which turned out to be of another nature.

She advised me that you had required her to inform me of a private peccadillo: your passion for a rather young woman in your charge, by name Amber. It seems that Amber was given to you by Chairman Khukov two years past and serves as a kind of translator, being conversant in her fashion with a number of tongues. Now it is your intent to make of this young woman a mistress, she being amenable.

Obviously it is not my prerogative to pass judgment on your private affairs, nor is it my desire to do so. The secret passions of any man, I suspect, would embarrass him were they made public. As this particular one appears to relate in no way to your performance in office, I see no need to expose this girl to the kind of notoriety that would develop if the matter were to become public. In sum, sir, I will keep your secret. I am sure you would do the same for me.

However, there is a related matter that I found necessary to impart to your daughter. After completing her mission, which, it seems, was not entirely to her liking, she unburdened herself to the point of inquiring rhetorically why she had had to be the one to perform this office.

"Because, my dear young woman," I said to her, assuming that familiarity that our labors on the organization of education facilitated, "the Tyrant, knowing that news of this nature could not be entirely concealed from those with a keen nose for the nuance of human fallibility, wished to advise me in a fashion which could not be doubted that the object of his amorous intention was not yourself. Had other been the case, it would indeed have been necessary to expose—"

Here I had to abate my explanation, for she was staring at me with such chagrin that I realized that further discussion was pointless. She departed forthwith. May I say, sir, that if I have caused your daughter unwarranted distress, I am deeply disturbed. Certainly I bear her no malice and consider her to be a fine young woman with an attractive penchant for literary expression. It may be that I spoke carelessly in this instance. As it is too late to mitigate such damage as I may have done, I am taking the liberty of informing you of the situation. I leave the remainder in your hands.

Your Most Humble & Obedient Servant

Thorley

 

There are levels, and levels, to Thorley that are seldom properly appreciated. In the guise of his consciously affected style he had informed me of what I most needed to know and had done a portion of my dirty work for me. Now Hopie understood why it had been necessary for Thorley to know from Hopie's own lips the truth about my passion for Amber. Indeed, Hopie's statement, and her reaction, could not be doubted. There are things that even a Tyrant does not do.

There may be those who suppose Thorley to be my enemy. How little they know!