Executive

by Piers Anthony

  “Yes, he should be put in charge of economics. But you’ll need a mandate for him. It’s not enough simply to say ‘Balance the budget.’ You have to have your priorities aligned before he gets into harness.”

  “So I discovered,” I agreed ruefully. “My last four months haven’t been very good for economic priorities.”

  She laughed. “Sometimes I think of you as the fifteen-year-old boy I knew when our situation changed.” Then she leaned across and kissed me, as I sat startled.

  But of course if I could remember her as twelve, she could remember me as fifteen. Certainly that had been the period of our reckoning, of our coming of age. We had shared more joy and tragedy then than ever since. Whatever else might happen, that common experience bound us together in a way that no other person was equipped to understand.

  “Crime,” she said. “We have taken steps to deal with it in the past, but it’s like a hydra, always sprouting new heads. We want a competent, dedicated person to tackle the problems of violence in the domes, illicit drugs, gambling—”

  Gambling. That summoned a picture of Roulette, my last Navy wife, as she had been then: eighteen, fiery, and with a body crafted by the devil himself for man’s corruption. I had been required to rape her ...

  “Why not?” Spirit asked.

  I jogged out of my reverie. “I—”

  “Only one body compels a trance like that. But she always was competent, and at thirty-eight she’s had a good deal of experience. She could tackle the problem of crime as well as anyone could.”

  “But—”

  “Of course, we need her husband even more. He is under our power, while she isn’t, so we’d better assign him first.”

  “Admiral Phist?” I said, not quite keeping up.

  “The same. When it comes to efficiency, he has no peer.”

  She had been married to him for several years in the Navy. “You ought to know,” I murmured. But, of course, it was true; Gerald Phist had been held back in the Navy because he was a whistle-blower, until he joined my unit. He had done marvels for our procurement. Certainly I wanted him on my team now—and if Spirit asked him, he would serve. He was now in his mid-sixties, but I knew his mind remained sharp. “What position?”

  “I would have thought defense, because that’s his area of expertise, but he has already taken care of that.”

  I knew what she meant. After Spirit and I had left the Navy our unit had continued, and its personnel had extended their influence, thanks to Admiral Mondy’s—the male, Emerald’s husband—sinister expertise. Emerald’s own position had been proof of that; my recent promotion of her had merely completed a twenty-year process. My people had in their quiet way assumed the reins and reorganized the Navy, making it a far more effective fighting force than it had been. Gone were the days of paying hundreds of dollars for nickel and dime parts and of spending billions for exotic equipment that didn’t work. The Navy had become the canniest of buyers. President Tocsin would have squelched that but had realized that it was better simply to take credit for the improved efficiency, and since my people did not seek credit, that had worked out well enough. But when it had come to the crunch, the Navy had supported me, not Tocsin. That had been the payoff.

  Spirit was right. The Navy no longer needed Admiral Phist.

  We needed him—to do the same job in the civilian sector. “But if not defense, then what?”

  “The Navy learned to deal effectively with the industrial part of the military-industrial complex,” she said. “Thanks to Gerald. But the political power of industry has only been blunted, not broken. Waste and fraud are rampant, and both the government the consumers suffer. We need to bring down the prices of food and goods for the average citizen, bringing inflation to a complete halt. He’s the one to that.”

  “He surely is,” I agreed. It was evident that Spirit had done more thinking on these matters than I had. “And we’ll need someone for interplanetary relations—”

  “Sir,” Shelia said from across the room.

  I got up and went to her.

  “The opposition members are walking out of Congress.”

  “Walking out?” I repeated blankly.

  “To prevent a quorum,” Spirit said, rejoining me. “So that no official business can be done. It’s an old ploy.”

  “Maybe I can appoint replacements,” I said.

  “Easier said than done,” Spirit said darkly. “Those Congressmen are supposedly the representatives of their various districts. Your appointees would represent you, not their districts. That wouldn’t go over well.”

  I nodded somberly, seeing her point. “And we’re having enough trouble figuring out who to appoint to the major offices; filling congressional seats would be impossibly cumbersome.”

  “Agreed,” she said. “As I see it, we have two convenient routes.”

  “Sir,” Shelia said again.

  I sighed. “Another problem? I haven’t grasped the last one yet!”

  “Not exactly. A delivery from Ganymede is here. They need your clearance.”

  “A delivery from Ganymede?” I repeated blankly.

  “A baby,” she said succinctly.

  A baby! Abruptly I remembered. I had made a deal with a woman from Ganymede I called Dorian Gray: to return her baby to her, in exchange for her help. Her help had enabled me to survive my situation, but she had died. I had nevertheless contacted the Premier of Ganymede, who had agreed to locate the baby. Now, two or three months later, he had evidently done so. “Perhaps I should contact a nursery,” Shelia murmured.

  “No,” I said. “This is my responsibility. Bring it in.”

  She spoke into her mike, giving the clearance.

  “One is to nationalize Congress,” Spirit resumed, unconcerned about the interruption. I regrouped my attention; we had been discussing ways to deal with the opposition walkout. “That would put the members under the authority of the government—”

  “But they are the government,” I protested.

  “No, you are the government,” she reminded me.

  “But still, what use is their advice and consent if they are compelled to be there by a government they oppose?”

  She shrugged. “Not much, I suspect. The other alternative is abolition.”

  “What?”

  But again we were interrupted. A Hispanic nurse entered, carrying a little boy. She approached me. “¿Señor Hubris?” she inquired.

  “Si,” I responded; evidently she did not speak English.

  “Robertico,” she said, holding out the baby boy.

  “Robertico,” I agreed somewhat numbly, taking him.

  She turned smartly and exited, leaving me holding the baby. I was the cynosure of all present. I felt like a fool.

  Robertico contemplated me. He was in doubt and considered crying, but I anticipated him and distracted him with a remark. “I promised to fetch you for your mother, Robertico,” I said. “This will be your new home. Meet your new friends: Spirit and Shelia.” Naturally he did not understand the words, for he was too young to talk, and in any event, I was speaking in English, but my tone and the manner in which I held him reassured him. He decided that this place was all right.

  “May I?” Shelia inquired, holding out her hands. With relief I gave Robertico to her. She sat him in her lap, facing him forward. His gaze fixed on the little transceiver screen and his expression became rapt. Evidently the moving picture was new and fascinating to him.

  “Abolition,” Spirit repeated, picking up where she had left off. “Simply abolish Congress, since it is no longer representative.”

  “But that would be—”

  “Dictatorial,” she finished. “You have the power and would be foolish not to use it. You gave them a chance and they refused to cooperate. Why not make an example?”

  “But without them who will represent the people?”

  “Do you suppose that very many of those folk represent the people?” she asked dryly.

  Robertic
o started to cry. Evidently he had seen something on the screen that upset him. “We’ve got to make better provision for him,” I said.

  “I have seen to it,” Shelia said. “But we are strangers to him. I suspect he has not been in as stimulating an environment as this before.”

  “He needs some sleep,” Spirit said.

  “It will be another half hour before the child-bed arrives,” Shelia said.

  “Give him here,” I said, taking the little boy back.

  “He needs changing,” Shelia said. “But the diapers—”

  “Aren’t here yet,” I concluded. So I simply held him and he quieted down.

  I returned to the matter at hand. “To deprive the people of all representation—that was never my intent.”

  “You can appoint people to represent them,” Spirit said.

  “I don’t know. I—” I broke off, for my arm was wet.

  Robertico was dripping. When would those diapers arrive?

  “Sir,” Shelia said. “Call from RedSpot.”

  RedSpot was our neighbor-nation to the south, whose city-bubbles occupied the great Red Spot of Jupiter. They would want to know my policy toward Latin Jupiter, since for the first time a Hispanic had ultimate power in North Jupiter. I could not avoid that call, lest I precipitate a diplomatic incident before I got properly established. “Put it on,” I said wearily.

  The face of the president of RedSpot appeared on the main screen. His eyes widened as he saw me standing with my shirt stained by leaking urine. “¡Señor Presidente!” he exclaimed.

  “We’re waiting for diapers,” I muttered in Spanish.

  “Diapers!” he repeated, evidently suppressing a smile. “Surely these are available locally?”

  “Si,” I agreed tightly.

  The smile struggled to get out, causing his lips to twitch. “If not, perhaps we might arrange a shipment from RedSpot.”

  “Unnecessary, thank you, Señor,” I demurred.

  “Lend-Lease, perhaps.” Oh, he was enjoying this! “We prefer to be generous to our less fortunate neighbors.”

  “What is your business, sir?” I inquired through teeth that threatened to clench.

  “Just to wish you well in your endeavors,” he said, stepping on another smile as he glanced at the spreading stain on my shirt. “And to express my government’s support for your new policy.”

  “What policy?” I demanded, lapsing into English. “I haven’t been able to organize my own wets, uh, wits yet!”

  “Well naturally you, as a Hispanic leader, are sympathetic to our concerns. I am sure relations between North Jupiter and RedSpot will be very close.”

  He was getting ready to put the touch on me! Naturally RedSpot wanted more favorable terms on things like the debt owed to our big banks. I didn’t want to alienate him, for I did appreciate his expression of support, but I simply wasn’t ready to talk finance.

  I was saved by the arrival of the diapers. “Señor, I am sure they will,” I said quickly. “We must talk again soon! But at the moment I wouldn’t want to burden you with the sight of a diaper being changed—”

  He laughed. “In RedSpot we teach our women to do such things, but then, we are not as liberated as you of the North.” He faded out, shaking his head.

  I looked around. “Where’s a table?” I asked. “It’s been about fourteen years since I changed a diaper, but I remember the principle.”

  Spirit showed me to a suitable table. She did not offer to do the job for me; she had had less experience at this than I, and Coral and Shelia were no better off. We stripped Robertico of his clothes and the sodden diaper. It turned out that he had done more than one number; the result was a real mess. Naturally we lacked equipment to deal with this problem properly. Coral fetched towels and tissues from the bathroom, and we used a damp washcloth for the cleaning. But the cloth was cold, and Robertico reacted with a howl of distress.

  “Sir,” Shelia said.

  “You know a better way to do it?” I snapped.

  “Call from Senator Stonebridge.”

  Oh. He would be concerned about the opposition walkout. What could I tell him?

  I sighed. “Put him on,” I said.

  Stonebridge’s face appeared on the main screen. He glanced at what was going on, seeming perplexed. “Minor crisis,” I explained as I dried Robertico’s bottom and set him down for the new diaper.

  “I think you need a baby-sitter, Mr. President,” he said gravely.

  “I can’t trust this boy to a stranger,” I said. “He doesn’t speak English.”

  “Few do, at that age,” he pointed out.

  All three women smiled. It was true: babies of this age did not speak at all. “But he has a Spanish heritage,” I explained. “All he has heard spoken is Spanish. I would rather break him in to English gradually.”

  “There are bilingual baby-sitters.”

  “None I know well enough to trust at the moment.”

  “With all due respect, Mr. President, I suggest that that is surely untrue. You have a fully competent bilingual baby-sitter available that you can trust.”

  “Evidently you know something I don’t!” I gritted as I stuck my thumb on a pin. The diaper had some kind of self-stick fastener, but I had been unable, in my distracted state, to decipher it, so was using the old-fashioned pin that had been on the old diaper. Diapering an active baby, I was rediscovering, is no simple task.

  “Your daughter.”

  I paused, my mouth dropping open. My daughter Hopie— of course. She was fifteen years old now and eager for just such jobs as this. But she was with Megan.

  I looked helplessly at Spirit. “I can’t take Hopie away from Megan.”

  “She would be safer here,” Spirit said. “She has to attend school, and she will now be more of a target. Here she could be tutored and provided the same protection we are.”

  “But Megan—”

  “I will talk to her,” my sister said firmly.

  I sought to spread my hands but could not, because I had to hold Robertico. I picked him up, not bothering with the soiled pants; the diaper would have to do for now. My eye was caught by Senator Stonebridge’s eye in the screen.

  “If I may now bring up a somewhat less important concern,” he said with a straight face.

  “The walkout,” I said.

  “Exactly. The present government of North Jupiter is disintegrating. Prompt and decisive action is required if we are to retain a viable framework.”

  “I am not sure the prior framework remains viable,” I said. I have assumed power outside the normal framework, and I suspect there is no way the opposition representatives will accept that.”

  “Probably correct,” he agreed. “Columnist Thorley has already dubbed your administration ‘The Tyrancy.’”

  “The Tyrancy!” I exclaimed. That was the first time I had heard that appellation applied to me, familiar as it was later to become. “Well, I suppose I am, technically, a tyrant. The original term refers to one who assumes power illegally. I am legal but not by the standard of the system that has hitherto governed Jupiter. Some of the ancient Greek tyrants were enlightened rulers.”

  “And some were despots,” Stonebridge pointed out.

  “Still, upon reflection, I think the shoe fits. I will try to be an enlightened tyrant. So Thorley can call my administration the Tyrancy if he wants.”

  Stonebridge frowned. “You are not going to have him arrested?”

  “Of course not! I have always respected freedom of the press, and of speech in general. Thorley will always be free to express himself in public.”

  “Then I think you are not a tyrant by my definition.”

  “No, let me be called the Tyrant,” I said, liking the sound of it better as I considered it. “That solves the problem of my title.”

  “Surely you jest!”

  “No jest. I am the Tyrant, and my administration is the Tyrancy. I am making no pretense to honoring the old order.”

  �
��As you prefer, Mr. Tyrant,” he said awkwardly.

  “Just Tyrant,” I said. “I will make that my title of honor. It will set me apart, appropriately.”

  “As you prefer,” he repeated disapprovingly. “Now as to the walkout by the opposition—”

  “That becomes immaterial. I am abolishing Congress.”

  “Sir?” he asked, startled.

  “Let’s face it, Senator,” I said briskly, while Robertico played with the buttons on my shirt. “The average member of Congress is a tool of the special interests, regardless of his party. He is beholden to the political action committees that provide the bulk of the money he needs for his election campaigns, and a fair number are corrupt apart from that. Few actually, honestly, represent their constituents. The present—prior—system of government is monstrously non-representative in everything except name, and excruciatingly inefficient. The average man would be better off without it.”

  “But this is treason!” he protested.

  “Not any more,” I said. “I am the new government; I merely have to find new avenues to implement my power. I’m sure I will find it much easier to balance the budget if I eliminate fraud and waste in the government—and Congress is a nest of both.”

  “Sir, this—this is unfeasible,” he said, shocked. “All our institutions—there would be anarchy!”

  “Not if I appoint competent and honest people to run things,” I said. “As soon as I get my priorities organized, I will be asking you to serve. In fact, I am asking you now: will you serve as my adviser on budgetary matters?”

  His mouth thinned. “What is the force of that request, sir?”

  “You mean, will you be arrested if you refuse? No, this is voluntary. I need good people to serve as my lieutenants, and I will heed the advice of those who do serve. I am committed to the balancing of the budget, and I feel that no individual is better qualified to advise me on that than you. Will you serve?”

  Stonebridge was obviously upset and uncertain. “Let me take time to consider, sir. There are implications that—”

  “Of course,” I agreed. “But bear in mind that the sooner I get competent advice, the better it will be for Jupiter.”

  He faded out. I saw that Robertico was getting sleepy, so I cast about for a way to put him down.