Executive

by Piers Anthony

  “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 who 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 eye-balls 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 session 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 multi-headed 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. 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 t
hat 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?”