"That pit-cell was awful; I hated it in there again," she told me as she signaled "no." I understood; she was supposed to be their agent, hiding the truth from me. She would hardly be punished for doing what she was supposed to do. Naturally she had been reporting on our encounters all along—up to a point. Now she was supposed to make me believe she had suffered, to intensify, my sympathy and feeling for her.
I responded as I was supposed to. "I dread the thought of your being put in there because of me! After this, anything they ask you to do, do without question; it's the only way."
"The only way," she agreed, kissing me again and tonguing me twice.
As we proceeded toward the love act, discovering it to be a new experience in the light, she informed me by words and signals what had really happened. There had been a sudden visit by an officer not in the know about the program here, so that they had had to scramble to make things appear routine. I had been dumped out of sight, and she had been put in a uniform and put to work again in the galley. After the officer left things had returned to normal, except that they had had to cobble up a pretext for my apparent punishment. It seemed to have worked out all right. Scar had tricked me into confessing, so that he did not have to reveal his connivance. It had also shown how effectively Dorian had hooked me; Scar was pleased with her.
"But you know," she said in un-talk. "You are married, Hope. When your memory catches up—"
"I know," I agreed in the same way.
"You know?"
I had decided to tell her part of my secret, because I was sure I would need her help to return to the smell-cell, and I wanted to be sure she remained in good repute as a spy. "I discovered a key term that triggered a segment of my lost memory: how I married Megan."
"A key term?" She was genuinely surprised. "You knew—before you made love to me?"
"I knew. I, too, am a professional."
She was abruptly angry. "How could you!" I was lucky she hadn't bitten me instead of tonguing me!
"I love her. I would do anything to return to her, just as you would do to recover your baby."
She considered that, shaken. "I suppose turnabout is fair. But you will help me if you can?"
"Yes. And now I know I can—if I get free of this captivity."
"Then I will do whatever you ask of me." We continued on to the culmination, for such coded discourse took time, and there was only so much seemingly idle dialogue we could indulge in without arousing suspicion. Then we slept.
I had implied that I had no real feeling for Dorian, but that was not true. I was doing what I was doing with her because I had to, but I did enjoy it on its own level. It was becoming more difficult to reconcile this with my memories.
Next day I went through the routine indoctrination and performed well. Next night I talked further with Dorian, not making love but spending the night in her embrace. I told her that she would have to betray my secret: my keyed memory.
I cupped her ear with my hands and whispered directly into that enclosure: nonsense syllables that would seem to the recording mike like not-quite-distinguishable information. I was officially telling her my secret, and my captors, when they reviewed this portion of the record, would be desperate to know what it was. She would tell them and thus prove herself to be even more useful to them. But she had yet to find out exactly where I had seen the key term, though the implication was that it was in this cell.
In return I needed to know exactly what my captors really wanted of me. She would have to ask them, in the guise of discovering how dangerous my returning memories might be to their objective. If she could get me that information I might have a chance to counter it.
She made her report—and suddenly I was back in the hole. This time I knew why: They were going over my regular cell with as fine a brush as possible. They were desperate to find and eliminate anything that would cause my memories to return prematurely. That confirmed a suspicion I had. Their mission for me involved something recent, and if I remembered that thing I would probably be able to counter it.
Why didn't they simply mem-wash me again? That, too, was now clear: they didn't have time. I needed to have a substantial portion of my memories so that I could function without obvious incapacity—without the key memory that would give me too much information. They were fine-tuning me for their purpose.
As much by luck as by planning, I had a tool to counter their program. I had the memory-evoking key terms.
I felt under the muck for the scratches, finding my place. I had gotten to the H in WHO before; now I had to resume there. WHO ENTER HERE. The symbol for the O-space was a square, . That was the number 5. Count off five in the mental alphabet, O, P, Q, R, S—the first letter was S. The next symbol was , 12 from the space after O. That took me through the punctuation portion and back to the beginning of the alphabet, A. Then , 16, counting from the E, to T. And , 8 from the N, to U. Then , 36 from the T—simply count back 2, for R. , 10 from the E, or N. And , again, 10 from the R, taking me to the end of the letters, the space, making the end.
The word was SATURN.
Chapter 11 — PARDON
I returned to Jupiter a hero, again. This time my campaign for governor brought larger crowds than before. I was better known because of my prior campaign and my Gany success, and, of course, many people remembered my reputation from the Navy. In the interim the current governor had fouled things up in the usual manner, catering too openly to the special interests who had gotten him into office. He was running for reelection, so had the power of incumbency, but he was not otherwise a strong candidate. He saw me draw ahead of him in the polls, so he went the dirty route: smearing me as a Hispanic, a dealer with Saturnists, and a killer of hundreds. All true, of course, but it backfired, because the Sunshine electorate understood the circumstances and objected to the smear attempt. Angry Hispanics started a registration drive and added many thousands of voters; on election day their weight was felt in Ami and especially in Ybor. I won, not by any landslide, but comfortably enough, and I still had not succumbed to the lure of special-interest money.
As governor I had a lot more power and a lot more responsibility, and things were more complicated than they had been when I had been a senator. From the outset I received threatening letters from anti-Hispanic bigots who called me un-Jupiterian, by what logic I am uncertain. To my way of thinking the bigots are the un-Jupiterian ones. Coral had to keep alert, and she did intercept a letter bomb.
I started immediately, setting up committees to formulate the reforms I had in mind. But I discovered that I could not simply institute a program and implement it; I had to reckon with the legislature and the bureaucracy. Resistance to any change I initiated was indirect but massive—a political coriolis force that blunted every effort. As an officer in the Navy I had become accustomed to determining policy for my unit, giving the necessary orders, and seeing them carried out. Here, none of it was straightforward. After my first year in office I considered what I had accomplished in the way of monetary reform, improved education, prison reform, and suppression of the burgeoning trade in illicit drugs, and shook my head in frustration. Hardly anything seemed to have changed. The present system simply wasn't geared for change of any kind; it was like wading through molasses. Certainly I had made thrusts in all these areas and hoped that success would come, but it had not yet manifested itself.
As governor I also received a good deal of mail. Most of it Shelia handled, summarizing it efficiently for me, but some required my personal attention. Sometimes seemingly minor things developed into major ones. One example was the missive from Mrs. Burton:
Dear Governor Hubris:
I am seventy-four years old, a widow, in pretty good health. My stipend isn't really enough, and, anyway, I'd rather be a productive citizen. I am a competent stage technician, conversant with most technical equipment currently in use for broadcasts, and my record is good. But no one will hire me because of my age. Governor, I call this age discrimination, and I wish you wo
uld do something about it. A lot of us older people are ready, willing, and able to contribute to the economy—if you will let us.
I pondered for about three seconds. "Shelia, draft up a policy memo for signature: There shall be no discrimination in Sunshine on account of age. Anybody who can pass the tests and perform the job shall be considered on an equal basis, beginning with Mrs. Burton. We'll make an example of her; if she's as competent as she says she is I'll hire her myself."
In two days we had Mrs. Burton in my office. She was a large, heavyset woman of grandmotherly aspect; her hair was gray, her skin mottled, and her hands gnarled. But she checked out personally, and she did know her stuff; we used her to set up the stage for any public addresses I made, and my performance did improve as the result of her expertise. Now the sonic pickup was always aimed and tuned correctly, so that my voice sounded authoritative, and the light always brought out my best profile. The lectern was the right height for me and the seat comfortable. I felt quite at home in a setting that she had worked on, and that was worth a lot.
She became a kind of handywoman on the off days, seeing to the repair of furniture and furnishings. I liked to relax on occasion by reading old-fashioned books, the kind where you turn the pages by hand, but they tended to pile up awkwardly near my chair or desk. Mrs. Burton constructed a little bookcase that solved the problem.
Hopie took to her right away, adopting her as a grandmother figure. It would be an exaggeration to suggest that I could not have functioned without Mrs. Burton, but certainly she earned her keep and was a worthwhile associate.
But for every letter that worked out positively, there were a number that did not. I simply was unable to solve the personal and economic problems of every person in the state.
Rather than detail the tedious minutiae of my frustrated efforts, I'll concentrate instead on the matters in which I was successful. Perhaps this is my human vanity manifesting itself, but success did not necessarily assuage my vanity. Early in my tenure trouble broke out in the Ami area. Here there was a large number of immigrants from Ganymede who had arrived over the course of the past twenty years as the economic situation of Gany worsened. They had formed a fairly cohesive community of their own, which was taking hold and doing well, but in the eyes of the Saxon majority they were shiftless louts. Since the police were mostly Saxons, some law enforcement seemed to have racial undertones.
On this occasion the precipitant was bilingual education. The sizable Hispanic minority wished to have school classes taught in Spanish as well as English, so that the children who spoke no English would not be at a disadvantage. The school system had refused, once more, and so another riot had broken out. These events made the headlines periodically. The police tended to be heavy-handed. Sometimes there were serious confrontations, with deaths occurring.
I, as the newly elected Hispanic governor, felt more than ordinary responsibility, because it was partly because of my election that the Hispanic community had made the issue at this time. The people felt that a Hispanic governor should set all things right for Hispanics. But my margin of victory had come from enlightened Saxons, who had taken the gamble that I would be evenhanded, not partisan, while having a mollifying effect on the minority elements. I did not want to disappoint them.
Politically I could not give the Hispanics what they wanted, even if it had been in my power as governor to declare it as fiat. In addition, I believed they were wrong. Thus the Hispanics didn't have, in me, the ally they supposed. How great would be their sense of betrayal when they discovered this?
I tackled the matter directly, as I wanted the rioting stopped. It was my impression that there was a rising tide of violence throughout Jupiter, as the economic situation slowly constricted; I hoped to ameliorate it in Sunshine. I made arrangements to appear in the center of the rioting district in the heart of the Hispanic section of Ami, in the park above their apartments. Technicians and Mrs. Burton set up an amplification system, and the event was announced on the Hispanic news service. It was short notice—only hours—because I wanted to stop the riot now, not after several days and much damage. Knowing the problem with the local police, whether genuine or perceived—expectations can be self-fulfilling—I asked the mayor of Ami to keep the police away. It would be just my party present: myself, Spirit, and Faith. My staff remained in Hassee, Hopie was in school, and Megan remained to supervise her; I couldn't take my family everywhere I went as governor. I wasn't worried about violence; a Hispanic governor was the one person these people would not hurt.
"I have a job for you," I told Faith as we traveled. "A teaching job, teaching English to Hispanics, but not as you have known it. For this you will be paid by the state of Sunshine—I have cleared this with the appropriate authorities—and you must assume administrative authority."
"Teaching English I can do," she said. "But I've never—"
"You will be assigned a competent staff," I said. "All you will have to do is verify that applicants are truly bilingual and that they are able to teach children or adults without antagonizing them."
"But don't you have professionals to do that sort of thing? You can't just put another relative on the state payroll. That's nepotism!"
"In this case it must be a relative," I said. "You must be in charge, no one else. You will see."
She shrugged. "You always knew what you were doing better than I did," she said. "I hope you know this time."
"He does," Spirit said.
Despite the short notice, the crowd was enormous. They were really interested in this, expecting good news. Well, I had to do what I had to do.
"All I ask is that you give me a fair hearing," I began, speaking in Spanish. "The same kind of hearing you want for yourselves. I have not come to tell you what you want to hear. I have come to tell you the truth. Listen to me and try to understand, for I do have your interests at heart, and not just because I happen to be of your number."
They were quiet, for never before had a governor come to talk to them directly, let alone in Spanish. Now they knew I was one of them. There was a holo news crew, but I knew that not much would go out on the national tapes; only Hispanics would understand it, unless they used subtitles or a translation. The Hispanic Network crew was there, though, and they would certainly broadcast it.
"You want your schools to be bilingual," I continued. "So your children will not be penalized for being what they are. But this is folly." There was a stir, but I moved on. "Listen to me! I am a refugee myself; only I and my two sisters survived our bubble-trip to Jupiter. It took two of us fifteen years to get citizenship, and the third doesn't have it yet." I indicated Faith. "She's a resident alien, like many of you. We know, we understand! But my child is in a Saxon school with Saxon teachers; she has no classes in Spanish. When she was in Ganymede, her classes were all in Spanish, because that is the language there, as perhaps you remember." There was a murmur of mirth; of course they remembered. "She had to learn, to become bilingual herself. Now she's back in Jupiter, and English is the language, so she speaks it."
I bore down on my point. "When in Rome, you do as the Romans do; you don't try to make the Romans learn your language, you learn theirs. If you don't care to do that, you don't stay in Rome. Now you live on Jupiter, which resembles Rome in certain ways. Certainly it is as strong and arrogant as Rome was." There was an understanding laugh. "You want to make a good life here, of course. But it will not be given to you on a platter; you have to earn it. In fact, you may have to wrest it from reluctant hands, as I had to." There was another laugh; they were with me. I was playing this crowd the way I play an individual, reading it as I spoke, tuning in on its affinities. "This is the planet of free enterprise; you are entitled to what you can get. As long as you stay within the law. As long as you pay your taxes." I grimaced and was rewarded by another laugh. "But to do this you must speak Jupiter's language! It is the only way to break your bonds of ignorance and isolation and make it in this society."
Now there was
a muttering. I overrode it. "Listen to me! If you had schools taught in Spanish, do you know what this would lead to? It would lead to the ghetto! You would be locked into your closed society and your children would be locked in because you did not speak the language of opportunity. You would have in the end a completely separate school system. Do you know what that means? Do you? The Blacks can tell you. It means inferior schools that lock your children into an inferior place in the society. The Blacks fought for integration, to share the Saxon schools. You must fight for it, too! You must make them educate you exactly the same as Saxon children are educated—the same standards, the same teachers, the same language—so that when your children go out to compete for the best jobs, no Saxon is better qualified than they are. Only then will your children be able to achieve a better place in Jupiter than you have now." I paused. "How many votes do you think I would have gotten for governor if I had campaigned in Spanish?"
There was another ripple of laughter. They knew I would have lost again, if I hadn't courted the Saxon vote. That helped make my point. "You can't persuade a man of anything unless you speak his language. Don't let yourselves be ghettoized," I concluded. "Insist on your right to learn English so that the entire spectrum of opportunity available in Jupiter is yours. You know your children will never learn English well if they can have their classes in Spanish. They wouldn't go to school at all if they didn't have to. You can't afford to have their education governed by that. It isn't easy, but it has to be done—so that every child will have the same opportunity I have had. To hold office, even to become governor!"
"But we don't have good teachers for English!" someone protested.
"That we can remedy," I said. "My sister Faith will help you learn English."
They were silent, not quite understanding this. But I acted, seizing the moment. I stepped forward to where a woman stood with her little boy of about six. "Señora, my child is not here," I said in Spanish. "May I borrow yours? For only a few minutes?"
Anthony, Piers - Tyrant 3 - Politician Page 22