"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 susp
ect 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.
Anthony, Piers - Tyrant 4 - Executive Page 22