The Iron Maiden

by Piers Anthony

  “Aboard ship?” he asked querulously. “Why?”

  “To guarantee your safety, sir.”

  Hope looked across at the Secret Service men who had been guarding him through his political campaign just past. “My safety is already guaranteed.”

  “Sir,” Emerald said seriously. “There is a sub homing in on your bubble.”

  A sub! They all knew what damage a sub could do and who had control of one or more. Hope had defeated President Tocsin and now had taken power from him, but Tocsin was not a man to allow legality to stand in his way.

  “We have detached a destroyer to pick up you and your personnel,” Emerald continued. “But if that sub opens fire before we nullify it—”

  “There are other people here!” he exclaimed. “Innocent residents! I can’t go and leave them to be—”

  “When you go, the bubble will no longer be a target, sir,” Emerald said. “Wait there and be ready for pickup in fifteen minutes.”

  A Secret Service man nodded affirmatively. He knew this was best. Hope shrugged. “Shelia,” he said. “Coral.

  Ebony.”

  They stepped forward. “Sir, better get suited,” Emerald said.

  “Suited?”

  “That sub is firing. That will help us pinpoint it. But until we take it out—”

  “But the other residents—”

  “Had all better get suited,” she said grimly.

  Hastily they broke out the emergency suits, still on camera. The law required all bubbles to have suits for every resident, in case of accidental pressurization, as might happen if there was a leak. There were regular drills, but seldom was there really a need. The suit-alarm sounded, alerting everyone in the bubble.

  However, Spirit knew that suiting was a complicated process for Shelia, because of the wheelchair and her inoperative legs. It was possible to get her into a suit, but it would interfere with her ability to function in her chair.

  “They are finding the range,” Emerald said, evidently reading her battle indicators. “Proceed to confinement alert.”

  That meant that each resident had to get into his or her chamber and seal it shut. This was to maintain normal pressure in individual apartments even when the bubble itself was holed.

  “But I can’t—” Hope protested, evidently thinking of Megan. He knew she didn’t want him with her in their apartment now.

  “Mine,” Shelia said, propelling her chair rapidly down the hall. The Secret Service man followed, glancing around warily.

  Her apartment was next to Hope’s. She shared it with Ebony, so that the two were always handy for notes or errands. Coral’s was on the other side, and she shared with Spirit, when Spirit was home. Coral went to join Megan and Hopie, to be sure they were all right.

  They entered Shelia’s apartment, and the Secret Serviceman took up his position in his suit, in the hall.

  Spirit looked away from the scene on the screen. There was no pickup within the private apartment, of course, and it was pointless to watch the hall. Except for the evidence that the residential bubble still existed. If that sub scored before the Navy took it out—

  Yet at this time of crisis, she found herself diverted by another matter. Megan had left Hope, though she loved him. He was now alone with his loyal secretary who also loved him. No one knew whether they would survive the next minute, let alone the next year. What would he do with Shelia?

  Actually Shelia had a video transceiver built into her wheelchair, so they remained in close touch with Emerald. But that was closed circuit; the news service could not tap into it unless invited. Still, there was evidence of Hope’s directives, because suddenly the bubble’s gee-shield cut off, causing it to drop as the gravity of Jupiter took hold. Pineleaf, like all the towns and cities of Jupiter, was a good deal more solid than the atmosphere and would plummet to the hellish depths if not shielded from the main effect of the planet’s gravity. The pressure at this level was about five bars—five times the pressure of Earth’s atmosphere at sea-level—which the bubbles and suits were constructed to withstand. The pressure below was much greater. Too great a drop would cause a bubble to implode—a far more certain demise than depressurization. But it was the only motion it could quickly make. This was an extremely nervy ploy.

  The exterior pickup came onscreen, and Spirit found herself watching, unable to keep her gaze away. The bubble was now spinning loose, precessing like a failing top, as it dropped. It had been struck a glancing blow by the sub’s shell. Had it remained in proper orbit, that shell would have holed it.

  The invisible sub exploded. The Navy had zeroed in on it, tracking its fire, and destroyed it. There was an intolerable flash. That threat was gone.

  But the bubble was still falling. They were surely struggling to reactivate its gee shield, but meanwhile its survival was horribly uncertain. There was no signal from within.

  Spirit closed her eyes and focused on the only thing that might divert her from the incipient threat to her brother. He was perhaps about to die, with a worthy woman who loved him. Of course he would love her. That was his nature. He loved every woman, and every woman loved him. Normally it was muted, but at times it got naked, and this would be such a time. Staff privilege…

  Spirit pictured him lifting Shelia out of her wheelchair—easy to do in the lack of strong gravity—and laying her out on the floor. He stripped away her clothing, and his own. He stroked her breasts. Shelia might be paralyzed from the waist down, but she had fine breasts. He kissed her and she clung to him, her face wet with her tears or his, and her tongue met his as her legs lifted to wrap around his. He was on her in an instant, pumping his essence into her, and she sighed and convulsed against him and relaxed at last. They lay embracing, the sweat of their exertion between them, delighting in their union though their sexual passion had passed. And of course he had a vision of Helse. Helse was always his cover when he loved illicitly.

  Shelia’s legs lifted? They couldn’t lift. He would have had to lift them for her. Yet for a moment Spirit had seen it happen in her mind. As if she herself were the woman, doing what she could do. Perhaps would do, in such a situation. If no one else could know. She loved her brother in all the ways a woman could. “But the dear knows who I’ll marry,” she thought in song.

  Then the news came: Hope Hubris and his staff had been rescued. They were on the Navy flagship. Spirit had been daydreaming while others acted. She was ashamed.

  Meanwhile, hell was breaking loose on Jupiter. Emerald and the Jupiter Navy were handling it, but Spirit knew she needed to get back to her brother’s side in a hurry. He was not a detail man, not an organizer, and not invariably tough minded; that was her job. He was not the iron man; she was the iron maiden.

  Spirit took a flight directly to New Wash, and the White Bubble. Former President Tocsin, whose name was justly pronounced “toxin,” had bartered for a pardon and safe passage off the planet. That galled her, but they had had to settle the old order quickly, to be able to focus on the new. She slept on the flight, knowing it might be long before she had the chance to rest thereafter.

  She arrived just before the Navy delivered Hope, so waited for him in the air lock of the White Bubble.

  They met and embraced, and for a moment it was as if she were twelve again, and he fifteen. He needed her, and she had always known that, but she needed him too. Together they could face almost anything.

  But there was no time to be maudlin. Spirit got right to work. “You have done a good job of consolidating power, Hope. Now you need to establish a government, at least a temporary one.”

  “I will declare the present mechanisms of government to continue until further notice,” he said. “Then I will revise them as convenient, piecemeal.”

  She nodded appreciatively. “You are better organized than I thought you might be.”

  “It’s not my notion,” he confessed.

  “Oh?”

  “Beautiful Dreamer.”

  “Oh.” She understood the r
eference, of course, but took a moment to digest the implication. Hope had been consorting with the dead, again. “Then let’s make notes on your speech.” She turned to Sheila. “Set up a planetary address at the earliest auspicious moment.”

  “Twenty-one minutes hence,” Shelia said evenly.

  That was a shock, but it was Shelia’s business to know. “We’ll make it,” Spirit said. What choice did they have?

  They huddled over it, working out suitable phrasing. Hope was to declare himself to be the new government of North Jupiter, by the authority of the Constitutional Convention to Balance the Budget. He would declare all the current institutions to remain in force until further notice, on an advisory basis. The leaders of Congress and the governors of all the States of the Union would have twelve hours to publicly acknowledge their acceptance of this state. The members of the Supreme Court would acknowledge similarly. Hope would not actually say “Or else,” but he would pause meaningfully, letting the implication sink in.

  They made the deadline. Fortunately Hope had always been apt at public speaking. He made it sound like a well considered and orderly program. That was an aspect of his genius. It seemed to go over well enough; the people did support him, and the politicians were not slow to catch on to political reality.

  Immediately after the speech, they turned to the matter of appointments. There were many good men and women; the trick was to spot them rapidly and obtain their cooperation. Hope would have to do a lot of personal interviewing, because that was another aspect of his genius: to know people. But he seemed doubtful. She would have to snap him out of that.

  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 him on the mouth, as he sat startled. It had the desired effect: he forgot about uncertainty. It was a real pleasure for her, but also pain. If only—

  She refocused on present business. Soon they had a number of key appointments, based on military associates they knew they could trust. Loyalty was not supposed to be more important than competence, but in this wild new situation it was vital.

  And in the middle of it, a baby arrived. It was the child of Dorian Gray, the woman Hope had seduced while captive on the sub. He had promised to rescue her son, Robertico. The woman herself had perished with the sub, but here was the baby. And so while they discussed the nationalization of Congress, to deal with recalcitrant opposition members, and tried to handle international negotiations, Hope came to be holding a wet baby boy.

  Fortunately Shelia took him over, for a while. Then Hope tried to change the damp diaper, but lacked recent experience. Spirit did not offer to help; she had even less experience. It would have been a minor crisis in the best of times; as it was, it was downright embarrassing. What a beginning for the Tyrancy!

  It was Senator Stonebridge who made the obvious suggestion: fetch Hopie. Spirit called her, and Hopie, delighted, agreed to come to handle this emergency. She arrived in due course and set up shop in a corner of the room. That was the beginning of a long association; Hopie became Robertico’s big sister, and all was well with him thereafter.

  It was time to rest; they had been working hard for ten hours without respite, and they had to stop. Coral took Hope away; Spirit realized that it was her turn for staff privilege. She was the most athletic of the women, and surely as knowledgeable in sexual matters as she was in martial arts. She would give him a good night.

  And what would Spirit do? Thorley was far away.

  Stage by stage, somewhat hit or miss, they assembled the new government. But in two more days Hope received a gift from Saturn that was to change his life. It was actually to facilitate the operation of the Tyrancy, by distracting Hope so that the others could handle most business their way, but at first it was just a mystery. Its name was Amber.

  CHAPTER 14

  TYRANCY

  Hopie, enlisted to take care of baby Robertico, soon had larger missions. She was a fine spirited girl at age fifteen, and Spirit found it difficult to mask her pride in her unacknowledged daughter. When Hope told her she would need to be tutored to complete her education, she alertly set him back with examples of the uselessness of contemporary studies. She made her point, but he had the last laugh: he appointed her head of the Department of Education. When she protested that she lacked the knowledge to institute an effective reform of education, he sent her to see his leading critic: Thorley. Her unacknowledged father. Sometimes Hope lucked into decisions of genius.

  Meanwhile Saturn, ever ready to seize an advantage, was working over the new ruler of Jupiter. It sent troops to take over the government of its nominal minion Ganymede, deposing the Premier, who was Hope’s unacknowledged friend. So much of reality was unacknowledged! But appearance was at times more important than reality.

  Shelia sent word out, and soon there was a literal council of war with Emerald, Mondy, Spirit and Hope. Mondy was fading physically, but his mind remained sharp; he understood the issues perfectly, and had excellent advice. He also sought and got input from Reba Ward of QYV. All this was necessary because of the dire nature of the threat. If Saturn took over Ganymede, the balance of interplanetary power would shift significantly in its favor. But if Jupiter invaded Ganymede, it would be clearly in violation of interplanetary protocol, and the Tyrancy would lose what little credibility it had.

  They were between Scylla and Charybdis again—or in the contemporary parlance, CT and BH. To be caught between contra-terrene matter, whose very touch would render a person into something like a miniature nova, and a black hole, that would suck them in and crush them to the size of the nucleus of an atom. Politically, they were between capitulation and potential holocaust.

  QYV recommended the use of one of Jupiter’s anonymous subs to take out the Saturn ship approaching Ganymede. It would seem that it had struck a mine by accident, and therefore would not be an open act of war. But this remained an exceedingly chancy ploy.

  Meanwhile, Hope held a press conference, necessary to reassure the public that things were under control and that the press really was not being censored. Spirit decided to make the point in a mischievous way: she planted a question without telling Hope.

  It was from a respected member of the Holo Guild: “Tyrant, suppose I were to call you a gnat-brained, pigheaded, philandering son of a spic?”

  It took Hope only a moment to recover. He hauled his open mouth closed. “I really don’t think of myself as gnat-brained,” he responded.

  There was laughter, timorous at first, but soon swelling into heroic proportion. If the Tyrant could be openly insulted with impunity, there was no suppression.

  Then the Ganymede crisis intensified: Saturn had anticipated Jupiter’s ploy, and sent one of its own subs along with his ship. That sub took out the Jupiter sub. The Saturn ship was not stopped.

  Spirit sighed. “Brother, we are in trouble.”

  “Double trouble,” he agreed morosely.

  “Maybe we can still pull it out,” she said. “We can take the offense. We can accuse Ganymede of blowing up one of our strayed vessels and demand reparation. We can get so outraged by the unprovoked attack that we invoke the Navy. We could pick that ship out of space long-distance if we used a saturation launch of homing missiles.”

  “But that would be an overt act of war!”

  “If that ship docks, we’ll soon be at war regardless,” she pointed out.

  He pondered, ill at ease. “It would also be a lie,” he said. “Covert activity is one thing; a lie is another.”

  “The truth is that the Premier of Ganymede tipped us off,” Spirit reminded him.

  “No. To preserve a confidence is not to lie. We must find a way to act without violating either the confidence or the truth.”

  She shook her head as if in frustration. Then she took hold of him and kissed him. Sometimes she just couldn’t help herself. “My brother, you are my conscience. Without you I would be lost.”

  Coral exchanged a glanc
e with Shelia and nodded.

  Spirit regrouped. “Well, Saturn now knows that we had a sub in there. Would it be fair to say that we had a suspicion about their ship, that we now feel is confirmed?”

  “Yes,” he agreed. “But we can’t say what our suspicion is.”

  “Suppose we accuse them of renewed arms smuggling? That’s not exactly what they’re doing, but it is something Jupiter has always been sensitive about. After that business with the impounded ship ...”

  So it went out to the media: the accusation that Ganymede was violating the covenant and shipping arms again. An alert went out to the Jupiter Navy, and the ships changed course and made for Ganymede. Of course, it would be days before the majority of them were in position, but the order was dramatic enough.

  Saturn bluffed it out. Spirit exchanged a glance with Hope. “He thinks I am made of putty,” he said.