“Saturn does not respect putty.”
“What can we do to dispel the putty image?”
She was ready for that. “We can put the Navy on Full Alert.” That would signal the seriousness with which Jupiter viewed the present situation.
“Do it,” he said.
Shelia made the call. Within a minute Emerald’s dark face was on the main screen. “You sure, Tyrant?” she demanded.
“Full Alert,” he repeated. It was an indirect signal, but a potent one.
Saturn did not heed the signal. It refused to stop the ship. So Jupiter sent a stronger signal: it fired on the ship. That was an act of war, but could still be stopped short of war.
There followed an informally but carefully scripted shouting match with the Premier of Ganymede, its real purpose being to show that the Premiere had no complicity in what Jupiter was about to do, which was to invade Ganymede. At this point, Hope Hubris was a far better friend to the Premier than was Saturn, but neither party could say that.
They tracked Saturn’s ships in the Jupiter sphere. They were now on alert. Jupiter’s moved into position to oppose them, even as Saturn ships defending Saturn moved to counter Jupiter formations there. The invasion of Ganymede might be a rather serious joke, but the siege of Saturn was not. If any missile was fired at a Jupiter city—
Spirit’s stomach was knotted. They really were at the brink of System War Three. Any tiny miscalculation by either major party could set it off. She looked at Shelia, and saw her face composed, evincing no concern about anything other than her immediate business. What a woman she was, crippled in body but absolutely reliable in performance. Of whatever type. Hope trusted her absolutely, and so did Spirit. Spirit hoped her own mask was as good.
Now the White Bubble was deluged with calls from its own population. They had not censored the news; the people were catching on that real trouble was brewing.
“Sir, you may want to watch this,” Shelia said, glancing up, and put on a local interview.
It was Thorley, speaking editorially. The startling thing was who was in the background: Hopie. Evidently she had been consulting him about the prospects for education when caught by the Saturn crisis, and the news pickup caught them both.
“That will make tongues wag!” Spirit murmured appreciatively.
“... seems to be madness,” Thorley was saying. “There is no reputable evidence I know of that the Saturn ship carries contraband, and to launch an attack on the mere suspicion—”
“My father’s not mad!” Hopie exclaimed. “He always has good reason for what he does!”
Spirit winced inwardly. The girl was loyal, but should have known when to keep her mouth shut.
Thorley gave a wry smile. “Such as appointing a child to be in charge of education?”
“He told me I could do the job if I got the best advice!” It was clear to Spirit that despite the extreme seriousness of the occasion, they both were enjoying this. Hopie because she loved argument, and Thorley because he loved to see her doing it. There was a certain similarity between them, by no coincidence. It seemed obvious to Spirit, but she was hardly objective; she loved them both.
Thorley shook his head. “Mayhap he is but mad north-northwest; when the wind is southerly, he knows a hawk from a handsaw.” He returned to the camera, smiling in the eloquently rueful way he had. “It seems the Tyrant sent his daughter to me for advice.”
Spirit heard someone laugh; it was Shelia, losing her composure for the moment. She knew their relationship, of course; she knew everything. There was no way Thorley would ever give Hopie bad advice, but the public would suspect it.
“... yet it remains difficult to see the logic in such brinksmanship,” Thorley was continuing. “In a matter of hours the Tyrant has brought us closer to the brink of holocaust than has been the case in twenty years. I am, candidly, appalled.”
He was hardly the only one. The rest of the System did not know that the invasion of Ganymede was a sham. Ganymede even carried it live, so that everyone could see. That was dangerous, because troops were not necessarily good actors.
There was a blazing battle at the perimeter as the Gany forces charged. They had to expose themselves in the straight access tunnels, and the Jupiter troops mowed them down.
It was beautiful. The Gany troops clutched themselves and collapsed. Had Spirit not known they were not hurt, she would have winced. They had been well coached. Spirit knew it would not deceive Admiral Khukov for an instant, but she also was pretty sure that he would not expose the ruse.
He would read it correctly, censor the Saturn records of anything that would undermine the effect, and send the tapes on to his superiors: the clear violation of Gany territory the Tyrant had initiated. Then he would wait for his orders.
The Saturn Premier Karzhinov temporized: he issued an ultimatum. “Withdraw your troops from Ganymede by 1200 hours, January 28, 2651, or the Union of Saturnian Republics will be forced to consider your action an act of war.”
“You’re sure Karzhinov can be bluffed?” Spirit inquired.
Hope laughed. “Who’s bluffing?”
Spirit smiled, but she was worried. She understood her brother well, but she got nervous when he got like this. His nervy diplomacy could so readily slide into madness.
The deadline was several days distant. The invasion continued, but Spirit and the others were able to catch up on some sleep. She hoped that would stabilize her brother.
Then Megan made a public call. Coral, Ebony, and of course Shelia were with Spirit as they watched Hope receive it. “Hope, for the love of God!”
Megan didn’t know how much of the crisis was sham, and Hope couldn’t tell her. If Saturn was not bluffed out, the crisis could become all too real. If he broke, and told her—
The tableau held for a brief eternity. Then he turned away from her. Shelia cut off the connection. It was done.
“I remember when you raped Rue,” Spirit murmured.
He nodded. Rape was an abomination, but he had been forced by circumstance to do it, and Spirit had witnessed it. What he had just done to Megan was more subtle and more cruel but as necessary. It was surely one of the hardest things he had done, because he loved her and had never before deceived her.
They waited, and the System waited with them. The planet of Jupiter, and probably Saturn also, had paused with bated heartbeat, waiting for the ax to fall—or turn aside.
“Sir.”
Spirit saw her brother jump at Shelia’s word; perhaps he had not been aware he was dozing. “Um.”
“Admiral Khukov.”
Now he was fully alert. “On.”
Khukov’s familiar face appeared. “Will you meet with me, Tyrant Hubris?” he inquired formally in English.
It was evident by his bearing that victory was at hand. Khukov and Hope trusted each other, because of their similar talents, though their motives and loyalties were in many respects quite opposed. “I will, Admiral.”
“I will send a boat for you and your sister.”
The screen went blank. “Sleep,” Hope said. “The crisis has passed.”
“Should we make an announcement, sir?” Shelia asked.
He walked over, leaned down, and kissed her on the forehead. “That a meeting has been arranged. No more. Then rest until the ship comes.”
Spirit and Ebony departed, suddenly dead tired. It had been a brutal siege, a contest of wills, but victory was at hand. It was good to relax at last.
In due course Spirit and Hope, both cleaned and changed, boarded the Saturn shuttle ship. It might seem strange to have the leader of Jupiter so blithely step into the power of Saturn, without even his bodyguard, but, of course, Hope knew Khukov personally, and the whole of the Solar System was hostage to their understanding.
They relaxed and had an excellent meal served by a comely hostess who spoke English. The personnel were uniformly courteous, though they did not speak English. The two guests were permitted free run of the ship.
> “Where would you put it?” Hope asked Spirit in Spanish.
“Officer’s dayroom,” she replied.
He nodded. They rose from their completed meal, went to the region reserved for the ship’s captain, and knocked on the bulkhead. In a moment it slid open, and they entered.
Inside stood a pool table, and beyond the table stood Admiral Khukov, cue in hand. Without a word Hope took another cue, oriented on the table, and took the first shot. Spirit took a seat in a comfortable chair and watched. No one seemed surprised; this was the only way a truly private meeting could be arranged. Perhaps even the crew of this shuttle ship had not been aware of Khukov’s presence aboard it.
They played, and Khukov beat Hope handily. “Hope, you are out of shape!” he said in Spanish.
Hope replied in Russian. They continued playing. Now they spoke in English, so Spirit could understand. “There will be the usual apparatus, every word and gesture recorded and analyzed from the moment you board the flagship. Speak no secrets there.”
“My brain is not out of shape, Admiral!”
“When your wife cried ‘For the love of God!’ and you turned away, Karzhinov knew that nothing would turn the madman aside. He faced the gulf of the holocaust, and his mind broke. We of Saturn know the nature of war on our soil; we fear it deeply. He will retire; his successor is not yet known.”
“We, too, know the meaning of losses,” Hope said, and Spirit nodded, feeling the pain of what they had experienced in the refugee bubble.
“Two scorpions in a bottle,” Hope said.
Khukov smiled briefly. “Would that they were male and female!”
There was a period of silence. Then Hope changed the subject. “Shouldn’t you be there, not here?” he asked.
“First I must negotiate a significant agreement, to show that I alone can defuse the crisis.”
“What do you need?”
“Your dance with the Premier of Ganymede is very pretty.”
“This would be more difficult at light-hours range.”
“Yet the game can be played with caution. I cannot say precisely what moves I will need to make, but if the madman responds only to me...”
Hope nodded. “And thereafter?”
“What would you have, Hope?”
Hope glanced at Spirit. “Disarmament,” she said.
Khukov looked at her, and for a moment she felt the eerie power of his understanding. He nodded. “Yet it must be gradual. First a hold, then failure to replace aging craft.”
“Agreed.”
They reached across the table and shook hands. Thus was the fate of the Solar System decided.
“I have a gift for you,” Khukov said after a moment.
“We did not come prepared for the exchange of gifts,” Hope protested.
It did not matter. Soon they separated, so that Khukov could make his way secretly back to his ranks and no one would know where he had been. In due course the shuttle docked at the flagship, and Spirit and Hope were ceremonially ushered aboard. They met formally with Khukov, under the cameras, using translators, he addressing them in Russian, Hope responding in Spanish.
Hope’s words were reasonable, but there was a certain glimmer of madness in his expression, and Spirit cautioned him more than once, quietly, as if fearing that he was about to be set off. The Saturn officers present affected unconcern, but they noticed. Yet Hope responded fairly well to Admiral Khukov’s direct attention; it was evident that Khukov had a superior touch. This was hardly surprising; it was that touch that had brought him to his present level of power—and would take him that one step beyond. Saturn was safer when his hand was at the helm, especially when dealing with the lunatic Tyrant. That was the point of this particular charade—and there was considerable truth in it.
Then came Khukov’s little surprise. As they prepared to depart the flagship he held them one more moment. “Tyrant, allow me to present you with a token of my esteem for you,” he said in English.
A young girl, really a child of ten or eleven, approached. She held her left hand up. On the middle finger was a platinum ring, and mounted on the ring was a large amber gem. In fact, it was not merely the color of amber; it was amber itself.
Hope took the child’s hand and peered at the amber. It was clear and finely formed, and deep inside it was embedded an insect—a termite. He smiled, taking this as a kind of little joke, for a termite was not a pretty bug. But Spirit perceived something else: this was no ordinary child. There was a curious vacuity about her, a lack of human emotion and expression. Had she been lobotomized? No, her reflexes seemed to be normal, merely uninvoked. Mind-wash? Possibly.
Why had such a person been selected to bring the gift, instead of a pretty model? Spirit distrusted this, though she knew there was no threat to Hope.
She glanced at Khukov, and caught him looking at her. Again she felt that talent, so like Hope’s own. It both intrigued and frightened her. This man was now a tacit ally— but what of the occasion when he was not? She smiled as if flirting, to cover her misgiving, and looked away.
“This is an interesting gift,” Hope said, glancing up at Khukov. “But it becomes the girl, and I would hesitate to take it from her.”
Khukov smiled. “No need, Tyrant.”
Spirit caught on. “The girl is the gift,” she murmured.
“The girl!”
“As you say, it would not be kind to take her treasure from her,” Khukov said. “I know you treat children well, Tyrant, and she is of your culture. You will find her interesting.”
Hope was evidently about to protest, but Spirit knew that would not be politic. “Thank you, Admiral Khukov,” she said firmly. “We shall see that she is properly treated. What is her name?”
“Amber,” he replied, and at that, the girl’s eyes widened and her head lifted in recognition.
“Come with us, Amber,” Spirit said gently. The girl did not change expression, but she stepped toward Spirit. Evidently she understood. Spirit was bemused by the odd gift, but also by her own reaction to Khukov. The man had perhaps inadvertently shown her his power; were she ever alone with him, he would be able to take her to bed, if he so chose, exactly as Hope could do with any woman who caught his fancy. There was no chance of that happening, but it made her feel uncomfortably vulnerable.
So they returned to the shuttle and to Jupiter, bringing the strange girl with them. The first thing they noted was that Amber was mute. She understood what was said and responded to it, but she did not speak. They had the medical staff examine her and ascertained that she had no congenital or other inhibition; she could speak but simply did not.
Amber was older than she seemed. Without her birth record there was no certainty, but physically she was about thirteen, not eleven. She seemed younger because she had not yet developed. This did not seem to be any artificial retardation, just natural variation. Hopie had assumed the physical attributes of maturity by the age of twelve; other girls might delay until age fourteen. The intellectual and social attributes took longer to complete, but of course this could be a lifelong process. Amber was healthy, just a little slow, physically and mentally. Certainly she was no genius.
Why had Khukov given her to Hope? He surely had not done so frivolously. He had to have had excellent reason. They would have to discover that reason.
Spirit set Amber up with Hopie, who had a room with Robertico. Hopie was entitled to a room of her own, but she was generous in this respect; she shared. Robertico was devoted to her and slept quietly when she was near. Amber, though only two years younger than Hopie—possibly only one year—was so obviously better off with company that it seemed best to move her in. The two of them became like sisters, the one highly expressive, the other silent, and Robertico like a baby brother. This allowed Hope and Spirit to proceed with the Tyrant business with minimal distraction, knowing that the gift girl was well cared for.
Hopie found the riddle of Amber as intriguing as Spirit did. She talked with the girl, or rath
er to her, for Amber never responded in words. Hopie soon became a kind of translator for Amber, ascertaining her preferences and informing others. Amber liked Hispanic food and didn’t care for sonic showers; she preferred to wash up with a damp cloth. She always wore the amber ring; the only time she became truly distressed was when the medics tried to remove it for examination. They had finally compromised by examining it on her hand, the radiation showing up her finger bones as well as the interior of the ring, and she had no objection. Hopie wanted to teach her to read, for she seemed not to know how, but Amber just stared blankly at the printed words. She was unable to relate to anything more technical than pictures.
Soon Admiral Khukov was confirmed as Chairman of the Council of Ministers of North Saturn. The result was immediately beneficial to both parties. Saturn abandoned its effort to corrupt Tanamo Base, and the Premier of Ganymede retained his power. Trade, originally limited to sugar, gradually broadened. The mock invasion of Ganymede faded from the media, and no one seemed to question the fact that there were no actual dead from that war. Hope, and therefore Spirit, got on with the complicated business of governing North Jupiter.
The Iron Maiden Page 29