Executive

by Piers Anthony

  “Over Jupiter!” he exclaimed. “You have gone beyond my dream!”

  “I merely seek to extend it. I have the power now, but not the insight.”

  “The very first thing you must do is to consolidate your power,” he said. “You have enemies; eliminate them. You have opposition; nullify it. Do not allow any challenge to your power or you will lose it.”

  “But power is not my object!” I protested. “I simply want the chance to right the wrongs that exist on the planet.”

  “Power is the means, not the end,” he agreed. “Secure it first, then get on with your ends. Just see that the means do not become the ends.”

  It did make sense. “But after that—I have no government, no structure to accomplish my ends.”

  “One thing at a time,” he said. “Rome was not built in a day, and Jupiter will not be revamped in a day. Declare the present institutions to remain in force until further notice, on an advisory basis. Then, piecemeal, as convenient, revise them. But always make sure your base of power is secure.”

  “My base of power is the will of the people—and the Jupiter Navy,” I said.

  “Then heed the will of the people—and keep your own folk in charge of the Navy.”

  Suddenly it seemed so simple! Still, I doubted. “I must have a context. I must have priorities. I need to establish mandates. I need personnel to execute these things.”

  “You can promote them from the existing structures as you turn your attention to each. It will be years before your program is complete. Have patience. As long as you maintain your purpose and your power and are not corrupted by either, you may safely pursue both. Remember:”—here he lifted a ball and let it go—”Take care that you understand the consequences of your actions.”

  “I will,” I said.

  He smiled and put his hand out to still the moving balls, and when their motion stopped, he was gone.

  I sighed, missing him already. But the dead cannot be held beyond their terms. I stood, picked up the structure, and stepped back into the dayroom.

  There are those who do not seem to understand my contacts with the dead. Over the years explanations have been put forward, few of which are complimentary to me. It has been said that I am crazy, or that I suffer hallucinations, or that I dose myself with mind-distorting drugs, or that I merely invent the visions to justify my actions. The most popular theory is that I am a covert epileptic and that the visions are seizures. That may be so; certainly there has never been any physical evidence of what I have experienced. Yet it seems to me that the visitations are authentic, and certainly I have benefited both emotionally and practically from the reassurance and advice they have brought me. When I was fifteen, stranded in a bubble in space, my deceased father came to me and showed our group how to survive. Thereafter, Helse came many times to me, always at my greatest need, and whether she came without physical substance or by animating a living woman, her visits were always most precious and welcome. Once Megan visited me, before I met her in person; the contacts are not necessarily limited to the dead.

  Now Repro, the Dreamer, had come to set me straight, and if this can be said to be a feature only of my imagination, then my imagination has a wider scope than my ordinary consciousness does. Perhaps the visits are real, and the technical term for this type of reality is epilepsy. Regardless, I would be poorer and less effective without it. In fact, I would be dead without it. So call it what you will, and call me what you will; it is the way I am. I believe that every person exists in a construct of his own reality, and if that reality includes the occasional restoration of those other people whom he loves or values, that is no bad thing.

  I returned the steel balls to Ebony. “Thank you,” I said, reaching out to tweak a strand of her glossy black hair. “I reached him.”

  “Good thing, sir,” Shelia said. “Because all hell is breaking loose on Jupiter.”

  “I am ready for it now.”

  Emerald came on the dayroom screen, evidently connected by Shelia. “Sir, there is trouble.”

  “I’m sure there is,” I agreed.

  “I have been removed as commander of this task force.”

  Thanks to my interview with the Dreamer, I knew how to proceed. “Get me the commanding admiral of the Jupiter Navy,” I told Shelia.

  “Admiral London,” Emerald said.

  After a moment Shelia reported: “His office doesn’t answer.”

  “Then put out a planetary bulletin: Admiral London has one minute to report to me via this network, or he will be disciplined.”

  “In process, sir.” She made her connections, and in a moment Emerald’s face on the screen was replaced by that of a staff officer.

  “By order of Hope Hubris, Admiral London to report within sixty seconds or be disciplined. All units advise.”

  Coral emerged, clean and fresh. She was in her mid-thirties but possessed the figure and features of a woman a decade younger. “I begin to get nervous,” she murmured.

  “It’s being handled,” Ebony said.

  The minute finished without response by the admiral. “Admiral London is as of this moment relieved of command,” I said. “Admiral Emerald Mondy is elevated to that command. Notify all units.”

  Shelia got busy again, sending out the word. Emerald’s face reappeared on the screen. “Further orders, sir?”

  “Consolidate your position,” I said. “You know what to do.”

  “Aye-aye, sir,” she said, saluting smartly.

  I returned the salute. For an instant it was like old times, when I had commanded my own task force. But now we were playing for larger stakes.

  “Sir,” Shelia said. “Broadcast from Admiral London.”

  “Put it on.”

  The Admiral’s face appeared on the screen. “...usurper,” he was saying. “Repeat: There is rebellion in the Navy. All loyal units to declare for President Tocsin and against the usurper. Report immediately.”

  But Emerald was on the job. “The Constitutional Convention is the ultimate authority of North Jupiter. It has appointed Hope Hubris to govern the planet. Hope Hubris has appointed me commanding admiral of the Jupiter Navy. Neither Tocsin nor London retains power. Verify this for yourselves and do as you deem proper.” She smiled. She was the same age as I, but still a compelling woman.

  The units, for the moment perplexed, did just that. Then, one by one, they declared for the new order. My authority, however precedent-breaking, was legitimate; Tocsin’s was illegitimate, and it did not require any great amount of research to verify that. The ongoing news of my elevation to power had been dominating the media; very few citizens, whether civilian or military, could be in ignorance of it. When it became apparent that the majority supported me, the conversion of those in doubt was prompt. Only a few units held out, and these were isolated and nullified without violence.

  I relaxed. “So the Navy supports me,” I said. “I know that the majority of the people support me too.”

  Later there would be stories published about the supposedly horrendous campaign I waged to tame the rebellious elements of the Navy, making it seem as if Planet Jupiter was the center of a blazing battle, with several ships holed and several more plummeting into the deadly depth of the atmosphere. The truth was otherwise; it was really only a minor question, settled peacefully in a few minutes. No blood was shed at my accession. If this makes my own narration seem trivial, so be it; I have seen more than enough genuine bloodshed and do not care to enhance my notoriety by fiction. Admiral London was guilty of a misjudgment, no more, and was permitted to take early retirement with an unblemished record.

  The irony is that though many of the dramatic stories about me are false, there are true episodes that would have been equally dramatic in print but that were never published. In some cases the reasons for non-publication are as interesting as the items themselves, for I never practiced censorship. My enemies could have blasted me with the truth, but their attention was so firmly fixed on what was false that
they overlooked the reality. In this manuscript I mean to present as much of the truth as is warranted.

  About the only ugly action was in connection with ex-President Tocsin. He was holed up in New Wash, in the White Bubble itself, and refused to acknowledge the change of government. I realized that I had to deal with him directly.

  Tocsin was a completely unscrupulous man. He had shown his nature during his campaign against Megan for a seat as a senator, twenty-two years before. It had become a textbook example of scurrilous politics. He had proceeded from height to height— more properly, depth to depth—until I defeated him for the highest office. Then he had used several nefarious devices to block my ascension, until the Constitutional Convention had swept the entire prior government aside and appointed me. Now he fought a stubborn rear-guard action, perhaps believing that the people would in the end support him as the defender of the status quo, rather than me, as a completely new order. I was not concerned about the people, but there were records in the White Bubble that I wanted to recover intact, and I did not want to give him opportunity to destroy them. He had to be dealt with swiftly.

  But the White Bubble was a very special place. It was associated with New Wash, where the major portion of the North Jupiter governmental apparatus was, and I knew that had to be preserved. Even if I had not had a care for the population there, I would not have threatened the administrative structures of the nation. How could we get the worm out of the apple without harming the apple?

  I discussed it with my limited staff, there in the flagship, and we concluded that there was only one feasible way. I had to make a deal. The only way Tocsin would ever let those records fall into my hands was if he was assured that nothing in them could be used against him.

  I really had no choice. “Call him,” I told Shelia.

  Tocsin had evidently anticipated the call, because in a moment his homely face was on screen. “You know what I want, Governor,” he said when he saw me. Since the last public office I had held was that of governor of the State of Sunshine, it was a legitimate address. This was a public call, open to the media; there would be no secrets here, and because it was to our mutual interest to make a good impression, he was polite.

  “I want an orderly transition of administration,” I said. “I presume your interest is similar.”

  “The Supreme Court denied you, but the Navy supports you,” he said. “You have taken over by force, not by the political process. But might makes right, eh? You’ve got the power.”

  I did not care to debate with him the ethics of my ascension. I had taken power legitimately if unconstitutionally; the force had been required only because of his intransigence. “I have the power,” I agreed.

  “But I have the White Bubble,” he said. “And you want it. What do you offer for it?”

  This galled me, as I had known it would. He was trying to make me pose the offer when I would have preferred to have him ask for it. “A safe conduct out of it,” I said shortly.

  He shook his head. “You can do better than that, Governor.”

  I ground my teeth, almost literally. “A pardon,” I said. My reputation as governor had suffered grievously when I pardoned four unfairly condemned men. Tocsin was certainly guilty—and I had to let him off. My mouth tasted of gall.

  He nodded. “Your word on that, Governor.”

  “I give it,” I said grimly. I felt unclean. I had long dreamed of bringing this man to trial, of making him pay for everything—and now he would not.

  That was all there was to it. Tocsin knew that my word was good, though his was not. But to the best of my knowledge he never again conspired against me, because he could be held accountable for anything he did following the pardon. If he gave me a legitimate pretext to go after him ...

  In this manner I consolidated my power. Oh, there were pockets of resistance scattered around the planet, but I was now in control, and the population seemed satisfied to have the matter settled.

  I thought the worst was over. I thought, in that early day, that I really could do it. Such was my hubris, my namesake: the arrogance of pride and passion. Hope Hubris, the foolish dreamer of glory.

  CHAPTER 3

  THE TYRANCY

  Emerald took us to New Wash. The Navy landed troops to safeguard my arrival, but Emerald did not trust this. She made sure that no segment of the public had access to me during the transition. “There are always the crazies, the kamikaze assassins,” she said. “We need to get you installed alive, sir.”

  The White Bubble, so recently vacated by Tocsin, was a short distance from the massive New Wash city-bubble, like a satellite, though, of course, it did not orbit the city. It was now flanked by three cruisers and a number of smaller ships; nothing short of a direct military invasion could penetrate that defense.

  We were funneled in on another destroyer. Emerald kissed me at the lock. “Take care of yourself, sir,” she cautioned me.

  “My staff will see to that,” I said.

  “For the moment,” she agreed obliquely. “Remember, the Navy is always at your service.”

  She meant more than militarily. I wished I could take her up on it; the Navy had been a competent home for me, in the past. At the moment I wished someone could take me by the hand and guide me to some quiet, safe place where I could just relax for a time. But there was too much to be done; I did not know when I could afford to rest. “I’ll remember,” I agreed wanly.

  Then we were moved to the White Bubble. There, at the entrance lock, was my sister Spirit. She was three years my junior but, I think, looked younger. Somehow I still remembered her as a child of twelve. As a woman of twelve.

  I moved into her arms. Suddenly I felt much better. Spirit had always been my strength; how glad I was that she had gotten here as fast as I had.

  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,” I 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,” I confessed.

  “Oh?”

  “Beautiful Dreamer.”

  “Oh.” She understood the reference, of course, but took a moment to digest the implication. “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.

  “We’ll make it,” Spirit said.

  We huddled over it, working out suitable phrasing. The essence was: I am the new government of North Jupiter, by the authority of the Constitutional Convention to Balance the Budget. I declare all the current institutions to remain in force until further notice, on an advisory basis. Life will proceed unchanged until further notice. The leaders of Congress and the governors of all the States of the Union will have twelve hours to publicly acknowledge their acceptance of this state. The members of the Supreme Court will acknowledge similarly. Any failing to so acknowledge will be summarily removed from office thereafter. Announcements of new posts and appointees will follow in due course, and the first major effort will be made to balance the budget as of the present.

  Of course, the actual wording was more sophisticated and polite, with due compliments to the good sense of the population. But the message was plain: Accept the new order or else. I didn’t like putting it that way, but I had already been convinced by the problems I had encountered that absolute firmness was required, if there was not to be anarchy in short order. Once the new administration was established, I could relax.

  The broadcast was planetary, and the monitors indicated that a goodly portion of the remainder of the System was picking it up too. Of course, the inter-planetary scale is such that it would be hours before all the other planets received it, but their lo
cal news representatives were relaying it. It seemed everyone was interested in what was happening on Jupiter.

  When it was done, we turned to the matter of appointments. As candidate for president I had been aware of the need to set up a Cabinet and prepare a program of legislation; I had expected to finalize that after the election, if I won. Severe complications had interrupted that, and now I did not have any proper program. The fact that I had assumed power outside the normal framework added a dimension of complication. I was now pretty much flying by the seat of my pants.

  Fortunately Spirit was better organized than I was. “We have a guideline of sorts,” she said. “That campaign speech you gave on the eve of the election.”

  “But that was scripted for me by the opposition!” I protested. “It was made up of impossible dreams.”

  “But you presented it,” she reminded me. “And you won the election. The individual points were not necessarily bad; it was merely not feasible to implement all the programs simultaneously. Now, with a completely new government, that may have become feasible.”

  I nodded, appreciating the scope of the opportunity. Part of the complications I had encountered were a two-month abduction and a memory-wash that cleaned out much of my recent life. I had recovered most of that, but some gaps remained. I wasn’t necessarily aware of a particular gap until I came across it by chance, so my own ignorance torpedoed me at odd moments.

  “You’ll have to do a lot of interviewing,” she continued. “It might save trouble at the beginning if you drew on people you already know, for the key posts, and then interview at greater leisure to fill the lesser ones.”

  I spread my hands. “You know what to do,” I said.

  “I’d better! We’ve got a planet to organize.” She brought out a notepad. “Now what people do you want closest to you, who are competent, to act in your name?”

  I sighed. “She won’t come.”

  She patted my hand. “Aside from Megan.”

  “I contacted Senator Stonebridge about the budget—”