Executive

by Piers Anthony

  Now she got on me, her naked body straddling mine, facing toward my spread knees. Her thighs dropped down outside mine, her feet remaining on the floor, so that she was able to stand in her fashion. She took my member and guided it, slowly settling down on it, until all her weight was on me and the connection was complete. Still I did not move, obeying her unstated directive. She required my body to play with, in her fashion; she had it.

  Those hands reached down, caressed that portion of my anatomy that remained exposed, then moved on. One finger slid to the aperture below and nudged and pushed, and, lubricated by something, entered. I felt very much as if I were a woman, being entered by a man, especially considering the intimate contact above that site. That member of hers drove to its full depth, then stroked an interior organ of mine and put pressure against it.

  I had been accepting what was happening as if I were indifferent, also in the manner of a woman. I cannot say that I found the situation comfortable emotionally. But now, as that finger squeezed that organ, my system became urgent. I started to thrust, as well as I could in that awkward position.

  She moved with me, rocking back and forth, her own anatomy clenching. That finger thrust harder, becoming uncomfortable, almost painful, compressing what it found. I tensed urgently, then fountained, that finger seeming to guide and enhance each spasm. I had thought I had experienced the ultimate intensity with Coral’s tree; this was far beyond that, though not actually as pleasurable overall.

  It subsided at last. Her finger came out, and her torso lifted, freeing me. In a moment a cloth washed off my anatomy. Then the hands tugged on me again, causing me to sit up, then stand, and they dressed me. When that process was complete, the hands pushed me forward. I stepped onto the moving belt, which now moved in the opposite direction, and was carried to the door panel. It opened, and I stepped out, blinking in the light, abruptly free of the pacifier field.

  I had never even spoken to her, yet somehow I knew that she would take care of my need. She had, in a very direct manner, had her will of me; now she would serve my interest effectively.

  She had also given me a considerable experience, and food for thought. I was somewhat sore in the crotch, as a woman might be, after a too-violent effort by a man. But I had been forced to respond, and the discomfort had become part of the pleasure. I had never had any comprehension of sadomasochism or of reverse roles, but now I had an inkling. In absolute darkness Reba had shown me much.

  • • •

  Back at the White Bubble, the girls treated me in a manner reminiscent of my female associates in the Navy: knowing, curious, superior, competitive. Perhaps they had reason. “Did she teach you anything, Tyrant?” Coral inquired.

  “Um,” I mumbled, preferring to avoid the subject.

  “Are you limping, sir?” Shelia asked.

  I straightened up. “Num.”

  “I hear those older women can have a lot of experience,” Ebony put in.

  “Um.”

  “Did she answer your question?” Spirit asked.

  I spread my hands. “She never spoke!” I said, realizing that I had been so bemused by Reba’s technique that my mission had been neglected.

  They all laughed. Then Shelia tapped her armrest. “She sent a message, sir: There will be an alternate identity created for you.”

  So QYV was addressing my problem. Reba simply had had to make her impression on me, her way. That she had certainly done. I might be the Tyrant, but she had reminded me how it felt to be subject to the will of another person. To be helpless while one’s most private parts were manipulated, leaving no physical refuge. The way most of the citizens of North Jupiter were with relation to the Tyrant. A lesson in humility—and the Golden Rule. That was worth remembering.

  My daughter Hopie had been wrestling diligently with the problem of education. I could see the impact of Thorley in her attitude now.

  “Daddy, the problem starts with the low respect teachers have,” she said earnestly. “Very few educated people want to go into that profession; those who can get more challenging or better paying positions elsewhere do so, leaving the bottom quarter of those qualified to go into teaching as their last alternative. No wonder the curricula they fashion lack relevance!”

  “No wonder,” I agreed, suspecting what was coming.

  “First we have to elevate the profession, to attract the top graduates,” she continued. “Then we have to give them free rein to revamp the system, stressing excellence. It will take time, but—”

  “How do we attract top graduates?” I asked warily.

  “Why, we upgrade their pay scales to be competitive with those of industry.”

  That’s what I had feared. “More money,” I groaned.

  “Well, you don’t get something for nothing, Daddy.”

  “And where do we get the extra money?”

  She shrugged. “That’s someone else’s department.”

  I sighed. My balanced budget retreated as I approached it, assuming the attributes of a mirage. “I’ll try to raise more money,” I said. “Meanwhile, see if you can come up with some temporary expedient to improve education using the present personnel.”

  She surprised me. “Thorley said you’d say that. I’m working on it.” And she hurried away, fresh with the vigor of her generation.

  I took a break of sorts, going to see Robertico and Amber. The two got along adequately, for neither spoke. Amber was spelling Hopie as baby-sitter, for that did not require words. At the moment they had an entertainment holo on: cowboys and Indians of the ancient Earth that never was. Amber was viewing it with curiosity rather than interest, while Robertico crawled around, trying to grab the three-dimensional images.

  Hopie had done a good job with both of them, I realized. I had assigned her these tasks in addition to her education post, and these matters had largely vacated my awareness. Hopie had taken hold on all fronts, and that pleased me greatly. I resolved to tell her so, the next time I encountered her. But, of course, her proficiency was to be expected, considering her parentage and upbringing. There were aspects of her appearance and intellect that stamped HUBRIS clearly on her, as well as others that established her independence.

  “Come here, Tico,” I said, picking up the boy. He was now in watertight pants, no problem to handle. “Soon you will be learning to walk, and to talk. You may be a little slow, because of the time you spent in the nursery without proper attention or stimulation, but now you have plenty. What do you say to that?”

  Robertico smiled, then scrambled back toward the holo, his fascination unabated. I let him go, smiling.

  I turned to the girl, who had watched the interchange without expression. “And you, Amber—what is your background? I want you to be happy, too, and to learn to be a complete person. Why don’t you talk?”

  She only shook her head, evidently understanding me but unable to respond verbally.

  The mystery of her intrigued me, as it had before. Khukov had given her to me and surely not for any idle reason. Now, still fresh from my experience with Reba, I was highly attuned to the problem of helplessness. This girl should talk and smile and have initiative, instead of being like a person caught by a pacifier field. Teaching her did not work, but that suggested only that she was balked from responding.

  My eye fixed on the orange gem mounted on her ring: amber, her namesake, surely somehow linked to her secret. I took her hand, feeling again that strangeness in her, and stared into the ring. There was the embedded termite.

  What was a termite? An ugly insect by human definition, and a destructive one. On occasion some got loose in a bubble and methodically devoured whatever organic fiber they could find, silently tunneling through and through until the structure collapsed. They had to be exterminated. In the old days on Earth they had been a constant threat to buildings. Yet termites were actually a kind of civilization, like the ants and bees, being organized into an efficient society. They were in a sense a parallel to the human species, adapting natur
e to their need, uncaring about the resulting erosion of prior structures. Why should Amber carry a termite? What did that symbolize?

  Then another aspect of the termite existence occurred to me. They were supposed to have a number of phases, or stages, of development. They didn’t just hatch from grub to adult; they moved through several aspects, some land-bound, some winged. I really did not know much about it and doubted that I needed to; all that was needed was to grasp the key.

  Did Amber have stages? If so, what would they be? How would they occur?

  I pondered. The girl seemed to have the potential to speak but did not. That could be like a silent phase. Perhaps the correct signal could switch her to a talking phase. But what would that signal be?

  “Amber,” I said, and her gaze came up to meet mine. Her eyes were pretty, in that large, childlike way, and seemed almost the color of her name.

  “Talk,” I commanded.

  She merely stared at me, remaining mute.

  I pondered again. If a verbal command did not do it, what kind would?

  I looked down at the gem. That was the one thing she would not part with. There had to be a reason, and not any fascination with termites. Was the gem the key? How?

  I became aware of a change in her as her gaze followed mine down to seek the gem. Her body relaxed, as if coming home after some difficult activity. Yes, surely this related.

  “Amber,” I told her. “Look at the amber gem. Stare into it. Lose yourself in it.”

  She obeyed. Her body relaxed further. I still held her hand, and I felt her going into a light trance.

  Hypnotic suggestion—triggered by the gem! Certainly that made sense. Now she would be receptive to my directive.

  “Talk,” I repeated.

  She remained as she was, unresponsive. That was not the correct directive.

  I pondered yet again, sure that I was making progress but baffled by the necessary detail. If only I knew the correct command!

  This girl was Hispanic; her aspect conformed, and Khukov had said she was of my culture. Many of us were bilingual; could she understand Spanish?

  I tried. “¿Espanol?”

  “Si!” she agreed.

  I jumped, startled by this unexpected success. “You do speak Spanish!” I exclaimed in that language, thrilled.

  Gravely she nodded.

  “But you did not speak it before.” She nodded again.

  “But why not?”

  “I—was in the wrong mode,” she explained.

  “But you seemed to understand English.” Once more she nodded. When I did not ask a direct question, she did not answer in words. She was still unusually passive. It remained my task to find the way to full communication.

  “You are in the Spanish mode now,” I said. “In this you can speak and understand, for you are Hispanic. You have learned English, but you do not speak it.”

  She nodded affirmatively.

  “Why don’t you speak English?”

  “It is a passive mode.”

  Not much help. “What can I do to help you speak English?”

  She shrugged. She didn’t know.

  Apparently Khukov, or some other party, had in some way programmed her to speak only in her native language, and barred her from the other she had learned. Why?

  I tried another tack. “Where are you from, Amber?”

  “Halfcal,” she said.

  I knew it was true; I should have recognized the accent immediately. She was from my home state! That offered a clue to part of Khukov’s rationale; he had known I would appreciate helping another of my kind.

  “Are you a refugee?”

  Her gaze was blank. She didn’t know.

  “What is your family? Your home city?”

  She didn’t know. Perhaps she had been mem-washed, so that only her knowledge of her planet and nation of origin remained, stripped of detail. Possibly that information would return, as the effect of the wash diminished with time. It was hard to be sure with children; sometimes they threw off the effect rapidly, and sometimes their loss of memory was permanent. I feared that the latter was the case here.

  “The gem,” I asked. “The amber in the ring—that enables you to change modes? From English to Spanish and back again?”

  She nodded.

  “So you were locked into English, a language you understand but do not speak, until I told you to change to Spanish?” I wanted to be sure I had this aspect right; I did not want to lock her in any wrong mode.

  Again she agreed.

  “But you remember what happened when you were in English?” She nodded, and I continued: “You remember about me and Hopie and Robertico, and how you came to Jupiter?”

  As usual, the nod. She could speak now but lacked the habit.

  “Do you know why Admiral Khukov gave you to me?”

  Negative nod.

  “Would you prefer to return to Saturn?”

  Now she showed some emotion, shaking her head vigorously no.

  “You are satisfied to be here?”

  She smiled, and in that expression I found a familiarity I could not define. Déjà vu—but I could not place its origin.

  “Then we shall keep you here,” I reassured her. “We want you to be happy. You may have a room of your own if you wish.”

  No, she did not want that. She liked it as it was. “We shall have to see to your education. Can you read in Spanish?”

  She spread her hands; she did not know.

  I went to the blackboard Hopie had set up for Robertico. The old mechanisms are often the best, for teaching. I wrote AMBER. “Can you read that?”

  She concentrated. Then she smiled again. “It is my name!”

  I soon verified that she could read but not well. “We shall work with you, and soon you will read well enough, in Spanish,” I said. “Hopie will teach you. She has an interest in practical education.”

  “Hopie—is unhappy,” she volunteered.

  That got my attention. “My daughter, unhappy? Why?”

  “She said, in English—I cannot translate well, but I remember—she talks to me when she is tired.”

  “We all get tired,” I said carefully. “It is natural to talk to a friend.”

  “She said her parents separated, and it hurts her because she cannot put them back together. She worries that it is her fault.”

  “It’s not her fault!” I exclaimed, disturbed. I had not realized that my daughter felt this way, yet it was immediately obvious. She had said nothing to me, of course.

  “She says you sleep with other women and they are good women, but—”

  I shook my head. “Men may be of an inferior species to women. I am guilty of all she says.” How could I not have realized?

  “I do not understand.”

  Of course she didn’t, just as my daughter didn’t. Children are relatively innocent creatures, until corrupted by adults. But I could not leave it at that. “What is it that confuses you, Amber?”

  “What is wrong with sleeping?”

  Oh. “To sleep as you do, a period of unconsciousness—that is a good and necessary thing. All people do it. But to sleep with a person of the opposite sex—that has a different connotation. It means that they are engaging in sexual relations.”

  She gazed at me, uncomprehending. I realized that another major aspect of her education had been neglected or washed away. I was tempted to let it go at that but realized that she would have to know about this sort of thing, too, and that now was the time for her to learn, and that it was best that I tell her.

  “A man and a woman can develop a close acquaintance,” I said. “Sometimes this becomes love. Sometimes they give their bodies to each other, experiencing a deep intimacy and pleasure. Sometimes they are intimate without love. Normally this is restricted to married couples, but in some institutions, such as the military, they are unmarried. Whatever the situation, such a union should not be made without careful consideration. Hopie feels that although I have separated from her
mother, I should not be intimate with any other woman. She may be correct. But men have different perceptions about these things, and so I act in a manner my daughter does not approve. I am deeply sorry to have hurt her in this way.”

  She just gazed at me, unspeaking, and I was uncertain of how much she understood. Well, I had tried to make a fair presentation; that was all I could do.

  “I must return to my business now, Amber,” I said. “But I will talk with you again. I am very glad to know that you are able to talk and to read. There is nothing wrong with Spanish; it is an interplanetary language, as is English.”

  Still she did not react. Discomfited, I left her.

  • • •

  I continued with the hectic business of setting up a government, consulting with experts, interviewing prospects, checking my facts.

  I talked with Gerald Phist, who was in charge of industry, and his wife, Roulette. We had been close in the Navy, with Phist my second in command (after Spirit), and Roulette my wife. As I had explained to Amber, the Navy was a special situation. When I left the Navy, Rue had married Phist at my behest, but she still loved me, and he still loved my sister, who had been his wife. I think he was disappointed that Spirit was not present; she had had to go to another bubble to organize a chain of command. Spirit, as I have said, was always the true strength of the Tyrancy; she constantly welded the necessary connections, keeping the structure tight. It had been that way in the Navy, too, when she was my executive officer.

  Phist was aging gracefully, being about fifteen years my senior, and Rue remained stunning, being about ten years my junior. My eyes tended to stray to aspects of her form, and when they did, she would wiggle that aspect, and Phist would laugh. Both of them understood perfectly my situation with women, which was one of the things that made them comfortable to be with. My amorous relationship with Rue was long over, but it had not been ended by my choice or by hers, and we all knew it.