Anthony, Piers - Tyrant 3 - Politician

by Anthony, Piers

  We were conducted to the embassy compound. It was an old fortress, later converted to a prison, converted again to diplomatic use. The back wall was notched by the burns of laser beams: prisoners had been executed here. I hoped Megan would not recognize its nature but feared she did, for she hurried Hopie on past the wall.

  The main building was a warren of tiny cells, and in some there were manacles attached to wall mountings. In one there were white bones. Very little effort had been made to conceal the prior use of this place. The campaign of private discouragement was definitely on.

  We had a small household and office staff—Shelia, Ebony, and Coral—but were expected to hire locals for most of the maintenance work. This turned out to be an awkward chore. Megan did not speak Spanish, and it seemed that none of the eligible employees spoke English. In addition, they were a slovenly bunch, by no coincidence completely unsuited for the kinds of work we required. We needed a governess for Hopie, as this was the diplomatic style; the Vana employment service sent us five candidates, all of whom were middle-aged males. I called in and explained the problem, and they promised to locate some more suitable candidates. But somehow nothing happened. This was typical; it seemed that the city of Vana was very short of English-speaking cooks, maids, and handymen. We had to make do for the time being without local employees, which made a bad impression.

  The power was erratic, tending to fade out at the most awkward times, such as when Megan was trying to cook in the antiquated kitchen. Even the gee wavered, making our stomachs unsettled. At times there were piercing noises of adjacent construction. In addition, it was difficult to go out into the city freely; we immediately picked up an entourage of grim-looking men carrying laser rifles. "For your security, señor," one explained when I inquired, but somehow they seemed more menacing than protective. We made a household rule: Not one of us went out without being accompanied by Coral, who could demolish half a dozen men in about as many seconds if the need arose. She carried an amazing arsenal of assorted weapons, none of which showed. What did show was her comely figure, so that few Ganys believed she was dangerous, though they knew her function.

  In addition, we suffered an immediate flood of defectors, who claimed to be fleeing political oppression and who demanded sanctuary. Now, this is a legitimate function of an embassy. It is considered planetary ground of its sponsoring planet, and very few powers ever violate that privilege. But I knew even before I interviewed these people that they were impostors sent by the Gany government to make my position untenable. We lacked the facilities to care for this mass of a hundred or so people, and they were not about to make our job easy. We would become a zoo, with the animal gates open.

  Quick and firm action had to be taken, but I knew the local authorities would not cooperate. So I arranged for a stiff test of motive. I placed an interplanetary call to a person I knew. Theoretically the call was private; actually I knew it was monitored by the locals. The call was to the Jupiter Naval Base at Leda, routed through the Jupiter base on Ganymede, Tanamo. As an ambassador I had the authority to make such calls, and as a retired Navy man I knew whom to reach. There was a six-second delay each way, because of the distance; thus there were twelve-second pauses in the dialogue.

  "Ambassador Hope Hubris to Captain Emerald Mondy," my opening went. There was a delay of a good minute while the Navy ran her down; then her face appeared on my screen. Emerald was a decade older than I remembered her; she was my own age, but somehow I thought of her as I had known her personally, unaged. At forty-one she was not the lithe and angular creature she had been; her brown face had filled out, but she retained the slightly rebellious expression I remembered. She had once been my wife; we had separated for tactical rather than emotional reasons, as was often the case in the Navy. Of course she remembered me well; no doubt she had kept track of my political progress over the years. Her words alluded mischievously to the time of our intimate association. "What can I do for you, Ambassador, that wouldn't gripe your spouse and mine?"

  "You can contact Rue for me and ask her to approve immigration of approximately one hundred defectors seeking political asylum from Ganymede," I said. "If the Belt will take them, then I'd like a transport ship dispatched here to pick them up."

  Emerald considered, after the transmission pause. "I'm sure the Belt will take them," she said. "The Belt is always short of men. I will start the scutwork and have a ship dispatched in forty-eight hours. But, you know, Ambassador, it's not exactly cushy living in the Belt, especially for untrained recruits. How many speak English or French?"

  "None," I responded. "They'll just have to learn. Thank you, Emerald; give my respects to Rue."

  "I won't give her those," she replied with mock severity. "She's still hot for you, Captain, and she's only thirty, you know. Lot of juice left in her."

  I smiled as the connection ended. Emerald had always been a blunt speaker. She was also a strategic genius, which was why I had married her. She had risen in the Navy much as I had risen in politics, in fits and starts, but I was sure she had not yet seen her apex. She was sure to become the first female admiral of this century. Rue, on the other hand, was not in the Navy. That name was short for Roulette, for she had been in a pirate band that ran big-time gambling. She had been my final wife in space, the most stunningly beautiful woman, physically, I had ever known, fiery of hair and temperament. At age thirty, she would indeed still be lovely. She was now the wife of Admiral Phist and was the Belt's liaison to Jupiter. I had excellent connections in these women.

  Next, I spoke to the refugees assembled in our compound. "You will all be pleased to know," I informed them in Spanish, "that I have arranged for your expeditious emigration to the Belt, where you will find gainful employment at the prevailing wages. Of course you will have to learn one of their languages, and it will take some time to learn the ways of the sparse planetoids, but you will be forever free of Ganymede, so I know you will find it worthwhile. The transport ship will dock at Tanamo in two days, and you will be given clearance to board it there."

  My announcement was greeted in silence. I left them to their thoughts.

  Within a day all of them were gone. My bluff had worked. Genuine defectors would have accepted the deal; provocateurs on the Gany payroll could not afford to. There had never been any ship dispatched; Emerald had played along with me, knowing that I knew it could not be done that way. Only direct presidential authorization could have moved out those defectors that promptly. But those who had monitored my message had not realized that, and certainly the pseudo-defectors hadn't.

  Emerald was a good woman. I trust it in no way diminishes Megan if I confess that there are times when I remember my Navy wives and associates with pleasant nostalgia. We understood each other in ways that only personnel of the Navy would understand.

  But I had solved only one problem; others remained. When Hopie screamed at night, and we rushed into her room to discover a rat scrambling away from the light, I decided it was time to take action. Rats—in a planetary dome? That could hardly be by chance. Those creatures had to have been bred elsewhere and placed there. Hopie moved into our bedroom, and I pondered morosely.

  By morning I had worked out a program. "Megan, I want you to learn to sing some songs in Spanish," I said. "Can you do this quickly?"

  She knew I was up to something, and such was her distress at the situation that she did not question it. "If you tell me how to pronounce the words."

  I went to the local library with Coral and did some research. At first there were objections, but I showed my credentials and charmed the library clerk, and she helped me locate what I needed and copy it. I could not be denied access to the library, and, of course, I was not regarded as very important in the practical sense; this gave me the freedom I needed.

  Megan had no trouble learning the songs; she had been a professional singer, after all, and still possessed a remarkable voice. I was trusting that the premier did not know that.

  I called him. Natural
ly I got through only to the barrier office. I announced that the Jupiter ambassador was coming that evening to pay a social call on the premier, and bringing his family to meet the premier's family. I cut off before the functionary could protest.

  And so, self-invited, we called on the premier. Even a sham ambassador has some leverage; I could make a most unkind headline that would arouse both Jupiter and Saturn, if openly snubbed. After the matter of the defectors, the premier knew that I would do just that. He, of course, had known I was bluffing about the shipment to the Belt but, had he intervened, it would have tipped his hand. Perhaps at that point he had begun to appreciate the quality of the opposition. Also, I knew the premier would be intrigued by my temerity in visiting and would be braced for my complaints about the embassy facilities. He would look for an opportunity to further humiliate me, if he could do so without directly soiling his hands. I intended to provide him that opportunity.

  Everything was very proper as we arrived. There would be no open show of animosity here. The premier was ceremonially garbed, and his wife accompanied him to the door to greet us. I sized her up immediately: she was a decent woman, in awe of her husband but closely guarded in her heart. I knew she had suffered things she could not utter.

  We were treated to a fine meal, and the premier was genial, though he watched me carefully. He wanted me to make my move before he made his. We conversed in Spanish, leaving Megan out of it. I had warned her that it would be this way, and she bore it with grace.

  As the meal ended I said, as if casually, "But where is your son? I understood you had a son."

  The premier almost glowered but caught himself. Now he knew I knew, and his anger intensified. "He is indisposed, Ambassador."

  "But I promised my little girl she could meet your son," I exclaimed innocently. "She will be most disappointed—" My words were polite, but my stare advised him that I intended to have my way in this.

  The premier's teeth showed in what was barely a smile. His wife had generally remained out of public view, and his son was never exhibited. There was good reason for this; it was an extremely sensitive matter. Natives of Gany had been executed for acting less brashly than I was now, but the mantle of Jupiter protected me no matter how obnoxious I became.

  "Fetch Raul!" the premier snapped at his wife as we adjourned to the parlor. Surely he was picturing me against the execution wall and aiming the laser himself.

  She brought Raul. He was a boy of about ten, thin and small, and he walked mechanically, only when urged. When released, he stood by himself before the room's piano and twisted his fingers in front of his face, tuning out the rest of the planet. He was, as I had known, autistic—the secret shame of the family. By my insistence on seeing him I had let the premier know I could tacitly blackmail him, for the Jupiter press was not censored in the manner of the Gany press. I could demand better service at the embassy and get it now.

  "Go meet Raul," I told Hopie. I had warned her privately what to expect. She was only five but pretty savvy for the age, perhaps possessed of some talent similar to mine. I knew Raul was harmless if treated diffidently, though the wrong approach could provoke a savage tantrum. The premier was so tense, he was having trouble maintaining his composure.

  "You know, my wife sings," I remarked. "She's really quite good. Would you like to hear her?"

  The premier had little interest in music, but his wife did. He grasped at this straw, to divert attention from the autistic child. "Yes, yes," he agreed gruffly. "Let her sing."

  "Perhaps your wife will play," I said, indicating the piano. It was one of the electronic ones, similar to Megan's own, set on a table so as to emulate the style of the mechanical pianos that had existed on old Earth.

  "No, no, Señor Ambassador," she protested, blushing. She was not expert; she practiced to divert herself and knew she would only embarrass us all.

  "Then perhaps if my wife could accompany herself—"

  "Yes, yes," she agreed quickly. She spoke in Spanish, but her intent was evident to all.

  Megan sat at the piano, near Raul, who ignored her and the world of normal folk. He contemplated his moving fingers with total fascination. Megan checked the piano to be sure it was in tune, adjusted it, and began.

  First she played and sang an operatic selection in English. The premier understood the language but did not deign to acknowledge, and his wife could not follow the words at all though she obviously appreciated the music. Thus this selection was to an extent lost on its limited audience. But I watched Raul, using my talent, and confirmed what I had suspected. His fingers slowed slightly, as if part of the music were reaching his mind.

  "Now," I murmured to Megan.

  She began the first of the Spanish songs I had had her learn. It was a pretty one, popular with children, very quick and light, with a catchy refrain. She sang it well—probably better than it had ever been sung on Gany before, for there was no singer of her stature here. The room filled with sound, and Hopie began moving to the beat, as a child will. "Oh, lovely," the premier's wife breathed in Spanish.

  I took the premier's elbow unobtrusively. He stiffened, furious at this familiarity; he touched others freely in public but did not like others touching him. "Raul," I murmured.

  He looked at his son and saw the boy's gaze turning to Megan. The restless fingers paused, and the expression of complete indifference was shifting to one of faint interest.

  "He hears!" the premier whispered, awed.

  Megan finished the song, and the boy froze again. His gaze became blank. Whatever current had passed through him had been turned off.

  She started the next, another pretty one with a strong Latin beat, and again Raul responded. He began to move, ever so slightly, to the music, copying Hopie. There was no question that the song reached him.

  The third song Megan played and sang was the planetary anthem of Ganymede. The premier, startled, stood to attention, and his son copied him, standing straight but not tuned out. There were tears running down the face of the boy's mother.

  When Megan finished that one, she smiled at Raul, and he smiled back. "A miracle!" the premier's wife exclaimed.

  "Sometimes music helps," I said. "The right music, sung with proper feeling. One cannot expect too much, but..."

  That was the turning point. The premier's stifled rage was replaced by an opposite emotion. Thereafter we were welcome at his home, Megan especially. She worked with the premier's wife to discover what music would reach the boy most effectively. And by a seeming coincidence, a number of quite qualified people showed up to work at the embassy. The sinister men of the street disappeared. We had no further significant difficulties of any kind.

  As time passed I came to know the premier better. He was a ruthless and, at times, violent man, but he was in an environment that required such qualities. He did have firm principles, and he was trying to improve the lot of his planet. Gradually we spoke more candidly to each other, as he recognized that it was not my purpose to judge him, humiliate him, or to work against his interests. I had, after all, been as ruthless as he, in the course of my prior military career. It was my purpose to improve relations between Jupiter and Ganymede.

  "How would it be," I inquired musingly, "if we arranged to find something to do?"

  His eyes narrowed appreciatively. "What do you have in mind, Señor?"

  "Suppose we were to commence negotiations for the resumption of sugar purchases by Jupiter, the orderly transfer of Tanamo to Ganymede suzerainty before the lease expires, that sort of thing?" His eyes fairly popped."

  You would do that?"

  Tanamo was a major Jupiter Naval base situated on Gany, the one I had invoked for the mock defector shipment. It operated under a long-term lease arranged before the revolution that had changed the nature of Gany's government. Tanamo's presence was perhaps the leading sore spot of the present Gany regime. But there was no way Gany could take over the base without provoking war with Jupiter, and that was not to be contemplated. That
lease would terminate in another decade, but it was not known whether Jupiter would give up the base even then. Treaties are honored by governments only when it suits their convenience, and Jupiter's interplanetary record in this respect was no better than Saturn's, no matter what the school texts might claim.

  "Sometimes capitalistic and communistic purposes coincide," I said. "I would like to facilitate peace in our time in the Solar System, naturally—"

  "Naturally," he agreed dryly.

  "And the elimination of trouble spots should help," I continued. "It is possible that the position of the premier who arranged for the resumption of territorial integrity—"

  "And the reputation of the ambassador involved—" he added.

  We looked at each other, smiling. We both could profit.

  "Of course, there is always a certain quid pro quo," I said. "Ganymede has been accused, perhaps erroneously, of fomenting revolution elsewhere in the Jupiter sphere, and of serving as a supply conduit for Saturn arms."

  He nodded. "Were this the case, it might be that it would not be entirely under the control of the local authorities," he pointed out. "There might be debts to pay...."

  "Granted. Yet perhaps a dialogue with the appropriate party..."

  "Perhaps a dialogue," he agreed.

  "And some have claimed—naturally I do not personally credit this—that there are political prisoners who might safely be released: intellectuals, misled youths, ill folk."

  "If, perhaps, an initiative were made."

  I nodded. We had an understanding.

  And so it was that I, in the dutiful performance of my office, relayed to my government the Gany petition for early consideration of the transfer of Tanamo and other matters.