But the Jupiter atmosphere is large. Though there is a tonnage of bubble formations at this level that can only be crudely estimated, the individual bubbles are spread far apart, and there is a murk of inchoate material that clouds whatever view there might be. Thus, searching for the forming bubbles is like the proverbial needle in the haystack. They are there, but it is a challenge to find them.
That was our job, as prospectors. Once free-lance individuals had prospected for nuggets of gold on the surface of archaic Earth; now they sought spheres in the wilder reaches of the Jupiter atmosphere. Bubblene was just as precious as gold had been; without the bubbles, civilization as we know it would not be possible. Oh, certainly the fundamental breakthrough had been the gee-shield; that made System exploration possible. But the bubbles, combined with the shields, made extended settlement feasible. It was the same on Saturn, Uranus, and Neptune: all had their bubble-bands, and all harvested the bubbles and fashioned them into ships and cities. Nothing but a bubble could withstand the rigors of atmosphere and space, for bubblene was virtually impervious to accidental destruction. Gravel-meteorites merely scratched the superhard surface, and neither heat nor cold (within reason) weakened it. A new bubble was a treasure indeed!
So we quested, but the chances of our discovering a good bubble within a month were small. Some prospectors searched for years before making a decent strike, and some never succeeded. Some died in the effort. But those that succeeded could have their fortunes made, depending on the size and quality of the bubble they staked. Thus there were many volunteers, despite the discomfort and danger; man tends to be foolishly optimistic, or perhaps he just likes to gamble.
Our ship's hull was of bubblene, of course, and it was thick. The pressure here was about a thousand bars—a thousand times that of Earth-normal. The natural bubbles were porous, so that atmospheric pressure inside equalized that outside, but the ships had to provide and protect the human environment. Implosion was definitely a threat, and I felt it as a kind of claustrophobia, though I knew that the ship was designed to withstand the pressure. I fought the feeling, knowing that it was merely the legacy of my rearing in the relative vacuum of space, where explosion was the threat. I could not afford to be handicapped by emotion. Amber didn't seem to be aware of the pressure; perhaps she didn't grasp its nature or extent. I was not about to educate her about it; her ignorance was bliss, in this case.
We proceeded through the soup, and I gave her practice in the handling of the ship. The gee-shield prevented it from descending, even when stationary, but mishandling could still generate mischief. The ship maneuvered by planing with its wings when accelerating, so could lift or descend, and it was theoretically possible to skim too deep and encounter pressure too great for the hull to withstand; it was best to be careful. To turn left or right one merely rotated the ship so that the planes acted sidewise. Simple in theory, sometimes tricky in practice, because of the murk and the turbulence.
Outside all was wind and dust and streamers of gas. Sometimes we spotted larger blobs of substance, but they were generally misshapen, useless for our purpose. Some ships were harvesters of amorphous material, scooping it in and carrying it up to the factories for processing. Such mining was big business. But we were going for bigger game.
After several hours I was satisfied that Amber had the hang of it; henceforth we could take turns piloting. Normally one pilot was on duty at all times, even if not actively searching; it was prudent to keep an eye out for both danger and bubbles. Most discoveries were actually random, though innumerable search systems existed that supposedly enhanced the chances. The longer someone looked, and the more sharply he looked, the more likely he was to score: that was the essence.
But at the conclusion of this first shift we put the ship on auto-pilot, for we had another matter in mind. We had not before had the chance to be completely alone and private, together. We wanted to make love.
One might suppose that this would be a simple matter. It was not. First, there was the social aspect. Remember, at this time Amber was just fifteen years old, and though she had the body of a young woman, there were ways in which she remained childlike. I wanted her, in part, because of that youth, so like that of Helse when I had known her. But I was fifty-two and conscious of the disparity in ages. We had made love many times and in many ways—via the helmet—but this was real and therefore hazardous in its own special way.
Second, there was the physical aspect. This was a ship designed to support two—in different places. Sleeping was definitely conceived as a solitary matter. The bedroom cell was a niche that opened from a rear wall, just about big enough for one large man or, possibly, two small ones. We discovered that we could, by dint of much effort and discomfort, jam in together, but the fit was so tight that sexual activity was really not feasible. I suppose if a man and a woman were experienced, so that each knew exactly what contour fitted what and were not ambitious for mutual satisfaction, it could be done. That was not the case with us. We wanted to do it gently and well. That pretty well eliminated the bed.
That left the kitch/head: not the most conducive locale. If one person sat on the vac-pot, there was just room for the other to stand. I looked at the pot, disgusted, but didn't see a much better way.
"This isn't the way I wanted it to be the first time," I said. "But..."
She smiled, not concerned. Amber never complained about anything.
She retreated to the entry tunnel, giving me room to strip. When I was naked, I sat on the pot, giving her room. And you know, as her clothing came off, this awkward situation brought a powerful sense of déjà vu. Seeing a young woman's private parts in the chamber for natural functions—that was the way it had been with Helse when I had had to help her urinate in free-fall. You see, Helse had masqueraded for safety's sake as a boy and therefore had to use the male facilities, and they were awkward for a woman to use in free-fall. So I had had to hold her to the funnel while she squatted to relieve herself. It had been a tremendously stimulating experience for me, at age fifteen, the guilt of my reaction adding to the excitement. The facility for elimination differed here, being designed to be used while under gee, but the similarity of situation was close enough to evoke the same effect in me. In an instant I had a rigid erection.
Amber stared. I realized, belatedly, that this was the first time she had seen such a thing in life. In the helmet she had seen it many times and handled it and felt it inside her, but this was a different level of experience. She paused, evidently daunted, and I suffered a siege of embarrassment, Perhaps I should have arranged to do this in darkness this first time.
Then she laughed. "It's real!" she exclaimed.
I relaxed. At least she wasn't horrified or terrified. I reached for her, and, of course, she was within reach because it was impossible to be out of reach of anything in this chamber.
I brought her down to me, but she hesitated. "I can't sit on that!" she protested.
"Certainly you can," I informed her.
"But..."
I showed her how. It seemed it had not occurred to her that both it and she could occupy my lap simultaneously. When she discovered how this worked, she was delighted.
And so she sat on my lap, facing away from me, divinely impaled, and I reached around her to squeeze her young breasts in my two hands. I had in mind a considerable period of dalliance in that position before the culmination, but I had misjudged my tolerance. No sooner were we fairly set than I erupted.
"Damn!" I swore, for, of course, she had barely started on her own course of pleasure.
But she had a different reaction. "It worked!" she exclaimed. "You went inside me and you did it, just like the helmet!" She put her hands on mine, so that now her breasts were double-cupped, and squeezed them, pleased at this success.
I decided not to argue. There would be plenty of time for her to discover the other type of pleasure. For now her verification of her own performance seemed sufficient.
Of course, we did
n't stay in the ship all the time. Periodically a sub descended to take us aboard. Amber was given a brief fling at the comforts of civilization, such as a soft and roomy bed, noncanned food, and relief from the stress of prospecting. I had no such reprieve; it was necessary for me to make periodic public appearances so that the populace would not realize that I was in hiding. I might have broadcast interviews, but that would have meant communicative contact with the prospect-ship, and that was too dangerous to risk. So I went physically, which was an odd mechanism for secrecy.
"The former congressmen have announced a government-in-exile," Spirit informed me. "And challenged you to meet them in debate."
"That can have no legal status!" I protested. "I am the legitimate government of the U.S. of J."
"Legitimate but not conventional—or popular," she reminded me. "The people are paying a lot of attention to this movement. Because these are all former members of the former government, they possess a certain status in the eyes of the majority. We can hold down the random rebellions, but these people can sow the seeds of endless mischief, leading the majority into resistance."
"I'd better tackle them, then," I said. "If they want to debate, I'll debate. The facts support my programs."
"Yes. But they may be up to something else. We have to be careful."
"Of course. Set up electronic weapon detectors and have a pacifier ready."
"They have nullifiers," Coral said. "But we have null-nullifiers. They will not be proof against pacification."
"So I can go into their midst personally and brace them and make points for the Tyrancy," I said. "It should be fun."
I went, after my personnel had made their arrangements. I really wasn't worried; this was a group of twenty former senators, of both major parties, all with excellent reputations. Obviously they intended to awe the audience with their credentials and to impress upon the audience—which should include most of Jupiter—the obvious justice of their cause. They stood foursquare for the old ways, the good ways, the ways that should be restored. However, I was prepared to remind that same audience of the phenomenal problems those old ways had engendered—problems that my reforms were now attacking. Soon the results would begin to show, if we just stayed the course. I didn't expect my message to be completely popular, but I was sure it would make the more sensible people pause. The very fact that I, the Tyrant, came in person to debate those who pretended to be a counter-government—that demonstrated the extent of free speech that existed today and the openness of my dialogue. Repressive dictators did not indulge in this sort of thing.
They were seated in a large semicircle on a stage, with the media pickups for an audience. Shelia parked her wheelchair at the edge of the stage where she could prompt me, and Coral stood beside her. I tried never to make a big thing of my personal protection; the Navy was never far from me, but Coral looked more like my mistress than my bodyguard. Indeed, on this occasion she wore a fetching red print dress that made her look more like a college girl than a mature woman, and she had a mock rose in her hair. Because of the rigid precautions against weapons, she carried none on this occasion, but, of course, her entire body was a kind of weapon when required.
This chamber was elegant. It was fashioned in the manner of an ancient Roman hall, with decorative columns and sculpture, and the walls, floor, and ceiling were of brightly phosphorescent material, so that external illumination was hardly necessary. This lent an ethereal quality to the proceedings.
In addition, there were mock stone alcoves set up as fountains, where water flowed and formed little falls. These were made up like portals to the outside, and beyond them was a panoramic holo scene that changed visibly to show the seasons, in accelerated manner. It had been fall as I entered; as I watched, intrigued as I often am by the innocent marvels of civilization, winter approached. The falls congealed to ice, and icicles spread across like bars. Delightful!
The program began. I expected an opening diatribe against my policies but was surprised. A senator from my own party rose from his chair, strode forward, raised his hand, and proclaimed: "Hail, Caesar!"
The power failed. The artificial lights went out, leaving only the glow of the walls, and the susurration of the air refreshing system ceased. Of all times for a breakdown!
But in a moment I realized that it was more than that. The senators were rising together and stepping to the mock windows. They were reaching for the icicles.
Coral was at my side, almost at a bound. "Out, sir!" she hissed. "Exit by Shelia!"
I started toward my secretary, but several senators were already moving to cut me off. Shelia, realizing what was happening, wheeled her chair to clear the exit.
As if in slow motion, while I was striding toward her, I saw it happen. Two men bent to grab her chair. They heaved it up and forward. The chair skidded sideways, then tilted over as the wheel struck the edge of the stage. It overturned, dumping Shelia down into the audience section.
I changed course to reach her, horrified. The drop was not great, but she had been pitched out headfirst, the chair coming down on top of her. If she was hurt—
"To me!" Coral snapped. I saw that the men had closed off the exit, and now all twenty were advancing on me, holding icicles.
Obviously this had been most carefully rehearsed. The setting, the freezing water, generating weapons where there had been none, the power cutoff that prevented either the pacifier from being used or any message from going out. The holo-cameras were dead; no one could see what was happening here. They had never intended to debate me! Now they had twenty against two, and the two were unarmed, and one a woman. In scant minutes a crack Navy unit would burst in here and take over, but evidently the senators believed they had time enough.
"Straight defense won't do it," I muttered to Coral as we stood back to back.
"Build a wall," she replied tersely.
I recognized another Oriental concept of hers. "Right."
The first senator came at me like a kamikaze, his icicle held clumsily in an overhand mode, stabbing down. I ducked under, whirled, caught his descending arm, and heaved him the rest of the way over my shoulder. He landed heavily, his arm outstretched and in my grip, and I quickly twisted his wrist and took the slippery icicle from it. Then I kicked him hard in the head, so that he would lie still, and whirled to face the next.
I heard a thunk behind me and knew that Coral had landed her client beside mine. She might look like a delicate young lady, but she was a more efficient and deadly combat specialist than I was. Then I stabbed forward with my icicle, plunging it into the belly of my attacker. The ice shattered, but it didn't matter; as he collapsed in agony I simply took his weapon.
Another body landed behind: Coral's contribution. Four down, sixteen to go. We were building our wall. When it got high enough, we would use it as a barricade.
Now the senators paused. They were obviously ready to give their lives in this cause, this treacherous assassination of Caesar in the Senate chamber, but they realized that they were giving their lives without cause at the moment. It was evident that Coral and I could eliminate them handily, one by one.
"All together!" one cried.
They tried to charge together, but it was impossible. One stumbled, his legs tangled with that of his neighbor, and went down in front. I knocked him in the neck with my booted toe, putting him down to stay. Meanwhile Coral spun around in place, and her dainty-seeming foot flung out to score on the side of the head of another, tumbling him unconscious into the throng. Another lost balance, and I caught his flailing arm and brought his face down to my rising knee.
But I felt the stab of an icicle in my left shoulder. There were too many men, all stabbing clumsily with their weapons; I could not avoid them all! I whirled, catching that arm, hauling the man further off-balance, then using an aikido twist to send him back into the throng.
The Navy arrived. Lasers flashed, catching the remaining senators in rapid order. In a moment, of the original party, only Coral a
nd I were standing. She was bleeding also, but it didn't look serious.
I hurried across to help Shelia. She was bruised but unbroken; she had had the sense to break her fall with her arms and then to stay quiet, knowing she could not help us.
Now a Navy medic was seeing to us, expertly treating our wounds. An officer saluted me. "Sir, how shall we dispose of the prisoners?" he inquired.
Abrupt rage overcame me. "Interrogation, trial, execution," I said. "Root out the plot."
"Yes, sir." He turned to his business.
That was about all there was to it. Coral and Shelia and I had escaped without serious injury, thanks to our immediate and effective action. But I was not pleased. I should never have fallen into that trap!
One might suppose that the public would rise up against the would-be assassins. It was not so. The news media, in a position to ascertain the facts of the case, elected generally to pretend that I was the one at fault. Three sterling senators were dead, several more injured, and the rest were gone from Jupiter society—all because of the whim of the Tyrant.
No, I did not clamp down on the press. I would not violate my oath. But this marked the turning point in the Tyrancy's handling of assassination and terrorism. After this they were publicly executed.
The job quickly became routine, despite the evident hazard. We quested interminably for bubbles, but though dust and rocks were plentiful, large objects were rare. Once we thought we spied one, but it turned out to be another prospect-ship.
Anthony, Piers - Tyrant 4 - Executive Page 24
