The leader answered: Yes, she would meet me in a contest. The terms were acceptable. To the winner would go the management of Jupiter, and to the loser, exile.
This really wasn't as crazy as it sounds. All parties knew that the Tyrant, now almost sixty years old, would not live forever, even if his sanity recovered. It was best to arrange for an orderly transfer of power before his condition worsened. Probably the Tyrant would overcome the Resistance leader—wagers were being made on that too, of course—but even so, it would establish the principle of a peaceful change of government.
It was necessary to have an intermediary, to arrange the details of the contest. The Resistance leader designated Jose Garcia.
Now, this made sense. Garcia was a highly respected figure and a solid member of the Resistance. He had been appointed to his post by the Tyrant. The Tyrancy could hardly object.
But it put me in a most interesting position. How could I negotiate when I was actually the Tyrant?
Spirit was elated. "They have played into our hands!" she exclaimed. "They don't know who you are!"
Perhaps not. But what bothered me was that I wasn't quite sure who I was, either. The positions of the Resistance were generally good, and I agreed with them. A return to democracy, with elections within two years. Release of the client nations. A considered restoration of medical benefits for those in serious need, so that no one would be required to die when he could be saved. Curtailment of the euthanasia program. Abolition of capital punishment. As Garcia, I supported these principles—and perhaps as Hope Hubris too. The machinery of the Tyrancy was such that I could not simply change existing policies, but the urge to do so was growing in me.
Was I to set up an encounter that could result in the destruction of the Resistance? It seemed to be a conflict of interest.
On the other hand, if by this mechanism I could finally meet the Resistance leader personally and identify her, there would be no need for the contest. The Tyrant could arrest her and root out the leaders of the organization.
It seemed I had no choice about this office. The public approved, widely and emphatically. Thus, as Garcia, I traveled formally to New Wash and was received at the White Bubble. I consulted with Spirit privately, then emerged to say that the Tyrant had suggested a number of possible types of contests, ranging from chance to a game of chess, and had suggested that the leader of the Resistance come to the White Bubble herself to participate.
Now, this was a bit more than the average man could swallow. Obviously the head of the Resistance was not about to place herself in the power of the Tyrant. So next I traveled to Ston, where a representative of the Resistance was to pick me up in a private vessel and take me to the secret residence of the leader. There I would present the Tyrant's offers and listen to her counteroffers.
The process of negotiation promised to be convoluted, but meanwhile the strike was suspended. Jupiter was operating again, and all attention was on the progress of the meetings.
I boarded the Resistance vessel in Ston, in the Old Colony State, and was taken to the unknown destination. This was going smoothly; no one suspected my nature. But still I wrestled with myself. As Hope Hubris I could use my bare hands to kill the woman and free the Tyrancy of this challenge. As Jose Garcia, I was honor-bound to carry the negotiations through. Yet if I did, what would I do when I had to meet her formally for the contest, in my other identity? Then my duplicity would be revealed, and all would fall apart. So I might as well act as the Tyrant. But if I killed her, then I would be trapped in the heart of the Resistance and would be killed myself. So I should complete the negotiations as Garcia, then return to the White Bubble and use the information to strike against the Resistance most effectively. Yet if I did that, where was honor? The Tyrant might suffer the touch of madness, but he had always acted honorably by his definition.
I still had not resolved my internal conflict when the ship docked. I did not know the city and was ushered into a closed car. I realized with a kind of relief that I might not be able to betray the location of the Resistance, and if the leader masked herself or addressed me via another intermediary, I would not know her, either. Still, she would know me—when I showed up for the contest as the Tyrant. Well, would that be a disaster? I wasn't sure.
As I was guided into a building I made my decision: If I met the woman face-to-face and she was Reba, I would leap at her and kill her, for she would otherwise recognize me and kill me. If she were a stranger, I would talk with her and use my talent to judge her nature, then decide.
I entered the apartment, and my guide retreated, leaving me alone. I saw a chair that faced away from me, and the back of a head. Now was the point of decision.
"I am here," I said, stepping forward.
The chair swung around, bringing the woman into view. I froze, stunned. "Hello, Hope," she said.
It was Megan.
EDITORIAL EPILOG
Apparently Hope Hubris was unable to write beyond that point. He had encountered, to his total surprise, the one woman he could not deny. His wife had finally called him to account. He had forgotten the Beautiful Dreamer's warning. He had in the end allowed the means to become the end and his namesake to overtake his common sense: the hubris of power. "I caused a memorial to be erected..." he writes, as if he is a deific figure. Megan was correct: it was time for sane people to set things right. The rest followed: his voluntary abdication from power and acceptance of exile, together with Spirit Hubris.
The identity of Jose Garcia was never revealed. He announced his retirement, feeling that after negotiating the conclusion of the Tyrancy he had no further need for public life, and he disappeared. Amber returned to New Wash, alone, where she worked as a translator of recorded transmissions, using the helmet to communicate her renditions. She never commented publicly on her private relationship with the Tyrant.
The various officers and staff members of the Tyrancy were allowed to retire with due respect. There was no pogrom, no forced elimination, just a demotion to subservience to the new order. A number of them continued in their existing offices, for they were all excellent administrators. It seems fair to say that the quality and dedication of the personnel of the Tyrancy were the best ever seen on Jupiter, and their influence hardly faded with the demise of the Tyrancy itself.
Hope Hubris may have suffered some problem of sanity after some of those close to him were lost; that remains in question. But the reforms he wrought in only one decade were enough to establish his place in history beyond question.
Megan headed a brief caretaker government, setting up a framework for restored elections and public representation. She had no interest in power for herself and stepped down the moment the elections produced a new president and Congress. She was called a great woman. She was.
It turned out that a number of planets were interested in providing sanctuary for the exiled former Tyrant of Jupiter. He accepted the most challenging offer. Thus it was that Hope and Spirit Hubris traveled to Saturn to commence what turned out to be perhaps the most remarkable stage of their careers.
Coral, unable to go to that planet, accepted a position as a physical therapist with the Shelia Foundation. Ebony joined her there.
And I, the daughter of the Tyrant, now twenty-five, took my eleven-year-old adopted brother, Robertico, and retired to a paid position within the restored Department of Education. It was, after all, what I understood best.
Of course, I must answer the obvious question: How did I feel about Amber? I can only say that the process of education can be trying at times but that I learned to understand and appreciate my father for what he was, and he was a man who needed women. Age was irrelevant, and Amber was hardly to blame for being captivated by him. All women who knew him were. I have asked myself whether I am able to forgive her, and I have answered that forgiveness is unnecessary, for there was no fault. How could I forgive without admitting injury or jealousy—jealousy for what? And so we remain, in our fashion, sisters.
&nbs
p; —Hopie Megan Hubris
Copyright © 1985 by Piers Anthony Jacob
ISBN: 0-380-89834-9
Anthony, Piers - Tyrant 4 - Executive Page 30
