I squeezed her buttock twice.
She tensed, realizing that I was denying her answer, rather than being familiar in the physical sense. I suspect it might be a shock to any beautiful woman to discover that a man is more interested in her mind than her body, for whatever reason. “Does my name really matter?”
“Yes,” I said, and squeezed her firm flesh twice.
Again she tensed, but this time only in the buttock. The feel of that was interesting. “What are you up to, Hope?”
“I think I’m seducing you,” I said, and squeezed once.
“Well, two can play at that game.” She moved her left hand to my right buttock and squeezed.
I smiled. “Oh? Then try this.” I moved my hand, finding the band in her prison skirt, and slid my fingers inside. I found the silk-smooth surface of her panties. “No one can see what I do.” And I squeezed once.
She laughed again, playing the strange game. She undid my trousers and reached inside. The flesh she found was not that of the buttock. She took hold and squeezed. “What do you think of that?”
“No effect,” I said, squeezing her buttock twice. Indeed it was a lie, for in her grasp my flesh was rapidly changing. I knew she was an agent of my captors, serving their purpose, but she was indeed a luscious item of the flesh. That was what made this so difficult emotionally: I had to keep my inner feelings apart from my outer ones, while causing her inner and outer emotions to merge. That might not be easy to do.
She hesitated. She had expected the hand signals to stop once real progress toward a sexual act was made. “What do you want?”
“I want you,” I said with a single squeeze.
“Well, just let me take off my clothes.”
I squeezed twice.
“I don’t understand!” Her confusion was understandable, for she held in her hand the proof that I desired her body.
I found her face and kissed her lips—and squeezed her silken buttock twice again.
Yet again she tensed, which caused me some discomfort because of the position of her hand. She started to protest, but I stifled it with the continuing kiss. Then I repeated, “I want you.” One squeeze.
She lay still, analyzing, trying to figure out what I was getting at. She squeezed my hard anatomy once, as if it were a question, and I squeezed her soft bun twice in negation. She laughed silently. “You are very firm. You want—more than my body?”
“Yes.” And my squeeze agreed.
“You want my love as well?”
“Yes.” But I did not squeeze.
She hesitated. Then, “You can have it.” But then she squeezed my flesh painfully hard, twice.
It was my turn to tense and pause, for different reasons. I was in physical discomfort and mental turmoil. Overtly she was offering me everything; why should she deny it privately? (I really did not intend that pun.) It was her assignment to seduce me and win my love; surely she would have better success if she convinced me she loved me. She was acting against her own best interest.
Or—she was telling me the truth for the first time. That this really was only an assignment and that her secret heart was not in it. In that case I was making genuine progress.
“I’ll settle for what you offer,” I said with one squeeze.
She squeezed once in response, more gently.
We had established communication. We talked, and while she denied it verbally, by the squeeze route I learned that she had not been mem-washed. I had already known that, of course, but now she confessed it. She was indeed on assignment to seduce me. Why? Because my captors knew I was married and they wanted me to be sexually compromised; emotionally, too, if it could be done. Why was she cooperating? That was a longer story, harder to gather because the key words could not be spoken. To maintain the pretense of sexual seduction, we had to get undressed and proceed toward the physical culmination, but our true attention was elsewhere.
In the course of our secret dialogue the pretense became reality, and we did complete the act. I felt guilty, even as my fluid pumped into her body, because of my memory of Megan, but I knew it was necessary. I felt worse because it turned out to be so thoroughly pleasant; Dorian was good at her trade and almost made me believe that she liked doing this.
I wanted to know more about her, but I had been too long away from my cell and had to return. “My fate is in your hands,” I told her openly. “If you report what I have done here, they will wash everything away.”
“I’m guilty, too,” she replied. But she knew what I meant: I had told her that I knew she was an agent, which was supposed to be a secret from me. She had admitted it, which was a forbidden action for her. She could turn me in, but that would implicate her, too. I was gambling that she would keep my faith and report merely that she had succeeded in seducing me, which the spy pickup would confirm.
We parted, but I was restless the remainder of the night. I realized that she might have played along in order to win my secret confidence, the better to betray me more thoroughly in the end. She could report on this matter without penalty to herself. She would have done her job and shown my captors an aspect of my capabilities they had not suspected. Still, I did not think she would; her secret responses had been true. My talent suggested that I had reached her on a personal level and compromised her mission to that extent.
If nothing happened in the next day I was probably right. My captors would have no reason to continue in their present program once they knew that I was not being truly compromised.
The day passed routinely, with further discussion/ indoctrination. My captors did know I was sneaking out of my cell at night but evidently believed that their agent had the situation in hand.
Night came again, and I had not been punished. My gamble seemed to have paid off.
I returned to Dorian Gray, and we proceeded to fondle each other again, leaving our clothing on so that it was more complicated and therefore slower. Also, the clothing concealed the squeezings on bare buttocks, so that we could communicate more freely. I discovered that it was more stimulating to touch and be touched inside clothing than it was naked; perhaps it was the suggestion of illicit discovery that enhanced the effect. It got to the point where the game overtook me, and I almost raped her in my urgency to complete the position before spewing on the clothing. She found that very funny; it was a special victory for her, though the entangled clothing had to have been uncomfortable for her.
Meanwhile I learned the essence of her situation. Dorian, a beautiful young woman just coming out of her teens, had found employment with a Jupiter government office, but instead of routine office work, she had found herself on assignment to seduce a diplomat from Ganymede. She was offered such a bonus for success that she couldn’t refuse. So she had done it. The man had been easy to seduce; she had simply moved in with him and served as his sexual plaything. Heedless of consequences, she soon found herself pregnant. She thought that would end the affair, but it didn’t; the man was pleased to have his virility demonstrated and kept her with him through the birth of the baby. There was no question of marriage; he wasn’t interested, and neither was she. They were a satisfied, unofficial family.
Then, abruptly, he was gone—with the baby. Whether he had somehow learned of her assignment to spy on him or simply had his own assignment changed, she didn’t know. He had said nothing to her, perhaps because she would never have given up her infant son. The loss devastated her, but Ganymede was the last place she could go, as she was a refugee from it. She appealed to her employer, who promised to recover her baby for her if she would undertake another assignment. So she had, knowing nothing about it—and here she was.
Why had she confided all this to me? If I betrayed her she would surely never recover her baby. She hadn’t had to tell me; I could tell when she was lying, but I couldn’t make her tell me anything she really wanted to hide. She was cooperating—too well.
“Why?” I asked her, by squeezing that word in an unrelated sentence. “Why—tell—me?”
Such questioning was slow, but we were used to that. We had already made sex, rushed and awkward as it had turned out, and were theoretically relaxing in the aftermath, still glued together in the hammock. We no longer had to use our hands directly for signaling; we could use any part of the body to nudge.
“I—know—of—you,” she answered. Then she made her pitch, coming so swiftly into my camp that even with my talent I was suspicious of her motive. And she asked me: If she helped me, would I help her recover her son?
I needed her help, but I wasn’t sure how I could ever help her in that way. But I agreed that if it ever did become possible, I would do what I could to restore her son to her.
It was time for me to read another key word and see what memory it evoked. That, added to the information I had from Dorian, could complete the background I needed to deal with my situation. But I wasn’t sure how to get back to my old cell. I had balked at the indoctrination once, had been punished, and had “learned my lesson”; it would not be in character for me to balk again. I was sure my captors were planning something for me, and I had to act before that happened—but how?
If I didn’t misbehave how could I get to that cell? Could Dorian help? But she wasn’t supposed to know me personally; theoretically she was just a prisoner in another cell whose eye I could see in the opposite window, no more. She did know me—rather intimately—and the captors knew it. But none of us could admit that to the others. There seemed to be no avenue there.
Could I sneak in? No, I had checked out the bulkheads at the end of the passage, and they were tight. I could not pass them. It was a foolish notion, anyway. I had to be sent there.
I wrestled with it but saw no better device than another balk on the indoctrination program. I didn’t want to do that; it would ruin my credibility with Dorian. But what choice did I have? I had to have the next key term.
I procrastinated, unable to make the decision. And abruptly I was returned to that cell, no reason stated. It was exactly where I wanted to be, but I distrusted the mechanism. Why had they so conveniently put me there? Did they know what I was up to? I had not mentioned the code terms to Dorian Gray; as far as I knew I had not in any way betrayed that most vital secret.
I had to assume that they did not know, that this was no elaborate trap. In any event I needed that key term, as I did not have enough information without it. If they were watching me, so be it; better to risk giving away my secret than to lose the game by default.
I felt in the muck for the symbols, translating each tediously as I got it. I was up to ALL in the open key: ABANDON HOPE, ALL YE WHO ENTER HERE. A was the fifteenth spot, and the symbol in that location was . That translated, appropriately, to the number 7. Seven characters from the letter A was the letter G. The next symbol, , was 27, and that far beyond L counted off to A. Then , 3, readily converting to N. was 36, or after a horrendous mental count from the space following ALL, Y. And , 26, going from Y to M. And , 1, translating to itself, E. , 15, from the space following E, becoming D. , 20, from the W in WHO, E. And , 20 again, this time from H, counting off to the space. My word was finished.
GANYMEDE.
CHAPTER 9
GANYMEDE
Politics works in devious ways. My losing campaign for governor of Sunshine attracted the notice of the president of U.S.J., who was of my party. I received a call from New Wash, inviting me and my family to visit the White Bubble for a private conference.
Megan’s eyes gleamed. “This could be important, Hope. It means he is considering you for an appointment.”
If she thought it was important it probably was. I hastened to accept the invitation and to make the required appearance before the president.
President Kenson was gracious. He was a tall Saxon, in his fifties—height seems to be an asset in a candidate—with a lovely wife. He had been in office two years, having turned back Tocsin’s determined effort to move from the vice-presidency to the presidency. Naturally Tocsin had tried to portray Kenson as incompetent, soft on Saturnism, ultraliberal, filthy rich, and other political crimes. Only the fourth had been true, and hard-nosed use of the leverage of that wealth had enabled Kenson to turn the tables and defeat Tocsin in a very close campaign. Megan had been glad to see it. It was not that she favored Kenson in all things—no truly clean person achieved this high an office, she claimed—but she knew what a disaster Tocsin would have been. But whatever else he was or was not, Kenson had immense personal magnetism. This was another necessary attribute for a politician, of course; I just had not encountered it at this magnitude before. My talent was blunted because of my tendency to like this man; emotion always interferes with judgment.
Hopie ran around the halls, enchanted by the complex that was the White Bubble. “They’re darling when they’re little,” the president remarked, smiling. Then he glanced at Megan. “And beautiful when grown.” Fight it as I might, I found my appreciation for this man magnifying. He was like a power source, radiating competence and goodwill. I knew he had a mean streak and was a ruthless political gut-fighter when campaigning, but none of that showed now.
Kenson was a charming host but also an efficient one. Very shortly I found myself closeted with him and talking business. He had evidently sized me up as rapidly as I had him, and, of course, he had done his homework on my background. “Hope, we are opening a new embassy,” he said. “It’s a critical one, and delicate; it must be handled correctly. I believe you are the man for the position.”
“An ambassador, sir?” I asked, not crediting it. I had supposed he was considering me for some bureaucratic position without much significance, so as to be able to lay claim to some support from the Hispanic community. Of course, some embassies were quite minor; it depended on the planet.
“Ganymede,” he said.
If he had intended to floor me he had succeeded. Communist Ganymede was the current sore spot of the Jupiter sphere of space. “Gany? But—”
“But we have had no diplomatic relations with that satellite since the revolution,” he said. “However, that is changing; I would much rather be in touch with my enemy than out of touch; it’s safer. But the identity of the ambassador is critical. He must have stature, competence, caution, and courage.” He smiled, and again that incandescent camaraderie manifested. “It is amazing how few politicians fit that description.”
No understatement! “I—”
“I do not deny that this post has been turned down by more than one nominee,” he continued, as if this were a personal communication that only I was privileged to hear. “They are afraid; not for their persons but for their reputations. The far right will seek to blacken anyone who goes to Ganymede. Success in this position may appear as damning as failure. But there is no more important spot at the moment, and I believe you can handle it. After all, you cleaned up the Belt.”
“Yes, I—”
He clapped me heartily on the shoulder. “Excellent! I’ll set the wheels turning.” He winked. “Nice device, that mustard-six. I remember it from my own training in the Navy. I kept smirking when I thought about it, and I was in a strategy session at the time. I probably made a fool of myself.” He did a little jump, as of someone feeling a sudden burn.
I had to smile. I hadn’t realized that news of that episode had reached this far. “I—”
“It’s really good to have a man of your caliber aboard, Ambassador Hubris!”
In this manner I became Jupiter’s representative at Ganymede. The president had been too diplomatic to mention my two outstanding qualifications for the office: I spoke Spanish fluently, and I was unemployed, politically. I remained bemused by the proficiency with which he had dazzled me into acceptance; when he smiled at me, I would have accepted appointment to the post of Assistant Slop Inspector. He had a talent for personnel management that I envied. I would have to study it, with the hope of making it my own.
Megan understood. “I was sure you would like Kenson,” she murmured. “His talent is the complement of your own. Yo
u understand people; he manages them.”
“He managed me,” I confessed. “I really don’t know if I should have accepted the post or even if I did accept it. Ganymede—I mean—”
“You had no choice,” she said, “from the moment his eye fixed on you. I confess I had hoped for something less controversial, but …” She shrugged.
I stared at her; “You had a hand in this.”
“Not really,” she demurred.
“You are too modest. What did you—”
“I merely mentioned to one of my friends that it would be unfortunate to allow such a talented person to lie fallow for any length of time.”
And that friend had had the ear of the president. He had done it for Megan, not for me. That angered me. “I—”
She turned to me, her head cocked slightly sidewise, her eyes wide, in her fashion challenging me to make something of it. My ire melted; I could not oppose anything she wanted for me. “Thank you, Megan,” I said humbly.
She only smiled, faintly, and I felt rewarded. I had married her, I claimed, to forward my political career; she was certainly doing that.
The announcement of the resumption of diplomatic relations with Ganymede generated a furor in Jupiter. There were angry editorials in the media and cries of “Impeach the President!” from the conservatives. They were serious, too, which shows how foolish they were. Somehow there always seemed to be greater outrage when an attempt was made to encourage communication and peace, than when the effort fomented confusion and war. I came in for my share, but I was sheltered by the competent mantle of presidential favor. It was assumed that as a defeated candidate for office I had been desperate for any political appointment, so was not really to blame. Perhaps there was truth in that.
Then there was an especially violent eruption on Io, generating a spectacular visual effect, and the fickle attention of the public eye shifted to that.
Spirit remained on Jupiter to caretake my consultancy firm. That had turned out to be such a good business that we couldn’t afford to close it down; we had hired a young man who had some of my talent, and used him for preliminary work. Many cases could be handled by the application of common sense, and when a difficult one developed, he would arrange for me to interview by vid-phone. This wasn’t ideal, but we believed it would suffice.
Bio of a Space Tyrant Vol. 3. Politician Page 18
