Bio of a Space Tyrant Vol. 3. Politician

by Piers Anthony

  “Allow me to bring forth my armament,” Thorley said, lifting his briefcase and twiddling with the latch. My guard, now right next to him, seemed amused by this development; obviously this display of pique would not establish me as a presidential candidate. “A moment, if you please; it seems to have jammed.”

  “The way all your positions jam when challenged!” I retorted, and a ripple of mirth traveled through the audience. It was not that they were taking sides; they were merely enjoying the repartee, as they might the sight of two pugilists scoring on each other.

  Thorley grimaced. “If you believe yourself to be so clever, perhaps you can operate the latch more effectively than I can,” he muttered.

  “Certainly I can, you conservative incompetent,” I agreed, taking the briefcase from him. I put my fingers to the fastening—and felt a jolt of pain.

  But the guard had not done it. His hands were out of his pockets as he followed the mock quarrel. The latch had done it.

  It was the control to the pain-box tuner inside the briefcase. I adjusted it the other way, and the pain abated. Now it was damping out the pain-box.

  I damped it down to zero. Then I reached across, casually, and placed my hand on the back of the guard’s neck. Suddenly my fingers dug into a nerve. I gave him a moment to operate the pain-box in his pocket and realize that it was no longer operative; then I increased my pressure while still arguing with Thorley, letting the guard know that the control had changed over. When I was sure he understood, I released my grip. He stood unmoving; he knew it was the price of his health.

  I handed the briefcase back to Thorley. “It will open now, Journalist,” I said. Of course, the case was not intended for opening; it contained no papers, merely the damper.

  “Upon reconsideration, I believe I can do this barehanded,” Thorley said, setting down the briefcase. The audience was not aware of the true nature of our interaction. “As I understand your position on taxes, it is to play Robin Hood to our society, taking from the affluent and redistributing the wealth among the poor. Now the fallacy of penalizing our most productive element while rewarding indolence is—”

  “On the contrary,” I broke in. “I subscribe to the so-called flat tax.”

  Thorley paused, genuinely surprised. “You do?”

  “Actually, I suspect that taxation itself may be a form of theft from the population,” I said. “I would like to find some other way to raise money for government operations. One of my first acts as president will be to seek some feasible way to reduce or abolish taxation entirely.”

  There was a kind of collective gasp from the audience. These were seasoned journalists, seldom surprised, but I had just lobbed a bombshell. No candidate spoke like that!

  “If you can do that,” Thorley said slowly, “you will prove yourself to be a magician.” He shook his head and laid a small sheet of paper on my podium. “I have changed my mind, Candidate. I don’t believe I am ready to debate you at this juncture. I prefer to hear first what other changes your position may have undergone.” He returned slowly to his place.

  While the cameras followed Thorley, I read the paper. It was another bombshell: “One week past, Tocsin broke relations with Ganymede on suspicious pretext. Candidate cannot afford to ignore issue.”

  A virtual election-eve ploy, and I had been told nothing of it! My planned speech did indeed ignore it and left me a patsy for a pointed question. I had to address this issue, for I had been the first ambassador there. Even if I had revised my speech extemporaneously to cause it to make sense, this trap would have caught me. I almost had to admire this aspect of Tocsin’s cunning.

  I thought fast and decided on an approach. “I know you are waiting for me to address the issue of the hour. As you know, I was at one time Jupiter’s ambassador to Ganymede. Naturally I regret what has happened. But before I commit myself, I would like to be sure I have the facts.” I glanced directly at the camera. “Please establish a connection to Ganymede and ask the premier to do me the kindness of speaking with me now.”

  There was another ripple of surprise. This was an extraordinarily risky undertaking for a candidate on the eve of the election. The angry premier could torpedo me.

  But few people were aware how close I had been to the premier of Ganymede, despite our differing politics. In our fashion we understood and trusted each other. It was not to his interest to torpedo me; it was Tocsin he would be after.

  They put through the call, of course. Formal relations might have been severed, but a public call from a candidate for president of Jupiter was too dramatic a move to deny. In a moment the premier responded. His familiar face came on our monitor screen. “Where have you been, Ambassador?” he asked.

  “That is a special story, Premier,” I said. “As you may have heard, there is a local election tomorrow, and I am to participate. If I win, I would like to act on the basis of full information. I would appreciate it if you would tell me—and our Jupiter audience—as concisely as you can what happened to alienate our two planets.”

  There was a delay of about seven seconds’ travel time for the signals, for Ganymede is three and a half light-seconds out from Jupiter. Complications of our rotation and the Gany orbit make for variations, and, of course, the premier needed time to assimilate my words and formulate his reply. But the public understands about this sort of thing. We waited patiently for his response.

  The premier was amazed. “This is being broadcast? Alive?”

  “Yes. You can verify it on your monitors.” We waited another seven-plus seconds.

  He had evidently done so. “Señor, all we know is that our ship left our port carrying a cargo of sugar bound for south Jupiter. Then these pirates board it and claim it carried Saturnine arms, and diplomatic relations are broken.”

  “Did it carry Saturnine arms?” I asked, nailing this down.

  “Not when it left Ganymede, señor.”

  “But then how did the arms get aboard?”

  “They were put there.”

  “By whom?” This might have been tedious, with the delay between each response, but my audience was rapt.

  “By your Navy, señor. Who else had access to our ship?”

  “But why should the Jupiter Navy do that?”

  “That I would like to know, señor. We have been selling sugar to your ships, and we have gotten along until this.”

  I could think of a reason: to make big headlines the week before the election, arousing popular indignation against an external government, and showing how tough the incumbent president could be against the dread Communist menace. A pure grandstand play, an ancient formula. Such activity always rallies the electorate around the existing leader. Vintage Tocsin. The nice touch was that it implicated me; as Jupiter’s first ambassador to the revolutionary regime of Ganymede, I was tainted by that association. I had been there, I had hobnobbed with the premier who had now seemingly reneged on the covenant he had made with Jupiter. By implication it was my fault. Tocsin was very good at implication.

  I could see that the premier, canny political in-fighter that he was, had come to a similar conclusion. His protestation of ignorance was merely for show. I decided to play the game out; it seemed promising. “So you say that Ganymede did not break the agreement; it was framed?”

  The premier shrugged. “Now, why would anyone want to do that?” He had reversed my question. I saw some of the journalists nodding; they understood political maneuvers as well as anyone.

  “You say those weapons were planted on your ship,” I said. “Do you expect us to believe that? How can we know you aren’t violating the covenant?”

  The premier smiled, knowing the opening I had given him. “Señor, we made that covenant in 2643, six years ago. Ganymede has shipped no Saturnine arms since then, and there is no other route from Saturn to Jupiter for this sort of merchandise. If the arms aboard that ship have dates of manufacture after that, then we must be guilty. But if they do not—”

  “But couldn’t you
have shipped old weapons?” I asked.

  “Why should we? We have access to new ones.” He paused, considering. “But I see your point, señor. We cannot prove we did not, but you can prove we did —if you find recent weapons there. It is like a paternity test, is it not?”

  I smiled. “Not quite, Premier. That test shows only who could not be the parent but cannot say who was.”

  “A half-proof may be better than none. Let an independent agency of the United Planets inspect those weapons.”

  “You recommend this, Premier, though this could only prove you guilty, not innocent?”

  “I am innocent, therefore I recommend it. Let the UP trace the serial numbers of those weapons and see where they lead.” He grinned, as if knowing the lead would not be to Ganymede.

  “Thank you, Premier,” I said. “I’m sure the United Planets will pursue this matter vigorously, being concerned only with the truth. If the charge against you turns out to be false, I may be in a position to restore diplomatic relations.”

  We broke the connection. “As I said, I prefer to have the facts before I commit myself,” I reminded my audience. “I regret that the election will be past before the facts are in, but I have my suspicion.” The tally on the monitor indicated that my audience had been expanding geometrically as my address continued, and was now being carried planet-wide and broadcast system-wide, despite the time delays for the more distant planets. I now had one of the largest audiences ever, for a mere political candidate, and I was making it count.

  Tocsin had set me up to destroy my candidacy, but I did not intend to cooperate. I had just defused another potential disaster and perhaps turned it to my advantage. Now it was time to take the offense.

  I addressed the camera. “You may have wondered where I have been these past two months,” I said grimly. “I’m sure my campaign staff made excuses for my absence, but it has been a mystery, hasn’t it? Well, I was in space—held aboard a sub. Let’s see whether we can raise that sub now.”

  There was another ripple of surprise. If my enemy had suspected I was free of control before, now he had confirmation, but it was too late for him to cut me off. I had control and a monstrous audience. My immunity to drugs had enabled me to turn the tables, and I intended to make the most of the opportunity.

  “Please get me Admiral Mondy,” I said, and the technicians hastened to comply. The original Admiral Mondy had retired five years before, as the Navy disapproved of officers beyond the age of sixty. The present Admiral Mondy was his younger wife.

  Indeed, her face came on. “Hello, President Hubris.”

  “Not yet, Emerald,” I said. “There is a formality tomorrow that—”

  “Sure enough, Hope,” she said, her white smile flashing in her dark face. She knew that this was being widely broadcast, and she enjoyed the exposure. She had always been a feisty woman, and power had not changed her. “Are they still giving you a hard time about your daughter? They never asked me if I was the mother.”

  I laughed, and so did several of the reporters. They knew that Emerald had once been my wife, Navy-fashion, but not at the time of Hopie’s birth, and, of course, Emerald was not Saxon. Racism still existed on Jupiter, and Emerald loved to bait it. “Sorry they neglected you,” I said. “Emerald, there’s a sub near Jupiter that—”

  “We’ve got it spotted,” she said. “We did that automatically when we moved in close to Jupiter. It’s not on our registry.”

  “Oh? Does the Jupiter Navy tolerate alien subs in Jupe space?”

  “Not by a damn sight!” she snapped. “But when we set out to challenge this one, we got a leave-alone signal down the chain of command. So we kept a quiet fix on it.”

  “A leave-alone order from above?” I asked. “How high?”

  “Hope, I can’t speak for the civilian sector!”

  But the implication was plain enough: This sub was being protected by someone very close to the White Bubble. I saw the reporters nodding. Another arrow was pointing toward Tocsin.

  “Please establish communication with that sub,” I said. “I want to speak directly with its skipper.”

  “I’ll just bet you do,” she agreed, flashing her teeth again. “We’re raising it now, but it’s not acknowledging.”

  “You know how to deal with that, don’t you, Admiral?”

  “Sure do! But without orders—”

  “Admiral, that’s an unidentified sub that has not been specifically cleared with you. It is your duty to identify it. I believe Navy protocol is quite clear on that sort of thing. So, unless you receive a specific and identified order to desist—”

  She paused a moment in thought, catching the tip of her tongue between her teeth, then decided to go with me. “We’ll bracket her with lasers, and if she still won’t open up—”

  “Don’t blast her yet,” I said. “I want her captured and brought into port.”

  “We’re working on it.”

  I addressed my audience again. “You see, I was abducted and held aboard that sub, where they attempted to brainwash me. As you can see, they did not succeed, but I am most interested in ascertaining exactly who hired that sub. I can, offhand, think of only one party who would benefit by the elimination of Hope Hubris as a candidate on the eve of the election, but I hesitate to make an accusation without proof.” Again the reporters nodded, and I saw the audience tally nudge up further. This little mystery was playing to an enormous house!

  “Got the sub,” Emerald announced.

  “Ah, the laser-bracketing must have made them see the light,” I said. A ship that was bracketed could be destroyed; only the boldest or most desperate captain would ignore it long. “Have them put Dorian Gray on.” To my audience I explained, “That is another captive; I fear she will come to harm unless we watch her.”

  “Not available,” Emerald reported.

  “So?” I inquired challengingly. “Tell the sub you will blast it out of space unless she is put on screen within sixty seconds.”

  A pause. Then: “Message conveyed. No response.”

  “Then put me on that line,” I said grimly.

  In a moment I was looking into the sub, and so was my planetary audience. My interrogator, Scar, sat there, not speaking. “Listen, señor,” I said. “Your reprogramming did not work. I remember everything and am addicted to nothing. I am giving my own speech, not yours. Dorian Gray helped me, and now I will help her. Admiral Mondy answers to me now, and will act on my directive unless directly countermanded by the Commander-in-Chief, President Tocsin. Do you suppose he will tip his hand to protect you?” I paused. The man still bluffed it out, not responding. “Emerald, hit him with a laser, just enough to make him feel it.”

  The screen split to show the interior on the left, and the sub in space on the right. Its black-hole effect made it fuzzy, but now the Navy had a pinpoint fix on it, making it visible by electronic enhancement. Suddenly it glowed, and simultaneously the man on the left jumped; he had felt the strike of the laser. Still he did not speak.

  “Give them a harder jolt,” I said.

  Again the ship glowed, and suddenly the fuzziness dissipated and it came into sharp focus. The defensive circuit had been overloaded, and the sub was now fully visible.

  “Your employer has deserted you, and the Navy hierarchy is afraid to interfere without his order,” I told him. “I have no legal power here, but I am about to destroy you while the whole Solar System watches. Only Dorian Gray can save you—if she intercedes with me. Now I’m giving you that one minute to put her on screen. If you do not I will conclude that she is dead and that there is nothing worth saving on your vessel, and I will destroy it. I have more nerve than your employer does, and I have no love for you, brainwasher.”

  He cracked, as I had known he would. I had screwed up the pressure to his threshold. In a moment Dorian Gray appeared. She did not appear to be in discomfort.

  “I have come for you, Dorian,” I told her. “Did you heed my message?”

  “
Hope, they found the bomb,” she said. “But they can not disarm it.”

  That was bad news! It meant they were still hostage to the bomb. It surely could be detonated by remote control.

  But would it? That would be the open murder of one’s own hirelings and no good sign for others who did the bidding of this party. Would Tocsin sacrifice the sub and such goodwill as his hirelings had, merely to protect his secret?

  “Ask them to whom they answer,” I said to Dorian. “Who hired the sub?”

  She asked but got no answer. “It is anonymous,” she reported. “They do not know.”

  That, too, was to be expected. No direct connection to identify the criminal with his crime. “Then provide us the channel through which the orders come, so that we can trace it to its source. In return we shall see that you are granted immunity from prosecution.”

  “You guarantee this, Hope?” she asked.

  “I guarantee this,” I agreed. I now had the leverage to ensure this; the Jupiter court system would not renege, knowing that I would soon be coming to presidential power. In fact, the case probably would not come to court before I assumed the office.

  “Then he will tell,” she said after consultation.

  And the screen went blank. The view shifted, showing the sub from space, and it was a fragmenting fireball.

  The bomb had been detonated, destroying the sub and killing all aboard.

  It seemed that Tocsin would indeed sacrifice his associates in order to save his own skin a little longer. Suddenly the most tangible evidence of his complicity was gone; we had no direct lead to him. But for the moment I was aware of only one thing: Dorian Gray was dead. She, who had helped me escape, had paid for it with her life. How could I keep my commitment to her now?

  I knew how. “Get me the premier of Ganymede again,” I said.

  In a moment the premier was back on screen. “Unfortunate you lost your evidence, señor,” he said.

  “The woman,” I said. “She has a baby boy, taken to Ganymede by the father to spite her. I promised to recover that boy for her.”