Triton's surface was cold, but was not made of ice; there were rocks of conventional nature, and indeed, there was mining for that most precious of metals, iron. There was a modest atmosphere of methane, which helped hold in a little heat and made it slightly easier to maintain the city-domes. The huge size of the planet in relation to its population made the enormous light lenses feasible, and it really wasn't evident, inside the main city of Auck, that this was the System's most distant outpost of true civilization. It is true that the planet Pluto is farther out from the sun, but Pluto is actually smaller in size than Triton and has only scientific observation stations on it. But this same isolation from the main population centers of the Solar System was what made this region so well fitted for this particular project. If anything went wrong, the disaster would be less. Of course that was not the way it was presented to the residents of Triton; for them it was explained how great the benefits of this massive technological effort would be for the region.
And massive it was! The estimated cost of the main projector was approximately one trillion dollars, and there would be massive subsidiary investments, apart from the inevitable cost overruns. I knew just the man I would have wanted to supervise, but he was on Jupiter, and old, and Jupiter was the one planet from which I could not draw. My reputation as Tyrant facilitated progress elsewhere, but the controlled Jupiter press excluded all mention of me. Which was really too bad on several grounds. Not only did it deprive the citizens of Jupiter of news that would surely interest them, and exclude that planet from the thrust into the future that this project represented, it was also a lamentable step backward. Never during my Tyrancy had there been any restriction on the press or speech. But it was not my business; I was in exile.
But I was in charge here, by the unlikely collusion of the rulers of Saturn and Uranus, and I intended to do the job properly. The Dream had not originated with me, but it had become mine in much the way of a woman, being at first intriguing, then compelling, and finally my life. I knew that this was my final project, and I was satisfied that it be this. What a beautiful thing we were making: the instrument for man's conquest of the galaxy! So I labored diligently in my fashion, interviewing personnel interminably so as to have the proper infrastructure for the purpose. Spirit was of course organizing that, with Forta very ably assisting; Megan had sent me an extraordinarily capable woman!
I dislike going into tedious detail on routine matters that are in any event available in the public record, so will just say that once again we succeeded in assembling an efficient and massive structure whose personnel were uniformly dedicated to the Dream. Technicians of Saturn and Rising Sun worked with those of the nations of Uranus for the common goal. Saturn was paranoid about the militaristic capacity of Prussia, and not sanguine about that of Gaul, and had never really appreciated the Titanian Empire, but here the effort was cooperative, and friendships were being formed. The scientist of Saturn who had made the theoretical breakthrough for the light drive traveled himself to Triton to participate; I was present with Forta, assisting in translation and facilitating the personal interaction, but there was no problem. The scientific community did not share the political suspicion. The leading Prussian scientist approached the Saturn scientist, pumped his hand in the occidental manner, and exclaimed "Genius!" He referred to the nature of the breakthrough. I knew that it was going to be all right.
As the construction proceeded and the personnel meshed, my position became more token than legitimate; the project could proceed without me. I remained on Triton mainly as a symbol; the planets were contributing to the project of the Tyrant, for the benefit of mankind, not for the aggrandizement of any individual nation or philosophy of government. That was what made it work. That and Spirit's constant adjustments, eliminating inefficiency wherever it threatened.
I was hardly aware of the diminishing need for my participation, before Forta took up the slack. I had taken Smilo for a stroll around the premises of the enormous new dome that had been cultured and lifted as a bubble from the deep atmosphere of Neptune, and set entire into the ground of Triton. I used the leash, because the tiger understood that this meant that no one was to be attacked, and the personnel had become accustomed to his presence. In fact, someone had fashioned a mascot, a model of a saber-tooth tiger, with the legend Smile, O Tyger. There were posters depicting a gigantic tiger's paw reaching for the stars. A sports organization had even formed, termed the Tiger's League. So I enjoyed these excursions, and so did Smilo. There are worse things than being a mascot, as both of us understood.
But when I returned to our suite this day, Spirit was out. A woman stood awaiting me. She was dark-skinned and had fairly short black hair, and her body was lanky. Her face carried a somewhat challenging expression.
"Emerald," I breathed, recognizing her. Of course it was Forta in mask and costume, but it was also my Navy wife Emerald, as she had been at about age twenty-five. Emerald had been something special. Of course all my women are special, but she more so than usual. She was a tactical genius, whose career had been stifled by Navy prejudice against Blacks and women, until she joined me. Then she had taken over my body and my career with equivalent dispatch and success. I believe that physically she was the least endowed of my women, having a rather boyish figure, but she may have been the most effective lover. We had separated for career reasons, not from any personal disaffection, and indeed our careers had continued. I had in due course become the Tyrant of Jupiter, and she the Admiral of the Jupiter Navy. I had appointed her to that position, and she had brought the support of the Navy to my position at the crucial moment. In a sense, our marriage had never stopped; there was no way I would ever act against her interests, or she against mine.
Standing there, gazing at her, I experienced an abrupt and powerful surge of nostalgia and desire. Emerald in the contemporary frame was about sixty-four, getting somewhat plump, and long married to another officer, but the Emerald of my memory was exactly this young figure.
I remembered the first time I had approached her, only to solicit her participation in my Navy project, and she had demanded sex and then agreed to be my wife. I hadn't asked her to marry me. But her intellect and determination had swept aside my hesitancy, and never to my regret. While it is true that a man normally prefers an acquiescent woman, he can also appreciate a dominating one. Women come in all types, and all are wonderful in their fashions.
"Well, get it on, Worry," she said abruptly, her voice exactly as I remembered it. Perhaps my memory was even guided by Forta's interpretation, because when I had been memory-washed, my Navy experience had been the last to return to me, and even a decade later I could encounter lapses. But she had used my private Navy nickname, Worry, too, which lent further authority to the emulation. That was from my song, "Worried Man Blues." She certainly did her homework, and I appreciate that.
She strode up to me, reached up, caught my head between her hands, hauled it down, and planted a decisive kiss on my mouth. And I swear, that was an authentic Emerald kiss. Juana had been ever reticent; Emerald was as thorough a change as could be imagined, and I was amazed again that both parts could be so aptly played by one who could have known neither at these ages.
She disengaged with equivalent abruptness, grasped my arm, and hauled me along to the bedroom. "Do I have to do everything for you?" she snapped. Abashed and delighted, I removed my clothing while she stripped hers. In moments we both were naked, and she remained exactly as I remembered her, her breasts small, her hips narrow, her body slender throughout but dynamic.
She shoved me back on the bed, then leaped atop me, forcing my knees apart with the type of expertise found in judo so that she could get in between them. Her very flesh seemed to move independently, rubbing against my belly and legs. Her breasts pressed hotly against my chest as her thighs closed about my member, bringing it urgently alive. "Bet I can polish you off within three minutes," she said challengingly as she manipulated my anatomy with the flexure of muscles I had
hardly remembered existed.
"Make it three hours!" I pleaded.
"That's inefficient." She proceeded to the culmination, her hands all over my body, and sure enough, despite my best intentions, I found myself climaxing within her in just about three minutes.
I found I couldn't leave it there. I'm seldom satisfied with things exactly as they are; I need to know the causes and effects and underlying truths. So as she made to get up and leave, I held her. "You have had your will of me," I said. "Now talk to me."
"That's not the Navy way, Worry," she said. "We have a ship to run."
Which was exactly what the real Emerald would have said, in fact had said, more than once. Emerald had never been my creature; I had been hers. In private. In public she had always deferred to me, in the manner of all my women. Sometimes I had suspected that it was a conspiracy between them, to manage me; if so, it had been successful. It has been said of me that I was always a man for the women; there is more than one way that truth can be taken. But Emerald had needed no conspiracy to handle me. I remember when Spirit walked in on us in bed one morning and ripped off the sheet to get us up, exposing us both naked. Then the other officers, male and female, had trooped in for a staff meeting. Emerald had retaliated by spreading her legs before Spirit's husband and inquiring whether there was anything there that his wife hadn't shown him. One seldom sees a man blush like that.
"Penny for your thoughts, Hope," Emerald said, pausing. After all, today there was not a ship to run.
"Just wondering whether there was anything there Spirit hadn't shown him," I said.
She laughed. "No. She showed him more than I had to show." She cupped her left breast with her left hand, as if weighing it.
"Give me that!" I said, taking the breast in my own hand.
"Watch your step, Worry, or I'll have to do you again."
She was so absolutely like the original! I grabbed her and hugged her and kissed her, overwhelmed by her aptness in the role.
"Damn," she muttered as if to herself. "He's calling my bluff." She took hold of me where it counted. Sure enough, I was coming alive again. I was amazed; I had thought the days of my consecutive arousals were past. "Well, in the interest of scientific investigation..." she said, and proceeded to work on me again.
"It was a joke," I protested insincerely.
"Not any more," she said, taking me in. Those internal muscles of hers began to work, and she deep-kissed me simultaneously, her tongue mimicking the action below. It took much longer, this time, for indeed I was not forty years younger, but the process and the culmination were sheer delight. Indeed, my second climax seemed longer and stronger than the first, though perhaps I deceive myself in this. Subjectivity can be wonderful stuff.
Again she made to depart, but again I held her. "You bring me such memories, you're so skilled," I said. "How did you learn all this?"
"I study my trade," she said.
Evidently so! I reached to touch her mask. "I can hardly believe..."
She drew back. "You must play fair," she murmured.
I sighed. "I have never known a woman like you."
"Surely true," she agreed, and now she left. Soon she was back at her secretarial work, in her own guise, as if nothing had happened.
I have covered this episode in rather more detail than I might otherwise have done, because it was the last time in my life that I was able to perform consecutively. That may be a matter of no consequence to a woman, but to a man it can be significant. It seemed, in its fashion, to signal the misfortune to come.
Emerald was with me each time thereafter, just as Juana had been with me on Uranus. I seemed to be reliving my early years. I wondered how she would manage my next bride, who had been of an entirely different configuration, physically and emotionally. But I could wait for that; having Emerald with me like this seemed, in an almost tangible way, to be restoring my youth.
It was illusion. Before long I felt every decade of my age. In fact, I felt more than my age.
It was Emerald who realized. She had approached me in her fashion, which was aggressively, and stripped me, but I was slow in responding. I felt awful. "Hope, you're ill!" she exclaimed.
"Can't be," I muttered. "No diseases here."
"No contagious diseases," she corrected me. "Stand up, let me look at you; I've had some medic experience."
She had had more than that! Wearily, swaying, I stood naked before her. I winced as my feet took the weight; my big toes hurt.
"Your legs are swollen, your color's bad," she said. "Hope, I think you've got gout."
"Got what?"
"Inflammation of the joints, retention of waste fluids," she said. "Symptom of loss of kidney function. We saw it on Mercury, and the other inner planets. It used to be thought a rich man's disease, but conditions in some modern areas have brought it to the poor, too."
"How can I have kidney failure?" I demanded querulously.
"That I would like to know. Let me get you dressed. I'm taking you to the hospital."
"But I can't let it be known I'm sick," I protested.
She considered. "Yes, that is true. Let me get in touch with Spirit." She set me on the bed and went to the other room. I lay there in a funk.
Before I knew it, Spirit was there, and Forta was in her natural state. Such was my condition, I didn't even regret the loss of what had promised to be an exciting afternoon liaison. "I'll bring a doctor here," Spirit said. "No one must know."
Then the doctor was there. He checked me with his instruments and nodded gravely. "Dialysis," he said.
"What?" I asked stupidly.
"Your kidney function is down to less than five percent," the doctor informed me. "Acute renal failure. We can tide you over with dialysis while we work out a course of long-term treatment."
"But what is dialysis?" I asked.
"Very simply: blood cleaning. We have to arrange to do the job that your kidneys are not doing."
"We don't want the public to know the Tyrant is sick," Spirit said. "If he goes to the hospital—"
"But that's where we are equipped for this," the doctor protested. "We need to set up a loop—"
"A what?" Spirit asked. This business was new to both of us; neither Spirit nor I was equipped to handle it.
"A connection between an artery and a vein that we can use to tap into the blood supply," the doctor explained patiently. "We have to run it through the dialysis machine for several hours."
"Several hours!" Spirit exclaimed. "Why so long?"
The doctor seemed almost to sigh, but he explained. "The blood supply can be run through the machine fairly expeditiously," he said. "But that is only part of the problem. The wastes that the kidneys normally remove from the blood have built up in the tissues of the body. Thus the blood must be cleaned and recirculated so that the tissues can discharge their wastes into it, which in turn can be removed by the machine. This process cannot be hurried. The living kidneys normally operate continuously, but it is not convenient to have the machine do this. So we use it perhaps three hours at a time, every two or three days, until either kidney function is restored or a kidney transplant occurs. Now, this man must be treated promptly; those wastes are not doing his body any good."
I visualized my bloodstream as a river clogged with garbage, a veritable sewer, now that the treatment center had broken down. "I'll take the dialysis," I said with resignation.
"But the publicity—" Spirit said.
The doctor protested, but I was not just any patient; I was the Tyrant. News of my illness would spread across the System at light speed, literally, and the project would suffer, for I was its unifying symbol. In the end they had to bring the equipment and surgeon to our suite. It was necessary to give Smilo a pacification pill, for we were not sure how he would react if he saw and smelled a doctor cutting into my flesh and taking my blood.
I don't remember much of the initial surgery; they put me out with a general anesthetic. My system resists all intrusions, but
requires a while to organize for any one, so I was unconscious this time. When I woke, I had the loop: plastic tubes inserted into my left arm in two places, through which my red blood circulated, passing from artery to vein via the loop.
I inquired groggily when the dialysis was going to be, because I felt awful. That was when I learned that it had already been done. They had kept me sedated for six hours, and run through the whole process.
"Then why do I feel worse than before?" I demanded, properly irritated.
"That's normal," the doctor reassured me. "Tomorrow you'll feel better."
"Normal to feel worse after treatment than before it?"
"Dialysis is rough on the system."
Evidently so. But it was done, and I could relax. I settled into a somewhat drugged slumber.
Next day, sure enough, I did feel better. More correctly, less bad. I got up to go to the bathroom, swayed dizzily, and realized that I really didn't need to go. No kidney function meant no urine.
Forta appeared. "Let me help you," she said quickly, catching my arm as I swayed.
"Send me Emerald," I said grumpily.
"You aren't in condition for that, Tyrant!" she protested.
"For sex, no. For comfort, yes."
"How about Juana, then?"
I considered. I discovered that though Juana was certainly the comforting type, I was not ready to retreat to her time. Once I started retreating, where would it end? But I certainly wasn't ready for the next, Roulette, who was as highly potent in sex appeal as any woman could be. Emerald, aggressive as she could be, could also be understanding. "I'll stand pat."
Statesman by Piers Anthony Page 15
