The King stroked his beard, considering. "I doubt that Jupiter would go for this," he said. "It is the System's major importer of Iron, and it is very sensitive to the price of that import."
"I no longer represent Jupiter," I reminded him. "I represent the interest of the project, which is backed by Saturn and Uranus, who are less dependent on Mars' iron."
"But Jupiter has ways of making its displeasure felt," he said delicately.
"So do I," I said.
He gazed at me and nodded. "Tyrant, I am interested in your proposal. But I am minded to verify your ability to oppose Jupiter. Would you accede to a small additional demonstration of your power?"
Small demonstration, my eye! Here came the kicker. "In the interests of understanding and harmony, I would accede," I said.
"Certain elements of our cartel have another concern," he said. "They feel that there is an objectionable presence among us, and wish to be free of it."
"I will not undercut Phobos," I said firmly. "I received sixty percent of the Jewish vote, male and female, when I ran for President of Jupiter, and I do not forget my friends."
He smiled placatingly. "Nor would we ask you to, Tyrant. Neither do we forget our own friends. But it seems that Phobos has taken possession of territory belonging to one of our number, and we feel it only fair that this territory be returned."
He referred to Deimos, Mars' outer satellite. In one of the Mars-Phobos wars, David had slain Goliath and taken possession of coveted territory by force: the other tiny moon. This was of course an extreme irritation to Mars.
Thus the King had thrown the Gordian knot directly into my lap. This was the true price of his cooperation: the return of Deimos to Mars' suzerainty. The issue that no other party had been able to resolve.
However, we had anticipated this, and researched it—Forta did good work!—and were prepared. The problem had not been solved before because Mars had not truly desired a solution; it preferred a war of extermination with Phobos. But now, with the promise of resumed wealth in iron, Mars would desire a solution, and we could play on that desire to untangle the knot at last. At least, we would give it our best try.
"It seems to me that something could be arranged," I said offhandedly. "When reasonable people meet to discuss a problem—" I paused, as if just thinking of something. "Normally something is offered in return for property, however that property may have been obtained. Do those of your number have any particular inducement?"
"Phobos' right to exist," he said succinctly.
I gestured, as if not understanding. "Of course every nation has a right to exist! I am sure none of us question this. I was thinking of, perhaps, trade agreements?"
"First the return of the territory; then other matters can be considered."
I pondered briefly. "Now, I do not claim to be experienced in such matters," I said mildly, and the King had to stifle a snort, for the Tyrant had an excellent track record of diplomacy, including especially that of the gunboat variety, which this was. "But it occurs to me that the other party might choose to reverse the order of those matters. Perhaps I am mistaken; certainly I can talk to it."
"Perhaps some juxtaposition of events could be arranged," the King said cautiously. He was of course yielding just that minimum necessary to make negotiations feasible without alienating the hard-liners who were monitoring this interview.
In due course we concluded it, and shook hands in the occidental manner: a token touching of the holo images, of course, but accepted as binding. The first hurdle had been passed: Mars was greedy enough for profit to consider making peace with Phobos. That was, if I can be excused some mixture of metaphor, a giant step.
We went to Phobos. This was the tiniest of satellites, an ellipsoid whose longest dimension was barely twenty-seven kilometers. The total surface area was about five hundred square miles, if I may lapse into the archaic Jupiter measurement. This meant that, almost uniquely in the System, the actual territory occupied by the colony was smaller than that of the parent state. Israel on Earth had had ten or fifteen times as much surface.
But there were compensations. The inhabitants of Phobos were able to use the interior as well as the surface of the body, and had indeed tunneled it throughout. Thus Phobos had become virtually a single city, whose parts were separately spinning domes connected at their axes. In fact, it was hard to tell where the natural surface of the body was, because additional bubble cells projected from it, spinning on their tethers like beads. Indeed, the entire surface was alive, because of the rotation of each unit. Phobos had made the most of its limited physical resources.
As we approached I thought of the manner this tiny state had held off the massed malice of the remainder of Mars. Phobos had the will and technology and expertise, and had used these to foil the comparatively clumsy attacks against it mounted by several planetary nations. It was an open secret that tiny Phobos even had the planetbuster bomb, having collaborated with Mercury and the Republic of Wan in the Saturn rings to develop and test it. That, combined with Phobos' position above Mars, gave it an effective threat. That was one reason that the other nations of Mars were satisfied to negotiate for the return of territory, rather than merely overwhelming the satellite with fleets of ships. Mars did not care to risk a planetbuster bomb that could be so readily delivered to any of its major cities.
A tug latched on to our ship and brought it inside Phobos, to the internal spaceport. The sophistication of this intricate docking was impressive; the Phobos personnel knew their business. Soon we were in our new suite.
It was our fortune that we arrived at official night. That gave Forta time to dialyze me, and Shelia time to put me to bed. I really would have liked to have her in bed with me, but it was too awkward to lift her from her wheel-chair, and anyway, the sexual component had never been the important part of my relationship with her. Shelia was unable to use her legs, but this did not show; they were not shriveled. I had made love to her a number of times, knowing that she welcomed it, but I had always had to do most of the doing. I preferred just to hold her hand and be with her, respecting her totally.
But Forta, too, needed her rest. "Go, sleep," I told Shelia. "Smilo will baby-sit me tonight." And so it was.
The next day I felt better, and was ready for the interview with the Phobos President in Aviv. There was no foolishness about women here; for one thing, the President was a woman. Spirit was beside me, and welcome, and Forta was present in our holo group. Nevertheless, it was I, as the Tyrant, who spoke.
"The Triton Project needs Mars iron," I said, as if this were news. "Mars may accede—provided some arrangement can be made in connection with Deimos."
"You understand," the President said, "that Salem is there. This city is holy to us, and we are reluctant to let it go."
"It is holy to Mars, too," I reminded her. "And, indeed, to the folk of a number of planets. It seems to me that joint hegemony would be appropriate."
"Tyrant, what do they offer?" she asked sharply.
"Peace."
"They have offered that before, and always reneged. How can we be expected to trust them this time?"
"They have greater incentive this time."
"They are clever," she said. "They will seek to cheat on the iron quotas."
"They will be a matter of public record."
"There are ways to avoid the public record on particular transactions."
"Not if they are administered by Phobos," I said.
She laughed. "Never would Mars agree to that!"
"It might, if the tube were based on Deimos, under your authority."
She pursed her lips. "The tube?"
"The iron must be shipped promptly to Triton," I explained. "It is best to use a light projector. Naturally we would not want that to be incompetently administered. I suspect that Phobos has the required expertise, and could be depended on to keep an accurate and public record of all shipments routed through this facility. There would be payment for this service, of cou
rse—perhaps a guaranteed share of the iron passing through. Perhaps one quarter of one percent?"
The President had evidently been caught by surprise by my offer, but her brain was like a computer. She instantly appreciated the power and prestige of such an office, and the chance to participate in the supertechnology of the light projector. The fact that Phobos was chronically desperate for iron was perhaps a secondary consideration. "One percent," she said.
"This is to be half of the entire production of Mars," I said. "Such greed does not become you."
"Half percent," she said with a grim but knowing smile.
"I believe that might be arranged," I agreed. I knew from my reading of her, as well as from the situation, that Phobos was now as eager to deal as Mars had been. The President had joked about settling in the one region of Marspace where there was no iron, but it was no joking matter. "But suzerainty—"
"I will have to consult with the Knesset, of course," she said with a tiny smile. "But I suspect that if warlike Mars is ready to make a lasting peace, fearful Phobos will not interfere. For a true and lasting peace, Phobos will make any sacrifice."
"I will obtain commitments from the parties I represent," I said, "if you will do the same for yours."
"Give me a few days," she said. We touched holo-hands.
Phobos was as good as its word, and of course I was as good as mine. The elements were in place for the demilitarization of Deimos and the establishment of a major Titan base there, Saturn concurring. The significance of the Titan connection was that the demonstration projection system had been established there, under the authority of the Tyrant, and Titan did not have the negative reputation on Phobos that Saturn did. No Jews had been historically maltreated on Titan.
But it remained necessary for the nations of Mars to ratify this multiplanet treaty, and that was by no means certain. We knew that this serious involvement of Phobos would give the radical Martian states warlike thoughts. So it was that we prepared for my concluding address most carefully. The psychological aspect was as important as the substance.
Forta prepared me by doing the dialysis on the day before; we seemed to have succeeded in keeping this aspect of my existence secret, though probably Phobos fathomed it. Shelia did join me that night in bed, and though I was not quite up to the act of love, I sincerely appreciated her nearness and comfort. I woke refreshed in body and mind.
Spirit had flash cards with the pertinent facts, in case I should suffer any lapse. We would be making the address from Phobos, but it would not be appropriate to have women participating. In deference to this, the President of Phobos did not participate; a leading male member of the Knesset stood in for her. This was male business, on the surface.
The address was set up in the form of a private meeting between the Tyrant and the King of Rabia, but it was being broadcast throughout the environment of Mars, and we knew that the other planets of the System would be snooping on it. That was why certain things would not be openly spoken. We knew that the fanatics of Mars had threatened militaristic action if Phobos were given any part of Mars' iron; the King was more moderate, but had to have solid reason to overrule them, for some of those states employed assassination as a political tool. The majority of the IPEC nations were realistic about the benefits to be reaped by this accord, but had to seem to be against it until the extremists acceded. It was really to those extremists that I was making my pitch.
The King came on in holo, seeming to be right in the room with me, and I with him. The distance between Phobos and the surface of Mars is such a small fraction of the distance that light travels in a second that the delay in transmission of signals is really not noticeable.
I reviewed the proffered terms of the agreement, pointing out the price for Phobos' cooperation. Phobos would free Deimos provided the Holy City remained open to all worshipers of the three faiths involved, and that there be peace between all Martian nations, and that Phobos administer the tube for the transmission of freight and keep the records thereof. "There will thus be no favoritism or distortion of records," I pointed out. "Phobos will receive a set share of all transmissions, and all transactions will be immediately publicized, so none of the iron exporters will have opportunity for error." This had been an extremely uncomfortable issue with Rabia, because while it had honored the iron-production guidelines, at great cost to itself, others had not. It was actually an advantage to have those records administered by a common enemy. The private sales to consumer planets would also be put on record, because Phobos would now have to clear those shipments from Mars; any attempt to exceed the fifty-fifty quota would quickly become apparent. I did not reiterate the likely effect on the price of iron sold commercially in the System; that was understood.
"I appreciate the clarity of your summation, Tyrant," the King said. "However, I regret to say that we are not prepared to have Phobos interfere in any fashion with our affairs. We see no reason why the tube should be set up at Deimos; indeed, deep space might be a better—"
He broke off, for something strange was happening. A veiled figure was entering the chamber. It was actually in mine, but the holography made it appear with complete realism in his chamber too. The figure was in a wheelchair.
"But the Triton Project cannot spare vital technicians for routine projection duty," I said, paying no attention to the figure behind me. "Phobos has the necessary personnel, so it behooves us to take advantage of them."
The King's gaze was nominally on me, but actually fixed on the figure behind me. I knew that the gaze of all the unseen viewers was similarly focused.
Slowly, as I talked, the figure lifted the veil clear, and Shelia's face was revealed. The mask employed in this case was exceptionally fine, and she had practiced diligently with it; it would be almost impossible to distinguish it from the real thing by visual means alone, which was all that was available to the viewers. I knew that the holo records of all the Mars nations would be frantically searched for matching images of Shelia, and her motions and actions would be studied. I knew what they would discover: This was that woman. My innate ability to read people is superior to that of any machine I know; if the nuances of personality could deceive me, they could deceive anyone. They would verify that this woman was my former secretary Shelia.
But of course Shelia was dead, killed by Big Iron. And Big Iron was dead on Jupiter, killed by the Tyrant. What, then, could this manifestation portend? The iron magnates of Mars would be shaken. I could not see them, apart from the King, but I knew.
When the King did not answer me, I launched into a friendly reminiscence. I described my prior compatibility with the essential industry of iron on Jupiter, and the manner we had brought prices down to what we deemed to be reasonable levels. As I spoke, Shelia stared meaningfully at the King, who froze. Suddenly it seemed that he wanted to terminate this interview, but he could not; our business had not been completed, and others were watching. He might have little respect for women as a species, but he knew who Shelia was, and his own cue cards were now advising him of the confirmation of identity. He knew he was seeing a ghost. Like General D of Gaul, whose dead daughter had manifested in my presence, he was having difficulty maintaining equilibrium.
"Of course there was an unfortunate incident," I continued. "I regret I had to discipline those companies somewhat; perhaps I overreacted. But I am a Latin; my emotions can dominate my better judgment. I'm sure you understand."
The King looked doubtful; evidently he was now getting conflicting cues from the other representatives of Mars. There was no consensus, which left him in the lurch. I signaled Shelia, unobtrusively.
She wheeled forward. "Hope!" she exclaimed. "I fear they mean you ill!"
I paused in my monologue. "Is someone here?" I asked, looking about. My gaze passed right by Shelia without focus; it was as though she weren't there.
I shrugged. "I beg pardon," I said to the King. "I suffered a momentary distraction."
"Hope, they are evil people!" Shelia cr
ied. "They mean to kill you!"
I suffered myself to be shaken, as by some unheard voice. Then a bit of the Tyrant's madness began to manifest. My eyes widened slightly and my lips thinned. "I feel a chill," I muttered.
"I am sure that some accommodation can be made," the King said quickly. Now his attention was on me.
"Don't trust them!" Shelia urged me, speaking like a paranoid conscience.
"I'm not sure," I said. Saliva appeared in the corners of my mouth, and my gaze flicked erratically about the room as if searching for something.
"You are tired, Tyrant," the King said. "Let us conclude this business expeditiously, so you may rest." If there was one thing for which the Tyrant was remembered, it was his siege of madness, which had manifested in some amusing and some devastating ways. No one could be certain in what manner or with what force this loosening cannon would strike. But they knew one thing that would set it off instantly.
"No!" Shelia cried. "They are iron!"
I hesitated as if distracted. The King strode across the chamber and his hand reached for mine, seeking the handshake that would seal the agreement. In the age of holo and recordings, such a signal had legal force. "It is agreed!" he said. "Peace and trade, to mutual advantage!"
Statesman by Piers Anthony Page 18
