“Beware of that Saturnine,” Phist advised me privately after the interview, which took place physically at Tanamo. “He is one sharp officer. He reminds me oddly of someone—” I met his gaze. Suddenly he laughed. “Of course!” Then he sobered. “But that makes him doubly dangerous.”
“Not if I get where I'm going,” I said. “I understand him.”
Phist shook his head. “You know I'll serve you loyally if you do, and I'm not the only one. The careers of the officers in your unit did not end when you resigned from the Navy.”
Phist typically understated things. I was sure my friends in the Navy now had a good deal more power than showed. “Give my regards to your wife.”
“Rue is a good woman,” he said seriously. “It is unfortunate that she and I both love others.”
“Still?” I asked, surprised.
“Still. But we do have a good marriage.”
“I'm glad to hear it.” I found myself flattered, for myself and for Spirit, for we had been the prior spouses of both parties of that marriage, Navy associations were something that civilians did not understand.
Civilians tend to think that sexual fidelity is the most important aspect of a marriage; those in military service know that the heart can travel an independent course. I shook hands with Phist and departed.
At last Khukov was ready. We set it up for an interplanetary broadcast: two proposals to be presented sequentially. Of course, the concerned governments would not rule on them immediately, but it would be a fine show. If our proposals failed, the issues would die—and with them the hopes of two captains for advancement.
Khukov presented his proposal first. In essence, it was this: Do not interfere with existing sugar quotas at all. Let the Jupiter government purchase a set quantity of sugar from Ganymede at a set price and use it for the Navy. Not necessarily for its own consumption, though there was an enormous demand for sugar to use in reconstituted foods and beverages. For trade elsewhere in the System. “The problem of hunger is endemic,” he concluded. “The food exists but cannot be economically distributed to the needy. The Jupiter Navy, however, makes routine training missions everywhere. Cost of transport on such a mission would be minimal.” He smiled. “The trainees could think of the cargo as weapons. It would be a fairly simple matter to trade sugar at far-flung posts for raw materials, equipment, labor, or information, at a net saving to the Navy. Sugar is, in fact, currency in space; it becomes quite precious in regions where all food has to be imported. I believe the supply officers of the Jupiter Navy will verify that this is true.”
And I, as a former officer, knew it was true. Sugar was used on isolated outposts to make potable alcohol, among other things, and that greatly enhanced its practical value. If the Navy had a lot of sugar to trade it could make a lot of good trades. Whether this could be done at a profit was uncertain, but certainly the initial cost of the sugar would be largely offset by such use, and morale would improve.
“In return for the reopening of a valued market and the economic stability this would contribute to the planet of Ganymede,” Khukov continued, “and as a simple gesture of amity, certain personnel will be permitted to emigrate in a disciplined manner. The list of names is too long for me to present on this occasion, but it will be released to the media. Here are a few examples.” And he read a dozen names, all of which, I knew, were of notorious political prisoners that Jupiter had tried without success to get released before. It was more than a “gesture of amity”; it was a striking counter-offer. The impact of those names would affect Jupiter society like the detonation of a black hole: the seemingly impossible abruptly made real. I knew then that President Kenson could not afford to turn down this offer; Khukov had sweetened the pot too much. The sugar trade would resume.
Now it was my turn. “If Jupiter vacates the Naval base at Tanamo, neither Ganymede nor Saturn will feel further need to supply military equipment to powers in the Jupiter sphere,” I said, knowing that this was a concession Jupiter was desperate for. “There has been some concern that the base might be abused, but this is needless. The equipment there is military, not civilian, and is therefore locked against unauthorized use. To use any of it, from the largest space dock to the smallest water dispenser, one must have the proper key. Without that key the entire base is little more than a metal monument. It is, of course, mined; use of an incorrect key or an attempt to force the equipment will trigger detonation.”
I paused to glance at my audience, though there was only the holo-camera. “One might suppose that the keys can merely be passed on to the new personnel. This is not the case. Each key is a magnetic pattern, a portion of which is tuned to the specific individual authorized to use it; if any other person attempts to use that key, it is inoperative. Key and operator go together, and naturally the key-keepers are carefully selected and trained. When a keeper changes, a new key has to be made, and the lock revamped to accommodate the new pattern. This adjustment is complex; in fact, it requires the presence of very sophisticated equipment. Such equipment exists only at Jupiter and Saturn; no one else can change the locks or keys. The equipment must be brought to the base along with specially trained personnel for this delicate operation.”
I paused again. I wanted to be sure this got through to the average viewer. I had had to get special permission to reveal this information, and I wanted to do it exactly right. "Obviously the base will have to be operated by its present key personnel, regardless of the sovereignty of the facility. I'm sure suitable arrangements can be made. Now let's suppose that some power like Saturn wishes to change the locks and keys and personnel, for its own purposes. Do you suppose the present personnel will acquiesce?
Will they operate the gates to admit and facilitate the equipment and personnel employed to effect their replacement? The lock-changing equipment is bulky; it can be transported only by a sizable vessel, and Ganymede lacks port facilities elsewhere to accommodate such vessels.“ Once more I paused. ”In short, the little pig is not about to open the door to let in the wolf—or the bear."
That was the essence. Saturn could not change those locks covertly. Jupiter personnel would operate the base for the benefit of Ganymede alone, and facilitate its use as a commercial port for the shipment of sugar and such. I believed that my proposal would be approved, disappointing as it might be to Saturn; it was definitely advantageous for Ganymede.
Khukov came to me and shook my hand. “I rather thought it would be that,” he said in English. “May all our problems admit of such ready solutions.”
Thereafter he returned to Saturn, his job done, and I made plans for Jupiter and reunion with my family.
I could not claim I had enjoyed all of my experience on Gany, but certainly it had provided me more than it cost me, including a planetary spotlight that would enhance my future as a politician. For one thing it had returned to me my long-lost sister—an event more significant for my peace of mind than I had allowed myself to believe before the event.
Now I knew I could help Dorian Gray; a simple personal request to the premier of Ganymede would produce that baby in hours. Dorian must have known this; that was why she had been so ready to enlist my aid. My captors might not choose to honor their promise, but I, Hope Hubris, the former ambassador to Ganymede, would certainly honor my promise. I had become a better bet for Dorian's purpose than my captors were. Suddenly it all fell into place, and I believed I could trust her. True, she might be covering all bases, ready to collect from my captors if they prevailed, and from me if I prevailed, but she would probably elect to go with me if she could. That was a comfort to me, because I suspected I would have to tell her more of my memories than I had hitherto, if I was to make further progress. And I did have to make progress, for I didn't know how much time I had or what my captors really wanted of me.
I only knew I had to thwart their plans, and I couldn't do that if I didn't know enough.
In due course I was released from the cell, cleaned up, and taken to Scar. “If I may inquire,” I said cautiously, “in what way did I transgress this time? I had not intended to.”
“You play the innocent with me?” Scar demanded curtly. “Confess your crime and I'll let it go without further ado.”
Was he fishing for something? I gave him the minimum, hoping that was what he wanted. “Then you found out how I escaped my cell at night.”
He nodded. “How long did you think you could fool us about that, Hubris?”
Of course, he had known about it all along, so this was merely a pretext. But I had to play it through, relieved that my true secrets had not been exposed. There was no evidence that Dorian had betrayed me; certainly they would not have punished me openly if she had, for that would have given her away.
Why had Scar chosen this time to brace me with this?
“I didn't tell you because I knew you'd stop it,” I said with genuine regret. It was not for the discovery but because now he would surely have to cut off my contact with Dorian, to maintain appearances, and I did indeed value that contact. “My only female companionship. I hoped she wouldn't turn me in.”
“She didn't,” he said.
“Don't punish her!” I exclaimed with suitable feeling. “She didn't start it! I used a plumbing rod to jimmy the doors—it was so hard to be alone.”
“Evidently she felt the same way,” he said grimly. “We put her back in the stink-cell too, but she hasn't talked.”
“Let her out!” I pleaded. “I won't do it anymore. Maybe she didn't dare say anything for fear I'd get out again and attack her!”
“You seem quite interested in the slut's welfare,” he remarked with satisfaction.
“She's no slut!” I protested, showing exactly that commitment he wished.
“You like her so well?”
I spread my hands as if caught in an awkward admission. “She... gave me comfort.”
“Considerably more than comfort!” he exclaimed with righteous indignation.
“Please, just tell me what you want, and I'll give you no trouble. Only don't hurt her anymore.”
Scar grimaced, but he was well pleased. I was giving every evidence of the very sort of attachment he had wanted. It seemed that the woman was now an excellent lever on me.
“I'll do better than that,” he decided. “I'll put you in a cell together, as long as you both cooperate completely.” I gaped, showing my amazement at his generosity. He had, indeed, surprised me. This was definitely the carrot instead of the stick. I had been careful to maintain the pretense of increasing addiction to the beverage-drug, so now he believed he had another excellent lever on me.
Dorian Gray was moved into my cell, and the plumbing was fixed so that escape from the cell was no longer possible. Now we had light and saw each other for the first time.
She was exactly as beautiful as I had judged. Her hair was jet-black and hung in gently curving hanks to her armpits. Her face was elfin, but her body was as finely formed as any could be without requiring an entry to starlet career. Surely she had no need of this sort of employment. But, of course, folk of either sex can be foolish in their teens and get themselves trapped in situations that greater experience would have enabled them to avoid. Dorian, by her own account, had been as foolish as any.
“They found out,” I said somewhat awkwardly. “So they put us together, but if either of us fail to cooperate with their program completely—”
“I know,” she agreed. Then she moved to me, and I took her in my arms. “I did not tell on you; I don't know how they found out.” She raised her lips to kiss me, and her tongue darted through to caress mine, twice. Of course, she knew how they knew; we were being watched now!
We undressed and squeezed into my hammock, not turning off the light. Actually we couldn't; the day/night switching was automatic. That didn't bother me; it was a treat to handle her body when I could see it.
“That pit-cell was awful; I hated it in there again,” she told me as she signaled “no.” I understood; she was supposed to be their agent, hiding the truth from me. She would hardly be punished for doing what she was supposed to do. Naturally she had been reporting on our encounters all along—up to a point.
Now she was supposed to make me believe she had suffered, to intensify, my sympathy and feeling for her.
I responded as I was supposed to. “I dread the thought of your being put in there because of me! After this, anything they ask you to do, do without question; it's the only way.”
“The only way,” she agreed, kissing me again and tonguing me twice.
As we proceeded toward the love act, discovering it to be a new experience in the light, she informed me by words and signals what had really happened. There had been a sudden visit by an officer not in the know about the program here, so that they had had to scramble to make things appear routine. I had been dumped out of sight, and she had been put in a uniform and put to work again in the galley. After the officer left things had returned to normal, except that they had had to cobble up a pretext for my apparent punishment. It seemed to have worked out all right. Scar had tricked me into confessing, so that he did not have to reveal his connivance. It had also shown how effectively Dorian had hooked me; Scar was pleased with her.
“But you know,” she said in un-talk. “You are married, Hope. When your memory catches up—”
“I know,” I agreed in the same way.
“You know?”
I had decided to tell her part of my secret, because I was sure I would need her help to return to the smell-cell, and I wanted to be sure she remained in good repute as a spy. “I discovered a key term that triggered a segment of my lost memory: how I married Megan.”
“A key term?” She was genuinely surprised. “You knew—before you made love to me?”
“I knew. I, too, am a professional.”
She was abruptly angry. “How could you!” I was lucky she hadn't bitten me instead of tonguing me!
“I love her. I would do anything to return to her, just as you would do to recover your baby.”
She considered that, shaken. “I suppose turnabout is fair. But you will help me if you can?”
“Yes. And now I know I can—if I get free of this captivity.”
“Then I will do whatever you ask of me.” We continued on to the culmination, for such coded discourse took time, and there was only so much seemingly idle dialogue we could indulge in without arousing suspicion. Then we slept.
I had implied that I had no real feeling for Dorian, but that was not true. I was doing what I was doing with her because I had to, but I did enjoy it on its own level. It was becoming more difficult to reconcile this with my memories.
Next day I went through the routine indoctrination and performed well. Next night I talked further with Dorian, not making love but spending the night in her embrace. I told her that she would have to betray my secret: my keyed memory.
I cupped her ear with my hands and whispered directly into that enclosure: nonsense syllables that would seem to the recording mike like not-quite-distinguishable information. I was officially telling her my secret, and my captors, when they reviewed this portion of the record, would be desperate to know what it was.
She would tell them and thus prove herself to be even more useful to them. But she had yet to find out exactly where I had seen the key term, though the implication was that it was in this cell.
In return I needed to know exactly what my captors really wanted of me. She would have to ask them, in the guise of discovering how dangerous my returning memories might be to their objective. If she could get me that information I might have a chance to counter it.
She made her report—and suddenly I was back in the hole. This time I knew why: They were going over my regular cell with as fine a brush as possible. They were desperate to find and eliminate anything that would cause my memories to return prematurely. That confirmed a suspicion I had. Their mission for me involved something recent, and if I remembered that thing I would probably be able to counter it.
Why didn't they simply mem-wash me again? That, too, was now clear: they didn't have time. I needed to have a substantial portion of my memories so that I could function without obvious incapacity—without the key memory that would give me too much information. They were fine-tuning me for their purpose.
As much by luck as by planning, I had a tool to counter their program. I had the memory-evoking key terms.
I felt under the muck for the scratches, finding my place. I had gotten to the H in WHO before; now I had to resume there. WHO ENTER HERE. The symbol for the O-space was a square,
. That was
the number 5. Count off five in the mental alphabet, O, P, Q, R, S—the first letter was S. The next symbol was , 12 from the space after O. That took me through the punctuation portion and back to the beginning of the alphabet, A. Then , 16, counting from the E, to T. And
, 8 from the N, to U.
Then , 36 from the T—simply count back 2, for R.
, 10 from the E, or N. And
, again, 10 from
the R, taking me to the end of the letters, the space, making the end.
The word was SATURN.