Chapter 13 PHOBOS

 

 

We shipped to Mars via the projector; not only was it much faster than regular travel, it was a matter of principle. Every time the Tyrant made such a trip, the entire System took note, and gained confidence; the new process really did work. The receiver tube had been moved there in advance, of course.

Mars had been colonized by what was, loosely, the Moslem community of Old Earth, which had occupied parts of Asia, Africa, and Europe. On Earth this had been the major site for the production of oil, then an important power source. Today it was an equally major site for iron, and the leverage this provided the nations of Mars was similar. The Iron Producing Energy Cartel, or IPEC, had levered the price of iron phenomenally high, squeezing the rest of the System unmercifully. Then alternate sources of power were developed, notably solar energy, and the demand for iron decreased. Today IPEC was in disarray, with no immediate prospect of improvement. The iron nations had allowed themselves to become dependent on the huge income from their iron exports, and were having difficulty cutting back. Several of them were overproducing iron, in violation of IPEC’s guidelines, and so the price continued to drift erratically down.

It was a situation that I expected to change.

We emerged from the tube at the Mars orbit and proceeded to our rendezvous with the red planet. And I received a surprise.

With each location, I had had another woman. There had been Tasha at Saturn, and Juana at Uranus, and Emerald at Neptune. I thought the most luscious of my early women, Roulette, would manifest next, and I confess I looked forward to that. But instead I discovered Shelia, my longtime executive secretary and later lover, confined to a wheelchair.

It was Forta, of course; Shelia was dead. But I think I gaped, the first time I saw her, for she was so very like the woman I remembered, in appearance and nature, that I was virtually overwhelmed. A wig, a mask, skin cream to render her Saxon, and the wheelchair-oh, what a memory she evoked!

“What are you doing here?” I asked, somewhat inanely.

“I have a score to settle with Big Iron,” she replied.

I went into another loop of memory. Big Iron had tried to assassinate me, but its cleverly intricate plan had been foiled by Shelia, who had sacrificed her life for mine. In vengeance I had destroyed Big Iron, washing its corporate body in genuine blood. I had set up the Shelia Foundation, to minister to those injured in the legs, as Shelia had been. I had tipped somewhat into madness, the northwest wind governing my awareness, trying to recover her in my fancy, but unfortunately my sanity had returned and she was gone.

Now she was back, in a manner I could accept, and I understood. Iron had killed her; Mars was the source of iron. The iron magnates of Jupiter were gone; I had nationalized all their assets, and that shattered egg would never be reassembled. But Big Iron was not merely a Jupiter phenomenon; it was a System phenomenon. IPEC had no known complicity in Shelia’s death and the madness of the Tyrant, but certainly a measure of sympathy.

When the leaders of Mars saw my secretary, they would wet their pants, perhaps not merely figuratively. All the buried guilt of their association and cooperation with Big Iron of Jupiter would surge forth, and the veritable fear of Allah would besiege them in the form of the Tyrant. The executives of iron were as tough as their product, but they would feel the acid of uncertainty now. That was good.

“But I think not at first,” I said, as I pondered this. “Timing . . .”

“Timing,” Shelia agreed, smiling.

I couldn’t help myself. I went to her, flung my arms about her and her chair, and kissed her waiting lips.

I had become somewhat accustomed to Forta’s powers of emulation, but each new demonstration impressed me again. The signals were there; in total darkness and without the wheelchair I would have known that those lips were Shelia’s. She was all soft and subdued and accepting in exactly the way I had known, and even the wholesome faint body odor of her was the same. The chair and the clothing were merely props for the less perceptive observers to note.

I lifted my head and gazed at her. The mask was so realistic as to be almost impossible to spot, and the way my eyes were tearing I could not have detected it anyway. What a woman!

“Oh, Hope,” she said with resignation. “You’ve gotten your face smeared.” And she lifted a handkerchief to wipe off the lipstick.

I buried my face in the warm hollow of her neck and cried. She held me, patting my back reassuringly. In due course she cleaned me up again, though her own face was smeared, her hair mussed.

Then she wheeled herself to her room, leaving me. I found a chair and sat in a daze until Forta returned.

“I think we had best take care of the dialysis,” she said in businesslike fashion. “It’s a little early, but Spirit is setting up the first appointments for tomorrow, and you need to be in top shape then.”

“True.” I wondered how much of her impact on me was her talent, and how much was my developing weakness because of the wastes that had accumulated in my tissues. It is claimed that a person on dialysis can live a completely normal life, apart from the treatments, but this is an exaggeration; the awareness of one’s dependence on the machine and the dialysis nurse never wholly departs, and the necessary cycling of one’s life is not normal for one who never had to exert such discipline before. With me, also, there was the matter of repeated minor surgery for the emplacement of new loops. This was having a slowly destructive effect on the vessels of my legs. I wondered whether I would in time have to retire to a wheelchair. But, thinking of Shelia, I did not find that a horror. I only ever truly loved two women, but others came close, and I think Shelia was the closest, in her unassuming way.

As Forta proceeded through the dialysis, Smilo came to nap beside me, as had become his habit, and I stroked his great head. He did not purr; evidently that was not a trait of his breed. But he might as well have. I reflected on the manner that I always found myself surrounded by completely loyal and talented people, whatever my situation. It was true that it was my talent to recognize people for what they were, and to attract and hold the best. Still, it was not entirely my own doing; those people had come to me not because I summoned them but because they recognized my need and generously served it. Shelia was an example; we had hired her young and handicapped, perhaps doing her a favor. But as her extreme competence manifested, she could have obtained a lucrative job anywhere else. She had remained because of loyalty, and I think I had loved her, in my limited fashion, for a decade before I took her as a mistress-if, indeed, that is not a denigration of the relationship she offered. Then she had given her life for me. . . .

I blinked, returning my attention to Forta as she worked. She had used her talent to become Shelia for a time, and this had been wholly real to me despite my knowledge of the situation. Now she was herself, angular and scarred and efficient. I remained amazed that a single woman could manifest in such different ways. Surely Forta was the most remarkable woman I had encountered, perhaps not even excluding those I loved. Yet much as I respected her nature and competence, I had no desire to embrace her in the fashion I had Shelia. I was foolish, of course; I was allowing the outer aspect to determine my inner feeling. I marveled at this attitude of mine almost as much as at her ability. The psychiatrists are wrong: to understand a thing is not the same as dealing with it. Forta’s aspect was no mystery to me, but still it dominated my reaction to her.

When the dialysis was complete, I rested. One might wonder at this, as I had been relaxed throughout the treatment, waiting for the blood to circulate and be cleansed. But there is wear on the system, and rest and sleep was the best course following treatment. I wasn’t hungry; my diet was restricted anyway, and it was easiest to include nourishment in the dialysis itself. I tended to get thirsty, but could not drink, because my body had no feasible way to eliminate the surplus fluid. So I could drink immediately before a dialysis, knowing that the treatment would take care of it, but not after.

All this meant that I tended to be out of sorts after treatment. Not truly depressed, despite the way I tend to think of it, because the dialysis also restored my system to equilibrium, and depression often is organic in origin. But unsatisfied. This time I lay on my bed, wishing that things were other than they were, resenting my incapacitating ailment. I had always been healthy and well coordinated; I did not like being old and limited.

Then the wheelchair rolled into the room. Suddenly my world brightened. I put out my hand, and she took it and held it to her bosom, and with a sigh of sheer contentment I slept.

Mars has about half the diameter of Earth, and about a tenth its mass. All the inner planets are tiny compared to the major outer planets, of course; Earth is less than a tenth the diameter of Jupiter, and Mercury is just about the same size as my body of origin, Callisto, technically a moon of Jupiter. Of course the inner planets have greater densities and masses than the outer moons, but it does provide perspective.

The economic and social impact of the inner planets is not minor, however. Their nearness to the sun gives them a phenomenal advantage in light energy, and they are rich in accessible minerals. This was of course what gave Mars its leverage: its minable iron. I have mentioned how the planet overplayed its hand, so to speak, and had fallen upon relatively hard times, but iron remains one of the most valuable resources of the System, and Mars remains its prime source.

Geographically, Mars is largely barren. Huge expanses of the surface are rocky desert, and though it has atmosphere, all human residence is within domes. For a long time it was thought that Mars had little water, but it turned out that there was a reasonable amount, and the cities really have not been in want on that score. There are periodic and phenomenal dust storms, that the domes weather without concern. Sand dunes form and dissipate, and wind-sculpted patterns called yardangs are common. The largest volcano in the System is here: Olympus Mons, twenty-six kilometers tall.

Politically, the planet is violent. Its very name suggests war, and the reality conforms. It was colonized by the Moslem community of Earth, and the terrain demarked as seemed appropriate to those several nations. Each definition of “appropriate” was unique to the nation who made it, and warfare was chronic from the outset. But in a very general way, the colonists from mountainous Iran and Turkey took over the densely cratered elevations of southern Mars, while those from the regions closer to Earth sea level took the vast volcanic plains of Mars. Iron is mined throughout, though with the greatest facility in the Rabian region of Mars.

The source of greatest conflict has been Phobos, the larger of Mars’ two tiny moons. Phobos has no iron, and is smaller than many fragments of the Belt. But it was settled by the folk of Israel, and the Moslem effort to eradicate the Jews was hardly abated by the shift of venue. Phobos could hardly have survived without the strong support of Jupiter, and the nations of Mars have tried incessantly to use the leverage of their iron to erode this support, without notable success. Phobos, weak on territory and physical resources, was strong on human resources, and alertly maintained its political influence on Jupiter. It had perhaps the finest intelligence (i.e., spy network) in the System, and its position in low orbit about the planet, barely six thousand kilometers above the surface, enabled it to watch virtually the entire planet closely and constantly. Still, survival remained chancy, and Phobos’ economy was in chronic disarray.

I knew before I started that I could not get what I wanted from Mars without finding some sort of solution to the Phobos question. But what solution could there be to a problem that had existed for centuries, intractable to all other efforts? It was a Gordian knot, and it was generally conceded that only a fool would attempt to solve it.

Still, the Dream motivated me, and my time in life was now measured, so I was ready to play that fool.

The surface gravity of Mars was just over a third Earth-norm, and the escape velocity not much more, so our small ship was able to land directly on the planet. I went first to Rabia, as this was the richest of the nations. We settled in the port near the capitol, Yadh, and accepted a ride on an elegant coach to the city proper.

Yadh was a beautiful city. It had been revamped when the price of iron was high, and Rabia had been among the richest nations of the System, per capita. The landscape outside it was red and rocky barrens, but within the dome were exotic trees and elegantly sculptured modern buildings. It was possible to do more on a planet, particularly one with an atmosphere and reasonably stable surface, because larger domes could be made, and they didn’t have to rotate for gee. The shield below the city focused the natural gravity, tripling it; that was all that was required. We caught glimpses of the veiled women of the city going about their business; if we hadn’t know it before, this would have made it clear that we were not on Triton anymore.

We were taken to a palatial residence with the most modern appointments. There was even an exercise garden for Smilo, stocked with a number of rabbits. “Smilo doesn’t eat rabbits!” Spirit muttered. “They’re too small.” But as it turned out, the tiger did enjoy stalking them; it was the hunt that appealed, not the size of the prey. We left him alone to his garden of delights.

Well, almost alone. It seemed that there were holo pickups there. The Rabian representative explained this to us, somewhat diffidently: They would like to leave these on, so that the action could be broadcast for the edification of local viewers. It seemed that the rabbits had been dubbed infidels, while the tiger was the Scourge of Allah; many people were interested in the outcome of the hunt.

I consulted with Spirit, and shrugged. We were here to obtain the cooperation of these people with our project, and to enlist them in the Dream. If this helped . . .

In due course we had our meeting with the King himself. This was of course via holo; all of us preferred that. A translator was provided, but my secretary Forta made notes of her own, using her equipment. I say “we”; actually women were not permitted in man’s business, in this society, so Spirit and Forta were excluded. They were in another chamber, but the notes were being made. Rather than render this literally, which would be tedious, let me give the essence, digesting an hour’s meeting down to a few sentences.

After exchanging due formalities and pleasantries, and establishing that I spoke for the Triton Project with authority and was supported explicitly by Saturn, the States of Uranus, and the Commonwealth of Titania, and that the King spoke for IPEC, we got down to business. “We need more iron,” I said. “The project is straining the resources of Saturn, which was never a major exporter of this metal. We would like to draw on the resources of Mars.”

The King smiled cannily. “And what do you propose to pay for our iron?” he asked.

“We are hoping you will accept credits toward the exploration and settlement of the galaxy,” I said.

“Credits!” he exclaimed, guffawing. “We require tangible present-day money, not pie in the galaxy!”

I looked about. “I presume only authorized personnel have access to this negotiation?”

“You may be sure of that, Tyrant.”

“Then let me speak frankly. We need iron-a lot of it. You need money. We have none for this purpose, but we can arrange for a higher price for your iron. Enough higher to make cooperation worth your while economically on a present-day basis. This in addition to the credits toward colonization of the galaxy, which may be worth a great deal to you within the decade. As investments go, this is prime.”

“You talk of magic, Tyrant,” the King said cynically. “But we are fair; we listen. Wave your wand; show us

how we may, as you say, have our cake and eat it too. Show us your power, Tyrant.”

He was borrowing from the idiom of the Jupiter Navy. He knew, of course, what was coming; he was not ignorant, and his ministers had briefed him well. But it was necessary for him to make this challenge, and for me to meet it. This dialogue was private, but the other leaders of Mars who were tuning in on it had to be satisfied.

I showed him my power. “Your problem is that output of iron has increased while the market has diminished,” I said. “While Rabia has exercised considerable restraint in the mining and marketing of iron, so as to stabilize the market, others have not. Thus the price has fallen, and will not rise until demand increases considerably or production decreases equivalently. We propose, in effect, to accomplish the latter. This can be done without controls or verifications. We expect the price of iron to triple in short order, then find its level in that range.”

“Magic,” the King repeated.

“The mechanism is this: All the iron exporters of Mars will contribute half their iron to the Triton Project. This will of course solve our problem of energy, and greatly facilitate the completion of the project, enabling us to commence the colonization of the stars within the decade. But the immediate effect will be to cut the iron available for the local market-that is, the Solar System-by half. That will generate an instant shortfall, and the price will rise. There will be bidding for the iron, and this will cause a further rise. Our calculation of market dynamics indicates a net tripling; I shall be happy to provide our data to your experts for confirmation. You shall thus receive fifty percent more, in gross terms, than you do today, despite the fact that you are charging for only half your output. There will be no cheating, because no nation will be permitted to sell more than the amount it contributes to the project, and that contribution will be a matter of public record, as are the sales. Those who overproduce will contribute that much more to the project. I think they will elect a certain restraint in the matter.”

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 course-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 psychologicial 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 cried. “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!”

I blinked, becoming aware of my situation. Automatically my hand came to join his holo-hand. “Peace and trade,” I agreed.

Shelia, disgusted, wheeled her chair about and rolled out.

It was done. We terminated the meeting with the customary amenities. I knew that there would be sessions between the King and the extremists, but it would be apparent to all who studied the holotape that something strange had occurred, and that the King had elected not to risk the loss of a significant agreement that promised not only to elevate the price of iron, but to return Deimos at least nominally to Mars’ suzerainty.

For there was indeed no telling what the Tyrant might do in his madness. He was capable of the most unpredictable and bizarre acts. The agreement might not be ideal, by the standards of the Mars extremists, but the possible consequences of the loss of the agreement were likely to be considerably less palatable. The members of IPEC knew that the Tyrant had no brief for iron as an industry, and that both Saturn and Uranus supported the Tyrant’s project and would feel constrained to take umbrage if the Tyrant took offense at anything occurring at Mars. They would realize that even if this were an elaborate ruse, the consequences to them would be the same. And they would never be quite certain that it was a ruse. Moslem customs and beliefs differed from those of the Saxons or Hispanic cultures, and the appearance of a ghost did not have the same significance to them. But if I had looked about again, and seen and heard Shelia, all bets would have been off. The King had had to play the game. Too much was at stake to do otherwise.

Hope Hubris always had seen ghosts. Now others were seeing my ghosts too.