Chapter 14 EARTH

 

 

Earth was amazing. The planet was blue, and half covered with clouds, and so pretty that it brought tears to my eyes. All that atmosphere!

We docked at Luna, which had been colonized by the Ceylonese and was now known politically as Serendib. It was much like any other planet, airless and cratered, with its city-domes brought up to standard gee by gravity lenses. Then we took a shuttle to Earth proper, and landed at the capital of Delhi.

We stepped out into the unfettered ambient air of the planet and gazed about us in wonder. We breathed. It was hard to get used to the notion of breathing outside a ship or bubble or dome; I kept thinking that my breath would catch, because there was nothing to contain the air. I knew that Spirit and Forta were experiencing similar reactions. It just didn’t seem natural to be on the surface without cover.

And there was the sun. It bore down at exactly Earth-norm intensity-without a concentrating lens. I found myself peering into the sky, trying to spot the outlines of the lens that my background believed had to be there.

We rode in an open car toward the central city, and passed a lake. We almost gaped. Here was this enormous open body of water, just lying there! A fortune in liquid, being used for decorative purpose, one of myriads on the surface of this marvelous planet.

The city was beautiful, I’m sure, with the architecture typical of its culture. But I have virtually no memory of it, only of the wonder of air and sun and open water. I was in a daze as we reached our suite. Perhaps I was overdue for dialysis, but I think it more likely that I was

simply overwhelmed by the reality of the dream planet that was Earth. The rootstock of humanity had come from here, and perhaps that contributed to the awe of it. I had never been here before, but in a sense I was coming home.

I had my dialysis, and rested, and a new woman joined me. She was Hispanic, and young, and beautiful. At first her signals were uncertain, and I realized that this was because neither Forta nor Spirit had met her, and knew too little of her to make for a comprehensive emulation. But I knew her, and she firmed for me as I reacted. “Dorian Gray,” I said.

That was the name I had given the woman who had shared my captivity during my memory-washing. She had been an agent, intended to subvert me, so had not given me her name. Now she was dead, and all I had to remember her was her son, Robertico, whom I had promised to take care of. I had done so; he was now about fifteen years old, and remained on Jupiter. My daughter Hopie had been his baby-sitter and effective big sister, though there was no blood relation between them.

My affair with Dorian Gray had been illicit. I have known a number of women, but always legitimately, with that exception. I don’t count the Navy, of course. The Jupiter Navy had required a sexual event on a minimum of a weekly basis, and discouraged permanent romantic associations for enlisted personnel. When I became an officer, I had been able to marry, on a temporary basis, and that had been an improvement. As a civilian I had married Megan and been true to her until our separation, when I had been served by the women of my staff. But Dorian Gray had been out of turn, as it were. I had just been mem-washed, and did not know whether I would ever be free again, and she was there and supportive and she filled a temporary but overwhelming need. Though assigned to subvert me, she cooperated with me, and enabled me to recover my memory faster than my captors realized, so that I could turn their play against them and win the Jupiter election instead of throwing it away. She had paid with her life, not the first or the last woman to do so, and I had never been able to repay her service, other than by taking in her baby son.

Thus I had mixed emotions about encountering her now. But I knew it was only an emulation, and it was the way that Forta could serve me, and so I accepted it. For the first time I instructed her in the nuances of the signals of characterization, so that she could become her role more perfectly, and soon she had it down as well as my recollection could make it. I admired that talent, akin to my own in a complementary sense.

So it was that Dorian Gray lay with me, and though the postdialysis period was not my best, I did have sexual congress with her, and it was much as I remembered it. Then I had been incapacitated by loss of memory and isolation and uncertainty and torture; now I was incapacitated by the failure of my kidneys. The parallel seemed close enough.

Next day we met with the Prime Minister of Earth, who was a woman as tough and politically realistic as the one I had encountered on Phobos. There are not many women in power in the System, but those who are are as competent as any man. Natural selection plays its part, I believe. Certainly she was no-nonsense with me.

She wore a colorful toga, looking native, but she addressed me in English, so that Forta did not have to translate. The meeting was physical-that is, without holo- and private, with only the two of us. I accepted this peculiarity because I knew that the Prime Minister was no fool, and wanted privacy. There was thus no record of our conversation.

“Tyrant, Jupiter has not been the same since you departed,” she informed me brusquely. I read her with surprise; she was not making a compliment, she was making a statement of opinion buttressed by fact.

“I have been out of touch with the Colossus recently,” I said. “My concern is with another matter.”

“We shall get to that in a moment,” she said. “I thought you should be advised that, though Jupiter’s government remains nominally democratic, the moment your wife stepped down the predators moved in. Bad things are happening there.”

I could have protested that I was unconcerned with Jupiter politics, being in exile, but in this privacy there was no need for any such ploy. I had many roots on Jupiter, and I was aware that things were not ideal; now I could get solid information. “Who is running the show?”

“Tocsin.”

I made a soundless whistle. Tocsin had been President before me, and had been completely unscrupulous. He was the one who had had me abducted and mem-washed in an attempt to make me throw away my bid for the presidency, and he had used every political device to keep me out, and had tried to have me assassinated too. All that had stopped after I became the Tyrant, and he had caused me no more trouble. But it seemed that once I had departed the scene, Tocsin had seen his chance to return to the arena, and that was bad news indeed. My wife Megan, in her integrity and generosity, had of course restored the representative system of government and stepped promptly down, but now the sharks were feeding again. “I had hoped for better,” I said with deep regret.

“Of that I am aware, Tyrant,” she said. “You will do what you deem it proper to do, of course. I merely want you to understand that Earth would not find it amiss if the Tyrancy were to be returned to Jupiter. When Jupiter sneezes, the entire System shudders. You were always practical and fair.”

As Tyrant of Jupiter, I had tried to foster good relations with the other planets of the System, and Earth, after an initial period of doubt, had in due course recognized the Tyrancy as the legitimate government of Jupiter. Trade had improved, and Jupiter tourists had increasingly flocked to see the historic sites of Earth. But Earth, traditionally, did not interfere in the affairs of other planets, except to serve as arbiter when requested. This was an unusual statement the Prime Minister was making. “I represent Saturn now,” I said cautiously. “I have stayed well clear of Jupiter, lest there be any misunderstanding.”

“You represent humanity now,” she said firmly. “Your project cannot succeed without the participation of Jupiter, and the present powers there will never accede to your interest. You must reconsider your position, Tyrant.”

Shaken, I nodded. If this woman told me that Jupiter was going wrong, it was certain that it was. I realized that I had been naive to turn my back on my planet; I had thought I was honoring the exile that my wife had crafted, but I had reckoned without the sharks.

The Prime Minister turned abruptly to the subject we were supposed to be on. “Tyrant, you know that Earth will support the Triton Project. We would be glad to participate. Our need for new geography and new resources is critical. But we have little to offer.”

I was surprised again. “But India expanded to govern all of Earth, after the diaspora to the System,” I said. “It was the only nation to eschew the exodus. With all of Earth’s territory and resources-“

She smiled grimly. “Tyrant, we had a population of a billion before the colonization of the System, and that was seven centuries ago. In addition, not all the citizens of other nations emigrated; a number elected to remain, accepting the new government of the planet. The major regions became client states, and we have tried to treat them fairly, though of course they are now Indian states, populated primarily by our people. Today Earth has a greater population and fewer resources than it had then. Our need to expand is desperate. If we could this time go to space, to colonize some totally new system or constellation of systems-“ She shook her head, smiling wistfully, and I saw that the Dream had taken her. “We are at your mercy; we will pay any price we can manage, to join in that project. But we have nothing you need.”

No wonder she had made this interview private! She would be deposed in short order if her constituency learned of this statement. She trusted me to be discreet, and I would not disappoint her.

But I had of course come prepared. “There is a price you can meet,” I said. “But you may not wish to.”

“I suspected you would have a price,” she agreed. “The greatest statesmen always have teeth in their negotiations.”

That was an interesting way to put it. “Saber-toothed teeth,” I agreed, smiling. I intended to take Smilo for a tour of an Earthly jungle; it would be the rarest of treats for him.

“That, too.” But she was not smiling.

“I have been testing the light-projection technology myself,” I said. “I have not asked any other party to risk what I would not risk. But there may be risk.” .   “You have traveled freely about the System, and you seem as sharp as ever.”

“I am not. I have lost my kidneys. I believe this is coincidental, but it is true that the condition manifested after I began using projection travel, and that if it were known, there would be alarm and suspicion about the projection technology. That alarm needs to be abated before it begins.”

“It surely is coincidence,” she agreed. “But I understand. There must be no question about the safety of projection, before the System trusts its billions to it. If there were accruing physical complications in those who projected-“

“Precisely. It will be necessary to test it thoroughly, not merely for efficacy of travel, but for the subtle effects on personnel. My consultants inform me that a suitable test would consist of perhaps a hundred thousand living people, from all races and of all ages and cultures, traveling perhaps a hundred times each, back and forth across the System. This would of course be expensive in the material sense, but the greater problem is to find that number of volunteers to take such a risk. I think that if any planet were to provide the volunteers, the rest of it could be organized.”

“A hundred thousand lives,” she murmured. “And a formidable staff to manage the logistics of the projections, and the feeding and care of the volunteers. The records alone would require a heroic effort.”

“And the services of many doctors and specialists,” I agreed. “There must be no question at all of incompetence or incompleteness. The major projector at Triton should be ready by the end of the decade; by then there must be no question of safety.”

“Earth has the requisite numbers and diversity,” she said. “Are you saying that such a unit of personnel made available for such testing would constitute an acceptable entry for the project? That we could share in the colonization of the galaxy?”

“Yes.”

She didn’t even hesitate. “I shall issue a call for volunteers. It will take several months to process them and establish the initial records of age, culture, and health.”

“It will take a similar period to establish the testing stations,” I said. “This is apt to be pretty dull work for the volunteers; they will simply be shipping back and forth across the System, without pause for tourism.”

“But those volunteers, once proved out, will be the first to be granted visas for emigration to the galaxy, if they choose,” she said. “But I think it would be better, Tyrant, if you could make appearances at certain sites to present the case. You are known throughout this planet; there will be a greater diversity of volunteers if they hear it from you personally, as it were. My government is necessarily somewhat remote from portions of the globe.”

“I shall be glad to,” I said.

We shook hands. All of this was unofficial, but we had our understanding. Earth would join the Triton Project.

We took a genuine airplane flight to the State of China. There are airplanes at the big planets, of course, but they fly from bubble to bubble, never touching land. This craft took off from land and returned to it, a novelty to us.

Most of the Chinese had emigrated to South Saturn centuries ago, but the Prime Minister was right: many remained. The expanding population of India had taken over most of the land surface, but certain regions had been designated reservations for the original culture, and these were pretty solidly oriental. Things were peaceful; those who did not like this state of existence had emigrated.

I gave a public address at the great city of Peiping, with Forta translating, and explained the need for volunteers. “Only a few will be chosen,” I cautioned them. “For those it will be a risk, for we do not know the long-term effects of repeated projection. But we must be sure that each race of man can survive projection in health, before we allow emigration to the galaxy. You have the chance to do a significant service for humanity.”

They did not react significantly, and I thought they were cool to the notion. But I discovered that this was merely the polite reserve they showed to the visitor; before I departed China, more than a million volunteers had registered. Perhaps no more than thirty thousand of these would be accepted for the program; but it was a rousing vote of confidence.

We went on to Moskva of the Soviet State, which reminded me eerily of its equivalent on Saturn. Here I addressed them directly in Russian, and here they knew me. “Tyrant! Tyrant!” they cried in unison. As Tyrant of Jupiter I had first opposed Saturn by force of arms, then established a detente; but they were thinking of my current status as a representative of Saturn. It was evident that the people of Earth identified with their colonies in the System, and kept track of them, exactly as the colonies identified with their origins of Earth. I was touched, and it showed, and there was no sin in that. They knew that I would not betray the people of Saturn, or of this state. I had become a statesman, in the manner of an attorney: I was for hire, but I was loyal to my employer and the interests of that employer.

We moved on, to the city of London in the State of England, a Saxon enclave. I pondered briefly whether to take a side trip north, but was afraid I’d find ley lines and an assassin waiting. Even Smilo seemed a trifle nervous about that.

Then we flew across the Atlantic Ocean, a body of liquid so monstrous that a moon could fit in it. The three of us gaped down at it, mesmerized. I think this was the strangest of all the strange features of Earth: the hugeness of its oceans of water, so incredibly extensive that their expanse was greater than the total of the land area. Leviathans could dwell in it, storms could form on it, ships could sail on it, using cloth structures to catch the wind instead of gee-shields to block gravity, and never see land for days at a time. Waves rippled on it, stirred by the wind, always traveling but never arriving. Water-perhaps the most precious substance in the System, for the purposes of man. The stuff of life itself, normally frozen fast to the surface of some barren moon, or dissolved in the turbulent atmosphere of a planet too solid to approach without gee-shielding. Water, the magic fluid. I could have watched it forever.

We landed in the bubble, uh, city of New York in the American enclave, where I was welcomed again. Then we rented a car, so as to take a drive down the continent to the region of Florida, the analogue of Sunshine on Jupiter. We needed no driver; we had a programmed vehicle, so we could ride the Appalachian Highway and see the scenery. Smilo, too big for this vehicle, was to be put under pacification and shipped down to meet us there. He would be entertained at a zoo, where there was a compatible mini-landscape, and contemporary tigers. The proprietors were interested in whether one of his breed could or would mate with a modern tigress. I suspected that Smilo would not be bored.

Spirit, Forta, and I got into the car. Its doors closed and it started up. We watched, intrigued, as it drove itself through the city and to the nearest access to the Continental Highway. There were no stoplights of the type that history texts describe; cars shot through the intersections, programmed to avoid collisions, at a velocity that would have been disastrous for human piloting. We winced as cars passed at right angles just before and just after ours; only the master traffic controller could guarantee their courses. We were relieved when the car peeled off into the access; now we were free of the cross-traffic.

Our vehicle picked up speed and soon was traveling at better than a hundred miles an hour, in the local measurement. It climbed to the elevated ramp, and we looked out across the checkered terrain of this local continent. How green it was!

After an hour, our necks were sore from our constant turning and gazing at the wonders of the world. Now we were heading into a darkling cloud, in fact a thundercloud, and soon rain was spattering on the transparent dome. What an experience! Actual, natural rain! A jag of lightning showed ahead of us for an instant. “Oh, lovely!” Spirit breathed.

“I wonder why man ever left Earth,” I inquired rhetorically. Indeed, it seemed a foolish thing, at this moment.

We came to an intersection, and the car curved west. “That’s odd,” Forta said. “I thought we were programmed for Florida.”

“We are,” Spirit said.

“Then why did we just take the turnoff to Kentucky?”

“It must be on the way,” I suggested.

“It isn’t.”

“Verify our programmed destination,” Spirit said.

Forta touched buttons. The car’s little screen came to life. DATA INSUFFICIENT, it said.

“I smell a rat,” I muttered.

“Stop the car,” Spirit said.

Forta sat in the driver’s seat and touched the MANUAL OVERRIDE button. But the car did not turn over the control. Instead the screen showed UNAUTHORIZED INPUT.

“We’re captive of the vehicle,” Forta said. “I hate to say this, but-“

“Nomenklatura,” Spirit and I said together.

“Must have had a mole in Earth’s vehicle-programming department, who slipped in a false routing,” Forta agreed.

“Which means we are headed for their destination, not ours,” Spirit said. “It could be a hideout to hold hostages-“

“Or a stone wall at a hundred miles an hour,” I concluded. “Arranged to resemble an accident. An accident of vehicle programming.”

“Which accident we blithely walked into,” Spirit said grimly.

“And which we had better walk out of,” I said.

We pondered ways and means, and experimented. The car remained unresponsive to our directives; we could not guide it. It was moving at a hundred miles an hour, which made any attempt to leave it suicidal. It had a radio contact with the traffic satellite for this region, so as to coordinate it with the programs of the other cars on the highway, but it refused us access to that radio.

“We could start smashing the wiring from inside,” Forta suggested.

“And careen out of control and into a collision with another vehicle,” Spirit said. “That may be what they want.”

“They want us dead, any which way,” I said.

“Perhaps we could open a panel and short out the remote control,” Forta suggested. “Then we could contact the satellite, and get a corrected program.”

We tried it. But as soon as we pried at the panel, a warner blazed on the screen: UNAUTHORIZED INPUT-SELF-DESTRUCT IF PARAMETER BREACHED.

“Which means we wreck if we get in,” Spirit said dryly. “They aren’t novices.”

“They probably hired a crack unit,” I said. “The equivalent of Spetsnaz. Professionals.”

“We need to think of something they haven’t anticipated,” she said.

“If this were in space, I’d signal SOS to another ship,” I said.

Spirit laughed dryly. “I am getting homesick for space.”

“But maybe-“ Forta said.

We looked at her. “You want to signal a ship?” I asked.

“Not a ship. A car. If there are any military vets here, or merchant marine retirees-“

“I think you just earned your day’s pay,” I said.

Spirit took the rear, I the front. We took down the archaic rearview mirrors that were useless for a programmed vehicle but still required by archaic regulations, and used them to flash in the sunlight that had returned after the storm passed. The domes of the other cars were transparent, like ours, or translucent, depending on the occupants’ desire for privacy. That desire did not seem to be strong; we had seen a woman doing up her hair in one car, and children playing in another, and a couple making love in a third. No one seemed to care what went on in neighboring vehicles; it was the privacy of indifference. With reasonable luck, we could penetrate that isolation.

I flashed at the car directly ahead, shining my beam into its canopy. I used my hand to interrupt it. FLASH . . .

FLASH . . . FLASH FLASH-FLASH-FLASH FLASH . . . FLASH . . .

FLASH, in the ancient SOS pattern. I attracted the attention of a child, who faced back and stuck his tongue out at me. I switched to the next car over, as this was a multilane highway, and tried again. This one simply rendered its canopy opaque to shut out the intrusion. I tried a third, but its occupant was asleep. Those were all I could reach at the moment; I would have to wait for the pattern to shift, introducing a new car into my range.

“Got a nibble,” Spirit murmured. “Teenager, maybe up on code.”

I turned around and watched. The kid jogged his mother, who evidently was not amused; the canopy went opaque. Another down. This was not as easy as we had thought it would be.

How much time did we have before our guidance program brought us to its mischief? It might be hours yet- or minutes. We could not afford to assume the former.

Then a car drew up beside us, and a man peered through. Evidently he had heard about the way we were harassing other cars. I wished I had a poster to write on, so that I could display a message, but I did not. So I used hand signals. SHIP OUT OF CONTROL, I signaled.

The man looked blank. But I saw him using his radio. Even if he thought we were pranksters, that could help; if a police car came to investigate-

Another car approached, drawing up behind the other. This one had a woman in uniform.

“Navy!” Spirit breathed. “Earth coast guard by the look; she’ll know signals.” And she began hand signals of her own.

The woman returned the signals. She did know them! Soon Spirit conveyed to her the essence of our problem. The woman went to her radio, then returned with this news: The program for our car was classified, and could not be touched. The station would not revise our route.

“Because we are VIP visitors,” I groaned. “They are protecting our secrecy.”

But Spirit was already following up. She signaled that we were in trouble, and had to be rescued, regardless of what the satellite said.

The woman was doubtful. “How can I be sure this is not a prank?” she asked, approximately, in signals.

“We’ll have to tell her,” I said.

Spirit made the signals for top man and for Jupiter, and pointed to me. I faced the other vehicle as squarely as possible, and assumed my most Tyrantish expression.

The woman stared, recognizing me, but disbelieving. What was the Tyrant of Jupiter doing in a car on Earth? Evidently she had not been paying attention to recent news.

I focused on her, tuning in as well as I could through the two domes and the intervening space. As her doubt strengthened I shook my head no; as her belief returned I nodded yes. She knew the Tyrant could read people, and she realized that I was accurately reading her. It was enough.

She got on her radio and summoned help. Now at last a police car arrived. The officer evidently had a picture of the Tyrant on his screen; he peered closely at me, verifying it. He spoke into his radio, and the woman answered. Then she signaled us: “You’re really in trouble?”

“Programmed for wrong destination,” we agreed. “Possible assassination attempt.”

She relayed that to the officer, who evidently did not understand signals. He considered, then made his decision.

“He will lose his job if this is a ruse,” the woman signaled. “But he will take you out manually.” I repeat, this is only approximate; signals lack the grammar of spoken language.

“No ruse!” we signaled back.

Another police car arrived. The first one drew in front of us and slowed. Our car slowed automatically to avoid contact; that was a built-in feature. But the second police car closed from the rear, preventing escape. This was no doubt the way they took out illicit drivers who refused to honor police signals. The two cars sandwiched us, and though our car tried to escape, it could not; magnetic clamps were now attached, and it was captive.

They brought us to the side, and then to a substation, where we stopped. The woman who had helped us pulled in behind. We were released. Now direct verbal communication was possible. We identified ourselves, and the screen verified us. In a moment the local chief of police came on the screen. “Tyrant, your vehicle malfunctioned, and you summoned assistance by means of hand signals to this woman?” he asked.

“True,” I agreed. “Without the assistance of this woman, we would have remained captive of our program. I would appreciate it if you could ascertain what that program had in mind for us.”

The chief had obtained the authority to override the classification of our program. He glanced at the readout, and whistled. “Tyrant, that program would have had you driving into a deep lake, your vehicle sealed. Then it was set to self-erase. You would have suffocated before we managed to find you, and it would have been an inexplicable accident.”

“Then I think we owe this woman our lives,” I said. “Can she be rewarded?”

“I did not seek reward!” the woman protested. “I didn’t even know for sure that it was genuine!”

“Perhaps a paid vacation to the planet of her choice, with her family?” I asked the chief.

“If you request it, Tyrant-“ the chief said.

“Put it through,” I said. “I’m no longer young, but I still value my life.” And I turned and gravely saluted the woman.

She almost fainted. Then, confused, she returned my salute, though this was of course backwards; in any military system, I ranked her enormously. Realizing this, she looked flustered, so I stepped up and kissed her. “Farewell, good woman,” I said. She would have a story to tell her grandchildren.

Reports of this episode of the malprogrammed car were of course exaggerated. News spread about that a bomb had been aboard, and that I had broken open a window and climbed to the roof and leaped to another car, appropriating it for rescue purpose. I confess I rather liked that story, but it was of course ludicrous; I simply was in no physical condition to do such a thing. The truth, as usual, was relatively tame; I record it here merely so that the final record can be accurate.

The State of America arranged alternate transportation for us, and we arrived in Florida in good order. We stopped by the zoo to see Smilo; he was glad to see me, but it seemed he had not completed his business with the tigress, who was coming into heat, so we left him for a few more days. We spent a couple of days touring the origins of our Sunshine experience on Jupiter; it was fascinating. We even took a hop to the island of Hispaniola, which to me was Callisto, and to Haiti, where Spirit and I had figuratively been born, knowing it as Halfcal. What a strange returning! I spoke there, and the people welcomed me screamingly, knowing the affinity. I might have been born on a moon of Jupiter, but I was indeed of Haitian stock, and they knew it. I felt as though my life could end at this moment, and it would be complete.

But of course this was not the end. I had one final thing to accomplish, and that was to unify the System behind the Triton Project and enable man to colonize the galaxy.

I had another dialysis treatment, and Dorian Gray, who was in this reality of Earth a Cuban, joined me again. “Do you want to visit Cuba?” I inquired.

She shrugged, and I realized that she couldn’t really answer. The original Dorian Gray was Cuban, but Forta Foundling was not; what point in visiting a homeland that in no sense had been hers?

“Visitor,” Spirit said.

“Here?” I asked. I was at low ebb after the dialysis, but I knew we were being protected from random intrusions. What person would the authorities allow through?

“From Jupiter,” she said.

“Jupiter isn’t speaking to me,” I reminded her. “Make sure it isn’t an assassin.”

“No assassin,” she said with a smile. Then, to the screen: “Send him in.”

“Now?” I asked, appalled. I was in pajamas, ready for bed, and Dorian Gray was in a flimsy nightie. She jumped up, about to scurry into her room to change clothing and identities.

“As you were,” Spirit said. “Robert won’t tell.”

“Who the hell is Robert?” I demanded querously.

There was a knock. Spirit went to the door-here on Earth they used actual, literal doors, not ports or locks-and opened it. “My, how you’ve grown!” she said, stepping out to embrace the visitor.

I exchanged a glance with Dorian Gray. What was my sister up to?

Spirit brought him in. He was a solid, muscular youth in his teens, Hispanic, smiling somewhat foolishly. “Hi, Dad,” he said.

I performed a double take. “Robertico!” I exclaimed.

Dorian Gray dissolved into astonishment and dismay. She sought again to leave, but I grabbed her wrist. Suddenly I was enjoying this, though surely my postdialysis depression distorted my judgment.

Robertico had grown monstrously in the four years since I had last seen him. He had been eleven; now he was fifteen, and that seemed to have added most of a foot to his height and fifty pounds to his mass. I had never formally adopted him, but he had become part of my family. My daughter Hopie had been first his baby-sitter, then his older sister, taking excellent care of him. Of course he was a welcome visitor!

“I come with a message,” Robertico said. Then he faltered, staring at Dorian Gray.

I smiled. “Dorian Gray, meet my ward Robertico. Robertico, meet your mother.”

For he had been the infant son of that woman. A promise is a promise, and the death of one of the parties does not abate the commitment. After I am dead, my commitments must be maintained. Now Dorian Gray had returned to me, in the only way she could, and so I was bringing her son to her.

Of course she was young, in this incarnation, only a few years older than Robertico himself. But that seemed  not to matter. She stared at him, knowing what this meant, and he stared at her, seeing his mother for the first time. Then he stepped forward, and she stood, and they flung themselves into each other’s arms and wept together.

Perhaps others would see this as a ludicrous scene. I did not. Dorian Gray was as close to the original as it was possible to be, and Robertico was of her flesh. If ever a man could go back in time and meet his mother as a young woman, this was the occasion. This was the only way this man could meet his mother. If this scene was wrong, then the universe is wrong.

In due course we got to Robertico’s message. “It is this,” he said. “ ‘Stay clear of Jupiter.’ They do not want you there, and they will execute you if you violate your exile.”

I had to laugh. I was feeling better, regardless of the dialysis. Dorian Gray was sitting beside Robertico, holding his hand, and I had no jealously of this. “Jupiter needs no messenger to inform me of this!” I exclaimed. “I’m surprised they let you out to come to me!”

“Hopie sent me,” he said. “And they let me go, because they knew you would see me. It isn’t the same there, now. They mean it; you can’t go there.”

I remembered what the Prime Minister of Earth had said. Robertico of course would not know who was running the new political machine of Jupiter, which was another reason they had let him come here. Hopie would know, so she was kept there, surely as hostage. They knew I would do nothing to bring harm to my daughter.

“But the Triton Project needs the support of Jupiter,” I said. “It is for the benefit of all mankind.”

“They don’t care about that,” he said. “They just don’t want you back.”

“I wonder why?” I asked, as if ignorant.

“My sister told me,” he said. “It’s because the people would support you. Things were better when you were Tyrant.”

“Things always seem better in the past,” I said.

“No, Dad, it’s true!” he insisted. “There are shortages all the time now, and a lot of police, and anybody who criticizes the government gets arrested and maybe disappears. It’s bad!”

“Freedoms are being denied?” I asked. “What does the press have to say about this?”

“The news media are being shut down. They don’t dare say anything.”

“What about Thorley? Nobody could shut him up.”

“He was arrested last year.”

“What?” This time I was shocked.

“Well,  first  it was just house arrest, but when he wouldn’t shut up, they came and took him away last month. My sister said you’d want to know about that, even if he did criticize you a lot.”

“Right,” I said grimly. Thorley had been my most eloquent critic throughout, but despite the public impression we had close ties. At this moment I knew I had to do something about Jupiter. I didn’t even need to catch Spirit’s eye to know she concurred. This had been my daughter’s real message: that the situation was serious. The first thing a truly repressive regime does is muzzle free speech, particularly as represented by the press. As Tyrant, I had never done this, though often excoriated by the media. That had been my promise to Thorley, when he saved my wife’s life, and, as I said, I keep my promises.

We kept it polite, as though I hadn’t really reacted to the message. Robertico was here on a limited visa, and had to return promptly. “Tell them I got the message,” I said as he left.

“Yeah,” he agreed darkly. “I’m sorry you can’t stop by there. Hopie really wanted to see you.”

“Tell her I’ll do what I have to do, as I always have.”

“And take care of yourself, dear,” Dorian Gray said to him, exactly like a mother.

He left. Dorian Gray retired immediately to her room. What effect this had had on her I could not be sure. I had thrown her unexpectedly into a completely different aspect of her role, and I knew it had shaken her. She had, for a time, been a mother, and that was no light thing.

I turned to Spirit. “You know what to do,” I said.

She nodded grimly. “You prepare Forta.” Then she went to her own room.

Within the hour Spirit emerged, ready to go. Her appearance had changed; she was now in male clothing, and looked like a man. “Give me ten minutes,” she said.

I summoned the hotel staff. When the servitor came, I told him that we were having trouble with a bathroom fixture. This was true; I had loosened it myself. He accompanied me to the bathroom, verified the problem, and brought out a tool. Soon enough he had tightened it, and the fixture worked.

“Thank you,” I said. “Here is a tip.” I urged a coin on him.

“No, sir,” he demurred. “We do not charge for service.”

“But I was once a workingman myself,” I said. “You have done me a service, and I must repay you.”

“It is a privilege to serve the Tyrant,” he said. “Please, sir, I would lose my job if-“

“Oh.” I pondered briefly. “Perhaps a commendation to the office, then?”

“There is no need-“ he said, pleased.

By the time he got away, ten minutes had passed. Spirit was gone. She had departed in the guise of a hotel servitor, escaping undetected. If anyone was to be challenged, it would be the true servitor, emerging ten minutes after he had supposedly left. But in that case I would come quickly to his rescue; he was blameless. The report of the prior servitor would be dismissed as an error.

Spirit was on her way, and no one would know she was gone. Satisfied, I retired to my own repose-which I now sorely needed. I settled on the bed, touched Smilo’s furry back, and sank into slumber.

In the morning I explained to Forta: Spirit was on a private mission, and she, Forta, would have to help cover for her. “You can do her?” I asked, knowing she could.

“Of course,” she agreed, still surprised by this development. “But I can’t be two people simultaneously. We are supposed to be a party of three-“

“You can do quick changes?”

She sighed. “You may have to help me, though. When we are guaranteed privacy, I can cope, but in any public or semipublic situation-“

“I will cover for you,” I agreed.

“But where did Spirit have to go, so suddenly?”

“To Jupiter,” I said.

She stared at me. “Is this something I should know about-or not know about?”

“After we finish with the inner planets, we are going to Jupiter,” I said.

“But they will kill you there!” she protested. “And they hold your daughter hostage!”

“They hold the planet Jupiter hostage,” I said. “I shall have to recover it.”

“Tyrant, you frighten me! I am not inexperienced in the matter of repressive governments, and I know the record of such as Tocsin. They hate you, and they are completely unscrupulous. You are no longer in power there; you would be helpless. And your daughter-“

Indeed, she was not inexperienced! She came from Amnesty Interplanetary, specializing in the brutality of man toward man, and had been a victim of that in infancy, as her scarred face showed. “That is why my sister is preparing the way,” I said. “She has always been the competent one.”

She was unconvinced. “Oh, Tyrant, I am afraid for you!” She took my hand, moving into my embrace-then froze. I realized why: she was out of character, being herself at this moment.

I seized the moment, bringing her into the completion of the embrace, “I know I could have no better person with me at this time than you,” I told her.

But she drew away, upset. “I must change!” she said.

I let her go. If I reacted to her differently, depending on the aspect she represented to me, so also did she react differently to me. She could not become physical with me unless she was in a role. But she was a good woman-one of the very best, in whatever way that could be taken.

She returned in a few minutes in the guise of Spirit. She was perfect in that role; there was nothing I could tell her to improve her performance. “You’ve got it,” I agreed. “But maybe you should rehearse for quick changes. We can cover by using voices, too; when I call to Spirit offscreen, you can answer for her even when in your own format.”

“True,” she agreed.

We completed the Earth tour, rehearsing those role switches, and it worked well enough. I spoke at South America, and then at Africa, and Spirit was normally at my side in the holo representations, with occasional shots of my secretary. We accomplished the mission; the government was deluged with volunteers from all races and cultures. And in the evenings Dorian Gray slept with me, seeming to need my comfort as much as I needed hers.