Chapter 20 LAYA

 

 

Only one step remained, on the day before the suicide deadline: The provinces of the Middle Kingdom had to ratify the decision. These provinces had a good deal of autonomy, and the terms of the hasty accord were that any province could cast a veto. None was expected-but the unexpected occurred.

My old nemesis Tocsin naturally opposed the accord, and he had retreated to the Province of Laya, in the “mountainous” ragged-wind band of South Saturn. Tocsin had lost favor elsewhere in the Middle Kingdom, but Laya was his final stronghold, and Laya it was that cast the lone veto.

Thus the challenge was abruptly on us. There was just one day to get Laya to reverse its veto, and I knew it would never do so while Tocsin had influence. The Premier of the Middle Kingdom, having finally achieved an accord with the rings that would give his nation access to the galaxy, was furious; he threatened to invade the errant province and execute its leadership. Certainly it was in his power to do so-but such a mission would have required months to organize properly, and at least a week as an emergency spot measure. Meanwhile, the lovers would die; no one doubted that.

I knew it was up to me. Only the Tyrant of Space could hope to achieve a reversal in a single day. I had no idea how I would do it, but I intended to do it. I would go to Laya.

“I’ll have to take Spirit,” I said. “She can organize-“

“She’s on a private mission to Triton,” Forta advised me. “It would take several hours just to reach her with a message, and several more for her to get here. I don’t think you can afford to wait.”

With time already critical, I knew she was right. “But I’ll bungle it alone,” I said. “I’m a figurehead; I need her to set me up for a score.”

“But if Laya sees you coming with her, their officials will know you will score,” Forta said. “The psychological aspect is half the battle.”

“But-“

Already she was changing. “By the time more is needed, she will be able to join us-as me.”

Now I understood. Already she was donning the mask, and resembled my sister. Certainly she could fool the Layas.

We sent a private message to Spirit, with no answer required; I knew she would join us as rapidly as possible.

“But you cannot go to Laya alone!” the Premier protested when we notified him. “They will kill you, Tyrant!”

“And bring the wrath of the planet on their heads?” I asked. “Even rulers who hate me are not that crazy.”

“Just the same, I will provide an armed escort.”

“That will just lead to violence,” I said. “Just let me go in alone, no threat to anyone. I am sure I can persuade the Panchen to reverse the veto.” The Panchen was the ranking religious official of Laya, and therefore in that framework the political leader too. He had been installed some years back by the Middle Kingdom, over the protest of the people of Laya, whose prior ruler, the Dalai, had fled to Earth.

“He will not see you,” the Premier said. “I know him; he is intractable. Tyrant, this is dangerous!”

“I have faced danger before. I know the people of Laya support me. After all, I tried to get the Dalai restored-“ I broke off, realizing what I had said. Naturally the Panchen hated me! But still, there was no time for complex maneuvering; I had to brave the enemy in his den and win his cooperation. It was a fitting challenge for the Tyrant. “Anyway, I’ll have Smilo along; he’s the perfect bodyguard.” The truth was that Smilo was now getting old, and he spent most of his time sleeping. But he was my mascot, and his worth was considerable.

“I will send a fleet after you,” the Premier said, acceding to my seeming folly. He knew the stakes as well as I did. So we took a plane directly to Laya, just the three of us, making the dramatic play.

We passed the region of the Great Wall as we traveled to the far province. This was an enormous net set up to balk intruders, theoretically the nomads near the equator, but actually the Union of Saturnine Republics. The People’s Republic of the Middle Kingdom was somewhat paranoid about potential invasion from the north. The net was girt with bubbles and checkpoints, and of course it was mined, so that intruding ships would have trouble penetrating it. But of course today any such invasion would be by missiles, so the Wall had become a historic artifact.

The winds at thirty degrees South Saturn were not nearly as strong as those of the equator; they were equivalent to those of the Jupiter equator. But the band of greatest velocity was very narrow, and the shear on either side was ferocious. There was a similar zone at forty-five degrees North Saturn, called Beria, where political prisoners were exiled. Such regions of shear were called mountains, because it was dangerous to cross them; an airplane could be thrown out of control. Our pilot was experienced and careful as we approached Hasa; even so, we experienced considerable buffeting as we navigated the eddy-swirls. This region was thinly populated, and it was easy to appreciate why.

We arrived at Hasa, the so-called Forbidden City. I really had not expected a rousing welcome, and I received none. A lowly functionary met us at the lock and informed us that the Panchen was not accepting visitors this day.

Forta, emulating Spirit, drew herself up impressively. “He will see the Tyrant,” she said.

“No one,” the functionary repeated stonily.

Spirit had never been one to take no for an answer. She marched out of the terminal and commandeered a vehicle large enough to accommodate Smilo. The driver seemed reluctant, but Smilo growled mildly, and the man decided to cooperate. In moments Spirit had called up a local map on the car’s screen and was zeroing in on the Panchen’s residence. Forta, as a secretary, was versed in this sort of thing, but it was impressive enough even so.

We caught brief glimpses of the city of Hasa as our car moved through the narrow streets. Ancient-style buildings were interspersed with completely modern ones, but overall the city appeared to be poor rather than rich. There were many temples and lamaseries, evidence of a devout people. Near the center was a large shrine, with a statue of Buddha as a young prince. I remembered that he had renounced the royal life in favor of piety and asceticism. “Stop!” I cried. “What?”

“I must pay homage to Buddha.”

Spirit had the driver stop, and we got out. “Buddha was a great man,” I said. “And Asoka was a great leader who honored his principles. I always wanted to be like Asoka, but never came close.”

“But you tried,” she said.

“I tried,” I agreed. “Now here is Buddha, and I wish I could be one with him.”

I stood for a time, just gazing at the statue, and the tears flowed down my face. They were not tears of sadness, but of appreciation for greatness. “He spoke the four great truths,” I said.

“Existence is suffering,” Spirit said, only perhaps I should say Forta, because she it was who truly understood these principles.

“The origin of suffering is desire,” I said, remembering the next truth.

“But suffering ceases when desire ceases,” she continued.

“And the way to reach the end of desire is by following the Eightfold Path,” I concluded. “Oh, how I wish I could have done so!”

We returned to the car, passing by the people who had gathered. They were common folk, and I knew they knew me and were with me. But none spoke. They simply stood and gazed at Smilo with awe. We resumed our drive. “There,” Spirit said. “There in the park.”

“The leader of the province lives in a park?” I asked. “It is his retreat at the height,” the driver explained.

“Then drive us there,” she said. I am rendering this dialogue approximately; the fact is the driver spoke only Chinese, and Forta was using her linguistic ability and equipment to communicate, and translating in snatches for me. Spirit could not have done that; in this sense I was better off with Forta.

“I cannot,” the driver protested.

“Why not?”

“There is no road, only a footpath up the mountain.”

Indeed it was so. The driver dropped us off at the edge of the park and took his pay and buzzed away.

The park was impressive. At the low fringe it was planted with native trees, but the interior was a massive mountain slope, covered with snow. Apparently this was a bubble large enough to support as many as a million people, but only a hundred thousand actually occupied it. The remainder of its capacity was devoted to this monumental internal park, that cut across many levels and dominated the interior.

No one came to help us; indeed, the entire city seemed hostile, except for the few common folk we had encountered at the statue. When I looked back, I saw a crowd gathering, but now the local police were herding them away. The common man might be with me, but the authorities were not, and the authorities had the power. We were not in physical danger; the extermination of the nomenklatura of North Saturn had spread a message throughout the System that the Tyrant was not to be molested. But these people did not want us here; that was clear enough.

The route was plain: a winding footpath to the summit, where the Panchen’s palatial retreat perched. This was the Potala, taken from the Dalai. He was surely aware of our arrival and approach, but gave no signal; he preferred to pretend that he knew nothing of the visit of the messenger. He played a dangerous game; if this were in deference to the antipathy of Tocsin, it would in due course become apparent where the power ultimately lay.

But now was now, and we had a deadline, and only the Panchen could reverse the veto Laya had cast. If he did it now, the agreement would take effect, and the Prince and Princess would be freed and promoted, and more than a billion people would reap the joy thereof today, and tomorrow the Dream would be realized as mankind commenced its colonization of the stars. If the Panchen did not reverse the veto, it would cost the lives of King and Wan, and sow dissension that could torpedo South Saturn’s participation in the Triton Project, and throw the very Dream into doubt. Oh, Tocsin’s mischief was manifest!

However, I knew I retained enough of my ability to read and influence a man to enable me to persuade the Panchen of the error of his way. Once we reached his house, I would of course speak directly to the point. He had to recognize that the interest of his people would not be served by the foiling of the Dream. For one thing, the colonization of the galaxy represented Laya’s best opportunity to escape the dominance of the Middle Kingdom. That was a thing that Laya most wanted to do, for it had always regarded itself as an independent nation. I knew I could make this clear to him, once I talked to him personally; it was only his isolation that had set him up for the deceit spread by Tocsin. Tocsin could be very convincing, when a person lacked access to the facts.

So we wended our way along the path toward the mountain. “This must be the Eightfold Path,” I said, but the humor seemed weak.

Soon another hurdle manifested: It was cold here, and we were not dressed for it. We would never make it to the top of the mountain afoot without winter clothing. Surely the local authorities had known this, so had not interfered with our progress.

Spirit tackled the problem in her typical fashion. “We’ll get gear,” she said, and led the way off the path toward a park supply building.

I told Smilo to wait outside the building, and he settled down for a catnap by the door. Inside the building we offered to buy the clothing we required, but the surly proprietor claimed there was none in our sizes. Snowsuits in a full range of sizes hung on racks along the wall, plainly intended for rental to the tourists, but he stuck by his statement. It was evident that we would get no help here.

Again, Spirit reacted typically; Forta really understood my sister! Her laser appeared in her hand, bearing on the proprietor’s nose. “Hope, put the money on the counter,” she said. “Then select suits for us.”

I did as directed. The proprietor made as if to reach for a holophone, but a laser beam scorched the table just beside his hand, and he snatched it back. Spirit never bluffed, and never missed her target. The warning sufficed.

I made the selections, and got dressed; then I held the laser while Spirit dressed. Fully outfitted, we left the building, after lasering through the holophone’s connecting line. By the time the proprietor was able to alert the hostile authorities, we would be at the Panchen’s retreat. Isolation is a sword that cuts both ways.

Outside, I roused Smilo. But I was beginning to regret bringing him along, not because of any bad manners on his part, but because he was a warm-weather creature, and old, and this was cold. I decided that he should be safe enough in the park for a couple of hours. “Smilo, stay,” I said, gesturing to the warmer region behind us. “We’ll come back this way.”

The tiger didn’t understand all that, of course, but he was familiar with “Stay.” He walked back down toward a pleasant copse and found himself a place to make a nest. He would snooze until we returned. In past years he would have insisted on coming along, protecting me every step, but now he was satisfied to accept the easy course I urged on him. Age can do that to some of us.

We resumed our trek. The path ascended, and the cold quickly intensified; we really needed our protective clothing. But the scenery was beautiful. As we gained height the mountain also opened out below, showing a deep snowy gorge; the entire interior of the park, high and low, was evidently maintained at subfreezing level.

The path became little more than a niche in the steepening slope, and ice crackled under our boots. Though gee lessened as we climbed, because we were drawing away from the high-gee rim, this was not enough to compensate for my weakness, and I was soon tired. The mountain had seemed impressive but not huge at the outset; now it seemed that we had just as far to go as we had at the bottom, after an hour’s climb.

Spirit took my arm, helping me walk. “I should have anticipated this,” she muttered. “Minimal research-“

My sister surely would have done that. But I could hardly blame Forta. “We came on spot notice,” I reminded her. “No time for research. Had I paused to reflect, I would have brought along a powered snowsled.”

Her strength buoyed me, and we managed the steep path and closed on the summit. It was apparent that soon we would beard the Panchen in his den. I was sure that by this time he knew that he would have to face me, even if he hated me; there would be no further way to avoid it. He would not be able to deny the Tyrant his interview.

The path opened onto a sloping plain leading up to the retreat. We were almost there.

There was a roar. Startled, we looked-and saw a huge white creature charging down the slope toward us. It most resembled an ape, but it was about three meters tall, with massive furry arms and legs, and a horrendous snout.

“Bigfoot!” Spirit exclaimed.

“Impossible,” I said. “That creature never existed, even back on Earth.”

But the thing bore down upon us. I tried to scramble out of its path, but my foot slipped and I fell. Spirit caught my arm and hauled, but too late; the monster bent to sweep at us with its giant paws, and sent us tumbling down the slope of the mountain.

Spirit managed to catch at an outcropping of ice, and braked her slide, and hung on to me and brought me to a halt also. But the white monster was not finished; it pounced on me and swiped at my suit, its sharp claws slicing the cloth apart and gashing my flesh beneath. In a moment it stripped me of the better part of my protection, evidently preparing to consume me.

Spirit drew her laser and fired at the monster’s furry ear. The burn evidently stung but did not really damage; the monster whirled around, caught her suit with the claws, and shredded it, too. It brought its toothed snout to bear. She lasered it in the mouth, but still it did not stop, though steam boiled out. It took another bite of her clothing, evidently mistaking it for flesh.

I scrambled across and caught at its leg. I hauled. The monster turned on me again. It seemed that it oriented on whatever attracted its attention at the moment.

Spirit leaped at it, her hands scraping at its back. I knew that this was futile; the thing would only throw her off. But abruptly there was a snap, and the monster reacted as if stabbed through the heart. It convulsed, then straightened, falling to the snow.

But we were near the brink of the falloff of the mountain. The monster slid over, carrying Spirit along with it. I grabbed for her, but was only hauled over myself.

The slope sharpened. I could not find leverage to halt my slide, and Spirit was no better off. Neither, it seemed, was the monster, if it still lived; the three of us were sliding down into the deep crevasse.

For a moment I thought that this was the end of my life. Then I caught a better glimpse of what lay ahead, and I was sure of it. Helpless, I fell into my doom.

But as it turned out, the end was not quite yet. The slope eased at the base, and we tumbled to a bruising halt at the bottom of the chasm.

I became aware of the cold. I had lost much of my outfit, and the temperature here was well below freezing. Spirit was no better off- and in addition, I saw with horror, the fall had broken one of her legs.

But her concern was only for me. “Hope, your loop!” she cried.

I looked-and saw that my loop had been ripped out of my arm. My blood was flowing out, staining the snow. I clapped my other hand on it, but knew that such a crude measure could not properly stanch the flow. I had to have prompt medical attention-and there was no certainty I would get that, here.

Spirit pulled herself over to me, her leg dragging. “I’ll help, Hope!” she said.

But she could not help. Already the cold was numbing my limbs, and the loss of blood was weakening my consciousness. “Just hold me, my sister,” I told her.

She put her arms around me, and I rested my head against her bare breast while our lives seeped into the snow. Now it didn’t seem cold.

“That monster,” she said, her voice sounding deeper because my ear was against her chest. “It was a robot. I realized when the laser didn’t hurt it. I found the switch in its back and turned it off, but-“

“You did well,” I said.

“We’ll be rescued,” she said.

“It doesn’t matter,” I said.

“Of course it matters!”

“I did not have very much left to do anyway,” I explained. “Not very much longer to live. Perhaps I intended it to be this way.”

“Intended?” she asked, perplexed.

“It must have seemed pretty stupid, marching into enemy territory unprotected. I could so readily have come prepared.”

“I should have thought of what we needed.”

“No. It was my decision. I knew that it would take too long to reverse the veto, going through channels. I had to force their hand.” As I spoke I believed it: that at a nether layer, my competence was manifesting, that I had not acted in idiotic, old-man, has-been fashion, that it was really genius. Yet who can say, now, that it was not?

“But we never made it to the Panchen!”

“He knew we were coming. That was his error.”

“Hope, I don’t understand!”

“Yes, you do, Spirit. You have always understood. We have won.”

“We have won,” she echoed faintly, humoring me.

I nuzzled her breast, the only part of her that remained warm. I was bleeding, she freezing; soon we would both sink into shock, and thence into oblivion. “You were always my true love, Spirit,” I said. “Now I understand what Rue said: I thought I loved two, but only truly loved one.”

“Only one,” she agreed.

“Only you, my sister. I remember when you were twelve, when you lay with me, to ease my pain. You would do anything for me, and I so undeserving.”

“No . . .”

“And when you had the baby-“

“What?” She sounded genuinely confused.

“And gave it to me, because I was sterile from space-“

“My baby?” she asked, amazed.

I laughed, weakly. “How could you forget, Spirit? But I made her mine.”

“Yes, of course,” she agreed.

“We must sing our songs,” I said.

“Songs?”

I sang the song that had been given me by the members of my migrant labor group, the song that had identified me ever since. I sang not well but with feeling:

It takes a worried man to sing a worried song It takes a worried man to sing a worried song It takes a worried man to sing a worried song I’m worried now, but I won’t be worried long.

Then Spirit, remembering, sang her song, that had been bestowed on her by the members of our Navy unit:

I know where I’m going, and I know who’s going with me

I know who I love, but the dear knows who I’ll marry.

Those Navy folk had had a rare perception! They had known that my sister could never marry the one she truly loved. So they had nicknamed her “The Dear,” and she had ever since allowed others to assume that it was “The Deer” in token of her grace and speed in achieving her objectives. Spirit, the mainstay of my life, throughout her life. The Tyrant never knew a better woman than the Iron Maiden.

I pressed into her breast. “Oh, my sister, I am dying “

“No, Hope!”

“And so are you.” For the frost was forming on us, or so it seemed, as our skin chilled toward death. We were rasping rather than speaking clearly, but we understood the words.

She capitulated. “So am I. But we can still be rescued.”

“Perhaps. But to what point? Existence is suffering.”

“And the origin of suffering is desire,” she agreed weakly, repeating the Buddhist truth.

“But we can end that suffering by following the Eightfold Path,” I continued. “Right belief, right resolve-“

“Right speech, right conduct,” she agreed.

“Right living, right effort-“

“Right-mindedness,” she said.

“And right ecstasy,” I concluded. “Oh, Spirit, it is not too late for that!”

“Oh, please, Hope, it must not end here!” she exclaimed.

“But we are about to escape to nirvana, to the blissful annihilation, to nonexistence and the end of suffering.”

“No, we must be rescued!” she insisted. “The common people are with you, Tyrant! They will not let the evil authorities do this! We will survive!”

I saw a figure from the corner of my eye. I twisted my head to look. My vision was blurring as the cold closed on my eyeballs, but I hardly needed much for this. “I think not. Helse has come for me.”

“Helse,” she repeated.

Helse was in her patchwork wedding dress, exactly as she had been when she died. She was sixteen and beautiful. She held out her arms to me.

“Now at last I join you!” I cried, trying to rise. But I was too weak and cold, and could not.

Then Helse merged with Spirit, and it was Helse’s breast I lay against. “Now at last,” she agreed.

I kissed her, what I could reach of her, and sighed. I had waited for this moment for over fifty years: to join my love in heaven. Or nirvana. Wherever it was that she awaited me.

Now time seemed to slow, or perhaps my thought accelerated. My understanding expanded to embrace the entire city, planet, System, and galaxy. I knew everything I cared to know, everything there was to know; in fact I was the essence of information. I was able not only to perceive my body and that of the woman with me, but to grasp the complete significance of our being. I grasped the meaning of all my life and all life itself. This brought to me a mighty peace of mind; the brilliance of my unity with the cosmos suffused me. I perceived the universe in its totality, and the local events simultaneously. It was as though I were tuning in on everything that was happening everywhere, and that had happened, and that would happen; all time was one in me. I was the Tyrant, and now at last I had become one with the people I served. Death had no meaning for me; I had transcended it. Thus it became easy for me to summarize the events surrounding my death.

Meanwhile, my daughter Hopie had projected to Saturn at the first sign of the trouble with Laya. She had understood the threat instinctively. She brought picked men and picked equipment. She met Spirit, and the two joined forces with a contingent of the Middle Kingdom.

The common folk of Laya were rising, too, knowing that there was no welcome for the Tyrant in the hostile capital city. The common folk within the city had spread the news of my presence, and of my devotion at the shrine of Buddha, but the police held them back. They lacked the power to help.

It was hours before a party came to us, and it was no rescue operation. Our bodies were still locked together, my face against her breast. They dumped us unceremoniously in a sled and brought it to a holo unit. “The Tyrant and his evil sister are dead!” they exclaimed for the camera, and broadcast the picture to the System. “They fell down the mountain, and we could not reach them in time.”

“Daddy!” my daughter cried in anguish.

But my sister was of sterner stuff. “Here is the first lie,” she said on the planetary holo. “I am not dead. It is the Tyrant’s secretary who died with him, garbed as me.”

Astonished, the men of the city of Hasa went to Forta. Her mask came away. Their chagrin was manifest. They had thought to abolish the power of the Tyrant at one stroke, but they had eliminated only the figurehead. I think they knew at that moment that they were lost. Had Spirit died, the effort to complete the Dream could have fallen apart, but now it would be pursued.

“And the second lie,” Spirit continued resolutely. “It was no accident. The Panchen sent his robot snow monster to throw them down. See, there is the wreckage of the machine in the background.” And, indeed, the guilty robot was there.

“And the third lie,” Spirit said. “The rescue party did not try to come promptly. The Panchen knew what had happened the moment his robot crashed. They waited four hours, until they were quite sure the Tyrant was dead, before sending out the party. They could have reached any point in that park in minutes, had they wanted to. Instead they prevented the common folk of the city from coming.”

Now her face set into hard lines. “Hasa murdered my brother,” she said. “What does Laya say to that?” Laya’s answer was grim.

Hopie came to claim my body. But her ship was barred by police bubbles of Laya. “First there is business we must do,” they informed her.

And while they barred her entry, the people of Laya rose up as one, their car-bubbles massing against the city of Hasa. They covered it with the cannon of a cruiser, forcing entry even as the common folk of the city charged the locks and opened them. Then, armed, the people stormed in, making prisoners of the authorities and all who had supported them. There was little love for the Panchen beyond the city, and now he had given the people the pretext to rebel.

“Now watch what we do,” the rebel leader announced on the holo.

Then an automatic lock was set up, and the first prisoner was fired out into the atmosphere of Saturn. He had no suit. He had been alive. Now his body was pulped inward by the tremendous pressure of the atmosphere, as it fell toward even greater pressure.

It was followed immediately by the second prisoner, and then a stream of them, at one-second intervals.

Appalled, Hopie watched the holo. “But this is barbaric!” she protested. A line of bodies was forming, streaming steadily down from Hasa: the Panchen’s supporters.

“Then come and stop it,” the leader said grimly. “We will admit you to the city after the same delay that occurred for the rescue of the Tyrant.”

And, indeed, it was four hours before she got into the city. “Stop it! Stop it!” she cried.

The leader turned to the man about to be fired out. “Your life is spared by the intercession of the daughter of the Tyrant,” he said. “To whom is your loyalty now?”

But he got no answer, for the man had fainted.

So the carnage was stopped-but almost fifteen thousand had been executed in this fashion. The people of Laya had made known their sentiment and saved face for their province. Face does not come cheap, in the Middle Kingdom.

Hopie hurried to locate Smilo, whom she had never known personally but wanted to rescue. But he was dead. He had passed away naturally at about the time I did unnaturally, as though he retained his rapport to the end. Hopie stroked the beautiful fur and wept, and it was for more than the tiger she cried.

And, in this manner, the veto of Laya was reversed, and the lives of the Prince and Princess were saved. An order was sent for the Dalai to return from Earth, his long exile over. The Middle Kingdom had installed the Panchen, but now the Premier made no objection to the restoration of the Dalai.

I had a fancy funeral, of course, but this is not a subject of interest to me. I will only say that everyone of note came: Megan, Thorley, Hopie, General D of Gaul, all the ranking leaders of the System, all welcomed to the Middle Kingdom for the honor paid the Tyrant of Space. What was important was that my death had accomplished expeditiously what my life might not have: the salvage of the Dream. I was spared the humiliation of a bedridden decline. My only regret is that Forta had to die with me; she deserved better, but it was the way she wanted it. She was a good woman, my final one in life.

And mankind was headed for the stars.