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 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 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 known 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.
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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 wheelchair, 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 per cent?”
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 super technology of the light projector. The fact that Phobos was chronically desperate for iron was perhaps a secondary consideration. “One per cent,” she said.
“This is to be half of the entire production of Mars,” I said. “Such greed does not become you.”
“Half per cent,” 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 Mars-space 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 est
ablished there, under the authority of the Tyrant, and Titan did not have the negative reputation at Phobos that Saturn did. No Jews had been historically maltreated on Titan.
But it remained necessary for the nations of Mars to ratify this multi-planet 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 carefully. The psychological aspect was as important as the substance.
Forta prepared me by doing the dialysis on the day before; we seemed to have succeeded in keeping this aspect of my existence secret, though probably Phobos fathomed it. Shelia did join me that night in bed, and though I was not quite up to the act of love, I sincerely appreciated her nearness and comfort. I woke refreshed in body and mind.
Spirit had flash cards with the pertinent facts, in case I should suffer any lapse. We would be making the address at Phobos, but it would not be appropriate to have women participating. In deference to this, the President 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 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 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.