Over and over I rehearsed it in my mind, trying to avoid the conclusion that threatened. I had been making love to Coral, and was already deep within her when the call had interrupted. Then Forta had changed masks, appearing as Spirit, then momentarily in her own guise, and finally, at the end, as Coral. And we had had the most emphatic culmination of all.
Then, on perhaps the tenth or the hundredth rendering of that sequence in my troubled mind, it dawned. Like sunlight striking through the impenetrable cloud cover of Venus to illuminate the surface, understanding came to me.
“It’s all right!” I exclaimed joyfully.
Forta jumped. “I should hope so,” she said, quickly rechecking the tubing. For it happened that I was amidst dialysis at the time; it is as good a time as any for reflection.
“I mean me!” I cried. “I’m not perverted!”
“Tyrant, I never suggested that you were,” she said, still troubled by my inexplicable activity. Normally I lay on the bed during dialysis, reading or thinking or sleeping.
“Come and make love to me,” I said.
Again she was taken aback. “Now?”
“This instant!”
“But you are in—”
“Woman, I know exactly where I am! Just strap down the tubing and be careful not to jog it; it won’t interfere. Get your clothes off.” Meanwhile, I was struggling with my own as my member swelled imperatively.
“I’ll change,” she said. She meant her personality, becoming Coral.
“No! As you are!”
She gazed at me, perplexed. “Tyrant—”
“Just do it, woman! I’ll explain after!”
Hesitantly, she obliged, evidently ready at any moment for me to change my mind. Her lanky body came into view, well formed but by no means spectacular; she became impressive only when she used her supports and makeup and posture and signals to complete an emulation. Now she was doing none of this, and it showed. She was herself, and none too sure of herself.
I gestured her in. She got on the bed cautiously, on hands and knees, straddling me. I reached up and grabbed her hanging breasts in my two hands, hauling them down to my face, while her body followed to accommodate my urgency. I pressed her breasts into my cheeks on either side, and kissed the deep hollow between. Then my hands slid down and around to cup her buttocks, which were somewhat spare in this position.
Obeying my desire, she straightened out her legs and got into position to take in my member. It was the position Helse had used, when I was fifteen, but this was not Helse. Her weight settled down on me, her legs outside mine, her breasts against my chest, her face above mine, perplexed.
I stared at that deeply scarred visage. Then I took her head in my hands and brought her face down to meet mine. I kissed her savagely, my tongue forcing its way into her reluctant mouth. I bucked against her, but neither my position nor my strength was sufficient to enable me to gain the action I needed to complete the act.
Taking her cue from me, Forta began to move her torso, bringing her abdomen forward, then back, up and then down. It was the reverse of the thrusting done by a man; her downstroke was the one that gave me the deepest penetration. Working that way, she brought me to the highest pitch, and then to the culmination, our mouths still joined.
Gasping with the fulfillment, I broke the kiss but not the embrace. Her head rested lightly against my shoulder as I stroked my hands along her back. “Forta, it’s you, it’s you!” I whispered beside her right ear.
Now she lifted her head. “Me?”
I gazed at her face again. “You are beautiful, Forta,” I said.
“Tyrant, I—”
“Call me Hope, Forta. You are my lover now. Not Coral, not Shelia, not Emerald or Juana. Not Spirit! You, Forta, you!”
“But I am not—”
“Not ugly,” I finished firmly. “I see your scars; they are as the craters on the planet of love, affecting the surface in immaterial ways, not changing the reality. Your facial structure, your bones—you have a lovely face, Forta, and for the first time I am seeing it truly. It is like a work of art, that must be viewed from a distance lest the roughness of the palette knife distort the vision. Viewed with understanding. Your face is beautiful—but even if it were not, and I not privileged to see the physical reality of it under the mask of scars, I would know you to be a beautiful woman. I am chagrined that it took me so long to perceive the obvious! You were there all the time, concealing your splendor behind a mask that should not have deceived me for a moment. But now I see, and I don’t need any of those masks anymore; you are my mistress now.”
She looked at me, still not quit accepting it.
“When we were interrupted by that call from the President of Atalanta, and you changed masks—I thought I was attracted to the simulation of my sister,” I continued. “But that wasn’t it. It was you, in your versatility, all women in one. For the first time I saw it happening, and I saw you in the middle, between masks, and my ardor was undiminished. That was what tuned me on: the realization that you in reality were more than any of the emulations. Coral was not a surrogate for Spirit; they both were surrogates for you, Forta. Now the scales have fallen from my eyes, and I see you as you are.” And I hauled her face down for another kiss.
She resisted. “Hope, this is too quick,” she protested. “You are not in the best condition. You must take time to decide whether—”
“It’s late for that,” I said. “We have already made love in the natural state.” Indeed, we were still connected, though the sexual fervor was past.
She had to laugh ruefully, and I felt that laugh all the way down. “If you are sure, Hope—”
“Just lie with me,” I said.
She put her head down again, and we lay embraced while the dialysis proceeded. It was as though this time it had cleaned not only my body but my mind.
Next day she looked askance at me, for no given reason. I kissed her. “I may be slow, but I’m sure,” I said. “Once I learn something, I don’t soon forget it. You need no more masks for me.”
She turned away, but I would not let her go. “You are crying,” I said. “Is my acceptance so hard to accept?”
“Megan told me it would be this way, but I did not let myself believe,” she said.
“That it might take me years, but that eventually I would perceive your true beauty?”
“Yes. But I am happy to use the masks. It is my specialty.”
“Use the masks, do the emulations when you wish,” I said. “I like variety, and you have given me the most. But now you are the main object, not the emulations. You may love me as yourself.” For she loved me, of course; I had long since read the signals. All my women did.
Her face turned back to me, all teary, and I kissed her again. Megan had been right: though I was partial to physical beauty, I was not entirely opaque to inner quality, and now that I had seen Forta as she was, she would never appear ugly to me again. Actually, Megan herself had been a precedent; she had been beautiful when I met her, but not young, and I had loved her in large measure for her inner qualities. Megan had proved, once again, just how well she knew me.
So, as we completed our circuit of the planet of love, returning to pick Doppie up from the Earth embassy in Atalanta so we could proceed to Mercury, we had discovered our own kind of love, and that was worth the journey quite apart from the technical or economic mission.
CHAPTER 16
MERCURY
For the first time since I had known her, I saw Forta apprehensive. It required no great exercise of insight to know why. We were coming to Mercury, her planet of origin, where she had been a foundling. Mercury had been colonized by the nations of the southern part of Africa, and the one we would be primarily dealing with regarded her as a mixed-breed creature of inferior status. Strict segregation laws would have prevented my keeping company with her here, were I not protected by diplomatic immunity, and were I not the Tyrant. Nonetheless, it would have to be made clear that Forta was my ser
vant, under my authority and protection, and Spirit would have to handle all communications with officials.
I talked with Doppie. “I realize that you are on loan to us only to facilitate our travels between planets,” I said. “But in this case I would appreciate it if you would do me a greater favor.”
She looked at me uncertainly. Like all woman of any age with whom I associate closely, she was somewhat taken with me; it is a power I have. Part of it may be the sheer notoriety inherent in my identity as Tyrant, and part my ability to read and relate to people. I disliked having to use her in this manner, but I saw no expedient alternative.
“You see, my secretary is what is known on Mercury as a mulattress: a female of mixed ancestry. The government will not accord her any status. It is true that she can emulate my sister, but if she is caught, there will be ugly complications. It will be better if she remains herself, and if you remain my sister, instead of going to the embassy. I would be most appreciative if—”
“Certainly, Tyrant,” she said immediately. She wanted my gratitude. She was not aware that Forta was more than my secretary and nurse, though she did know about her ability to emulate others. Who could tell where the gratitude of the Tyrant might lead?
“Thank you, Doppie,” I said, laying my hand on hers. As I said, I was using her, and I regretted it, but I would see that she was rewarded. I went on to explain that we might have to leave her with Smilo, but that he represented no menace to her. I had introduced her to him at the outset, and he had accepted her. In fact, he would protect her from any molestation by others.
The sun seemed monstrous here, more than twice the diameter as seen from Earth, and its radiation was ferocious. Our ship was suitably shielded, of course, but even the muted image on the screen was daunting. I felt hot, though the temperature within the ship was standard. I was afraid that some errant flame would lick out from that massive sphere and fry us without noticing. It was another kind of phobia; I seemed to be more subject to these in my infirmity.
Mercury was about the diameter of my home world, Callisto, but its density was triple, so it was a far more massive body. It had very little atmosphere, and took almost two months to rotate. Its surface was cratered like that of any barren body. In short, it seemed basically familiar to me. That helped, because I wanted to get onto land and out of the ambiance of the huge sun.
We needed Mercury in the project because it was one of the richest sources of rare metals and crystals in the System. Gold, platinum, chromium, uranium, copper, manganese, diamonds, and of course iron—it was potentially as rich as Mars, but the difficulties of sunside mining inhibited operations. We had secured our iron requirements, but still had need of the others, and this planet could represent an enormous boost in our supply of raw materials. But the government of the Republic of South Mercury was notoriously tough, and I knew that negotiations would be difficult. As Tyrant of Jupiter I had not gotten along with Mercury well, for it exploited its majorities shamefully for the benefit of the minority, and there was chronic hunger and even starvation in many of its nations. There was little reason to suppose relations would be better now that I was out of power.
Of course I had power now; it just happened to be less direct. I suspected I would have to invoke it all too soon. I sent a coded message to Khukov, back on Saturn, alerting him; he could still pull the plug on this one if he chose. But he let it ride.
We put our ship in the assigned parking orbit, and a Mercury shuttle took the four of us down to the surface. We landed near the South Pole, at Cape Dome, one of the capitals. The advantage of this site was that the polar region suffered neither the intensity of the month-long day nor the appalling cold of the month-long night; here it was always compromise. Not that the natives chose to gaze out upon the barren surface; the savings were mostly in terms of maintenance and access.
Inside, the city was much like any other, and I felt better immediately. But my tension about the physical environment was replaced by psychological tension. Though there was no direct allusion, it was evident by the signals that the authorities here resented the presence of Forta, and would gladly have relegated her to one of the segregated subsidiary domes.
But I was a foreign dignitary, and she was my secretary, and they could not impose their sanctions on her without suffering an interplanetary incident.
We reached our accommodations and proceeded promptly to my dialysis; this preliminary settling-in period was the best time for it, so that I could not be caught short later. While I rested I wondered what form Forta would assume this time. For I knew she felt more comfortable in a guise, despite my assurance that I now accepted her for herself. She was a mimic, a mime, and she was astonishingly good at it, and I would not deny her the pleasure of proving it as often as she chose.
But I fell asleep, and slept the night, so missed whatever it might have been, to my retrospective regret. For in the morning I had the first official meeting with the representative of South Mercury, which it seemed had to be personal, not holo. How the old ways linger, even in this modern age.
Doppie, as Spirit, accompanied me, leaving Forta to keep Smilo company. Doppie kept silent, letting me do all the negotiation. Though the Mercurians knew that my sister was the power behind my throne, they were happy to have her assume a subservient role for this official function.
After due formalities, we got down to business. “The Triton Project needs the resources of Mercury,” I said. “We are uncertain of the structural stresses entailed in materialization and travel elsewhere in the galaxy. We intend to construct the first colonization ships to the most rigid specifications. For this we require diamonds, chrome, platinum—in fact, almost the full spectrum of the products you export. We are prepared to pay in System monetary units and in a favorable allotment for your own colonization of other stars. I am here to make the offer and an agreement.”
“South Mercury should be interested in your proposal,” the man said carefully. “However, there are certain considerations.”
Oh-oh. I had thought I was past the worst when I left Mars; now, as I read his body, I realized that there was trouble here. “Considerations?” I asked guardedly, hoping that he was not going to raise the issue I feared.
“Your project, as we understand it, is sponsored jointly by Saturn and Uranus.”
“True, with Rising Sun and Titania as major cosponsors.”
“Some of these planets are known for a certain position on social integration.”
He had raised the issue. How much easier it would have been had his government elected to yield to economic benefit and set aside its racial policy. “You refer to their objection to apartheid,” I said, reading the confirmation as I spoke.
“In past times, such planets have attempted to base economic decisions on social criteria,” he said grimly. “We regard this as improper. We do not attempt to dictate to Saturn how it handles its Phobos question.” He meant Saturn’s oppression of those of Jewish background, preventing them from emigrating to Phobos. He had a point. “Or to Uranus how it handles its Mars question.” Nations of Uranus, notably Prussia, had imported many workers from Mars, and then expelled them when their economies weakened. Another point. “We fail to appreciate why these planets should be concerned with our internal affairs.”
“I am from Jupiter,” I said cautiously. “I have no part of the social problems of other planets, and do not seek to meddle in them. I seek only to establish mutually beneficial trade relations.”
“The society of Jupiter became remarkably egalitarian during the Tyrancy,” he said. “It is so no more. Perhaps you should return to that planet.”
I was getting news from all over about the deteriorating state of Jupiter society. “Perhaps I should,” I agreed. “But first I must complete my mission here. The Triton Project will be in a superior bargaining position for negotiations with Jupiter if the resources of Mercury are available to it.”
“Mercury will be happy to join the worthy effort of gal
actic colonization,” he said. “Provided it is arranged on a businesslike basis, without irrelevant issues.”
I had to concede the merit of his case. I had no brief for this nation’s treatment of its citizens of mixed blood, who were given no part in their government, but it was true that my mission related to trade, not morality. But two things interfered. First, I knew that neither Saturn nor Uranus would reverse its prior objections to the social system of South Mercury. Second, I realized, through my continued reading of this man, that he was lying. Mercury did not want to join the Triton Project. This stunned me, leaving me at a loss for words.
South Mercury. was in fact using the apartheid issue as a pretext for its denial of an agreement it had no intention of making. But why? The deal I proffered would be of enormous economic benefit to this planet, which was chronically starving for cash, and many of whose residents were literally starving too. The sanctions established by other planets had damaged the economy of South Mercury severely. This offer of mine could at one stroke restore this planet’s economic health. The amelioration of apartheid, just enough to make it acceptable to Saturn and Uranus, who did want the stone and metal riches of this planet, would be a tiny price to pay for the benefit received. I knew that the government understood this. Why, then, was it uninterested?
“You baffle me,” I said frankly. “Why don’t you want to join?”
“I did not say that.”
“You’re talking to the Tyrant!” I snapped. “I know when you are lying. Your government doesn’t want to make any deal; the social issue is merely a pretext.”
He nodded. “So it is true; you do read people.”
“It is true. Now answer my question.”
He glanced to the side, evidently seeking advice. In a holo encounter this would have been easy, but this personal meeting meant that there were no advisers to the side. “I regret I am not authorized to—”