Politician (26 page)

“Prehistoric,” he agreed wryly. “So the matter need not concern you Hopie, if I may address you so familiarly.”

“So if it wasn't for you, I wouldn't exist.”

Thorley knew what she had for the moment forgotten: that Hopie was an adopted child. But he did not remind her of that. “It is certainly possible.”

“So I suppose I can't hate you, even if you deserve it.”

“I would be distressed to have you hate me, Hopie, however deserving of the sentiment I may be.”

“Then will you stop writing those mean things?”

Thorley spread his hands. “I can no more change my nature than your father can change his.”

Surprisingly she smiled. “Well, at least you are honest.”

He smiled back. “I fear I may not merit such an accolade. Let's just say I am consistent.”

“Okay.” She returned her attention to the chess game. She was doing well, there, for Thorley had spotted her the queen, both castles, a bishop, and a knight. There seemed to be a savage battle among pawns in progress.

I glanced about and caught Spirit and Megan exchanging a glance. It was as if a necessary hurdle had been navigated.

In due course we approached Saturn. This planet has, of course, always been known for its phenomenal ring system; indeed, there was a period in the history of man when it was believed that Saturn was the only planet to possess rings. Now it is known that all planets and a number of moons possess rings, albeit sometimes of insignificant scope. But those of Saturn are truly in a class by themselves, and all of us were fascinated as the details became clearer. First the eye perceived the archaically named A, B, C, and D

rings, with the Encke, Cassini, and Guerin divisions. Then the rest of it came clear, for the total ring system is enormous, extending out some eight times the radius of the planet, and fading only as a matter of diminishing returns. We knew that the rings were inhabited by refugees from the former government of South Saturn, who had had to exchange embassies when Jupiter did the same with Ganymede. That gave me a certain feeling of identity, irrelevant as it was. We also knew that on one tiny moonlet, hardly more than a large ring-particle, was an isolated colony of Uranus' moon Titania, one of the diminishing vestiges of the Titanian Empire that had once spanned portions of the entire Solar System. Thus, in physics and politics, the rings of Saturn were a microcosm of System history.

As we came within local communication range—that is, close enough to allow conversation without significant pauses for transition—we were hailed by a cruiser of the Saturn Navy. “Jupiter ship, you are intruding on private space. Turn back immediately.”

I took the screen. “I am Governor Hubris of the state of Sunshine of the United States of Jupiter Planet,”

I replied in English. “I am coming to claim what belongs to my state and my planet.”

“You are intruding on Saturn space,” the officer repeated firmly. “Turn back. We are giving adequate warning.”

I stared him in the eye. “Please state your rank and identity. We are rebroadcasting this exchange to Jupiter for use by the uncensored news media and wish to give credit where it is due.”

That did not seem to faze him. “If you do not turn we shall fire on you,” the officer said.

“I am sure that will make excellent news,” I said. “I am Governor Hope Hubris, and the members of my party are my wife Megan, my sister Spirit, my daughter Hopie, and the correspondent Thorley. The others are ship personnel who need not concern you; only we five will make planet-fall at Saturn.”

“We are firing one warning shot,” the officer said.

Indeed, the in-ship report came immediately: “Laser beam at twelve o'clock.”

“Saturn does seem to be competent at holing unarmed ships,” I reminded the officer.

Suddenly the screen went blank. “Bluff successful,” Thorley remarked laconically.

“Even the Saturnines do not knowingly shoot down a governor,” I said.

“But they did hole that passenger ship.”

I only smiled. The truth was, I was not completely certain of my position. Even a peaceful bear, when stung, can strike, and Saturn was not noticeably peaceful. But I believed the odds were strongly in my favor. The Saturnines had known we were coming from the time we left Jupiter; had they really intended to blast us, they would have done so well before this. We were indulging in a pose, a ritual confrontation.

Meanwhile, our ship continued toward the planet unmolested.

Two hours later we were signaled again. “Governor Hubris,” a new officer said. “Please adjust course for orbit at Ring Station; a shuttle will convey your party to Scow.”

“Understood,” I said. This was victory indeed, for Scow was the capital bubble of North Saturn, the seat of government for the Union of Saturnine Republics. They were now accepting our visit.

“If you will pardon the curiosity of a political innocent,” Thorley said with his special brand of irony,

“what guarantees do you have against arrest and execution as a spy?”

“The Governor of Sunshine, former ambassador to the Independent Satellite of Ganymede?” I asked with similar innocence. “Our esteemed president would be forced to make an issue.”

“And you have placed Tocsin in the same bind you have placed Saturn,” he said. “However much he detests your intestines in private, Tocsin can not undermine you in public. This could precipitate Solar War Three.”

“Oh, I doubt it will come to that,” I said in an offhand manner.

He laughed. “One must admire your finesse, Governor, if not your politics. To make the Eagle and the Bear waltz to your tune involuntarily.”

“Finesse does have its compensations,” I agreed.

"Still, I want to advise you in advance that I will be most perturbed if this leads to my obliteration in SW

III."

“I will take your perturbation under advisement at that time.”

“You characters would make light of Sol going nova tomorrow,” Spirit muttered.

Thorley raised an eyebrow. “Indeed, there would be much light then!”

We decelerated and moved to the Ring Station, which was situated inside the orbit of the rings proper.

We docked and our limited party transferred to the U.S.R. shuttle ship. The crew of our yacht would wait until we returned, confined to the ship. We were conducted by grim non-English-speaking troopers that made Hopie quite nervous; she stayed very close to Megan, hanging on to her hand. In due course we were in the giant bubble of Scow. The adults were guarded about reactions, but now Hopie was thrilled. She had never before been to a city-bubble of this size. Of course, once we got into the internal labyrinth, it was difficult to distinguish it from any other, except for the Cyrillic printing on the signs.

We were ushered into a private chamber where three Saturnines sat behind a long table. One of them was Khukov. He stood up and leaned over the table to shake my hand. “Welcome to Saturn, Governor Hubris,” he said in English.

“Good to meet you again, Admiral,” I replied in the same language, noting his elevation in rank. His career was evidently proceeding apace.

“Please be seated, Governor Hubris—you and your party. We have much to discuss.”

“Indeed we do, Admiral. Are you empowered to arrange for reparations?”

“What is he saying?” one of the others asked in Russian.

“He is demanding reparations,” Khukov explained in that language.

“Reparations!” the man repeated indignantly. “Tell him we'll execute him and his disreputable party first!”

Khukov smiled at me graciously. “The Commissar wishes to reassure himself that your party is quite comfortable. He is eager to change your status if you are not.”

I returned the smile. “Certainly, for the moment,” I agreed. Then, in Spanish, I said to Spirit, “These characters haven't decided how to handle us.”

“Then demand more than we can get, so we have a fallback position,” she replied in Spanish.

“Now I am sure you are reasonable people,” Khukov said in English. “You know we cannot make reparations!”

“Promise them a nice tour of the city,” the Commissar muttered in Russian. “Him and his bastard child.”

They didn't know that I knew Russian—or they were testing me. I was sure that Khukov had not told. I showed no comprehension. “Reparations and an apology—and the bodies,” I said firmly in English.

“Everybody in the System knows his wife was already beyond bearing age when he married her,” the third Saturnine remarked in Russian, chuckling. “She was a fool to adopt the spawn of his mistress.”

“My companions are not sanguine about that,” Khukov said. “You know it was a spy ship.”

“You know your gunners got trigger-happy and shot down a civilian ship by accident,” I retorted.

“And now the fools are locked into their error,” Spirit said in Spanish.

Khukov glanced at her, nodding.

“He understands Spanish!” she hissed, alarmed.

“Now how could that be?” I asked her blandly.

She shook her head. “I don't know! But—”

“He speaks Spanish no more than I speak Russian,” I told her, and turned to face Khukov. Thus did I advise him that I had not broken faith; I had not even informed my sister of our private deal.

I felt Spirit's eye on me. She was catching on now—to both parts of the deal. She made no further comment.

“Let us communicate as clearly as we can, in our circumstances,” Khukov said to me in English.

“Perhaps it is possible for planets as far apart as ours to achieve some compromise that will benefit both.”

“One would hope so,” I agreed.

“Naturally the loyal Saturn forces could not have made an error, even if the vessel did resemble in outline a type of Jupiter cruiser,” he continued. “They holed a spy ship. It cannot be otherwise. Yet we concede the possibility that some civilians were aboard, and we bear no animosity toward those unfortunate victims of imperialist deceit.”

“Then you will return our bodies to us,” I said.

“As a gesture of goodwill by the magnanimous Union of Saturnine Republics—”

“And so forth,” I agreed. “And the apology?”

“Apology!” the Commissar exclaimed in Russian, evidently picking up my meaning. “The foolish Jupiter lackey should apologize to us for smirching our space! Tell him to eat canine offal!”

“For abating the menace of the spy ship we should apologize?” Khukov asked me in English.

“Tell the Communist clown to go spy his own posterior,” Spirit told me in Spanish, picking up the nature of this dialogue. Hopie stifled a giggle, and Megan frowned; she had learned enough of the language to grasp the insult.

“For mistaking a strayed civilian ship,” I said in English, without hint of humor.

Khukov shrugged. “Suppose we apologize for underestimating the foolhardiness of your blundering attempt to spy on our planet?”

“Let's go on to reparations,” I suggested.

“Reparations!” the Commissar exclaimed in Russian. “Let's just line the whole troupe up against the wall for trainee laser practice!”

“And trigger System War Three!” Khukov snapped back at him in Russian.

“Why? His own capitalist president ordered him to turn back, calling him a fecal-face!”

So they had intercepted that transmission, too. Tocsin's privacy coding had not been effective against the spy mechanism of the Saturnines.

“His president is the worst of the running dogs,” Khukov replied. “Naturally he threw a fit when the governor refused to turn back, because it showed him up for the bumbling ass he is. We can best affront Tocsin by catering to Hubris.”

Slowly the Commissar smiled. “True! True! It is the big poison we want to deal with, not the little one.”

Poison—that was probably a play on the pronunciation of Tocsin as “toxin,” though it could have derived from a confusion in translation. Certainly they didn't like Tocsin!

Khukov returned to me, in English, “The government of Saturn has deep concern for the common people of any planet. Perhaps we could provide funds to facilitate the proper burial of those who have been so far exploited by the capitalists that they lack the money to accomplish this themselves.”

I nodded, accepting the pretext for the payment of money. This was more of a concession than I had expected; Khukov evidently had the real authority here. “For burial,” I agreed.

He smiled grimly. “Your president will be pleased, no?”

Spirit, Megan, and even Hopie smiled, and Thorley coughed. The Commissar chuckled. All knew that Tocsin would be privately furious at my success but would not dare to disparage it openly.

Khukov and I shook hands formally, sealing the understanding. “And while we wait for the arrangements to be complete, we shall give your party a welcome that will please your president even more,” he said.

Then I stood and shook hands with the Commissar. “You are lucky, you imperialist cur,” he said in Russian, smiling broadly. “You should have been executed, and your cuckolded wife and bastard child, too.”

“And you irritate my penis, you ignorant double-dealing pederastic Bolshevik,” I returned in Spanish with just as broad a smile.

Khukov almost visibly bit his tongue. “It is nice to overhear the exchange of such sincere remarks between supposed adversaries,” he said in English. “I'm sure you hold each other in similar esteem.”

“Why do I get the feeling I'm missing something?” Thorley murmured.

“You're not missing anything,” Spirit returned darkly.

They gave us an official welcome that was more reminiscent of that accorded the head of a major planet than an uninvited intruder. But, of course, they had to make it seem as if this had been their idea; it was a matter of face. There was a banquet with distinctly unproletarian trimmings. Megan and I were fêted at the head table with the high-ranking dignitaries of the supposedly classless Saturn society, while Spirit and Thorley and Hopie had a table with the ranking wives. There were translators to render the remarks of the hosts into English. After that there was—would you believe it?—a parade in our honor. We rode under a massive, red, hammer-and-sickle banner while the enormous crowd cheered. I was almost afraid they would begin chanting “Hubris! Hubris!” but at least we were spared that.