Statesman (31 page)

We pushed on, moving slowly through the pebbles and rocks and scattered boulders of the ring, noting how the system was not rigid, but liquid on the larger scale, the inner fragments orbiting faster than the outer ones. Perhaps this was not directly visible, but in my fancy it was; I saw the channeled soup of it, this living substance of the ring. I remembered also the time I had emptied the refuse containers of our little space bubble, as we drifted toward Jupiter; the stuff had gone into orbit, and surely remains there now. These rings of Saturn—could they be the refuse of some ancient alien spaceship, whose creatures needed to unload before departing for home? How ironic, that such beauty should come from such an origin! True, scientists had long since sampled and analyzed the substance of the rings, and pronounced it natural—but who can say what alien refuse might resemble?

Thus my experience in passing through the rings was not the average, but it was worthwhile for me. Now I felt I understood the rings. Perhaps this would help me negotiate with the authorities of Wan.

The Generalissimo of Wan was courteous but firm: his nation would join forces with the Middle Kingdom only by conquering it, as it was his firm intention to do. Of course it has been his intention for thirty years, and his chances of success, should the Jupiter Navy even allow him to try, were practically nonexistent, but that was his attitude. It was a matter of face.

I broached the same argument I had made to the Premier of the Middle Kingdom: Suppose the conquest were in name only, since the rings would need no use of the mainland once they had their own entire system elsewhere in the galaxy. He, too, appreciated the logic. “But,” he pointed out, “the usurper of the Middle Kingdom would never accede to that.”

All too true. But then my genius of insanity, or vice versa, struck. I remembered my dream, and applied it to reality. “If it is only the name that is in question, not the cooperation for mutual advantage—like a marriage for convenience, not for love or procreation—would it not be fair to put it to the decision of fate?” I inquired. Fate would not be precisely the term used here, but I trusted Forta to render it suitably.

“How do you mean?” he inquired.

“Suppose each nation chose a champion,” I said. “A representative, who would meet the champion of the other nation, and the decision of that encounter would bind the nations, without shame or loss of face?” I did not discuss the source of my notion, which was the dream of the ifrits' beauty contest, because I did not believe that was relevant. The point was that the decision could be made vicariously, relieving the leaders of the onus of loss of face.

It took a while to persuade him, but persuasion is a thing I am talented at, and in due course he agreed.

We then returned to the mainland of Saturn, and I broached the notion there. More time elapsed, but in due course we succeeded in hammering out the agreement. Each nation was to choose a champion; the two champions would then be memory-washed, so that neither knew anything of the broader situation, and placed together in a prison with limited supplies. It would be possible for only one to escape, and whichever nation that one represented would win the right to the name of the joint effort and symbolic conquest of the other. Holo cameras would be built into the prison, so that all that occurred within it would be a matter of continuous public record; there could be no cheating. Of course the two champions, their memories lost, would not know this. It promised to be a considerable vicarious adventure. All of the Middle Kingdom and Wan would be tuning in, surely.

The Middle Kingdom selected a champion martial artist: a husky man in his twenties who could kill swiftly in a hundred different ways, and kill slowly in a thousand more. Of course he would not remember this—but even mem-wash could not entirely eliminate the ingrained routines. In any event, he was extremely strong and agile and strong-willed, and it seemed unlikely that Wan could field a champion his equal.

But Wan was smarter than that. It selected a young woman, the fairest flower of her age, stunningly beautiful, skilled in the creative and performing arts and of an endearing disposition. Any man would welcome her as his bride, and probably would do anything for the mere favor of her smile.

“Foul!” cried the Premier, approximately, in Chinese; Forta would not translate the term he actually used.

“There can be no fair combat!”

“Fair,” replied the Generalissimo. “Gender was not specified, only that we select a representative. Let your warrior smash her and take the victory; it is surely within his power to do so.”

The Premier wanted to abort the contest. But his ministers advised him that face could be lost if their side reneged, especially if it seemed that they were afraid to risk their champion against a mere girl. Also, news leaked to the public, together with a holo photo of the girl, and suddenly the imagination of the nation was caught up in the notion of their virile hero having total access to such a creature while they watched. Let him use her, then win the contest by escaping.

So it was set up. They used a honeymoon bubble: an enclosure with supplies for two for one week, rather luxuriously appointed, and a single jet-powered space suit. The two were placed within it unconscious; then the watch began.

It was stupid, I knew, but I found myself riveted to the holo broadcast. Perhaps it was because I knew that my own time was limited, the only question being whether I would accomplish the Dream before I died. It was easy to identify with the situation of the contest. There had to be a decision, and no one could know what it would be. Would the man use his strength to take the suit and escape, or would he defer to the woman and sacrifice himself for her? Would he love her, and would he die for that love? It was his decision to make; he had the power, just as the Middle Kingdom had the power. The question was one of will.

The two woke together, as the equipment of the bubble bathed them in radiation that neutralized the sleep medication. I identified with the man, as I am sure other men did, while the women identified with the woman. I could almost fathom his thoughts, hardly needing my talent to read him.

They had names, and remembered these, though little else. He knew he was from the Middle Kingdom, and she knew she was from Wan, and they knew that these nations were not on friendly terms, but the rest had been taken by the wash. So I will call him King and her Wan, for this narration.

King found himself on a mat on the floor of a tiny bubble. He knew it was a bubble, because he could feel the change in gee as he stood; his head was lighter than his feet. But he could not remember how he had come there.

Quickly he explored. In the next chamber he encountered a beautiful young woman, garbed like a princess, with a jeweled diadem binding back her hair. She looked like Helse. Of course he did not know that; only I knew that. My image of early love is always Helse, just as my image of late love is always Megan. Bear with me; I'm an old man. She stared back at him, startled. “Do I know you?” she asked nervously.

“I don't remember,” he replied. Her dialect differed from his, but they could understand each other.

“ You don't remember?” She glanced about. “I don't remember—anything. How did I come here?”

King did a swift appraisal. “I suspect I have been mem-washed. I don't remember anything since—since my fifth birthday. Is it the same with you?”

She considered. “Yes.” She was evidently uncertain whether she could trust him.

“You are of the rings,” he said.

“Yes. And you are of South Saturn. I can tell by your accent.”

“Our nations are not friends,” he said.

“I have no concern with politics,” she replied. “At least, not that I can remember.”

King looked at her again, already smitten by her beauty. “There is no need for us to be enemies,” he said. “It seems that we have both been washed and left here. Perhaps there is a way out.”

She got lithely to her feet. “Then let us be companions, and see what we can learn of our situation.” She remained somewhat in awe of his evident physical power, deciding that it was the safest course to be polite.

“Perhaps,” he agreed.

They explored their confinement. It turned out to be a beautifully appointed bubble, with the very best in food and beverage and appointments. King surveyed the supplies with a practiced eye, though he could not remember the practice. “One week,” he said. “For two.”

“How much air?” she asked.

He checked the indicators on the bubble's master control. “One week. And one week for power.”

“That means that even if we economize on the food and air, we will perish when the power dies,” she said. “We cannot survive in a sealed bubble without heat.”

“True,” he agreed grimly. “It seems we are prisoners, and our execution date has been set.”

“What could we have done to deserve this?” she asked plaintively. “Treason?”

“We are of two different nations,” Wan protested. “Surely what would be treason for one would be patriotism for the other.”

“Not if we had a treasonous liaison.” She turned on him a gaze of innocence and surmise. “Could we have been lovers?”

“I see you are fair,” King said carefully. “Had you been willing, we could have been.”

She lowered her gaze modestly. With the colonization of the System, many of the old ways had passed, but it was still considered a virtue for a woman to be chaste until marriage.

King busied himself with further checking. He discovered that the lock was operative, but that there was only one general-purpose space suit. It would fit either of them, being adjustable in the limbs and torso, and had a competent locomotion jet; with it, a person could travel a fair distance through space. It also had a locator, which meant that it would tune in on the nearest general-access port. The chances were that a person could reach an inhabited bubble, using this suit.

He explained this to Wan. “I'm sure they would not have provided us with this suit if safety were not within range of it,” he said.

“But there is only one,” she reminded him.

“That I do not understand,” he said.

“It means that only one of us can go,” she said.

“It doesn't matter. That one can fetch help to free the other.”

“Not if we have been condemned for treason.”

“Yet why leave even one suit, then?” he asked.

“To add to the punishment,” she said. “If we were—were lovers, it would hurt either one to leave the other. How would we choose who was to live, and who to die?”

“This is a kind of torture known to my culture,” he said gravely.

“And to mine,” she agreed with a shudder.

“Yet if this is so, why would they allow even one of us to survive?” he asked. “Perhaps there is no refuge within range of the suit.”

“Oh, King, I am afraid!” she said.

He put his arm about her shoulders. “Perhaps we misjudge the situation,” he said reassuringly.

“Then we were not lovers,” she said.

He removed his arm, self-consciously. “Perhaps not.”

She retreated to the sanitary facility. This, at least, was shielded from the holo camera. In due course she emerged. “We were not lovers,” she said.

King paused, assessing her meaning. Obviously she had checked, and discovered herself to be still a virgin. Embarrassed, he turned away.

“I meant no affront,” Wan said quickly. “Only that there must be some other reason for our confinement.”

They completed their exploration of the premises. King was pleased to discover a small but nice collection of weapons on one wall: a long sword, short sword, assorted daggers, and two laser pistols.

Wan gazed at these and shuddered; she had no use for such things. However, there was also a nice collection of cloths and threads, and a modern sewing machine. This delighted Wan, who found that she knew exactly how to use it.

Then Wan prepared a very nice meal from the available supplies, and they ate. Then, discovering no holo news input or entertainment features, they retired to their separate chambers and slept.

Which gave the rest of us a chance to return to mundane matters. So far there had been no sign of rivalry or hostility between the contest participants, just the mutual confusion and search for the reality of their situation. Very little, really, had happened. But how riveting the course of that happening! As long as no decision was forthcoming, no one could rest. All in all, it was a very satisfactory contest, though proceeding along a course that had not been anticipated.

In the morning the two woke and performed their toilets and had breakfast, and discussed their situation.

“Obviously we were put here, and if we were not lovers, perhaps we are being tested,” King said. “It is our challenge to obtain our freedom within our deadline.”

“Then there must be a way,” Wan said.

“There must be a way,” he repeated.

But though they quested all day, they found no way for both to go. They explored every possible avenue, and all came to nothing. Only one could be sure of escape.

They filled in empty hours in their own fashions, staving off the boredom and the fear of their fate. King practiced with the weapons, finding himself marvelously fluent with them, and Wan did dances, her body discovering familiar patterns of motion. King paused in his activity to watch her, making no comment, but his interest was manifest. He was a warrior, true; but it seemed that he also subscribed to a code of honor that prevented him from taking advantage of one who was definitely not a warrior.

It was Wan who, on the third day, caught on. “This is the test!” she exclaimed with dismay. “To see which one of us escapes!”

“To decide some issue between our nations,” he agreed, seeing it.

She lowered her gaze. “I could not prevent you, King.”

He paced the chamber, reflecting. “May I speak with candor, Wan?”

She laughed, but did not look at him. “I cannot prevent you,” she repeated.

“You are fair, and I am smitten with you.”

“That is not the way a man of the Middle Kingdom addresses a woman,” she replied, her color intensifying.