The Iron Maiden (20 page)

“And I love you, Spirit, idiot that I am.”

“We are both idiots. Idiots in love.”

“May I make a confession?”

“It seems to be confession time.”

“You have brought delight back into my realm. I am not speaking sexually. Had I at this moment the ability to go back in time and eliminate the injury that brought you into my life, I would not do it.”

“Nor would I, though I would spare you the pain of it if I could.”

“Yet we know that this must soon end, and never be acknowledged elsewhere.”

“I know who I love, but the dear knows who I'll marry,” she murmured.

“You are my dear.”

Thereafter their affair was full-blown. They made love in the chair, on the bed, in the shower, and on the floor, to Thomas's disapproval. They did it in the daytime, evening, and in the middle of the night when they happened to wake. Thorley's responses were slow at first, but steadily quickened, until he seemed to be fully normal. Between times they spoke of love, and kissed, and embraced, and teased and tickled each other like children.

But always they knew and accepted that it was temporary, and would end when Thorley's wife returned home. That was in fact one reason for its abandon: they had to do in a limited period what should have taken a lifetime.

Thorley's repute as a conservative columnist increased greatly, because of his recent notoriety. More media outlets signed up for his byline, and there was more income from the existing ones. His act had been good for his career, and Spirit was glad for him, though she agreed with few of his positions.

Sometimes she teased him about that: “You would be a better lover if you endorsed weapons control.”

“How so?” he asked as he penetrated her body.

“You would have more control for your gun.”

“All I need is a bit more target practice.”

“That must be true, because you haven't worn out this target yet.” She clenched on him, bringing the culmination.

“It is a quality target.”

Meanwhile Hope Hubris won the election, profiting from his share of the notoriety. He became a state senator, and thus a further target for Thorley's poisonous pen. But the private relationship between the two men had changed.

Thorley's wife's sister finally died, and his wife returned to Jupiter. Spirit collected her things and made ready to move out. “It is over,” she said as she transformed to Sancho, as she always did before leaving the apartment.

“It is over,” Thorley agreed.

“I love you.”

“I love you.”

Then they couldn't help themselves; they made love standing by the door. “You had better not let anyone catch you having sex with a boy,” she said mischievously as he climaxed.

“Only with a glorious woman,” he agreed.

They cleaned up, kissed, and she left. Only when she was well clear did she find a private spot and let the tears flow.

She returned to join Hope, who had hired a Gofer named Ebony, a black woman without pretensions. It was clear that Ebony was already in Hope's orbit, utterly loyal.

Megan welcomed her back. “We missed you.”

“It took his wife longer to return than expected.”

Shelia, savvy for her age, took one look at Spirit and caught on. “But he had a Navy wife in the interim.”

“It's over.”

But it wasn't over. Hope made it a point to inform Thorley of any political news that might interest him, regardless of its sensitivity. Sancho became a courier for it. She left a message with his service: Sancho.

They had arranged a rendezvous site, where she handed over a briefcase.

But when they were alone, everything changed. Wordlessly they kissed and embraced, and found a position for clothed sex. They didn't dare speak, for it was not possible to know who might overhear, or what recorders might be in the vicinity. They could not afford to dally long, for similar reason. So in a few minutes they were done and parted, their efficient act substituting for the words they could not speak.

This continued for months. They simply could not terminate their love. But they were able to keep their secret.

As Spirit was to determine later, on the day Hope hired a female bodyguard named Coral, Spirit conceived a baby. She had never thought to take any contraceptive precaution, for all the men of space were sterile, and Thorley was childless. She had just assumed that he was sterile too. Now she knew better.

She told him. They found a sound-secure spot and discussed it. “I can abort it,” she said.

“I cannot countenance that!” he protested. She had known it; he was conservative on this score too, of course.

“But neither can I keep it.”

He was in agony. “This is true. Your brother's career and mine would both be ruined by the scandal. Yet it is not possible to give up such a blessing.”

“Blessing!”

“A child of yours. How can it be other than blessed?”

“And of yours. Oh, Thorley, I want it! There has to be a way.”

He considered, then nodded. “There may be. Confide in Megan.”

“But I wouldn't inflict her with such a burden!”

“One day we must debate whether a child of love can ever be a burden.”

So Spirit, having no choice, broached Megan. “I will adopt it, of course,” Megan said without hesitation.

“But a bastard baby--”

“There are no bastard babies, only bastard adults--and I think this is not the present case. This is as close as I can ever get to having a child by Hope.”

Suddenly Spirit saw it. “Hope's bloodline!”

“Hope will want it too. We must arrange anonymous confinement for you until the time.”

Thus it was that Thorley and Megan found rare agreement, and when the time came, Hope and Megan adopted Spirit's baby. They named her Hopie Megan Hubris.

Hopie

“It wasn't just that the bloodline is mine,” Hope remarked to Spirit privately. “It is also Thorley's. He took the shot meant for Megan. She remembers.” In the complications of the situation, Spirit had lost track of that aspect. Of course Megan would value that child. It was her way of repaying Thorley for his formidable service to her.

But it was quickly apparent that Hopie was also wanted for herself. Megan had evidently missed having a family, and plunged into the sudden new business of motherhood with rapture. Hopie had the very best of attention and care from the outset. Spirit was now peripheral, but she could see it happening. There simply could not have been a better placement for this baby. Spirit herself was welcomed as “Aunt Spirit,” and given free access, but she kept it minimal for fear of betraying the secret.

Hope himself was a marvel. He delighted in his daughter, and was pleased when others suggested that she resembled him. Of course political enemies suggested that Hopie was his bastard child by some unknown Saxon woman, and he accepted that too. “Show me that woman.” They were of course unable, though there were several claimants. Hope knew that as long as others were looking for a Saxon woman, they would never find the true mother. In this way he protected Spirit's secret, and she truly appreciated it. The really amazing thing was that no one thought to remember that Hope, as of former man of space, was sterile.

The child was a delight. She did favor Hope, perhaps because he gave her so much time that she picked up his little mannerisms. She seemed to have an eerie rapport with him, knowing where he was without being told, and crying when he suffered any pain, though they were in different cities at the time. But that took time to manifest, and was always subtle; perhaps even as an infant she learned discretion.

She was also a favorite of the office. Shelia watched her when necessary, and it seemed that she, too, liked the notion of a baby. Shelia herself could never have one of her own. Ebony, as gofer, toted the baby from place to place, seeming quite satisfied. Even Coral, the martial artist from Saturn, liked to be involved. Every woman, it seems, liked a baby, but it was more than that; Hopie seemed to share some of Hope's magic of personal magnetism.

When Hopie was one year old, there was a storm. “Storm watch,” Megan announced, viewing the news while she fed Hopie her bottle.

“Watch?” Neither Hope nor Spirit were familiar with this, as airless Callisto had never had storms.

“It could strike this area within thirty-six hours.”

“It can't hurt this bubble, can it? A little rain?”

She didn't comment. She just tracked the weather reports.

Next day it was a storm warning. “It could strike within a day,” Megan said worriedly. “I think we had better take refuge in Ybor.” She sounded genuinely concerned, so they packed the auto-bubble for overnight, checked out of Pineleaf, and blew out to the highway leading to Ybor. Spirit was on other business, but learned about their scary trip later. Hope drove while Megan held little Hopie in her arms.

The baby evidently picked up the tension, for she began to cry and would not be pacified. But they were stuck for the drive, however long it took. The traffic was slow, and they watched nervously as other bubbles crowded closer to theirs. The velocity of the highway current changed, causing the bubbles to jam in closer yet. There were accidents, which were serious matters in the swirling eddies of Jupiter atmosphere, because to get lost there could be lethal.

They thought they were safe from the storm once they were ensconced in a hotel in Ybor, but they were wrong. They watched on holovision as the storm's approach was recorded. Small bubbles were rocking like chips on a wave of liquid, and large ones were being shoved from their normal positions. The city-bubble of neighboring Pete was struck first. They watched with awe as the cloud layer broke up, dropped down, and enveloped that bubble, lightning radiating.

The holo switched to another locale. “One of the suburbs is moving out of control!” the announcer exclaimed. “It's starting to drop. Power seems to be out--” Then, with open horror: “The gee-shield's failed!”

They watched, appalled, as that small bubble, about the size of Pineleaf, started its fall. Nothing anybody could do could save it now as it spiraled down into the immense and deadly gravity well of the planet. All its occupants were doomed to implosion and pressure extinction.

There was a shudder through the city. The walls creaked. They were encountering the high winds.

Suddenly it was much easier to believe that the hull of the city-bubble could crack and leak, or that the gee-shield could fail.

The power flickered, causing them both to start. “Oh, Hope, I'm afraid!” Megan cried.

“Let me take Hopie,” he said gruffly. Wordlessly Megan gave up the baby and huddled alone on the bed.

He paced around the room, holding the screaming baby, no better at comforting her than he had been with Megan.

Then the door alarm sounded. “Not more bad news,” he breathed, and went to answer it.

It was Spirit. “I would have come sooner, but the traffic--” Then she saw their situation. She reached out her arms, and he handed Hopie to her. “You take care of your wife,” she said, holding Hopie close.

He went to Megan and took her shivering body in his arms. “Spirit is here,” he said, as if that made everything all right.

Megan sat up, listening. “Hopie--”

Hopie had stopped screaming. “She's with Spirit,” he explained. “Now relax.”

“Yes...” she agreed, relaxing.

Spirit supported Hopie close to her bosom and sang her a lullaby. “Sleep, my child, and peace attend thee, all through the night.”

Megan heard. Suddenly she animated. She sat up and joined in, her fine voice filling the room. “Guardian angels God will send thee, all through the night!”

Hope joined in, too. Soon they were singing others, including their Navy identity songs. Spirit sang “I know who I love,” while the baby slept blissfully. She had indeed found love, again--and could not marry. But what sheer bliss it was to hold her baby for these hours. And Hopie had stopped crying when Spirit took her, as if she knew something.

In the morning Spirit was tired but relieved. She gave the baby back to Megan and went her way. She had not had much sleep, but she could handle that, considering the secret joy of the experience. They were all nervously eager to get back to Pineleaf, which had survived merely shaken.

In 2640, when Hopie was four, Hope ran for governor of Sunshine. Spirit returned to be Hope's campaign manager for this effort. Megan remained as his strategist, preferring to take no overt part, but she consulted frequently with Spirit. Shelia knew exactly how much money they had to work with and where their contacts were. Hope's bodyguard and gofer were drafted to handle the details of campaigning; this was the way it had to be, for a lean campaign. Together, these five women decided where the candidate should go and how he should spend his time. Hope said it reminded him of his time as captain in the Navy, when women had mostly run his show, and done an excellent job of it.

What they could afford, it turned out, was a rental train, which was a chain of transport bubbles linked by means of special flexible airlocks and towed by a tug. There was an old dining car converted to residence after being retired from active duty and now used mainly for novelty occasions. It was shaped like a cylinder rounded off at the ends, so as to be aerodynamic; that was important for any vehicle traveling rapidly in atmosphere. They used it to go from city to city, campaigning at each.

Then Hope encountered a new phenomenon that mystified him. Men kept shouting from the audience, interrupting his campaign speeches.

“It's heckling,” Megan explained. “Every politician suffers it eventually. It's a sign of success.”

“Success! They were interfering with my speech!”

Spirit was more practical. “I gather this is a tactic of the opposition?”

“Of course,” Megan said. “Such men are for hire, relatively cheap. But a candidate who is sure of success does not bother with such a minor tactic.”

“I still don't like it,” Hope said. “How can I stop it?”

“Let me consider,” Spirit said.

Megan glanced at her. “I don't think I want to know what you are going to come up with,” she murmured.

They moved through a long highway that was a scenic wonder. It followed the five-bar contour, but the dynamics of the planet and the fringe of the band caused the cloud cover to dip, so that first it loomed low, then intersected the route, so that special fog-cutting buoys were necessary. It was like an eerie tunnel through foam that seemed always about to stifle out. Spirit and Hope gawked, while little Hopie, sat in Hope's lap and shared his enthusiasm; she liked traveling. She was a charming child, and increasingly people were remarking how much she resembled Hope.

As they rose somewhat above the cloud surface the light touching it sharpened the fringe so that it resembled an enormous mountain slope. Rifts in it seemed like reaches of dark water, as Hope explained to Hopie while Megan smiled tolerantly. Thus they were, in their innocent and childlike fancy, driving along a narrow length of land, or a series of islands, bright fragments surrounded by the enormous silent sea. It was like the kingdom by the sea, and Hopie loved it.

Meanwhile, Spirit took note of the hecklers, identifying each. She arranged to touch them with a Navy formula called Mustard Six. This burned like fire when activated by a particular electronic signal but was otherwise quiescent. Hope proceeded with his address, and when the heckling commenced, he said, “I would like to take an impromptu survey. Will all those who harbor un-Jupiterian sentiments please rise and make yourselves known?” Then he switched on the mustard-six activator.

Six hecklers leaped out of their chairs, exclaiming loudly.

After a while the heckling resumed. Hope paused. “Is there by chance any person here whose mother was a baboon?” he inquired, and hit the switch.

Again the six hecklers jumped up, cursing. Hopie clapped both little hands over her mouth, trying to stifle her giggling. This was great sport!

Hope had no more trouble with heckling. But he was as yet too new to the larger political scene, and he lost the nomination of his party. Spirit knew that he could have won had he accepted special interest money. He had paid the usual price for integrity.

But he had attracted national notice, and received an appointment as ambassador to Ganymede. It came about because President Kenson wanted a token Hispanic in his administration, and because no one else wanted this particular assignment. None of them were deluded about the underlying realities of the situation, and it was a good position for a Spanish-speaking politician who might otherwise quickly disappear from the national scene.

Hope received a call from New Wash, inviting him and his family to visit the White Bubble for a private conference. Megan know this was important, and of course they went: Hope, Megan, Spirit and Hopie.

The child was almost five, and ran joyfully around the halls, enchanted by the complex that was the White Bubble. “They're darling when they're little,” the president remarked, smiling. Then he glanced at Megan.

“And beautiful when grown.” That was when Spirit realized that Megan had pulled a string to get Hope an appointment. Hope wasn't pleased when he caught on, but she turned on him that certain wide-eyed stare of challenging innocence, and he was helpless. She could wrap him around her little finger any time she chose, and this was one of the few times she chose.

Ganymede was the historic Cuba, under Communist government, long estranged from Jupiter. But now cautious signals of rapprochement were occurring, and this new embassy was the main one. The announcement generated a predictable furor among opposition party members in Congress, who seemed to hate the very notion of peace instead of war, but they could not stop it.

Thorley's comment didn't help: “The liberal set may be about to experience the end product of its naïveté.” Naturally he considered liberalism to be three-quarters of the way toward Communism and liked to imply that the true liberal would be a Communist if he only had the courage of his convictions.

Spirit chided him for that, when they next rendezvoused. “Liberal-lover,” she whispered as he climaxed within her. He professed to be mortified by the charge.

Hope went to Ganymede with Megan and Hopie, and his three-woman staff, while Spirit remained on Jupiter to caretake his affairs there. There turned out to be disturbing truth in Thorley's prediction, for it seemed that the Premier of Ganymede did not like the embassy, but had been forced to allow it by pressure from Saturn. They were treated like outcasts, in the manner of the Navy campaign against Gerald: nothing overt, but continuously unpleasant. For example, there was a bogus flood of refugees demanding sanctuary, threatening to overwhelm the facilities and generate an embarrassing scene for Jupiter, whose government discouraged such defections. But Hope rose to the occasion by calling their bluff. He put in a call to Emerald, now a Navy Captain, and they played out a scene:

“What can I do for you, Ambassador, that wouldn't gripe your spouse and mine?” For Emerald remained one of Hope's women. Her husband was managing her career with genius, and she was rising to significant power in the Navy, but she would have leaped into bed with Hope if she had the chance.

“You can contact Roulette for me and ask her to approve immigration of approximately one hundred defectors seeking political asylum from Ganymede,” he said. “If the Belt will take them, then I'd like a transport ship dispatched here to pick them up.”

Emerald considered, after the transmission pause. “I'm sure the Belt will take them,” she said. “The Belt is always short of men. I will start the scutwork and have a ship dispatched in forty-eight hours. But, you know, Ambassador, it's not exactly cushy living in the Belt, especially for untrained recruits. How many speak English or French?”

“None,” he responded. “They'll just have to learn. Thank you, Emerald; give my respects to Rue.”