The Iron Maiden (30 page)

Spirit discussed it with Shelia. “What will happen when he catches on?”

Shelia smiled. “We are not jealous of other orbiters.”

“You and Coral and Ebony may not be. But what of Hopie?”

Shelia paused. “Suddenly I feel stupid. That aspect never occurred to me. She'll go nova.”

“And we can't have that.”

“We can't have that,” Shelia agreed, knowing that when Hopie novaed, so would Spirit, and Hope. There could be a dangerous chain reaction.

“Can we send one of them away?”

“And break Robertico's heart? They are like two little mothers to him.”

“And Hope is like a father to the three of them. But if he connects with Amber--”

“And he will connect, in time,” Shelia agreed. "I don't think we can stop it. She is after all a woman-child.

We shall have to facilitate it."

“Facilitate it!”

Shelia nodded soberly. “It is the only way. To guide it so that it happens in a way that Hopie can accept, if that is possible.”

Spirit didn't like this, but knew Shelia was right. “You have a way in mind?”

“Not yet. Give me a day.”

In a day--Shelia was ever prompt in performance--she had it: “A feelie.”

“A feelie will hardly substitute for the real thing!” Spirit protested. “Amber loves Hope, not some sexy actor, and Hope likes real women.”

“I know,” she agreed with half a smile. “But at present Amber does not know what to do with her passion, and Hope does not know she exists as a woman. Let her make a feelie for him: an anonymous female admirer with little experience.”

“She can have no experience, and be a complete woman with him in an instant.”

“Anonymous,” Shelia repeated. “So he takes her for a stranger. He will follow up by feelie, because he'll have no other way. They can go as far as they want, and by the time it turns real, maybe Hopie will be ready to accept it.”

Spirit considered. “A series of feelie exchanges. That might even prolong the courtship, as it were, giving us more time. Time is what we need.” But then another aspect occurred to her: “But suppose she gives it away early?”

“I will impress on her that it won't work unless she remains anonymous. For one thing, she can present herself as any type of women she wishes. She is not yet grown, so may be conscious of that lack.”

“And it will end only when he catches on and names her in the feelie,” Spirit said. “I think you've got it, Shel!”

“I hope so. I will get her started.”

So it was that Amber made a private feelie, edited by Shelia, and Shelia delivered the anonymous message from a female admirer. It was, Spirit understood, extremely simple, with a glowing man figure resembling Hope approaching a cloaked, veiled woman. He glowed because he was lovable; it was a feelie convention. She was completely anonymous, but obviously the one who loved him. That was all; Hope would have to respond by making his own feelie, and lifting the woman's veil. Then whatever face Amber had chosen would be revealed, but not her own.

Hope did respond. His feelie showed him embracing the veiled woman. That was all.

Over the course of three months, the feelie romance became intense. Shelia quietly apprised Spirit of each stage, and Spirit found herself fascinated in the manner of a person watching a scripted romance.

The anonymous woman lifted her veil, and revealed a completely blank face, leaving it to him to define.

He defined it as Helse's face. Thereafter they proceeded, at intervals, to kissing, nakedness, and finally sex. Hope was glad to instruct his innocent paramour in the variations of sex, and she was glad to learn; the action became phenomenally hot. And still he did not catch on.

Then, almost a year after the first feelie, Hope was with Amber in a zoo, and there was an assassination attempt, and the two of them had to hide, soaking wet, clinging together, and he recognized her body from the feelie experience.

He braced Shelia, because he knew she had known all along. “Then you know why she wouldn't tell you,” she said.

“Yes. I would have cut it off at the outset, before--”

“Before you loved her,” she agreed. She didn't make the point that he would have loved her soon regardless. “She needed you--and you needed her.”

“But she's a child!”

“Not any more.”

“What do I do now?”

“Why, you love her, Hope.”

“But she's younger than Hopie!”

“Helse was sixteen,” she reminded him.

“Helse was a woman!”

She nodded agreement. The age of the woman had not really changed; Hope's age had. He recognized the validity of the affair. But he knew he had to clear it with Hopie first.

Hopie did not take it well. “Sex? As in the Navy?”

"Yes.

“With her?”

“Yes.”

“You--she--Daddy, she's younger than I am!” Then she blacked his eye. Coral was near, but did not interfere; she knew this was punishment he had to take.

“And what of Megan?” Hopie screamed.

“Your mother and I are separated. She understands.”

“She's not my mother! I don't know who my mother is! Sometimes I hate her for being secret--and for making me a bastard! Why did you have to do it, Daddy? What was wrong with your wife? You just had to--”

“You misunderstand--”

She slammed him in the nose. The blood flowed from a burst blood vessel. “I'm sorry,” he said. “If you would talk to Amber--”

“I'll talk to her!” she cried. “You bet I will!”

Only then did Coral come to clean him up. Soon she reported the whole thing to Spirit. “Will it pass?”

Spirit asked.

“I think so. Hopie loves him, and Amber.”

“That's the problem.”

“That's the answer.”

She was correct. Hopie braced Amber in a linked feelie session, savagely, but Amber set her back, showing sheer, inchoate, encompassing emotion, such total longing, need, desire, passion, and love that it swept aside all considerations of age, sex, propriety, legality, status, and doubt. Her body might be marginally adult, but her feeling was the essence of womanly abandon.

That ended Hopie's objection. As Coral had said, she did love them both. The two girls embraced, and Amber went from child to lover. No one was more relieved than Spirit. Shelia's ploy had given them time to work it out.

And how would Hopie react when she finally learned the nature of her own genesis? She had cursed Hope for making her a bastard, when it was supportive Aunt Spirit who had done it.

There remained one difficult chore for Hopie to do, however: telling Uncle Thorley. He later messaged Hope, in his eloquent fashion.

I feel it incumbent upon me to advise you of a private interview I had most recently with your adopted daughter, Hopie Hubris. She advised me that you had required her to inform me of a private peccadillo: your passion for a rather young woman in your charge, by name Amber. Now it is your intent to make of this young woman a mistress, she being amenable. The secret passions of any man, I suspect, would embarrass him were they made public. I will keep your secret. I am sure you would do the same for me.

Hopie inquired why she had had to be the one to perform this office of notification. “Because, my dear young woman, the Tyrant wished to advise his leading critic in a fashion which could not be doubted that the object of his amorous intention was not yourself.”

At that point Hopie fled in chagrin. But at least she understood the rest of it. Had news leaked out of the Tyrant taking a young woman of his household as a mistress, the hostile critics could have raised a ruckus that threatened the Tyrancy itself. But that news would not leak out. Thorley did indeed understand.

But it was time for Hope to get out of the public eye, especially while he was with this particular mistress.

Reba Ward had carefully set up a viable alternate identity for him, and now he became Jose Garcia, an ambitious Hispanic who was smart enough but not necessarily patient enough. He had been eased out of his company for being a whistle blower, and was now being given another chance at a new company. He was accompanied by his underage girlfriend. Such liaisons were now approved by the Tyrancy, provided they were verifiably consensual. They would search for natural bubblene bubbles in the atmosphere of Jupiter, hoping to strike it rich with a good discovery.

And, of course, they would indulge in the reality that their feelie romance had emulated. Spirit smiled, thinking about it; Hope had an endless sexual interest in women, and Amber had an endless emotional passion for him. They would work it out.

Meanwhile, Spirit would get on with the effective business of the Tyrancy. She threw herself into it, because she had to remain constantly busy to keep her mind off her desire to have a similarly endless liaison with Thorley. She still got to see him on occasion, but their connections were months apart. It was not nearly enough, but both of them were too prominent to keep many secrets.

Shelia

During Hope's absence, Spirit effectively ran the Tyrancy, and the loyal staff served her. There was no formal declaration, of course; they all knew the situation. Theoretically the Tyrant was nearby, in his office, meeting with a dignitary, seducing a secretary, sleeping--whatever. He did check in regularly, and when his physical appearance was required he put Jose Garcia away for a time and acted as if Hope had never been absent.

Amber maintained similarly private contact with Hopie, who reported that the girl was deliriously happy, had performed sex more ways than she could count, and loved being known as Garcia's ward. Everyone knew what that meant, and she loved having them know. “You must get a man,” she told Hopie. But open and expressive as Hopie was on every other subject, she never commented on that aspect of her life. She did not know about Spirit's affair with Thorley, but had evidently learned how to keep a secret when she had to.

Hopie was also active in the reform of education, evidently getting advice from renegades. One little example made the whole office dissolve. Shelia got hold of a sample first grade reader and read it aloud, as if she were a child practicing. “See Dick run. Run run run.” She turned the page. “Dick runs to Jane's house. Jane says, 'I'll show you mine if you'll show me yours.' Dick says, 'Great!' Then Jane lifts up her dress. Dick looks. Look, look, look!” She looked up, trying to stifle her mirth. “And that's only the beginning!”

“That girl was always mischief,” Ebony said fondly. She and Coral had been like foster parents to Hopie, and loved her little independent ways.

Spirit shook her head. Hopie had certainly reformed the first-grade reader! Her daughter, who had once been so shocked at Hope's relationship with Amber. Surely Thorley had not been responsible for this suggestion; she must have gotten it from Roulette, who was also mischievously motherly to her. “How did Robertico like it?” Robertico was now four, and learning to read.

“He thought it was great!” Shelia said. “He couldn't even handle all the words on the one page, but he wanted to get to the part where Dick showed his. 'See it grow. Big, big, big!' He can hardly wait to be a man!”

Coral and Ebony almost rolled on the floor laughing. “I can't wait for the college edition,” Coral said.

Spirit shook her head. If only all the problems of the Tyrancy were like this. But Hopie was a novice at making mischief, compared to Hope.

Jose was Hope's anonymity, but the competence and personal skills of the man could not be denied, and Jose became known in his own right. When a riot developed in Cago Bubble, and the mob elected a spokesman, lo, it was Jose. Spirit was not completely surprised. Now a mob had taken over the mayor's office and was holding him and his staff hostage for city reforms, starting with the Pop-Null program.

That was the population control program, necessary because bubble space was limited, as were air, water, food, and the other essential aspects of life support. But the ordinary people wanted the right to breed as freely as they chose.

The Cago administration appealed to the Tyrant, and Spirit took the necessary action. Because the mob had threatened to murder the mayor and his staff if any attempt were made to rescue him, and because it had the power and evident incentive to do it, she acted indirectly. A valve was opened in the hull of the city-bubble, and the Jupiter atmosphere started leaking in. It would take some time for the pressure to rise significantly, but there was horror the moment this was announced. The pressure of the external atmosphere was a terror, and any break in the integrity of the hull was alarming. The valve was filtered, so that no actual poisons entered, but still, the threat was potent.

“The valve will be closed when the mayor of Cago and his staff are released unharmed and the offices vacated without vandalism,” the Navy officer in charge of this proceeding announced on the city address system. “By order of the Tyrant, via the Iron Maiden.”

That demonstrated the tough-mindedness of the Tyrancy, as was necessary; no one respected an easy authority. But the mob would not readily relent; it had broad public backing. This was when Jose came to the fore. This was not really his choice, Spirit knew; he was simply the natural choice of those who knew him, so he had been unable to decline. People trusted him.

Contact was made. The White Bubble connected to the screen in the Mayor of Cago's office. The mayor was shown bound in his chair, and looked somewhat the worse for wear.

“I am Jose Garcia, of Jupiter Bubble,” Hope said. “May I speak to the Tyrant, please?”

The clerk at Spirit's end kept a straight face. Of course the average citizen could not call in and be put right through to the Tyrant! “One moment, sir; I will put his secretary on.”

Shelia appeared. She, too, kept a straight face, but of course she recognized Hope. “I am Jose Garcia,”

he repeated. “I have been selected to negotiate for the City of Cago, and if I could perhaps talk to the Tyrant--”

“The Tyrant is not available at the moment,” Shelia said smoothly. “However, the Iron Maiden may--”

“Not her!” he said quickly. Everyone knew why: the Tyrant was known to be by far the softer touch.

Spirit smiled, unseen.

“Then if you will describe your business further, Mr. Garcia, I will try to determine whether a direct interview is warranted.”

“Señora, this is important. Twenty people have died, the mayor is held hostage, and the city is under siege by order of the Tyrant. I must talk to him directly!”

One of the mob leaders whispered to him, evidently urging caution. That was a good sign.

“We are aware of the situation in Cago, Mr. Garcia,” Shelia said. What a pleasure to see her poise! “I can relay your statement to the Tyrant.”

Jose became visibly excited. “More will be killed if something is not done. If the Tyrant cares at all for the common man, as I do...”

Shelia didn't respond immediately, taking stock. “Let me check,” she said, glancing down at her console.

Then: “The Tyrant is tied up in a meeting he cannot leave at the moment, but he is cognizant of the situation in Cago and will negotiate privately through me, if it can be kept brief. Will your party accede to that, Mr. Garcia?”

Jose turned to the mob leaders. “This is the Tyrant's personal secretary,” he said. “Is it satisfactory to deal through her?”

The mob leaders exchanged glances. “We care only about results,” one said. “If she can deliver--”

“I repeat,” Shelia said, “the Iron Maiden is available, and has authority to--”

“The secretary's okay!” a mob leader said. Spirit smiled again. Shelia had such a nice touch.

“The trouble started because of the Pop-Null program,” Jose said to Shelia. “The women here want their babies.”

“If they get their babies,” she replied, “then every other woman on the planet will want hers, and all the ills of overpopulation will return. The Tyrant will not relent on that.”

But Jose had to win a point. “Can the schedule for return be established, so that at least our women know with what they are dealing? The women supported the Tyrant when he sought power, and some reciprocal gesture now--”

Shelia made a show of consulting with her other party. The schedule for the return of babies had already been set but not publicized, pending the appropriate time to announce it.

“The Tyrant agrees that in one year, pending good behavior, permits matching the death rate will be issued in Cago. In two years that will be extended to the nation as a whole.”

There was an intake of breath. Surely the women of Cago would eagerly accept that. But Jose pushed for more. “Those errant police must be put on trial and restoration made.” Behind him the mob members tensed; he had already gotten them much of what they wanted, and they were concerned that he was pushing too far. They were pawns in his expert manipulation.

“The Tyrant will grant permits for births to match the number of deaths resulting from this crisis,” Shelia replied. “An investigation will be made and appropriate action taken.”

“But how can we be sure the Tyrant will keep his word?” he demanded. The implied question about the Tyrant's integrity was not good protocol.

“We accept!” a mob leader cried, shouldering Jose aside.

“But no action to be taken against the people in this room!” Jose exclaimed. “Amnesty--”

Shelia smiled grimly. “Amnesty,” she agreed. “But I think that if you open your mouth again, Mr. Garcia, the Tyrant may reconsider.” Even the mob leaders laughed ruefully.

That ended the occupation of the mayor's office. The mob dispersed peacefully, and the valve was closed, with the other reforms following in due course.

Spirit had been ready to intervene if necessary, exactly as threatened. When the contact broke, she walked to Shelia, bent down, and kissed her. “That's from my brother--and me.”

“It's fun being Tyrant for fifteen minutes,” Shelia confessed.

But not everything ended well. There was a scandal involving Faith Hubris; she had a lover, and he had used her to obtain illicit appointments. Thorley blew the whistle on it, and they had to act. Hope, distracted by his other business, made the decision to go public before he knew the possible complications, though Shelia had tried to caution him. Faith committed suicide. That was a brutal shock to both Hope and Spirit, but they had to suffer their grief in private. In retrospect, it seemed to have been the first wedge in what was to become known as the Tyrant's Madness.

Spirit did manage to be with Thorley thereafter. “I wish I could assuage your grief,” he said. “And to expunge my part in it. I assumed the matter would be handled privately.”

“It should have been,” she agreed. “But we have so many things going on, we didn't give it proper thought. It's not your fault.”

“Still, if I had it to do over, I would choose another avenue. She was a good woman, guilty only of naïveté.”

“As were we all!” she agreed emphatically. “All this time, it was my brother's death I feared. It never occurred to me that my sister would be the first to go.”

“All this time, it has been your demise I feared. I have survived living apart from you; I do not think I could exist without you.”

“Spoken like a true married man,” she said bitterly. Then, immediately regretting the wound she was inflicting, she reversed. “I didn't mean that!”

“It is nevertheless true. I am a hypocrite. I do love my wife, but--”

She covered his mouth with her fingers. “I know you do. We are caught up in what we should never have started and now can't end. If I could go back--”

“You would unmake your daughter?”

And there went that. “No, of course not. Can we escape in mindless passion for a moment?”

They did that, but it was effective for only that moment before the grief returned.

Then came the hostage situation. A radical fringe group abducted a Jupiter ambassador and held him hostage, demanding release of what it called political prisoners.

“What's the word on those prisoners?” Spirit asked Shelia.

In moments Shelia had the information. “They are common criminals, guilty of assorted crimes including attempted murder. They are slated for terms in deep space. It would not be fair to release them.”

“It would not be expedient in any event,” Spirit said grimly. “The Tyrancy will not capitulate to terrorist threats.”

Shelia sent the Tyrant's response, via the Iron Maiden: no releases. Set the ambassador free unhurt, or there would be repercussions.

The terrorists were not fazed. They sent a holo: A hooded man cutting off one ear of the bound ambassador as he screamed in agony. “Release the prisoners.”

Spirit knew this called for stern measures--a demonstration of the Iron Maiden's implacable will. An example had to be made. What would be most effective? She put in a call to QYV: “How do we handle this?”

Reba Ward responded with tough advice. Spirit nodded. It would not be fun, but the alternative would be anarchy.

Within hours close relatives of the terrorists had been quietly taken into custody. Then, under Spirit's direction, the left hands of two of them were cut off. That holo was sent back to the terrorists, together with the hands. Two for one: the Iron Maiden's ratio. Next round, anyone?

It was amazing how quickly the terrorists capitulated. And though that action was not directly publicized, news did leak out. “The Iron Maiden has struck again,” Thorley wrote disapprovingly. “Nevertheless, the sympathy of this pundit is limited for fools. What did they expect? The Iron Maiden is notorious. She had a well-earned reputation in the Navy for ruthless nerve, providing the backbone that her more flamboyant brother lacked. But perhaps the operative example was one of the earliest: when she was but a girl of twelve, a pirate raped her sister and cut off the Maiden's own finger to make her brother cooperate. She got a laser pistol and castrated him, then set him adrift alone in a lifecraft. Woe betide he who crosses the Iron Maiden.” In the guise of blowing the whistle on another atrocity of the Tyrancy, Thorley was doing the Tyrancy's work, spreading the fear of its enforcer.

And across the planet, and indeed the System, the grim reputation of the Iron Maiden increased. Thorley was one of the few who understood that though Spirit did indeed have the nerve to do what she had to do, she hated the necessity. She cultivated the reputation while privately suffering. Only with Thorley himself could she revel in softness, and that only rarely, because they were both public figures.

It was more than five years before the worst tragedy occurred, but in way it seemed like an instant to Spirit. It started with what was known as Big Iron. The iron companies had grown rich and powerful in fair times and foul, because they controlled the single most vital substance in the System: the power metal, iron. It was the only matter that could be handled magnetically. Without it the mechanized civilization would grind to a halt. The metal was intrinsically inexpensive, but somehow its value magnified by the time it reached the black-hole labs for conversion to contra-terrene iron. The same magnets could handle CT iron, moving it without physical contact with any terrene matter, until the time came for its merging with normal iron and total conversion to energy. Iron furnaces provided the energy for every city bubble to function, including its null-gee shielding. Iron engines propelled the Navy space ships. So far, all things considered, nothing better had been found than iron.