The Iron Maiden (39 page)

Music played. A young Hispanic woman walked out. There was another murmur, for not only did she appear to be sixteen, she wore a patchwork dress of exactly the kind legend said the original had worn the day she married and died. On an ordinary day she might have been average or pretty, but in this context she was verging on beautiful. Spirit was astonished at the likeness; she was the only person here who had actually known Helse, and this girl did favor her. In fact the similarity was painful; Spirit had loved Helse too, in her fashion, and never quite gotten over her loss. Helse had taught her to play the part of a boy--and to be a woman. To appreciate both the romantic and practical uses of sex. O Helse!

She came to the basin of ashes, hesitated, then licked her forefinger, touched it to the basin, lifted a thin film of powder, and put the finger in her mouth. Applause broke out; Helse had partaken of the Tyrant, making him one with her.

The girl stood as if about to faint, an expression of awe on her face. Then Thorley stepped forward and took her elbow, guiding her to a dais behind the basin. He left her standing at its edge. She faced the throng as he returned to his station. Now it could be seen that her face was wet with tears. She was not the original Helse, but she was overwhelmed by the significance of the moment. So were the watching women; many of them were crying similarly. Never had love seemed so young or tragic.

“Spirit Hubris, his sister, The Iron Maiden.” The music played again, this time her song: “I know where I'm going, and I know who's going with me; I know who I love, but the dear knows who I'll marry.” For much of her life she had been nicknamed “The Dear” by those who suspected how deep her love for her brother really was. There was another murmur, this time of surprise, as she walked to the basin. But this, too, was a relief; another dark secret had been abated. She was, indeed, one of Hope's women, in the special sense. She touched her finger to the powder and licked it off, partaking of her brother.

Suddenly she felt his presence beside her, almost tangibly. She dared not look, for fear the presence would dissipate. “It must not end here, my sister, my love,” he told her, and kissed her on the cheek. She thrilled to his touch, as always. He was the dreamer, she the practical one, but he had always been her dream.

“My brother, my love,” she murmured. Then it struck her with full force: her brother was dead. She had been too busy to allow her private feelings rein, but now they governed.

A hand took her elbow. It was Thorley, guiding her to the dais. That was just as well, because she could not see her own way there. She was blinded by tears. She leaned for a moment against his shoulder.

“He's gone,” she said. “He was so much a part of me, all my life. I lived for him. How can I live without him?”

“You must, for the sake of the Dream,” he replied. “That all he lived and worked for be not lost.”

“Of course.” That was so obvious, once enunciated.

She found herself standing beside Helse. Then she was hugging Helse, and their tears were mixing. Fifty five years had peeled away, and she was there in the bubble with her first woman friend. “He was my first love,” she sobbed.

“Mine too,” Helse sobbed in response. And of course it was more than true. “I mean, I know I'm not really her, but somehow--”

“You are her,” Spirit reassured her. “That's the way it was, with him. Helse came back to him in the form of other women, to help him do what he needed to do. Now he needs to die. Helse is with you.”

“Yes!” she agreed gratefully. Then: “That was how it was with you?”

“I was twelve,” Spirit said. “Helse made me a woman, for him. But I loved him too.”

“Of course. When I tasted the ashes, I--I felt him enter me. I mean--”

“Not merely in the mouth,” Spirit said. “You are a woman.”

“I am a woman. First with him.”

Spirit nodded. The girl had experienced an orgasm as she tasted Hope's ashes. It was understandable.

“He made many women. None ever truly loved elsewhere, after him. We refer to them as orbiting him.”

“I'm in orbit,” Helse agreed.

“Juana Moreno, his first military roommate/wife, the Used Maiden,” Thorley announced, and the music was “Early one Morning,” with the refrain “Oh don't deceive me, Oh never leave me, how could you use a poor maiden so?” For Hope had lived with her without marrying her; enlisted personnel could not marry. The nickname was humorous, but she loved it.

Spirit tried to blink her eyes clear. Through the wash of tears it seemed that Juana was sixteen again, the lovely girl Hope had been put with when each of them had had trouble with the introduction to the Navy Tail. Hope had not wanted to sully the memory of Helse by being intimate with any other woman, and gentle Juana had been raped by pirates and afraid of sex. They had worked it out, but only after coming to mutual understanding. She had been his loyal supporter from that point on, and Spirit had always liked her.

Juana arrived at the dais, and her face too was wet. Spirit embraced her and kissed her. “You were good for him,” she said.

“Thank you.”

Then Helse hugged her too. “Are you in orbit?” she asked.

“Oh yes, dear! Always.” Juana glanced at Spirit, catching on to the transformation the girl had experienced. “Some of us loved elsewhere, and married, but we never left Hope's orbit.”

“Or he ours,” Spirit said.

Juana nodded. “That time he was hallucinating, and I took him on--I think he knew it was me.”

Helse was perplexed. “He wasn't supposed to?”

“He was an officer then. I was enlisted.”

“Oh. But he still loved you.”

“Always,” Juana repeated. “He loved all of us, in his way. But he was loyal to his current woman, whichever one that might be.”

“Emerald Sheller, his first full military wife, the Rising Moon.” Now the music was “For the pikes must be together, with the rising of the moon.” Emerald walked forth, now seventy but retaining military bearing.

She tasted the ashes, was overcome, and was guided to the dais. Her face was as wet as any. “Damn it, I thought I was over that,” she muttered as she joined them.

“You're a woman,” Juana said, smiling sympathetically. “Always in orbit.” Then they all hugged her.

“Roulette Phist, his pirate wife, The Ravished.” The music played her song “Rue.” Roulette, in her late 50's, remained a stunningly proportioned woman, and she had dressed the part. But she too was overcome when she tasted the ashes. She too had to be led to the dais.

“He's there!” she exclaimed. “He made me cry.”

“He made you cry,” Spirit agreed. Rue had sworn never to cry for another man, and as far as Spirit knew, she hadn't.

“Megan Hubris, his final wife,” Thorley announced, and there was new music. She was seventy five, still a stately woman, her hair turning gray. The throng broke into a cheer; they knew her as the best of women, and the erstwhile leader of the resistance that temporarily overthrew the Tyrancy. She too tasted the ashes, and seemed about to faint.

Thorley caught her and steadied her, and guided her to the dais. “Oh, dear,” she said. “I did not mean to make a spectacle of myself.”

“He touched you,” Spirit said.

“He touched me. Now he is gone, and I think I do not wish to continue.”

“But you must,” Helse said. “You were his truest love.”

Megan looked at the girl, and suddenly Spirit saw the likeness of their faces. It was as if the one were the grandmother of the other. That likeness had caused Hope to seek Megan, after he lost Helse. It had been a foolish pursuit, but he had never relented, and in the end had brought her into his orbit too.

“Not as true as the rest of you,” Megan said. “I opposed him.”

“'I could not love you half as much, loved I not honor more,'” Emerald said, quoting. “You loved honor more. He always respected that. He loved you best.”

“I had to separate from him, but I could endure as long as I knew he was all right. But now he is dead, and my life has no further meaning.”

“But the Dream continues,” Spirit said. “You must live to see the Dream realized.”

“And you remain,” Megan agreed. “And Hopie. You are correct; I must endure. But it is so empty without him.”

“Oh, yes!” Helse breathed.

“Come cry with us,” Juana said. “It is what we have in common.”

Megan considered. “I believe I will.” Then they clustered around her, and all of them cried again.

“Shelia,” Thorley announced. This time a woman in a wheelchair came forth--and she did bear a passing resemblance to Shelia. “Represented by her niece, who loved the Tyrant during his madness.”

“Her niece?” Megan asked, surprised.

“Her sister's daughter,” Spirit said. "She suffered a similar accident, but Shelia's example gave her courage. When Shelia died, she came to apply for her position, and I would have hired her, but his madness was upon him. Instead of interviewing her, he loved her and let her go. Then the Tyrancy ended.

She went to work for the Shelia Foundation, and has benefited by it. Now it is a decade later, and she has her chance. She will work for me."

“Of course,” Megan said. She had known about the “staff privileges” and had never seemed to resent them. She had known the three staff women well, and respected them, as they respected her.

The wheelchair arrived. “Welcome, Shelia,” Megan said, and bent down to kiss the woman.

“Thank you, Megan.” She, too, was crying. “When I tasted the ashes--”

“We know,” Helse said.

“I was you, when he took me the first time,” Shelia said. “And I was Shelia when he took me again, just now.”

“We were all Helse, at first,” Megan agreed.

“Coral,” Thorley announced. “The Tyrant's bodyguard.”

“And lover,” Megan said. “I would have let her have him earlier, had there been a way. She had such a good body.”

Now Spirit was surprised. “You thought he wanted her body rather than yours?”

“I thought he deserved it. I--was older, and too reserved. It was not fair to him. But he would not stray, while we were together.”

Coral arrived at the dais. “I killed you,” she said to Shelia. “But he would not let me join you in death.”

“Nor should you have,” Shelia said. “It was an accident.”

“And I was not there to protect him, and he died.”

“None of us could protect him, in the end,” Roulette said.

Then Ebony joined them, and Amber. The girl seemed hesitant, but the others welcomed her. “We all understand,” Juana said.

“I couldn't help myself,” Amber said. “I was young, and he--”

“Age is irrelevant,” Megan said. “He was the planet, we the satellites.”

“But he didn't pursue me. I pursued him. I sent him feelies.”

“Honey, he didn't pursue nobody but Megan,” Ebony said. “We were all hot for him from the start. To be a woman was to want him, and if he agreed, you were his.”

“I was his,” Amber agreed.

“Dorian Gray,” Thorley announced. “Represented by her son Robertico.” There was a wash of laughter through the crowd, to have a man as one of the wives. But it was a laugh of understanding, not derision.

He was the closest relative, and this was his right.

It occurred to Spirit that Dorian Gray should have come before the three staff members, because Hope had been intimate with her first. But of course they had known him more than a decade before they became his lovers. It was a judgment call.

Robertico tasted the ashes, and joined the group on the dais. “She was my mother,” he said simply. “But I like to think of him as my father, and Hopie as my sister.” He glanced at Amber. “And you, Amber.”

Amber embraced him. “Little brother,” she said. “You were always my family, when I finally had a family.”

“Reba Ward, mentor and mistress,” Thorley announced.

There was another judgment call! The woman of QYV had associated with Hope for thirty years, usually indirectly, and of course had fallen into his orbit. She had been instrumental in forwarding his military and political career, but had had sex with him only once. But yes, she counted.

“Tasha, the mole.” No one had any secrets, for this occasion. Hope's Saturn attractive secretary walked out to taste the ashes.

“Doppie, assistant on the inner planets.”

As far as Spirit knew, Doppie had never had sex with Hope. She had substituted for Spirit, emulating her during her absence, serving as secretary, and that was all. But perhaps she had managed to be with him, or had said that she had, to qualify for this occasion. Did it matter?

“Fortuna Foundling, the muddy diamond, represented by another anonymous orphan from Amnesty Interplanetary.” And the final woman came forth, looking ordinary until she tasted the ashes. Then she transformed, as all of them had, and a patina of scars seemed to form on her face. She joined them, and she did resemble Forta.

“Hello, Megan,” she said, as if greeting an old friend. “Hello, Spirit. I am glad I could be with you, this moment.”

“You were his last,” Spirit said.

“Yes, I died with him. But he loved all of us.”

“And you emulated the others of us,” Emerald said, “So that he could be with us again even if we could not be with him physically.”

“Yes. He did not like being apart from you. Any of you. But at the end he did accept me, also.”

“You certainly deserved it,” Megan said, and the others nodded agreement.

Tasha was looking at Forta. “I knew you. Before he took you.”

“Yes.” Forta smiled. “The manacles.”

“It was the only way.”

This continued eerie. How had the new Forta known about that aspect? But Spirit realized that such things were on the comprehensive record.

“Now the fifteen who wifed the Tyrant are united,” Thorley concluded. “Their dialogue is their own. The rest of you will form a line for the tasting, and depart. Thereafter others may come if they wish, men included, until the ashes are gone. Then this ceremony will be ended, with the Tyrant made a part of all of you. He loved all of you.”

They watched the line form. There was no pushing; it was completely orderly. Each woman came to the bowl, dipped her finger, and put it to her mouth as she moved on. As far as Spirit could tell, all of them were weeping--and all of them assumed expressions of awe as they tasted. The Tyrant was with them.