Anthony, Piers - Bio of a Space Tyrant 03 - Politician

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Editorial Preface

1. SUB

2. NYORK

3. YBOR

4. MEGAN

5. DORIAN GRAY

6. THORLEY

7. SENATOR

8. SEDUCTION

9. GANYMEDE

10. CONFESSION

11. PARDON

12. SATURN

13. IMPEACHMENT

14. FORFEIT

15. SPIRIT

16. VISION

17. REBA

18. COUNTERSTROKE

19. WIVES

Editorial Epilog

many of the technical details, such as hard-nosed quid-pro-quo bargaining

or necessary political compromises or tedious research on issues and

rivals. It is evident that his true interest was not in these things, though he

was competent in all of them and always did what he needed to prevail.

Fortunately, much of that material is available in the open record, while the

purely personal aspect is not. It has been too easy for historians to forget

that the Tyrant was in fact an intensely personal man, by no means

arbitrary or cold-blooded in his dealings with others. This volume should

help correct that misimpression, however else it may be faulted. It also

clarifies the basis of such things as the "Sancho" situation, the mystery of

"Dorian Gray," and the secret of how the Tyrant learned to speak Russian,

and it offers hints of his nature that in retrospect make his tenure as the

Tyrant less perplexing. Of course, no one realized, in the period that this

manuscript covers, that he was destined to assume that power. He was

merely a Hispanic politician.

H. M. H.

Chapter 1 SUB

I woke in squalor. The stench tried to choke me; I found myself trying to

were rare, for in this age of space, mankind existed mostly in pressurized

bubbles that orbited in interplanetary reaches or floated in planetary

atmosphere or adhered to the surfaces of moons or fragments. Only in the

last case was there any terrain to delve beneath-and that was generally

used only for secure anchorage, being too precious to waste on mere

people. If someone needed confinement it was easier to put him in a cage

than to excavate a hole in a frozen moon. I was not even cold; the

temperature was neutral. So, if I was buried it was in the bowel of some city

or ship, and others of my kind were close by.

My mind focused on this problem, as I seemed to have nothing better to do

at the moment, and it distracted me from the discomfort of my situation. If I

assumed I was in a city-what city might that be?

Well, where had I last been? Again panic welled up. I could not remember!

My past was blank. I had a general knowledge of solar geography but could

not place myself within it. It was as if I did not exist.

Of course I existed, I reassured myself. I was here, wasn't I? Surely I had

not formed spontaneously in the sludge of the Nile! I was an adult human

being.

hermetically sealed, pressurized to normal Earth-surface atmosphere, spun

to generate centrifugal pseudogravity -simply termed gee-and stocked with

necessary equipment and supplies. Then these bubbles were loaded with

people and shielded from the effect of planetary gravity so that they floated

free of the ground and, indeed, free of the atmosphere. If gravity diffusion is

sufficient to reduce the effective weight of an object to one percent of its

normal weight, a propulsive force of one percent will do the job of lifting that

otherwise requires a hundred percent. That makes it relatively easy to

escape the gravity well of a planet. Of course, mass, as contrasted to

weight, is unchanged; acceleration in space still requires full force. But the

enormous problem of planetary escape had been solved. Man utilized

gravity shielding to spread explosively across the Solar System. He has not

spread out into the wider galaxy because the shielding does not facilitate

that; the ancient Einsteinian limits hold.

When the flow of gravitrons is focused instead of diffused, the effective

weight of an object in that field of focus is increased. In this manner man

was able to generate full Earth-gee in selected spots on the surfaces of

smaller bodies, such as the moons of Jupiter. The city of Maraud, on

Callisto, is an example; I had spent my childhood there. . . .

Memory-washed! Why should such a thing have happened to me? I was

just a poor Hispanic serf who had lost his parents in space, and . . .

Lost my parents? Sudden sorrow swept over me. But again, as I focused it

was gone. Memory-wash is like that; it blots out all recent experience,

leaving only the early, and even that suffers depletion. The victim

remembers the language, culture, schooling, and childhood, but not the

events immediately preceding the wash. Only time could restore it all;

months and years are required for the final details. Mem-wash is an

electrochemical treatment that stuns rather than obliterates the key

processes of recollection, but in the first few weeks it really makes little

difference to the subject. He has been born again in innocence.

Such treatment is, of course, illegal. That meant that I was the victim of

pirates or foreign agents, because ordinary people did not have the

equipment or expertise for such a procedure. I must have done something

or known something that-no, the wash is not a good interrogative

technique, since it obliterates anything an interrogator might wish to know.

So it wasn't any secret that my captor wanted of me.

What, then? It had to be something important but not anything ordinary.

started to do that before, but my mind had wandered, as a washed brain is

apt to do. Suppose I was in a city? Maybe one of the bubble-cities of the

Jupiter atmosphere, floating a current. If so, I should be able to tell my

general location within it by my weight. A spinning sphere is not a perfect

place to reside. Only a narrow band around the inside of the equator of the

bubble can be set at gee; that is, precisely Earth gravity. Of course, this

can be broadened by using a secant, cutting off a segment with a curved

plane-um, I see that seems nonsensical. It's a plane running east-west but

curved north-south or vice-versa; an effectively level band circling the

inside of the bubble, really a cylinder. That cylinder can vastly increase the

area of gee within the bubble, and all of the residential section of a city is

on it. The heavy machinery is mostly below (i.e., farther from the center),

occupying the region of gee-plus, while the gee-minus region above is left

for air and light. So if I were in a cell in such a city, I would be normal

weight only on that surface. In the upper section of a tall structure (one

reaching in toward the bubble-center) I would weigh less, and down in the

nether region I would weigh more. In a small bubble the divergence from

gee is sharp; in a large one, slight. But it is detectable, for the human body

is a finely tuned apparatus and quickly feels the effect of changed gee.

I concluded that I was at or very near gee, for my body felt normal in this

abruptly returned here-immediately after my memory-wash. Was that useful

information? Perhaps not, but I would file it for reference.

The residential level of a city is not a place for private incarceration. For

one thing gee-level is expensive real estate-about a dollar per square foot

per month. That's just for the area, before charges for air, water, light, and

services. Very few individuals would care to waste such area on

excrement. Also, the smell, if it got out, would quickly attract the attention of

a sanitation squad. And what if the prisoner banged on the wall? A secret

operation could not remain secret long.

I was, therefore, probably not in an occupied city. However, there were

agricultural bubbles with animals and manure. One of these might-

Light flared blindingly. I cowered away from it, clamping my eyes

shut, covering them with soiled hands.

A panel above had abruptly opened, illuminating my cell.

"Out, Hubris," a man's voice called. "Time for treatment."

No hand touched me. I suspected this was because I was naked and filthy,

an untouchable. I pushed myself slowly to my feet, my eyes adjusting. My

cell was small, a cube about four feet on a side. I had not tried to stand or

stretch before; if I had done so I would have banged into the unseen limits.

As I got upright I felt light-headed. This could have been from the release

from a cramped position, of course, but it could also signify a lessened gee.

In that case this was no large city or agricultural sphere; it was a small

bubble or a ship. Could I be aboard a naval vessel?

Goaded by the voice, I climbed out of the cell, into a passage. Yes, it was a

ship, gee lessened in the walkway above the cells. I proceeded to a shower

stall where I was efficiently hosed down. All water is recycled, so there is

no waste in a liquid shower, though normally sonic cleaning is used

instead. Obviously strenuous cleansing was required for me. In a moment I

was free of filth. Then the sonics came on, prying free whatever

contamination might remain.

Next, still naked, I was taken to a clean cell whose walls were padded. I

was strapped into a padded chair. I did not like this at all, but it seemed

pointless to resist until I knew more about my situation. If I broke and ran

The man touched another button, and the agony shifted to my right foot,

easing in my left. "That's a torture console!" I gasped, catching on.

The man did not respond. He touched another button, and the pain was in

my right hand. Another, and the left hand. It felt as if my fingers were being

pressed in a vice; in my mind's eye I almost saw the flesh splitting open

and the blood bursting out. Yet I was not being touched.

"You don't need to do that!" I cried. "Just tell me what you want of me!"

The man ignored me. He changed the setting, and it was like being

punched in the stomach. I gasped and fought for breath and tried to retch

all at once, but only succeeded in drooling on myself.

"Why?" I rasped as the pain eased, but there was no answer.

The agony moved into my chest, and I thought I was having a heart attack.

I strained at my bonds, unable even to scream. It felt like eternity but must

have been only a few seconds.

In what way had I gone wrong? How could I avoid further pain? I did not

know.

Why was I here? I did not know that, either. What was my position in life?

That, too, was opaque. My captors seemed to be interested only in

degradation and agony.

At least I now had a clearer notion where I was. Definitely a ship and not a

civilian one. I had spent time in the Jupiter Navy, and ...

There was another fragment of memory. The Navy! But that awareness,

like the others, faded as I realized it. Now all I had was the memory of my

recollection; it was as if someone had told me, "You were once in the

Navy," without providing further detail, so that I had no context.

At any rate, I knew ships, and the little I had seen of this one was enough

to narrow the possibilities considerably. It was a military vessel but not a

standard one. It was too small to be a battleship, cruiser, or carrier; too big

for a gunboat. It was silent; no motors hummed. That was peculiar. The

only small ship designed for silence while in operation was-

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摘要：

EditorialPreface1.SUB2.NYORK3.YBOR4.MEGAN5.DORIANGRAY6.THORLEY7.SENATOR8.SEDUCTION9.GANYMEDE10.CONFESSION11.PARDON12.SATURN13.IMPEACHMENT14.FORFEIT15.SPIRIT16.VISION17.REBA18.COUNTERSTROKE19.WIVESEditorialEpilogmanyofthetechnicaldetails,suchashard-nosedquid-pro-quobargainingornecessarypoliticalcompr...

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Anthony, Piers - Bio of a Space Tyrant 03 - Politician

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