CHAPTER 8

Betrayal

Two days after the marriage ceremony, they had a house-warming, and Gerald finally got to meet Hope.

The two had a private dialogue, for Spirit wanted them to come to their own understanding without her interference, but they seemed to get along well.

"You are right," Gerald said that evening. "I like your brother, and can feel his personal magnetism. I also like his dream, and not merely because it promises something for my own career."

"I knew you would," Spirit said. They made love, as they had been doing more often than once a week, and it was indeed love rather than sex.

Hope's special mission had been to the troubled planetoid Chiron, and he had played his scene well and emerged not only with a medal for heroism and a promotion to O3, but a number of field promotions he had made there in an emergency situation had been confirmed. There were some quite grateful soldiers, and thereafter they began transferring into Hope's unit as they could manage. Spirit was active doing the detail work for consolidating the unit, forging it into an efficient and responsive organization. That kept her apart from Gerald for much of the time, but they managed to have their weekly dates throughout, as required by Navy policy.

Lieutenant Repro gave Hope the next name on his list: the most brilliant unrecognized military strategist of the century, doomed to nonentity because of lack of political connections, wrong color, and wrong gender: Lt. j.g. Emerald Sheller, of mixed ancestry and 22 years old. He went on a date with her, they talked, had what was rumored to be ferocious sex, and married the same evening. Next day she joined the unit, and Spirit met her.

Emerald was a small lanky plain brown skinned woman with a sharp attitude that often rubbed Spirit the wrong way. But there was no question of her genius in her specialty. She took over management of Hope's career, and within three years got him promotion to O4 and herself to O3. Spirit made O2 and then O3 on her own, so the two were often rivals in rank and activity. Despite Spirit's chronic annoyance with the woman, she could not question Emerald's devotion to Hope and his career, or her effectiveness as a strategist on both the military and personal levels. So she tolerated the annoyance, schooling herself not to repeat her unfortunate jealousy of Helse; she had nothing to gain by the loss of Hope's woman.

Also, Hope had brought in as his secretary the lovely enlisted woman Juana Moreno, with whom he had roomed for two years before he became an officer. Emerald was hardly keen on that, as it was clear that the two still had feelings for each other, but had to let it be. Juana was a good secretary, and absolutely loyal and discreet. So Spirit knew that Emerald had a jealousy of her own to contend with.

Lt. Repro came up with another name for the unit: Lt. Mondy, a top intelligence specialist whose career was stifled because of post-traumatic stress syndrome deriving from prior bad experience. He was middle aged and pot bellied, and he needed the constant psychological support of a woman. He seemed like no bargain, but Repro said he was what the unit needed, and that he would surely pay his way, whatever it cost to get him. One of the unit's top women would have to marry him to bring him in.

"What's his type?" Spirit asked nervously.

"Lieutenant Sheller answers the description."

Spirit was both relieved and concerned. Relieved because it wasn't her; concerned because neither Hope nor Emerald would go for a dissolution of their marriage. The two never spoke of love, but it was clear that their mutual attachment was of a similar nature. "I will have to find a suitable occasion to bring this up," she said. "It will require some finesse."

That occasion came when the news of an agricultural riot broke. The Navy would have to handle it, because Jupiter could not tolerate any extended interruption of farm produce; if its people went hungry, there would be riots of a far more serious nature. The unit that took this on and settled it would win significant acclaim. But the potential for disaster was huge. They could have this mission for the taking, but they needed competent Intelligence in a hurry.

"Now is the time," Spirit said, and had Juana send out word for an immediate staff meeting. It was early morning, but this couldn't wait.

She marched into Hope's room with Juana trailing, for the secretary had not had the nerve to disturb Hope when he was in bed with his wife. "Rise and shine, Hope! Our mission is on the horizon," she said.

Hope came logyly awake. "What?"

Spirit couldn't wait. "Get up, Brother!" she said, whipping the top sheet off the bed to expose the two of them naked.

Emerald woke and sat up, not at all pleased. Spirit traded barbs with her as the other staffers arrived, among them Gerald. "Have I missed anything?" he asked, perplexed.

Emerald, thoroughly annoyed, reacted with a flair Spirit had to admire. She threw back her shoulders to emphasize her breasts, which while not large were well formed, and spread her legs wide in his direction.

"You tell me, sir. See anything here your busy wife hasn't shown you recently?"

Gerald, astonished and abashed, turned away. As it happened, Spirit had shown him just as much quite recently, but he had been caught completely off guard.

Meanwhile the staff was complete. "Sit down, all," Spirit said, and most of them sat down around the edge of the bed, thus trapping the two naked ones in the center. Then she hit them with the challenge of the mission, and the need for the intelligence man, and how to get him.

Indeed, Emerald did not take the news well. "I'm not going out whoring for personnel!" She looked directly at Spirit and Gerald as she spoke.

Spirit felt Gerald flinch, and for an instant she felt blind rage. But she was experienced in masking her reactions. The meeting continued, and the staff consensus was soon apparent: they did need that mission, and also the new officer. Even Emerald conceded that. She agreed to dissolve her marriage to Hope, but tackled him for one last phenomenal act of sex, starting even before the others had left the room.

Thus it was that Emerald brought in Lt. Mondy in much the manner Spirit had brought in Gerald. And Mondy showed the unit his power. Using his information and the expertise of the others, not only did they succeed in settling the migrant labor strike, they obtained a blanket promotion: one grade increase for every single member of the unit, from Hope at the top to the lowliest private. Hope made Commander O5, and both Spirit and Emerald made Lt. Commander O4. Only Gerald missed out, ironically, because he was not at this time directly associated with the unit. But now, with Hope ranking him, he joined, and that simplified Spirit's married life considerably. She owed it in large part to the sacrifice Emerald had made, and with the issue of Hope no longer between them she found herself warming to the woman.

The unit soon expanded to become a battalion. Spirit was extraordinarily busy organizing the new lines of command and communication as its personnel roster grew. In the middle of it, Hope experienced a siege of madness, and wound up at the enlisted women's barracks looking for sex. Spirit quickly collared Juana. "Take care of him!" The woman was glad to oblige; it was the only way she could have Hope in bed again. Spirit acted to cover up the affair, and Juana never told.

But there was one addition that was special. A woman came to see Spirit. Her eyes were deep gray and penetrating, and she moved with an odd melding of diffidence and assurance. She seemed to be about fifty years old, and she was oddly familiar, yet strange. Then it registered. "Brinker!" she exclaimed.

"Captain of the Hidden Flower!"

"Please, just Isobel," the woman said nervously. "My past is not healthy for my present."

"Whatever brings you here?"

"I need work, and I need discretion. Will you help me?"

Spirit considered. "We did make a deal, as I recall. I won't say I like you, but I will honor it if my brother does."

"I will serve in any capacity, with perfect loyalty. I am competent in administration and in combat."

"I know. You taught me to use a real laser pistol accurately. Come on; I will speak for you, but Hope will make the decision."

Hope took only a moment to catch on. "Captain Brinker of the Hidden Flower--in drag!"

The woman grimaced. "It is the only way to conceal my identity. A necessary evil." She glanced with distaste at a lock of her hair, and at her nails. Her tresses were shoulder-length brown-red, and her painted fingernails were color-matched. She was actually an attractive woman for her age. But as Spirit understood, she was accustomed to masquerading as a man, and felt uncomfortable in a dress.

Hope returned to Spirit. "You know this woman a good deal better than I do. Do you speak for her?"

"I don't like her," Spirit said, determined to be objective. "But she treated me fairly and kept my secret, and she is the most competent fighting woman I know. If she will serve you, you can't afford to turn her down. I gave her my word not to betray her to the authorities."

"That word shall be honored, of course," he agreed. "But she is a pirate."

"Was," Spirit said.

He turned back to Brinker. "My friends died because of you." Hope was not much for forgiveness of such murders.

"I lost my ship because of you," she said evenly. "It happens, in war." Spirit saw that Brinker had set him back, for the rules of war were not those of peace.

Their dialogue continued, and it became apparent that sex was at the root of Brinker's difficulty. She was not lesbian, but neither did she like sex with men. Hope could of course enable her to bypass the Navy Tail requirement, which was probably the deciding factor. Also, this was the third time she had interacted with Hope, and Spirit knew that his magic was having its effect; the woman probably wouldn't mind being close to him. But she also saw that Hope remained in doubt. "Bring Repro," he said.

That meant he was on the verge of rejecting Brinker's application, and wanted an acceptable reason.

Spirit went looking for Lt. Repro, who was nearby; he was the unit's psychologist, and she had anticipated his involvement. She quickly explained the situation, and he nodded. He would do his job.

Then they went to join Hope.

"What is your advice?" Hope asked him.

Repro considered. "She was not on my list, because I did not know of her. She belongs on it. Hire her."

Spirit managed to keep her jaw from dropping.

"But she is a pirate!" Hope protested again, clearly dismayed by Repro's ready acceptance of her.

"Sir, you swore to eliminate piracy. You can do that by conversion as readily as killing. You must be ready to accept those who genuinely reform. This women will be a significant asset to the unit. She has abilities it is likely to need."

Hope almost sighed. "It seems I have been overruled by my staff." He turned to Spirit. "Hire her."

As it turned out, Repro was right. Brinker had to remain in female guise, because that made her past anonymous, but she was absolutely loyal to Hope, Spirit, and the unit, and sometimes had excellent practical advice, especially relating to pirates. Later she was to serve on occasion as Hope's bodyguard, when he did not want such guarding to be obvious, and later yet she even commanded a ship for him and fought against pirates. She obeyed directives without question, accepting Spirit as her superior, and was quite satisfied to fade into the woodwork when not on duty. She became a de facto member of the unit's inner circle. Spirit had known her for years as a pirate, but now came to know her from another vantage, and her dislike of the woman faded. She was indeed an asset to the unit.

Hope had adopted an informal policy unique to the Navy, deriving from his experience as a migrant laborer: every member of the unit had to have a song and nickname bestowed by his or her associates.

This had seemed foolish at first, but it had a marvelous bonding effect, and had become quite popular with enlisted and officers alike. When the songs were sung, there was no rank; every person had equal status. The songs could be quite perceptive in obscure ways. Hope's own song was "Worried Man Blues," and he was called Worry. Now in the throes of leadership he hardly seemed worried, but those close to him knew how much he cared about them and his mission, and though "concern" might be a more appropriate term, "worry" would do. Spirit's song was "I Know Where I'm Going," and those who did not know her thought it reflected her sureness of direction as Hope's closest associate. But its real message was more subtle: "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." That dated from before her marriage to Gerald, but its message remained: there was one she loved more, but could never marry. Her nickname was The Dear. Gerald Phist, as the master of equipment, was Old King Cole, from the song of that name, where the merry king called for his pipe, bowl, fiddlers three, and other equipment. True to the song, Gerald did requisition the finest brand of beer for the "fighting infantry," and the enlisted personnel loved him for it. And Isobel Brinker became Little Foot, from the song "Who's Going To Shoe Your Pretty Little Foot?"; the point being that she needed no man for that or anything else. She was able to escape both a personal relationship and the Tail because she was a civilian. There was a certain delicious irony in the fact that she did have small feet.

Meanwhile, Hope, having forged The Beautiful Dreamer's ideal unit, got his chance to go after the pirates of the Jupiter ecliptic. The pirates had been getting bolder, perhaps running out of Hispanic refugees to harass, and had taken to raiding Saxon pleasure craft. That finally struck a Jupiter nerve, for the government was Saxon. Hope's battalion got the mission, and made its preparations.

This was where Gerald Phist entered the picture. Logistics lacked sex appeal as a profession, but it was the lifeblood of any organization. All the equipment, from spaceships to paper clips, were in his domain.

As the unit's S-4 Logistics officer, he now had the authority to requisition the best, thanks to this pressing mission, and he knew exactly what that was. Spirit loved watching him forge an apparatus that was considerably better than it should have been, given the tight budget. Old reconditioned ships were quietly becoming superior fighting pieces. It was like providing an indifferent street fighter with a set of brass knuckles.

"If I am not careful, I could get to like you," she murmured as they lay embraced. They had been married for three and a half years, and their delight in each other was still growing. They were now of the same rank, though he had seniority.

"Of course I tolerate you for the sake of your brother, Dear," he said, reversing their original relationship and facetiously invoking her nickname. But the fact was that Hope had put Gerald back to work in his specialty, and Gerald delighted in that; he did indeed support Hope independently of Spirit's encouragement.

"What, nothing else, Old King Cole?" she asked teasingly.

"Well, you are more convenient than the Tail."

"I had better be!" She wrapped herself around him, making him react. She had been able to take or leave sex before, but with him she enjoyed it, and knew that he did too.

Lt. Mondy, nicknamed the Peat Bog Soldier because his mind was a concentration camp, had done his intelligence homework, and had the current information on the location of every private vessel known to the Jupiter Navy. Thus Spirit did know exactly where she and the unit were going, and what they would find there.

Thus, in due course, they zeroed in on the pirate ship The Caprine Isle, notorious for gun-running to guerrilla groups on the Hispanic moons. It was the prime suspect in the abduction of the Saxon heiress that had triggered this mission. Now they would see just how well Spirit's organization and Gerald's equipment worked in real combat.

The pirate ship's captain was, of course, Billy the Kid, as bearded and shaggy as any randy buck. When Hope got him on the video, he rejected the demand to surrender in explicitly vulgar language. That was rebroadcast to the Jupiter news media, surely making a fine impression on the civilians. However, he was given an hour in which to surrender, so that it was clear that the Navy was not being unduly hasty. At the end of that hour, Billy the Kid did surrender, but it was a ruse. He tried to destroy the Navy cruiser by treachery, but got his own ship blown up instead. Lt. Mondy had anticipated the ploy exactly, and arranged to counter it before the engagement was made. Thus seventy two bad men were suddenly dead, in much the way the refugees of the bubble had died.

So the Navy had won, and the pirates had been literally destroyed. Hope played the scene through perfectly, and it made headlines on Jupiter; he was entering the beginning of his planetary fame. But Spirit knew her brother, and intercepted him as he retired to his cabin. He was alone because Emerald, the Rising Moon, had left him to marry Mondy, but he needed someone. He was not at heart a creature of cold killing, and he would suffer a severe reaction.

She found him in his hammock, sobbing. She touched him on the shoulder, and he reached up and caught her four-fingered hand in his, finding ironic solace in her familiar deformity. He brought it to his face and kissed it. She came down to the hammock and embraced him, hugging his head to her bosom in the manner of a mother, and he cried into her comfort. She understood what he felt, for she shared his heredity, his culture, and his experience. She, too, had seen their parents die; she, too, had lost her friends to pirates. And she loved him. Now he needed that love.

After a time they talked. "I never killed before like that," he said.

"It was their bomb, their deceit."

"But I knew of it!"

"You suspected. And you warned the pirates."

He nodded. The justification of his act became more convincing to him. The pirates had set up their own demise in the manner of a person who strikes at another and scores on himself instead.

"Are you better now?" Spirit asked gently.

"Vital signs stable," he agreed.

She smiled wanly. "Now you hold me."

He laughed with bitter understanding. He sat up straight and held her head to his chest and enclosed her in his arms while she cried. She felt the same pain, but had had to tend to him before letting go herself. It had always been that way between them.

Then they went out and saw to the other officers of the unit, who were suffering similarly in their own ways. They had been blooded. They had trained diligently for it, but it just wasn't the same. Mondy was particularly hard hit; he had suffered a nervous breakdown from guilt over the killing he had done in a prior military action, and Emerald, one tough woman in her own right, was discovering the softer side of herself that her husband had to have. Fortunately they had several days to recuperate, as the ship oriented on the next target.

Gerald suffered too, but handled it better. He had been blooded not by killing, but by being betrayed, and learned how to endure in adversity. Spirit had maintained emotional neutrality in public, but had some crying left to do, and he was there for her for that. "Do you know," he murmured, "I have heard you called the Iron Maiden, because you are always so tough in handling personnel matters and in implementing your brother's directives. They say you don't yield, you chip around the edges."

She lifted her four fingered hand. "Yes, part of me has broken off," she agreed. She touched the scars on her wet face. "And I must have gotten scraped by a passing meteor."

"But they don't know you as I do." He kissed her. "Soft inside."

"Molten."

"When you are passionate." He paused, looking intently at her. "Spirit, I was lost, until you came into my life."

"Now you have your career back."

"That, too." He kissed her again.

*

The second pirate ship bolted the moment they hailed her. They fired one torpedo and rendered her into another derelict. Again they suffered reaction, for again they had killed, and this time they had done it directly. But their pain was not as bad as before; already they were getting hardened.

By the time they tackled the third ship, the news had evidently gotten around, and it surrendered. Its officers were put on trial and later executed, but its personnel were treated more leniently, and some were retrained for useful work.

The full mission took almost a year, and took out some fifty pirate ships. It did indeed make Hope and the unit famous, as well as extirpating piracy form the Juclip. Hope's original mission had been fulfilled, his vengeance against the pirates complete.

But there was a complication: on one of the last pirate ships was a QYV courier. Helse had been a courier, and it had indirectly brought her love and death. This was a fifteen year old boy named Donald Beams who was somewhat cocky, thinking himself protected, until Hope had a private interview with him. When they rejoined the other staff members, it was evident that the boy's assurance had been severely shaken.

"Treat Donald as a hostage," Hope told Spirit. She took charge of him, knowing Hope had made progress. QYV would want whatever the courier carried, and would have to deal with Hope to get it.

For the first time he had the sinister power at a disadvantage.

"Ready an escort ship," Hope told Sergeant Smith. "Program it for Europa." He intended to go there to brace Kife directly. Fortunately Mondy persuaded him to send an emissary instead, with a hint that Hope might be in QYV's power.

In due course the man returned, bringing QYV's envoy: a middle aged woman, heavyset with iron gray hair and weird trifocal contact lenses. Her name was Reba Ward, and she was nominally a Jupiter government research assistant for a minor USJ congressional committee.

Hope met privately with her. They talked for some time. When they emerged, it was Hope who was shaken, to Spirit's astonishment. What could that dull woman have told him?

Hope gave Reba Ward the hostage boy, and she returned to Europa. As far as most observers could see, nothing of significance had occurred. The two must have talked and come to no agreement. But Spirit knew better. The woman had had a profound effect on Hope, and it had nothing to do with sex or fear.

When they were alone, Hope hold her: "Kife is a Jupiter organization with no reasonable limits other than convenience. She asked me what I wanted, and I told her promotion to Captain, and a fleet to go after the nest of pirates in the Belt. And she agreed."

"Kife has that power?" Spirit asked, amazed.

"So it seems. They are restrained only by expediency and their desire to stay out of the news."

"But you did not give her Helse's key?"

"Not yet."

"What in the universe could she offer you to match your memory of Helse?"

"Megan."

"Who?"

"Megan is the one other woman I could love. But we have not yet made that deal."

Spirit feared that her brother was suffering an incipient siege of madness. But she decided to wait and see whether any part of what he claimed the QYV woman had promised came to pass.

In two more weeks they wrapped up the last of the Juclip pirates. And Hope received a promotion to O6 and command of a mission to go after the pirates of the asteroid Belt. The agent of QYV had shown her power.

*

The task force was impressive: one battleship, one carrier, two cruisers, six destroyers, fifteen escort ships, and a number of service boats and patrol craft. Hope would have eight months to shape it up for the mission, which was his most challenging one yet.

Gerald was thrown into his most busy time, checking and upgrading the fleet. He had hardly gotten started before he received his own promotion to full Commander, O5. The block against his promotion had been lifted! Spirit suspected it was because this mission was highly newsworthy, and reporters might inquire why its logistics officer was below standard rank for such a fleet position. Still, it was a gratifying breakthrough, and she could see how pleased he was. He maintained his composure in public, but that night he could not get enough of her. "This is your doing, in some devious way," he said.

"My brother's doing, maybe."

"Same thing. You have transformed my life."

"We merely enabled you to get what you deserved."

"I love you, Spirit."

"I love you, Gerald."

It was an exhilarating truth. But it made her uneasy. "What if my brother makes the deal with Kife?" She had shared as much of the information Hope had given her as was allowed, including this part. "Suppose they give him Jupiter citizenship and the chance to go after Megan, the woman he could love? If he goes to Jupiter, I shall go with him."

"And our relationship will end," he agreed.

"Our marriage. Our association. But not our love."

"Not our love." He shrugged. "We knew it when we signed. Navy marriages exist no longer than Navy service. If it happens, I know you have the courage to do what you have to do, and so do I."

Spirit found herself crying--from the mere possibility of their breakup. "My brother believes he can love only two women he might marry. Is it possible that I am the same? I can't conceive of loving any other man as I love you."

"If you do, I am sure he will be worthy."

"Not more worthy than you."

He shrugged again. "All is relative. Can we get off this subject?"

"How the hell did we ever get on it? Is it your turn to make love to me, or mine to make love to you?"

"I have lost track."

"Then we had both better do it."

They almost attacked each other, and it was very good. But the premonition of destruction was on them, a cloud looming on a distant horizon.

When the fleet was ready, it sailed to the Belt and tackled the several major pirate bands there. Emerald was eager to test her mettle in open battle between fleets, something they had not had occasion to do before. She was a scholar of ancient warfare, and fancied that the early principles of deployment and surprise would still obtain.

"The operative concept is Kadesh," she said. "The Egyptians met and defeated the Hittites in the vicinity of the town of Kadesh in 1299 B.C."

"Now wait, Rising Moon!" Gerald protested, using her song-nickname. The applicable words were "For the pikes must be together with the rising of the moon." The pikes of the infantry as it massed for the coordinated attack. Emerald's moon was certainly rising. "Those were marching land armies; this is space! There's hardly a parallel!"

"You worried about your hardware, King Cole?" she inquired with a glance at his trousers. "I'm trying to protect it for you."

As it turned out, Emerald had a good battle plan, but unanticipated events interfered, such as enemy reinforcements. They wound up in a messy pitched ship-to-ship battle, and Emerald transferred to a smaller ship to participate more directly. Hope, the idiot, went with her, while Spirit remained on the lead battleship. "Stay out of mischief!" Spirit called after them, knowing they wouldn't. They had the delusion that direct combat was honorable.

The battle was joined--and in the course of it Spirit had to watch helplessly as the ship the others were on, the Discovered Check, got incapacitated by a lucky enemy shot, and grappled, and boarded. But she knew the officers there were competent; they would reverse the case with the pirates. Soon enough they did; they used a light grenade to blind the pirates and mopped them up.

Meanwhile the larger battle was falling into place, and in due course won. Emerald's strategy had been sound; her only real mistakes were in putting herself and other officers at unnecessary risk, and in not allowing for the random breaks of combat.

But there was an unpleasant aftermath: notifying the families of the personnel lost in battle. Hope, as Commander, did it competently enough, sending careful messages, but it hurt him. Spirit joined him again as he slept, and held his hand when he woke screaming, and kissed him and mothered him until he stabilized.

"You are my strength," he told her gratefully. She merely nodded; she was as strong as she had to be for him, but it was mostly a façade he would have seen through instantly, had he not been her brother. She took no joy in battle; she merely did what she had to do, and hurt in private, thankful for Gerald's understanding embrace.

But the next engagement was hard upon them. Hope took Isobel Brinker to a neutral zone Belt tavern station to reconnoiter, and there encountered a highly significant figure: Straight, the pirate leader of the Solomons, engaged in organized gambling. And the pirate's wife Flush, and startlingly beautiful eighteen year old daughter Roulette. Hope danced with her, and was instantly smitten. The others learned about this at the staff meeting he called immediately after.

"Brinker will command the captured pirate destroyer on a de facto basis," he told Sergeant Smith.

"Cobble together a competent crew in a hurry."

"Yes, sir." He got on it, taking Brinker with him. She maintained a straight face, but radiance was leaking from the edges. She lived to command a ship, and had been long denied. Her loyalty, even against pirates, was certain; she was now in Hope's orbit. She had no use for sex, but would have leaped into bed with Hope if he asked it.

Spirit exchanged a glance with the others. Repro had put the idea of putting Isobel to work this way into Hope's head, and evidently it had taken. They needed this kind of competence for the coming battles, especially considering Isobel's experience with pirate ways.

"We're going to meet the Solomons in battle in deep space in forty-eight hours," Hope said to the others.

"Make the preparations."

"But our supply ship arrives in thirty-six hours," Spirit protested. "That won't give us enough time to organize."

"We'll locate a vacant planetoid and use it as a temporary supply base," Emerald said, taking this surprise in stride. They had all learned to roll with the punches of Hope's sometimes sudden decisions. "Our lesser ships will be able to protect that with the pincushion defense." She turned to Hope. "You agree, sir?"

He looked blank. "I suppose so."

She was on it in a strategic flash. "You have something more important on your mind, sir?"

"No," he said, obviously embarrassed.

It was a pleasure watching her zero in. "A woman?"

"Ridiculous!"

"Tell us about her," Emerald urged mischievously. "You haven't had a really good woman since you had me."

Juana smiled obliquely at that, but held her peace. She had taken Hope on during a siege of hallucinogenic madness, but officers were not supposed to mix sexually with enlisted, so it was a tacit secret.

He sighed. "It seems a pirate chief is trying to fix me up with his daughter, for political reasons. Covering his bets."

"A pirate wench?" Spirit asked, intrigued. "Is she clean?"

"This one would be," he said. Then he reacted against the mere supposition. "It's ludicrous! She has killed two men who wanted her."

"That fatal appeal," Emerald said. "I must remember it."

"Not this marriage!" Mondy objected, and they laughed. The two were getting along well, and their humor showed it.

They returned to the details of strategy, but Hope seemed to be mostly out of it. Obviously the pirate wench had made more than a casual impression.

Sergeant Smith returned with Brinker. "I have set it up, sir. If you will just sign this waiver--"

"Waiver?"

"She's a civilian employee, sir. For her to command a Navy ship--it's irregular."

"She will not command a Navy ship," Hope pointed out. "It is a captured pirate vessel; and anyway, this is to be mostly off the record." Nevertheless, he signed the waiver.

Brinker started to go, but Hope stopped her. "Sit in on the strategy session, Captain. You may have input."

"Yes, sir," she said gratefully. Oh, yes; she would have danced naked on the desk, at his whim.

Emerald leaned toward her, her quest not yet done. She retained a serious interest in Hope's social status, as was the case with all his women throughout his life. They never fell out of love with him. "What does she look like?"

Brinker was startled, glancing at Hope. She had been rather suddenly admitted to the inner circle, and was understandably cautious. "My staff has will and mischief of its own, Little Foot," he said with resignation. Actually he hardly minded; he never fell out of love with any of his women either. "Satisfy their curiosity, so we can get on with business."

Brinker glanced briefly around the circle. No one indicated objection. She nodded. Then she made a gesture with her two hands, the classic hourglass shape. "Eighteen. Fire-hair. Face would launch a thousand ships. Imperious. Deadly."

There was appreciative laughter. "No wonder he wants her!"

Mondy exclaimed. "There's nothing like that in this task force!"

Emerald slammed a backhand into his chest because of the presumed slight. It was her way of displaying affection. She was not ashamed to show it, now.

It was a scramble to get ready for the battle with the Solomons. Hope had arranged with Straight to meet at a designated site in space, so that no inhabited asteroids would be menaced. There was a certain chivalric honor to it, but the battle itself would be serious. Emerald planned on her pincushion, but first invoked a remarkable open-space device that completely fooled the pirates and took out over half their deadly drones in a single sweep. Her genius was scoring.

However, the Solomons were no pushover; they had cut off the Navy supply ship, and that was a serious reversal. Without those supplies, the fleet would soon be hurting.

Then the situation changed: another pirate band, the Fijis, was approaching rapidly. They were not allied to the Solomons; they were coming in to clean up after the two combatants had decimated each other.

This was bad news for both sides, for the Fijis were scum, even as pirates went.

The staff held an emergency meeting without Hope. Repro, the Beautiful Dreamer, had a provocative notion: "We need to ally with Straight," he said. "He is honest as pirates go, and stands to lose as much as we do."

"But we're at war with him!" Emerald protested.

"Not entirely. He is playing for an alliance, in case he loses the battle. That's why he proffers his daughter to Worry." He meant Hope. "He is into gambling, technically illegal, but only technically; throughout human history men have always gambled. We have no inherent quarrel with him."

"But he won't just surrender," Emerald said. "Why should he trust us?"

"Because we must surrender to him," Repro said.

They stared at him. But after a moment Mondy nodded. "I believe it would work. He will trust us if we trust him first. And if his daughter marries Worry, the alliance will be secure."

"What?" Spirit and Emerald said almost together. Juana, too, looked shaken.

"A woman can be a powerful incentive to join a cause," Gerald said, and Mondy nodded. "In this case she will bring her band in with her."

"We don't need any more whoring for personnel!" Emerald snapped.

"Especially not when my brother is the whore," Spirit agreed.

But as the men argued the case, it came to make more sense, and in the end the women had to agree. It was a weird and risky ploy, but it stood the best chance of success in this adversity.

They put it to Hope, without mentioning the prospect of marriage. "Sir, we have thrashed this out," Spirit said, speaking with atypical formality. "We have concluded that our best course is to proffer our surrender to the Solomons' fleet."

He found his gee-couch and sank into it. "Please say again?"

"Straight is a halfway decent man," Spirit continued, arguing the case Repro had made. "He generally keeps his word, and he's not bloodthirsty. Go to him under flag of truce and present our situation."

He resisted the notion, understandably. But when he saw his staff unified behind it, he reluctantly yielded.

"You won't explain?" he asked almost plaintively.

"After this crisis passes, sir, we will explain," Spirit said.

He sighed. "I hope you have not lost your collective wits! All of us will be court-martialed for pusillanimity when we are ransomed back to Jupiter. All of our careers will be finished."

"But we will suffer no further losses," Emerald said. "We are thinking not of pride but of the greatest good."

Once resigned, Hope played the scene with his usual flair. He got Straight on the video and asked to parley under flag of truce. He went alone to negotiate the terms of surrender--and returned in due course with the pirate's surrender to him, and Straight's daughter Roulette with him in the shuttle ship as hostage.

The ploy had worked. Straight had decided to trust Hope and his cadre of officers, after seeing their trust of him. His daughter was his earnest of integrity. And she was indeed mind-bendingly beautiful, exactly as Isobel had said.

"This is Roulette--our hostage for the Solomons' surrender," Hope said somewhat lamely.

Spirit didn't bother to seem surprised. "I recognized the figure. I'll see her to a cabin."

"You knew," he said.

"We thought it likely," she agreed. "We showed Straight our power, and he responded."

"The game is not over yet," Roulette said darkly. This was evidently no choice of hers.

"Arrange for rendezvous with our supply ship and for transfer of food to the Solomons fleet," Hope said.

"Establish liaison for working out the fine print of the surrender. And quickly; the Fijis--"

"I can help," Roulette said. "I know the personnel to contact in our fleet, and what they need."

There was one reason Straight had sent her. Her cooperation would greatly facilitate the process.

Spirit glanced at her appraisingly. "You have practical training?"

"I'm my father's S-3." S-3 was the Operations section, which was vital.

"At your age?"

Rue smiled. "Pirates aren't subject to Naval regulations. I've been an officer since birth. It's a family corporation."

"We shall test you." Spirit conducted the wench to an officer's cabin. "You will be given the freedom of the ship," she said. "You're not really a hostage."

"So you say," the girl said. But then she mellowed slightly. "Did you really castrate the man who raped your sister?"

"He told you of that?"

"Did you do it?"

"Yes. And I would do it again."

"Then you understand pirate ways."

"Oh, yes. I was a captive of pirates for four years. Now the captain of that pirate ship works for us."

"I would like to meet him."

"Her. Isobel Brinker."

She pondered, but evidently drew a blank. "What was her ship?"

"The Hidden Flower."

"Oh, of the Juclip! I thought a man commanded that one."

Spirit was surprised. "You know every ship by name?"

"The significant ones. That one was a feelie porn conduit."

"The Empty Hand."

"That was one of the better lines."

"That was mine."

Roulette looked at her, surprised. "I think you and I will get along."

Spirit found herself liking this young woman. "But you know, we just took out the Carolines."

"Too bad, if you like porn."

"Its pirates we don't like. No offense."

"We don't like the Jupiter Navy either. No offense."

Spirit changed the subject. "I will ask Captain Brinker to meet with you at her convenience."

Then Roulette did a doubletake. "Brinker--age about fifty, red-brown hair, gray eyes, lightning draw?"

"You have met?"

"She bodyguarded Captain Hubris at the tavern. I didn't make the connection when I heard the name.

She looked so feminine."

"So she did. It is how she masks her past. I didn't realize you two had interacted."

"She's a captain again?"

"She commands a ship for us."

"We will get along," Roulette repeated.

They got her set up in her cabin, then returned together to the communications center. "You're S-3?"

Spirit asked, giving her a chance to back down.

"Try me."

Spirit did. She put her on the video contact. "Integrate our fleets."

When the first Solomons ship came on, the young woman evinced no uncertainty. "This is Roulette, hostage aboard the Navy flagship," she said to the screen. "The Navy has food for us, and time is short.

Get me Cap'n Snake-eyes on the double." It went from there. There was no question of her competence.

Spirit turned her head to look at Hope behind Roulette's head, nodding affirmatively. But then Roulette herself turned to send him a glare of hate. She really did not like him, no matter how well she might get along with others. Rather, Spirit realized, she did not like the idea of having to marry him. But she would inevitably be captured by his subtle charm, as all women were. She fought, but would lose.

And Hope, astonishingly, averted his gaze. She had stared him down. Oh, yes, he was already smitten.

Meanwhile the Fiji fleet, seeing that they had broken off the battle with the Solomons, pounced instead on the planetoid where they had set up their pincushion defense, before abruptly evacuating. They had had to leave supplies behind, annoyingly. The pirates were scavenging, and the Navy couldn't stop it.

Spirit was unconcerned, knowing what Emerald had cooked up. "Call them, sir," she told him. "Give the Fijis an ultimatum of immediate surrender--or destruction."

"But that would be foolish! We have no--"

"Or delegate someone to do it."

"But--"

"Roulette, maybe. She'll enjoy this."

He spread his hands. "You delegate it."

She smiled knowingly. "Rue, would you like to deliver the Navy's ultimatum to the Fijis?"

Roulette came over to the screen. "I hate the Fijis almost as bad as I hate the Navy. But a bluff's no good. They're smugglers, and lying is their pride. Bloodstone would laugh in my face."

"Is there any redeeming quality about the Fiji?" Spirit inquired.

"No. They captured one of our parties once, and sent us back their hands, one finger at a time, each one flayed. Our biolab said the skin had been pulled off while the fingers were still attached and alive."

Spirit stiffened, then slowly raised her left hand, showing her missing finger. "We have met that kind," she said. "The Horse didn't flay my flesh, though."

"I noticed. But you settled the score." Roulette settled herself before the screen. "Is this a bluff?"

"No."

"Then I'll do it." She went to work, and in a moment she was in touch with the Fiji operator. "Get me Bloodstone," she snapped imperiously.

"Who the hell wants Bloodstone?" the man demanded.

"Roulette."

Another face came on: grizzled, grim, with earrings in the classic pirate style. "What you want, you luscious tart?"

"Surrender this instant, or be destroyed."

Bloodstone bellowed out his laughter. "Listen, you juvenile slut, when I clean up Straight's mess I'll screw you to the damn bulkhead. You never had a real man before."

"I never had a man at all," she responded. "Only with my knife. You have one minute to surrender to the Jupiter Navy."

Bloodstone just laughed coarsely, making obscene gestures with his hands.

The minute finished. Spirit signaled a technician.

The planetoid exploded. "We mined it," Spirit explained.

Roulette watched the expanding ring of debris in the screen. "Beautiful," she murmured, licking her red lips. "You really don't bluff, do you!"

"No," Spirit agreed.

Soon came the next stage of the liaison with the Solomons: Hope's marriage to Roulette. This was a horrendous event, because he had to rape her, which he didn't want to do, and survive her knife attack.

But Isobel Brinker was firm: this was the only way to fashion an enduring alliance with a pirate band.

They rehearsed the abduction, with Juana playing the part of the bride. She was in a low-bodiced pink nightie that revealed somewhat too much of her lush torso, and when the light was behind her much of the material become translucent. Spirit and Emerald had presented Hope with a model who was guaranteed to turn him on, while being forbidden. She had a rubber knife to defend herself, but she was laughing so much she couldn't even threaten him with it.

Then came the rehearsal of the rape itself. Emerald played the part of the to-be-ravished bride. Spirit slipped the rubber knife to her. "You poor, innocent damsel," she said in honey-drip tone. "I cannot stop my evil brother from this cruel assault, for I am only a woman, but at least I can give you some chance to defend your treasure."

"Bless you, sister," Emerald said, smiling maliciously. "I'll disembowel him!"

"Hey!" he protested.

But it was time for the humor to end. The threat was real, and Hope was all too apt not to take it seriously until too late, because of his crush on the wench.

"Roulette will use her knife," Spirit reminded him. "Don't trust her for a moment, Hope; that's how she got her other two suitors. She's your enemy--until you conquer her."

Despite their best intentions, it was hilarious. He managed to disarm Emerald, but she managed to seduce him, in a fashion. The staff, watching, critiqued the performance, to make sure he would be able to handle the real rape properly.

And of course the real rape, in the manner of a battle, turned out to be quite different from the rehearsal.

Spirit, in her ritual guise as secret friend, slipped Roulette a knife, a real one, in accordance with pirate protocol. The girl accepted it, handling it quite competently. But she looked doubtful. "I'm not sure this is smart."

"Not smart?" Spirit hesitated to guess what she meant.

"Spirit, I like you. You've had solid pirate experience. I don't want to kill your brother."

"He's a martial expert," Spirit said. "He'll disarm you."

"Maybe he could. But will he?"

"We have rehearsed him. He knows what to do."

"He thinks it's a game."

Spirit sat down beside her. "I know he does. He's not a rapist. Should we stop this?"

"Yes."

"Then how will we make the alliance both our sides need?"

"Maybe we could get some other pirate girl. One who wouldn't really fight."

"He's already smitten with you."

"Damn it!" Roulette flared. "I'm trying to spare us disaster! That weakling's going to die."

"If he does, we'll return you safely to your father."

"You'll do that?"

"It's the protocol."

"And you're tough enough to follow it to the letter."

"Yes." And she would, though her heart broke.

"I wish I could marry you."

Spirit knew what Rue meant: that she had the iron gumption her brother lacked in this instance. "I wish I could rape you."

Roulette turned, leaned into her, and kissed her on the mouth. Spirit accepted it--and caught the girl's knife hand as it moved. It was a feint, without real power, but move and countermove had been quick.

They understood each other. Were Spirit a man, she could indeed perform the rape.

"Look--you'll be witnessing it."

"Yes, with video cameras. To prove you did not submit willingly."

"Be there physically too. Then you can overpower me before he's dead. I'll make the first strike non-lethal."

"No. It has to be played out straight, or it doesn't count. You know that."

"It must be," Roulette said sadly. "Once we engage, there'll be no stopping it."

"Yes," Spirit agreed. Then she stood and departed before her emotion overcame her. The girl had figured Hope correctly, and her chances of killing him were all too good, because he would hold back. It would indeed be better if Spirit could substitute for him, but she couldn't.

Then she went for the final session with Hope, to try to stiffen his spine. That was little comfort; he had somehow overlooked or blocked out the fact of the witnessing.

"What?"

"It's the pirate way, Hope. The groom's clan has to witness the victory, so that no one can claim he didn't perform. And if anything happens to the bride, I will be obliged to seek revenge--"

"You?"

"I gave her the knife, Hope. It's real; no rubber one this time. I'm responsible for her until you win her. So whatever you do, don't kill her, because if she dies and I don't kill you, her clan will be honor-bound to do it, and--"

He stared at her, suddenly knowing that she would do it. That might be a positive sign.

Spirit sent Isobel to talk to him, to impress on him the reality of the need. Then he called Straight, who advised him to strike fast and hard, and to give up the marriage if he didn't succeed in the first minute. He even put his wife Flush on, who clarified that she would never have respected Straight if he hadn't conquered her first. But Hope still seemed uncertain. Spirit dreaded the coming encounter.

The time came. They took their places in chairs set around the sides of the bride's chamber: Repro, Phist, Mondy, Emerald, and Spirit herself. Brinker operated the video camera, and Juana was in a corner making shorthand notes. The Groom's official witness team.

Roulette was beautiful as she sat on the bed; she wore a pale blue negligee that offset her red hair dramatically. Her tresses were artfully wild, making her resemble a waiting predator. Her figure was so full and lithe it would make any man pause, even the three male witnesses. In fact when Rue caught them looking, she opened her decolletage, giving them a better view of her fine breasts, and let her full thighs part. Repro and Mondy smiled briefly; Gerald blushed. Spirit appreciated the tease; the girl had some humor. Even Juana, a well formed woman, looked envious. Only Isobel was unmoved.

Spirit checked her watch. "Time." The room darkened, though not completely; they had to be able to see the event.

Roulette got silently off the bed and went to stand beside the door panel, her knife ready. She intended to ambush him as he entered, and the witnesses could not interfere in any way.

The panel slid quietly open. There was a pause, then something entered rapidly. Roulette was on it, stabbing downward. Then a second form leaped through the door, caught her from behind, and rendered her unconscious with a neck strangle. She had fallen for the oldest trick in the book: a decoy shirt thrown in first. It was a good start.

Hope used the shirt to bind her wrists, then used the bed sheet to tie her ankles and tore off a section to gag her. She recovered consciousness quickly, but was helpless. She didn't even struggle; at this point it was useless. He had won the first round by abducting her.

They moved to the groom's quarters and took new chairs. Spirit untied the bride and restored her knife to her while Hope stripped. This was according to protocol; the bride had to be able to defend herself from the rape.

He approached her; she struck with the knife, and he disarmed her again. He let her go, and she went after him with nails and teeth. He nullified her again, and whispered something in her ear, then let her go.

She attacked again, but he caught up her negligee and entangled her in it, whispering to her again. He let her go once more.

The utter fool! He was playing with her.

And it cost him. She got her hand on the dropped knife, and this time she managed to graze his leg. Yet still he played, snatching parts of her negligee away as she slashed at him.

Then he turned strange. Oh, no! He was going into a madness vision. He stared at Roulette, muttering something. Then he approached her, neither feinting nor dodging, as if she were welcoming his embrace.

She stabbed him in the left shoulder. He merely shrugged as the blood flowed. She stabbed again, and this time the blood jetted; she had severed an artery. But he ignored it and closed for a kiss. She bit his lip, hard, but he remained as if it were a true kiss.

He had to finish it quickly, before he bled to death. Yet the blood no longer jetted.

After a moment he drew back, and the cloud left his face. "You stabbed me!" he exclaimed, perceiving the blood. "And you bit me!"

"Well, you hugged and kissed me!"

"And you're not Megan." Then Spirit understood at least part of it: Megan was the other woman he thought he could love. He must have seen her in the vision.

"Who the hell is Megan?"

He struck her, a slashing openhanded blow across the side of the head. Her head rocked back, her mouth open, but he caught her again on the other side with a backhand. She fell on the bed, blinking.

"Who the hell are you?" he demanded.

And the blood stopped flowing from his wounds. They simply closed up, leaving only red scars. Roulette saw it, and her mouth hung open. It was as if she faced a bloodless ghost or zombie.

This was a side of Hope Spirit had never seen before. He had not returned to his normal self. The madness had taken over. It gave him weird control of his entire body.

"I never saw you like this!" Roulette gasped.

"You never saw me at all, you arrogant bitch!" he snapped. "You like me better now?" He jerked his right hand and forced her right hand to strike her face.

"You brute!" But it was neither fear nor horror that governed her now. Her tone was one of discovery and admiration. "Kiss me again; I won't bite!"

Was it another trick? She might be feigning surrender, hoping to recover the knife.

Instead Hope spat blood and saliva in her face. "I'd as soon kiss a snake!"

She shuddered, not with anger but with rapture. She spread her arms and her legs. "Do it now!" she breathed. "I can't fight you when you're like this. You're a real man after all!"

It seemed real. Now was the time for him to do it.

He drew away from her and stood by the bunk. "Look at me," he said. "I don't want you. You're not Helse, you're not Megan. What good are you?"

"Revile me!" she whispered. "Hit me! Make me scream!"

"You aren't paying attention, you pirate slut," he said. "Look at my member. You don't turn me on at all."

And indeed he showed no sexual desire. "You have failed as a woman," he told her.

Enraged as a woman scorned, she snatched the knife from the bed beside her. She pointed it at his groin.

"I'll cut it off!"

"Go ahead." He raised his arms and set his hands behind his head, not retreating from her. The total fool!

And she couldn't do it. Spirit saw her shudder. Hope had entirely vanquished her.

But she had another ploy. Slowly she brought the blade to her own throat. "If you won't have me, no one will."

"Spirit," he said.

Oh, damn! But she had to play along. Spirit rose from her chair. "Yes, Hope."

"If she dies, you are bound by honor to kill me."

Spirit hesitated. She wanted to call a halt to this awful alternative, but she could not oppose her brother.

Especially when he was like this; she was in awe of him now. "Yes," she whispered.

"Set the laser."

Slowly she brought out her laser pistol, adjusted it, and aimed it at his face.

His eyes had never left Rue's. "You see we honor the pirate convention. Do you believe Spirit will kill me?"

Roulette turned her head a moment to gaze at Spirit's face. "Yes," she breathed. "She doesn't bluff."

"So you may safely kill yourself," he continued. "You know you will be immediately avenged, and there will be no onus for your father to bear, no embarrassment to your clan."

Roulette flung the knife away. "You bastard, you have mastered me! Finish it!"

And finally, as it were reluctantly, he did. Roulette made no resistance; rather, she cooperated vigorously.

He had not raped her body so much as her soul.

And when it was done, she demanded that the videos never be played, and the witnesses be silent. She and Hope had visible injuries; those would suffice to tell the story. This had been a rape like none other.

*

Thus was the alliance made. Roulette was assigned a song, "Rue" whose words suggested the wasting of women by men, and her nickname became The Ravished. She liked that. She was, as it turned out, a masochist; she could not truly turn on unless brutalized. Thus their marriage was an ongoing contest, as he tried to make her respond to gentleness, and she tried to make him treat her cruelly. Each seemed to be making progress with the other.

The fleets merged, and with Emerald's genius guiding them, they defeated the other pirates, band by band. Then, when they were on the verge of completing the cleanup of the Belt, there came the betrayal.

Gerald was the first to learn of it, and it appalled him. "What is it?" Spirit asked.

"I am ordered by the Jupiter authority to assume command of the Task Force and place your brother under arrest for insubordination and other charges."

Spirit stared. "But he's guilty of none of that!"

He shook his head. "He is guilty of being too effective in fighting crime. Pirates have nerves extending to high places. I am in a position to know."

For he had lost his own career that way. "Oh, no," she breathed.

"And I must arrest you too," he continued miserably. "And ground the fleet."

It was as though the Solar system had foundered, but for the moment it was the personal aspect that stung her. "Is this the end for us?"

"I very much fear it is."

She kissed him. "Then do your duty, Gerald."

"Consider yourself relieved of your position," he said. Then he braced himself and went off to find Hope.

Gerald Phist did his duty like the good soldier he was. All of the top officers were interned and held incommunicado as the fleet headed back for Jupiter.

Then several significant things happened: The Beautiful Dreamer, deprived of his drugs, died. The marriages of Hope and Roulette, and of Gerald and Spirit, were dissolved, and on Mondy's insightful suggestion Gerald married Roulette, to preserve the necessary connections. It was an irony, as Gerald and Roulette loved not each other but Spirit and Hope, but each understood the other's position perfectly. They were to be a successful long-term couple publicly, and possibly privately, perhaps because of that common passion.

Hope wrote the narrative of his migrant and military memoirs, settling his soul in a way that Spirit could not. She suffered her loss of Gerald alone. She was, after all, the Iron Maiden.

The woman of QYV met with Hope, and they made a deal: Helse's key for Jupiter citizenship and information on Megan. Hope and Spirit, at the ages of thirty and twenty seven respectively, were honorably discharged from the Navy--in fact Hope was hailed as the Hero of the Belt--and they came at last to the planet of Jupiter. It was not by their choice, at this stage, but was the best compromise settlement they could manage. As it turned out, Hope's core unit was not destroyed; it merely became invisible, and his officers went on to consolidate power in the Navy, supported by a solid cadre of enlisted personnel. Some liaisons did not follow official chains of command, but were as potent. That was to have significant later effect on Jupiter politics.

9

Second Love

It was as though they were starting their lives over, leaving all they had known to join a new world. Both Hope and Spirit knew that they would never recover their Navy relationships; they might as well be dead, just as their family and refugee friends had been dead when they first came to the navy. Hope was in depression, and Spirit sustained him as well as she could, whether by diverting him with inconsequential talk, or holding him. He was not ashamed to show his weakness when they were alone together; she could not afford to show hers, needing to be strong for him. It would take time for their pain to fade.

Meanwhile they faced the future with nominally positive attitudes.

Jupiter up close was ferociously beautiful, with its mighty bands and spots. It was also somewhat daunting, because the atmospheric pressure at the residential level was five bars: five times that of Earth's surface. Spirit tried to bury the feeling of being crushed. She was used to vacuum, emotionally, dreadful as it was.

They came to the city of Nyork, a giant bubble about one and a half miles in diameter. Once they were inside, Spirit's tension eased; it was like being in any other bubble, except that this was larger. It hardly mattered whether the surrounding substance was atmosphere or vacuum; both were similarly lethal to unprotected human beings.

They were treated to a parade in their honor. They rode in a wheeled vehicle with the mayor of the city, and throngs of people cheered. This was weird; could it really be for them? It seemed it was.

Theoretically Jupiter's press was open, but it was clear that the real situation had not been publicized. So they were retired champions rather than cashiered outcasts.

When they entered the Hispanic section, the chant became monstrous. "Hubris! Hubris!" The car was pelted by flowers. This conspicuous waste embarrassed them, for ornamental plants were precious in space. Spirit made the most of it: she picked up several that fell inside the car and made a bouquet that she set in her hair, and there was a deafening roar of approval. She made another, her nine fingers nimble enough, and put it in her brother's hair, and the noise swelled yet farther.

A girl launched herself into the car, and flung her arms about Hope. "Hubris, I love you," she cried in Spanish.

A Saxon policeman pursued her, but Spirit interceded. "Let her stay, officer," she urged. "She will be no trouble, I'm sure." She put her arms protectively around the girl.

But the girl had another notion. She snuggled closer to Hope. "Hero Hubris, why don't you stay here in Nyork and become mayor, and I will be your mistress!"

He was so surprised that he choked. Spirit knew why: the girl was obviously under the age of consent by a year or two, though her anatomy was fully formed. Hope had sex with women of all ages, but in recent years had settled on nominally legitimate ones. He had never anticipated such a bald proposition by a stranger.

Spirit decided to rescue him. "My brother has already arranged to settle in Ybor, in Sunshine. He will get married."

"Married!" the girl cried, clutching him.

"He is not for you," Spirit said. "You would be too much woman for him. He is thirty years old."

"Thirty," the girl repeated, evidently shocked that anyone could be such an age. Then she reconsidered.

"Still, a married man needs a mistress, too, and May-December liaisons can work out. Sometimes an older man can be very considerate and not too demanding--"

"And he has been long in space," Spirit continued, keeping her face straight. "The radiation--"

"The radiation!" The girl glanced down at Hope's crotch as if expecting to see crawling gangrene. Of course space radiation did no apparent physical damage; it merely sterilized men who remained off-planet too long without taking special precautions. That was why the navy needed no contraceptives.

Most men had stored semen samples in shielded reserve if they later decided to become fathers.

Regardless, the notion had done the trick; the girl was no longer much interested in seducing him.

But soon the crowd became a riot, and they were in danger as the car was stalled by aggressive Saxons who thought Hispanics were taking their jobs. Spirit exchanged a glance with Hope: they knew what to do.

"Crowd control procedure," he said. "Cover me, Spirit."

She reached into her blouse and brought out a pencil-laser pistol. "Covered."

"Hey, you aren't supposed to be armed," the mayor protested. "Weapons are banned in--"

Spirit pointed the laser at his nose and he stopped talking. Hope jumped out of the car and ran ahead.

For a moment no one realized what he was doing; then a worker pointed at him and shouted.

But by that time Hope had reached the leader. He caught the man by the right arm, spun him around, and applied a submission lock.

"You can't do that!" another man cried, reaching for Hope. Spirit was ready; a beam from her laser burned a hole in his shirt and stung his chest. It was only a momentary flash, just enough to make him jump. Jump he did, falling back, staring at the car.

"That was just a warning," Hope told him. "Stand clear."

The others stood clear, realizing that the Navy personnel did indeed know how to conduct themselves in a fighting situation, and that the presence of the weapon made them far from helpless. Lasers did not have to be set at trace level.

A kind of hush descended on the crowd as Hope marched the labor leader to the car. Spirit's gaze remained on the crowd, not on Hope, and she fired again, stinging the hand of a man who was getting ready to throw another brick. She had always had acute reflexes and perfect marksmanship with whatever weapon she chose. Hope got the leader into the car.

"Sit there. Put your arm around the young lady."

"That spic?" he demanded angrily. "I wouldn't touch her with--"

Spirit's laser tube swung around to bear on his nose.

"Uh, yeah, sure," he said, disgruntled. He took the seat and moved his left arm.

"Keep your filthy Saxon hands to yourself!" the girl snapped in Spanish.

"Suffer yourself to be touched by this man," Hope told her in the same language. "We want to show the crowd how tolerant their leader is."

Her eyes widened as she caught on. She smiled sweetly. "Come here, you Saxon tub of sewage," she said in dulcet Spanish tones. "Put your big fat stinking white paw on me, snotface."

It went on from there, with the publicity cameras watching. Hope exerted his genius and in due course got the labor leader and the Hispanic girl to agree on a city program for the mayor to implement, that would bring more jobs for both factions. And the two natural enemies actually began to warm to each other.

"Know something, Captain?" the mayor said to Hope. "You're a born politician."

And that profession was exactly what Hope had in mind. It wasn't that he craved notoriety or power, but that he had a woman to win and a score to settle. Spirit would support him in both quests.

They took a shuttle flight to the state of Sunshine and the city of Ybor, and to the suburb of Pineleaf, which was a small spinning bubble reminding her of their early life in Halfcal and the disaster of the refugee bubble.

"Do you still have your finger-whip?" Hope asked her as they explored it.

"I can get one," she replied, laughing. It was good to laugh; she was beginning to reorient on the new reality, putting the pain of the Navy betrayal half a step behind her.

Within a day they discovered racism: an anonymous neighbor did not like the fact that they were Hispanic. But a non-anonymous neighbor went out of her way to counter it, and they were made welcome. As Hope put it: "Prejudice, racism, and unprovoked hate do exist in our society, though normally they are masked; they do their mischief in darkness. But they are more than compensated by the elements of openness, tolerance, and fairness that manifest in light." When it came to conceptual expression, Hope was the one.

They had funds from their Navy retirement to sustain them for some time, so did not have to obtain paying work immediately. Instead they oriented on Hope's next objective: Megan, the woman he believed he could love. He was a dreamer in his fashion, but that was all right; Spirit had enough practical sense to keep him functioning. She envied him his fancy; he had lost his first love, but at least had hope of a second one. Spirit had no such hope. She was not about to delude herself that any other man could ever take the place of Gerald in her life and heart.

Gerald. She hoped he was satisfied with Roulette. It had been a marriage of convenience to salvage what the Beautiful Dreamer had dreamed and Hope had made, but the girl was smart, nervy, beautiful, and passionate, and had essential connections. They would be having sex, of course, with or without love, because it was the Navy way, but Gerald was so gentle and Rue so masochistic that it was probably perfunctory. Spirit hoped they found some viable compromise. She discovered that she was motivated not by jealousy, but by the wish for Gerald to be happy. Maybe Rue could fake it, letting her unparalleled body carry the onus. Maybe Gerald could fake brutality with a feather whip, making The Ravished come truly to life.

But for now Spirit could sublimate her core of grief by focusing on her brother's prospective romance.

"Call Kife," she told him once they were settled in.

He needed no second urging. He put in a call to a code he had memorized. The letter Q appeared on the screen. "This is Hope Hubris."

In a moment the screen lighted with a silent schematic of the Pineleaf apartment complex, with one apartment briefly highlighted. Then it faded, and the connection broke.

He looked at Spirit. "Here?"

"Are you surprised?"

"Yes. I thought they'd just arrange to print out the data--"

"She's a woman, Hope."

He laughed. "She's interested in my career, not my body!"

"So am I."

He glanced at her, for a moment fathoming the farther reaches of that statement. Spirit was interested in his career, as hers was bound to his, but that was hardly the limit of their association. The QYV woman, Reba, had recommended that Hope get into politics, and hinted that she, and therefore QYV, would lend its potent subtle support; he would be expected to reciprocate as convenient and/or necessary. But no woman was immune to Hope's magnetism, and so it figured that however coldly ambitious Reba was, she also had at least a small worm of desire for his favor gnawing in her core.

"But it is to locate Megan that I need Kife," he said.

"You haven't located her yet."

He got the point: therefore he was not yet committed. So he could exercise his charm on this smart, tough, ambitious older woman, and perhaps gain by it.

He went alone, taking along his manuscript of Navy experience to give her for safekeeping. Reba had obtained the Refugee manuscript, and there was no reason to doubt her sincerity in protecting it.

He returned some time later, visibly awed. "She's young--my age," he said. "And she does have an interest."

"Of course."

"She says I am potentially Jupiter's next president."

Even Spirit was floored by that. "President! I thought some state office, maybe mayor of a city."

"She is ambitious, and means to use me to further it. I am daunted by the power of her mind and her grasp of reality. If we associated, I might orbit her."

Instead of the woman orbiting him in the usual manner. Any woman could impress Hope with her body, but few impressed him with their minds. If he was shaken, Spirit needed to take warning: Reba was dangerous.

"I kissed her," he added.

"Then you set her back."

He nodded. "I had to. She is too strong not to counter in some way."

Spirit nodded. That worm of desire would now be a snake. Reba might have power to affect Hope's career, but she would have a continuing hunger for his embrace. That would mitigate her sterness in dealing with him.

"She gave me something."

It was a case similar to the one he had had containing his Navy manuscript. That hinted at the woman's research; she had been prepared even in that detail. It was filled with material relating to Megan. They studied it together.

Megan had a considerable history. In her youth she had been an excellent singer; then she had entered politics and run for Congress. She had served as congresswoman, then run for senator--and been sabotaged by a completely unscrupulous opportunist. Megan was a liberal, concerned with human values and the alleviation of poverty and oppression on the planet, and her political record reflected this. Her opponent, an aggressive man named Tocsin, was a creature of the affluent special interests. He promptly denounced her as "soft on Saturnism," that being the dirtiest political accusation it was possible to make.

Theoretically the government of Saturn represented the comrades of the working class; actually it was a leftist dictatorship that suppressed the working class as ruthlessly as did any other system. Megan certainly had not supported that; she believed in human rights. It was a scurrilous tactic, an open smear campaign--but it worked. Tocsin won the election. Megan had supposed that competence, experience, and goodwill should carry the day; she had been brutally disabused.

"That woman was raped," Spirit murmured.

Megan was five years Hope's senior, a pedigreed Saxon, but that would not matter when he got close to her. She was beautiful, and as Reba had said, she dwarfed Helse in intelligence and competence, though Spirit did not bring that up. She did indeed seem like an excellent match for him, and not merely because of his fixation stemming from her slight physical resemblance to Helse. Hope needed a woman to take care of him, and Megan could certainly do that. With Megan in his life, Spirit would have greater freedom to focus on other matters, as had been the case when Emerald handled his career.

Megan had probably never heard of Hope Hubris, but he intended to marry her. And Spirit would do her best to make it happen.

Megan lived well around the planet from Sunshine, in the state of Golden. So they traveled there, and went to her residence without an appointment. They asked for her by intercom. And Megan declined to see him.

"She was a singer," Spirit murmured.

He grasped at that straw. "Tell her Captain Hubris will sing her his song!" he exclaimed. "She need only listen, then I will go. Surely she will grant this much to one who has crossed the planet to meet her."

The gatekeeper, plainly impatient with this nonsense, nevertheless buzzed her again. "Ma'am, he is insistent. He promises to depart if you will listen to his song." There was a pause, then he repeated,

"Captain Hubris. He says he has crossed the planet to meet you. There is a woman with him." He paused again. Then he glanced at Hope. "Sing your song, sir."

Hope sang his song: Worried Man Blues. "It takes a worried man to sing a worried song... I'm worried now, but I won't be worried long."

Now Megan spoke directly to Hope. "Who is the woman with you, Captain?"

"My sister, Spirit Hubris."

"Does she also sing?"

Startled by this unexpected reaction, Spirit sang 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."

When she stopped, they heard Megan's voice clearly. "Miss Hubris, you love your brother, don't you?"

"I do," Spirit agreed, bemused by this interest in her.

Megan agreed to see them.

Megan's beauty of youth had not paled; it had matured. The more recent pictures in the material QYV

had given Hope had suggested it; life confirmed it. "It is not often I am visited by military personnel," she remarked.

"Retired," Hope said. "We are civilians now."

"So you knew Uncle Mason," she said.

"Only briefly," Hope said, surprised. Evidently they were not complete strangers to her. Perhaps the scientist had mentioned the episode before he died. "I was with--Helse. She--looked like you."

"Of course," Megan said, as if it could have been no other way. She had that certain presence that facilitated this. "But that was some time ago."

"It's still true," he said, gazing at her. The sight of Megan was casting a spell over him; Spirit could see it happening.

"You still identify with the working class?"

"I do."

She nodded. As a politician she had sponsored social legislation; she was a friend of the working class, though she had never been part of it herself. "Yet you achieved a certain notoriety in that connection as an officer in the Navy, I believe."

"I helped make peace between the migrants and the farmers," Hope said defensively.

"Indeed you did," she agreed. "At one stroke you forged a settlement and set a precedent none of the rest of us had been able to arrange in years."

He was surprised again, and so was Spirit. "You--were watching that?"

She laughed. "My dear Captain, it was the headline of the day! I knew that you would be going far."

"You were aware of me before then?" Hope asked.

"Uncle Mason had mentioned you. He said it was like seeing me again, as I had been in my youth... that girl with you. I was then in my early twenties"

Spirit made a half-humorous sigh of nostalgia: the notion that a woman in her twenties was beyond her prime. Megan responded with a smile. Spirit found herself liking the woman.

"Then when you showed up at Chiron," Megan continued, "which I know was a very ticklish situation, I recognized you. Naturally I was curious. But I hardly thought you were aware of me. You caught me quite by surprise, coming here like this. Perhaps I should have realized that a military man normally takes direct action."

"But if you recognized my name why did you refuse my letter?"

"Did you write? I'm so sorry. I refuse all posts from strangers because of the hate mail."

"Hate mail?" Spirit asked, surprised. It turned out that Megan still received nasty letters from conservatives.

"Yet you refused to see me," Hope said.

"Captain Hubris, I have put that life behind me," she said firmly. "I knew the moment I heard your name that you were here on a political errand. I shall not suffer myself to be dragged into that mire again." She grimaced in a fetching manner. "Then you sang, and it was a song of the working class..."

"But you were wronged!" Hope protested. "You should not let one bad experience deprive you of your career!"

"Didn't you, Captain?" she asked, scoring.

Soon Hope got down to his real business: he wanted her to guide him in his forthcoming political career.

"My dear man, whatever makes you suppose I would do such a thing?"

"I'm sure you are loyal to your principles and your family. Therefore--"

"But we are not related!"

"Not yet," Spirit murmured.

"What are you trying to say, Captain?"

"I want to marry you, Megan."

Her mouth actually dropped open. "Have you any idea what you're saying?"

"You are the only living woman I can love," he said.

She was stunned but rallied quickly. "Because I once resembled your childhood sweetheart? Surely you know better than that!"

Hope tried to explain, but for once failed to get through. Megan looked at Spirit. "You are his sister, and you love him more than any other. What do you make of this?"

Spirit shook her head. "I'm not sure you would understand."

"I suspect I had better understand! Describe to me his nature as you appreciate it."

Spirit dropped her gaze, frowning, but made the effort. "Hope Hubris is a specially talented person. He reads people. He is like a polygraph, a device to record and interpret the physical reactions of people he talks with. He knows when they are tense, when they are easy, when they hurt or are happy, when they are truthful and when lying. He uses his insight to handle them, to cause them to go his way without their realizing this. He--"

"You are describing the consummate politician," Megan exclaimed.

"So we understand," Spirit agreed. "But that's not what I'm addressing at the moment. Hope--is loved by others because he understands them so well, in his fashion. The men who work with him are fanatically loyal, and the women love him, though they know he can not truly return their love. But he--his talent perhaps makes him inherently cynical, emotionally, on the deep level. On the surface he is ready to love, but below he knows better, so he can not. Except for his first love, Helse. She initiated him into manhood, and there was no cynicism there. But having given his love to her, he could not then truly give it elsewhere--with one exception. The woman who looked like Helse."

Megan dabbed at her forehead with a dainty handkerchief, as if becoming faint from overexertion. "But he doesn't even know me."

"He doesn't need to," Spirit said. "This has nothing to do with knowledge. It has to do with faith."

"It is also true that I need your expertise in politics," Hope said. "So there is a practical foundation. Marry me and it will make sense."

Megan, naturally enough, resisted the notion. She did not want to return to politics, and was not about to marry a stranger.

"Convince her," Hope said to his sister.

Spirit made the effort. "Megan--may I call you that?--I must argue that your life has indeed developed toward this union. You are a fine person, an outstanding political figure, and a lovely woman, though my brother still would have come for you had you been otherwise. You deserve better than what the maelstrom of Jupiter politics has given you. You deserve to wield power, for you do know how to use it, and you have a social conscience unrivaled in the contemporary scene. You did not lose your last campaign because you were inadequate but because you were superior. You refused to stoop to the tactics your opponent used. As with money, the bad drove out the good, and you lost your place in the public eye, while your opponent flourishes like a weed. But whatever the politics, the bad remains bad and the good remains good, and this my brother understands."

Thus Hope's courtship of Megan, the woman of his dreams. She did not acquiesce immediately, but with further acquaintance his power and qualities slowly eroded her resistance, and four months after their first meeting, she did marry him. At first it was a marriage in name only, but in time that too changed. It was not accurate to say she came into his orbit; rather they orbited each other. Hope had won his second love, and it was a fully worthy relationship with no stain on it.

Except, perhaps, for one aspect, which was not the fault of either. It was Spirit's fault.

*

They delved into political issues, under Megan's competent tutelage, trying to learn everything. This was their homework for the coming political effort.

Meanwhile, their limited activity had not gone unnoticed. The political columnist for a local newspaper was a man who signed himself simply "Thorley." Between elections he was evidently short of material, so minor things warranted comment.

"Guess who's coming to town," Thorley wrote conversationally, showing by this signal that this was not a subject to be taken too seriously. "Remember the darling of the bleeding-heart set in Golden, Megan? It seems she married the gallant of the Jupiter Navy, Captain Hubris, a man some years her junior. Rumor has it that one of them has political pretensions."

"That's insulting," Hope said angrily. "What right does he have to--"

"We are, or were, public figures," Megan said. "Our names are in the common domain, his to play with at will. He tosses them about as a canine tosses a rag doll, entertaining himself. You will have to get used to this sort of thing if you wish to survive in politics. Words become as heated and effective as lasers.

Perhaps you can better appreciate, now, why I was not eager to return to the arena myself."

Indeed, Spirit was coming to appreciate that. "He's our demon."

"Just keep in mind that though Thorley is at the opposite end of the political spectrum, a thorough conservative, he is a competent journalist and an honest man."

"You would find good in the devil himself," Hope charged her, smiling.

"That might be a slight exaggeration. But Thorley is no devil. His beliefs may be wrong-headed by my definitions, but he is no demagogue. He will not compromise his principles, and that is to be respected."

Much of the evil of the political system seemed to center on money. Politicians needed a lot of money to campaign effectively, and it soon corrupted them. There needed to be reform of campaign financing.

They oriented on this, and Hope began speaking of it in citizen meetings.

Columnist Thorley had another comment in print: "Captain Hubris, he who tightened the Belt, has been delving into the arcane lore of Campaign Finance (his caps, not mine). Could he be interested in something of the sort himself? Stranger things have been known to occur in the murky by-paths of the liberal establishment."

They let that pass, with an effort. They continued their research and participation in citizen initiatives.

Three years passed. In that time Hope's marriage to Megan became real, so it was not a dull time for him. But Spirit was restless, though she did not express it. She missed having a man in her private life.

She even missed the Navy Tail. She had thought she could take or leave sex, but after Gerald she appreciated it more.

They hired an executive secretary. Megan selected her, somewhat in the manner the Beautiful Dreamer had selected ideal officers: she located the best who were otherwise barred. Thus Shelia--and that was the spelling--joined their small group. She was a lovely girl, seventeen years old, highly qualified, and confined for life to a wheelchair. But she was a very quick study and a dedicated worker. Soon she had a clearer notion of the campaign strategy than Hope did. Of course she loved Hope, and served him in the best way she could: with absolute loyalty.

Hope ran for state secretary. He told the truth, eschewed special interest money, and refused to dig for any dirt. Consequently he looked like a likely loser, and the polls confirmed it.

Thorley summarized the situation succinctly: "Hope Hubris constituency: Belt 20. Hispanic 20. Total 35."

Allowing for overlap. Of a likely voting population of millions.

Hope's ire focused on Thorley. "I'm about ready to do something about that guy," he muttered. "I'd like to debate him before an audience."

"Great idea!" Shelia agreed enthusiastically. She was then barely eighteen, and subject to enthusiasm.

It had been a joke. But Spirit considered it. "You know, I wonder--?"

Megan nodded. "That would be truly novel. We really have nothing to lose at this point."

So the joke became real. Hope made the ludicrous gesture of challenging the columnist Thorley to a public debate, since he couldn't get the incumbent to share the stage with him. They expected either to be ignored or to become the target of a scathingly clever column.

But Thorley accepted.

Bemused, they worked it out. "He must find this campaign as dull as I do," Hope said. "This will at least put us both on the map of oddities."

"True," Megan agreed. "But do not take it lightly. Now we shall find out what you are made of. Debates are treacherous."

"Like single combat," Spirit said. Hope had always been good at that.

They prepared as carefully as if it were a major public event. They had acquired a certain cynicism about politics and the electorate as they experienced the insularity of supposedly public spirited organizations, but Megan had been completely unsurprised. She had been through it before. "Even the most bleeding of hearts becomes a trifle cynical," she observed. Now she believed that this debate would be a formidable test, and Spirit had learned to heed Megan's judgments on such things. She drilled Hope on every conceivable aspect of the subject. He was letter perfect. But was it enough?

Thorley showed up on schedule. He was a handsome man of about Hope's own age, a fair Saxon, slightly heavyset, with a magnificently modulated voice. He shook Hope's hand in a cordial manner, then greeted Megan similarly. "It is an honor to meet so respected a figure," he told her, his evident sincerity setting her back. "You are indeed beautiful." He turned to Spirit. "And so are you, Miss Hubris. Had I a sister like you, I should have run for office myself." Spirit was so surprised by the muted compliment she had no answer. He turned to Shelia. "And I would have needed a secretary like you to keep me organized." Instead of shaking her hand, he lifted it to his face and kissed it. She, too, was momentarily stunned.

Thorley settled into the comfortable chair assigned to him as if he had been there all his life. In the space of hardly more than a minute he had fairly set back all three women supporting his debate opponent. His manner and presence disarmed them; he was completely charming.

Hope chatted with Thorley in the few minutes before the formal program, and it was clear that Hope also liked him. They had expected a sneering, supercilious snob, despite Megan's assessment; they had been disabused. In person he was not at all like that.

"I feared I would be late," he remarked with a momentary slant of one eyebrow to signal that this was a minor personal crisis. "Thomas was not quite ready to come in."

"Thomas?" Spirit asked. "I thought you were childless."

Thorley grinned infectiously. "Naturally your camp has done its homework on the opposition, but perhaps imperfectly. Thomas is our resident of the feline persuasion."

Spirit had to smile in return, touching her forehead with her four-fingered hand as if jogging loose a short circuit. "Oh, a male cat. We did not have pets in the Navy."

"The Navy remains unforgivably backward in certain social respects," he said. "Cats are admirably independent, but in this instance, with my wife visiting Hidalgo to cover for a discomfited relative, the burden of supervision falls on me. Regulations"--here he made a fleeting grimace to show his disapproval of regulations as a class of human endeavor--"require the confinement of nonhuman associates when the persons concerned are absent from the immediate vicinity." His nuances of facial and vocal expression made even so small a matter as a stray tomcat seem like a significant experience. The man had phenomenal personal magnetism, and Spirit had to fight to maintain her objectivity. She realized that Hope might be in for more of a debate than they had anticipated, for Thorley could surely move an audience.

"Well, in a couple of hours you'll be back to let him out again," Hope said.

"I surely had better be," he agreed. "Thomas is inclined to express his ire against the furniture when neglected, as any reasonable person would." That fierce individualism manifested in almost every sentence he uttered, yet now it became appealing.

Then the hour of the debate was on them. There was no holo-news coverage, but there were a couple of cub reporters and a still-picture photographer, and of course each side had its own machine recorder.

The audience was reasonable for the occasion, hardly filling the hall, about two hundred dutiful citizens.

There was no moderator, no formal rules; it was discussion format. Spirit knew that could be awkward, but Megan had assured them that it could also be the most natural and effective. They had agreed to alternate in asking each other questions, with verbal interplay increasing after the initial answers. They flipped a coin, and Thorley won the right to pose the first question.

Megan and Spirit moved to either side of the small stage, while Shelia merged her chair with the front row of the audience and took notes, which were bound to be the most relevant.

"I understand that you, Captain Hubris, in accordance with many of the liberal folly, are opposed to capital punishment," Thorley said, his attitude and his language hardening dramatically as he got down to business.

"I am," Hope agreed.

"Yet you are, or were, a prominent military man," Thorley continued. "You could have been responsible for the deaths of hundreds of living people--"

"Thousands," Hope agreed.

"How do you reconcile this with your present stand opposing the execution of criminals?"

It seemed like a trap, but Megan had anticipated it and prepared Hope for it. "The two situations are not comparable," he said carefully. "As a military man, I was under orders; when killing was required, I performed my duty. I never enjoyed that aspect of it, but the Navy did not express interest in my personal opinions." He smiled, Thorley smiled with him, and there was a ripple of humor through the audience. This was merely a warm-up interchange, and they all knew that it was the audience reaction that counted. "There is also a distinction between the violence of combat and the measured, deliberate destruction of human life that legal execution is. If a man fires his weapon at me and I fire back and kill him, that is one thing; but if that man is strapped to a chair, helpless, that is another. To my mind, the first case is defense; the second is murder."

"Well and fairly spoken," Thorley said smoothly. "But can we be sure there is a true distinction between the cases?" Thorley then proceeded to make Hope's position seem paradoxical, and it was apparent that he was scoring better with the audience than Hope was. Spirit realized that the man was not only privately charming, he was quite intelligent and thoroughly prepared. He was at least a match for Hope, and Hope was no slouch at playing scenes or moving audiences.

It was now Hope's turn to pose a question. He asked about the conservative's opposition to big government: did he prefer anarchy? Thorley fielded it with grace and felicity of expression, employing incidental metaphors that carried his meaning without being unkindly blunt. Spirit saw the audience nodding agreement, and when he likened too much government to a bloated stomach, they laughed.

What an image! There were things to be learned from this man, and Spirit would make sure that Hope did learn them.

With the next question, Thorley got serious. "It has been said that a free press is the best guarantee of honest government. Where do you stand on that?"

This was a difficult one. Hope had practiced censorship of the news during the campaign in the Belt, to keep the pirates from anticipating the Navy moves. Thorley would surely make much of that.

There was a commotion in the audience. A burly Saxon man was striding forward, brandishing a portable industrial laser unit. "You spics are stealing our jobs! We don't need none of you in office!" He brought his laser to bear on Hope and fired.

But both Hope and Spirit were already flying out of their chairs. Megan, no creature of physical violence, was standing stock-still, gazing at the worker with horror.

The first bolt seared into the floor where Hope's chair had been. Hope and Spirit were closing in on the man from the sides. But it would take them seconds to reach him; they had not come armed.

The Saxon worker's face fastened on Megan. "And we don't need no spic-lovers, neither!" he cried, and swung the laser to bear on her. Still she stood frozen.

Thorley launched himself from his chair just as the man pulled the trigger. The deadly beam sizzled and was muffled by Thorley's body. Steam spread out, and in a moment there was the horrible odor of fried flesh.

Then Hope reached the worker. Knowing that her brother would make short work of him, Spirit veered aside and went to Megan instead, leading her away from the violence.

In another moment Hope kneeled beside Thorley. The man was curled up in agony, trying to grip his left leg. The laser beam had seared into his thigh, not a lethal wound but certainly a hellishly painful one. It could cost him his leg if a key nerve had been burned out.

There were other urgent things to do at this moment, as the hall erupted into pandemonium. Thorley needed immediate medical attention, the police needed to take charge of the murderous worker, and Hope had to get Megan away from this place before she went into shock. But for the moment Hope remained with the wounded man. "Thorley," he said. "Why did you intercede?"

"I don't believe in assassination," Thorley gasped. "Not even of liberals."

"How can I repay you?"

"Just--keep the press--free," Thorley whispered, and passed out.

"Always!" Hope swore to the man's unconscious body. It was a vow he would keep.