Executive (13 page)

Hands came, catching my suit, drawing me forward. I moved as urged, as I had to when under pacifier influence. I wasn't pleased to be subjected to this, as I had come voluntarily to do this woman's limited bidding, but could not protest. It reminded me of the time when I was fifteen and pirates had used a pacifier on our refugee group and slain my father while I watched helplessly. But this was not that, I reminded myself. I knew by the touch that this was Reba, the woman I had come to see. She brought me to the end of a couch or bed and stopped me there. Still I could not see; the darkness was impenetrable.

Then she worked on my clothing. I did not resist. She drew off my jacket and shirt, and I moved my arms to assist, following the implied directives. She took down my trousers, and I lifted one foot and then the other, cooperating. In due course she had me naked, still standing. What did she have in mind?

Evidently not ordinary sex.

Now her hands slid lightly across the skin of my body, my arms and chest and back. There are ways and ways to touch; this was expertly caressing. The fingers were slippery smooth, perhaps gloved in plastic, and slightly cool.

They moved on down my torso, brushing my belly and spine, down to cup my buttocks, down the backs of my legs to my feet, then up inside. They climbed to my private region and explored it, becoming ticklish. My body reacted, melding from flaccid to rigid, but I remained otherwise unmoving.

The hands returned to my upper structure, and their force increased. Now the fingers kneaded my flesh, squeezing the muscle of the arms, moving up to massage my shoulders. At this, too, they were expert; it felt very good. They worked over my neck, causing unsuspected tensions to ease. They traveled down my backbone, bearing relief of tightness. They kneaded my buttocks and my thigh muscles and my calves. They returned to work on my member, causing it, ironically, to harden further rather than soften.

Then the hands went to my shoulders, turned me around, and pushed abruptly. I fell backward, my legs catching on the edge of the bed, so that I landed bouncingly on my back, my feet remaining on the floor.

She took hold of one foot, moving it outward. Then the other, out, so that my knees were widely spread. Then the hands hauled on both legs, so that I had to slide down until my posterior almost overhung the edge. What did she have in mind? So far she had not spoken, and I had been able to see nothing; touch was the only communication.

Now she got on me, her naked body straddling mine, facing toward my spread knees. Her thighs dropped down outside mine, her feet remaining on the floor, so that she was able to stand in her fashion.

She took my member and guided it, slowly settling down on it, until all her weight was on me and the connection was complete. Still I did not move, obeying her unstated directive. She required my body to play with in her fashion; she had it.

Those hands reached down, caressed that portion of my anatomy that remained exposed, then moved on. One finger slid to the aperture below and nudged and pushed, and, lubricated by something, entered.

I felt very much as if I were a woman, being entered by a man, especially considering the intimate contact above that site. That member of hers drove to its full depth, then stroked an interior organ of mine and put pressure against it.

I had been accepting what was happening as if I were indifferent, also in the manner of a woman. I cannot say that I found the situation comfortable emotionally. But now, as that finger squeezed that organ, my system became urgent. I started to thrust, as well as I could in that awkward position.

She moved with me, rocking back and forth, her own anatomy clenching. That finger thrust harder, becoming uncomfortable, almost painful, compressing what it found. I tensed urgently, then fountained, that finger seeming to guide and enhance each spasm. I had thought I had experienced the ultimate intensity with Coral's tree; this was far beyond that, though not actually as pleasurable overall.

It subsided at last. Her finger came out, and her torso lifted, freeing me. In a moment a cloth washed off my anatomy. Then the hands tugged on me again, causing me to sit up, then stand, and they dressed me.

When that process was complete, the hands pushed me forward. I stepped onto the moving belt, which now moved in the opposite direction, and was carried to the door panel. It opened, and I stepped out, blinking in the light, abruptly free of the pacifier field.

I had never even spoken to her, yet somehow I knew that she would take care of my need. She had, in a very direct manner, had her will of me; now she would serve my interest effectively.

She had also given me a considerable experience, and food for thought. I was somewhat sore in the crotch, as a woman might be, after a too-violent effort by a man. But I had been forced to respond, and the discomfort had become part of the pleasure. I had never had any comprehension of sadomasochism or of reverse roles, but now I had an inkling. In absolute darkness Reba had shown me much.

Back at the White Bubble, the girls treated me in a manner reminiscent of my female associates in the Navy: knowing, curious, superior, competitive. Perhaps they had reason. “Did she teach you anything, Tyrant?” Coral inquired.

“Um,” I mumbled, preferring to avoid the subject.

“Are you limping, sir?” Shelia asked.

I straightened up. “Num.”

“I hear those older women can have a lot of experience,” Ebony put in.

“Um.”

“Did she answer your question?” Spirit asked.

I spread my hands. “She never spoke!” I said, realizing that I had been so bemused by Reba's technique that my mission had been neglected.

They all laughed. Then Shelia tapped her armrest. “She sent a message, sir: There will be an alternate identity created for you.”

So QYV was addressing my problem! Reba simply had had to make her impression on me, her way.

That she had certainly done. I might be the Tyrant, but she had reminded me how it felt to be subject to the will of another person. To be helpless while one's most private parts were manipulated, leaving no physical refuge. The way most of the citizens of North Jupiter were with relation to the Tyrant. A lesson in humility—and the Golden Rule. That was worth remembering.

My daughter Hopie had been wrestling diligently with the problem of education. I could see the impact of Thorley in her attitude now.

“Daddy, the problem starts with the low respect teachers have,” she said earnestly. "Very few educated people want to go into that profession; those who can get more challenging or better paying positions elsewhere do so, leaving the bottom quarter of those qualified to go into teaching as their last alternative.

No wonder the curricula they fashion lack relevance!"

“No wonder,” I agreed, suspecting what was coming.

“First we have to elevate the profession, to attract the top graduates,” she continued. “Then we have to give them free rein to revamp the system, stressing excellence. It will take time, but—”

“How do we attract top graduates?” I asked warily.

“Why, we upgrade their pay scales to be competitive with those of industry,” she said.

That's what I had feared. “More money.” I groaned.

“Well, you don't get something for nothing, Daddy.”

“And where do we get the extra money?”

She shrugged. “That's someone else's department.”

I sighed. My balanced budget retreated as I approached it, assuming the attributes of a mirage. “I'll try to raise more money,” I said. “Meanwhile, see if you can come up with some temporary expedient to improve education using the present personnel.”

She surprised me. “Thorley said you'd say that. I'm working on it.” And she hurried away, fresh with the vigor of her generation.

I took a break of sorts, going to see Robertico and Amber. The two got along adequately, for neither spoke. Amber was spelling Hopie as baby-sitter, for that did not require words. At the moment they had an entertainment holo on: cowboys and Indians of the ancient Earth that never was. Amber was viewing it with curiosity rather than interest, while Robertico crawled around, trying to grab the three-dimensional images.

Hopie had done a good job with both of them, I realized. I had assigned her these tasks in addition to her education post, and these matters had largely vacated my awareness. Hopie had taken hold on all fronts, and that pleased me greatly. I resolved to tell her so, the next time I encountered her. But, of course, her proficiency was to be expected, considering her parentage and upbringing. There were aspects of her appearance and intellect that stamped HUBRIS clearly on her, as well as others that established her independence.

“Come here, Tico,” I said, picking up the boy. He was now in watertight pants, no problem to handle.

“Soon you will be learning to walk—and to talk. You may be a little slow, because of the time you spent in the nursery without proper attention or stimulation, but now you have plenty. What do you say to that?” Robertico smiled, then scrambled back toward the holo, his fascination unabated. I let him go, smiling. I turned to the girl, who had watched the interchange without expression. "And you, Amber—what is your background? I want you to be happy, too, and to learn to be a complete person.

Why don't you talk?"

She only shook her head, evidently understanding me but unable to respond verbally.

The mystery of her intrigued me, as it had before. Khukov had given her to me and surely not for any idle reason. Now, still fresh from my experience with Reba, I was highly attuned to the problem of helplessness. This girl should talk and smile and have initiative, instead of being like a person caught by a pacifier field. Teaching her did not work, but that suggested only that she was balked from responding.

My eye fixed on the orange gem mounted on her ring: amber, her namesake, surely somehow linked to her secret. I took her hand, feeling again that strangeness in her, and stared into the ring. There was the embedded termite.

What was a termite? An ugly insect by human definition, and a destructive one. On occasion some got loose in a bubble and methodically devoured whatever organic fiber they could find, silently tunneling through and through until the structure collapsed. They had to be exterminated. In the old days on Earth they had been a constant threat to buildings. Yet termites were actually a kind of civilization, like the ants and bees, being organized into an efficient society. They were in a sense a parallel to the human species, adapting nature to their need, uncaring about the resulting erosion of prior structures. Why should Amber carry a termite? What did that symbolize?

Then another aspect of the termite existence occurred to me.

They were supposed to have a number of phases, or stages, of development. They didn't just hatch from grub to adult; they moved through several aspects, some land-bound, some winged. I really did not know much about it and doubted that I needed to; all that was needed was to grasp the key.

Did Amber have stages? If so, what would they be? How would they occur?

I pondered. The girl seemed to have the potential to speak but did not. That could be like a silent phase.

Perhaps the correct signal could switch her to a talking phase. But what would that signal be?

“Amber,” I said, and her gaze came up to meet mine. Her eyes were pretty, in that large, childlike way, and seemed almost the color of her name.

“Talk,” I commanded.

She merely stared at me, remaining mute.

I pondered again. If a verbal command did not do it, what kind would?

I looked down at the gem. That was the one thing she would not part with. There had to be a reason, and not any fascination with termites. Was the gem the key? How?

I became aware of a change in her as her gaze followed mine down to seek the gem. Her body relaxed, as if coming home after some difficult activity. Yes, surely this related!

“Amber,” I told her. “Look at the amber gem. Stare into it. Lose yourself in it.”

She obeyed. Her body relaxed further. I still held her hand, and I felt her going into a light trance.

Hypnotic suggestion—triggered by the gem! Certainly that made sense. Now she would be receptive to my directive.

“Talk,” I repeated.

She remained as she was, unresponsive. That was not the correct directive.

I pondered yet again, sure that I was making progress but baffled by the necessary detail. If only I knew the correct command!

This girl was Hispanic; her aspect conformed, and Khukov had said she was of my culture. Many of us were bilingual; could she understand Spanish?

I tried. “ ¿Español? ”

“ ¡Si! ” she agreed.

I jumped, startled by this unexpected success. “You do speak Spanish!” I exclaimed in that language, thrilled.

Gravely she nodded.

“But you did not speak it before!”

She nodded again.

“But why not?”

“I—was in the wrong mode,” she explained.

“But you seemed to understand English.”

Once more she nodded. When I did not ask a direct question, she did not answer in words. She was still unusually passive. It remained my task to find the way to full communication.

“You are in the Spanish mode now,” I said. "In this you can speak and understand, for you are Hispanic.

You have learned English, but you do not speak it."

She nodded affirmatively.

“ Why don't you speak English?”

“It is a passive mode.”

Not much help. “What can I do to help you speak English?”

She shrugged. She didn't know.

Apparently Khukov, or some other party, had in some way programmed her to speak only in her native language and barred her from the other she had learned. Why?

I tried another tack. “Where are you from, Amber?”

“Halfcal,” she said.

I knew it was true; I should have recognized the accent immediately. She was from my home state! That offered a clue to part of Khukov's rationale; he had known I would appreciate helping another of my kind.

“Are you a refugee?”

Her gaze was blank. She didn't know.