The Moon is a Harsh Mistress (31 page)

Neither
of us was hurt and it made juicy news breaks, for I put recording in
Stu’s hands and he turned it over to his hired men. Nor were all
headlines against us; Stu had recording cut and edited and slanted.

Not
all were good; nearest to a favorable story in India was editorial in New India
Times inquiring whether Authority was risking bread of masses in failing to
come to terms with Lunar insurgents. Was suggested that concessions could be
made if would insure increased grain deliveries. Was filled with inflated
statistics; Luna did not feed “a hundred million
Hindus”—unless you chose to think of our grain as making difference
between malnutrition and starvation.

On
other hand biggest New York paper opined that Authority had made mistake in
treating with us at all, since only thing convicts understood was taste of
lash—troops should land, set us in order, hang guilty, leave forces to
keep order.

Was
a quick mutiny, quickly subdued, in Peace Dragoons regiment from which our late
oppressors had come, one started by rumor that they were to be shipped to Moon.
Mutiny not hushed up perfectly; Stu hired good men.

Next
morning a message reached us inquiring if Professor de la Paz was well enough
to resume discussions? We went, and committee supplied doctor and nurse to
watch over Prof. But this time we were searched—and a recorder removed
from my pouch.

I
surrendered it without much fuss; was Japanese job supplied by Stu—to be
surrendered. Number-six arm has recess intended for a power pack but near
enough size of my mini-recorder. Didn’t need power that day—and
most people, even hardened police officers, dislike to touch a prosthetic.

Everything
discussed day before was ignored … except that chairman started session
by scolding us for “breaking security of a closed meeting.”

Prof
replied that it had not been closed so far as we were concerned and that we
would welcome newsmen, video cameras, a gallery, anyone, as Luna Free State had
nothing to hide.

Chairman
replied stiffly that so-called Free State did not control these hearings; these
sessions were closed, not to be discussed outside this room, and that it was so
ordered.

Prof
looked at me. “Will you help me, Colonel?” I touched controls of
chair, scooted around, was shoving his stretcher wagon with my chair toward
door before chairman realized bluff had been called. Prof allowed himself to be
persuaded to stay without promising anything. Hard to coerce a man who faints
if he gets overexcited.

Chairman
said that there had been many irrelevancies yesterday and matters discussed
best left undiscussed—and that he would permit no digressions today. He
looked at Argentino, then at North American.

He
went on: “Sovereignty is an abstract concept, one that has been redefined
many times as mankind has learned to live in peace. We need not discuss it. The
real question, Professor—or even Ambassador de-facto, if you like; we
shan’t quibble—the real question is this: Are you prepared to
guarantee that the Lunar Colonies will keep their commitments?”

“What
commitments, sir?”

“All
commitments, but I have in mind specifically your commitments concerning grain
shipments.”

“I
know of no such commitments, sir,” Prof answered with innocence.

Chairman’s
hand tightened on gavel. But he answered quietly, “Come, sir, there is no
need to spar over words. I refer to the quota of grain shipments—and to
the increased quota, a matter of thirteen percent, for this new fiscal year. Do
we have assurance that you will honor those commitments? This is a minimum
basis for discussion, else these talks can go no further.”

“Then
I am sorry to say, sir, that it would appear that our talks must cease.”

“You’re
not being serious.”

“Quite
serious, sir. The sovereignty of Free Luna is not the abstract matter you seem
to feel it is. These commitments you speak of were the Authority contracting
with itself. My country is not bound by such. Any commitments from the
sovereign nation I have the honor to represent are still to be
negotiated.”

“Rabble!”
growled North American. “I told you you were being too soft on them.
Jailbirds. Thieves and whores. They don’t understand decent
treatment.”

“Order!”

“Just
remember, I told you. If I had them in Colorado, we would teach them a thing or
two; we know how to handle their sort.”

“The
gentleman member will please be in order.”

“I’m
afraid,” said Hindu member—Parsee in fact, but committeeman from
India—“I’m afraid I must agree in essence with the gentleman
member from the North American Directorate. India cannot accept the concept
that the grain commitments are mere scraps of paper. Decent people do not play
politics with hunger.”

“And
besides,” the Argentino put in, “they breed like animals.
Pigs!”

(Prof
made me take a tranquilizing drug before that session. Had insisted on seeing
me take it.)

Prof
said quietly, “Honorable Chairman, may I have consent to amplify my
meaning before we conclude, perhaps too hastily, that these talks must be
abandoned?”

“Proceed.”

“Unanimous
consent? Free of interruption?”

Chairman
looked around. “Consent is unanimous,” he stated, “and the
gentlemen members are placed on notice that I will invoke special rule fourteen
at the next outburst. The sergeant-at-arms is directed to note this and act.
The witness will proceed.”

“I
will be brief, Honorable Chairman.” Prof said something in Spanish; all I
caught was “Señor.” Argentina turned dark but did not
answer. Prof went on, “I must first answer the gentleman member from
North America on a matter of personal privilege since he has impugned my fellow
countrymen. I for one have seen the inside of more than one jail; I accept the
title—nay, I glory in the title of ‘jailbird.’ We citizens of
Luna are jailbirds and descendants of jailbirds. But Luna herself is a stern
schoolmistress; those who have lived through her harsh lessons have no cause to
feel ashamed. In Luna City a man may leave purse unguarded or home unlocked and
feel no fear … I wonder if this is true in Denver? As may be, I have no
wish to visit Colorado to learn a thing or two; I am satisfied with what Mother
Luna has taught me. And rabble we may be, but we are now a rabble in arms.

“To
the gentleman member from India let me say that we do not ‘play politics
with hunger.’ What we ask is an open discussion of facts of nature
unbound by political assumptions false to fact. If we can hold this discussion,
I can promise to show a way in which Luna can continue grain shipments and
expand them enormously … to the great benefit of India.”

Both
Chinee and Indian looked alert. Indian started to speak, checked himself, then
said, “Honorable Chairman, will the Chair ask the witness to explain what
he means?”

“The
witness is invited to amplify.”

“Honorable
Chairman, gentlemen members, there is indeed a way for Luna to expand by
tenfold or even a hundred her shipments to our hungry millions. The fact that
grain barges continued to arrive on schedule during our time of trouble and are
still arriving today is proof that our intentions are friendly. But you do not
get milk by beating the cow. Discussions of how to augment our shipments must
be based on the facts of nature, not on the false assumption that we are
slaves, bound by a work quota we never made. So which shall it be? Will you persist
in believing that we are slaves, indentured to an Authority other than
ourselves? Or will you acknowledge that we are free, negotiate with us, and
learn how we can help you?”

Chairman
said, “In other words you ask us to buy a pig in a poke. You demand that
we legalize your outlaw status … then you will talk about fantastic
claims that you can increase grain shipments ten- or a hundredfold. What you
claim is impossible; I am expert in Lunar economics. And what you ask is
impossible; takes the Grand Assembly to admit a new nation.”

“Then
place it before the Grand Assembly. Once seated as sovreign equals, we will
discuss how to increase shipments and negotiate terms. Honorable Chairman, we
grow the grain, we own it. We can grow far more. But not as slaves. Luna’s
soverign freedom must first be recognized.”

“Impossible
and you know it. The Lunar Authority cannot abdicate its sacred
responsibility.”

Prof
sighed. “It appears to be an impasse. I can only suggest that these
hearings be recessed while we all take thought. Today our barges are arriving
… but the moment that I am forced to notify my government that I have
failed … they … will … stop!”

Prof’s
head sank back on pillow as if it had been too much for him—as may have
been. I was doing well enough but was young and had had practice in how to
visit Terra and stay alive. A Loonie his age should not risk it. After minor
foofooraw which Prof ignored they loaded us into a lorry and scooted us back to
hotel. Once under way I said, “Prof, what was it you said to Señor
Jellybelly that raised blood pressure?”

He
chuckled. “Comrade Stuart’s investigations of these gentlemen turn
up remarkable facts. I asked who owned a certain brothel off Calle Florida in
B.A. these days and did it now have a star redhead?”

“Why?
You used to patronize it?” Tried to imagine Prof in such!

“Never.
It has been forty years since I was last in Buenos Aires. He owns that
establishment, Manuel, through a dummy, and his wife, a beauty with Titian
hair, once worked in it.”

Was
sorry had asked. “Wasn’t that a foul blow? And undiplomatic?”

But
Prof closed eyes and did not answer.

He
was recovered enough to spend an hour at a reception for newsmen that night,
with white hair framed against a purple pillow and thin body decked out in
embroidered pajamas. Looked like vip corpse at an important funeral, except for
eyes and dimples. I looked mighty vip too, in black and gold uniform which Stu
claimed was Lunar diplomatic uniform of my rank. Could have been, if Lana had
had such things—did not or I would have known. I prefer a p-suit; collar
was tight. Nor did I ever find out what decorations on it meant. ~A reporter
asked me about one, based on Luna at crescent as seen from Terra; told him it
was a prize for spelling. Stu was in earshot and said, “The Colonel is
modest. That decoration is of the same rank as the Victoria Cross and in his
case was awarded for an act of gallantry on the glorious, tragic day
of—”

He
led him away, still talking. Stu could lie standing up almost as well as Prof.
Me, I have to think out a lie ahead of time.

India
newspapers and casts were rough that night; “threat” to stop grain
shipments made them froth. Gentlest proposal was to clean out Luna, exterminate
us “criminal troglodytes” and replace us with “honest Hindu
peasants” who understood sacredness of life and would ship grain and more
grain.

Prof
picked that night to talk and give handouts about Luna’s inability to
continue shipments, and why—and Stu’s organization spread release
throughout Terra. Some reporters took time to dig out sense of figures and
tackled Prof on glaring discrepancy:

“Professor
de la Paz, here you say that grain shipments will dwindle away through failure
of natural resources and that by 2082 Luna won’t even be able to feed its
own people. Yet earlier today you told the Lunar Authority that you could
increase shipments a dozen times or more.”

Prof
said sweetly, “That committee is the Lunar Authority?”

“Well
… it’s an open secret.”

“So
it is, sir, but they have maintained the fiction of being an impartial
investigating committee of the Grand Assembly. Don’t you think they
should disqualify themselves? So that we could receive a fair hearing?”

“Uh
… it’s not my place to say, Professor. Let’s get back to my
question. How do you reconcile the two?”

“I’m
interested in why it’s not your place to say, sir. Isn’t it the
concern of every citizen of Terra to help avoid a situation which will produce
war between Terra and her neighbor?”

“‘War’?
What in the world makes you speak of ‘war,’ Professor?”

“Where
else can it end, sir? If the Lunar Authority persists in its intransigence? We
cannot accede to their demands; those figures show why. If they will not see
this, then they will attempt to subdue us by force … and we will fight
back. Like cornered rats—for cornered we are, unable to retreat, unable
to surrender. We do not choose war; we wish to live in peace with our neighbor
planet—in peace and peacefully trade. But the choice is not ours. We are
small, you are gigantic. I predict that the next move will be for the Lunar
Authority to attempt to subdue Luna by force. This ‘peace-keeping’
agency will start the first interplanetary war.”

Journalist
frowned. “Aren’t you overstating it? Let’s assame the
Authority—or the Grand Assembly, as the Authority hasn’t any
warships of its own—let’s suppose the nations of Earth decide to
displace your, uh, ‘government.’ You might fight, on Luna—I
suppose you would. But that hardly constitutes interplanetary war. As you
pointed out, Luna has no ships. To put it bluntly, you can’t reach
us.”

I
had chair close by Prof’s stretcher, listening. He turned to me.
“Tell them, Colonel.”

I
parroted it. Prof and Mike had worked out stock situation. I had memorized and
was ready with answers. I said, “Do you gentlemen remember the
Pathfinder? How she came plunging in, out of control?”

They
remembered. Nobody forgets greatest disaster of early days of space flight when
unlucky Pathfinder hit a Belgian village.