The Moon is a Harsh Mistress (36 page)

“A
word with you, please. In my office.”

“Uh—”
Looked at Prof; eyes were closed and seemed unconscious. But he moved one
finger, motioning me to him. “HonorabIe Chairman, I’m more nurse
than diplomat; have to look after him. He’s an old man, he’s
ill.”

“The
attendants will take care of him.”

“Well
…” Got as close to Prof as I could from chair, leaned over him.
“Prof, are you right?”

He
barely whispered. “See what he wants. Agree with him. But stall.”

Moments
later was alone with chairman, soundproof door locked—meant nothing; room
could have a dozen ears, plus one in my left arm.

He
said, “A drink? Coffee?”

I
answered, “No, thank you, sir. Have to watch my diet here.”

“I
suppose so. Are you really limited to that chair? You look healthy.”

I
said, “I could, if had to, get up and walk across room. Might faint. Or
worse. Prefer not to risk. Weigh six times what I should. Heart’s not
used to it.”

“I
suppose so. Colonel, I hear you had some silly trouble in North America.
I’m sorry, I truly am. Barbaric place. Always hate to have to go there. I
suppose you’re wondering why I wanted to see you.”

“No,
sir, assume you’ll tell when suits you. Instead was wondering why you
still call me ‘Colonel.’”

He
gave a barking laugh. “Habit, I suppose. A lifetime of protocol. Yet it
might be well for you to continue with that title. Tell me, what do you think
of our five-year plan?”

Thought
it stunk. “Seems to have been carefully thought out.”

“Much
thought went into it. Colonel, you seem to be a sensible man—I know you
are, I know not only your background but practically every word you’ve
spoken, almost your thoughts, ever since you set foot on Earth. You were born
on the Moon. Do you regard yourself as a patriot? Of the Moon?”

“Suppose
so. Though tend to think of what we did just as something that had to be
done.”

“Between
ourselves—yes. That old fool Hobart. Colonel, that is a good plan …
but lacks an executive. If you are really a patriot or let’s say a
practical man with your country’s best interests at heart, you might be
the man to carry it out.” He held up hand. “Don’t be hasty!
I’m not asking you to sell out, turn traitor, or any nonsense like that.
This is your chance to be a real patriot—not some phony hero who gets
himself killed in a lost cause. Put it this way. Do you think it is possible
for the Lunar colonies to hold out against all the force that the Federated
Nations of Earth can bring to bear? You’re not really a military man, I
know—and I’m glad you’re not—but you are a technical
man, and I know that, too. In your honest estimation, how many ships and bombs
do you think it would take to destroy the Lunar colonies?”

I
answered, “One ship, six bombs.”

“Correct!
My God, it’s good to talk to a sensible man. Two of them would have to be
awf’ly big, perhaps specially built. A few people would stay alive, for a
while, in smaller warrens beyond the blast areas. But one ship would do it, in
ten minutes.”

I
said, “Conceded, sir, but Professor de la Paz pointed out that you
don’t get milk by beating a cow. And certainly can’t by shooting
it.”

“Why
do you think we’ve held back, done nothing, for over a month? That idiot
colleague of mine—I won’t name him—spoke of
‘backtalk.’ Backtalk doesn’t fret me; it’s just talk
and I’m interested in results. No, my dear Colonel, we won’t shoot
the cow… but we would, if forced to, let the cow know that it could be
shot. H-missiles are expensive toys but we could afford to expend some as
warning shots, wasted on bare rock to let the cow know what could happen. But
that is more force than one likes to use—it might frighten the cow and
sour its milk.” He gave another barking laugh. “Better to persuade
old bossy to give down willingly.”

I
waited. “Don’t you want to know how?” he asked.

“How?”
I agreed.

“Through
you. Don’t say a word and let me explain—”

He
took me up on that high mountain and offered me kingdoms of Earth. Or of Luna.
Take job of “Protector Pro Tem” with understanding was mine
permanently if I could deliver. Convince Loonies they could not win. Convince
them that this new setup was to their advantage—emphasize benefits, free
schools, free hospitals, free this and that—details later but an everywhere
government just like on Terra. Taxes starting low and handled painlessly by
automatic checkoff and through kickback revenues from grain shipments. But,
most important, this time Authority would not send a boy to do a man’s
job—two regiments of police at once.

“Those
damned Peace Dragoons were a mistake,” he said, “one we won’t
make again. Between ourselves, the reason it has taken us a month to work this
out is that we had to convince the Peace Control Commission that a handful of
men cannot police three million people spread through six largish warrens and
fifty and more small ones. So you’ll start with enough police—not
combat troops but military police used to quelling civilians with a minimum of
fuss. Besides that, this time they’ll have female auxiliaries, the
standard ten per cent-no more rape complaints. Well, sir? Think you can swing
it? Knowing it’s best in the long run for your own people?”

I
said I ought to study it in detail, particularly plans and quotas for five-year
plan, rather than make snap decision.

“Certainly,
certainly!” he agreed. “I’ll give you a copy of the white
paper we’ve made up; take it home, study it, sleep on it. Tomorrow
we’ll talk again. Just give me your word as a gentleman to keep it under
your hair. No secret, really … but these things are best settled before
they are publicized. Speaking of publicity, you’ll need help—and
you’ll get it. We’ll go to the expense of sending up topnotch men,
pay them what it’s worth, have them centrifuge the way those scientists
do—you know. This time we’re doing it right. That fool
Hobart—he’s actually dead, isn’t he?”

“No,
sir. Senile, however.”      

“Should
have killed him, Here’s your copy of the plan.”

“Sir?
Speaking of old men—Professor de la Paz can’t stay here.
Wouldn’t live six months.”

“That’s
best, isn’t it?”

I
tried to answer levelly, “You don’t understand. He is greatly loved
and respected. Best thing would be for me to convince him that you mean
business with those H-missiles—and that it is his patriotic duty to
salvage what we can. But, either way, if I return without him … well, not
only could not swing it; wouldn’t live long enough to try.”

“Hmm—Sleep
on it. We’ll talk tomorrow. Say fourteen o’clock.”

I
left and as soon as was loaded into lorry gave way to shakes. Just don’t
have high-level approach.

Stu
was waiting with Prof. “Well?” said Prof.

I
glanced around, tapped ear. We huddled, heads over Prof’s head and two
blankets over us all. Stretcher wagon was clean and so was my chair; I checked
them each morning. But for room itself seemed safer to whisper under blankets.

Started
in. Prof stopped me. “Discuss his ancestry and habits later. The
facts.”

“He
offered me job of Warden.”

“I
trust you accepted.”

“Ninety
percent. I’m to study this garbage and give answer tomorrow. Stu, how
fast can we execute Plan Scoot?”

“Started.
We were waiting for you to return. If they let you return.”

Next
fifty minutes were busy. Stu produced a gaunt Hindu in a dhoti; in thirty
minutes he was a twin of Prof, and lifted Prof off wagon onto a divan.
Duplicating me was easier. Our doubles were wheeled into suite’s living
room just at dusk and dinner was brought in. Several people came and
went—among them elderly Hindu woman in sari, on arm of Stuart LaJoie. A
plump babu followed them.

Getting
Prof up steps to roof was worst; he had never worn powered walkers, had no
chance to practice, and had been flat on back for more than a month.

But
Stu’s arm kept him steady; I gritted teeth and climbed those thirteen
terrible steps by myself. By time I reached roof, heart was ready to burst. Was
put to it not to black out. A silent little flitter craft came out of gloom
right on schedule and ten minutes later we were in chartered ship we had used
past month—two minutes after that we jetted for Australia. Don’t
know what it cost to prepare this dance and keep it ready against need, but was
no hitch.

Stretched
out by Prof and caught breath, then said, “How you feel, Prof?”

“Okay.
A bit tired. Frustrated.”

“Ja
da. Frustrated.”

“Over
not seeing the Taj Mahal, I mean. I never had opportunity as a young
man—and here I’ve been within a kilometer of it twice, once for
several days, now for another day … and still I haven’t seen it and
never shall.”

“Just
a tomb.”

“And
Helen of Troy was just a woman. Sleep, lad.” We landed in Chinee half of
Australia, place called Darwin, and were carried straight into a ship, placed
in acceleration couches and dosed. Prof was already out and I was beginning to
feel dopy when Stu came in, grinned, and strapped down by us. I looked at him. “You,
too? Who’s minding shop?”

“The
same people who’ve been doing the real work all along. It’s a good
setup and doesn’t need me any longer. Mannie old cobber, I did not want
to be marooned a long way from home. Luna, I mean, in case you have doubts.
This looks like the last train from Shanghai.”

“What’s
Shanghai got to do with?”

“Forget
I mentioned it. Mannie, I’m flat broke, concave. I owe money in all
directions—debts that will be paid only if certain stocks move the way
Adam Selene convinced me they would move, shortly after this point in history.
And I’m wanted, or will be, for offenses against the public peace and
dignity. Put it this way. I’m saving them the trouble of transporting me.
Do you think I can learn to be a drillman at my age?”

Was
feeling foggy, drug taking hold. “Stu, in Luna y’aren’t old
… barely started … ‘nyway . . ,eat our table f’ever!
Mimi likes you.”

“Thanks,
cobber, I might. Warning light! Deep breath!”

Suddenly
was kicked by ten gee.

Our
craft was ground-to-orbit ferry type used for manned satellites, for supplying
F.N. ships in patrol orbit, and for passengers to and from
pleasure-and-gambling satellites. She was carrying three passengers instead of
forty, no cargo except three p-suits and a brass cannon (yes, silly toy was along;
p-suits and Prof’s bang-bang were in Australia a week before we were) and
good ship Lark had been stripped—total crew was skipper and a Cyborg
pilot.

She
was heavily overfueled.

We
made (was told) normal approach on Elysium satellite … then suddenly scooted
from orbital speed to escape speed, a change even more violent than liftoff.

This
was scanned by F.N. Skytrack; we were commanded to stop and explain. I got this
secondhand from Stu, self still recovering and enjoying luxury of no-gee with
one strap to anchor. Prof was still out.

“So
they want to know who we are and what we think we are doing,” Stu told
me. “We told them that we were Chinese registry sky wagon Opening Lotus
bound on an errand of mercy, to wit, rescuing those scientists marooned on the
Moon, and gave our identification—as Opening Lotus.”

“How
about transponder?”

“Mannie,
if I got what I paid for, our transponder identified us as the Lark up to ten
minutes ago … and now has I.D.’d us as the Lotus. Soon we will
know. Just one ship is in position to get a missile off and it must blast us
in”—he stopped to look—“another twenty-seven minutes
according to the wired-up gentleman booting this bucket, or its chances of
getting us are poor to zero. So if it worries you—if you have prayers to
say or messages to send or whatever it is one does at such times—now is
the time.”

“Think
we ought to rouse Prof?”

“Let
him sleep. Can you think of a better way to make jump than from peaceful sleep
instantaneously into a cloud of radiant gas? Unless you know that he has
religious necessities to attend to? He never struck me as a religious man,
orthodoctrinally speaking.”

“He’s
not. But if you have such duties, don’t let me keep you.”

“Thank
you, I took care of what seemed necessary before we left ground. How about
yourself, Mannie? I’m not much of a padre but I’ll do my best, if I
can help. Any sins on your mind, old cobber? If you need to confess, I know
quite a little about sin.”

Told
him my needs did not run that way. Then did recall sins, some I cherished, and
gave him a version more or less true. That reminded him of some of his own,
which remind me—Zero time came and went before we ran out of sins. S
LaJoie is a good person to spend last minutes with, even if don’t turn
out to be last.

We
had two days with naught to do but undergo drastic routines to keep us from
carrying umpteen plagues to Luna. But didn’t mind shaking from induced
chills and burning with fever; free fall was such a relief and was so happy to
be going home.

Or
almost happy—Prof asked what was troubling
me,—“Nothing,” I said. “Can’t wait to be home.
But—Truth is, ashamed to show face after we’ve failed. Prof, what
did we do wrong?”

“Failed,
my boy?”

“Don’t
see what else can call it. Asked to be recognized. Not what we got.”

“Manuel,
I owe you an apology. You will recall Adam Selene’s projection of our
chances just before we left home.” Stu was not in earshot but
“Mike” was word we never used; was always “Adam Selene”
for security.

“Certainly
do! One in fifty-three. Then when we reached Earthside dropped to reeking one
in hundred. What you guess it is now? One in thousand?”

“I’ve
had new projections every few days … which is why I owe you an apology.
The last, received just before we left, included the then-untested assumption
that we would escape, get clear of Terra and home safely. Or that at least one
of us three would make it, which is why Comrade Stu was summoned home, he
having a Terran’s tolerance of high acceleration. Eight projections, in
fact, ranging from three of us dead, through various combinations up to three
surviving. Would you care to stake a few dollars on what that last projection
is, setting a bracket and naming your own odds? I’ll give a hint. You are
far too pessimistic.”