The Moon is a Harsh Mistress (45 page)

“Uh—Da!
If you can miss shipping.”

“I
said I could. It’s done. But we should tell them we had backups and why
we aborted. To make them think.”

“Maybe
should not have aborted, Mike. Idea was to make them use up
interceptors.”

“But
the major idea was to let them know that we are not hitting them as hard as we
can. We can prove the other at Colorado Springs.”

“What
happened there?” Twisted neck and used binox; could see nothing but
ribbon city, hundred-plus kilometers long, Denver-Pueblo Municipal Strip.

“A
bull’s-eye. No interception. All my shots are bull’s-eyes, Man; I
told you they would be—and this is fun. I’d like to do it every
day. It’s a word I never had a referent for before.”

“What
word, Mike?”

“Orgasm.
That’s what it is when they all light up. Now I know.”

That
sobered me. “Mike, don’t get to liking it too much. Because if goes
our way, won’t do it a second time.”

“That’s
okay, Man; I’ve stored it, I can play it over anytime I want to
experience it. But three to one we do it again tomorrow and even money on the
next day. Want to bet? An hour’s discussion of jokes equated with one
hundred Kong dollars.”

“Where
would you get a hundred dollars?”

He
chuckled. “Where do you think money comes from?”

“Uh—forget
it. You get that hour free. Shan’t tempt you to affect chances.”

“I
wouldn’t cheat, Man, not you. We just hit their defense command again.
You may not be able to see it—dust cloud from first one. They get it
every twenty minutes now. Come on down and talk; I’ve turned the job over
to my idiot son.”

“Is
safe?”

“I’m
monitoring. Good practice for him, Man; he may have to do it later by himself.
He’s accurate, just stupid. But he’ll do what you tell him
to.”

“You’re
calling that computer ‘he.’ Can talk?”

“Oh,
no, Man, he’s an idiot, he can never learn to talk. But he’ll do
whatever you program. I plan to let him handle quite a bit on Saturday.”

“Why
Saturday?”

“Because
Sunday he may have to handle everything. That’s the day they slam
us.”

“What
do you mean? Mike, you’re holding something back.”

“I’m
telling you, am I not? It’s just happened and I’m scanning it.
Projecting back, this blip departed circum-Terra parking orbit just as we
smashed them. I didn’t see it accelerate; I had other things to watch.
It’s too far away to read but it’s the right size for a Peace
cruiser, headed this way. Its doppler reads now for a new orbit circum-Luna, periselenion
oh-nine-oh-three Sunday unless it maneuvers. First approximation, better data
later. Hard to get that much, Man; he’s using radar countermeasures and
throwing back fuzz.”

“Sure
you’re right?”

He
chuckled. “Man, I don’t confuse that easily. I’ve got all my
own lovin’ little signals fingerprinted. Correction.
Oh-nineoh-two-point-forty-three.”

“When
will you have him in range?”

“I
won’t, unless he maneuvers. But he’ll have me in range late
Saturday, time depending on what range he chooses for launching. And that will produce
an interesting situation. He may aim for a warren—I think Tycho Under
should be evacuated and all warrens should use maximum pressure-emergency
measures. More likely he will try for the catapult. But instead he may hold his
fire as long as he dares—then try to knock out all of my radars with a
spread set to home each on a different radar beam.”

Mike
chuckled. “Amusing, isn’t it? For a ‘funny-once’ I
mean. If I shut down my radars, his missiles can’t home on them. But if I
do, I can’t see to tell the lads where to point their guns. Which leaves
nothing to stop him from bombing the catapult. Comical.”

Took
deep breath and wished I had never entered defense ministry business.
“What do we do? Give up? No, Mike! Not while can fight.”

“Who
said anything about giving up? I’ve run projections of this and a
thousand other possible situations, Man. New datum—second blimp just
departed circum-Terra, same characteristics. Projection later. We don’t
give up. We give ‘em jingle-jangle, cobber.”

“How?”

“Leave
it to your old friend Mycroft. Six ballistic radars here, plus one at the new
site. I’ve shut the new one down and am making my retarded child work
through number two here and we won’t look at those ships at all through
the new one—never let them know we have it. I’m watching those
ships through number three and occasionally—every three
seconds—checking for new departures from circum-Terra. All others have
their eyes closed tight and I won’t use them until time to smack Great
China and India—and those ships won’t see them even then because I
shan’t look their way; it’s a large angle and still will be then.
And when I use them, then comes random jingle-jangle, shutting down and
starting up at odd intervals … after the ships launch missiles. A missile
can’t carry a big brain, Man—I’ll fool ‘em.”

“What
about ships’ fire-control computers?”

“I’ll
fool them, too. Want to lay odds I can’t make two radars look like only
one halfway between where they really are? But what I’m working on
now—and sorry!—I’ve been using your voice again.”

“That’s
okay. What am I supposed to have done?”

“If
that admiral is really smart, he’ll go after the ejection end of the old
catapult with everything he’s got—at extreme range, too far away
for our drill guns. Whether he knows what our ‘secret’ weapon is or
not, he’ll smear the catapult and ignore the radars. So I’ve
ordered the catapult head—you have, I mean—to prepare to launch
every load we can get ready, and I am now working out new, long-period
trajectories for each of them. Then we will throw them all, get them into space
as quickly as possible—without radar.”

“Blind?”

“I
don’t use radar to launch a load; you know that, Man. I always watched
them in the past but I don’t need to; radar has nothing to do with
launching; launching is pre-calculation and exact control of the catapult. So
we place all ammo from the old catapult in slow trajectories, which forces the
admiral to go after the radars rather than the catapult—or both. Then
we’ll keep him busy. We may make him so desperate that he’ll come
down for a close shot and give our lads a chance to burn his eyes.”

“Brody’s
boys would like that. Those who are sober.” Was turning over idea.
“Mike, have you watched video today?”

“I’ve
monitored video, I can’t say I’ve watched it. Why?”

“Take
a look.”

“Okay,
I have. Why?”

“That’s
a good ‘scope they’re using for video and there are others. Why use
radar on ships? Till you want Brody’s boys to burn them?”

Mike
was silent at least two seconds. “Man my best friend, did you ever think
of getting a job as a computer?”

“Is
sarcasm?”

“Not
at all, Man. I feel ashamed. The instruments at Richardson—telescopes and
other things—are factors which I simply never included in my
calculations. I’m stupid, I admit it. Yes, yes, yes, da, da, da! Watch
ships by telescope, don’t use radar unless they vary from present
ballistics. Other possibilities—I don’t know what to say, Man, save
that it had never occurred to me that I could use telescopes. I see by radar,
always have; I simply never consid—”

“Stow
it!”

“I
mean it, Man.”

“Do
I apologize when you think of something first?”

Mike
said slowly, “There is something about that which I am finding resistant
to analysis. It is my function to—”

“Quit
fretting. If idea is good, use it. May lead to more ideas. Switching off and
coming down, chop-chop.”

Had
not been in Mike’s room long when Prof phoned:

“HQ?
Have you heard from Field Marshal Davis?”

“I’m
here, Prof. Master computer room.”

“Will
you join us in the Warden’s office? There are decisions to reach, work to
be done.”

“Prof,
I’ve been working! Am working.”

“I’m
sure you have. I’ve explained to the others that the programming of the
ballistic computer is so very delicate in this operation that you must check it
personally. Nevertheless some of our colleagues feel that the Minister of
Defense should be present during these discussions. So, when you reach a point
where you feel you can turn it over to your assistant—Mike is his name,
is it not?—will you please—”

“I
scan it. Okay, will be up.”

“Very
well, Manuel.”

Mike
said, “I could hear thirteen people in the background. Doubletalk,
Man.”

“I
got it. Better go up and see what huhu. You don’t need me?”

“Man,
I hope you will stay close to a phone.”

“Will.
Keep an ear on Warden’s office. But will punch in if elsewhere. See you,
cobber.”

Found
entire government in Warden’s office, both real Cabinet and
make-weights—and soon spotted trouble, bloke called Howard Wright. A
ministry had been whomped up for him: “Liaison for Arts, Sciences, and
Professions”—buttonsorting. Was sop to Novylen because Cabinet was
topheavy with L-City comrades, and a sop to Wright because he had made himself
leader of a Congress group long on talk, short on action. Prof’s purpose
was to short him out—but sometimes Prof was too subtle; some people talk better
if they breathe vacuum.

Prof
asked me to brief Cabinet on military situation. Which I did—my way.
“I see Finn is here. Let’s have him tell where we stand in
warrens.”

Wright
spoke up. “General Nielsen has already done so, no need to repeat. We
want to hear from you.”

Blinked
at that. “Prof—Excuse me. Gospodin President. Do I understand that
a Defense Ministry report has been made to Cabinet in my absence?”

Wright
said, “Why not? You weren’t on hand.”

Prof
grabbed it. He could see I was stretched too tight. Hadn’t slept much for
three days, hadn’t been so tired since left Earthside.
“Order,” he said mildly. “Gospodin Minister for Professional
Liaison, please address your comments through me. Gospodin Minister for Defense,
let me correct that. There have been no reports to the Cabinet concerning your
ministry for the reason that the Cabinet did not convene until you arrived.
General Nielsen answered some informal questions informally. Perhaps this
should not have been done. If you feel so, I will attempt to repair it.”

“No
harm done, I guess. Finn talked to you a half hour ago. Anything new
since?”

“No,
Mannie.”

“Okay.
Guess what you want to hear is off-Luna situation. You’ve been watching
so you know first bombardment went off well. Still going on, some, as
we’re hitting their space defense HQ every twenty minutes. Will continue
till thirteen hundred, then at twenty-one hundred we hit China and India, plus
minor targets. Then busy till four hours past midnight with Africa and Europe,
skip three hours, dose Brasil and company, wait three hours and start over.
Unless something breaks. But meantime we have problems here. Finn, we should
evacuate Tycho Under.”

“Just
a moment!” Wright had hand up. “I have questions.” Spoke to
Prof, not to me.

“One
moment. Has the Defense Minister finished?”

Wyoh
was seated toward back. We had swapped smiles, but was all—kept it so
around Cabinet and Congress; had been rumbles that two from same family should
not be in Cabinet. Now she shook head, warning of something. I said, “Is
all concerning bombardment. Questions about it?”

“Are
your questions concerned with the bombardment, Gospodin Wright?”

“They
certainly are, Gospodin President.” Wright stood up, looked at me.
“As you know, I represent the intellectual groups in the Free State and,
if I may say so, their opinions are most important in public affairs. I think
it is only proper that—”

“Moment,”
I said. “Thought you represented Eighth Novylen District?”

“Gospodin
President! Am I to be permitted to put my questions? Or not?”

“He
wasn’t asking question, was making speech. And I’m tired and want
to go to bed.”

Prof
said gently, “We are all tired, Manuel. But your point is well taken.
Congressman, you represent only your district. As a member of the government
you have been assigned certain duties in connection with certain
professions.”

“It
comes to the same thing.”

“Not
quite. Please state your question.”

“Uh
… very well, I shall! Is Field Marshal Davis aware that his bombardment
plan has gone wrong completely and that thousands of lives have been
pointlessly destroyed? And is he aware of the extremely serious view taken of
this by the intelligentsia of this Republic? And can he explain why this
rash—I repeat, rash!—bombardment was undertaken without
consultation? And is he now prepared to modify his plans, or is he going
blindly ahead? And is it true as charged that our missiles were of the nuclear
sort outlawed by all civilized nations? And how does he expect Luna Free State
ever to be welcomed into the councils of civilized nations in view of such
actions?”

I
looked at watch—hour and a half since first load hit. “Prof,”
I said, “can you tell me what this is about?”

“Sorry,
Manuel,” he said gently. “I intended—I should
have—prefaced the meeting with an item from the news. But you seemed to
feel that you had been bypassed and—well, I did not. The Minister refers
to a news dispatch that came in just before I called you. Reuters in Toronto.
If the flash is correct—then instead of taking our warnings it seems that
thousands of sightseers crowded to the targets. There probably have been
casualties. How many we do not know.”

“I
see. What was I supposed to do? Take each one by hand and lead away? We warned
them.”

Wright
cut in with, “The intelligentsia feel that basic humanitarian considerations
make it obligatory—”