The Moon is a Harsh Mistress (49 page)

Stu
looked up. “All doubletalk. I take it to mean that Dr. Chan feels that he
has his government ready to talk terms … but that we should let up on
bombing Great China or we may upset his apple cart.”

“Hmm—”
Got up and walked around. Ask Wyoh’s opinion? Nobody knew Wyoh’s
virtues better than I … but she oscillated between fierceness and
too-human compassion—and I had learned already that a “head of
state,” even an acting one, must have neither. Ask Greg? Greg was a good farmer,
a better mechanic, a rousing preacher; I loved him dearly—but did not
want his opinion. Stu? I had had his opinion.

Or
did I? “Stu, what’s your opinion? Not Chan’s
opinion—but your own.”

Stu
looked thoughtful. “That’s difficult, Mannie. I am not Chinese, I
have not spent much time in Great China, and can’t claim to be expert in
their politics nor their psychology. So I’m forced to depend on his
opinion.”

“Uh—Damn
it, he’s not a Loonie! His purposes are not our purposes. What does he
expect to get out of it?”

“I
think he is maneuvering for a monopoly over Lunar trade. Perhaps bases here,
too. Possibly an extraterritorial enclave. Not that we would grant that.”

“Might
if we were hurtin’.”

“He
didn’t say any of this. He doesn’t say much, you know. He listens.”

“Too
well I know.” Worried at it, more bothered each minute.

News
from Earthside had been droning in background; I had asked Wyoh to monitor
while I was busy with Greg. “Wyoh, hon, anything new from
Earthside?”

“No.
The same claims. We’ve been utterly defeated and our surrender is
expected momentarily. Oh, there’s a warning that some missiles are still
in space, falling out of control, but with it a reassurance that the paths are
being analyzed and people will be warned in time to avoid impact areas.”

“Anything
to suggest that Prof—or anybody in Luna City, or anywhere in
Luna—is in touch with Earthside?”

“Nothing
at all.”

“Damn.
Anything from Great China?”

“No.
Comments from almost everywhere else. But not from Great China.”

“Uh—”
Stepped to door. “Greg! Hey, cobber, see if you can find Greg Davis. I
need him.”

Closed
door. “Stu, we’re not going to let Great China off.”

“So?”

“No.
Would be nice if Great China busted alliance against us; might save us some
damage. But we’ve got this far only by appearing able to hit them at will
and to destroy any ship they send against us. At least I hope that last one was
burned and we’ve certainly clobbered eight out of nine. We won’t
get anywhere by looking weak, not while F.N. is claiming that we are not just
weak but finished. Instead we must hand them surprises. Starting with Great
China and if it makes Dr. Chan unhappy, we’ll give him a kerchief to weep
into. If we can go on looking strong—when F.N. says we’re
licked—then eventually some veto power is going to crack. If not Great
China, then some other one.”

Stu
bowed without getting up. “Very well, sir.”

“I—”

Greg
came in. “You want me, Mannie?”

“What
makes with Earthside sender?”

“Harry
says you have it by tomorrow. A crummy rig, he says, but push watts through it
and will be heard.”

“Power
we got. And if he says ‘tomorrow’ then he knows what he wants to
build. So will be today—say six hours. I’ll work under him. Wyoh
hon, will you get my arms? Want number-six and number-three—better bring
number-five, too. And you stick with me and change arms for me. Stu, want you
to write some nasty messages—I’ll give you general idea and you put
acid in them. Greg, we are not going to get all those rocks into space at once.
Ones we have in space now will impact in next eighteen, nineteen hours. Then,
when F.N. is announcing that all rocks are accounted for and Lunar menace is
over … we crash into their newscast and warn of next bombings. Shortest
possible orbits, Greg, ten hours or less—so check everything on catapult
and H-plant and controls; with that extra boost all has to be dead on.”

Wyoh
was back with arms; I told her “number six” and added, “Greg,
let me talk with Harry.”

Six
hours later sender was ready to beam toward Terra. Was ugly job, vandalized
mainly out of a resonance prospector used in project’s early stages. But
could ride an audio signal on its radio frequency and was powerful. Stu’s
nastified versions of my warnings had been taped and Harry was ready to
zipsqueal them—all Terran satellites could accept high speed at
sixty-to-one and had no wish to have our sender heated more seconds than
necessary; eyeball watch had confirmed fears: At least two ships were in orbit
around Luna.

So
we told Great China that her major coastal cities would each receive a Lunar
present offset ten kilometers into ocean—Pusan, Tsingtao, Taipei,
Shanghai, Saigon, Bangkok, Singapore, Djakarta, Darwin, and so
forth—except that Old Hong Kong would get one smack on top of
F.N.’s Far East offices, so kindly have all human beings move far back.
Stu noted that human beings did not mean F.N. personnel; they were urged to
stay at desks.

India
was given similar warnings about coastal cities and was told that F.N. global
offices would be spared one more rotation out of respect for cultural monuments
in Agra—and to permit human beings to evacuate. (I intended to extend
this by another rotation as deadline approached—out of respect for Prof.
And then another, indefinitely. Damn it, they would build their home offices
next door to most overdecorated tomb ever built. But one that Prof treasured.)

Rest
of world was told to keep their seats; game was going extra innings. But stay
away from any F.N. offices anywhere; we were frothing at mouth and no F.N.
office was safe. Better yet, get out of any city containing an F.N.
headquarters—but F.N. vips and finks were urged to sit tight.

Then
spent next twenty hours coaching Junior into sneaking his radar peeks when our
sky was clear of ships, or believed to be. Napped when I could and Lenore
stayed with me and woke me in time for next coaching. And that ended
Mike’s rocks and we all went into alert while we got first of
Junior’s rocks flung high and fast. Waited until certain it had gone hot
and true—then told Terra where to look for it and where and when to
expect it, so that all would know that F.N.’s claims of victory were on a
par with their century of lies about Luna—all in Stu’s best,
snotty, supercilious phrases delivered in his cultured accents.

First
one should have been for Great China but was one piece of North American
Directorate we could reach with it—her proudest jewel, Hawaii. Junior
placed it in triangle formed by Maui, Molokai, and Lanai. I didn’t work
out programming; Mike had anticipated everything.

Then
pronto we got off ten more rocks at short intervals (had to skip one program, a
ship in our sky) and told Great China where to look and when to expect them and
where—coastal cities we had neglected day before.

Was
down to twelve rocks but decided was safer to run out of ammunition than to
look as if we were running out. So I awarded seven to Indian coastal cities,
picking new targets—and Stu inquired sweetly if Agra had been evacuated.
If not, please tell us at once. (But heaved no rock at it.)

Egypt
was told to clear shipping out of Suez Canal—bluff; was hoarding last
five rocks.

Then
waited.

Impact
at Lahaina Roads, that target in Hawaii. Looked good at high mag; Mike could be
proud of Junior.

And
waited.

Thirty-seven
minutes before first China Coast impact Great China denounced actions of F.N.,
recognized us, offered to negotiate—and I sprained a finger punching
abort buttons.

Then
was punching buttons with sore finger; India stumbled over feet following suit.

Egypt
recognized us. Other nations started scrambling for door.

Stu
informed Terra that we had suspended—only suspended, not
stopped—bombardments. Now get those ships out of our sky at
once—NOW!—and we could talk. If they could not get home without
refilling tanks, let them land not less than fifty kilometers from any mapped
warren, then wait for their surrender to be accepted. But clear our sky now!

This
ultimatum we delayed a few minutes to let a ship pass beyond horizon; we
weren’t taking chances—one missile and Luna would have been
helpless.

And
waited.

Cable
crew returned. Had gone almost to Luna City, found break. But thousands of
tonnes of loose rock impeded repair, so they had done what they
could—gone back to a spot where they could get through to surface,
erected a temporary relay in direction they thought Luna City lay, sent up a
dozen rockets at ten-minute intervals, and hoped that somebody would see,
understand, aim a relay at it—Any communication?

No.

Waited.

Eyeball
squad reported that a ship which had been clockfaithful for nineteen passes had
failed to show. Ten minutes later they reported that another ship had missed
expected appearance.

We
waited and listened.

Great
China, speaking on behalf of all veto powers, accepted armistice and stated
that our sky was now clear. Lenore burst into tears and kissed everybody she
could reach.

After
we steadied down (a man can’t think when women are grabbing him,
especially when five of them are not his wives)—a few minutes later, when
we were coherent, I said, “Stu, want you to leave for Luna City at once.
Pick your party. No women—you’ll have to walk surface last
kilometers. Find out what’s going on—but first get them to aim a
relay at ours and phone me.”

“Very
good, sir.”

We
were getting him outfitted for a tough journey—extra air bottles,
emergency shelter, so forth—when Earthside called me on frequency we were
listening to because message was (learned later) on all frequencies up from
Earthside:

“Private
message, Prof to Mannie—identification, birthday Bastille and
Sherlock’s sibling. Come home at once. Your carriage waits at your new
relay. Private message, Prof to—”

And
went on repeating.

“Harry!”

“Da,
Boss?”

“Message
Earthside—tape and squeal; we still don’t want them ranging us.
‘Private message, Mannie to Prof. Brass Cannon. On my way!’ Ask
them to acknowledge—but use only
one
squeal.”

Stu
and Greg drove on way back, while Wyoh and Lenore and I huddled on open
flatbed, strapped to keep from falling off; was too small. Had time to think;
neither girl had suit radio and we could talk only by helmet touch—awkward.

Began
to see—now that we had won—parts of Prof’s plan that had
never been clear to me. Inviting attack against catapult had spared
warrens—hoped it had; that was plan—but Prof had always been
cheerfully indifferent to damage to catapult. Sure, had a second one—but
far away and difficult to reach. Would take years to put a tube system to new
catapult, high mountains all way. Probably cheaper to repair old one. If
possible.

Either
way, no grain shipped to Terra in meantime.

And
that was just what Prof wanted! Yet never once had he hinted that his plan was
based on destroying old catapult—his long-range plan, not just
Revolution. He might not admit it now. But Mike would tell me—if put to
him flatly: Was or was not this one factor in odds? Food riot predictions and
all that, Mike? He would tell me.

That
tonne-for-tonne deal—Prof had expounded it Earthside, had been argument
for a Terran catapult. But privately he had no enthusiasm for it. Once he had
told me, in North America, “Yes, Manuel, I feel sure it would work. But,
if built, it will be temporary. There was a time, two centuries ago, when dirty
laundry used to be shipped from California to Hawaii—by sailing ship,
mind you—and clean laundry returned. Special circumstances. If we ever
see water and manure shipped to Luna and grain shipped back, it will be just as
temporary. Luna’s future lies in her unique position at the top of a
gravity well over a rich planet, and in her cheap power and plentiful real
estate. If we Loonies have sense enough in the centuries ahead to remain a free
port and to stay out of entangling alliances, we will become the crossroads for
two planets, three planets, the entire Solar System. We won’t be farmers
forever.”

They
met us at Station East and hardly gave time to get p-suits off—was return
from Earthside over again, screaming mobs and being ridden on shoulders. Even
girls, for Slim Lemke said to Lenore, “May we carry you,
too?”—and Wyoh answered, “Sure, why not?”—and
stilyagi fought for chance to.

Most
men were pressure-suited and I was surprised to see how many carried
guns—until I saw that they were not our guns; they were captured. But
most of all what blessed relief to see L-City unhurt!

Could
have done without triumphal procession; was itching to get to phone and find
out from Mike what had happened—how much damage, how many killed, what
this victory cost. But no chance. We were carried to Old Dome willy-nilly.

They
shoved us up on a platform with Prof and rest of Cabinet apd vips and such, and
our girls slobbered on Prof and he embraced me Latin style, kiss cheek, and
somebody stuck a Liberty Cap on me. Spotted little Hazel in crowd and threw her
a kiss.

At
last they quieted enough for Prof to speak.

“My
friends,” he said, and waited for silence. “My friends,” he
repeated softly. “Beloved comrades. We meet at last in freedom and now
have with us the heroes who fought the last battle for Luna, alone.” They
cheered us, again he waited. Could see he was tired; hands trembled as he
steadied self against pulpit. “I want them to speak to you, we want to
hear about it, all of us.

“But
first I have a happy message. Great China has just announced that she is
building in the Himalayas an enormous catapult, to make shipping to Luna as
easy and cheap as it has been to ship from Luna to Terra.”