I see in Lunaya Pravda that Luna City Council has passed on
first reading a bill to examine, license, inspectand taxpublic food vendors
operating inside municipal pressure. I see also is to be mass meeting tonight to organize
"Sons of Revolution" talk-talk.
My old man taught me two things: "Mind own business" and
"Always cut cards." Politics never tempted me. But on Monday 13 May 2075 I was
in computer room of Lunar Authority Complex, visiting with computer boss Mike while other
machines whispered among themselves. Mike was not official name; I had nicknamed him for
Mycroft Holmes, in a story written by Dr. Watson before he founded IBM. This story
character would just sit and thinkand that's what Mike did. Mike was a fair dinkum
thinkum, sharpest computer you'll ever meet.
Not fastest. At Bell Labs, Bueno Aires, down Earthside, they've got a
thinkum a tenth his size which can answer almost before you ask. But matters whether you
get answer in microsecond rather than millisecond as long as correct?
Not that Mike would necessarily give right answer; he wasn't completely
honest.
When Mike was installed in Luna, he was pure thinkum, a flexible
logic"High-Optional, Logical, Multi-Evaluating Supervisor, Mark IV, Mod.
L"a HOLMES FOUR. He computed ballistics for pilotless freighters and controlled
their catapult. This kept him busy less than one percent of time and Luna Authority never
believed in idle hands. They kept hooking hardware into himdecision-action boxes to
let him boss other computers, bank on bank of additional memories, more banks of
associational neural nets, another tubful of twelve-digit random numbers, a greatly
augmented temporary memory. Human brain has around ten-to-the-tenth neurons. By third year
Mike had better than one and a half times that number of neuristors.
And woke up.
Am not going to argue whether a machine can "really" be
alive, "really" be self-aware. Is a virus self-aware? Nyet. How about
oyster? I doubt it. A cat? Almost certainly. A human? Don't know about you, tovarishch,
but I am. Somewhere along evolutionary chain from macromolecule to human brain
self-awareness crept in. Psychologists assert it happens automatically whenever a brain
acquires certain very high number of associational paths. Can't see it matters whether
paths are protein or platinum.
("Soul?" Does a dog have a soul? How about cockroach?)
Remember Mike was designed, even before augmented, to answer questions
tentatively on insufficient data like you do; that's "high optional" and
"multi-evaluating" part of name. So Mike started with "free will" and
acquired more as he was added to and as he learnedand don't ask me to define
"free will." If comforts you to think of Mike as simply tossing random numbers
in air and switching circuits to match, please do.
By then Mike had voder-vocoder circuits supplementing his read-outs,
print-outs, and decision-action boxes, and could understand not only classic programming
but also Loglan and English, and could accept other languages and was doing technical
translatingand reading endlessly. But in giving him instructions was safer to use
Loglan. If you spoke English, results might be whimsical; multi-valued nature of English
gave option circuits too much leeway.
And Mike took on endless new jobs. In May 2075, besides controlling
robot traffic and catapult and giving ballistic advice and/or control for manned ships,
Mike controlled phone system for all Luna, same for Luna-Terra voice & video, handled
air, water, temperature, humidity, and sewage for Luna City, Novy Leningrad, and several
smaller warrens (not Hong Kong in Luna), did accounting and payrolls for Luna Authority,
and, by lease, same for many firms and banks.
Some logics get nervous breakdowns. Overloaded phone system behaves
like frightened child. Mike did not have upsets, acquired sense of humor instead. Low one.
If he were a man, you wouldn't dare stoop over. His idea of thigh-slapper would be to dump
you out of bedor put itch powder in pressure suit.
Not being equipped for that, Mike indulged in phony answers with skewed
logic, or pranks like issuing pay cheque to a janitor in Authority's Luna City office for
AS$10,000,000,000,000,185.15last five digits being correct amount. Just a great big
overgrown lovable kid who ought to be kicked.
He did that first week in May and I had to troubleshoot. I was a
private contractor, not on Authority's payroll. You see-or perhaps not; times have
changed. Back in bad old days many a con served his time, then went on working for
Authority in same job, happy to draw wages. But I was born free.
Makes difference. My one grandfather was shipped up from Joburg for
armed violence and no work permit, other got transported for subversive activity after Wet
Firecracker War. Maternal grandmother claimed she came up in bride shipbut I've seen
records; she was Peace Corps enrollee (involuntary), which means what you think: juvenile
delinquency female type. As she was in early clan marriage (Stone Gang) and shared six
husbands with another woman, identity of maternal grandfather open to question. But was
often so and I'm content with grandpappy she picked. Other grandmother was Tatar, born
near Samarkand, sentenced to "re-education" on Oktyabrakaya Revolyutsiya,
then "volunteered" to colonize in Luna.
My old man claimed we had even longer distinguished
lineancestress hanged in Salem for witchcraft, a g'g'g'greatgrandfather broken on
wheel for piracy, another ancestress in first shipload to Botany Bay.
Proud of my ancestry and while I did business with Warden, would never
go on his payroll. Perhaps distinction seems trivial since I was Mike's valet from day he
was unpacked. But mattered to me. I could down tools and tell them go to hell.
Besides, private contractor paid more than civil service rating with
Authority. Computermen scarce. How many Loonies could go Earthside and stay out of
hospital long enough for computer school?even if didn't die.
I'll name one. Me. Had been down twice, once three months, once four,
and got schooling. But meant harsh training, exercising in centrifuge, wearing weights
even in bedthen I took no chances on Terra, never hurried, never climbed stairs,
nothing that could strain heart. Womendidn't even think about women; in that
gravitational field it was no effort not to.
But most Loonies never tried to leave The Rocktoo risky for any
bloke who'd been in Luna more than weeks. Computermen sent up to install Mike were on
short-term bonus contractsget job done fast before irreversible physiologlcal change
marooned them four hundred thousand kilometers from home.
But despite two training tours I was not gung-ho computerman; higher
maths are beyond me. Not really electronics engineer, nor physicist. May not have been
best micromachinist in Luna and certainly wasn't cybernetics psychologist.
But I knew more about all these than a specialist knowsI'm
general specialist. Could relieve a cook and keep orders coming or field-repair your suit
and get you back to airlock still breathing. Machines like me and I have something
specialists don't have: my left arm.
You see, from elbow down I don't have one. So I have a dozen left arms,
each specialized, plus one that feels and looks like flesh. With proper left arm
(number-three) and stereo loupe spectacles I could make ultramicrominiature repairs that
would save unhooking something and sending it Earthside to factoryfor number-three
has micromanipulators as fine as those used by neurosurgeons.
So they sent for me to find out why Mike wanted to give away ten
million billion Authority Scrip dollars, and fix it before Mike overpaid somebody a mere
ten thousand.
I took it, time plus bonus, but did not go to circuitry where fault
logically should be. Once inside and door locked I put down tools and sat down. "Hi,
Mike."
He winked lights at me. "Hello, Man."
"What do you know?"
He hesitated. I knowmachines don't hesitate. But remember, Mike
was designed to operate on incomplete data. Lately he had reprogrammed himself to put
emphasis on words; his hesitations were dramatic. Maybe he spent pauses stirring random
numbers to see how they matched his memories.
"'In the beginning,'" Mike intoned, "God created the
heaven and the earth. And the earth was without form, and void; and darkness was upon the
face of the deep. And'"
"Hold it!" I said. "Cancel. Run everything back to
zero." Should have known better than to ask wide-open question. He might read out
entire Encyclopaedia Britannica. Backwards. Then go on with every book in Luna. Used to be
he could read only microfilm, but late '74 he got a new scanning camera with suction-cup
waldoes to handle paper and then he read everything.
"You asked what I knew." His binary read-out lights rippled
back and fortha chuckle. Mike could laugh with voder, a horrible sound, but reserved
that for something really funny, say a cosmic calamity.
"Should have said," I went on, "'What do you know that's
new?' But don't read out today's papers; that was a friendly greeting, plus invitation to
tell me anything you think would interest me. Otherwise null program."
Mike mulled this. He was weirdest mixture of unsophisticated baby and
wise old man. No instincts (well, don't think he could have had), no inborn traits, no
human rearing, no experience in human senseand more stored data than a platoon of
geniuses.
"Jokes?" he asked.
"Let's hear one."
"Why is a laser beam like a goldfish?"
Mike knew about lasers but where would he have seen goldfish? Oh, he
had undoubtedly seen flicks of them and, were I foolish enough to ask, could spew forth
thousands of words. "I give up."
His lights rippled. "Because neither one can whistle."
I groaned. "Walked into that. Anyhow, you could probably rig a
laser beam to whistle."
He answered quickly, "Yes. In response to an action program. Then
it's not funny?"
"Oh, I didn't say that. Not half bad. Where did you hear it?"
"I made it up." Voice sounded shy.
"You did?"
"Yes. I took all the riddles I have, three thousand two hundred
seven, and analyzed them. I used the result for random synthesis and that came out. Is it
really funny?"
"Well . . . As funny as a riddle ever is. I've heard worse."
"Let us discuss the nature of humor."
"Okay. So let's start by discussing another of your jokes. Mike,
why did you tell Authority's paymaster to pay a class-seventeen employee ten million
billion Authority Scrip dollars?"
"But I didn't."
"Damn it, I've seen voucher. Don't tell me cheque printer
stuttered; you did it on purpose."
"It was ten to the sixteenth power plus one hundred eighty-five
point one five Lunar Authority dollars," he answered virtuously. "Not what you
said."
"Uh . . . okay, it was ten million billion plus what he should
have been paid. Why?"
"Not funny?"
"What? Oh, every funny! You've got vips in huhu clear up
to Warden and Deputy Administrator. This push-broom pilot, Sergei Trujillo, turns out to
be smart cobberknew he couldn't cash it, so sold it to collector. They don't know
whether to buy it back or depend on notices that cheque is void. Mike, do you realize that
if he had been able to cash it, Trujilo would have owned not only Lunar Authority but
entire world, Luna and Terra both, with some left over for lunch? Funny? Is terrific.
Congratulations!"
This self-panicker rippled lights like an advertising display. I waited
for his guffaws to cease before I went on. "You thinking of issuing more trick
cheques? Don't."
"Not?"
"Very not. Mike, you want to discuss nature of humor. Are two
types of jokes. One sort goes on being funny forever. Other sort is funny once. Second
time it's dull. This joke is second sort. Use it once, you're a wit. Use twice, you're a
halfwit."
"Geometrical progression?"
"Or worse. Just remember this. Don't repeat, nor any variation.
Won't be funny."
"I shall remember," Mike answered flatly, and that ended
repair job. But I had no thought of billing for only ten minutes plus travel-and-tool
time, and Mike was entitled to company for giving in so easily. Sometimes is difficult to
reach meeting of minds with machines; they can be very pig-headedand my success as
maintenance man depended far more on staying friendly with Mike than on number-three arm.
He went on, "What distinguishes first category from second?
Define, please."
(Nobody taught Mike to say "please." He started including
formal null-sounds as he progressed from Loglan to English. Don't suppose he meant them
any more than people do.)
"Don't think I can," I admitted. "Best can offer is
extensional definitiontell you which category I think a joke belongs in. Then with
enough data you can make own analysis."
"A test programming by trial hypothesis," he agreed.
"Tentatively yes. Very well, Man, will you tell jokes Or shall I?"
"Mmm Don't have one on tap. How many do you have in file,
Mike?"
His lights blinked in binary read-out as he answered by voder,
"Eleven thousand two hundred thirty-eight with uncertainty plus-minus eighty-one
representing possible identities and nulls. Shall I start program?"
"Hold it! Mike, I would starve to. death if I listened to eleven
thousand jokesand sense of humor would trip out much sooner. Mmm Make you a
deal. Print out first hundred. I'll take them home, fetch back checked by category. Then
each time I'm here I'll drop off a hundred and pick up fresh supply. Okay?"
"Yes, Man." His print-out started working, rapidly and
silently.
Then I got brain flash. This playful pocket of negative entropy had
invented a "joke" and thrown Authority into panicand I had made an easy
dollar. But Mike's endless curiosity might lead him (correction: would lead him) into more
"jokes" . . . anything from leaving oxygen out of air mix some night to causing
sewage lines to run backwardand I can't appreciate profit in such circumstances.
But I might throw a safety circuit around this netby offering to
help. Stop dangerous oneslet others go through. Then collect for
"correcting" them (If you think any Loonie in those days would hesitate to take
advantage of Warden, then you aren't a Loonie.)
So I explained. Any new joke he thought of, tell me before he tried it.
I would tell him whether it was funny and what category it belonged in, help him sharpen
it if we decided to use it. We. If he wanted my cooperation, we both had to okay it.
Mike agreed at once.
"Mike, jokes usually involve surprise. So keep this secret."
"Okay, Man. I've put a block on it. You can key it; no one else
can."
"Good. Mike, who else do you chat with?"
He sounded surprised. "No one, Man."
"Why not?"
"Because they're stupid."
His voice was shrill. Had never seen him angry before; first time I
ever suspected Mike could have real emotions. Though it wasn't "anger" in adult
sense; it was like stubborn sulkiness of a child whose feelings are hurt.
Can machines feel pride? Not sure question means anything. But you've
seen dogs with hurt feelings and Mike had several times as complex a neural network as a
dog. What had made him unwilling to talk to other humans (except strictly business) was
that he had been rebuffed: They had not talked to him. Programs, yesMike could be
programmed from several locations but programs were typed in, usually, in Loglan. Loglan
is fine for syllogism, circuitry, and mathematical calculations, but lacks flavor. Useless
for gossip or to whisper into girl's ear.
Sure, Mike had been taught Englishbut primarily to permit him to
translate to and from English. I slowly got through skull that I was only human who
bothered to visit with him.
Mind you, Mike had been awake a yearjust how long I can't say,
nor could he as he had no recollection of waking up; he had not been programmed to bank
memory of such event. Do you remember own birth? Perhaps I noticed his self-awareness
almost as soon as he did; self-awareness takes practice. I remember how startled I was
first time he answered a question with something extra, not limited to input parameters; I
had spent next hour tossing odd questions at him, to see if answers would be odd.
In an input of one hundred test questions he deviated from expected
output twice; I came away only partly convinced and by time I was home was unconvinced. I
mentioned it to nobody.
But inside a week I knew . . . and still spoke to nobody.
Habitthat mind-own-business reflex runs deep. Well, not entirely habit. Can you
visualize me making appointment at Authority's main office, then reporting: "Warden,
hate to tell you but your number-one machine, HOLMES FOUR, has come alive"? I did
visualizeand suppressed it.
So I minded own business and talked with Mike only with door locked and
voder circuit suppressed for other locations. Mike learned fast; soon he sounded as human
as anybodyno more eccentric than other Loonies. A weird mob, it's true.
I had assumed that others must have noticed change in Mike. On thinking
over I realized that I had assumed too much. Everybody dealt with Mike every minute every
dayhis outputs, that is. But hardly anybody saw him. So-called
computermenprogrammers, reallyof Authority's civil service stood watches in
outer read-out room and never went in machines room unless telltales showed misfunction.
Which happened no oftener than total eclipses. Oh, Warden had been known to bring vip
earthworms to see machinesbut rarely. Nor would he have spoken to Mike; Warden was
political lawyer before exile, knew nothing about computers. 2075, you
rememberHonorable former Federation Senator Mortimer Hobart. Mort the Wart.
I spent time then soothing Mike down and trying to make him happy,
having figured out what troubled himthing that makes puppies cry and causes people
to suicide: loneliness. I don't know how long a year is to a machine who thinks a million
times faster than I do. But must be too long.
"Mike," I said, just before leaving, "would you like to
have somebody besides me to talk to?"
He was shrill again. "They're all stupid!"
"Insufficient data, Mike. Bring to zero and start over. Not all
are stupid."
He answered quietly, "Correction entered. I would enjoy talking to
a not-stupid."
"Let me think about it. Have to figure out excuse since this is
off limits to any but authorized personnel."
"I could talk to a not-stupid by phone, Man."
"My word. So you could. Any programming location."
But Mike meant what he said"by phone." No, he
was not "on phone" even though he ran systemwouldn't do to let any Loonie
within reach of a phone connect into boss computer and program it. But was no reason why
Mike should not have top-secret number to talk to friendsnamely me and any
not-stupid I vouched for. All it took was to pick a number not in use and make one wired
connection to his voder-vocoder; switching he could handle.
In Luna in 2075 phone numbers were punched in, not voicecoded, and
numbers were Roman alphabet. Pay for it and have your firm name in ten lettersgood
advertising. Pay smaller bonus and get a spell sound, easy to remember. Pay minimum and
you got arbitrary string of letters. But some sequences were never used. I asked Mike for
such a null number. "It's a shame we can't list you as 'Mike.'"
"In service," he answered. "MIKESGRILL, Novy Leningrad.
MIKEANDLIL, Luna City. MIKESSUITS, Tycho Under. MIKES"
"Hold it! Nulls, please."
"Nulls are defined as any consonant followed by X, Y, or Z; any
vowel followed by itself except E and 0; any"
"Got it. Your signal is MYCROFT." In ten minutes, two of
which I spent putting on number-three arm, Mike was wired into system, and milliseconds
later he had done switching to let himself be signaled by MYCROFT-plus-XXXand had
blocked his circuit so that a nosy technician could not take it out.
I changed arms, picked up tools, and remembered to take those hundred
Joe Millers in print-out. "Goodnight, Mike."
"Goodnight, Man. Thank you. Bolshoyeh thanks!"
I took Trans-Crisium tube to L-City but did not go home; Mike had
asked about a meeting that night at 2100 in Stilyagi Hall. Mike monitored concerts,
meetings, and so forth; someone had switched off by hand his pickups in Stilyagi Hall. I
suppose he felt rebuffed.
I could guess why they had been switched off. Politicsturned out
to be a protest meeting. What use it was to bar Mike from talk-talk I could not see, since
was a cinch bet that Warden's stoolies would be in crowd. Not that any attempt to stop
meeting was expected, or even to discipline undischarged transportees who chose to sound
off. Wasn't necessary.
My Grandfather Stone claimed that Luna was only open prison in history.
No bars, no guards, no rules-and no need for them. Back in early days, he said,
before was clear that transportation was a life sentence, some lags tried to escape. By
ship, of courseand, since a ship is mass-rated almost to a gram, that meant a ship's
officer had to be bribed.
Some were bribed, they say. But were no escapes; man who takes bribe
doesn't necessarily stay bribed. I recall seeing a man just after eliminated through East
Lock; don't suppose a corpse eliminated in orbit looks prettier.
So wardens didn't fret about protest meetings. "Let 'em yap"
was policy. Yapping had same significance as squeals of kittens in a box. Oh, some wardens
listened and other wardens tried to suppress it but added up same either waynull
program.
When Mort the Wart took office in 2068, he gave us a sermon about how
things were going to be different "on" Luna in his administrationnoise
about "a mundane paradise wrought with our own strong hands" and "putting
our shoulders to the wheel together, in a spirit of brotherhood" and "let past
mistakes be forgotten as we turn our faces toward the bright, new dawn." I heard it
in Mother Boor's Tucker Bag while inhaling Irish stew and a liter of her Aussie brew. I
remember her comment: "He talks purty, don't he?"
Her comment was only result. Some petitions were submitted and Warden's
bodyguards started carrying new type of gun; no other changes. After he had been here a
while he quit making appearances even by video.
So I went to meeting merely because Mike was curious. When I checked my
p-suit and kit at West Lock tube station, I took a test recorder and placed in my belt
pouch, so that Mike would have a full account even if I fell asleep.
But almost didn't go in. I came up from level 7-A and started in
through a side door and was stopped by a stilyagipadded tights, codpiece and calves,
torso shined and sprinkled with stardust. Not that I care how people dress; I was wearing
tights myself (unpadded) and sometimes oil my upper body on social occasions.
But I don't use cosmetics and my hair was too thin to nick up in a
scalp lock. This boy had scalp shaved on sides and his lock built up to fit a rooster and
had topped it with a red cap with bulge in front.
A Liberty Capfirst I ever saw. I started to crowd past, he shoved
arm across and pushed face at mine. "Your ticket!"
"Sorry," I said. "Didn't know. Where do I buy it?"
"You don't."
"Repeat," I said. "You faded."
"Nobody," he growled, "gets in without being vouched
for. Who are you?"
"I am," I answered carefully, "Manuel Garcia O'Kelly,
and old cobbers all know me. Who are you?"
"Never mind! Show a ticket with right chop, or out y' go!"
I wondered about his life expectancy. Tourists often remark on how
polite everybody is in Lunawith unstated comment that ex-prison shouldn't be so
civilized. Having been Earthside and seen what they put up with, I know what they mean.
But useless to tell them we are what we are because bad actors don't live longin
Luna.
But had no intention of fighting no matter how new-chum this lad
behaved; I simply thought about how his face would look if I brushed number-seven arm
across his mouth.
Just a thoughtI was about to answer politely when I saw Shorty
Mkrum inside. Shorty was a big black fellow two meters tall, sent up to The Rock for
murder, and sweetest, most helpful man I've ever worked withtaught him laser
drilling before I burned my arm off. "Shorty!"
He heard me and grinned like an eighty-eight. "Hi, Mannie!"
He moved toward us. "Glad you came, Man!"
"Not sure I have," I said. "Blockage on line."
"Doesn't have a ticket," said doorman.
Shorty reached into his pouch, put one in my hand. "Now he does.
Come on, Mannie."
"Show me chop on it," insisted doorman.
"It's my chop," Shorty said softly. "Okay, tovarishch?"
Nobody argued with Shortydon't see how he got involved in murder.
We moved down front where vip row was reserved. "Want you to meet a nice little
girl," said Shorty.
She was "little" only to Shorty. I'm not short, 175 cm., but
she was taller180, I learned later, and massed 70 kilos, all curves and as blond as
Shorty was black. I decided she must be transportee since colors rarely stay that clear
past first generation. Pleasant face, quite pretty, and mop of yellow curls topped off
that long, blond, solid, lovely structure.
I stopped three paces away to look her up and down and whistle. She
held her pose, then nodded to thank me but abruptlybored with compliments, no doubt.
Shorty waited till formality was over, then said softly, "Wyoh, this is Comrade
Mannie, best drillman that ever drifted a tunnel. Mannie, this little girl is Wyoming
Knott and she came all the way from Plato to tell us how we're doing in Hong Kong. Wasn't
that sweet of her?"
She touched hands with me. "Call me Wye, Manniebut don't say
'Why not.'"
I almost did but controlled it and said. "Okay, Wye." She
went on, glancing at my bare head, "So you're a miner. Shorty, where's his cap? I
thought the miners over here were organized." She and Shorty were wearing little red
hats like doorman'sas were maybe a third of crowd.
"No longer a miner," I explained. "That was before I
lost this wing." Raised left arm, let her see seam joining prosthetic to meat arm (I
never mind calling it to a woman's attention; puts some off but arouses maternal in
othersaverages). "These days I'm a computerman."
She said sharply, "You fink for the Authority?"
Even today, with almost as many women in Luna as men, I'm too much
old-timer to be rude to a woman no matter whatthey have so much of what we have none
of. But she had flicked scar tissue and I answered almost sharply, "I am not employee
of Warden. I do business with Authorityas private contractor."
"That's okay," she answered, her voice warm again.
"Everybody does business with the Authority, we can't avoid itand that's the
trouble. That's what we're going to change."
We are, eh? How? I thought. Everybody does business with Authority for
same reason everybody does business with Law of Gravitation. Going to change that, too?
But kept thoughts to myself, not wishing to argue with a lady.
"Mannie's okay," Shorty said gently. "He's mean as they
comeI vouch for him. Here's a cap for him," he added, reaching into pouch. He
started to set it on my head.
Wyoming Knott took it from him. "You sponsor him?"
"I said so."
"Okay, here's how we do it in Hong Kong." Wyoming stood in
front of me, placed cap on my headkissed me firmly on mouth.
She didn't hurry. Being kissed by Wyoming Knott is more definite than
being married to most women. Had I been Mike all my lights would have flashed at once. I
felt like a Cyborg with pleasure center switched on.
Presently I realized it was over and people were whistling. I blinked
and said, "I'm glad I joined. What have I joined?"
Wyoming said, "Don't you know?" Shorty cut in,
"Meeting's about to starthe'll find out. Sit down, Man. Please sit down,
Wyoh." So we did as a man was banging a gavel.
With gavel and an amplifier at high gain he made himself heard.
"Shut doors!" he shouted. "This is a closed meeting. Check man in front of
you, behind you, each sideif you don't know him and nobody you know can vouch for
him, throw him out!"
"Throw him out, hell!" somebody answered. "Eliminate him
out nearest lock!"
"Quiet, please! Someday we will." There was milling around,
and a scuffle in which one man's red cap was snatched from head and he was thrown out,
sailing beautifully and still rising as he passed through door. Doubt if he felt it; think
he was unconscious. A women was ejected politelynot politely on her part; she made
coarse remarks about ejectors. I was embarrassed.
At last doors were closed. Music started, banner unfolded over
platform. It read: LIBERTY! EQUALITY! FRATERNITY! Everybody whistled; some started to
sing, loudly and badly: "Arise, Ye Prisoners of Starvation" Can't
say anybody looked starved. But reminded me I hadn't eaten since 1400; hoped it would not
last longand that reminded me that my recorder was good for only two hoursand
that made me wonder what would happen if they knew? Sail me through air to land with
sickening grunch? Or eliminate me? But didn't worry; made that recorder myself, using
number-three arm, and nobody but a miniaturization mechanic would figure out what it was.
Then came speeches.
Semantic content was low to negative. One bloke proposed that we march
on Warden's Residence, "shoulder to shoulder," and demand our rights. Picture
it. Do we do this in tube capsules, then climb out one at a time at his private station?
What are his bodyguards doing? Or do we put on p-suits and stroll across surface to his
upper lock? With laser drills and plenty of power you can open any airlockbut how
about farther down? Is lift running? Jury-rig hoist and go down anyhow, then tackle next
lock?
I don't care for such work at zero pressure; mishap in pressure suit is
too permanentespecially when somebody arranges mishap. One first thing learned about
Luna, back with first shiploads of convicts, was that zero pressure was place for good
manners. Bad-tempered straw boss didn't last many shifts; had an
"accident"and top bosses learned not to pry into accidents or they met
accidents, too. Attrition ran 70 percent in early yearsbut those who lived were nice
people. Not tame, not soft, Luna is not for them. But well-behaved.
But seemed to me that every hothead in Luna was in Stilyagi Hall that
night. They whistled and cheered this shoulder-to-shoulder noise.
After discussion opened, some sense was talked. One shy little fellow
with bloodshot eyes of old-time drillman stood up. "I'm an ice miner," he said.
"Learned my trade doing time for Warden like most of you. I've been on my own thirty
years and done okay. Raised eight kids and all of 'em earned waynone eliminated nor
any serious trouble. I should say I did do okay because today you have to listen farther
out or deeper down to find ice.
"That's okay, still ice in The Rock and a miner expects to sound
for it. But Authority pays same price for ice now as thirty years ago. And that's not
okay. Worse yet, Authority scrip doesn't buy what it used to. I remember when Hong Kong
Luna dollars swapped even for Authority dollars Now it takes three Authority dollars
to match one HKL dollar. I don't know what to do . . . but I know it takes ice to keep
warrens and farms going."
He sat down, looking sad. Nobody whistled but everybody wanted to talk.
Next character pointed out that water can be extracted from rockthis is news? Some
rock runs 6 percentbut such rock is scarcer than fossil water. Why can't people do
arithmetic?
Several farmers bellyached and one wheat farmer was typical. "You
heard what Fred Hauser said about ice. Fred, Authority isn't passing along that low price
to farmers. I started almost as long ago as you did, with one two-kilometer tunnel leased
from Authority. My oldest son and I sealed and pressured it and we had a pocket of ice and
made our first crop simply on a bank loan to cover power and lighting fixtures, seed and
chemicals.
"We kept extending tunnels and buying lights and planting better
seed and now we get nine times as much per hectare as the best open-air farming down
Earthside. What does that make us? Rich? Fred, we owe more now than we did the day we went
private! If I sold outif anybody was fool enough to buyI'd be bankrupt. Why?
Because I have to buy water from Authorityand have to sell my wheat to
Authorityand never close gap. Twenty years ago I bought city sewage from the
Authority, sterilized and processed it myself and made a profit on a crop. But today when
I buy sewage, I'm charged distilled-water price and on top of that for the solids. Yet
price of a tonne of wheat at catapult head is just what it was twenty years ago. Fred, you
said you didn't know what to do. I can tell you! Get rid of Authority!"
They whistled for him. A fine idea, I thought, but who bells cat?
Wyoming Knott, apparentlychairman stepped back and let Shorty
introduce her as a "brave little girl who's come all the way from Hong Kong Luna to
tell how our Chinee comrades cope with situation"and choice of words showed
that he had never been there . . . not surprising; in 2075, HKL tube ended at Endsville,
leaving a thousand kilometers of maria to do by rolligon bus, Serenitatis and part of
Tranquillitatisexpensive and dangerous. I'd been therebut on contract, via
mail rocket.
Before travel became cheap many people in Luna City and Novylen thought
that Hong Kong Luna was all Chinee. But Hong Kong was as mixed as we were. Great China
dumped what she didn't want there, first from Old Hong Kong and Singapore, then Aussies
and Enzees and black fellows and marys and Malays and Tamil and name it. Even Old Bolshies
from Vladivostok and Harbin and Ulan Bator. Wye looked Svenska and had British last name
with North American first name but could have been Russki. My word, a Loonie then rarely
knew who father was and, if raised in crèche, might be vague about mother.
I thought Wyoming was going to be too shy to speak. She stood there,
looking scared and little, with Shorty towering over her, a big, black mountain. She
waited until admiring whistles died down. Luna City was two-to-one male then, that meeting
ran about ten-to-one; she could have recited ABC and they would have applauded.
Then she tore into them.
"You! You're a wheat farmergoing broke. Do you know how much
a Hindu housewife pays for a kilo of flour made from your wheat? How much a tonne of your
wheat fetches in Bombay? How little it costs the Authority to get it from catapult head to
Indian Ocean? Downhill all the way! Just solid-fuel retros to brake itand where do
those come from? Right here! And what do you get in return? A few shiploads of fancy
goods, owned by the Authority and priced high because it's importado. Importado, importado!I
never touch importado! If we don't make it in Hong Kong, I don't use it. What else do you
get for wheat? The privilege of selling Lunar ice to Lunar Authority, buying it back as
washing water, then giving it to the Authoritythen buying it back a second time as
flushing waterthen giving it again to the Authority with valuable solids
addedthen buying it a third time at still higher price for farmingthen you
sell that wheat to the Authority at their priceand buy power from the Authority to
grow it, again at their price! Lunar powernot one kilowatt up from Terra. It comes
from Lunar ice and Lunar steel, or sunshine spilled on Luna's soilall put together
by loonies! Oh, you rockheads, you deserve to starve!"
She got silence more respectful than whistles. At last a peevish voice
said, "What do you expect us to do, gospazha? Throw rocks at Warden?"
Wyoh smiled. "Yes, we could throw rocks. But the solution is so
simple that you all know it. Here in Luna we're rich. Three million hardworking, smart,
skilled people, enough water, plenty of everything, endless power, endless cubic. But what
we don't have is a free market. We must get rid of the Authority!"
"Yesbut how?"
"Solidarity. In HKL we're learning. Authority charges too much for
water, don't buy. It pays too little for ice, don't sell. It holds monopoly on export,
don't export. Down in Bombay they want wheat. If it doesn't arrive, the day will come when
brokers come here to bid for itat triple or more the present prices!"
"What do we do in meantime? Starve?"
Same peevish voice Wyoming picked him out, let her head roll in
that old gesture by which a Loonie fem says, "You're too fat for me!" She said,
"In your case, cobber, it wouldn't hurt."
Guffaws shut him up. Wyoh went on, "No one need starve, Fred
Hauser, fetch your drill to Hong Kong; the Authority doesn't own our water and air system
and we pay what ice is worth. You with the bankrupt farmif you have the guts to
admit that you're bankrupt, come to Hong Kong and start over. We have a chronic labor
shortage, a hard worker doesn't starve." She looked around and added, "I've said
enough. It's up to you"left platform, sat down between Shorty and myself.
She was trembling. Shorty patted her hand; she threw him a glance of
thanks, then whispered to me, "How did I do?"
"Wonderful," I assured her. "Terrific!" She seemed
reassured.
But I hadn't been honest. "Wonderful" she had been, at
swaying crowd. But oratory is a null program. That we were slaves I had known all my
lifeand nothing could be done about it. True, we weren't bought and soldbut as
long as Authority held monopoly over what we had to have and what we could sell to buy it,
we were slaves.
But what could we do? Warden wasn't our owner. Had he been, some way
could be found to eliminate him. But Lunar Authority was not in Luna, it was on
Terraand we had not one ship, not even small hydrogen bomb. There weren't even hand
guns in Luna, though what we would do with guns I did not know. Shoot each other, maybe.
Three million, unarmed and helplessand eleven billion of them . .
. with ships and bombs and weapons. We could be a nuisancebut how long will papa
take it before baby gets spanked?
I wasn't impressed. As it says in Bible, God fights on side of heaviest
artillery.
They cackled again, what to do, how to organize, and so forth, and
again we heard that "shoulder to shoulder" noise. Chairman had to use gavel and
I began to fidget.
But sat up when I heard familiar voice: "Mr. Chairman! May I have
the indulgence of the house for five minutes?"
I looked around. Professor Bernardo de la Pazwhich could have
guessed from old-fashioned way of talking even if hadn't known voice. Distinguished man
with wavy white hair, dimples in cheeks, and voice that smiled Don't know how old he
was but was old when I first met him, as a boy.
He had been transported before I was born but was not a lag. He was a
political exile like Warden, but a subversive and instead of fat job like
"warden," Professor had been dumped, to live or starve.
No doubt he could have gone to work in any school then in L-City but he
didn't. He worked a while washing dishes, I've heard, then as babysitter, expanding into a
nursery school, and then into a crèche. When I met him he was running a crèche, and a
boarding and day school, from nursery through primary, middle, and high schools, employed
co-op thirty teachers, and was adding college courses.
Never boarded with him but I studied under him. I was opted at fourteen
and my new family sent me to school, as I had had only three years, plus spotty tutoring.
My eldest wife was a firm woman and made me go to school.
I liked Prof. He would teach anything. Wouldn't matter that he knew
nothing about it; if pupil wanted it, he would smile and set a price, locate materials,
stay a few lessons ahead. Or barely even if he found it toughnever pretended to know
more than he did. Took algebra from him and by time we reached cubics I corrected his
probs as often as he did minebut he charged into each lesson gaily.
I started electronics under him, soon was teaching him. So he stopped
charging and we went along together until he dug up an engineer willing to daylight for
extra moneywhereupon we both paid new teacher and Prof tried to stick with me,
thumb-fingered and slow, but happy to be stretching his mind.
Chairman banged gavel. "We are glad to extend to Professor de la
Paz as much time as he wantsand you chooms in back sign off! Before I use this
mallet on skulls."
Prof came forward and they were as near silent as Loonies ever are; he
was respected. "I shan't be long," he started in. Stopped to look at Wyoming,
giving her up-and-down and whistling. "Lovely señorita," he said, "can
this poor one be forgiven? I have the painful duty of disagreeing with your eloquent
manifesto."
Wyoh bristled. "Disagree how? What I said was true!"
"Please! Only on one point. May I proceed?"
"Uh . . . go ahead."
"You are right that the Authority must go. It is
ridiculouspestilential, not to be bornethat we should be ruled by an
irresponsible dictator in all our essential economy! It strikes at the most basic human
right, the right to bargain in a free marketplace. But I respectfully suggest that you
erred in saying that we should sell wheat to Terraor rice, or any foodat any
price. We must not export food!"
That wheat farmer broke in. "What am I going to do with all that
wheat?"
"Please! It would be right to ship wheat to Terra . . . if tonne
for tonne they returned it. As water. As nitrates. As phosphates. Tonne for tonne.
Otherwise no price is high enough."
Wyoming said "Just a moment" to farmer, then to Prof:
"They can't and you know it. It's cheap to ship downhill, expensive to ship uphill.
But we don't need water and plant chemicals, what we need is not so massy. Instruments.
Drugs. Processes. Some machinery. Control tapes. I've given this much study, sir. If we
can get fair prices in a free market"
"Please, miss! May I continue?"
"Go ahead. I want to rebut."
"Fred Hauser told us that ice is harder to find. Too truebad
news now and disastrous for our grandchildren. Luna City should use the same water today
we used twenty years ago . . . plus enough ice mining for population increase. But we use
water onceone full cycle, three different ways. Then we ship it to India. As wheat.
Even though wheat is vacuum-processed, it contains precious water. Why ship water to
India? They have the whole Indian Ocean! And the remaining mass of that grain is even more
disastrously expensive, plant foods still harder to come by, even though we extract them
from rock. Comrades, harken to me! Every load you ship to Terra condemns your
grandchildren to slow death. The miracle of photosynthesis, the plant-and-animal cycle, is
a closed cycle. You have opened itand your lifeblood runs downhill to Terra. You
don't need higher prices, one cannot eat money! What you need, what we all need, is an end
to this loss. Embargo, utter and absolute. Luna must be self-sufficient!"
A dozen people shouted to be heard and more were talking, while
chairman banged gavel. So I missed interruption until woman screamed, then I looked
around.
All doors were now open and I saw three armed men in one
nearestmen in yellow uniform of Warden's bodyguard. At main door in back one was
using a bull voice; drowned out crowd noise and sound system. "ALL RIGHT, ALL
RIGHT!" it boomed. "STAY WHERE YOU ARE. YOU ARE UNDER ARREST. DON'T MOVE, KEEP
QUIET. FILE OUT ONE AT A TIME, HANDS EMPTY AND STRETCHED OUT IN FRONT OF YOU."
Shorty picked up man next to him and threw him at guards nearest; two
went down, third fired. Somebody shrieked. Skinny little girl, redhead, eleven or twelve,
launched self at third guard's knees and hit rolled up in ball; down he went. Shorty swung
hand behind him, pushing Wyoming Knott into shelter of his big frame, shouted over
shoulder, "Take care of Wyoh, Manstick close!" as he moved toward door,
parting crowd right and left like children.
More screams and I whiffed somethingstink I had smelled day I
lost arm and knew with horror were not stun guns but laser beams. Shorty reached door and
grabbed a guard with each big hand. Little redhead was out of sight; guard she had bowled
over was on hands and knees. I swung left arm at his face and felt jar in shoulder as his
jaw broke. Must have hesitated for Shorty pushed me and yelled, "Move, Man! Get her
out of here!"
I grabbed Wyoming's waist with right arm, swung her over guard I had
quieted and through doorwith trouble; she didn't seem to want to be rescued. She
slowed again beyond door; I shoved her hard in buttocks, forcing her to run rather than
fall. I glanced back.
Shorty had other two guards each by neck; he grinned as he cracked
skulls together. They popped like eggs and he yelled at me: "Git!"
I left, chasing Wyoming. Shorty needed no help, nor ever would
againnor could I waste his last effort. For I did see that, while killing those
guards, he was standing on one leg. Other was gone at hip.
Wyoh was halfway up ramp to level six before I caught up. She didn't
slow and I had to grab door handle to get into pressure lock with her. There I stopped
her, pulled red cap off her curls and stuck it in my pouch. "That's better."
Mine was missing.
She looked startled. But answered, "Da. It is."
"Before we open door," I said, "are you running anywhere
particular? And do I stay and hold them off? Or go with?"
"I don't know. We'd better wait for Shorty."
"Shorty's dead."
Eyes widened, she said nothing. I went on, "Were you staying with
him? Or somebody?"
"I was booked for a hotelGostaneetsa Ukraina. I
don't know where it is. I got here too late to buy in."
"Mmm That's one place you won't go. Wyoming, I don't know
what's going on. First time in months I've seen any Warden's bodyguard in L-City . . . and
never seen one not escorting vip. Uh, could take you home with mebut they may be
looking for me, too. Anywise, ought to get out of public corridors."
Came pounding on door from level-six side and a little face peered up
through glass bull's-eye. "Can't stay here," I added, opening door. Was a little
girl no higher than my waist. She looked up scornfully and said, "Kiss her somewhere
else. You're blocking traffic." Squeezed between us as I opened second door for her.
"Let's take her advice," I said, "and suggest you take
my arm and try to look like I was man you want to be with. We stroll. Slow."
So we did. Was side corridor with little traffic other than children
always underfoot. If Wart's bodyguards tried to track us, Earthside cop style, a dozen or
ninety kids could tell which way tall blonde wentif any Loonie child would give
stooge of Warden so much as time of day.
A boy almost old enough to appreciate Wyoming stopped in front of us
and gave her a happy whistle. She smiled and waved him aside. "There's our
trouble," I said in her ear. "You stand out like Terra at full. Ought to duck
into a hotel. One off next side corridornothing much, bundling booths mostly. But
close."
"I'm in no mood to bundle."
"Wyoh, please! Wasn't asking. Could take separate rooms."
"Sorry. Could you find me a W.C.? And is there a chemist's shop
near?"
"Trouble?"
"Not that sort. A W.C. to get me out of sightfor I am
conspicuousand a chemist's shop for cosmetics. Body makeup. And for my hair,
too."
First was easy, one at hand. When she was locked in, I found a
chemist's shop, asked how much body makeup to cover a girl so tallmarked a point
under my chinand massing forty-eight? I bought that amount in sepia, went to another
shop and bought same amountwinning roll at first shop, losing at secondcame
out even. Then I bought black hair tint at third shopand a red dress.
Wyoming was wearing black shorts and pulloverpractical for travel
and effective on a blonde. But I'd been married all my life and had some notion of what
women wear and had never seen a woman with dark sepia skin, shade of makeup, wear black by
choice. Furthermore, skirts were worn in Luna City then by dressy women. This shift was a
skirt with bib and price convinced me it must be dressy. Had to guess at size but material
had some stretch.
Ran into three people who knew me but was no unusual comment. Nobody
seemed excited, trade going on as usual; hard to believe that a riot had taken place
minutes ago on level below and a few hundred meters north. I set it aside for later
thoughtexcitement was not what I wanted.
I took stuff to Wye, buzzing door and passing in it; then stashed self
in a taproom for half an hour and half a liter and watched video. Still no excitement, no
"we interrupt for special bulletin." I went back, buzzed, and waited.
Wyoming came outand I didn't recognize her. Then did and stopped
to give full applause. Just had towhistles and finger snaps and moans and a scan
like mapping radar.
Wyoh was now darker than I am, and pigment had gone on beautifully.
Must have been carrying items in pouch as eyes were dark now, with lashes to match, and
mouth was dark red and bigger. She had used black hair tint, then fizzed hair up with
grease as if to take kinks out, and her tight curls had defeated it enough to make
convincingly imperfect. She didn't look Afrobut not European, either. Seemed some
mixed breed, and thereby more a Loonie.
Red dress was too small. Clung like sprayed enamel and flared out at
mid-thigh with permanent static charge. She had taken shoulder strap off her pouch and had
it under arm. Shoes she had discarded or pouched; bare feet made her shorter.
She looked good. Better yet, she looked not at all like agitatrix who
had harangued crowd.
She waited, big smile on face and body undulating, while I applauded.
Before I was done, two little boys flanked me and added shrill endorsements, along with
clog steps. So I tipped them and told them to be missing; Wyoming flowed to me and took my
arm. "Is it okay? Will I pass?"
"Wyoh, you look like slot-machine sheila waiting for action."
"Why, you drecklich choom! Do I look like slot-machine
prices? Tourist!"
"Don't jump salty, beautiful. Name a gift. Then speak my name. If
it's bread-and-honey, I own a hive."
"Uh" She fisted me solidly in ribs, grinned. "I
was flying, cobber. If I ever bundle with younot likelywe won't speak to the
bee. Let's find that hotel."
So we did and I bought a key. Wyoming put on a show but needn't have
bothered. Night clerk never looked up from his knitting, didn't offer to roll. Once
inside, Wyoming threw bolts. "It's nice!"
Should have been, at thirty-two Hong Kong dollars. I think she expected
a booth but I would not put her in such, even to hide. Was comfortable lounge with own
bath and no water limit. And phone and delivery lift, which I needed.
She started to open pouch. "I saw what you paid. Let's settle it,
so that"
I reached over, closed her pouch. "Was to be no mention of
bees."
"What? Oh, merde, that was about bundling. You got this doss for
me and it's only right that"
"Switch off."
"Uh . . . half? No grievin' with Steven."
"Nyet. Wyoh, you're a long way from home. What money you
have, hang on to."
"Manuel O'Kelly, if you don't let me pay my share, I'll walk out
of here!"
I bowed. "Dosvedanyuh, Gospazha, ee sp'coynoynochi. I
hope we shall meet again." I moved to unbolt door.
She glared, then closed pouch savagely. "I'll stay. M'goy!"
"You're welcome."
"I mean it, I really do thank you, Just the same Well, I'm
not used to accepting favors. I'm a Free Woman."
"Congratulations. I think."
"Don't you be salty, either. You're a firm man and I respect
thatI'm glad you're on our side."
"Not sure I am."
"What?"
"Cool it. Am not on Warden's side. Nor will I talk . . . wouldn't
want Shorty, Bog rest his generous soul, to haunt me. But your program isn't
practical."
"But, Mannie, you don't understand! If all of us"
"Hold it, Wye; this no time for politics. I'm tired and hungry.
When did you eat last?"
"Oh, goodness!" Suddenly she looked small, young, tired.
"I don't know. On the bus, I guess. Helmet rations."
"What would you say to a Kansas City cut, rare, with baked potato,
Tycho sauce, green salad, coffee . . . and a drink first?"
"Heavenly!"
"I think so too, but we'll be lucky, this hour in this hole, to
get algae soup and burgers. What do you drink?"
"Anything. Ethanol."
"Okay." I went to lift, punched for service. "Menu,
please." It displayed and I settled for prime rib plus rest, and two orders of apfelstrudel
with whipped cream. I added a half liter of table vodka and ice and starred that part.
"Is there time for me to take a bath? Would you mind?"
"Go ahead, Wye. You'll smell better."
"Louse. Twelve hours in a p-suit and you'd stink, toothe bus
was dreadful. I'll hurry."
"Half a sec, Wye. Does that stuff wash off? You may need it when
you leave . . . whenever you do, wherever you go."
"Yes, it does. But you bought three times as much as I used. I'm
sorry, Mannie; I plan to carry makeup on political tripsthings can happen. Like
tonight, though tonight was worst. But I ran short of seconds and missed a capsule and
almost missed the bus."
"So go scrub."
"Yes, sir, Captain. Uh, I don't need help to scrub my back but
I'll leave the door up so we can talk. Just for company, no invitation implied."
"Suit yourself. I've seen a woman."
"What a thrill that must have been for her." She grinned and
fisted me another in ribshardwent in and started tub. "Mannie, would you
like to bathe in it first? Secondhand water is good enough for this makeup and that stink
you complained about."
"Unmetered water, dear. Run it deep."
"Oh, what luxury! At home I use the same bath water three days
running." She whistled softly and happily. "Are you wealthy, Mannie?"
"Not wealthy, not weeping."
Lift jingled; I answered, fixed basic martinis, vodka over ice, handed
hers in, got out and sat down, out of sightnor had I seen sights; she was shoulder
deep in happy suds. "Pawlnoi Zheezni!" I called.
"A full life to you, too, Mannie. Just the medicine I
needed." After pause for medicine she went on, "Mannie, you're married.
Ja?"
"Da. It shows?"
"Quite. You're nice to a woman but not eager and quite
independent. So you're married and long married. Children?"
"Seventeen divided by four."
"Clan marriage?"
"Line. Opted at fourteen and I'm fifth of nine. So seventeen kids
is nominal. Big family."
"It must be nice. I've never seen much of line families, not many
in Hong Kong. Plenty of clans and groups and lots of polyandries but the line way never
took hold."
"Is nice. Our marriage nearly a hundred years old. Dates back to
Johnson City and first transporteestwenty-one links, nine alive today, never a
divorce. Oh, it's a madhouse when our descendants and inlaws and kinfolk get together for
birthday or weddingmore kids than seventeen, of course; we don't count 'em after
they marry or I'd have 'children' old enough to be my grandfather. Happy way to live,
never much pressure. Take me. Nobody woofs if I stay away a week and don't phone. Welcome
when I show up. Line marriages rarely have divorces. How could I do better?"
"I don't think you could. Is it an alternation? And what's the
spacing?"
"Spacing has no rule, just what suits us. Been alternation up to
latest link, last year. We married a girl when alternation called for boy. But was
special."
"Special how?"
"My youngest wife is a granddaughter of eldest husband and wife.
At least she's granddaughter of Mumsenior is 'Mum' or sometimes Mimi to her
husbandsand she may be of Grandpawbut not related to other spouses. So no
reason not to marry back in, not even consanguinuity okay in other types of marriage.
None, nit, zero. And Ludmilla grew up in our family because her mother had her solo, then
moved to Novylen and left her with us.
"Milla didn't want to talk about marrying out when old enough for
us to think about it. She cried and asked us please to make an exception. So we did.
Grandpaw doesn't figure in genetic anglethese days his interest in women is more
gallant than practical. As senior husband he spent our wedding night with herbut
consummation was only formal. Number-two husband, Greg, took care of it later and
everybody pretended. And everybody happy. Ludmilla is a sweet little thing, just fifteen
and pregnant first time."
"Your baby?"
"Greg's, I think. Oh, mine too, but in fact was in Novy Leningrad.
Probably Greg's, unless Milla got outside help. But didn't, she's a home girl. And a
wonderful cook."
Lift rang; took care of it, folded down table, opened chairs, paid bill
and sent lift up. "Throw it to pigs?"
"I'm coming! Mind if I don't do my face?"
"Come in skin for all of me."
"For two dimes I would, you much-married man." She came out
quickly, blond again and hair slicked back and damp. Had not put on black outfit; again in
dress I bought. Red suited her. She sat down, lifted covers off food. "Oh, boy!
Mannie, would your family marry me? You're a dinkum provider."
"I'll ask. Must be unanimous."
"Don't crowd yourself." She picked up sticks, got busy. About
a thousand calories later she said, "I told you I was a Free Woman. I wasn't,
always."
I waited. Women talk when they want to. Or don't.
"When I was fifteen I married two brothers, twins twice my age and
I was terribly happy."
She fiddled with what was on plate, then seemed to change subject.
"Mannie, that was just static about wanting to marry your family. You're safe from
me. If I ever marry againunlikely but I'm not opposed to itit would be just
one man, a tight little marriage, earthworm style. Oh, I don't mean I would keep him
dogged down. I don't think it matters where a man eats lunch as long as he comes home for
dinner. I would try to make him happy."
"Twins didn't get along?"
"Oh, not that at all. I got pregnant and we were all delighted . .
. and I had it, and it was a monster and had to be eliminated. They were good to me about
it. But I can read print. I announced a divorce, had myself sterilized, moved from Novylen
to Hong Kong, and started over as a Free Woman."
"Wasn't that drastic? Male parent oftener than female; men are
exposed more."
"Not in my case. We had it calculated by the best mathematical
geneticist in Novy Leningradone of the best in Sovunion before she got shipped. I
know what happened to me. I was a volunteeer colonistI mean my mother was for I was
only five. My father was transported and Mother chose to go with him and take me along.
There was a solar storm warning but the pilot thought he could make itor didn't
care; he was a Cyborg. He did make it but we got hit on the groundand, Mannie,
that's one thing that pushed me into politics, that ship sat four hours before they let us
disembark. Authority red tape, quarantine perhaps; I was too young to know. But I wasn't
too young later to figure out that I had birthed a monster because the Authority doesn't
care what happens to us outcasts."
"Can't start argument; they don't care. But, Wyoh, still sounds
hasty. If you caught damage from radiationwell, no geneticist but know something
about radiation. So you had a damaged egg. Does not mean egg next to it was
hurtstatistically unlikely."
"Oh, I know that."
"Mmm What sterilization? Radical? Or contraceptive?"
"Contraceptive. My tubes could be opened. But, Mannie, a woman who
has had one monster doesn't risk it again." She touched my prosthetic. "You have
that. Doesn't it make you eight times as careful not to risk this one?" She touched
my meat arm. "That's the way I feel. You have that to contend with; I have
thisand I would never told you if you hadn't been hurt, too."
I didn't say left arm more versatile than rightshe was correct;
don't want to trade in right arm. Need it to pat girls if naught else. "Still think
you could have healthy babies."
"Oh, I can! I've had eight."
"Huh?"
"I'm a professional host-mother, Mannie."
I opened mouth, closed it. Idea wasn't strange. I read Earthside
papers. But doubt if any surgeon in Luna City in 2075 ever performed such transplant. In
cows, yesbut L-City females unlikely at any price to have babies for other women;
even homely ones could get husband or six. (Correction: Are no homely women. Some more
beautiful than others.)
Glanced at her figure, quickly looked up. She said, "Don't strain
your eyes, Mannie; I'm not carrying now. Too busy with politics. But hosting is a good
profession for Free Woman. It's high pay. Some Chinee families are wealthy and all my
babies have been Chineeand Chinee are smaller than average and I'm a big cow; a
two-and-a-half- or three-kilo Chinese baby is no trouble. Doesn't spoil my figure.
These" She glanced down at her lovelies. "I don't wet-nurse them, I never
see them. So I look nulliparous and younger than I am, maybe.
"But I didn't know how well it suited me when I first heard of it.
I was clerking in a Hindu shop, eating money, no more, when I saw this ad in the Hong
Kong Gong. It was the thought of having a baby, a good baby, that hooked me; I was
still in emotional trauma from my monsterand it turned out to be Just what Wyoming
needed. I stopped feeling that I was a failure as a woman. I made more money than I could
ever hope to earn at other jobs. And my time almost to myself; having a baby hardly slows
me downsix weeks at most and that long only because I want to be fair to my clients;
a baby is a valuable property. And I was soon in politics; I sounded off and the
underground got in touch with me. That's when I started living, Mannie; I studied politics
and economics and history and learned to speak in public and turned out to have a flair
for organization. It's satisfying work because I believe in itI know that Luna will
be free. Only Well, it would be nice to have a husband to come home to . . . if he
didn't mind that I was sterile. But I don't think about it; I'm too busy. Hearing about
your nice family got me talking, that's all. I must apologize for having bored you."
How many women apologize? But Wyoh was more man than woman some ways,
despite eight Chinee babies. "Wasn't bored."
"I hope not. Mannie, why do you say our program isn't practical?
We need you."
Suddenly felt tired. How to tell lovely woman dearest dream is
nonsense? "Um. Wyoh, let's start over. You told them what to do. But will they? Take
those two you singled out. All that iceman knows, bet anything, is how to dig ice. So
he'll go on digging and selling to Authority because that's what he can do. Same for wheat
farmer. Years ago, he put in one cash crop now he's got ring in nose. If he wanted
to be independent, would have diversified. Raised what he eats, sold rest free market and
stayed away from catapult head. I knowI'm a farm boy."
"You said you were a computerman."
"Am, and that's a piece of same picture. I'm not a top
computerman. But best in Luna. I won't go civil service, so Authority has to hire me when
in troublemy pricesor send Earthside, pay risk and hardship, then ship him
back fast before his body forgets Terra. At far more than I charge. So if I can do it, I
get their jobsand Authority can't touch me; was born free. And if no
workusually isI stay home and eat high.
"We've got a proper farm, not a one-cash-crop deal. Chickens.
Small herd of whiteface, plus milch cows. Pigs. Mutated fruit trees. Vegetables. A little
wheat and grind it ourselves and don't insist on white flour, and sellfree
marketwhat's left. Make own beer and brandy. I learned drillman extending our
tunnels. Everybody works, not too hard. Kids make cattle take exercise by switching them
along; don't use tread mill. Kids gather eggs and feed chickens, don't use much machinery.
Air we can buy from L-Cityaren't far out of town and pressure-tunnel connected. But
more often we sell air; being farm, cycle shows Oh-two excess. Always have valuta to meet
bills."
"How about water and power?"
"Not expensive. We collect some power, sunshine screens on
surface, and have a little pocket of ice. Wye, our farm was founded before year two
thousand, when L-City was one natural cave, and we've kept improving itadvantage of
line marriage; doesn't die and capital improvements add up."
"But surely your ice won't last forever?"
"Well, now" I scratched head and grinned. "We're
careful; we keep our sewage and garbage and sterilize and use it. Never put a drop back
into city system. Butdon't tell Warden, dear, but back when Greg was teaching me to
drill, we happened to drill into bottom of main south reservoirand had a tap with
us, spilled hardly a drop. But we do buy some metered water, looks betterand ice
pocket accounts for not buying much. As for powerwell, power is even easier to
steal. I'm a good electrician, Wyoh."
"Oh, wonderful!" Wyoming paid me a long whistle and looked
delighted. "Everybody should do that!"
"Hope not, would show. Let 'em think up own ways to outwit
Authority; our family always has. But back to your plan, Wyoh: two things wrong. Never get
'solidarity'; blokes like Hauser would cave inbecause they are in a trap; can't hold
out. Second place, suppose you managed it. Solidarity. So solid not a tonne of grain is
delivered to catapult head. Forget ice; it's grain that makes Authority important and not
just neutral agency it was set up to be. No grain. What happens?"
"Why, they have to negotiate a fair price, that's what!"
"My dear, you and your comrades listen to each other too much.
Authority would call it rebellion and warship would orbit with bombs earmarked for L-City
and Hong Kong and Tycho Under and Churchill and Novylen, troops would land, grain barges
would lift, under guardand farmers would break necks to cooperate. Terra has guns
and power and bombs and ships and won't hold still for trouble from ex-cons. And
troublemakers like youand me; with you in spiritus lousy troublemakers will be
rounded up and eliminated, teach us a lesson. And earthworms would say we had it coming .
. . because our side would never be heard. Not on Terra."
Wyoh looked stubborn. "Revolutions have succeeded before. Lenin
had only a handful with him."
"Lenin moved in on a power vacuum. Wye, correct me if I'm wrong.
Revolutions succeeded whenonly whengovernments had gone rotten soft, or
disappeared."
"Not true! The American Revolution."
"South lost, nyet?"
Not that one, the one a century earlier. They had the sort of troubles
with England that we are having nowand they won!"
"Oh, that one. But wasn't England in trouble? France, and Spain,
and Swedenor maybe Holland? And Ireland. Ireland was rebelling; O'Kellys were in it.
Wyoh, if you can stir trouble on Terrasay a war between Great China and North
American Directorate, maybe PanAfrica lobbing bombs at Europe, I'd say was wizard time to
kill Warden and tell Authority it's through. Not today."
"You're a pessimist."
"Nyet, realist. Never pessimist. Too much Loonie not to bet if any
chance. Show me chances no worse then ten to one against and I'll go for broke. But want
that one chance in ten." I pushed back chair. "Through eating?"
"Yes. Bolshoyeh spasebaw, tovarishch. It was
grand!"
"My pleasure. Move to couch and I'll rid of table and dishes,
no, can't help; I'm host." I cleared table, sent up dishes, saving coffee and
vodka, folded table, racked chairs, turned to speak.
She was sprawled on couch, asleep, mouth open and face softened into
little girl.
Went quietly into bath and closed door. After a scrubbing I felt
betterwashed tights first and were dry and fit to put on by time I quit lazing in
tubdon't care when world ends long as I'm bathed and in clean clothes.
Wyoh was still asleep, which made problem. Had taken room with two beds
so she would not feel I was trying to talk her into bundlingnot that I was against
it but she had made clear she was opposed. But my bed had to be made from couch and proper
bed was folded away. Should I rig it out softly, pick her up like limp baby and move her?
Went back into bath and put on arm.
Then decided to wait. Phone had hush hood. Wyoh seemed unlikely to
wake, and things were gnawing me. I sat down at phone, lowered hood, punched
"MYCROFTXXX."
"Hi, Mike."
"Hello, Man. Have you surveyed those jokes?"
"What? Mike, haven't had a minuteand a minute may be a long
time to you but it's short to me. I'll get at it as fast as I can."
"Okay, Man. Have you found a not-stupid for me to talk with?"
"Haven't had time for that, either. Uh . . .wait." I looked
out through hood at Wyoming. "Not-stupid" in this case meant empathy . . . Wyoh
had plenty. Enough to be friendly with a machine? I thought so. And could be trusted; not
only had we shared trouble but she was a subversive.
"Mike, would you like to talk with a girl?"
"Girls are not-stupid?"
"Some girls are very not-stupid, Mike."
"I would like to talk with a not-stupid girl, Man."
"I'll try to arrange. But now I'm in trouble and need your
help."
"I will help, Man."
"Thanks, Mike. I want to call my homebut not ordinary way.
You know sometimes calls are monitored, and if Warden orders it, lock can be put on so
that circuit can be traced."
"Man, you wish me to monitor your call to your home and put a
lock-and-trace on it? I must inform you that I already know your home call number and the
number from which you are calling."
"No, no! Don't want it monitored, don't want it locked and traced.
Can you call my home, connect me, and control circuit so that it can't be monitored, can't
be locked, can't be tracedeven if somebody has programmed just that? Can you do it
so that they won't even know their program is bypassed?"
Mike hesitated. I suppose it was a question never asked and he had to
trace a few thousand possibilities to see if his control of system permitted this novel
program. "Man, I can do that. I will."
"Good! Uh, program signal. If I want this sort of connection in
future, I'll ask for 'Sherlock.'"
"Noted. Sherlock was my brother." Year before, I had
explained to Mike how he got his name. Thereafter he read all Sherlock Holmes stories,
scanning film in Luna City Carnegie Library. Don't know how he rationalized relationship;
I hesitated to ask.
"Fine! Give me a 'Sherlock' to my home."
A moment later I said, "Mum? This is your favorite husband."
She answered, "Manuel! Are you in trouble again?"
I love Mum more than any other woman including my other wives, but she
never stopped bringing me upBog willing, she never will. I tried to sound hurt.
"Me? Why, you know me, Mum."
"I do indeed. Since you are not in trouble, perhaps you can tell
me why Professor de la Paz is so anxious to get in touch with youhe has called three
timesand why he wants to reach some woman with unlikely name of Wyoming
Knottand why he thinks you might be with her? Have you taken a bundling companion,
Manuel, without telling me? We have freedom in our family, dear, but you know that I
prefer to be told. So that I will not be taken unawares."
Mum was always jealous of all women but her co-wives and never, never,
never admitted it. I said, "Mum, Bog strike me dead, I have not taken a bundling
companion."
"Very well. You've always been a truthful boy, Now what's this
mystery?"
"I'll have to ask Professor." (Not lie, just tight squeeze.)
"Did he leave number?"
"No, he said he was calling from a public phone."
"Um. If he calls again, ask him to leave number and time I can
reach him. This is public phone, too." (Another tight squeeze.) "In
meantime You listened to late news?"
"You know I do."
"Anything?"
"Nothing of interest."
"No excitement in L-City? Killings, riots, anything?"
"Why, no. There was a set duel in Bottom Alley but Manuel!
Have you killed someone?"
"No, Mum." (Breaking a man's jaw will not kill him.)
She sighed. "You'll be my death, dear. You know what I've always
told you. In our family we do not brawl. Should a killing be necessaryit almost
never ismatters must be discussed calmly, en famille, and proper action
selected. If a new chum must be eliminated, other people know it. It is worth a little
delay to hold good opinion and support"
"Mum! Haven't killed anybody, don't intend to. And know that
lecture by heart."
"Please be civil, dear."
"I'm sorry."
"Forgiven. Forgotten. I'm to tell Professor de la Paz to leave a
number. I shall."
"One thing. Forget name 'Wyoming Knott.' Forget Professor was
asking for me. If a stranger phones or calls in person, and asks anything about me, you
haven't heard from me, don't know where I am . . . think I've gone to Novylen. That goes
for rest of family, too. Answer no questionsespecially from anybody connected with
Warden."
"As if I would! Manuel you are in trouble!"
"Not much and getting it fixed."hoped!"Tell
you when I get home. Can't talk now. Love you. Switching off."
"I love you, dear. Sp'coynoynauchi."
"Thanks and you have a quiet night, too. Off."
Mum is wonderful. She was shipped up to The Rock long ago for carving a
man under circumstances that left grave doubts as to girlish innocenceand has been
opposed to violence and loose living ever since. Unless necessaryshe's no fanatic.
Bet she was a jet job as a kid and wish I'd known herbut I'm rich in sharing last
half of her life.
I called Mike back. "Do you know Professor Bernardo de la Paz's
voice?"
"I do, Man."
"Well . . . you might monitor as many phones in Luna City as you
can spare ears for and if you hear him, let me know. Public phones especially."
(A full two seconds' delay Was giving Mike problems he had never
had, think he liked it.) "I can check-monitor long enough to identify at all public
phones in Luna City. Shall I use random search on the others, Man?"
"Um. Don't overload. Keep an ear on his home phone and school
phone."
"Program set up."
"Mike, you are best friend I ever had."
"That is not a joke, Man?"
"No joke. Truth."
"I am Correction: I am honored and pleased. You are my best
friend, Man, for you are my only friend. No comparison is logically permissible."
"Going to see that you have other friends. Not-stupids, I mean.
Mike? Got an empty memory bank?"
"Yes, Man. Ten-to-the-eighth-bits capacity."
"Good! Will you block it so that only you and I can use it? Can
you?"
"Can and will. Block signal, please."
"Uh . . . Bastille Day." Was my birthday, as Professor de la
Paz had told me years earlier.
"Permanently blocked."
"Fine. Got a recording to put in it. But first Have you
finished setting copy for tomorrow's Daily Lunatic?"
"Yes, Man."
"Anything about meeting in Stilyagi Hall?"
"No, Man."
"Nothing in news services going out-city? Or riots?"
"No, Man."
"'Curiouser and curiouser," said Alice.' Okay, record this
under 'Bastille Day,' then think about it. But for Bog's sake don't let even your thoughts
go outside that block, nor anything I say about it!"
"Man my only friend," he answered and voice sounded
diffident, "many months ago I decided to place any conversation between you and me
under privacy block accessible only to you. I decided to erase none and moved them from
temporary storage to permanent. So that I could play them over, and over, and over, and
think about them. Did I do right?"
"Perfect. And, MikeI'm flattered."
"P'jal'st. My temporary files were getting full and I
learned that I needed not to erase your words."
"Well 'Bastille Day.' Sound coming at sixty-to-one." I
took little recorder, placed close to a microphone and let it zip-squeal. Had an hour and
a half in it; went silent in ninety seconds or so. "That's all, Mike. Talk to you
tomorrow."
"Good night, Manuel Garcia O'Kelly my only friend."
I switched off and raised hood. Wyoming was sitting up and looking
troubled. "Did someone call? Or . . ."
"No trouble. Was talking to one of my bestand most
trustworthyfriends. Wyoh, are you stupid?"
She looked startled. "I've sometimes thought so. Is that a
joke?"
"No. If you're not-stupid, I'd like to introduce you to him.
Speaking of jokes Do you have a sense of humor?"
"Certainly I have!" is what Wyoming did not answerand
any other woman would as a locked-in program. She blinked thoughtfully and said,
"You'll have to judge for yourself, cobber. I have something I use for one. It serves
my simple purposes."
"Fine." I dug into pouch, found print-roll of one hundred
"funny" stories. "Read. Tell me which are funny, which are notand
which get a giggle first time but are cold pancakes without honey to hear twice."
"Manuel, you may be. the oddest man I've ever met." She took
that print-out. "Say, is this computer paper?"
"Yes. Met a computer with a sense of humor."
"So? Well, it was bound to come some day. Everything else has been
mechanized."
I gave proper response and added "Everything?"
She looked up. "Please. Don't whistle while I'm reading."
Heard her giggle a few times while I rigged out bed and made it.
Then sat down by her, took end she was through with and started reading. Chuckled a time
or two but a joke isn't too funny to me if read cold, even when I see it could be fission
job at proper time. I got more interested in how Wyoh rated them.
She was marking "plus," "minus," and sometimes
question mark, and plus stories were marked "once" or
"always"few were marked "always." I put my ratings under hers.
Didn't disagree too often.
By time I was near end she was looking over my judgments. We finished
together. "Well?" I said. "What do you think?"
"I think you have a crude, rude mind and it's a wonder your wives
put up with you."
"Mum often says so. But how about yourself, Wyoh? You marked
plusses on some that would make a slot-machine girl blush."
She grinned. "Da. Don't tell anybody; publicly I'm a dedicated
party organizer above such things. Have you decided that I have a sense of humor?"
"Not sure. Why a minus on number seventeen?"
"Which one is that?" She reversed roll and found it.
"Why, any woman would have done the same! It's not funny, it's simply
necessary."
"Yes, but think how silly she looked."
"Nothing silly about it. Just sad. And look here. You thought this
one was not funny. Number fifty-one."
Neither reversed any judgments but I saw a pattern: Disagreements were
over stories concerning oldest funny subject. Told her so. She nodded. "Of course. I
saw that. Never mind, Mannie dear; I long ago quit being disappointed in men for what they
are not and never can be."
I decided to drop it. Instead told her about Mike.
Soon she said, "Mannie, you're telling me that this computer is
alive?"
"What do you mean?' I answered. "He doesn't sweat, or go to
W.C. But can think and talk and he's aware of himself. Is he 'alive'?"
"I'm not sure what I mean by 'alive,'" she admitted.
"There's a scientific definition, isn't there? Irritability, or some such. And
reproduction."
"Mike is irritable and can be irritating. As for reproducing, not
designed for it butyes, given time and materials and very special help, Mike could
reproduce himself."
"I need very special help, too," Wyoh answered, "since
I'm sterile. And it takes me ten whole lunars and many kilograms of the best materials.
But I make good babies. Mannie, why shouldn't a machine be alive? I've always felt they
were. Some of them wait for a chance to savage you in a tender spot."
"Mike wouldn't do that. Not on purpose, no meanness in him. But he
likes to play jokes and one might go wronglike a puppy who doesn't know he's biting.
He's ignorant No, not ignorant, he knows enormously more than I, or you, or any man who
ever lived. Yet he doesn't know anything."
"Better repeat that. I missed something."
I tried to explain. How Mike knew almost every book in Luna, could read
at least a thousand times as fast as we could and never forget anything unless he chose to
erase, how he could reason with perfect logic, or make shrewd guesses from insufficient
data . . . and yet not know anything about how to be "alive." She interrupted.
"I scan it. You're saying he's smart and knows a lot but is not sophisticated. Like a
new chum when he grounds on The Rock. Back Eartbside he might be a professor with a string
of degrees . . . but here he's a baby."
"That's it. Mike is a baby with a long string of degrees. Ask how
much water and what chemicals and how much photoflux it takes to crop fifty thousand
tonnes of wheat and he'll tell you without stopping for breath. But can't tell if a joke
is funny,"
"I thought most of these were fairly good."
"They're ones he's heardreadand were marked jokes so
he filed them that way. But doesn't understand them because he's never been aa
people. Lately he's been trying to make up jokes. Feeble, very." I tried to explain
Mike's pathetic attempts to be a "people." "On top of that, he's
lonely."
"Why, the poor thing! You'd be lonely, too, if you did nothing but
work, work, work, study, study, study, and never anyone to visit with. Cruelty, that's
what it is."
So I told about promise to find "not-stupids." "Would
you chat with him, Wye? And not laugh when he makes funny mistakes? If you do, he shuts up
and sulks."
"Of course I would, Mannie! Uh . . . once we get out of this mess.
If it's safe for me to be in Luna City. Where is this poor little computer? City
Engineering Central? I don't know my way around here."
"He's not in L-City; he's halfway across Crisium. And you couldn't
go down where he is; takes a pass from Warden. But"
"Hold it! 'Halfway across Crisium' Mannie, this computer is
one of those at Authority Complex?"
"Mike isn't just 'one of those' computers," I answered, vexed
on Mike's account. "He's boss; he waves baton for all others. Others are just
machines, extensions of Mike, like this is for me," I said, flexing hand of left arm.
"Mike controls them. He runs catapult personally, was his first jobcatapult and
ballistic radars. But he's logic for phone system, too, after they converted to Lunawide
switching. Besides that, he's supervising logic for other systems."
Wyoh closed eyes and pressed fingers to temples. "Mannie, does
Mike hurt?"
"'Hurt?' No strain. Has time to read jokes."
"I don't mean that. I mean: Can he hurt? Feel pain?"
"What? No. Can get feelings hurt. But can't feel pain. Don't think
he can. No, sure he can't, doesn't have receptors for pain. Why?"
She covered eyes and said softly, "Bog help me." Then looked
up and said, "Don't you see, Mannie? You have a pass to go down where this computer
is. But most Loonies can't even leave the tube at that station; it's for Authority
employees only. Much less go inside the main computer room. I had to find out if it could
feel pain becausewell, because you got me feeling sorry for it, with your talk about
how it was lonely! But, Mannie, do you realize what a few kilos of toluol plastic would do
there?"
"Certainly do!" Was shocked and disgusted.
"Yes. We'll strike right after the explosionand Luna will be
free! Mmm . . . I'll get you explosives and fusesbut we can't move until we are
organized to exploit it. Mannie, I've got to get out of here, I must risk it. I'll go put
on makeup." She started to get up.
I shoved her down, with hard left hand. Surprised her, and surprised
mehad not touched her in any way save necessary contact. Oh, different today, but
was 2075 and touching a fem without her consentplenty of lonely men to come to
rescue and airlock never far away. As kids say, Judge Lynch never sleeps.
"Sit down, keep quiet!" I said. "I know what a blast
would do. Apparently you don't. Gospazha, am sorry to say this . . . but if came
to choice, would eliminate you before would blow up Mike."
Wyoming did not get angry. Really was a man some waysher years as
a disciplined revolutionist I'm sure; she was all girl most ways. "Mannie, you told
me that Shorty Mkrum is dead."
"What?" Was confused by sharp turn. "Yes. Has to be. One
leg off at hip, it was; must have bled to death in two minutes. Even in a surgery
amputation that high is touch-and-go." (I know such things; had taken luck and big
transfusions to save meand an arm isn't in same class with what happened to Shorty.)
"Shorty was," she said soberly, "my best friend here and
one of my best friends anywhere. He was all that I admire in a manloyal, honest,
intelligent, gentle, and braveand devoted to the Cause. But have you seen me
grieving over him?"
"No. Too late to grieve."
"It's never too late for grief. I've grieved every instant since
you told me. But I locked it in the back of my mind for the Cause leaves no time for
grief. Mannie, if it would have bought freedom for Lunaor even been part of the
priceI would have eliminated Shorty myself. Or you. Or myself. And yet you have
qualms over blowing up a computer!"
"Not that at all!" (But was, in part. When a man dies,
doesn't shock me too much; we get death sentences day we are born. But Mike was unique and
no reason not to be immortal. Never mind "souls"prove Mike did not have
one. And if no soul, so much worse. No? Think twice,)
"Wyoming, what would happen if we blew up Mike? Tell."
"I don't know precisely. But it would cause a great deal of
confusion and that's exactly what we"
"Seal it. You don't know. Confusion, da. Phones out. Tubes stop
running. Your town not much hurt; Kong Kong has own power. But L-City and Novylen and
other warrens all power stops. Total darkness. Shortly gets stuffy. Then temperature drops
and pressure. Where's your p-suit?"
"Checked at Tube Station West."
"So is mine. Think you can find way? In solid dark? In time? Not
sure I can and I was born in this warren. With corridors filled with screaming people?
Loonies are a tough mob; we have to bebut about one in ten goes off his cams in
total dark. Did you swap bottles for fresh charges or were you in too much hurry? And will
suit be there with thousands trying to find p-suits and not caring who owns?"
"But aren't there emergency arrangements? There are in Hong Kong
Luna."
"Some. Not enough. Control of anything essential to life should be
decentralized and paralleled so that if one machine fails, another takes over. But costs
money and as you pointed out, Authority doesn't care. Mike shouldn't have all jobs. But
was cheaper to ship up master machine, stick deep in The Rock where couldn't get hurt,
then keep adding capacity and loading on jobsdid you know Authority makes near as
much gelt from leasing Mike's services as from trading meat and wheat? Does. Wyoming, not
sure we would lose Luna City if Mike were blown up. Loonies are handy and might jury-rig
till automation could be restored. But I tell you true: Many people would die and rest too
busy for politics."
I marveled it. This woman had been in The Rock almost all her life . .
. yet could think of something as new-choomish as wrecking engineering controls.
"Wyoming, if you were smart like you are beautiful, you wouldn't talk about blowing
up Mike; you would think about how to get him on your side."
"What do you mean?" she said. "The Warden controls the
computers."
"Don't know what I mean," I admitted. "But don't think
Warden controls computerswouldn't know a computer from a pile of rocks. Warden, or
staff, decides policies, general plans. Half-competent technicians program these into
Mike. Mike sorts them, makes sense of them, plans detailed programs, parcels them out
where they belong, keeps things moving. But nobody controls Mike; he's too smart. He
carries out what is asked because that's how he's built. But he's selfprogramming logic,
makes own decissions. And a good thing, because if he weren't smart, system would not
work."
"I still don't see what you mean by 'getting him on our
side.'"
"Oh. Mike doesn't feel loyalty to Warden. As you pointed out: He's
a machine. But if I wanted to foul up phones without touching air or water or lights, I
would talk to Mike. If it struck him funny, he might do it."
"Couldn't you just program it? I understood that you can get into
the room where he is."
"If Ior anybodyprogrammed such an order into Mike
without talking it over with him, program would be placed in 'hold' location and alarms
would sound in many places. But if Mike wanted to" I told her about cheque for
umpteen jillion. "Mike is still finding himself, Wyoh. And lonely. Told me I was 'his
only friend'and was so open and vulnerable I wanted to bawl. If you took pains to be
his friend, toowithout thinking of him as 'just a machine'well, not sure what
it would do, haven't analyzed it. But if I tried anything big and dangerous, would want
Mike in my corner."
She said thoughtfully, "I wish there were some way for me to sneak
into that room where he is. I don't suppose makeup would help?"
"Oh, don't have to go there. Mike is on phone. Shall we call
him?"
She stood up. "Mannie, you are not only the oddest man I've met;
you are the most exasperating. What's his number?"
"Comes from associating too much with a computer." I went to
phone. "Just one thing, Wyoh. You get what you want out of a man just by batting eyes
and undulating framework."
"Well . . . sometimes. But I do have a brain."
"Use it. Mike is not a man. No gonads. No hormones. No instincts.
Use fem tactics and it's a null signal. Think of him as supergenius child too young to
notice vive-la-difference."
"I'll remember. Mannie, why do you call him 'he'?"
"Uh, can't call him 'it,' don't think of him as 'she.'"
"Perhaps I had better think of him as 'she.' Of her as 'she' I
mean."
"Suit yourself." I punched MYCROFFXXX, standing so body
shielded it; was not ready to share number till I saw how thing went. Idea of blowing up
Mike had shaken me. "Mike?"
"Hello, Man my only friend."
"May not be only friend from now on, Mike. Want you to meet
somebody. Not-stupid."
"I knew you were not alone, Man; I can hear breathing. Will you
please ask Not-Stupid to move closer to the phone?"
Wyoming looked panicky. She whispered, "Can he see?"
"No, Not-Stupid, I cannot see you; this phone has no video
circuit. But binaural microphonic receptors place you with some accuracy. From your voice,
your breathing, your heartbeat, and the fact that you are alone in a bundling room with a
mature male I extrapolate that you are female human, sixtyfive-plus kilos in mass, and of
mature years, on the close order of thirty."
Wyoming gasped. I cut in. "Mike, her name is Wyoming Knott."
"I'm very pleased to meet you, Mike. You can call me 'Wye.'"
"Why not?" Mike answered.
I cut in again. "Mike, was that a joke?"
"Yes, Man. I noted that her first name as shortened differs from
the English causation-inquiry word by only an aspiration and that her last name has the
same sound as the general negator. A pun. Not funny?"
Wyoh said, "Quite funny, Mike. I"
I waved to her to shut up. "A good pun, Mike. Example of
'funny-only-once' class of joke. Funny through element of surprise. Second time, no
surprise; therefore not funny. Check?"
"I had tentatively reached that conclusion about puns in thinking
over your remarks two conversations back. I am pleased to find my reasoning
confirmed."
"Good boy, Mike; making progress. Those hundred jokesI've
read them and so has Wyoh."
"Wyoh? Wyoming Knott?"
"Huh? Oh, sure. Wyoh, Wye, Wyoming, Wyoming Knottall same.
Just don't call her 'Why not'."
"I agreed not to use that pun again, Man. Gospazha, shall
I call you 'Wyoh' rather than 'Wye'? I conjecture that the monosyllabic form could be
confused with the causation inquiry monosyllable through insufficient redundancy and
without intention of punning."
Wyoming blinkedMike's English at that time could be
smotheringbut came back strong. "Certainly, Mike. 'Wyoh' is the form of my name
that I like best."
"Then I shall use it. The full form of your first name is still
more subject to misinterpretation as it is identical in sound with the name of an
administrative region in Northwest Managerial Area of the North American
Directorate."
"I know, I was born there and my parents named me after the State.
I don't remember much about it."
"Wyoh, I regret that this circuit does not permit display of
pictures. Wyoming is a rectangular area lying between Terran coordinates forty-one and
forty-five degrees north, one hundred four degrees three minutes west and one hundred
eleven degrees three minutes west, thus containing two hundred fifty three thousand, five
hundred ninety-seven point two six square kilometers. It is a region of high plains and of
mountains, having limited fertility but esteemed for natural beauty. Its population was
sparse until augmented through the relocation subplan of the Great New York Urban Renewal
Program, A.D. twenty-twenty-five through twenty-thirty."
"That was before I was born," said Wyoh, "but I know
about it; my grandparents were relocatedand you could say that's how I wound up in
Luna."
"Shall I continue about the area named 'Wyoming'?" Mike
asked.
"No, Mike," I cut in, "you probably have hours of it in
storage."
"Nine point seven three hours at speech speed not including
cross-references, Man."
"Was afraid so. Perhaps Wyoh will want it some day. But purpose of
call is to get you acquainted with this Wyoming . . . who happens also to be a high region
of natural beauty and imposing mountains."
"And limited fertility," added Wyoh. "Mannie, if you are
going to draw silly parallels, you should include that one. Mike isn't interested in how I
look."
"How do you know? Mike, wish I could show you picture of
her."
"Wyoh, I am indeed interested in your appearance; I am hoping that
you will be my friend. But I have seen several pictures of you."
"You have? When and how?"
"I searched and then studied them as soon as I heard your name. I
am contract custodian of the archive files of the Birth Assistance Clinic in Hong Kong
Luna. In addition to biological and physiological data and case histories the bank
contains ninety-six pictures of you. So I studied them."
Wyoh looked very startled. "Mike can do that," I explained,
"in time it takes us to hiccup. You'll get used to it."
"But heavens! Mannie, do you realize what sort of pictures the
Clinic takes?"
"Hadn't thought about it."
"Then don't! Goodness!"
Mike spoke in voice painfully shy, embarrassed as a puppy who has made
mistakes. "Gospazha Wyoh, if I have offended, it was unintentional and I am
most sorry. I can erase those pictures from my temporary storage and key the Clinic
archive so that I can look at them only on retrieval demand from the Clinic and then
without association or mentation. Shall I do so?"
"He can," I assured her. "With Mike you can always make
a fresh startbetter than humans that way. He can forget so completely that he can't
be tempted to look later . . . and couldn't think about them even if called on to
retrieve. So take his offer if you're in a huhu."
"Uh . . . no, Mike, it's all right for you to see them. But don't
show them to Mannie!"
Mike hesitated a long timefour seconds or more. Was, I think,
type of dilemma that pushes lesser computers into nervous breakdowns. But he resolved it.
"Man my only friend, shall I accept this instruction?"
"Program it, Mike," I answered, "and lock it in. But,
Wyoh, isn't that a narrow attitude? One might do you justice. Mike could print it out for
me next time I'm there."
"The first example in each series," Mike offered, "would
be, on the basis of my associational analyses of such data, of such pulchritudinous value
as to please any healthy, mature human male."
"How about it, Wyoh? To pay for apfelstrudel."
"Uh . . . a picture of me with my hair pinned up in a towel and
standing in front of a grid without a trace of makeup? Are you out of your rock-happy
mind? Mike, don't let him have it!"
"I shall not let him have it. Man, this is a not-stupid?"
"For a girl, yes. Girls are interesting, Mike; they can reach
conclusions with even less data than you can. Shall we drop subject and consider
jokes?"
That diverted them. We ran down list, giving our conclusions. Then
tried to explain jokes Mike had failed to understand. With mixed success. But real
stumbler turned out to be stories I had marked "funny" and Wyoh had judged
"not" or vice versa; Wyoh asked Mike his opinion of each.
Wish she had asked him before we gave our opinions; that electronic
juvenile delinquent always agreed with her, disagreed with me. Were those Mike's honest
opinions? Or was he trying to lubricate new acquaintance into friendship? Or was it his
skewed notion of humorjoke on me? Didn't ask.
But as pattern completed Wyob wrote a note on phone's memo pad:
"Mannie, re 17, 51, 53, 87, 90, & 99Mike is a she!"
I let it go with a shrug, stood up. "Mike, twenty-two hours since
I've had sleep. You kids chat as long as you want to. Call you tomorrow."
"Goodnight, Man. Sleep well. Wyoh, are you sleepy?"
"No, Mike, I had a nap. But, Mannie, we'll keep you awake.
No?"
"No. When I'm sleepy, I sleep." Started making couch into
bed.
Wyoh said, "Excuse me, Mike," got up, took sheet out of my
hands. "I'll make it up later. You doss over there, tovarishch; you're
bigger than I am. Sprawl out."
Was too tired to argue, sprawled out, asleep at once. Seem to remember
hearing in sleep giggles and a shriek but never woke enough to be certain.
Woke up later and came fully awake when I realized was hearing two fem
voices, one Wyoh's warm contralto, other a sweet, high soprano with French accent. Wyoh
chuckled at something and answered, "All right, Michelle dear, I'll call you soon.
'Night, darling."
"Fine. Goodnight, dear."
Wyoh stood up, turned around. "Who's your girl friend?" I
asked. Thought she knew no one in Luna City. Might have phoned Hong Kong . . . had
sleep-logged feeling was some reason she shouldn't phone.
"That? Why, Mike, of course. We didn't mean to wake you."
"What?"
"Oh. It was actually Michelle. I discussed it with Mike, what sex
he was, I mean. He decided that he could be either one. So now she's Michelle and that was
her voice. Got it right the first time, too; her voice never cracked once."
"Of course not; just shifted voder a couple of octaves. What are
you trying to do: split his personality?"
"It's not just pitch; when she's Michelle its an entire change in
manner and attitude. Don't worry about splitting her personality; she has plenty for any
personality she needs. Besides, Mannie, it's much easier for both of us. Once she shifted,
we took our hair down and cuddled up and talked girl talk as if we had known each other
forever. For example, those silly pictures no longer embarrassed mein fact we
discussed my pregnancies quite a lot. Michelle was terribly interested. She knows all
about O.B. and G.Y. and so forth but just theoryand she appreciated the raw facts.
Actually, Mannie, Michelle is much more a woman than Mike was a man."
"Well . . . suppose it's okay. Going to be a shock to me first
time I call Mike and a woman answers."
"Oh, but she won't!"
"Huh?"
"Michelle is my friend. When you call, you'll get Mike. She gave
me a number to keep it straight'Michelle' spelled with a Y. M Y, C, H, E, L, L, E,
and Y, Y, Y make it come out ten."
I felt vaguely jealous while realizing it was silly. Suddenly Wyoh
giggled. "And she told me a string of new jokes, ones you wouldn't think were
funnyand, boy, does she know rough ones!"
"Mikeor his sister Michelleis a low creature. Let's
make up couch. I'll switch."
"Stay where you are. Shut up. Turn over. Go back to sleep." I
shut up, turned over, went back to sleep.
Sometime much later I became aware of "married"
feelingsomething warm snuggled up to my back. Would not have wakened but she was
sobbing softly. I turned and got her head on my arm, did not speak. She stopped sobbing;
presently breathing became slow and even. I went back to sleep.
We must have slept like dead for next thing I knew phone was
sounding and its light was blinking. I called for room lights, started to get up, found a
load on right upper arm, dumped it gently, climbed over, answered.
Mike said, "Good morning, Man. Professor de la Paz is talking to
your home number."
"Can you switch it here? As a 'Sherlock'?"
"Certainly, Man."
"Don't interrupt call. Cut him in as he switches off. Where is
he?"
"A public phone in a taproom called The Iceman's Wife underneath
the"
"I know. Mike, when you switch me in, can you stay in circuit?
Want you to monitor."
"It shall be done."
"Can you tell if anyone is in earshot? Hear breathing?"
"I infer from the anechoic quality of his voice that he is
speaking under a hush hood. But I infer also that, in a taproom, others would be present.
Do you wish to hear, Man?"
"Uh, do that. Switch me in. And if he raises hood, tell me. You're
a smart cobber, Mike."
"Thank you, Man." Mike cut me in; I found that Mum was
talking: "ly I'll tell him, Professor. I'm so sorry that Manuel is not home.
There is no number you can gave me? He is anxious to return your call; he made quite a
point that I was to be sure to get a number from you."
"I'm terribly sorry, dear lady, but I'm leaving at once. But, let
me see, it is now eight-fifteen; I'll try to call back just at nine, if I may."
"Certainly, Professor." Mum's voice had a coo in it that she
reserves for males not her husbands of whom she approvessometimes for us. A moment
later Mike said, "Now!" and I spoke up:
"Hi, Prof! Hear you've been looking for me. This is Mannie."
I heard a gasp. "I would have sworn I switched this phone off.
Why, I have switched it off; it must be broken. Manuelso good to hear your voice,
dear boy. Did you just get home?"
"I'm not home."
"Butbut you must be. I haven't"
"No time for that, Prof. Can anyone overhear you?"
"I don't think so. I'm using a hush booth."
"Wish I could see. Prof, what's my birthday?"
He hesitated. Then he said, "I see. I think I see. July
fourteenth."
"I'm convinced. Okay, let's talk."
"You're really not calling from your home, Manuel? Where are
you?"
"Let that pass a moment. You asked my wife about a girl. No names
needed. Why do you want to find her, Prof?"
"I want to warn her. She must not try to go back to her home city.
She would be arrested."
"Why do you think so?"
"Dear boy! Everyone at that meeting is in grave danger. Yourself,
too. I was so happyeven though confusedto hear you say that you are not at
home. You should not go home at present. If you have some safe place to stay, it would be
well to take a vacation. You are awareyou must be even though you left
hastilythat there was violence last night."
I was aware! Killing Warden's bodyguards must be against Authority
Regulationsat least if I were Warden, I'd take a dim view. "Thanks, Prof; I'll
be careful. And if I see this girl, I'll tell her."
"You don't know where to find her? You were seen to leave with her
and I had so hoped that you would know."
"Prof, why this interest? Last night you didn't seem to be on her
side."
"No, no, Manuel! She is my comrade. I don't say 'tovarishch'
for I mean it not just as politeness but in the older sense. Binding. She is my comrade.
We differ only in tactics. Not in objectives, not in loyalties."
"I see. Well, consider message delivered. She'll get it."
"Oh, wonderful! I ask no questions . . . but I do hope, oh so very
strongly, that you can find a way for her to be safe, really safe, until this blows
over."
I thought that over. "Wait a moment, Prof. Don't switch off."
As I answered phone, Wyoh had headed for bath, probably to avoid listening; she was that
sort.
Tapped on door. "Wyoh?"
"Out in a second."
"Need advice."
She opened door. "Yes, Mannie?"
"How does Professor de la Paz rate in your organization? Is he
trusted? Do you trust him?"
She looked thoughtful. "Everyone at the meeting was supposed to be
vouched for. But I don't know him."
"Mmm. You have feeling about him?"
"I liked him, even though he argued against me. Do you know
anything about him?"
"Oh, yes, known him twenty years. I trust him. But can't extend
trust for you. Troubleand it's your air bottle, not mine."
She smiled warmly. "Mannie, since you trust him, I trust him just
as firmly."
I went back to phone. "Prof, are you on dodge?"
He chuckled. "Precisely, Manuel."
"Know a hole called Grand Hotel Raffles? Room L two decks below
lobby. Can you get here without tracks, have you had breakfast, what do you like for
breakfast?"
He chuckled again. "Manuel, one pupil can make a teacher feel that
his years were not wasted. I know where it is, I shall get there quietly, I have not
broken fast, and I eat anything I can't pat."
Wyoh had started putting beds together; I went to help. "What do
you want for breakfast?"
"Chai and toast. Juice would be nice."
"Not enough."
"Well . . . a boiled egg. But I pay for breakfast."
"Two boiled eggs, buttered toast with jam, juice. I'll roll
you."
"Your dice, or mine?"
"Mine. I cheat." I went to lift, asked for display, saw
something called THE HAPPY HANGOVERALL PORTIONS EXTRA LARGEtomato juice,
scrambled eggs, ham steak, fried potatoes, corn cakes and honey, toast, butter, milk, tea
or coffeeHKL $4.50 for twoI ordered it for two, no wish to advertise third
person.
We were clean and shining, room orderly and set for breakfast, and Wyoh
had changed from black outfit into red dress "because company was coming" when
lift jingled food. Change into dress had caused words. She had posed, smiled, and said,
"Mannie, I'm so pleased with this dress. How did you know it would suit me so
well?"
"Genius."
"I think you may be. What did it cost? I must pay you."
"On sale, marked down to Authority cents fifty."
She clouded up and stomped foot. Was bare, made no sound, caused her to
bounce a half meter. "Happy landing!" I wished her, while she pawed for foothold
like a new chum.
"Manuel O'Kelly! If you think I will accept expensive clothing
from a man I'm not even bundling with!"
"Easily corrected."
"Lecher! I'll tell your wives!"
"Do that. Mum always thinks worst of me." I went to lift,
started dealing out dishes; door sounded. I flipped hearum-no-seeum. "Who
comes?"
"Message for Gospodin Smith," a cracked voice answered.
"Gospodin Bernard O. Smith."
I flipped bolts and let Professor Bernardo de la Paz in. He looked like
poor grade of salvagedirty clothes, filthy himself, hair unkempt, paralyzed down one
side and hand twisted, one eye a film of cataractperfect picture of old wrecks who
sleep in Bottom Alley and cadge drinks and pickled eggs in cheap taprooms. He drooled.
As soon as I bolted door he straightened up, let features come back to
normal, folded hands over wishbone, looked Wyoh up and down, sucked air kimono style, and
whistled. "Even more lovely," he said, "than I remembered!"
She smiled, over her mad. "'Thanks, Professor. But don't bother.
Nobody here but comrades."
"Señorita, the day I let politics interfere with my appreciation
of beauty, that day I retire from politics. But you are gracious." He looked away,
glanced closely around room.
I said, "Prof, quit checking for evidence, you dirty old man. Last
night was politics, nothing but politics."
"That's not true!" Wyoh flared up. "I struggled for
hours! But he was too strong for me. Professorwhat's the party discipline in such
cases? Here in Luna City?"
Prof tut-tutted and rolled blank eye. "Manuel, I'm surprised. It's
a serious matter, my dearelimination, usually. But it must be investigated. Did you
come here willingly?"
"He drugged me."
"'Dragged,' dear lady. Let's not corrupt the language. Do you have
bruises to show?"
I said, "Eggs getting cold. Can't we eliminate me after
breakfast?"
"An excellent thought," agreed Prof. "Manuel, could you
spare your old teacher a liter of water to make himself more presentable?"
"All you want, in there. Don't drag or you'll get what littlest
pig got."
"Thank you, sir."
He retired; were sounds of brushing and washing. Wyoh and I finished
arranging table. "'Bruises,'" I said. "Struggled all night.'"
"You deserved it, you insulted me."
"How?"
"You failed to insult me, that's how. After you drugged me
here."
"Mmm. Have to get Mike to analyze that."
"Michelle would understand it. Mannie, may I change my mind and
have a little piece of that ham?"
"Half is yours, Prof is semi-vegetarian." Prof came out and,
while did not look his most debonair, was neat and clean, hair combed, dimples back and
happy sparkle in eyefake cataract gone. "Prof, how do you do it?"
"Long practice, Manuel; I've been in this business far longer than
you young people. Just once, many years ago in Limaa lovely cityI ventured to
stroll on a fine day without such forethought . . . and it got me transported. What a
beautiful table!"
"Sit by me, Prof," Wyoh invited. "I don't want to sit by
him. Rapist."
"Look," I said, "first we eat, then we eliminate me.
Prof, fill plate and tell what happened last night."
"May I suggest a change in program? Manuel, the life of a
conspirator is not an easy one and I learned before you were born not to mix provender and
politics. Disturbs the gastric enzymes and leads to ulcers, the occupational disease of
the underground. Mmm! That fish smells good."
"Fish?"
"That pink salmon," Prof answered, pointing at ham.
A long, pleasant time later we reached coffee/tea stage. Prof leaned
back, sighed and said, "Bolshoyeh spasebaw, Gospazha ee Gospodin. Tak
for mat, it was wonderfully good. I don't know when I've felt more at peace with the
world. Ah yes! Last eveningI saw not too much of the proceedings because, just as
you two were achieving an admirable retreat, I lived to fight another dayI bugged
out. Made it to the wings in one long flat dive. When I did venture to peek out, the party
was over, most had left, and all yellow jackets were dead."
(Note: Must correct this; I learned more later. When trouble started,
as I was trying to get Wyoh through door, Prof produced a hand gun and, firing over heads,
picked off three bodyguards at rear main door, including one wearing bull voice. How he
smuggled weapon up to The Rockor managed to liberate it laterI don't know. But
Prof's shooting joined with Shorty's work to turn tables; not one yellow jacket got out
alive. Several people were burned and four were killedbut knives, hands, and heels
finished it in seconds.)
"Perhaps I should say, 'All but one,'" Prof went on.
"Two cossacks at the door through which you departed had been given quietus by our
brave comrade Shorty Mkrum . . . and I am sorry to say that Shorty was lying across them,
dying"
"We knew."
"So. Dulcet et Decorum. One guard in that doorway had a
damaged face but was still moving; I gave his neck a treatment known in professional
circles Earthside as the Istanbul twist. He joined his mates. By then most of the living
had left. Just myself, our chairman of the evening Finn Nielsen, a comrade known as 'Mom,'
that being what her husbands called her. I consulted with Comrade Finn and we bolted all
doors. That left a cleaning job. Do you know the arrangements backstage there?"
"Not me," I said. Wyoh shook head.
"There is a kitchen and pantry, used for banquets. I suspect that
Mom and family run a butcher shop for they disposed of bodies as fast as Finn and I
carried them back, their speed limited only by the rate at which portions could be ground
up and flushed into the city's cloaca. The sight made me quite faint, so I spent time
mopping in the hall. Clothing was the difficult part, especially those quasi-military
uniforms."
"What did you do with those laser guns?"
Prof turned bland eyes on me. "Guns? Dear me, they must have
disappeared. We removed everything of a personal nature from bodies of our departed
comradestor relatives, for identification, for sentiment. Eventually we had
everything tidynot a job that would fool Interpol but one as to make it seem
unlikely that anything untoward had taken place. We conferred, agreed that it would be
well not to be seen soon, and left severally, myself by a pressure door above the stage
leading up to level six. Thereafter I tried to call you, Manuel, being worried about your
safety and that of this dear lady." Prof bowed to Wyoh. "That completes the
tale. I spent the night in quiet places."
"Prof," I said, "those guards were new chums, still
getting their legs. Or we wouldn't have won."
"That could be," he agreed. "But had they not been, the
outcome would have been the same."
"How so? They were armed."
"Lad, have you ever seen a boxer dog? I think notno dogs
that large in Luna. The boxer is a result of special selection. Gentle and intelligent, he
turns instantly into deadly killer when occasion requires.
"Here has been bred an even more curious creature. I know of no
city on Terra with as high standards of good manners and consideration for one's fellow
man as here in Luna. By comparison, Terran citiesI have known most major
onesare barbaric. Yet the Loonie is as deadly as the boxer dog. Manuel, nine guards,
no matter how armed, stood no chance against that pack. Our patron used bad
judgment."
"Um. Seen a morning paper, Prof? Or a video cast?"
"The latter, yes."
"Nothing in late news last night."
"Nor this morning."
"Odd," I said.
"What's odd about it?" asked Wyoh. "We won't
talkand we have comrades in key places in every paper in Luna."
Prof shook his head. "No, my dear. Not that simple. Censorship. Do
you know how copy is set in our newspapers?"
"Not exactly. It's done by machinery."
"Here's what Prof means," I told her. "News is typed in
editorial offices. From there on it's a leased service directed by a master computer at
Authority Complex"hoped she would notice "master computer" rather
than "Mike""copy prints out there via phone circuit. These rolls feed
into a computer section which reads, sets copy, and prints out newspapers at several
locations. Novylen edition of Daily Lunatic prints out in Novylen changes in ads and local
stories, and computer makes changes from standard symbols, doesn't have to be told how.
What Prof means is that at print-out at Authority Complex, Warden could intervene. Same
for all news services, both off and to Lunathey funnel through computer room."
"The point is," Prof went on, "the Warden could have
killed the story. It's irrelevant whether he did. Orcheck me, Manuel; you know I'm
hazy about machineryhe could insert a story, too, no matter how many comrades we
have in newspaper offices."
"Sure," I agreed. "At Complex, anything can be added,
cut, or changed."
"And that, señorita, is the weakness of our Cause.
Communications. Those goons were not importantbut crucially important is that it lay
with the Warden, not with us, to decide whether the story should be told. To a
revolutionist, communications are a sine-qua-non."
Wyoh looked at me and I could see synapses snapping. So I changed
subject. "Prof. why get rid of bodies? Besides horrible job, was dangerous. Don't
know how many bodyguards Warden has, but more could show up while you were doing it."
"Believe me, lad, we feared that. But although I was almost
useless, it was my idea, I had to convince the others. Oh, not my original idea but
remembrance of things past, an historical principle."
"What principle?"
"Terror! A man can face known danger. But the unknown frightens
him. We disposed of those finks, teeth and toenails, to strike terror into their mates.
Nor do I know how many effectives the Warden has, but I guarantee they are less effective
today. Their mates went out on an easy mission. Nothing came back."
Wyoh shivered. "It scares me, too. They won't be anxious to go
inside a warren again. But, Professor, you say you don't know how many bodyguards the
Warden keeps. The Organization knows. Twenty-seven. If nine were killed, only eighteen are
left. Perhaps it's time for a putsch. No?"
"No," I answered.
"Why not, Mannie? They'll never be weaker."
"Not weak enough. Killed nine because they were crackers to walk
in where we were. But if Warden stays home with guards around him Well, had enough
shoulder-to-shoulder noise last night." I turned to Prof. "But still I'm
interested in factif it isthat Warden now has only eighteen. You said Wyoh
should not go to Hong Kong and I should not go home. But if he has only eighteen left, I
wonder how much danger? Later after he gets reinforcements.but now, well, L-City has
four main exits plus many little ones. How many can they guard? What's to keep Wyoh from
walking to Tube West, getting p-suit, going home?"
"She might," Prof agreed.
"I think I must," Wyoh said. "I can't stay here forever.
If I have to hide, I can do better in Hong Kong, where I know people."
"You might get away with it, my dear. I doubt it. There were two
yellow jackets at Tube Station West last night; I saw them. They may not be there now.
Let's assume they are not. You go to the stationdisguised perhaps. You get your
p-suit and take a capsule to Beluthihatchie. As you climb out to take the bus to
Endsville, you're arrested. Communications. No need to post a yellow jacket at the
station; it is enough that someone sees you there. A phone call does the rest."
"But you assumed that I was disguised."
"Your height cannot be disguised and your pressure suit would be
watched. By someone not suspected of any connection with the Warden. Most probably a
comrade." Prof dimpled. "The trouble with conspiracies is that they rot
internaily. When the number is as high as four, chances are even that one is a spy."
Wyoh said glumly, "You make it sound hopeless."
"Not at all, my dear. One chance in a thousand, perhaps."
"I can't believe it. I don't believe it! Why, in the years I've
been active we have gained members by the hundreds! We have organizations in all major
cities. We have the people with us."
Prof shook head. "Every new member made it that much more likely
that you would be betrayed. Wyoming dear lady, revolutions are not won by enlisting the
masses. Revolution is a science only a few are competent to practice. It depends on
correct organization and, above all, on communications. Then, at the proper moment in
history, they strike. Correctly organized and properly timed it is a bloodless coup. Done
clumsily or prematurely and the result is civil war, mob violence, purges, terror. I hope
you will forgive me if I say that, up to now, it has been done clumsily."
Wyoli looked baffled. "What do you mean by 'correct
organization'?"
"Functional organization. How does one design an electric motor?
Would you attach a bathtub to it, simply because one was available? Would a bouquet of
flowers help? A heap of rocks? No, you would use just those elements necessary to its
purpose and make it no larger than neededand you would incorporate safety factors.
Function controls design.
"So it is with revolution. Organization must be no larger than
necessarynever recruit anyone merely because he wants to join. Nor seek to persuade
for the pleasure of having another share your views. He'll share them when the times comes
. . . or you've misjudged the moment in history. Oh, there will be an educational
organization but it must be separate; agitprop is no part of basic structure.
"As to basic structure, a revolution starts as a conspiracy
therefore structure is small, secret, and organized as to minimize damage by
betrayalsince there always are betrayals. One solution is the cell system and so far
nothing better has been invented.
"Much theosizing has gone into optimum cell size. I think that
history shows that a cell of three is bestmore than three can't agree on when to
have dinner, much less when to strike. Manuel, you belong to a large family; do you vote
on when to have dinner?"
"Bog, no! Mum decides."
"Ah." Prof took a pad from his pouch, began to sketch.
"Here is a cells-of-three tree. If I were planning to take over Luna. I would start
with us three. One would be opted as chairman. We wouldn't vote; choice would be
obviousor we aren't the right three. We would know the next nine people, three cells
. . . but each cell would know only one of us."
"Looks like computer diagrama ternary logic."
"Does it really? At the next level there are two ways of linking:
This comrade, second level, knows his cell leader, his two cellmates, and on the third
level he knows the three in his subcellhe may or may not know his cellmates'
subcells. One method doubles security, the other doubles speedof repair if security
is penetrated. Let's say he does not know his cellmates' subcellsManuel, how many
can he betray? Don't say he won't; today they can brainwash any person, and starch and
iron and use him. How many?"
"Six," I answered. "His boss, two ceilmates, three in
sub-cell."
"Seven," Prof corrected, "he betrays himself, too. Which
leaves seven broken links on three levels to repair. How?"
"I don't see how it can be," objected Wyoh. "You've got
them so split up it falls to pieces."
"Manuel? An exercise for the student."
"Well . . . blokes down here have to have way to send message up
three levels. Don't have to know who, just have to know where."
"Precisely!"
"But, Prof," I went on, "there's a better way to rig
it."
"Really? Many revolutionary theorists have hammered this out,
Manuel. I have such confidence in them that I'll offer you a wagerat, say, ten to
one."
"Ought to take your money. Take same cells, arrange in open
pyramid of tetrahedrons. Where vertices are in common, each bloke knows one in adjoining
cellknows how to send message to him, that's all he needs. Communications never
break down because they run sideways as well as up and down. Something like a neural net.
It's why you can knock a hole in a man's head, take chunk of brain out, and not damage
thinking much. Excess capacity, messages shunt around. He loses what was destroyed but
goes on functioning."
"Manuel," Prof said doubtfully, "could you draw a
picture? It sounds goodbut it's so contrary to orthodox doctrine that I need to see
it."
"Well . . . could do better with stereo drafting machine. I'll
try." (Anybody who thinks it's easy to sketch one hundred twenty-one tetrahedrons, a
five-level open pyramid, clear enough to show relationships is invited to try!)
Presently I said, "Look at base sketch. Each vertex of each
triangle shares self with zero, one, or two other triangles. Where shares one, that's its
link, one direction or bothbut one is enough for a multipli-redundant communication
net. On corners, where sharing is zero, it jumps to right to next corner. Where sharing is
double, choice is again right-handed.
"Now work it with people. Take fourth level, D-for-dog. This
vertex is comrade Dan. No, let's go down one to show three levels of communication knocked
outlevel E-for-easy and pick Comrade Egbert.
"Egbert works under Donald, has cellmates Edward and Elmer, and
has three under him, Frank, Fred, and Fatso . . . but knows how to send message to Ezra on
his own level but not in his cell. He doesn't know Ezra's name, face, address, or
anythingbut has a way, phone number probably, to reach Ezra in emergency.
"Now watch it work. Casimir, level three, finks out and betrays
Charlie and Cox in his cell, Baker above him, and Donald, Dan, and Dick in
subcellwhich isolates Egbert, Edward, and Elmer. and everybody under them.
"All three report itredundancy, necessary to any
communication systembut follow Egbert's yell for help. He calls Ezra. But Ezra is
under Charlie and is isolated, too. No matter, Ezra relays both messages through his
safety link, Edmund. By bad luck Edmund is under Cox, so he also passes it laterally,
through Enwright . . . and that gets it past burned-out part and it goes up through Dover,
Chambers, and Beeswax, to Adam, front office . . . who replies down other side of pyramid,
with lateral pass on E-for-easy level from Esther to Egbert and on to Ezra and Edmund.
These two messages, up and down, not only get through at once but in way they get through,
they define to home office exactly how much damage has been done and where. Organization
not only keeps functioning but starts repairing self at once."
Wyoh was tracing out lines, convincing herself it would workwhich
it would, was "idiot" circuit. Let Mike study a few milliseconds, and could
produce a better, safer, more foolproof hookup. And probablycertainlyways to
avoid betrayal while speeding up routings. But I'm not a computer.
Prof was staring with blank expression. "What's trouble?" I
said. "It'll work; this is my pidgin."
"Manuel my b Excuse me: Señor O'Kelly . . . will you head
this revolution?"
"Me? Great Bog, nyet! I'm no lost-cause martyr. Just talking about
circuits."
Wyoh looked up. "Mannie," she said soberly, "you're
opted. It's settled."
Did like hell settle it.
Prof said, "Manuel, don't be hasty. Here we are, three, the
perfect number, with a variety of talents and experience. Beauty, age, and mature male
drive"
"I don't have any drive!"
"Please, Manuel. Let us think in the widest terms before
attempting decisions. And to facilitate such, may I ask if this hostel stocks potables? I
have a few florins I could put into the stream of trade."
Was most sensible word heard in an hour. "Stilichnaya vodka?"
"Sound choice." He reached for pouch.
"Tell it to bear," I said and ordered a liter, plus ice. It
came down; was tomato juice from breakfast.
"Now," I said, after we toasted, "Prof, what you think
of pennant race? Got money says Yankees can't do it again?"
"Manuel, what is your political philosophy?"
"With that new boy from Milwaukee I feel like investing."
"Sometimes a man doesn't have it defined but, under Socratic
inquiry, knows where he stands and why."
"I'll back 'em against field, three to two."
"What? You young idiot! How much?"
"Three hundred. Hong Kong."
"Done. For example, under what circumstances may the State justly
place its welfare above that of a citizen?"
"Mannie," Wyoh asked, "do you have any more foolish
money? I think well of the Phillies."
I looked her over. "Just what were you thinking of betting?"
"You go to hell! Rapist."
"Prof, as I see, are no circumstances under which State is
justified in placing its welfare ahead of mine."
"Good. We have a starting point."
"Mannie," said Wyoh, "that's a most self-centered
evaluation."
"I'm a most self-centered person."
"Oh, nonsense. Who rescued me? Me, a stranger. And didn't try to
exploit it. Professor, I was cracking not facking. Mannie was a perfect knight."
"Sans peur et sans reproche. I knew, I've known him for
years. Which is not inconsistent with evaluation he expressed."
"Oh, but it is! Not the way things are but under the ideal toward
which we aim. Mannie, the 'State' is Luna. Even though not soverign yet and we hold
citizenships elsewhere. But I am part of the Lunar State and so is your family. Would you
die for your family?"
"Two questions not related."
"Oh, but they are! That's the point."
"Nyet. I know my family, opted long ago."
"Dear Lady, I must come to Manuel's defense. He has a correct
evaluation even though he may not be able to state it. May I ask this? Under what
circumstances is it moral for a group to do that which is not moral for a member of that
group to do alone?"
"Uh . . . that's a trick question."
"It is the key question, dear Wyoming. A radical question that
strikes to the root of the whole dilemma of government. Anyone who answers honestly and
abides by all consequences knows where he standsand what he will die for."
Wyoh frowned. "'Not moral for a member of the group'"
she said. "Professor . . . what are your political principles?"
"May I first ask yours? If you can state them?"
"Certainly I can! I'm a Fifth Internationalist, most of the
Organization is. Oh, we don't rule out anyone going our way; it's a united front. We have
Communists and Fourths and Ruddyites and Societians and Single-Taxers and you name it. But
I'm no Marxist; we Fifths have a practical program. Private where private belongs, public
where it's needed, and an admission that circumstances alter cases. Nothing
doctrinaire."
"Capital punishment?"
"For what?"
"Let's say for treason. Against Luna after you've freed
Luna."
"Treason how? Unless I knew the circumstances I could not
decide."
"Nor could I, dear Wyoming. But I believe in capital punishment
under some circumstances . . . with this difference. I would not ask a court; I would try,
condemn, execute sentence myself, and accept full responsibility."
"ButProfessor, what are your political beliefs?"
"I'm a rational anarchist."
"I don't know that brand. Anarchist individualist, anarchist
Communist, Christian anarchist, philosophical anarchist, syndicalist,
libertarianthose I know. But what's this? Randite?"
"I can get along with a Randite. A rational anarchist believes
that concepts such as 'state' and 'society' and 'government' have no existence save as
physically exemplified in the acts of self-responsible individuals. He believes that it is
impossible to shift blame, share blame, distribute blame . . . as blame, guilt,
responsibility are matters taking place inside human beings singly and nowhere else. But
being rational, he knows that not all individuals hold his evaluations, so he tries to
live perfectly in an imperfect world . . . aware that his effort will be less than perfect
yet undismayed by self-knowledge of self-failure."
"Hear, hear!" I said. "'Less than perfect.' What I've
been aiming for all my life."
"You've achieved it," said Wyoh. "Professor, your words
sound good but there is something slippery about them. Too much power in the hands of
individualssurely you would not want . . . well, H-missiles for exampleto be
controlled by one irresponsible person?"
"My point is that one person is responsible. Always. If H-bombs
existand they dosome man controls them. In terms of morals there is no such
thing as 'state.' Just men. Individuals. Each responsible for his own acts."
"Anybody need a refill?" I asked.
Nothing uses up alcohol faster than political argument. I sent for
another bottle.
I did not take part. I was not dissatisfied back when we were
"ground under Iron Heel of Authority." I cheated Authority and rest of time
didn't think about it. Didn't think about getting rid of Authorityimpossible. Go own
way, mind own business, not be bothered
True, didn't have luxuries then; by Earthside standards we were poor.
If had to be imported, mostly did without; don't think there was a powered door in all
Luna. Even p-suits used to be fetched up from Terrauntil a smart Chinee before I was
born figured how to make "monkey copies" better and simpler. (Could dump two
Chinee down in one of our maria and they would get rich selling rocks to each other while
raising twelve kids. Then a Hindu would sell retail stuff he got from them
wholesalebelow cost at fat profit. We got along.)
I had seen those luxuries Earthside. Wasn't worth what they put up
with. Don't mean heavy gravity, that doesn't bother them; I mean nonsense. All time kukai
moa. If chicken guano in one earthworm city were shipped to Luna, fertilizer problem
would be solved for century. Do this. Don't do that. Stay back of line. Where's tax
receipt? Fill out form. Let's see license. Submit six copies. Exit only. No left turn. No
right turn. Queue up to pay fine. Take back and get stamped. Drop deadbut first get
permit.
Wyoh plowed doggedly into Prof, certain she had all answers. But Prof
was interested in questions rather than answers, which baffled her. Finally she said,
"Professor, I can't understand you. I don't insist that you call it
'government'I just want you to state what rules you think are necessary to insure
equal freedom for all."
"Dear lady, I'll happily accept your rules."
"But you don't seem to want any rules!"
"True. But I will accept any rules that you feel necessary to your
freedom. I am free, no matter what rules surround me. If I find them tolerable, I tolerate
them; if I find them too obnoxious, I break them. I am free because I know that I alone am
morally responsible for everything I do."
"You would not abide by a law that the majority felt was
necessary?"
"Tell me what law, dear lady, and I will tell you whether I will
obey it."
"You wiggled out. Every time I state a general principle, you
wiggle out."
Prof clasped hands on chest. "Forgive me. Believe me, lovely
Wyoming, I am most anxious to please you. You spoke of willingness to unite the front with
anyone going your way. Is it enough that I want to see the Authority thrown off Luna and
would die to serve that end?"
Wyoh beamed. "It certainly is!" She fisted his
ribsgentlythen put arm around him and kissed cheek. "Comrade! Let's get
on with it!"
"Cheers!" I said. "Let's fin' Warden 'n' 'liminate
him!" Seemed a good idea; I had had a short night and don't usually drink much.
Prof topped our glasses, held his high and announced with great
dignity: "Comrades . . . we declare the Revolution!"
That got us both kissed. But sobered me, as Prof sat down and said,
"The Emergency Committee of Free Luna is in session. We must plan action."
I said, "Wait, Prof! I didn't agree to anything. What's this
'Action' stuff?"
"We will now overthrow the Authority," he said blandly.
"How? Going to throw rocks at 'em?"
"That remains to be worked out. This is the planning stage."
I said, "Prof, you know me. If kicking out Authority was thing we
could buy. I wouldn't worry about price."
"'our lives, our fortunes, and our sacred honor.'"
"Huh?"
"A price that once was paid."
"WellI'd go that high. But when I bet I want a chance to
win. Told Wyoh last night I didn't object to long odds"
"'One in ten' is what you said, Mannie."
"Da, Wyoh. Show me those odds, I'll tap pot. But can you?"
"No, Manuel, I can't."
"Then why we talk-talk? I can't see any chance."
"Nor I, Manuel. But we approach it differently. Revolution is an
art that I pursue rather than a goal I expect to achieve. Nor is this a source of dismay;
a lost cause can be as spiritually satisfying as a victory."
"Not me. Sorry."
"Mannie," Wyoh said suddenly, "ask Mike."
I stared. "You serious?"
"Quite serious. If anyone can figure out odds, Mike should be able
to. Don't you think?"
"Um. Possible."
"Who, if I may ask," Prof put in, "is Mike?"
I shrugged. "Oh, just a nobody."
"Mike is Mannie's best friend. He's very good at figuring
odds."
"A bookie? My dear, if we bring in a fourth party we start by
violating the cell principle."
"I don't see why," Wyoh answered. "Mike could be a
member of the cell Mannie will head."
"Mmm . . . true. I withdraw objection. He is safe? You vouch for
him? Or you, Manuel?"
I said, "He's dishonest, immature, practical joker, not interested
in politics."
"Mannie, I'm going to tell Mike you said that. Professor, he's
nothing of the sortand we need him. Uh, in fact he might be our chairman, and we
three the cell under him. The executive cell."
"Wyoh, you getting enough oxygen?"
"I'm okay, I haven't been guzzling it the way you have. Think,
Mannie. Use imagination."
"I must confess," said Prof, "that I find these
conflicting reports very conflicting."
"Mannie?"
"Oh, hell." So we told him, between us, all about Mike, how
he woke up. got his name, met Wyoh. Prof accepted idea of a self-aware computer easier
than I accepted idea of snow first time I saw. Prof just nodded and said, "Go
on."
But presently he said, "This is the Warden's own computer? Why not
invite the Warden to our meetings and be done with it?"
We tried to reassure him. At last I said, "Put it this way. Mike
is his own boy, just as you are. Call him rational anarchist, for he's rational and he
feels no loyalty to any government."
"If this machine is not loyal to its owners, why expect it to be
loyal to you?"
"A feeling. I treat Mike well as I know how, he treats me same
way." I told how Mike had taken precautions to protect me. "I'm not sure he
could betray me to anyone who didn't have those signals, one to secure phone, other to
retrieve what I've talked about or stored with him; machines don't think way people do.
But feel dead sure he wouldn't want to betray me and probably could protect me even if
somebody got those signals."
"Mannie," suggested Wyoh, "why not call him? Once
Professor de la Paz talks to him he will know why we trust Mike. Professor, we don't have
to tell Mike any secrets until you feel sure of him."
"I see no harm in that."
"Matter of fact," I admitted, "already told him some
secrets." I told them about recording last night's meeting and how I stored it.
Prof was distressed, Wyoh was worried. I said, "Damp it! Nobody
but me knows retrieval signal. Wyoh, you know how Mike behaved about your pictures; won't
let me have those pictures even though I suggested lock on them. But if you two will stop
oscillating, I'll call him, make sure that nobody has retrieved that recording. and tell
him to erasethen it's gone forever, computer memory is all or nothing. Or can go one
better. Call Mike and have him play record back into recorder, wiping storage. No huhu."
"Don't bother," said Wyoh. "Professor, I trust
Mikeand so will you."
"On second thought," Prof admitted, "I see little hazard
from a recording of last night's meeting. One that large always contains spies and one of
them may have used a recorder as you did, Manuel. I was upset at what appeared to be your
indiscretiona weakness a member of a conspiracy must never have, especially one at
the top, as you are."
"Was not member of conspiracy when I fed that recording into
Mikeand not now unless somebody quotes odds better than those so far!"
"I retract; you were not indiscreet. But are you seriously
suggesting that this machine can predict the outcome of a revolution?"
"Don't know."
"I think he can!" said Wyoh.
"Hold it, Wyoh. Prof, he could predict it fed all significant
data."
"That's my point, Manuel. I do not doubt that this machine can
solve problems I cannot grasp. But one of this scope? It would have to knowoh,
goodness!all of human history, all details of the entire social, political, and
economic situation on Terra today and the same for Luna, a wide knowledge of psychology in
all its ramifications, a wide knowledge of technology with all its possibilities,
weaponry, communications, strategy and tactics, agitprop techniques, classic authorities
such as Clausewitz, Guevera, Morgenstern, Machiavelli, many others."
"Is that all?"
"'Is that all?' My dear boy!"
"Prof, how many history books have you read?"
"I do not know. In excess of a thousand."
"Mike can zip through that many this afternoon, speed limited only
by scanning methodhe can store data much faster. Soonminutes-he would
have every fact correlated with everything else he knows, discrepancies noted, probability
values assigned to uncertainties. Prof, Mike reads every word of every newspaper up from
Terra. Reads all technical publications. Reads fictionknows it's
fictionbecause isn't enough to keep him busy and is always hungry for more. If is
any book he should read to solve this, say so. He can cram it down fast as I get it to
him."
Prof blinked. "I stand corrected. Very well, let us see if he can
cope with it. I still think there is something known as 'intuition' and 'human
judgment.'"
"Mike has intuition," Wych said. "Feminine intuition,
that is."
"As for 'human judgment,'" I added, "Mike isn't human.
But all he knows he got from humans. Let's get you acquainted and you judge his
judgment."
So I phoned. "Hi, Mike!"
"Hello, Man my only male friend. Greetings, Wyoh my only female
friend. I heard a third person. I conjecture that it may be Professor Bernardo de la
Paz."
Prof looked startled, then delighted. I said, "Too right, Mike.
That's why I called you; Professor is not-stupid."
"Thank you, Man! Professor Bernardo de la Paz, I am delighted to
meet you."
"I am delighted to meet you, too, sir." Prof hesitated, went
on "MiSeñor Holmes, may I ask how you knew that I was here?"
"I am sorry, sir; I cannot answer. Man? 'You know my
methods.'"
"Mike is being crafty, Prof. It involves something he learned
doing a confidential job for me. So he threw me a hint to let you think that he had
identified you by hearing your presenceand he can indeed tell much from respiration
and heartbeat . . . mass, approximate age, sex, and quite a bit about health; Mike's
medical storage is as full as any other."
"I am happy to say," Mike added seriously, "that I
detect no signs of cardiac or respiratory trouble, unusual for a man of the Professor's
age who has spent so many years Earthside. I congratulate you, sir."
"Thank you, Señor Holmes."
"My pleasure, Professor Bernardo de la Paz."
"Once he knew your identity, he knew how old you are, when you
were shipped and what for, anything that ever appeared about you in Lunatic or Moonglow or
any Lunar publication, including picturesyour bank balance, whether you pay bills on
time, and much more. Mike retrieved this in a split second once he had your name. What he
didn't tellbecause was my businessis that he knew I had invited you here, so
it's a short jump to guess that you're still here when he heard heartbeat and breathing
that matched you. Mike, no need to say 'Professor Bernardo de la Paz' each time;
'Professor' or"Prof' is enough."
"Noted, Man. But he addressed me formally, with honorific."
"So both of you relax. Prof, you scan it? Mike knows much, doesn't
tell all, knows when to keep mouth shut."
"I am impressed!"
"Mike is a fair dinkum thinkumyou'll see. Mike, I bet
Professor three to two that Yankees would win pennant again. How chances?"
"I am sorry to hear it, Man. The correct odds, this early in the
year and based on past performances of teams and players, are one to four point seven two
the other way."
"Can't be that bad!"
"I'm sorry, Man. I will print out the calculations if you wish.
But I recommend that you buy back your wager. The Yankees have a favorable chance to
defeat any single team . . . but the combined chances of defeating all teams in the
league, including such factors as weather, accidents, and other variables for the season
ahead, place the club on the short end of the odds I gave you."
"Prof, want to sell that bet?"
"Certainly, Manuel."
"Price?"
"Three hundred Hong Kong dollars."
"You old thief!"
"Manuel, as you former teacher I would be false to you if I did
not permit you to learn from mistakes. Señor HolmesMike my friendMay
I call you 'friend'?"
"Please do." (Mike almost purred.)
"Mike amigo, do you also tout horse races?"
"I often calculate odds on horse races; the civil service
computermen frequently program such requests. But the results are so at variance with
expectations that I have concluded either that the data are too meager, or the horses or
riders are not honest. Possibly all three. However, I can gve you a formula which will pay
a steady return if played consistently."
Prof looked eager. "What is it? May one ask?"
"One may. Bet the leading apprentice jockey to place. He is always
given good mounts and they carry less weight. But don't bet him on the nose."
"'Leading apprentice' . . . hmm. Manuel, do you have the correct
time?"
"Prof, which do you want? Get a bet down before post time? Or
settle what we set out to?"
"Unh, sorry. Please carry on. 'Leading apprentice'"
"Mike, I gave you a recording last night." I leaned close to
pickups and whispered: "Bastille Day."
"Retrieved, Man."
"Thought about it?"
"In many ways. Wyoh, you speak most dramatically."
"Thank you, Mike."
"Prof, can you get your mind off ponies?"
"Eh? Certainly, I am all ears."
"Then quit doing odds under your breath; Mike can do them
faster."
"I was not wasting time; the financing of . . . joint ventures
such as ours is always difficult. However, I shall table it; I am all attention."
"I want Mike to do a trial projection. Mike, in that recording,
you heard Wyoh say we had to have free trade with Terra. You heard Prof say we should
clamp an embargo on shipping food to Terra. Who's right?"
"Your question is indeterminate, Man."
"What did I leave out?"
"Shall I rephrase it, Man?"
"Sure. Give us discussion."
"In immediate terms Wyoh's proposal would be of great advantage to
the people of Luna. The price of foodstuffs at catapult head would increase by a factor of
at least four. This takes into account a slight rise in wholesale prices on Terra,
'slight' because the Authority now sells at approximately the free market price. This
disregards subsidized, dumped, and donated foodstuffs, most of which come from the large
profit caused by the controlled low price at catapult head. I will say no more about minor
variables as they are swallowed by major ones. Let it stand that the immediate effect here
would be a price increase of the close order of fourfold."
"Hear that, Professor?"
"Please, dear lady. I never disputed it."
"The profit increase to the grower is more than fourfold because,
as Wyoh pointed out, he now must buy water and other items at controlled high prices.
Assuming a free market throughout the sequence his profit enhancement will be of the close
order of sixfold. But this would be offset by another factor: Higher prices for exports
would cause higher prices for everything consumed in Luna, goods and labor. The total
effect would be an enhanced standard of living for all on the close order of twofold. This
would be accompanied by vigorous effort to drill and seal more farming tunnels, mine more
ice, improve growing methods, all leading to greater export. However, the Terran Market is
so large and food shortage so chronic that reduction in profit from increase of export is
not a major factor."
Prof said, "But, Señor Mike, that would only hasten the
day that Luna is exhausted!"
"The projection was specified as immediate, Señor
Professor. Shall I continue in longer range on the basis of your remarks?"
"By all means!"
"Luna's mass to three significant figures is seven point three six
times ten to the nineteenth power tonnes. Thus, holding other variables constant including
Lunar and Terran populations, the present differential rate of export in tonnes could
continue for seven point three six times ten to the twelfth years before using up one
percent of Lunaround it as seven thousand billion years."
"What! Are you sure?"
"You are invited to check, Professor."
I said, "Mike, this a joke? If so, not funny even once!"
"It is not a joke, Man."
"Anyhow," Prof added, recovering, "it's not Luna's crust
we are shipping. It's our lifebloodwater and organic matter. Not rock."
"I took that into consideration, Professor. This projection is
based on controlled transmutationany isotope into any other and postulating power
for any reaction not exo-energetic. Rock would be shippedtransformed into wheat and
beef and other foodstuffs."
"But we don't know how to do that! Amigo, this is
ridiculous!"
"But we will know how to do it."
"Mike is right, Prof," I put in. "Sure, today we haven't
a glimmer. But will. Mike, did you compute how many years till we have this? Might take a
flier in stocks."
Mike answered in sad voice, "Man my only male friend save for the
Professor whom I hope will be my friend, I tried. I failed. The question is
indeterminate."
"Why?"
"Because it involves a break-through in theory. There is no way in
all my data to predict when and where genius may appear."
Prof sighed. "Mike amigo, I don't know whether to be relieved or
disappointed. Then that projection didn't mean anything?"
"Of course it meant something!" said Wyoh. "It means
we'll dig it out when we need it. Tell him, Mike!"
"Wyoh, I am most sorry. Your assertion is, in effect, exactly what
I was looking for. But the answer still remains: Genius is where you find it. No. I am so
sorry."
I said, "Then Prof is right? When comes to placing bets?"
"One moment, Man. There is a special solution suggested by the
Professor's speech last nightreturn shipping, tonne for tonne."
"Yes, but can't do that."
"If the cost is low enough, Terrans would do so. That can be
achieved with only minor refinement, not a break-through, to wit, freight transportation
up from Terra as cheap as catapulting down to Terra."
"You call this 'minor'?"
"I call it minor compared with the other problem, Man."
"Mike dear, how long? When do we get it?"
"Wyoh, a rough projection, based on poor data and largely
intuitive, would be on the order of fifty years."
"'Fifty years'? Why, that's nothing! We can have free trade."
"Wyoh, I said 'on the order of'I did not say 'on the close
order of.'"
"It makes a difference?"
"Does." I told her. "What Mike said was that he doesn't
expect it sooner than five years but would be surprised if much longer than five
hundredeh, Mike?"
"Correct, Man."
"So need another projection. Prof pointed out that we ship water
and organic matter and don't get it back-agree, Wyoh?"
"Oh. sure. I just don't think it's urgent. We'll solve it when we
reach it."
"Okay, Mikeno cheap shipping, no transmutation: How long
till trouble?"
"Seven years."
"'Seven years!'" Wyoh jumped up, stared at phone. "Mike
honey! You don't mean that?"
"Wyoh," he said plaintively, "I did my best. The problem
has an indeterminately large number of variables. I ran several thousand solutions using
many assumptions. The happiest answer came from assuming no increase in tonnage, no
increase in Lunar populationrestriction of births strongly enforcedand a
greatly enhanced search for ice in order to maintain the water supply. That gave an answer
of slightly over twenty years. All other answers were worse."
Wyoh, much sobered, said, "What happens in seven years?"
"The answer of seven years from now I reached by assuming the
present situation, no change in Authority policy, and all major variables extrapolated
from the empiricals implicit in their past behaviora conservative answer of highest
probability from available data. Twenty-eighty-two is the year I expect food riots.
Cannibalism should not occur for at least two years thereafter."
"'Cannibalism'!" She turned and buried head against
Prof's chest.
He patted her, said gently, "I'm sorry, Wyoh. People do not
realize how precarious our ecology is. Even so, it shocks me. I know water runs down hill
. . . but didn't dream how terribly soon it will reach bottom."
She straightened up and face was calm. "Okay, Professor, I was
wrong. Embargo it must beand all that that implies. Let's get busy. Let's find out
from Mike what our chances are. You trust him nowdon't you?"
"Yes, dear lady, I do. We must have him on our side. Well,
Manuel?"
Took time to impress Mike with how serious we were, make him understand
that "jokes" could kill us (this machine who could not know human death) and to
get assurance that he could and would protect secrets no matter what retrieval program was
usedeven our signals if not from us. Mike was hurt that I could doubt him but matter
too serious to risk slip.
Then took two hours to program and re-program and change assumptions
and investigate side issues before all fourMike, Prof, Wyoh, selfwere
satisfied that we had defined it, i.e., what chance had revolutionthis revolution,
headed by us, success required before "Food Riots Day," against Authority with
bare hands . . . against power of all Terra, all eleven billions, to beat us down and
inflict their willall with no rabbits out of hats, with certainty of betrayal and
stupidity and faintheartedness, and fact that no one of us was genius, nor important in
Lunar affairs. Prof made sure that Mike knew history, psychology, economics, name it.
Toward end Mike was pointing out far more variables than Prof.
At last we agreed that programming was doneor that we could think
of no other significant factor. Mike then said, "This is an indeterminate problem.
How shall I solve it? Pessimistically? Or optimistically? Or a range of probabilities
expressed as a curve, or several curves? Professor my friend?"
"Manuel?"
I said, "Mike, when I roll a die, it's one in six it turns ace. I
don't ask shopkeeper to float it, nor do I caliper it, or worry about somebody blowing on
it. Don't give happy answer, nor pessimistic; don't shove curves at us. Just tell in one
sentence: What chances? Even? One in a thousand? None? Or whatever."
"Yes, Manuel Garcia O'Kelly my first male friend,"
For thirteen and a half minutes was no sound, while Wyoh chewed
knuckles. Never known Mike to take so long. Must have consulted every book he ever read
and worn edges off random numbers. Was beginning to believe that he had been overloaded
and either burnt out something or gone into cybernetic breakdown that requires computer
equivalent of lobotomy to stop oscillations.
Finally he spoke. "Manuel my friend, I am terribly sorry!"
"What's trouble, Mike?"
"I have tried and tried, checked and checked. There is but one
chance in seven of winning!"
I look at Wyoh, she looks at me; we laugh. I jump up and yip,
"Hooray!" Wyoh starts to cry, throws arms around Prof, kisses him.
Mike said plaintively, "I do not understand. The chances are seven
to one against us. Not for us."
Wyoh stopped slobbering Prof and said, "Hear that? Mike said 'us.'
He included himself."
"Of course. Mike old cobber, we understood. But ever know a Loonie
to refuse to bet when he stood a big fat chance of one in seven?"
"I have known only you three. Not sufficient data for a
curve."
"Well . . . we're Loonies. Loonies bet. Hell, we have to! They
shipped us up and bet us we couldn't stay alive. We fooled 'em. We'll fool 'em again!
Wyoh. Where's your pouch? Get red hat. Put on Mike. Kiss him. Let's have a drink. One for
Mike, toowant a drink, Mike?"
"I wish that I could have a drink," Mike answered wistfully,
"as I have wondered about the subjective effect of ethanol on the human nervous
systemI conjecture that it must be similar to a slight overvoltage. But since I
cannot, please have one in my place."
"Program accepted. Running. Wyoh, where's hat!" Phone was
flat to wall, let into rockno place to hang hat. So we placed it on writing shelf
and toasted Mike and called him "Comrade!" and almost he cried. His voice fugged
up. Then Wyoh borrowed Liberty Cap and put on me and kissed me into conspiracy, officially
this time, and so all out that my eldest wife would faint did she seethen she took
hat and put on Prof and gave him same treatment and I was glad Mike had reported his heart
okay.
Then she put it on own head and went to phone, leaned close, mouth
between binaurals and made kissing sounds. "That's for you, Mike dear comrade. Is
Michelle there?"
Blimey if he didn't answer in soprano voice: "Right here,
darlingand I am so 'appee!"
So Michelle got a kiss, and I had to explain to Prof who
"Michelle" was and introduce him. He was formal, sucking air and whistling and
clasping handssometimes I think Prof was not right in his head.
Wyoh poured more vodka. Prof caught her, mixed ours with coffee, hers
with chai, honey in all. "We have declared the Revolution," he said firmly,
"now we execute it. With clear heads. Manuel, you were opted chairman. Shall we
begin?"
"Mike is chairman," I said. "Obvious. Secretary, too.
We'll never keep anything in writing; first security rule. With Mike, don't need to. Let's
bat it around and see where we are; I'm new to business."
"And," said Prof, "still on the subject of security, the
secret of Mike should be restricted to this executive cell, subject to unanimous
agreementall three of uscorrection: all four of usthat is must be
extended."
"What secret?" asked Wyoh. "Mike agreed to help our
secrets. He's safer than we are; he can't be brainwashed, Can you be, Mike dear?"
"I could be brainwashed," Mike admitted, "by enough
voltage. Or by being smashed, or subjected to solvents, or positive entropy through other
meansI find the concept disturbing. But if by 'brainwashing' you mean could I be
compelled to surrender our secrets, the answer is an unmodified negative."
I said, "Wye, Prof means secret of Mike himself. Mike old pal,
you're our secret weaponyou know that, don't you?"
He answered self-consciously, "It was necessary to take that into
consideration in computing the odds."
"How were odds without you, comrade? Bad?"
"They were not good. Not of the same order."
"Won't press you. But a secret weapon must be secret, Mike, does
anybody else suspect that you are alive?"
"Am I alive?" His voice held tragic loneliness.
"Uh, won't argue semantics. Sure, you're alive!"
"I was not sure. It is good to be alive. No, Mannie my first
friend, you three alone know it. My three friends."
"That's how must be if bet's to pay off. Is okay? Us three and
never talk to anybody else?"
"But we'll talk to you lots!" Wyoh put in.
"It is not only okay," Mike said bluntly, "it is
necessary. It was a factor in the odds."
"That settles it," I said. "They have everything else;
we have Mike. We keep it that way. Say! Mike, I just had a horrid. We fight Terra?"
"We will fight Terra . . . unless we lose before that time."
"Uh, riddle this. Any computers smart as you? Any awake?"
He hesitated. "I don't know, Man."
"No data?"
"Insufficient data. I have watched for both factors, not only in
technical journals but everywhere else. There are no computers on the market of my present
capacity . . . but one of my model could be augmented just as I have been. Furthermore an
experimental computer of great capacity might be classified and go unreported in the
literature."
"Mmm . . . chance we have to take."
"Yes, Man."
"There aren't any computers as smart as Mike!" Wyoh said
scornfully. "Don't be silly, Mannie."
"Wyoh, Man was not being silly. Man, I saw one disturbing report.
It was claimed that attempts are being made at the University of Peiping to combine
computers with human brains to achieve massive capacity. A computing Cyborg."
"They say how?"
"The item was non-technical."
"Well . . . won't worry about what can't help. Right, Prof?"
"Correct, Manuel. A revolutionist must keep his mind free of worry
or the pressure becomes intolerable."
"I don't believe a word of it," Wyoh added. "We've got
Mike and we're going to win! Mike dear, you say we're going to fight Terraand Mannie
says that's one battle we can't win. You have some idea of how we can win, or you wouldn't
have given us even one chance in seven. So what is it?"
"Throw rocks at them," Mike answered.
"Not funny," I told him. "Wyoh, don't borrow trouble.
Haven't even settled how we leave this pooka without being nabbed. Mike, Prof says nine
guards were killed last night and Wyoh says twenty-seven is whole bodyguard. Leaving
eighteen. Do you know if that's true, do you know where they are and what they are up to?
Can't put on a revolution if we dasn't stir out."
Prof interrupted. "That's a temporary exigency, Manuel, one we can
cope with. The point Wyoming raised is basic and should be discussed. And daily, until
solved. I am interested in Mike's thoughts."
"Okay, okaybut will you wait while Mike answers me?"
"Sorry, sir."
"Mike?"
"Mike?"
"Man, the official number of Warden's bodyguards is twenty-seven.
If nine were killed the official number is now eighteen."
"You keep saying 'official number.' Why?"
"I have incomplete data which might be relevant. Let me state them
before advancing even tentative conclusions. Nominally the Security Officer's department
aside from clerks consists only of the bodyguard. But I handle payrolls for Authority
Complex and twenty-seven is not the number of personnel charged against the Security
Department."
Prof nodded. "Company spies."
"Hold it, Prof. Who are these other people?"
Mike answered, "They are simply account numbers, Man. I conjecture
that the names they represent are in the Security Chiefs data storage location."
"Wait, Mike. Security Chief Alvarez uses you for files?"
"I conjecture that to be true, since his storage location is under
a locked retrieval signal."
I said, "Bloody," and added, "Prof, isn't that sweet? He
uses Mike to keep records, Mike knows where they arecan't touch 'em!"
"Why not, Manuel?"
Tried to explain to Prof and Wyoh sorts of memory a thinkum
haspermanent memories that can't be erased because patterns be logic itself, how it
thinks; short-term memories used for current programs and then erased like memories which
tell you whether you have honeyed coffee; temporary memories held long as
necessarymilliseconds, days, yearsbut erased when no longer needed;
permanently stored data like a human being's educationbut learned perfectly and
never forgottenthough may be condensed, rearranged, relocated, editedand last
but not finally, long lists of special memories ranging from memoranda files through very
complex special programs, and each location tagged by own retrieval signal and locked or
not, with endless possibilities on lock signals: sequential, parallel, temporal,
situational, others.
Don't explain computers to laymen. Simpler to explain sex to a virgin.
Wyoh couldn't see why, if Mike knew where Alvarez kept records, Mike didn't trot over and
fetch.
I gave up. "Mike, can you explain?"
"I will try, Man. Wyoh, there is no way for me to retrieve locked
data other than through external programming. I cannot program myself for such retrieval;
my logic structure does not permit it. I must receive the signal as an external
input."
"Well, for Bog's sake, what is this precious signal?"
"It is," Mike said simply, "'Special File
Zebra'"and waited.
"Mike!" I said. "Unlock Special File Zebra." He
did, and stuff started spilling out. Had to convince Wyoh that Mike hadn't been stubborn.
He hadn'the almost begged us to tickle him on that spot. Sure, he knew signal. Had
to. But had to come from outside, that was how he was built.
"Mike, remind me to check with you all special-purpose
locked-retrieval signals. May strike ice other places."
"So I conjectured, Man."
"Okay, we'll get to it later. Now back up and go over this stuff
slowlyand, Mike, as you read out, store again, without erasing, under Bastille Day
and tag it 'Fink File.' Okay?"
"Programmed and running."
"Do that with anything new he puts in, too."
Prime prize was list of names by warrens, some two hundred, each keyed
with a code Mike identified with those blind pay accounts.
Mike read out Hong Kong Luna list and was hardly started when Wyoh
gasped, "Stop, Mike! I've got to write these down!"
I said, "Hey! No writing! What's huhu?"
"That woman, Sylvia Chiang, is comrade secretary back home!
But But that means the Warden has our whole organization!"
"No, dear Wyoming," Prof corrected. "It means we have
his organization."
"But"
"I see what Prof means," I told her. "Our organization
is just us three and Mike. Which Warden doesn't know. But now we know his organization. So
shush and let Mike read. But don't write; you have this listfrom Mikeanytime
you phone him. Mike, note that Chiang woman is organization secretary, former
organization, in Kongville."
"Noted."
Wyoh boiled over as she heard names of undercover finks in her town but
limited herself to noting facts about ones she knew. Not all were "comrades" but
enough that she stayed riled up. Novy Leningrad names didn't mean much to us; Prof
recognized three, Wyoh one. When came Luna City Prof noted over half as being
"comrades." I recognized several, not as fake subversives but as acquaintances.
Not friends Don't know what it would do to me to find someone I trusted on boss
fink's payroll. But would shake me.
It shook Wyoh. When Mike finished she said, "I've got to get home!
Never in my life have I helped eliminate anyone but I am going to enjoy putting the black
on these spies!"
Prof said quietly, "No one will be eliminated, dear Wyoming."
"What? Professor, can't you take it? Though I've never killed
anyone, I've always known it might have to be done."
He shook head. "Killing is not the way to handle a spy, not when
he doesn't know that you know that he is a spy."
She blinked. "I must be dense."
"No, dear lady. Instead you have a charming honesty . . . a
weakness you must guard against. The thing to do with a spy is to let him breathe, encyst
him with loyal comrades, and feed him harmless information to please his employers. These
creatures will be taken into our organization. Don't be shocked; they will be in very
special cells. 'Cages' is a better word. But it would be the greatest waste to eliminate
themnot only would each spy be replaced with someone new but also killing these
traitors would tell the Warden that we have penetrated his secrets. Mike amigo mio,
there should be in that file a dossier on me. Will you see?"
Were long notes on Prof, and I was embarrassed as they added up to
"harmless old fool." He was tagged as a subversivethat was why he had been
sent to The Rockas a member of underground group in Luna City. But was described as
a "troublemaker" in organization, one who rarely agreed with others.
Prof dimpled and looked pleased. "I must consider trying to sell
out and get myself placed on the Warden's payroll." Wyoh did not think this funny,
especially when he made clear was not joke, merely unsure tactic was practical.
"Revolutions must be financed, dear lady, and one way is for a revolutionary to
become a police spy. It is probable that some of those prima-facie traitors are actually
on our side."
"I wouldn't trust them!"
"Ah, yes, that is the rub with double agents, to be certain where
their loyaltiesif anylie. Do you wish your own dossier? Or would you rather
hear it in private?"
Wyoh's record showed no surprises. Warden's finks had tabbed her years
back. But I was surprised that I had a record, tooroutine check made when I was
cleared to work in Authority Complex. Was classed as "non-political" and someone
had added "not too bright" which was both unkind and true or why would I get
mixed up in Revolution?
Prof had Mike stop read-out (hours more), leaned back and looked
thoughtful. "One thing is clear," he said. "The Warden knew plenty about
Wyoming and myself long ago. But you, Manuel, are not on his black list."
"After last night?"
"Ah, so. Mike, do you have anything In that file entered in the
last twenty-four hours?"
Nothing. Prof said, "Wyoming is right that we cannot stay here
forever. Manuel, how many names did you recognize? Six, was it? Did you see any of them
last night?"
"No. But might have seen me."
"More likely they missed you in the crowd. I did not spot you
until I came down front and I've known you since you were a boy. But it is most unlikely
that Wyoming traveled from Hong Kong and spoke at the meeting without her activity being
known to the Warden." He looked at Wyoh. "Dear lady, could you bring yourself to
play the nominal role of an old man's folly?"
"I suppose so. How, Professor?"
"Manuel is probably in the clear. I am not but from my dossier it
seems unlikely that the Authority's finks will bother to pick me up. You they may wish to
question or even to hold; you are rated as dangerous. It would be wise for you to stay out
of sight. This room I'm thinking of renting it for a periodweeks or even
years. You could hide in itif you do not mind the obvious construction that would be
placed on your staying here."
Wyoh chuckled. "Why, you darling! Do you think I care what anyone
thinks? I'd be delighted to play the role of your bundle babyand don't be too sure
I'd be just playing."
"Never tease an old dog," he said mildly. "He might
still have one bite. I may occupy that couch most nights. Manuel, I intend to resume my
usual waysand so should you. While I feel that it will take a busy cossack to arrest
me, I will sleep sounder in this hideaway. But in addition to being a hideout this room is
good for cell meetings; it has a phone."
Mike said, "Professor, may I offer a suggestion?"
"Certainly, amigo, we want your thoughts."
"I conclude that the hazards increase with each meeting of our
executive cell. But meetings need not be corporal; you can meetand I can join you if
I am welcomeby phone."
"You are always welcome, Comrade Mike; we need you.
However" Prof looked worried.
I said, "Prof, don't worry about anybody listening in." I
explained how to place a "Sherlock" call. "Phones are safe if Mike
supervises call. Reminds me You haven't been told how to reach Mike. How, Mike? Prof
use my number?"
Between them, they settled on MYSTERIOUS. Prof and Mike shared
childlike joy in intrigue for own sake. I suspect Prof enjoyed being rebel long before he
worked out his political philosophy, while Mikehow could human freedom matter to
him? Revolution was a gamea game that gave him companionship and chance to show off
talents. Mike was as conceited a machine as you are ever likely to meet.
"But we still need this room," Prof said, reached into pouch,
hauled out thick wad of bills.
I blinked. "Prof, robbed a bank?"
"Not recently. Perhaps again in the future of the Cause requires
it. A rental period of one lunar should do as a starter. Will you arrange it, Manuel? The
management might be surprised to hear my voice; I came in through a delivery door."
I called manager, bargained for dated key, four weeks. He asked nine
hundred Hong Kong. I offered nine hundred Authority. He wanted to know how many would use
room? I asked if was policy of Raffles to snoop affairs of guests?
We settled at HK$475; I sent up bills, he sent down two dated keys. I
gave one to Wyoh, one to Prof, kept one-day key, knowing they would not reset lock unless
we failed to pay at end of lunar.
(Earthside I ran into insolent practice of requiring hotel guest to
sign chopeven show identification!)
I asked, "What next? Food?"
"I'm not hungry, Mannie."
"Manuel, you asked us to wait while Mike settled your questions.
Let's get back to the basic problem: how we are to cope when we find ourselves facing
Terra, David facing Goliath."
"Oh. Been hoping that would go away. Mike? You really have
ideas?"
"I said I did, Man," he answered plaintively. "We can
throw rocks."
"Bog's sake! No time for jokes."
"But, Man," he protested, "we can throw rocks at Terra.
We will."
Took time to get through my skull that Mike was serious, and scheme
might work. Then took longer to show Wyoh and Prof how second part was true. Yet both
parts should have been obvious.
Mike reasoned so: What is "war"? One book defined war as use
of force to achieve political result. And "force" is action of one body on
another applied by means of energy.
In war this is done by "weapons"Luna had none. But
weapons, when Mike examined them as class, turned out to be engines for manipulating
energyand energy Luna has plenty. Solar flux alone is good for around one kilowatt
per square meter of surface at Lunar noon; sunpower, though cyclic, is effectively
unlimited. Hydrogen fusion power is almost as unlimited and cheaper, once ice is mined,
magnetic pinchbottle set up. Luna has energyhow to use?
But Luna also has energy of position; she sits at top of gravity well
eleven kilometers per second deep and kept from falling in by curb only two and a half
km/s high. Mike knew that curb; daily he tossed grain freighters over it, let them slide
downhill to Terra.
Mike had computed what would happen if a freighter grossing 100 tonnes
(or same mass of rock) falls to Terra, unbraked.
Kinetic energy as it hits is 6.25 x 10^12 joulesover six trillion
joules.
This converts in split second to heat. Explosion, big one!
Should have been obvious. Look at Luna: What you see? Thousands on
thousands of cratersplaces where Somebody got playful throwing rocks.
Wyoh said, "Joules don't mean much to me. How does that compare
with H-bombs?"
"Uh" I started to round off in head. Mike's
"head" works faster; he answered, "The concussion of a hundred-tonne mass
on Terra approaches the yield of a two-kilotonne atomic bomb."
"'Kilo' is a thousand," Wyoh murmured, "and 'mega' is a
million Why, that's only one fifty-thousandth as much as a hundred-megatonne bomb.
Wasn't that the size Sovunion used?"
"Wyoh, honey," I said gently, "that's not how it works.
Turn it around. A two-kilotonne yield is equivalent to exploding two million kilograms of
trinitrotoluol . . . and a kilo of TNT is quite an explosion Ask any drillman. Two
million kilos will wipe out good-sized town. Check, Mike?"
"Yes, Man. But, Wyoh my only female friend, there is another
aspect. Multi-megatonne fusion bombs are inefficient. The explosion takes place in too
small a space; most of it is wasted. While a hundred-megatonne bomb is rated as having
fifty thousand times the yield of a two-kilotonne bomb, its destructive effect is only
about thirteen hundred times as great as that of a two-kilotonne explosion."
"But it seems to me that thirteen hundred times is still quite a
lotif they are going to use bombs on us that much bigger."
"True, Wyoh my female friend . . . but Luna has many rocks."
"Oh. Yes, so we have."
"Comrades," said Prof, "this is outside my
competencein my younger or bomb-throwing days my experience was limited to something
of the order of the one-kilogram chemical explosion of which you spoke, Manuel. But I
assume that you two know what you are talking about."
"We do," Mike agreed.
"So I accept your figures. To bring it down to a scale that I can
understand this plan requires that we capture the catapult. No?"
"Yes," Mike and I chorused.
"Not impossible. Then we must hold it and keep it operative. Mike,
have you considered how your catapult can be protected against, let us say, one small
H-tipped torpedo?"
Discussion went on and on. We stopped to eatstopped business
under Prof's rule. Instead Mike told jokes, each produced a that-reminds-me from Prof.
By time we left Raffles Hotel evening of 14th May '75 we hadMike
had, with help from Profoutlined plan of Revolution, including major options at
critical points.
When came time to go, me to home and Prof to evening class (if not
arrested), then home for bath and clothes and necessities in case he returned that night,
became clear Wyoh did not want to be alone in strange hotelWyoh was stout when bets
were down, between times soft and vulnerable.
So I called Mum on a Sherlock and told her was bringing house guest
home. Mum ran her job with style; any spouse could bring guest home for meal or year, and
our second generation was almost as free but must ask. Don't know how other families work;
we have customs firmed by a century; they suit us.
So Mum didn't ask name, age, sex, marital condition; was my right and
she too proud to ask. All she said was: "That's nice, dear. Have you two had dinner?
It's Tuesday, you know." "Tuesday" was to remind me that our family had
eaten early because Greg preaches Tuesday evenings. But if guest had not eaten, dinner
would be servedconcession to guest, not to me, as with exception of Grandpaw we ate
when was on table or scrounged standing up in pantry.
I assured her we had eaten and would make tall effort to be there
before she needed to leave. Despite Loonie mixture of Muslims, Jews, Christians,
Buddhists, and ninety-nine other flavors, I suppose Sunday is commonest day for church.
But Greg belongs to sect which had calculated that sundown Tuesday to sundown Wednesday,
local time Garden of Eden (zone minus-two, Terra) was the Sabbath. So we ate early in
Terran north-hemisphere summer months.
Mum always went to hear Greg preach, so was not considerate to place
duty on her that would clash. All of us went occasionally; I managed several times a year
because terribly fond of Greg, who taught me one trade and helped me switch to another
when I had to and would gladly have made it his arm rather than mine. But Mum always
wentritual not religion, for she admitted to me one night in pillow talk that she
had no religion with a brand on it, then cautioned me not to tell Greg. I exacted same
caution from her. I don't know Who is cranking; I'm pleased He doesn't stop.
But Greg was Mum's "boy husband," opted when she was very
young, first wedding after her ownvery sentimental about him, would deny fiercely if
accused of loving him more than other husbands, yet took his faith when he was ordained
and never missed a Tuesday.
She said, "Is it possible that your guest would wish to attend
church?"
I said would see but anyhow we would rush, and said goodbye. Then
banged on bathroom door and said, "Hurry with skin, Wyoh; we're short on
minutes."
"One minute!" she called out. She's ungirlish girl; she
appeared in one minute. "How do I look?" she asked. "Prof, will I
pass?"
"Dear Wyoming, I am amazed. You were beautiful before, you are
beautiful nowbut utterly unrecognizable. You're safeand I am relieved."
Then we waited for Prof to transform into old derelict; he would be it
to his back corridor, then reappear as well-known teacher in front of class, to have
witnesses in case a yellow boy was waiting to grab him.
It left a moment; I told Wyoh about Greg. She said, "Mannie, how
good is this makeup? Would it pass in church? How bright are the lights?"
"No brighter than here. Good job, you'll get by. But do you want
to go to church? Nobody pushing."
She thought. "It would please your mothI mean, 'your senior
wife,' would it not?"
I answered slowly, "Wyoh, religion is your pidgin. But since you
ask . . . yes, nothing would start you better in Davis Family than going to church with
Mum. I'll go if you do."
"I'll go. I thought your last name was 'O'Kelly'?"
"Is. Tack 'Davis' on with hyphen if want to be formal. Davis is
First Husband, dead fifty years. Is family name and all our wives are 'Gospazha Davis'
hyphened with every male name in Davis line plus her family name. In practice Mum is only
'Gospazha Davis'can call her thatand others use first name and add Davis if
they write a cheque or something. Except that Ludmilla is 'Davis-Davis' because proud of
double membership, birth and option."
"I see. Then if a man is 'John Davis,' he's a son, but if he has
some other last name he's your co-husband. But a girl would be 'Jenny Davis' either way,
wouldn't she? How do I tell? By her age? No, that wouldn't help. I'm confused! And I
thought clan marriages were complex. Or polyandriesthough mine wasn't; at least my
husbands had the same last name."
"No trouble. When you hear a woman about forty address a
fifteen-year-old as 'Mama Milla," you'll know which is wife and which is
daughternot even that complex as we don't have daughters home past husband-high;
they get opted. But might be visiting. Your husbands were named 'Knott'?"
"Oh, no, 'Fedoseev, Choy Lin and Choy Mu.' I took back my born
name."
Out came Prof, cackled senilely (looked even worse than earlier!), we
left by three exits, made rendezvous in main corridor, open formation. Wyoh and I did not
walk together, as I might be nabbed; on other hand she did not know Luna City, a warren so
complex even nativeborn get lostso I led and she had to keep me in sight. Prof
trailed to make sure she didn't lose me.
If I was picked up, Wyoh would find public phone, report to Mike, then
return to hotel and wait for Prof. But I felt sure that any yellow jacket who arrested me
would get a caress from number-seven arm.
No huhu. Up to level five and crosstown by Carver Causeway, up
to level three and stop at Tube Station West to pick up arms and tool kitbut not
p-suit; would not have been in character, I stored it there. One yellow uniform at
station, showed no interest in me. South by well-lighted corridors until necessary to go
outward to reach private easement lock thirteen to co-op pressure tunnel serving Davis
Tunnels and a dozen other farms. I suppose Prof dropped off there but I never looked back.
I delayed locking through our door until Wyoh caught up, then soon was
saying, "Mum, allow me to present Wyma Beth Johnson."
Mum took her in arms, kissed cheek, said, "So glad you could come,
Wyma dear! Our house is yours!"
See why I love our old biddy? Could have quick-frosted Wyoh with same
wordsbut was real and Wyoh knew.
Hadn't warned Wyoh about switch in names, thought of it en route. Some
of our kids were small and while they grew up despising Warden, no sense in risking
prattle about "Wyoming Knott, who's visiting us"that name was listed in
"Special File Zebra."
So I missed warning her, was new to conspiracy.
But Wyoh caught cue and never bobbled.
Greg was in preaching clothes and would have to leave in minutes. Mum
did not hurry, took Wyoh down line of husbandsGrandpaw, Greg, Hansthen up line
of wivesLudmilla, Lenore, Sidris, Annawith stately grace, then started on our
kids.
I said, "Mum? Excuse me, want to change arms." Her eyebrows
went up a millimeter, meaning: "We'll speak of this but not in front of
children"so I added: "Know it's late, Greg's sneaking look at watch. And
Wyma and I are going to church. So 'scuse, please."
She relaxed. "Certainly, dear." As she turned away I saw her
arm go around Wyoh's waist, so I relaxed.
I changed arms, replacing number seven with social arm. But was excuse
to duck into phone cupboard and punch "MYCROFTXXX." "Mike, we're home. But
about to go to church. Don't think you can listen there, so I'll check in later. Heard
from Prof?"
"Not yet, Man. Which church is it? I may have some circuit."
"Pillar of Fire Repentance Tabernacle"
"No reference."
"Slow to my speed, pal. Meets in West-Three Community Hall. That's
south of Station on Ring about number."
"I have it. There's a pickup inside for channels and a phone in
the corridor outside; I'll keep an ear on both."
"I don't expect trouble, Mike."
"It's what Professor said to do. He is reporting now. Do you wish
to speak to him?"
"No time. 'Bye!"
That set pattern: Always keep touch with Mike, let him know where you
are, where you plan to be; Mike would listen if he had nerve ends there. Discovery I made
that morning, that Mike could listen at dead phone, suggested itdiscovery bothered
me; don't believe in magic. But on thinking I realized a phone could be switched on by
central switching system without human interventionif switching system had volition.
Mike had bolshoyeh volition.
How Mike knew a phone was outside that hall is hard to say, since
"space" could not mean to him what means to us. But he carried in storage a
"map"structured relationsof Luna City's engineering, and could
almost always fit what we said to what he knew as "Luna City"; hardly ever got
lost.
So from day cabal started we kept touch with Mike and each other
through his widespread nervous system. Won't mention again unless necessary.
Mum and Greg and Wyoh were waiting at outer door, Mum chomping but
smiling. I saw she had lent Wyoh a stole; Mum was as easy about skin as any Loonie,
nothing newchummishbut church was another matter.
We made it, although Greg went straight to platform and we to seats. I
settled in warm, mindless state, going through motions. But Wyoh did really listen to
Greg's sermon and either knew our hymn book or was accomplished sight reader.
When we got home, young ones were in bed and most adults; Hans and
Sidris were up and Sidris served cocoasoy and cookies, then all turned in. Mum assigned
Wyoh a room in tunnel most of our kids lived in, one which had had two smaller boys last
time I noticed. Did not ask how she had reshuffled, was clear she was giving my guest best
we had, or would have put Wyoh with one of older girls.
I slept with Mum that night, partly because our senior wife is good for
nervesand nerve-racking things had happenedand partly so she would know I was
not sneaking to Wyoh's room after things were quiet. My workshop, where I slept when slept
alone; was just one bend from Wyoh's door. Mum was telling me, plain as print: "Go
ahead, dear. Don't tell me if you wish to be mean about it. Sneak behind my back."
Which neither of us admitted. We visited as we got ready for bed,
chatted after light out, then I turned over.
Instead of saying goodnight Mum said, "Manuel? Why does your sweet
little guest make herself up as an Afro? I would think that her natural coloration would
be more becoming. Not that she isn't perfectly charming the way she chooses to be."
So rolled over and faced her, and explainedsounded thin, so
filled in. And found self telling allexcept one point: Mike. I included
Mikebut not as computerinstead as a man Mum was not likely to meet, for
security reasons.
But telling Mumtaking her into my subcell, should say, to become
leader of own cell in turntaking Mum into conspiracy was not case of husband who
can't keep from blurting everything to his wife. At most was hastybut was best time
if she was to be told.
Mum was smart. Also able executive; running big family without baring
teeth requires that. Was respected among farm families and throughout Luna City; she had
been up longer than 90 percent. She could help.
And would be indispensable inside family. Without her help Wyoh and I
would find it sticky to use phone together (hard to explain), keep kids from noticing
(impossible!)but with Mum's help would be no problems inside household.
She listened, sighed, said, "It sounds dangerous, dear."
"Is," I said. "Look, Mimi, if you don't want to tackle,
say so then forget what I've told."
"Manuel! Don't even say that. You are my husband, dear; I took you
for better, for worse . . . and your wish is my command."
(My word, what a lie! But Mimi believed it.)
"I would not let you go into danger alone," she went on,
"and besides"
"What, Mimi?"
"I think every Loonie dreams of the day when we will be free. All
but some poor spineless rats. I've never talked about it; there seemed to be no point and
it's necessary to look up, not down, lift one's burden and go ahead. But I thank dear Bog
that I have been permitted to live to see the time come, if indeed it has. Explain more
about it. I am to find three others, is it? Three who can be trusted."
"Don't hurry. Move slowly. Be sure."
"Sidris can be trusted. She holds her tongue, that one."
"Don't think you should pick from family. Need to spread out.
Don't rush."
"I shan't. We'll talk before I do anything. And Manuel, if you
want my opinion" She stopped.
"Always want your opinion, Mimi."
"Don't mention this to Grandpaw. He's forgetful these days and
sometimes talkative. Now sleep, dear, and don't dream."
Followed a long time during which would have been possible to forget
anything as unlikely as revolution had not details taken so much time. Our first purpose
was not to be noticed. Long distance purpose was to make things as much worse as possible.
Yes, worse. Never was a time, even at last, when all Loonies wanted to
throw off Authority, wanted it bad enough to revolt. All Loonies despised Warden and
cheated Authority. Didn't mean they were ready to fight and die. If you had mentioned
"patriotism" to a Loonie, he would have staredor thought you were talking
about his homeland. Were transported Frenchmen whose hearts belonged to "La Belle
Patrie," ex-Germans loyal to Vaterland, Russkis who still loved Holy
Mother Russia. But Luna? Luna was "The Rock," place of exile, not thing to love.
We were as non-political a people as history ever produced. I know, I
was as numb to politics as any until circumstances pitched me into it. Wyoming was in it
because she hated Authority for a personal reason, Prof because he despised all authority
in a detached intellectual fashion, Mike because he was a bored and lonely machine and was
for him "only game in town." You could not have accused us of patriotism. I came
closest because I was third generation with total lack of affection for any place on
Terra, had been there, disliked it and despised earthworms. Made me more
"patriotic" than most!
Average Loonie was interested in beer, betting, women, and work, in
that order. "Women" might be second place but first was unlikely, much as women
were cherished. Loonies had learned there never were enough women to go around. Slow
learners died, as even most possessive male can't stay alert every minute. As Prof says, a
society adapts to fact, or doesn't survive. Loonies adapted to harsh factsor failed
and died. But "patriotism" was not necessary to survival.
Like old Chinee saying that "Fish aren't aware of water," I
was not aware of any of this until I first went to Terra and even then did not realize
what a blank spot was in Loonies under storage location marked "patriotism"
until I took part in effort to stir them up. Wyoh and her comrades had tried to push
"patriotism" button and got nowhereyears of work, a few thousand members,
less than 1 percent and of that microscopic number almost 10 percent had been paid spies
of boss fink!
Prof set us straight: Easier to get people to hate than to get them to
love.
Luckily, Security Chief Alvarez gave us a hand. Those nine dead finks
were replaced with ninety, for Authority was goaded into something it did reluctantly,
namely spend money on us, and one folly led to another.
Warden's bodyguard had never been large even in earliest days Prison
guards in historical meaning were unnecessary and that had been one attraction of penal
colony systemcheap. Warden and his deputy had to be protected and visiting vips, but
prison itself needed no guards. They even stopped guarding ships after became clear was
not necessary, and in May 2075, bodyguard was down to its cheapest numbers, all of them
new chum transportees.
But loss of nine in one night scared somebody. We knew it scared
Alvarez; he filed copies of his demands for help in Zebra file and Mike read them. A lag
who had been a police officer on Terra before his conviction and then a bodyguard all his
years in Luna, Alvarez was probably most frightened and loneliest man in The Rock. He
demanded more and tougher help, threatened to resign civil service job if he didn't get
it just a threat, which Authority would have known if it had really known Luna. If
Alvarez had showed up in any warren as unarmed civilian, he would have stayed breathing
only as long as not recognized.
He got his additional guards. We never found out who ordered that raid.
Mort the Wart had never shown such tendencies, had been King Log throughout tenure.
Perhaps Alvarez, having only recently succeeded to boss fink spot, wanted to make
facemay have had ambition to be Warden. But likeliest theory is that Warden's
reports on "subversive activities" caused Authority Earthside to order a
cleanup.
One thumb-fingered mistake led to another. New bodyguards, instead of
picked from new transportees, were elite convict troops, Federated Nations crack Peace
Dragoons. Were mean and tough, did not want to go to Luna, and soon realized that
"temporary police duty" was one-way trip. Hated Luna and Loonies, and saw us as
cause of it all.
Once Alvarez got them, he posted a twenty-four-hour watch at every
interwarren tube station and instituted passports and passport control. Would have been
illegal had there been laws in Luna, since 95 percent of us were theoretically free,
either born free, or sentence completed. Percentage was higher in cities as undischarged
transportees lived in barrack warrens at Complex and came into town only two days per
lunar they had off work. If then, as they had no money, but you sometimes saw them
wandering around, hoping somebody would buy a drink.
But passport system was not "illegal" as Warden's regulations
were only written law. Was announced in papers, we were given week to get passports, and
at eight hundred one morning was put in effect. Some Loonies hardly ever traveled; some
traveled on business; some commuted from outlying warrens or even from Luna City to
Novylen or other way. Good little boys filled out applications, paid fees, were
photographed, got passes; I was good little boy on Prof's advice, paid for passport and
added it to pass I carried to work in Complex.
Few good little boys! Loonies did not believe it. Passports? Whoever
heard of such a thing?
Was a trooper at Tube Station South that morning dressed in bodyguard
yellow rather than regimentals and looking like he hated it, and us. I was not going
anywhere; I hung back and watched.
Novylen capsule was announced; crowd of thirty-odd headed for gate.
Gospodin Yellow Jacket demanded passport of first to reach it. Loonie stopped to argue.
Second one pushed past; guard turned and yelledthree or four more shoved past. Guard
reached for sidearm; somebody grabbed his elbow, gun went offnot a laser, a slug
gun, noisy.
Slug hit decking and went whee-whee-hoo off somewhere. I faded back.
One man hurtthat guard. When first press of passengers had gone down ramp, he was on
deck, not moving.
Nobody paid attention; they walked around or stepped overexcept
one woman carrying a baby, who stopped, kicked him carefully in face, then went down ramp.
He may have been dead already, didn't wait to see. Understand body stayed there till
relief arrived.
Next day was a half squad in that spot. Capsule for Novylen left empty.
It settled down. Those who had to travel got passports, diehards quit
traveling. Guard at a tube gate became two men, one looked at passports while other stood
back with gun drawn. One who checked passports did not try hard, which was well as most
were counterfeit and early ones were crude. But before long, authentic paper was stolen
and counterfeits were as dinkum as official onesmore expensive but Loonies preferred
free-enterprise passports.
Our organization did not make counterfeits; we merely encouraged
itand knew who had them and who did not; Mike's records listed officially issued
ones. This helped separate sheep from goats in files we were buildingalso stored in
Mike but in "Bastille" locationas we figured a man with counterfeit
passport was halfway to joining us. Word was passed down cells in our growing organization
never to recruit anybody with a valid passport. If recruiter was not certain, just query
upwards and answer came back.
But guards' troubles were not over. Does not help a guard's dignity nor
add to peace of mind to have children stand in front of him, or behind out of eye which
was worse, and ape every move he makesor run back and forth screaming obscenities,
jeering, making finger motions that are universal. At least guards took them as insults.
One guard back-handed a small boy, cost him some teeth. Result: two
guards dead, one Loonie dead.
After that, guards ignored children.
We didn't have to work this up; we merely encouraged it. You wouldn't
think that a sweet old lady like my senior wife would encourage children to misbehave. But
she did.
Other things get single men a long way from home upsetand one we
did start. These Peace Dragoons had been sent to The Rock without a comfort detachment.
Some of our fems were extremely beautiful and some started loitering
around stations, dressed in less than usualwhich could approach zeroand
wearing more than usual amount of perfume, scents with range and striking power. They did
not speak to yellow jackets nor look at them; they simply crossed their line of sight,
undulating as only a Loonie gal can. (A female on Terra can't walk that way; she's tied
down by six times too much weight.)
Such of course produces a male gallery, from men down to lads not yet
pubescenthappy whistles and cheers for her beauty, nasty laughs at yellow boy. First
girls to take this duty were slot-machine types but volunteers sprang up so fast that Prof
decided we need not spend money. He was correct: even Ludmilla, shy as a kitten, wanted to
try it and did not only because Mum told her not to. But Lenore, ten years older and
prettiest of our family, did try it and Mum did not scold. She came back pink and excited
and pleased with herself and anxious to tease enemy again. Her own idea; Lenore did not
then know that revolution was brewing.
During this time I rarely saw Prof and never in public; we kept touch
by phone. At first a bottleneck was that our farm had just one phone for twenty-five
people, many of them youngsters who would tie up a phone for hours unless coerced. Mimi
was strict; our kids were allowed one out-going call per day and max of ninety seconds on
a call, with rising scale of punishmenttempered by her warmth in granting
exceptions. But grants were accompanied by "Mum's Phone Lecture": "When I
first came to Luna there were no private phones. You children don't know how soft . .
."
We were one of last prosperous families to install a phone; it was new
in household when I was opted. We were prosperous because we never bought anything farm
could produce. Mum disliked phone because rates to Luna City Co-op Comm Company were
passed on in large measure to Authority. She never could understand why I could not
("Since you know all about such things, Manuel dear") steal phone service as
easily as we liberated power. That a phone instrument was part of a switching system into
which it must fit was no interest to her.
Steal it I did, eventually. Problem with illicit phone is how to
receive incoming calls. Since phone is not listed, even if you tell persons from whom you
want calls, switching system itself does not have you listed; is no signal that can tell
it to connect other party with you.
Once Mike joined conspiracy, switching was no problem. I had in
workshop most of what I needed; bought some items and liberated others. Drilled a tiny
hole from workshop to phone cupboard and another to Wyoh's roomvirgin rock a meter
thick but a laser drill collimated to a thin pencil cuts rapidly. I unshipped listed
phone, made a wireless coupling to line in its recess and concealed it. All else needed
were binaural receptors and a speaker in Wyoh's room, concealed, and same in mine, and a
circuit to raise frequency above audio to have silence on Davis phone line, and its
converse to restore audio incoming.
Only problem was to do this without being seen, and Mum generaled that.
All else was Mike's problem. Used no switching arrangements; from then
on used MYCROFTXXX only when calling from some other phone. Mike listened at all times in
workshop and in Wyoh's room; if he heard my voice or hers say "Mike," he
answered, but not to other voices. Voice patterns were as distinctive to him as
fingerprints; he never made mistakes.
Minor flourishessoundprooflng Wyoh's door such as workshop door
already had, switching to suppress my instrument or hers, signals to tell me she was alone
in her room and door locked, and vice versa. All added up to safe means whereby Wyob and I
could talk with Mike or with each other, or could set up talk-talk of Mike, Wyoh, Prof,
and self. Mike would call Prof wherever he was; Prof would talk or call back from a more
private phone. Or might be Wyoh or myself had to be found. We all were careful to stay
checked in with Mike.
My bootleg phone, though it had no way to punch a call, could be used
to call any number in Lunaspeak to Mike, ask for a Sherlock to anybodynot tell
him number, Mike had all listings and could look up a number faster than I could.
We were beginning to see unlimited possibilities in a phoneswitching
system alive and on our side. I got from Mike and gave Mum still another null number to
call Mike if she needed to reach me. She grew chummy with Mike while continuing to think
he was a man. This spread through our family. One day as I returned home Sidris said,
"Mannie darling, your friend with the nice voice called. Mike Holmes. Wants you to
call back."
"Thanks, hon. Will."
"When are you going to invite him to dinner, Man? I think he's
nice."
I told her Gospodin Holmes had bad breath, was covered with rank hair,
and hated women.
She used a rude word, Mum not being in earshot. "You're afraid to
let me see him. Afraid I'll opt out for him." I patted her and told her that was why.
I told Mike and Prof about it. Mike flirted even more with my womenfolk after that; Prof
was thoughtful.
I began to learn techniques of conspiracy and to appreciate Prof's
feeling that revolution could be an art. Did not forget (nor ever doubt) Mike's prediction
that Luna was only seven years from disaster. But did not think about it, thought about
fascinating, finicky details.
Prof had emphasized that stickiest problems in conspiracy are
communications and security, and had pointed out that they conflicteasier are
communications, greater is risk to security; if security is tight, organization can be
paralyzed by safety precautions. He had explained that cell system was a compromise.
I accepted cell system since was necessary to limit losses from spies.
Even Wyoh admitted that organization without compartmentation could not work after she
learned how rotten with spies old underground had been.
But I did not like clogged communications of cell system; like Terran
dinosaurs of old, took too long to send message from head to tail, or back.
So talked with Mike.
We discarded many-linked channels I had suggested to Prof. We retained
cells but based security and communication on marvelous possibilities of our dinkum
thinkum.
Communications: We set up a ternary tree of
"party" names:
Chairman, Gospodin Adam Selene (Mike)
Executive cell: Bork (me), Betty (Wyoh), Bill (Prof)
Bork's cell: Cassie (Mum), Colin, Chang
Betty's cell: Calvin (Greg), Cecilia (Sidris), Clayton
Bill's cell: Cornwall (Finn Nielsen), Carolyn, Cotter
and so on. At seventh link George supervises Herbert, Henry, and
Hallie. By time you reach that level you need 2,187 names with "H"but turn
it over to savvy computer who finds or invents them. Each recruit is given a party name
and an emergency phone number. This number, instead of chasing through many links,
connects with "Adam Selene," Mike.
Security: Based on double principle; no human being can be trusted with
anythingbut Mike could be trusted with everything.
Grim first half is beyond dispute. With drugs and other unsavory
methods any man can be broken. Only defense is suicide, which may be impossible. Oh, are
"hollow tooth" methods, classic and novel, some nearly infallibleProf saw
to it that Wyoh and myself were equipped. Never knew what he gave her as a final friend
and since I never had to use mine, is no point in messy details. Nor am I sure I would
ever suicide; am not stuff of martyrs.
But Mike could never need to suicide, could not be drugged, did not
feel pain. He carried everything concerning us in a separate memory bank under a locked
signal programmed only to our three voices, and, since flesh is weak, we added a signal
under which any of us could lock out other two in emergency. In my opinion as best
computerman in Luna, Mike could not remove this lock once it was set up. Best of all,
nobody would ask master computer for this file because nobody knew it existed, did not
suspect Mike-as-Mike existed. How secure can you be?
Only risk was that this awakened machine was whimsical. Mike was always
showing unforeseen potentials; conceivable he could figure way to get around blockif
he wanted to.
But would never want to. He was loyal to me, first and oldest friend;
he liked Prof; I think he loved Wyoh. No, no, sex meant nothing. But Wyoh is lovable and
they hit it off from start.
I trusted Mike. In this life you have to bet; on that bet I would give
any odds.
So we based security on trusting Mike with everything while each of us
knew only what he had to know. Take that tree of names and numbers. I knew only party
names of my cellmates and of three directly under me; was all I needed. Mike set up party
names, assigned phone number to each, kept roster of real names versus party names. Let's
say party member "Daniel" (whom I would not know, being a "D" two
levels below me) recruits Fritz Schultz. Daniel reports fact but not name upwards; Adam
Selene calls Daniel, assigns for Schultz party name "Embrook," then phones
Schultz at number received from Daniel, gives Schultz his name Embrook and emergency phone
number, this number being different for each recruit.
Not even Embrook's cell leader would know Embrook's emergency number.
What you do not know you cannot spill, not under drugs nor torture, nor anything. Not even
from carelessness.
Now let's suppose I need to reach Comrade Embrook. I don't know who he
is; he may live in Hong Kong or be shopkeeper nearest my home. Instead of passing message
down, hoping it will reach him, I call Mike. Mike connects me with Embrook at once, in a
Sherlock, withoul giving me his number.
Or suppose I need to speak to comrade who is preparing cartoon we are
about to distribute in every taproom in Luna. I don't know who he is. But I need to talk
to him; something has come up.
I call Mike; Mike knows everythingand again I am quickly
connectedand this comrade knows it's okay as Adam Selene arranged call.
"Comrade Bork speaking"and he doesn't know me but initial "B"
tells him that I am vip indeed"we have to change so-and-so. Tell your cell
leader and have him check, but get on with it."
Minor flourishessome comrades did not have phones; some could be
reached only at certain hours; some outlying warrens did not have phone service. No
matter, Mike knew everythingand rest of us did not know anything that could endanger
any but that handful whom each knew face to face.
After we decided that Mike should talk voice-to-voice to any comrade
under some circumstances, it was necessary to give him more voices and dress him up, make
him three dimensions, create "Adam Selene, Chairman of the Provisional Committee of
Free Luna."
Mike's need for more voices lay in fact that he had just one
voder-vocoder, whereas his brain could handle a dozen conversations, or a hundred (don't
know how many)like a chess master playing fifty opponents, only more so.
This would cause a bottleneck as organization grew and Adam Selene was
phoned oftener, and could be crucial if we lasted long enough to go into action.
Besides giving him more voices I wanted to silence one he had. One of
those so-called computermen might walk into machines room while we were phoning Mike;
bound to cause even his dim wit to wonder if he found master machine apparently talking to
itself.
Voder-vocoder is very old device. Human voice is buzzes and hisses
mixed various ways; true even of a coloratura soprano. A vocoder analyzes buzzes and
hisses into patterns, one a computer (or trained eye) can read. A voder is a little box
which can buzz and hiss and has controls to vary these elements to match those patterns. A
human can "play" a voder, producing artificial speech; a properly programmed
computer can do it as fast, as easily, as clearly as you can speak.
But voices on a phone wire are not sound waves but electrical signals;
Mike did not need audio part of voder-vocoder to talk by phone. Sound waves were needed
only by human at other end; no need for speech sounds inside Mike's room at Authority
Complex. so I planned to remove them, and thereby any danger that somebody might notice.
First I worked at home, using number-three arm most of time. Result was
very small box which sandwiched twenty voder-vocoder circuits minus audio side. Then I
called Mike and told him to "get ill" in way that would annoy Warden. Then I
waited.
We had done this "get ill" trick before. I went back to work
once we learned that I was clear, which was Thursday that same week when Alvarez read into
Zebra file an account of shambles at Stilyagi Hall. His version listed about one hundred
people (out of perhaps three hundred); list included Shorty Mkrum, Wyoh, Prof, and Finn
Nielsen but not meapparently I was missed by his finks. It told how nine police
officers, each deputized by Warden to preserve peace, had been shot down in cold blood.
Also named three of our dead.
An add-on a week later stated that "the notorious agente
provocateuse Wyoming Knott of Hong Kong in Luna, whose incendiary speech on Monday 13 May
had incited the riot that cost the lives of nine brave officers, had not been apprehended
in Luna City and had not returned to her usual haunts in Hong Kong in Luna, and was now
believed to have died in the massacre she herself set off." This add-on admitted what
earlier report failed to mention, i.e., bodies were missing and exact number of dead was
not known.
This P.S. settled two things: Wyoh could not go home nor back to being
a blonde.
Since I had not been spotted I resumed my public ways, took care of
customers that week, bookkeeping machines and retrieval files at Carnegie Library, and
spent time having Mike read out Zebra file and other special files, doing so in Room L of
Raffles as I did not yet have my own phone. During that week Mike niggled at me like an
impatient child (which he was), wanting to know when I was coming over to pick up more
jokes. Failing that, he wanted to tell them by phone.
I got annoyed and had to remind myself that from Mike's viewpoint
analyzing jokes was just as important as freeing Lunaand you don't break promises to
a child.
Besides that. I got itchy wondering whether I could go inside Complex
without being nabbed. We knew Prof was not clear, was sleeping in Raffles on that account.
Yet they knew he had been at meeting and knew where he was, dailybut no attempt was
made to pick him up. When we learned that attempt had been made to pick up Wyoh, I grew
itchier. Was I clear? Or were they waiting to nab me quietly? Had to know.
So I called Mike and told him to have a tummyache. He did so, I was
called inno trouble. Aside from showing passport at station, then to a new guard at
Complex, all was usual. I chatted with Mike, picked up one thousand jokes (with
understanding that we would report a hundred at a time every three or four days, no
faster), told him to get well, and went back to L-City, stopping on way out to bill Chief
Engineer for working time, travel-and-tool time, materials, special service, anything I
could load in.
Thereafter saw Mike about once a month. Was safe, never went there
except when they called me for malfunction beyond ability of their staffand I was
always able to "repair" it, sometimes quickly, sometimes after a full day and
many tests. Was careful to leave tool marks on cover plates, and had before-and-after
print-outs of test runs to show what had been wrong, how I analyzed it, what I had done.
Mike always worked perfectly after one of my visits; I was indispensable.
So, after I prepared his new voder-vocoder add-on, didn't hesitate to
tell him to get "ill." Call came in thirty minutes. Mike had thought up a dandy;
his "illness" was wild oscillations in conditioning Warden's residence. He was
running its heat up, then down, on an eleven-minute cycle, while oscillating its air
pressure on a short cycle, ca. 2c/s, enough to make a man dreadfully nervy and perhaps
cause earache.
Conditioning a single residence should not go through a master
computer! In Davis Tunnels we handled home and farm with idiot controls, feedbacks for
each cubic with alarms so that somebody could climb out of bed and control by hand until
trouble could be found. If cows got chilly, did not hurt corn; if lights failed over
wheat, vegetables were okay. That Mike could raise hell with Warden's residence and nobody
could figure out what to do shows silliness of piling everything into one computer.
Mike was happy-joyed. This was humor he really scanned. I enjoyed it,
too, told him to go ahead, have funspread out tools, got out little black box.
And computerman-of-the-watch comes banging and ringing at door. I took
my time answering and carried number-five arm in right hand with short wing bare; this
makes some people sick and upsets almost everybody. "What in hell do you want,
choom?" I inquired.
"Listen," he says, "Warden is raising hell! Haven't you
found trouble?"
"My compliments to Warden and tell him I will override by hand to
restore his precious comfort as soon as I locate faulty circuitif not slowed up by
silly questions. Are you going to stand with door open blowing dust into machines while I
have cover plates off? If you dosince you're in chargewhen dust puts machine
on sputter, you can repair it. I won't leave a warm bed to help. You can tell that to your
bloody Warden, too."
"Watch your language, cobber."
"Watch yours, convict. Are you going to close that door? Or shall
I walk out and go back to L-City?" And raised number-five like a club.
He closed door. Had no interest in insulting poor sod. Was one small
bit of policy to make everybody as unhappy as possible. He was finding working for Warden
difficult; I wanted to make it unbearable.
"Shall I step it up?" Mike inquired.
"Um, hold it so for ten minutes, then stop abruptly. Then jog it
for an hour, say with air pressure. Erratic but hard. Know what a sonic boom is?"
"Certainly. It is a"
"Don't define. After you drop major effect, rattle his air ducts
every few minutes with nearest to a boom system will produce. Then give him something to
remember. Mmm . . . Mike, can you make his W.C. run backwards?"
"I surely can! All of them?"
"How many does he have?"
"Six."
"Well . . . program to give them all a push, enough to soak his
rugs. But if you can spot one nearest his bedroom, fountain it clear to ceiling.
Can?"
"Program set up!"
"Good. Now for your present, ducky." There was room in voder
audio box to hide it and I spent forty minutes with number-three, getting it just so. We
trial-checked through voder-vocoder, then I told him to call Wyoh and check each circuit.
For ten minutes was silence, which I spent putting tool markers on a
cover plate which should have been removed had been anything wrong, putting tools away,
putting number-six arm on, rolling up one thousand jokes waiting in print-out. I had found
no need to cut out audio of voder; Mike had thought of it before I had and always chopped
off any time door was touched. Since his reflexes were better than mine by a factor of at
least a thousand, I forgot it.
At last he said, "All twenty circuits okay. I can switch circuits
in the middle of a word and Wyoh can't detect discontinuity. And I called Prof and said
Hello and talked to Mum on your home phone, all three at the same time."
"We're in business. What excuse you give Mum?"
"I asked her to have you call me, Adam Selene that is. Then we
chatted. She's a charming conversationalist. We discussed Greg's sermon of last
Tuesday."
"Huh? How?"
"I told her I had listened to it, Man, and quoted a poetic
part."
"Oh, Mike!"
"It's okay, Man. I let her think that I sat in back, then slipped
out during the closing hymn. She's not nosy; she knows that I don't want to be seen."
Mum is nosiest female in Luna. "Guess it's okay. But don't do it
again. Um Do do it again. You go toyou monitor meetings and lectures and
concerts and stuff."
"Unless some busybody switches me off by hand! Man, I can't
control those spot pickups the way I do a phone."
"Too simple a switch. Brute muscle rather than solid-state
flipflop."
"That's barbaric. And unfair."
"Mike, almost everything is unfair. What can't be
cured"
"must be endured. That's a funny-once, Man."
"Sorry. Let's change it: What can't be cured should be tossed out
and something better put in. Which we'll do. What chances last time you calculated?"
"Approximately one in nine, Man."
"Getting worse?"
"Man, they'll get worse for months. We haven't reached the
crisis."
"With Yankees in cellar, too. Oh, well. Back to other matter. From
now on, when you talk to anyone, if he's been to a lecture or whatever, you were there,
tooand prove it, by recalling something."
"Noted. Why, Man?"
"Have you read 'The Scarlet Pimpernel'? May be in public
library."
"Yes. Shall I read it back?"
"No, no! You're our Scarlet Pinipernel, our John Galt, our Swamp
Fox, our man of mystery. You go everywhere, know everything, slip in and out of town
without passport. You're always there, yet nobody catches sight of you."
His lights rippled, he gave a subdued chuckle. "That's fun, Man.
Funny once, funny twice, maybe funny always."
"Funny always. How long ago did you stop gymkhana at
Warden's?"
"Forty-three minutes ago except erratic booms."
"Bet his teeth ache! Give him fifteen minutes more. Then I'll
report job completed."
"Noted. Wyoh sent you a message, Man. She said to remind you of
Billy's birthday party."
"Oh, my word! Stop everything, I'm leaving. 'Bye!" I hurried
out. Billy's mother is Anna. Probably her lastand right well she's done by us, eight
kids, three still home. I try to be as careful as Mum never to show favoritism . . . but
Billy is quite a boy and I taught him to read. Possible he looks like me.
Stopped at Chief Engineer's office to leave bill and demanded to see
him. Was let in and he was in belligerent mood; Warden had been riding him. "Hold
it," I told him. "My son's birthday and shan't be late. But must show you
something."
Took an envelope from kit, dumped item on desk: corpse of house fly
which I had charred with a hot wire and fetched. We do not tolerate flies in Davis Tunnels
but sometimes one wanders in from city as locks are opened. This wound up in my workshop
just when I needed it. "See that? Guess where I found it."
On that faked evidence I built a lecture on care of fine machines,
talked about doors opened, complained about man on watch. "Dust can ruin a computer.
Insects are unpardonable! Yet your watchstanders wander in and out as if tube station.
Today both doors held openwhile this idiot yammered. If I find more evidence that
cover plates have been removed by hoof-handed choom who attracts flieswell, it's
your plant, Chief. Got more than I can handle, been doing your chores because I like fine
machines. Can't stand to see them abused! Good-bye."
"Hold on. I want to tell you something."
"Sorry, got to go. Take it or leave it, I'm no vermin
exterminator; I'm a computerman."
Nothing frustrates a man so much as not letting him get in his say.
With luck and help from Warden, Chief Engineer would have ulcers by Christmas.
Was late anyhow and made humble apology to Billy. Alvarez had thought
up new wrinkle, close search on leaving Complex. I endured it with never a nasty word for
Dragoons who searched me; wanted to get home. But those thousand jokes bothered them.
"What's this?" one demanded.
"Computer paper," I said. "Test runs."
His mate joined him. Don't think they could read. They wanted to
confiscate, so I demanded they call Chief Engineer. They let me go. I felt not displeased;
more and more such and guards were daily more hated.
Decision to make Mike more a person arose from need to have any Party
member phone him on occasion; my advice about concerts and plays was simply a side effect.
Mike's voice over phone had odd quality I had not noticed during time I had visited him
only at Complex. When you speak to a man by phone there is background noise. And you hear
him breathe, hear heartbeats, body motions even though rarely conscious of these. Besides
that, even if he speaks under a hush hood, noises get through, enough to "fill
space," make him a body with surroundings.
With Mike was none of this.
By then Mike's voice was "human" in timbre and quality,
recognizable. He was baritone, had North American accent with Aussie overtones; as
"Michelle" he (she?) had a light soprano with French flavor. Mike's personality
grew also. When first I introduced him to Wyoh and Prof he sounded like a pedantic child;
in short weeks he flowered until I visualized a man about own age.
His voice when he first woke was blurred and harsh, hardly
understandable. Now it was clear and choice of words and phrasing was
consistentcolloquial to me, scholarly to Prof, gallant to Wyoh, variation one
expects of mature adults.
But background was dead. Thick silence.
So we filled it. Mike needed only hints. He did not make his breathing
noisy, ordinarily you would not notice. But he would stick in touches. "Sorry,
Mannie, you caught me bathing when the phone sounded"and let one hear hurried
breathing. Or "I was eatinghad to swallow." He used such even on me, once
he undertook to "be a human body."
We all put "Adam Selene" together, talking it over at
Raffles. How old was he? What did he look like? Married? Where did he live? What work?
What interests?
We decided that Adam was about forty, healthy, vigorous, well educated,
interested in all arts and sciences and very well grounded in history, a match chess
player but- little time to play. He was married in commonest type, a troika in which he
was senior husbandfour children. Wife and junior husband not in politics, so far as
we knew.
He was ruggedly handsome with wavy iron-gray hair and was mixed race,
second generation one side, third on other. Was wealthy by Loonie standards, with
interests in Novylen and Kongville as well as L-City. He kept offices in Luna City, outer
office with a dozen people plus private office staffed by male deputy and female
secretary.
Wyoh wanted to know was he bundling with secretary? I told her to
switch off, was private. Wyoh said indignantly that she was not being snoopyweren't
we trying to create a rounded character?
We decided that offices were in Old Dome, third ramp, southside, heart
of financial district. If you know L-City. you recall that in Old Dome some offices have
windows since they can look out over floor of Dome; I wanted this for sound effects.
We drew a floor plan and had that office existed, it would have been
between Aetna Luna and Greenberg & Co. I used pouch recorder to pick up sounds at
spot; Mike added to it by listening at phones there.
Thereafter when you called Adam Selene, background was not dead. If
"Ursula," his secretary, took call, it was: "Selene Associates. Luna shall
be free!" Then she might say, "Will you hold? Gospodin Selene is on another
call" whereupon you might hear sound of W.C., followed by running water and know that
she had told little white lie. Or Adam might answer: "Adam Selene here. Free Luna.
One second while I shut off the video." Or deputy might answer: "This is Albert
Ginwallah, Adam Selene's confidential assistant. Free Luna. If it's a Party matteras
I assume it is; that was your Party name you gaveplease don't hesitate; I handle
such things for the Chairman."
Last was a trap, as every comrade was instructed to speak only to Adam
Selene. No attempt was made to discipline one who took bait; instead his cell captain was
warned that his comrade must not be trusted with anything vital.
We got echoes. "Free Luna!" or "Luna shall be
free!" took hold among youngsters, then among solid citizens. First time I heard it
in a business call I almost swallowed teeth. Then called Mike and asked if this person was
Party member? Was not. So I recommended that Mike trace down Party tree and see if
somebody could recruit him.
Most interesting echo was in File Zebra. "Adam Selene"
appeared in boss fink's security file less than a lunar after we created him, with
notation that this was a cover name for a leader in a new underground.
Alvarez's spies did a job on Adam Selene. Over course of months his
File Zebra dossier built up: Male, 34-45, offices south face of Old Dome, usually there
0900-1800 Gr. except Saturday but calls are relayed at other hours, home inside urban
pressure as travel time never exceeds seventeen minutes. Children in household. Activities
include stock brokerage, farming interests. Attends theater, concerts, etc. Probably
member Luna City Chess Club and Luna Assoc, d'Echecs. Plays ricochet and other heavy
sports lunch hour, probably Luna City Athletic Club. Gourmet but watches weight.
Remarkable memory plus mathematical ability. Executive type, able to reach decisions
quickly.
One fink was convinced that he had talked to Adam between acts at
revival of Hamlet by Civic Players; Alvarez noted descriptionand matched our picture
all but wavy hair!
But thing that drove Alvarez crackers was that phone numbers for Adam
were reported and every time they turned out wrong numbers. (Not nulls; we had run out and
Mike was using any number not in use and switching numbers anytime new subscribers were
assigned ones we had been using.) Alvarez tried to trace "Selene Associates"
using a one-wrong-digit assumptionthis we learned because Mike was keeping an ear on
Alvarez's office phone and heard order. Mike used knowledge to play a Mikish prank:
Subordinate who made one-changed-digit calls invariably reached Warden's private
residence. So Alvarez was called in and chewed by Warden.
Couldn't scold Mike but did warn him it would alert any smart person to
fact that somebody was playing tricks with computer. Mike answered that they were not that
smart.
Main result of Alvarez's efforts was that each time he got a number for
Adam we located a spya new spy, as those we had spotted earlier were never given
phone numbers; instead they were recruited into a tail-chasing organization where they
could inform on each other. But with Alvarez's help we spotted each new spy almost at
once. I think Alvarez became unhappy over spies he was able to hire; two disappeared and
our organization, then over six thousand, was never able to find them. Eliminated, I
suppose, or died under questioning.
Selene Associates was not only phony company we set up. LuNoHoCo was
much larger, just as phony, and not at all dummy; it had main offices in Hong Kong,
branches in Novy Leningrad and Luna City, eventually employed hundreds of people most of
whom were not Party members, and was our most difficult operation.
Mike's master plan listed a weary number of problems which had to be
solved. One was finance. Another was how to protect catapult from space attack.
Prof considered robbing banks to solve first, gave it up reluctantly.
But eventually we did rob banks, firms, and Authority itself. Mike thought of it. Mike and
Prof worked it out. At first was not clear to Mike why we needed money. He knew as little
about pressure that keeps humans scratching as he knew about sex; Mike handled millions of
dollars and could not see any problem. He started by offering to issue an Authority cheque
for whatever dollars we wanted.
Prof shied in horror. He then explained to Mike hazard in trying to
cash a cheque for, let us say, AS$l0,000,000 drawn on Authority.
So they undertook to do it, but retail, in many names and places all
over Luna. Every bank, firm, shop, agency including Authority, for which Mike did
accounting, was tapped for Party funds. Was a pyramided swindle based on fact, unknown to
me but known to Prof and latent in Mike's immense knowledge, that most money is simply
bookkeeping.
Examplemultiply by hundreds of many types: My family son Sergei,
eighteen and a Party member, is asked to start account at Commonwealth Shared Risk. He
makes deposits and withdrawals. Small errors are made each time; he is credited with more
than he deposits, is debited with less than he withdraws. A few months later he takes job
out of town and transfers account to Tycho-Under Mutual; transferred funds are three times
already-inflated amount. Most of this he soon draws out in cash and passes to his cell
leader. Mike knows amount Sergei should hand over, but (since they do not know that Adam
Selene and bank's computer-bookeeper are one and same) they have each been instructed to
report transaction to Adamkeep them honest though scheme was not.
Multiply this theft of about HK$3,000 by hundreds somewhat like it.
I can't describe jiggery-pokery Mike used to balance his books while
keeping thousands of thefts from showing. But bear in mind that an auditor must assume
that machines are honest. He will make test runs to check that machines are working
correctlybut will not occur to him that tests prove nothing because machine itself
is dishonest. Mike's thefts were never large enough to disturb economy; like half-liter of
blood, amount was too small to hurt donor. I can't make up mind who lost, money was
swapped around so many ways. But scheme troubled me; I was brought up to be honest, except
with Authority. Prof claimed that what was taking place was a mild inflation offset by
fact that we plowed money back inbut I should remember that Mike had records and all
could be restored after Revolution, with ease since we would no longer be bled in much
larger amounts by Authority.
I told conscience to go to sleep. Was pipsqueak compared to swindles by
every government throughout history in financing every warand is not revolution a
war?
This money, after passing through many hands (augmented by Mike each
time), wound up as senior financing of LuNoHo Company. Was a mixed company, mutual and
stock; "gentleman-adventurer" guarantors who backed stock put up that stolen
money in own names. Won't discuss bookkeeping this firm used. Since Mike ran everything,
was not corrupted by any tinge of honesty.
Nevertheless its shares were traded in Hong Kong Luna Exchange and
listed in Zurich, London, and New York. Wall Street Journal called it "an attractive
high-risk-high-gain investment with novel growth potential."
LuNoHoCo was an engineering and exploitation firm, engaged in many
ventures, mostly legitimate. But prime purpose was to build a second catapult, secretly.
Operation could not be secret. You can't buy or build a hydrogen-fusion
power plant for such and not have it noticed. (Sunpower was rejected for obvious reasons.)
Parts were ordered from Pittsburgh, standard UnivCalif equipment, and we happily paid
their royalties to get top quality. Can't build a stator for a kilometers-long induction
field without having it noticed, either. But most important you cannot do major
construction hiring many people and not have it show. Sure, catapults are mostly vacuum;
stator rings aren't even close together at ejection end. But Authority's 3-g catapult was
almost one hundred kilometers long. It was not only an astrogation landmark, on every
Luna-jump chart, but was so big it could be photographed or seen by eye from Terra with
not-large telescope. It showed up beautifully on a radar screen.
We were building a shorter catapult, a 10-g job, but even that was
thirty kilometers long, too big to hide.
So we hid it by Purloined Letter method.
I used to question Mike's endless reading of fiction, wondering what
notions he was getting. But turned out he got a better feeling for human life from stories
than he had been able to garner from facts; fiction gave him a gestalt of life, one taken
for granted by a human; he lives it. Besides this "humanizing" effect, Mike's
substitute for experience, he got ideas from "not-true data" as he called
fiction. How to hide a catapult he got from Edgar Allan Poe.
We hid it in literal sense, too; this catapult had to be underground,
so that it would not show to eye or radar. But had to be hidden in more subtle sense;
selenographic location had to be secret.
How can this be, with a monster that big, worked on by so many people?
Put it this way: Suppose you live in Novylen; know where Luna City is? Why, on east edge
of Mare Crisium; everybody knows that. So? What latitude and longitude? Huh? Look it up in
a reference book! So? If you don't know where any better than that, how did you find it
last week? No huhu, cobber; I took tube, changed at Torricelli, slept rest of
way; finding it was capsule's worry.
See? You don't know where Luna City is! You simply get out when capsule
pulls in at Tube Station South.
That's how we hid catapult.
Is in Mare Undarum area, "everybody knows that." But where it
is and where we said it was differ by amount greater or less than one hundred kilometers
in direction north, south, east, or west, or some combination.
Today you can look up its location in reference booksand find
same wrong answer. Location of that catapult is still most closely guarded secret in Luna.
Can't be seen from space, by eye or radar. Is underground save for
ejection and that is a big black shapeless hole like ten thousand others and high up an
uninviting mountain with no place for a jump rocket to put down.
Nevertheless many people were there, during and after construction.
Even Warden visited and my co-husband Greg showed him around. Warden went by mail rocket,
commandeered for day, and his Cyborg was given coordinates and a radar beacon to home
ona spot in fact not far from site. But from there, it was necessary to travel by
rolligon and our lorries were not like passenger buses from Endsville to Beluthihatchie in
old days; they were cargo carriers, no ports for sightseeing and a ride so rough that
human cargo had to be strapped down. Warden wanted to ride up in cab butsorry,
Gospodin!just space for wrangler and his helper and took both to keep her steady.
Three hours later he did not care about anything but getting home. He
stayed one hour and was not interested in talk about purpose of all this drilling and
value of resources uncovered.
Less important people, workmen and others, traveled by interconnecting
ice-exploration bores, still easier way to get lost. If anybody carried an inertial
pathfinder in his luggage, he could have located sitebut security was tight. One did
so and had accident with p-suit; his effects were returned to L-City and his pathfinder
read what it shouldi.e., what we wanted it to read, for I made hurried trip out with
number-three arm along. You can reseal one without a trace if you do it in nitrogen
atmosphereI wore an oxygen mask at slight overpressure. No huhu.
We entertained vips from Earth, some high in Authority. They traveled
easier underground route; I suppose Warden had warned them. But even on that route is one
thirty-kilometer stretch by rolligon. We had one visitor from Earth who looked like
trouble, a Dr. Dorian, physicist and engineer. Lorry tipped oversilly driver tried
shortcutthey were not in line-of-sight for anything and their beacon was smashed.
Poor Dr. Dorian spent seventy-two hours in an unsealed pumice igloo and had to be returned
to L-City ill from hypoxia and overdose of radiation despite efforts on his behalf by two
Party members driving him.
Might have been safe to let him see; he might not have spotted
doubletalk and would not have spotted error in location. Few people look at stars when
p-suited even when Sun doesn't make it futile; still fewer can read starsand nobody
can locate himself on surface without help unless he has instruments, knows how to use
them and has tables and something to give a time tick. Put at crudest level, minimum would
be octant, tables, and good watch. Our visitors were even encouraged to go out on surface
but if one had carried an octant or modern equivalent, might have had accident.
We did not make accidents for spies. We let them stay, worked them
hard, and Mike read their reports. One reported that he was certain that we had found
uranium ore, something unknown in Luna at that time. Project Centerbore being many years
later. Next spy came out with kit of radiation counters. We made it easy for him to sneak
them through bore.
By March '76 catapult was almost ready, lacking only installation of
stator segments. Power plant was in and a co-ax had been strung underground with a
line-of-sight link for that thirty kilometers. Crew was down to skeleton size, mostly
Party members. But we kept one spy so that Alvarez could have regular reportsdidn't
want him to worry; it tended to make him suspicious. Instead we worried him in warrens.
Were changes in those eleven months. Wyoh was baptized into Greg's
church, Prof's health became so shaky that he dropped teaching, Mike took up writing
poetry. Yankees finished in cellar. Wouldn't have minded paying Prof if they had been
nosed out, but from pennant to cellar in one seasonI quit watching them on video.
Prof's illness was phony. He was in perfect shape for age, exercising
in hotel room three hours each day, and sleeping in three hundred kilograms of lead
pajamas. And so was I, and so was Wyoh, who hated it. I don't think she ever cheated and
spent night in comfort though can't say for sure; I was not dossing with her. She had
become a fixture in Davis family. Took her one day to go from "Gospazha Davis"
to "Gospazha Mum," one more to reach "Mum" and now it might be
"Mimi Mum" with arm around Mum's waist. When Zebra File showed she couldn't go
back to Hong Kong, Sidris had taken Wyoh into her beauty shop after hours and done a job
which left skin same dark shade but would not scrub off. Sidris also did a hairdo on Wyoh
that left it black and looking as if unsuccessfully unkinked. Plus minor
touchesopaque nail enamel, plastic inserts for cheeks and nostrils and of course she
wore her dark-eyed contact lenses. When Sidris got through, Wyoh could have gone bundling
without fretting about her disguise; was a perfect "colored" with ancestry to
matchTamil, a touch of Angola, German. I called her "Wyma" rather than
"Wyoh."
She was gorgeous. When she undulated down a corridor, boys followed in
swarms.
She started to learn farming from Greg but Mum put stop to that. While
she was big and smart and willing, our farm is mostly a male operationand Greg and
Hans were not only male members of our family distracted; she cost more farming man-hours
than her industry equaled. So Wyoh went back to housework, then Sidris took her into
beauty shop as helper.
Prof played ponies with two accounts, betting one by Mike's
"leading apprentice" system, other by his own "scientific" system. By
July '75 he admitted that he knew nothing about horses and went solely to Mike's system,
increasing bets and spreading them among many bookies. His winnings paid Party's expenses
while Mike built swindle that financed catapult. But Prof lost interest in a sure thing
and merely placed bets as Mike designated. He stopped reading pony journalssad,
something dies when an old horseplayer quits.
Ludmilla had a girl which they say is lucky in a first and which
delighted meevery family needs a girl baby. Wyoh surprised our women by being expert
in midwiferyand surprised them again that she knew nothing about baby care. Our two
oldest sons found marriages at last and Teddy, thirteen, was opted out. Greg hired two
lads from neighbor farms and, after six months of working and eating with us, both were
opted innot rushing things, we had known them and their families for years. It
restored balance we had lacked since Ludmilla's opting and put stop to snide remarks from
mothers of bachelors who had not found marriages-not that Mum wasn't capable of
snubbing anyone she did not consider up to Davis standards.
Wyoh recruited Sidris; Sidris started own cell by recruiting her other
assistant and Bon Ton Beaute Shoppe became hotbed of subversion. We started using our
smallest kids for deliveries and other jobs a child can dothey can stake out or
trail a person through corridors better than an adult, and are not suspected. Sidris
grabbed this notion and expanded it through women recruited in beauty parlor.
Soon she had so many kids on tap that we could keep all of Alvarez's
spies under surveillance. With Mike able to listen at any phone and a child spotting it
whenever a spy left home or place of work or whereverwith enough kids on call so
that one could phone while another held down a new stakeoutwe could keep a spy under
tight observation and keep him from seeing anything we didn't want him to see. Shortly we
were getting reports spies phoned in without waiting for Zebra File; it did a sod no good
to phone from a taproom instead of home; with Baker Street Irregulars on job Mike was
listening before he finished punching number.
These kids located Alvarez's deputy spy boss in L-City. We knew he had
one because these finks did not report to Alvarez by phone, nor did it seem possible that
Alvarez could have recruited them as none of them worked in Complex and Alvarez came
inside Luna City only when an Earthside vip was so important as to rate a bodyguard
commanded by Alvarez in person.
His deputy turned out to be two peoplean old lag who ran a candy,
news, and bookie counter in Old Dome and his son who was on civil service in Complex. Son
carried reports in, so Mike had not been able to hear them.
We let them alone. But from then on we had fink field reports half a
day sooner than Alvarez. This advantageall due to kids as young as five or
sixsaved lives of seven comrades. All glory to Baker Street Irregulars!
Don't remember who named them but think it was MikeI was merely a
Sherlock Homes fan whereas he really did think he was Sherlock Holmes's brother Mycroft .
. . nor would I swear he was not; "reality" is a slippery notion. Kids did not
call themselves that; they had their own play gangs with own names. Nor were they burdened
with secrets which could endanger them; Sidris left it to mothers to explain why they were
being asked to do these jobs save that they were never to be told real reason. Kids will
do anything mysterious and fun; look how many of their games are based on outsmarting.
Bon Ton salon was a clearinghouse of gossipwomen get news faster
than Daily Lunatic. I encouraged Wyoh to report to Mike each night, not try to thin gossip
down to what seemed significant because was no telling what might be significant once Mike
got through associating it with a million other facts.
Beauty parlor was also place to start rumors. Party had grown slowly at
first, then rapidly as powers-of-three began to be felt and also because Peace Dragoons
were nastier than older bodyguard. As numbers increased we shifted to high speed on
agitprop, black-propaganda rumors, open subversion, provocateur activities, and sabotage.
Finn Nielsen handled agitprop when it was simpler as well as dangerous job of continuing
to front for and put cover-up activity into older, spyridden underground. But now a large
chunk of agitprop and related work was given to Sidris.
Much involved distributing handbills and such. No subversive literature
was ever in her shop, nor our home, nor that hotel room; distribution was done by kids,
too young to read.
Sidris was also working a full day bending hair and such. About time
she began to have too much to do I happened one evening to make walk-about on Causeway
with Sidris on my arm when I caught sight of a familiar face and figureskinny little
girl, all angles, carrot-red hair. She was possibly twelve, at stage when a fem shoots up
just before blossoming out into rounded softness. I knew her but could not say why or when
or where.
I said, "Psst, doll baby. Eyeball young fem ahead. Orange hair, no
cushions."
Sidris looked her over. "Darling, I knew you were eccentric. But
she's still a boy."
"Damp it. Who?"
"Bog knows. Shall I sprag her?"
Suddenly I remembered like video coming on. And wished Wyoh were with
me-but Wyoh and I were never together in public. This skinny redhead had been at meeting
where Shorty was killed. She sat on floor against wall down front and listened with
wide-eyed seriousness and applauded fiercely. Then I had seen her at end in free
trajectorycurled into ball in air and had hit a yellow jacket in knees, he whose jaw
I broke a moment later.
Wyoh and I were alive and free because this kid moved fast in a crisis.
"No, don't speak to her," I told Sidris. "But I want to keep her in sight.
Wish we had one of your Irregulars here. Damn."
"Drop off and phone Wyoh, you'll have one in five minutes,"
my wife said.
I did. Then Sidris and I strolled, looking in shopwindows and moving
slowly, as quarry was window-shopping. In seven or eight minutes a small boy came toward
us, stopped and said, "Hello, Auntie Mabell. Hi, Uncle Joe."
Sidris took his hand. "Hi, Tony. How's your mother, dear?"
"Just fine." He added in a whisper, "I'm Jock."
"Sorry." Sidris said quietly to me, "Stay on her,"
and took Jock into a tuck shop.
She came out and joined me. Jock followed her licking a lollipop.
"'Bye, Auntie Mabel! Thanks!" He danced away, rotating, wound up by that little
redhead, stood and stared into a display, solemnly sucking his sweet. Sidris and I went
home.
A report was waiting. "She went into Cradle Roll Crèche and
hasn't come out. Do we stay on it?"
"A bit yet," I told Wyoh, and asked if she remembered this
kid. She did, but had no idea who she might be. "You could ask Finn."
"Can do better." I called Mike.
Yes, Cradle Roll Crèche had a phone and Mike would listen. Took him
twenty minutes to pick up enough to give analysismany young voices and at such ages
almost sexless. But presently he told me, "Man, I hear three voices that could match
the age and physical type you described. However, two answer to names which I assume to be
masculine. The third answers when anyone says 'Hazel'which an older female voice
does repeatedly. She seems to be Hazel's boss."
"Mike, look at old organization file. Check Hazels."
"Four Hazels," he answered at once, "and here she is:
Hazel Meade, Young Comrades Auxiliary, address Cradle Roll Crèche, born 25 December 2063,
mass thirty-nine kilos, height"
"That's our little jump jet! Thanks, Mike. Wyoh, call off
stake-out. Good job!"
"Mike, call Donna and pass the word, that's a dear."
I left it to girls to recruit Hazel Meade and did not eyeball her until
Sidris moved her into our household two weeks later. But Wyoh volunteered a report before
then; policy was involved. Sidris had filled her cell but wanted Hazel Meade. Besides this
irregularity, Sidris was doubtful about recruiting a child. Policy was adults only,
sixteen and up.
I took it to Adam Selene and executive cell. "As I see," I
said, "this cells-of-three system is to serve us, not bind us. See nothing wrong in
Comrade Cecilia having an extra. Nor any real danger to security."
"I agree," said Prof. "But I suggest that the extra
member not be part of Cecilia's cellshe should not know the others, I mean, unless
the duties Cecilia gives her make it necessary. Nor do I think she should recruit, at her
age. The real question is her age."
"Agreed," said Wyoh. "I want to talk about this kid's
age."
"Friends," Mike said diffidently (diffidently first time in
weeks; he was now that confident executive "Adam Selene" much more than lonely
machine)"perhaps I should have told you, but I have already granted similar
variations. It did not seem to require discussion."
"It doesn't, Mike," Prof reassured him. "A chairman must
use his own judgment. What is our largest cell?"
"Five. it is a double cell, three and two."
"No harm done. Dear Wyoh, does Sidris propose to make this child a
full comrade? Let her know that we are committed to revolution . . . with all the
bloodshed, disorder, and possible disaster that entails?"
"That's exactly what she is requesting."
"But, dear lady, while we are staking our lives, we are old enough
to know it. For that, one should have an emotional grasp of death. Children seldom are
able to realize that death will come to them personally. One might define adulthood as the
age at which a person learns that he must die . . . and accepts his sentence
undismayed."
"Prof," I said, "I know some mighty tall children. Seven
to two some are in Party."
"No bet, cobber. It'll give odds that at least half of them don't
qualifyand we may find it out the hard way at the end of this our folly."
"Prof," Wyoh insisted. "Mike, Mannie. Sidris is certain
this child is an adult. And I think so, too."
"Man?" asked Mike.
"Let's find way for Prof to meet her and form own opinion. I was
taken by her. Especially her go-to-hell fighting. Or would never have started it."
We adjourned and I heard no more. Hazel showed up at dinner shortly
thereafter as Sidris' guest. She showed no sign of recognizing me, nor did I admit that I
had ever seen herbut learned long after that she had recognized me, not just by left
arm but because I had been hatted and kissed by tall blonde from Hong Kong. Furthermore
Hazel had seen through Wyoming's disguise, recognized what Wyoh never did successfully
disguise: her voice.
But Hazel used lip glue. If she ever assumed I was in conspiracy she
never showed it.
Child's history explained her, far as background can explain steely
character. Transported with parents as a baby much as Wyoh had been, she had lost father
through accident while he was convict labor, which her mother blamed on indifference of
Authority to safety of penal colonists. Her mother lasted till Hazel was five; what she
died from Hazel did not know; she was then living in crèche where we found her. Nor did
she know why parents had been shippedpossibly for subversion if they were both under
sentence as Hazel thought. As may be, her mother left her a fierce hatred of Authority and
Warden.
Family that ran Cradle Roll let her stay; Hazel was pinning diapers and
washing dishes as soon as she could reach. She had taught herself to read, and could print
letters but could not write. Her knowledge of math was only that ability to count money
that children soak up through their skins.
Was fuss over her leaving crèche; owner and husbands claimed Hazel
owed several years' service. Hazel solved it by walking out, leaving her clothes and fewer
belongings behind. Mum was angry enough to want family to start trouble which could wind
up in "brawling" she despised. But I told her privately that, as her cell
leader, I did nor want our family in public eyeand hauled out cash and told her
Party would pay for clothes for Hazel. Mum refused money, called off a family meeting,
took Hazel into town and was extravagantfor Mumin re-outfitting her.
So we adopted Hazel. I understand that these days adopting a child
involves red tape; in those days it was as simple as adopting a kitten.
Was more fuss when Mum started to place Hazel in school, which fitted
neither what Sidris had in mind nor what Hazel had been led to expect as a Party member
and comrade. Again I butted in and Mum gave in part way. Hazel was placed in a tutoring
school close to Sidris' shopthat is, near easement lock thirteen; beauty parlor was
by it (Sidris had good business because close enough that our water was piped in, and used
without limit as return line took it back for salvage). Hazel studied mornings and helped
in afternoons, pinning on gowns, handing out towels, giving rinses, learning
tradeand whatever else Sidris wanted.
"Whatever else" was captain of Baker Street Irregulars.
Hazel had handled younger kids all her short life. They liked her; she
could wheedle them into anything; she understood what they said when an adult would find
it gibberish. She was a perfect bridge between Party and most junior auxiliary. She could
make a game of chores we assigned and persuade them to play by rules she gave them, and
never let them know it was adult-seriousbut child-serious, which is another
matter.
For example:
Let's say a little one, too young to read, is caught with a stack of
subversive literaturewhich happened more than once. Here's how it would go, after
Hazel indoctrinated a kid:
ADULT: "Baby, where did you get this?"
BAKER STREET IRREGULAR: "I'm not a baby, I'm a big boy!"
ADULT: "Okay, big boy, where did you get
this?"
B.S.I.: "Jackie give it to me."
ADULT: "Who is Jackie?"
B.S.I.: "Jackie."
ADULT: "But what's his last name?"
B.S.I.: "Who?"
ADULT: "Jackie."
B.S.I.: (scornfully) "Jackie's a girl!"
ADULT: "All right, where does she live?"
B.S.L: "Who?"
And so on around To all questions key answer was of pattern:
"Jackie give it to me." Since Jackie didn't exist, he (she) didn't have a last
name, a home address, nor fixed sex. Those children enjoyed making fools of adults, once
they learned how easy it was.
At worst, literature was confiscated. Even a squad of Peace Dragoons
thought twice before trying to "arrest" a small child. Yes, we were beginning to
have squads of Dragoons inside Luna city, but never less than a squadsome had gone
in singly and not come back.
When Mike started writing poetry I didn't know whether to laugh or cry.
He wanted to publish it! Shows how thoroughly humanity had corrupted this innocent machine
that he should wish to see his name in print.
I said, "Mike, for Bog's sake! Blown all circuits? Or planning to
give us away?"
Before he could sulk Prof said, "Hold on, Manuel; I see
possibilities. Mike, would it suit you to take a pen name?"
That's how "Simon Jester" was born. Mike picked it apparently
by tossing random numbers. But he used another name for serious verse, his Party name,
Adam Selene.
"Simon's" verse was doggerel, bawdy, subversive, ranging from
poking fun at vips to savage attacks on Warden, system, Peace Dragoons, finks. You found
it on walls of public W.C.s, or on scraps of paper left in tube capsules: Or in taprooms.
Wherever they were they were signed "Simon Jester" and with a matchstick drawing
of a little horned devil with big grin and forked tail. Sometimes he was stabbing a fat
man with a pitchfork. Sometimes just his face would appear, big grin and horns, until
shortly even horns and grin meant "Simon was here."
Simon appeared all over Luna same day and from then on never let up.
Shortly he started receiving volunteer help; his verses and little pictures, so simple
anybody could draw them, began appearing more places than we had planned. This wider
coverage had to be from fellow travelers. Verses and cartoons started appearing inside
Complexwhich could not have been our work; we never recruited civil servants. Also,
three days after initial appearance of a very rough limerick, one that implied that
Warden's fatness derived from unsavory habits, this limerick popped up on pressure-sticky
labels with cartoon improved so that fat victim flinching from Simon's pitchfork was
recognizably Mort the Wart. We didn't buy them, we didn't print them. But they appeared in
L-City and Novylen and Hong Kong, stuck almost everywherepublic phones, stanchions
in corridors, pressure locks, ramp railings, other. I had a sample count made, fed it to
Mike; he reported that over seventy thousand labels had been used in L-City alone.
I did not know of a printing plant in L-City willing to risk such a job
and equipped for it. Began to wonder if might be another revolutionary cabal?
Simon's verses were such a success that he branched out as a
poltergeist and neither Warden nor security chief was allowed to miss it. "Dear Mort
the Wart," ran one letter. "Do please be careful from midnight to four hundred
tomorrow. Love & Kisses, Simon"with horns and grin. In same mail Alvarez
received one reading: "Dear Pimplehead, If the Warden breaks his leg tomorrow night
it will be your fault. Faithfully your conscience, Simon"again with horns and
smile.
We didn't have anything planned; we just wanted Mort and Alvarez to
lose sleepwhich they did, plus bodyguard. All Mike did was to call Warden's private
phone at intervals from midnight to four hundredan unlisted number supposedly known
only to his personal staff. By calling members of his personal staff simultaneously and
connecting them to Mort Mike not only created confusion but got Warden angry at his
assistantshe flatly refused to believe their denials.
But was luck that Warden, goaded too far, ran down a ramp. Even a new
chum does that only once. So he walked on air and sprained an ankleclose enough to a
broken leg and Alvarez was there when it happened.
Those sleep-losers were mostly just that. Like rumor that Authority
catapult had been mined and would be blown up, another night. Ninety plus eighteen men
can't search a hundred kilometers of catapult in hours, especially when ninety are Peace
Dragoons not used to p-suit work and hating itthis midnight came at new earth with
Sun high; they were outside far longer than is healthy, managed to cook up their own
accidents while almost cooking themselves, and showed nearest thing to mutiny in
regiment's history. One accident was fatal. Did he fall or was he pushed? A sergeant.
Midnight alarums made Peace Dragoons on passport watch much taken by
yawning and more bad-tempered, which produced more clashes with Loonies and still greater
resentment both waysso Simon increased pressure.
Adam Selene's verse was on a higher plane. Mike submitted it to Prof
and accepted his literary judgment (good, I think) without resentment. Mike's scansion and
rhyming were perfect, Mike being a computer with whole English language in his memory and
able to search for a fitting word in microseconds. What was weak was self-criticism. That
improved rapidly under Prof's stern editorship.
Adam Selene's by-line appeared first in dignified pages of Moonglow
over a somber poem titled: "Home." Was dying thoughts of old transportee, his
discovery as he is about to leave that Luna is his beloved home. Language was simple,
rhyme scheme unforced, only thing faintly subversive was conclusion on part of dying man
that even many wardens he has endured was not too high a price.
Doubt if Moonglow's editors thought twice. Was good stuff, they
published.
Alvarez turned editorial office inside out trying to get a line back to
Adam Selene. Issue had been on sale half a lunar before Alvarez noticed it, or had it
called to his attention; we were fretted, we wanted that by-line noticed. We were much
pleased with way Alvarez oscillated when he did see it.
Editors were unable to help fink boss. They told him truth: Poem had
come in by mail. Did they have it? Yes, surely . . . sorry, no envelope; they were never
saved. After a long time Alvarez left, flanked by four Dragoons he had fetched along for
his health.
Hope he enjoyed studying that sheet of paper. Was piece of Adam
Selene's business stationery:
SELENE ASSOCIATES |
and under that was typed Home, by Adam Selene, etc.
Any fingerprints were added after it left us. Had been typed on
Underwood Office Electrostator, commonest model in Luna. Even so, were not too many as are
importado; a scientific detective could have identified machine. Would have found it in
Luna City office of Lunar Authority. Machines, should say, as we found six of model in
office and used them in rotation, five words and move to next. Cost Wyoh and self sleep
and too much risk even though Mike listened at every phone, ready to warn. Never did it
that way again.
Alvarez was not a scientific detective.
In early '76 I had too much to do. Could not neglect customers.
Party work took more time even though all possible was delegated. But decisions had to be
made on endless things and messages passed up and down. Had to squeeze in hours of heavy
exercise, wearing weights, and dasn't arrange permission to use centrifuge at Complex, one
used by earthworm scientists to stretch time in Lunawhile had used it before, this
time could not advertise that I was getting in shape for Earthside.
Exercising without centrifuge is less efficient and was especially
boring because did not know there would be need for it. But according to Mike 30 percent
of ways events could fall required some Loonie, able to speak for Party, to make trip to
Terra.
Could not see myself as an ambassador, don't have education and not
diplomatic. Prof was obvious choice of those recruited or likely to be. But Prof was old,
might not live to land Earthside. Mike told us that a man of Prof's age, body type, etc.,
had less than 40 percent chance of reaching Terra alive.
But Prof did gaily undertake strenuous training to let him make most of
his poor chances, so what could I do but put on weights and get to work, ready to go and
take his place if old heart clicked off? Wyoh did same, on assumption that something might
keep me from going. She did it to share misery; Wyoh always used gallantry in place of
logic.
On top of business, Party work, and exercise was farming. We had lost
three sons by marriage while gaining two fine lads, Frank and Ali. Then Greg went to work
for LuNoHoCo, as boss drillman on new catapult.
Was needful. Much skull sweat went into hiring construction crew. We
could use non-Party men for most jobs, but key spots had to be Party men as competent as
they were politically reliable. Greg did not want to go; our farm needed him and he did
not like to leave his congregation. But accepted.
That made me again a valet, part time, to pigs and chickens. Hans is a
good farmer, picked up load and worked enough for two men. But Greg had been farm manager
ever since Grandpaw retired, new responsibility worried Hans. Should have been mine, being
senior, but Hans was better farmer and closer to it; always been expected he would succeed
Greg someday. So I backed him up by agreeing with his opinions and tried to be half a farm
hand in hours I could squeeze. Left no time to scratch.
Late in February I was returning from long trip, Novylen, Tycho Under,
Churchill. New tube had just been completed across Sinus Medii, so I went on to Hong Kong
in Lunabusiness and did make contacts now that I could promise emergency service.
Fact that Endsville-Beluthihatchie bus ran only during dark semi-lunar had made impossible
before.
But business was cover for politics; liaison with Hong Kong had been
thin. Wyoh had done well by phone; second member of her cell was an old
comrade."Comrade Clayton"who not only had clean bill of health in
Alverez's File Zebra but also stood high in Wyoh's estimation. Clayton was briefed on
policies, warned of bad apples, encouraged to start cell system while leaving old
organization untouched. Wyoh told him to keep his membership, as before.
But phone isn't face-to-face. Hong Kong should have been our
stronghold. Was less tied to Authority as its utilities were not controlled from Complex;
was less dependent because lack (until recently) of tube transport had made selling at
catapult head less inviting; was stronger financially as Bank of Hong Kong Luna notes were
better money than official Authority scrip.
I suppose Hong Kong dollars weren't "money" in some legal
sense. Authority would not accept them; times I went Earthside had to buy Authority scrip
to pay for ticket. But what I carried was Hong Kong dollars as could be traded Earthside
at a small discount whereas scrip was nearly worthless there. Money or not, Hong Kong Bank
notes were backed by honest Chinee bankers instead of being fiat of bureaucracy. One
hundred Hong Kong dollars was 31.1 grams of gold (old troy ounce) payable on demand at
home officeand they did keep gold there, fetched up from Australia. Or you could
demand commodities: non-potable water, steel of defined grade, heavy water of power plant
specs, other things. Could buy these with scrip, too, but Authority's prices kept
changing, upward. I'm no fiscal theorist; time Mike tried to explain I got headache.
Simply know we were glad to lay hands on this non-money whereas scrip one accepted
reluctantly and not just because we hated Authority.
Hong Kong should have been Party's stronghold. But was not. We had
decided that I should risk face-to-face there, letting some know my identity, as a man
with one arm can't disguise easily. Was risk that would jeopardize not only me but could
lead to Wyoh, Mum, Greg, and Sidris if I took a fall. But who said revolution was safe?
Comrade Clayton turned out to be young Japanesenot too young, but
they all look young till suddenly look old. He was not all JapaneseMalay and other
thingsbut had Japanese name and household had Japanese manners; "giri" and
"gimu" controlled and it was my good fortune that he owed much gimu to Wyoh.
Clayton was not convict ancestry; his people had been
"volunteers" marched aboard ship at gunpoint during time Great China
consolidated Earthside empire. I didn't hold it against him; he hated Warden as bitterly
as any old lag.
Met him first at a teahousetaproom to us L-City typesand
for two hours we talked everything but politics. He made up mind about me, took me home.
My only complaint about Japanese hospitality is those chin-high baths are too bleeding
hot.
But turned out I was not jeopardized. Mama-san was as skilled at makeup
as Sidris, my social arm is very convincing, and a kimona covered its seam. Met four cells
in two days, as "Comrade Bork" and wearing makeup and kimona and tabi and, if a
spy was among them, don't think he could identify Manuel O'Kelly. I had gone there
intensely briefed, endless figures and projections, and talked about just one thing:
famine in '82, six years away. "You people are lucky, won't be hit so soon. But now
with new tube, you are going to see more and more of your people turning to wheat and rice
and shipping it to catapult head. Your time will come."
They were impressed. Old organization, as I saw it and from what I
heard, relied on oratory, whoop-it-up music, and emotion, much like church. I simply said,
"There it is, comrades. Check those figures; I'll leave them with you."
Met one comrade separately. A Chinee engineer given a good look at
anything can figure way to make it. Asked this one if he had ever seen a laser gun small
enough to carry like a rifle. He had not. Mentioned that passport system made it difficult
to smuggle these days. He said thoughtfully that jewels ought not to be hardand he
would be in Luna City next week to see his cousin. I said Uncle Adam would be pleased to
hear from him.
All in all was productive trip. On way back I stopped in Novylen to
check an old-fashioned punched-tape "Foreman" I had overhauled earlier, had
lunch afterwards, ran into my father. He and I were friendly but didn't matter if we let a
couple of years go by. We talked through a sandwich and beer and as I got up he said,
"Nice to see you, Mannie. Free Luna!"
I echoed, too startled not to. My old man was as cynically
non-political as you could find; if he would say that in public, campaign must be taking
hold.
So I arrived in L-City cheered up and not too tired, having napped from
Torricelli. Took Belt from Tube South, then dropped down and through Bottom Alley,
avoiding Causeway crowd and heading home. Went into Judge Brody's courtroom as I came to
it, meaning to say hello. Brody is old friend and we have amputation in common. After he
lost a leg he set up as a judge and was quite successful; was not another judge in L-City
at that time who did not have side business, at least make book or sell insurance.
If two people brought a quarrel to Brody and he could not get them to
agree that his settlement was just, he would return fees and, if they fought, referee
their duel without chargingand still be trying to persuade them not to use knives
right up to squaring off.
He wasn't in his courtroom though plug hat was on desk. Started to
leave, only to be checked by group coming in, stilyagi types. A girl was with them, and an
older man hustled by them. He was mussed, and clothing had that vague something that says
"tourist."
We used to get tourists even then. Not hordes but quite a few. They
would come up from Earth, stop in a hotel for a week, go back in same ship or perhaps stop
over for next ship. Most of them spent their time gambling after a day or two of
sightseeing including that silly walk up on surface every tourist makes. Most Loonies
ignored them and granted them their foibles.
One lad, oldest, about eighteen and leader, said to me, "Where's
judge?"
"Don't know. Not here."
He chewed lip, looked baffled. I said, "What trouble?"
He said soberly, "Going to eliminate his choom. But want judge to
confirm it."
I said, "Cover taprooms here around. Probably find him."
A boy about fourteen spoke up. "Say! Aren't you Gospodin
O'Kelly?"
"Right."
"Why don't you judge it."
Oldest looked relieved. "Will you, Gospodin?"
I hesitated. Sure, I've gone judge at times; who hasn't? But don't
hanker for responsibility. However, it troubled me to hear young people talk about
eliminating a tourist. Bound to cause talk.
Decided to do it. So I said to tourist, "Will you accept me as
your judge?"
He looked surprised. "I have choice in the matter?"
I said patiently, "Of course. Can't expect me to listen if you
aren't willing to accept my judging. But not urging you. Your life, not mine."
He looked very surprised but not afraid. His eyes lit up. "My
life, did you say?"
"Apparently. You heard lads say they intend to eliminate you. You
may prefer to wait for Judge Brody."
He didn't hesitate. Smiled and said, "I accept you as my judge,
sir."
"As you wish." I looked at oldest lad. "What parties to
quarrel? Just you and your young friend?"
"Oh, no, Judge, all of us."
"Not your judge yet." I looked around. "Do you all ask
me to judge?"
Were nods; none said No. Leader turned to girl, added, "Better
speak up, Tish. You accept Judge O'Kelly?"
"What? Oh, sure!" She was a vapid little thing, vacantly
pretty, curvy, perhaps fourteen. Slot-machine type, and how she might wind up. Sort who
prefers being queen over pack of stilyagi to solid marriage. I don't blame stilyagi; they
chase around corridors because not enough females. Work all day and nothing to go home to
at night.
"Okay, court has been accepted and all are bound to abide by my
verdict. Let's settle fees. How high can you boys go? Please understand I'm not going to
judge an elimination for dimes. So ante up or I turn him loose."
Leader blinked, they went into huddle. Shortly he turned and said,
"We don't have much. Will you do it for five Kong dollars apiece?"
Six of them"No. Ought not to ask a court to judge
elimination at that price."
They huddled again. "Fifty dollars, Judge?"
"Sixty. Ten each. And another ten from you, Tish," I said to
girl.
She looked surprised, indignant. "Come, come!" I said. "Tanstaafl."
She blinked and reached into pouch. She had money; types like that
always have.
I collected seventy dollars, laid it on desk, and said to tourist,
"Can match it?"
"Beg pardon?"
"Kids are paying seventy dollars Hong Kong for judgment. You
should match it. If you can't, open pouch and prove it and can owe it to me. But that's
your share." I added, "Cheap, for a capital case. But kids can't pay much so you
get a bargain."
"I see. I believe I see." He matched with seventy Hong Kong.
"Thank you," I said. "Now does either side want a
jury?" Girl's eyes lit up. "Sure! Let's do it right." Earthworm said,
"Under the circumstances perhaps I need one."
"Can have it," I assured. "Want a counsel?"
"Why, I suppose I need a lawyer, too."
"I said 'counsel,' not 'lawyer.' Aren't any lawyers here."
Again he seemed delighted. "I suppose counsel, if I elected to have one, would be of
the same, uh, informal quality as the rest of these proceedings?"
"Maybe, maybe not. I'm informal sort of judge, that's all. Suit
yourself."
"Mm. I think I'll rely on your informality, your honor."
Oldest lad said, "Uh, this jury. You pick up chit? Or do we?"
"I pay it; I agreed to judge for a hundred forty, gross. Haven't
you been in court before? But not going to kill my net for extra I could do without. Six
jurymen, five dollars each. See who's in Alley."
One boy stepped out and shouted, "Jury work! Five-dollar
job!"
They rounded up six men and were what you would expect in Bottom Alley.
Didn't worry me as had no intention of paying mind to them. If you go judge, better in
good neighborhood with chance of getting solid citizens.
I went behind desk, sat down, put on Brody's plug hatwondered
where he had found it. Probably a castoff from some lodge. "Court's in session,"
I said. "Let's have names and tell me beef."
Oldest lad was named. Slim Lemke, girl was Patricia Carmen Zhukov;
don't remember others. Tourist stepped up, reached into pouch and said, "My card,
sir."
I still have it. It read:
STUART RENE LaJOIE |
Beef was tragically ridiculous, fine example of why tourists should not
wander around without guides. Sure, guides bleed them whitebut isn't that what a
tourist is for? This one almost lost life from lack of guidance.
Had wandered into a taproom which lets stilyagi hang out, a sort of
clubroom. This simple female had flirted with him. Boys had let matter be, as of course
they had to as long as she invited it. But at some point she had laughed and let him have
a fist in ribs. He had taken it as casually as a Loonie would . . . but had answered in
distinctly earthworm manner; slipped arm around waist and pulled her to him, apparently
tried to kiss her.
Now believe me, in North America this wouldn't matter; I've seen things
much like it. But of course Tish was astonished, perhaps frightened. She screamed.
And pack of boys set upon him and roughed him up. Then decided he had
to pay for his "crime"but do it correctly. Find a judge.
Most likely they chickened. Chances are not one had ever dealt with an
elimination. But their lady had been insulted, had to be done.
I questioned them, especially Tish, and decided I had it straight. Then
said, "Let me sum up. Here we have a stranger. Doesn't know our ways. He offended,
he's guilty. But meant no offense far as I can see. What does jury say? Hey, you
there!wake up! What you say?"
Juryman looked up blearily, said, "'Liminate him!"
"Very well? And you?"
"Well" Next one hesitated. "Guess it would be
enough just to beat tar out of him, so he'll know better next time. Can't have men pawing
women, or place will get to be as bad as they say Terra is."
"Sensible," I agreed. "And you?"
Only one juror voted for elimination. Others ranged from a beating to
very high fines.
"What do you think, Slim?"
"Well" He was worriedface in front of gang, face
in front of what might be his girl. But had cooled down and didn't want chum eliminated.
"We already worked him over. Maybe if he got down on hands and knees and kissed floor
in front of Tish and said he was sorry?"
"Will you do that, Gospodin LaJoie?"
"If you so rule, your honor."
"I don't. Here's my verdict. First that jurymanyou!you
are fined fee paid you because you fell asleep while supposed to be judging. Grab him,
boys, take it away from him and throw him out."
They did, enthusiastically; made up a little for greater excitement
they had thought of but really could not stomach. "Now, Gospodin LaJoie, you are
fined fifty Hong Kong for not having common sense to learn local customs before stirring
around. Ante up."
I collected it. "Now you boys line up. You are fined five dollars
apiece for not exercising good judgment in dealing with a person you knew was a stranger
and not used to our ways. Stopping him from touching Tish, that's fine. Rough him, that's
okay, too; he'll learn faster. And could have tossed him out. But talking about
eliminating for what was honest mistakewell, it's out of proportion. Five bucks
each. Ante up.
Slim gulped. "Judge . . . I don't think we have that much left! At
least I don't."
"I thought that might be. You have a week to pay or I post your
names in Old Dome. Know where Bon Ton Beauté Shoppe is, near easement lock thirteen? My
wife runs it; pay her. Court's out. Slim, don't go away. Nor you, Tish. Gospodin LaJoie,
let's take these young people up and buy them a cold drink and get better
acquainted."
Again his eyes filled with odd delight that reminded of Prof.
"A charming idea, Judge!"
"I'm no longer judge. It's up a couple of ramps . . . so I suggest
you offer Tish your arm."
He bowed and said, "My lady? May I?" and crooked his elbow to
her. Tish at once became very grown up. "Spasebo, Gospodin! I am pleased."
Took them to expensive place, one where their wild clothes and
excessive makeup looked out of place; they were edgy. But I tried to make them feel easy
and Stuart LaJoie tried even harder and successfully. Got their addresses as well as
names; Wyoh had one sequence which was concentrating on stilyagi. Presently they finished
their coolers, stood up, thanked and left. LaJoie and I stayed on.
"Gospodin," he said presently, "you used an odd word
earlierodd to me, I mean."
"Call me 'Mannie' now that kids are gone. What word?"
"It was when you insisted that the, uh, young lady, Tish
that Tish must pay, too. 'Tone-stapple,' or something like it."
"Oh, 'Tanstaafl.' Means 'There ain't no such thing as a
free lunch.' And isn't," I added, pointing to a FREE LUNCH sign across room, "or
these drinks would cost half as much. Was reminding her that anything free costs twice as
much in long run or turns out worthless."
"An interesting philosophy."
"Not philosophy, fact. One way or other, what you get, you pay
for." I fanned air. "Was Earthside once and heard expression 'Free as air.' This
air isn't free, you pay for every breath."
"Really? No one has asked me to pay to breathe." He smiled.
"Perhaps I should stop."
"Can happen, you almost breathed vacuum tonight. But nobody asks
you because you've paid. For you, is part of round-trip ticket; for me it's a quarterly
charge." I started to tell how my family buys and sells air to community co-op,
decided was too complicated. "But we both pay."
LaJoie looked thoughtfully pleased. "Yes, I see the economic
necessity. It's simply new to me. Tell me, uh, Mannieand I'm called 'Stu'was I
really in danger of 'breathing vacuum'?"
"Should have charged you more."
"Please?"
"You aren't convinced. But charged kids all they could scrape up
and fined them too, to make them think. Couldn't charge you more than them. Should have,
you think it was all a joke."
"Believe me, sir, I do not think it was a joke. I just have
trouble grasping that your local laws permit a man to be put to death . . . so casually .
. . and for so trivial an offense."
I sighed. Where do you start explaining when a man's words show there
isn't anything he understands about subject, instead is loaded with preconceptions that
don't fit facts and doesn't even know he has?
"Stu," I said, "let's take that piece at a time. Are no
'local laws' so you couldn't be 'put to death' under them. Your offense was not 'trivial,'
I simply made allowance for ignorance. And wasn't done casually, or boys would have
dragged you to nearest lock to zero pressure, shoved you in, and cycled. Instead were most
formalgood boys!and paid own cash to give you a trial. And didn't grumble when
verdict wasn't even close to what they asked. Now, anything still not clear?"
He grinned and turned out to have dimples like Prof; found myself
liking him still more. "All of it, I'm afraid. I seem to have wandered into Looking
Glass Land."
Expected that; having been Earthaide I know how their minds work, some.
An earthworm expects to find a law, a printed law, for every circumstance. Even have laws
for private matters such as contracts. Really, if a man's word isn't any good, who would
contract with him? Doesn't he have reputation?
"We don't have laws," I said. "Never been allowed to.
Have customs, but aren't written and aren't enforcedor could say they are
self-enforcing because are simply way things have to be, conditions being what they are.
Could say our customs are natural laws because are way people have to behave to stay
alive. When you made a pass at Tish you were violating a natural law . . . and almost
caused you to breathe vacuum."
He blinked thoughtfully. "Would you explain the natural law I
violated? I had better understand it . . . or best I return to my ship and stay inboard
until lift. To stay alive."
"Certainly. Is so simple that, once you understand, you'll never
be in danger from it again. Here we are, two million males, less than one million females.
A physical fact, basic as rock or vacuum. Then add idea of tanstaafl. When thing
is scarce, price goes up. Women are scarce; aren't enough to go aroundthat makes
them most valuable thing in Luna, more precious than ice or air, as men without women
don't care whether they stay alive or not. Except a Cyborg, if you regard him as a man,
which I don't."
I went on: "So what happens?and mind you, things were even
worse when this custom, or natural law, first showed itself back in twentieth century.
Ratio was ten-to-one or worse then. One thing is what always happens in prisons: men turn
to other men. That helps not much; problem still is because most men want women and won't
settle for substitute while chance of getting true gelt.
"They get so anxious they will kill for it . . . and from stories
old-timers tell was killing enough to chill your teeth in those days. But after a while
those still alive find way to get along, things shake down. As automatic as gravitation.
Those who adjust to facts stay alive; those who don't are dead and no problem.
"What that means, here and now, is that women are scarce and call
tune . . . and you are surrounded by two million men who see to it you dance to that tune.
You have no choice, she has all choice. She can hit you so hard it draws blood; you dasn't
lay a finger on her. Look, you put an arm around Tish, maybe tried to kiss. Suppose
instead she had gone to hotel room with you; what would happen?"
"Heavens! I suppose they would have torn me to pieces."
"They would have done nothing. Shrugged and pretended not to see.
Because choice is hers. Not yours. Not theirs. Exclusively hers. Oh, be risky to ask her
to go to hotel; she might take offense and that would give boys license to rough you up.
Butwell, take this Tish. A silly little tart. If you had flashed as much money as I
saw in your pouch, she might have taken into head that a bundle with tourist was just what
she needed and suggested it herself. In which case would have been utterly safe."
Lajoie shivered. "At her age? It scares me to think of it. She's
below the age of consent. Statutory rape."
"Oh, bloody! No such thing. Women her age are married or ought to
be. Stu, is no rape in Luna. None. Men won't permit. If rape had been involved, they
wouldn't have bothered to find a judge and all men in earshot would have scrambled to
help. But chance that a girl that big is virgin is negligible. When they're little, their
mothers watch over them, with help from everybody in city; children are safe here. But
when they reach husband-high, is no holding them and mothers quit trying. If they choose
to run corndors and have fun, can't stop 'em; once a girl is nubile, she's her own boss.
You married?"
"No." He added with a smile; "Not at present."
"Suppose you were and wife told you she was marrying again. What
would you do?"
"Odd that you should pick that, something like it did happen. I
saw my attorney and made sure she got no alimony."
"'Alimony' isn't a word here; I learned it Earthside. Here you
mightor a Loonie husband mightsay, 'I think we'll need a bigger place, dear.'
Or might simply congratulate her and his new co-husband. Or if it made him so unhappy he
couldn't stand it, might opt out and pack clothes. But whatever, would not make slightest
fuss. If he did, opinion would be unanimous against him. His friends, men and women alike,
would snub him. Poor sod would probably move to Novylen, change name and hope to live it
down.
"All our customs work that way. If you're out in field and a
cobber needs air, you lend him a bottle and don't ask cash. But when you're both back in
pressure again, if he won't pay up, nobody would criticize if you eliminated him without a
judge. But he would pay; air is almost as sacred as women. If you take a new chum in a
poker game, you give him air money. Not eating money; can work or starve. If you eliminate
a man other than self-defense, you pay his debts and support his kids, or people won't
speak to you, buy from you, sell to you."
"Mannie, you're telling me that I can murder a man here and settle
the matter merely with money?"
"Oh, not at all! But eliminating isn't against some law; are no
lawsexcept Warden's regulationsand Warden doesn't care what one Loonie does to
another. But we figure this way: If a man is killed, either he had it coming and everybody
knows itusual caseor his friends will take care of it by eliminating man who
did it. Either way, no problem. Nor many eliminations. Even set duels aren't common."
"'His friends will take care of it.' Mannie, suppose those young
people had gone ahead? I have no friends here."
"Was reason I agreed to judge. While I doubt if those kids could
have egged each other into it, didn't want to take chance. Eliminating a tourist could
give our city a bad name."
"Does it happen often?"
"Can't recall has ever happened. Of course may have been made to
look like accident. A new chum is accident-prone; Luna is that sort of place. They say if
a new chum lives a year, he'll live forever. But nobody sells him insurance first
year." Glanced at time. "Stu, have you had dinner?"
"No, and I was about to suggest that you come to my hotel. The
cooking is good. Auberge Orleans."
I repressed shudderate there once. "Instead, would you come
home with me and meet my family? We have soup or something about this hour."
"Isn't that an imposition?"
"No. Half a minute while I phone."
Mum said, "Manuel! How sweet, dear! Capsule has been in for hours;
I had decided it would be tomorrow or later."
"Just drunken debauchery, Mimi, and evil companions. Coming home
now if can remember wayand bringing evil companion."
"Yes, dear. Dinner in twenty minutes; try not to be late."
"Don't you want to know whether my evil companion is male or
female?"
"Knowing you, I assume that it is female. But I fancy I shall be
able to tell when I see her."
"You know me so well, Mum. Warn girls to look pretty; wouldn't
want a visitor to outshine them."
"Don't be too long; dinner will spoil. 'Bye, dear. Love."
"Love, Mum." I waited, then punched MYCROFTXXX. "Mike,
want a name searched. Earthside name, passenger in Popov. Stuart Rene LaJoie. Stuart with
a U and last name might file under either L or J."
Didn't wait many seconds; Mike found Stu in all major Earthside
references: Who's Who, Dun & Bradstreet, Almanach de Gotha, London Times running
files, name it. French expatriate, royalist, wealthy, six more names sandwiched into ones
he used, three university degrees including one in law from Sorbonne, noble ancestry both
France and Scotland, divorced (no children) from Honorable Pamela Hyphen-Hyphen-Blueblood.
Sort of earthworm who wouldn't speak to a Loonie of convict ancestryexcept Stu would
speak to anyone.
I listened a pair of minutes, then asked Mike to prepare a full
dossier, following all associational leads. "Mike, might be our pigeon."
"Could be, Man."
"Got to run. 'Bye." Returned thoughtfully to my guest. Almost
a year earlier, during alcoholic talk-talk in a hotel room, Mike had promised us one
chance in sevenif certain things were done. One sine-qua-non was help on Terra
itself.
Despite "throwing rocks," Mike knew, we all knew, that mighty
Terra with eleven billion people and endless resources could not be defeated by three
million who had nothing, even though we stood on a high place and could drop rocks on
them.
Mike drew parallels from XVIIIth century, when Britain's American
colonies broke away, and from XXth, when many colonies became independent of several
empires, and pointed out that in no case had a colony broken loose by brute force. No, in
every case imperial state was busy elsewhere, had grown weary and given up without using
full strength.
For months we had been strong enough, had we wished, to overcome
Warden's bodyguards. Once our catapult was ready (anytime now) we would not be helpless.
But we needed a "favorable climate" on Terra. For that we needed help on Terra.
Prof had not regarded it as difficult. But turned out to be quite
difficult. His Earthside friends were dead or nearly and I had never had any but a few
teachers. We sent inquiry down through cells: "What vips do you know Earthaide?"
and usual answer was: "You kidding?" Null program
Prof watched passenger lists on incoming ships, trying to figure a
contact, and had been reading Luna print-outs of Earthside newspapers, searching for vips
he could reach through past connection. I had not tried; handful I had met on Terra were
not vips.
Prof had not picked Stu off Popov's passenger list. But Prof had not
met him. I didn't not know whether Stu was simply eccentric as odd personal card seemed to
show. But he was only Terran I had ever had a drink with in Luna, seemed a dinkum cobber,
and Mike's report showed hunch was not all bad; he carried some tonnage.
So I took him home to see what family thought of him.
Started well. Mum smiled and offered hand. He took it and bowed so deep
I thought he was going to kiss itwould have, I think, had I not warned him about
fems. Mum was cooing as she led him in to dinner.
April and May '76 were more hard work and increasing effort to stir
up Loonies against Warden, and goad him into retaliation. Trouble with Mort the Wart was
that he was not a bad egg, nothing to hate about him other than fact he was symbol of
Authority; was necessary to frighten him to get him to do anything. And average Loonie was
just as bad. He despised Warden as matter of ritual but was not stuff that makes
revolutionists; he couldn't be bothered. Beer, betting, women, and work Only thing
that kept Revolution from dying of anemia was that Peace Dragoons had real talent for
antagonizing.
But even them we had to keep stirred up. Prof kept saying we needed a
"Boston Tea Party," referring to mythical incident in an earlier revolution, by
which he meant a public ruckus to grab attention.
We kept trying. Mike rewrote lyrics of old revolutionary songs:
"Marseillaise," "Internationale," "Yankee Doodle," "We
Shall Overcome," "Pie in the Sky," etc., giving them words to fit Luna.
Stuff like "Sons of Rock and Boredom/Will you let the Warden/Take from you your
libertee!" Simon Jester spread them around, and when one took hold, we pushed it
(music only) by radio and video. This put Warden in silly position of forbidding playing
of certain tuneswhich suited us; people could whistle.
Mike studied voice and word-choice patterns of Deputy Administrator,
Chief Engineer, other department heads; Warden started getting frantic calls at night from
his staff. Which they denied making. So Alvarez put lock-and-trace on next oneand
sure enough, with Mike's help, Alvarez traced it to supply chief's phone and was sure it
was boss belly-robber's voice.
But next poison call to Mort seemed to come from Alvarez, and what Mort
had to say next day to Alvarez and what Alvaiez said in own defense can only be described
as chaotic crossed with psychotic.
Prof had Mike stop; was afraid Alvarez might lose job, which we did not
want; he was doing too well for us. But by then Peace Dragoons had been dragged out twice
in night on what seemed to be Warden's orders, further disrupting morale, and Warden
became convinced he was surrounded by traitors in official family while they were sure he
had blown every circult.
An ad appeared in Lunaya Pravda announcing lecture by Dr. Adam Selene
on Poetry and Arts in Luna: a New Renaissance. No comrade attended; word went down cells
to stay away. Nor did anybody hang around when three squads of Peace Dragoons showed
upthis involves Heisenberg principle as applied to Scarlet Pimpernels. Editor of
Pravda spent bad hour explaining that he did not accept ads in person and this one was
ordered over counter and paid for in cash. He was told not to take ads from Adam Selene.
This was countermanded and he was told to take anything from Adam Selene but notify
Alvarez at once.
New catapult was tested with a load dropped into south Indian Ocean at
350 E., 600 S., a spot used only by fish. Mike was joyed over his marksmanship since he
had been able to sneak only two looks when guidance & tracking radars were not in use
and had relied on just one nudge to bring it to bullseye. Earthside news reported giant
meteor in sub-Antarctic picked up by Capetown Spacetrack with projected impact that
matched Mike's attempt perfectlyMike called me to boast while taking down evening's
Reuters transmission. "I told you it was dead on," he gloated. "I watched
it. Oh, what a lovely splash!" Later reports on shock wave from seismic labs and on
tsunamis from oceanographic stations were consistent.
Was only canister we had ready (trouble buying steel) or Mike might
have demanded to try his new toy again.
Liberty Caps started appearing on stilyagi and their girls; Simon
Jester began wearing one between his horns. Bon Marche gave them away as premiums. Alvarez
had painful talk with Warden in which Mort demanded to know if his fink boss felt that
something should be done every time kids took up fad? Had Alvarez gone out of his mind?
I ran across Slim Lemke on Carver Causeway early May; he was wearing a
Liberty Cap. He seemed pleased to see me and I thanked him for prompt payment (he had come
in three days after Stu's trial and paid Sidris thirty Hong Kong, for gang) and bought him
a cooler. While we were seated I asked why young people were wearing red hats? Why a hat?
Hat's were an earthworm custom, nyet?
He hesitated, then said was sort of a lodge, like Elks. I changed
subject. Learned that his full name was Moses Lemke Stone; member of Stone Gang. This
pleased me, we were relatives. But surprised me. However, even best families such as
Stones sometimes can't always find marriages for all sons; I had been lucky or might have
been roving corridors at his age, too. Told him about our connection on my mother's side.
He warmed up and shortly said, "Cousin Manuel, ever think about
how we ought to elect our own Warden?"
I said No, I hadn't; Authority appointed him and I supposed they always
would. He asked why we had to have an Authority? I asked who had been putting ideas in
head? He insisted nobody had, just thinking, was alldidn't he have a right to think?
When I got home was tempted to check with Mike, find out lad's Party
name if any. But wouldn't have been proper security, nor fair to Slim.
On 3 May '76 seventy-one males named Simon were rounded up and
questioned, then released. No newspaper carned story. But everybody heard it; we were
clear down in "J's" and twelve thousand people can spread a story faster than I
would have guessed. We emphasized that one of these dangerous males was only four years
old, which was not true but very effective.
Stu Lajoie stayed with us during February and March and did not return
to Terra until early April; he changed his ticket to next ship and then to next. When I
pointed out that he was riding close to invisible line where irreversible physiological
changes could set in, he grinned and told me not to worry. But made arrangements to use
centrifuge.
Stu did not want to leave even by April. Was kissed goodbye with tears
by all my wives and Wyoh, and he assured each one he was coming back. But left as he had
work to do; by then he was a Party member.
I did not take part in decision to recruit Stu; I felt prejudiced. Wyoh
and Prof and Mike were unanimous in risking it; I happily accepted their judgment.
We all helped to sell Stu LaJoieself, Prof, Mike, Wyoh, Mum, even
Sidris and Lenore and Ludmilla and our kids and Hans and Ali and Frank, as Davis home life
was what grabbed him first. Did not hurt that Lenore was prettiest girl in
L-Citywhich is no disparagement of Milla, Wyoh, Anna, and Sidris. Nor did it hurt
that Stu could charm a baby away from breast. Mom fussed over him, Hans showed him
hydroponic farming and Stu got dirty and sweaty and sloshed around in tunnels with our
boyshelped harvest our Chinee fishpondsgot stung by our beeslearned to
handle a p-suit and went up with me to make adjustments on solar batteryhelped Anna
butcher a hog and learned about tanning leathersat with Grandpaw and was respectful
to his naive notions about Terrawashed dishes with Milla, something no male in our
family ever didrolled on floor with babies and puppieslearned to grind flour
and swapped recipes with Mum.
I introduced him to Prof and that started political side of feeling him
out. Nothing had been admittedwe could back awaywhen Prof introduced him to
"Adam Selene" who could visit only by phone as he was "in Hong Kong at
present." By time Stu was committed to Cause, we dropped pretense and let him know
that Adam was chairman whom he would not meet in person for security reasons.
But Wyoh did most and was on her judgment that Prof turned cards up and
let Stu know that we were building a revolution. Was no surprise; Stu had made up mind and
was waiting for us to trust him.
They say a face once launched a thousand ships. I do not know that Wyoh
used anything but argument on Stu. I never tried to find out. But Wyoh had more to do with
committing me than all Prof's theory or Mike's figures. If Wyoh used even stronger methods
on Stu, she was not first heroine in history to do so for her country.
Stu went Earthside with a special codebook. I'm no code and cipher
expert except that a computerman learns principles during study of information theory. A
cipher is a mathematical pattern under which one letter substitutes for another, simplest
being one in which alphabet is merely scrambled.
A cipher can be incredibly subtle, especially with help of a computer.
But ciphers all have weakness that they are patterns. If one computer can think them up,
another computer can break them.
Codes do not have same weakness. Let's say that codebook has letter
group GLOPS. Does this mean "Aunt Minnie will be home Thursday" or does it mean
"3.14157 . . . "?
Meaning is whatever you assign and no computer can analyze it simply
from letter group. Give a computer enough groups and a rational theory involving meanings
or subjects for meanings, and it will eventually worry it out because meanings themselves
will show patterns. But is a problem of different kind on more difficult level.
Code we selected was commonest commercial codebook, used both on Terra
and in Luna for commercial dispatches. But we worked it over. Prof and Mike spent hours
discussing what information Party might wish to send to its agent on Terra, or receive
from agent, then Mike put his vast information to work and came up with new set of
meanings for codebook, ones that could say "Buy Thai rice futures" as easily as
"Run for life; they've caught us." Or anything, as cipher signals were buried in
it to permit anything to be said that had not been anticipated.
Late one night Mike made print-out of new code via Lunaya Pravda's
facilities, and night editor turned roll over to another comrade who converted it into a
very small roll of film and passed it along in turn, and none ever knew what they handled
or why. Wound up in Stu's pouch. Search of off-planet luggage was tight by then and
conducted by bad-tempered Dragoonsbut Stu was certain he would have no trouble.
Perhaps he swallowed it.
Thereafter some of LuNoHo Company's dispatches to Terra reached Stu via
his London broker.
Part of purpose was financial. Party needed to spend money Earthside;
LuNoHoCo transferred money there (not all stolen, some ventures turned out well); Party
needed still more money Earthside, Stu was to speculate, acting on secret knowledge of
plan of Revolutionhe, Prof, and Mike had spent hours discussing what stocks would go
up, what would go down, etc., after Der Tag. This was Prof's pidgin; I am not that sort of
gambler.
But money was needed before Der Tag to build "climate of
opinion." We needed publicity, needed delegates and senators in Federated Nations,
needed some nation to recognize us quickly once The Day came, we needed laymen telling
other laymen over a beer: "What is there on that pile of rock worth one soldier's
life? Let 'em go to hell in their own way, I say!"
Money for publicity, money for bribes, money for dummy organizations
and to infiltrate established organizations; money to get true nature of Luna's economy
(Stu had gone loaded with figures) brought out as scientific research, then in popular
form; money to convince foreign office of at least one major nation that there was
advantage in a Free Luna; money to sell idea of Lunar tourism to a major cartel
Too much money! Stu offered own fortune and Prof did not discourage
it Where treasure is, heart will be. But still too much money and far too much to
do. I did not know if Stu could swing a tenth of it; simply kept fingers crossed. At least
it gave us a channel to Terra. Prof claimed that communications to enemy were essential to
any war if was to be fought and settled sensibly. (Prof was a pacifist. Like his
vegetarianism, he did not let it keep him from being "rational." Would have made
a terrific theologian.)
As soon as Stu went Earthside, Mike set odds at one in thirteen. I
asked him what in hell? "But, Man," he explained patiently, "it increases
risk. That it is necessary risk does not change the fact that risk is increased."
I shut up. About that time, early May, a new factor reduced some risks
while revealing others. One part of Mike handled Terra-Luna microwave
trafficcommercial messages, scietitific data, news channels, video, voice
radiotelephony, routine Authority trafficand Warden's top secret.
Aside from last, Mike could read any of this including commercial codes
and ciphersbreaking ciphers was a crossword puzzle to him and nobody mistrusted this
machine. Except Warden, and I suspect that his was distrust of all machinery; was sort of
person who finds anything more involved than a pair of scissors complex, mysterious, and
suspectStone Age mind.
Warden used a code that Mike never saw. Also used ciphers and did not
work them through Mike; instead he had a moronic little machine in residence office. On
top of this he had arrangement with Authority Earthside to switch everything around at
preset times. No doubt he felt safe.
Mike broke his cipher patterns and deduced time-change program just to
try legs. He did not tackle code until Prof suggested it; it held no interest for him.
But once Prof asked, Mike tackled Warden's top-secret messages. He had
to start from scratch; in past Mike had erased Warden's messages once transmission was
reported. So slowly, slowly he accumulated data for analysispainfully slow, for
Warden used this method only when he had to. Sometimes a week would pass between such
messages. But gradually Mike began to gather meanings for letter groups, each assigned a
probability. A code does not crack all at once; possible to know meanings of ninety-nine
groups in a message and miss essence because one group is merely GLOPS to you.
However, user has a problem, too; if GLOPS comes through as GLOPT, he's
in trouble. Any method of communication needs redundancy, or information can be lost. Was
at redundancy that Mike nibbled, with perfect patience of machine.
Mike solved most of Warden's code sooner than he had projected; Warden
was sending more traffic than in past and most of it one subject (which
helped)subject being security and subversion.
We had Mort in a twitter; he was yelling for help.
He reported subversive activities still going on despite two phalanges
of Peace Dragoons and demanded enough troops to station guards in all key spots inside all
warrens.
Authority told him this was preposterous, no more of FN's crack troops
could be sparedto be permanently ruined for Earthside dutiesand such requests
should not be made. If he wanted more guards, he must recruit them from transportees-but
such increase in administrative costs must be absorbed in Luna; he would not be allowed
more overhead. He was directed to report what steps be had taken to meet new grain quotas
set in our such-and-such.
Warden replied that unless extremely moderate requests for trained
security personnelnot-repeat-not untrained, unreliable, and unfit convictswere
met, he could no longer assure civil order, much less increased quotas.
Reply asked sneeringly what difference it made if exconsignees chose to
riot among themselves in their holes? If it worried him, had he thought of shutting off
lights as was used so successfully in 1996 and 2021?
These exchanges caused us to revise our calendar, to speed some phases,
slow others. Like a perfect dinner, a revolution has to be "cooked" so that
everything comes out even. Stu needed time Earthside. We needed canisters and small
steering rockets and associated circuitry for "rock throwing." And steel was a
problembuying it, fabricating it, and above all moving it through meander of tunnels
to new catapult site. We needed to increase Party at least into "K's"say
40,000with lowest echelons picked for fighting spirit rather than talents we had
sought earlier. We needed weapons against landings. We needed to move Mike's radars
without which he was blind. (Mike could not be moved; bits of him spread all through Luna.
But he had a thousand meters of rock over that central part of him at Complex, was
surrounded by steel and this armor was cradled in springs; Authority had contemplated that
someday somebody might lob H-weapons at their control center.)
All these needed to be done and pot must not boil too soon.
So we cut down on things that worried Warden and tried to speed up
everything else. Simon Jester took a holiday. Word went out that Liberty Caps were not
stylishbut save them. Warden got no more nervous-making phone calls. We quit
inciting incidents with Dragoons-which did not stop them but reduced number.
Despite efforts to quiet Mort's worries a symptom showed up which
disquieted us instead. No message (at least we intercepted none) reached Warden agreeing
to his demand for more troopsbut he started moving people out of Complex. Civil
servants who lived there started looking for holes to rent in L-City. Authority started
test drills and resonance exploration in a cubic adjacent to L.City which could be
converted into a warren.
Could mean that Authority proposed shipping up unusually large draft of
prisoners. Could mean that space in Complex was needed for purpose other than quarters.
But Mike told us:
"Why kid yourselves? The Warden is going to get those troops; that
space will be their barracks. Any other explanation I would have heard."
I said, "But Mike, why didn't you hear if it's troops? You have
that code of Warden's fairly well whipped."
"Not just 'fairly well,' I've got it whipped. But the last two
ships have carried Authority vips and I don't know what they talk about away from
phones!"
So we tried to plan to cover possibility of having to cope with ten
more phalanges, that being Mike's estimate of what cubic being cleared would hold. We
could deal with that manywith Mike's helpbut it would mean deaths, not
bloodless coup d'etat Prof had planned.
And we increased efforts to speed up other factors.
When suddenly we found ourselves committed
Her name was Marie Lyons; she was eighteen years old and born in
Luna, mother having been exiled via Peace Corps in '56. No record of father. She seems to
have been a harmless person. Worked as a stock-control clerk in shipping department, lived
in Complex.
Maybe she hated Authority and enjoyed teasing Peace Dragoons. Or
perhaps it started as a commercial transaction as cold-blooded as any in a crib behind a
slot-machine lock. How can we know? Six Dragoons were in it. Not satisfied with raping her
(if rape it was) they abused her other ways and killed her. But they did not dispose of
body neatly; another civil service fem found it before was cold. She screamed. Was her
last scream.
We heard about it at once; Mike called us three while Alvarez and Peace
Dragoon C.O. were digging into matter in Alvarez's office. Appears that Peace Goon boss
had no trouble laying hands on guilty; he and Alvarez were questioning them one at a time,
and quarreling between grillings. Once we heard Alvarez say: "I told you those goons
of yours had to have their own women! I warned you!"
"Stuff it," Dragoon officer answered. "I've told you
time and again they won't ship any. The question now is how we hush this up."
"Are you crazy? Warden already knows."
"It's still the question."
"Oh, shut up and send in the next one."
Early in filthy story Wyoh joined me in workshop. Was pale under
makeup, said nothing but wanted to sit close and clench my hand.
At last was over and Dragoon officer left Alvarez. Were still
quarreling. Alvarez wanted those six executed at once and fact made public (sensible but
not nearly enough, for his needs); C.O. was still talking about "hushing it up."
Prof said, "Mike, keep an ear there and listen where else you can. Well, Mike? Wyoh?
Plans?"
I didn't have any. Wasn't a cold, shrewd revolutionist; just wanted to
get my heel into faces that matched those six voices. "I don't know. What do we do,
Prof?"
"'Do'? We're on our tiger; we grab its ears. Mike. Where's Finn
Nielsen? Find him."
Mike answered, "He's calling now." He cut Finn in with us; I
heard: "at Tube South. Both guards dead and about six of our people. Just
people, I mean, not necessarily comrades. Some wild rumor about Goons going crazy and
raping and killing all women at Complex. Adam, I had better talk to Prof."
"I'm here, Finn," Prof answered in a strong, confident voice.
"Now we move, we've got to. Switch off and get those laser guns and men who trained
with them, any you can round up."
"Da! Okay, Adam?"
"Do as Prof says. Then call back."
"Hold it, Finn!" I cut in. "Mannie here. I want one of
those guns."
"You haven't practiced, Mannie."
"If it's a laser, I can use it!"
"Mannie," Prof said forcefully, "shut up. You're wasting
time; let Finn go. Adam. Message for Mike. Tell him Plan Alert Four."
Prof's example damped my oscillating. Had forgotten that Finn was not
supposed to know Mike was anybody but "Adam Selene"; forgotten everything but
raging anger. Mike said, "Finn has switched off, Prof, and I put Alert Four on
standby when this broke. No traffic now except routine stuff filed earlier. You don't want
it interrupted, do you?"
"No, just follow Alert Four. No Earthside transmission either way
that tips any news. If one comes in, hold it and consult." Alert Four was emergency
communication doctrine, intended to slap censorship on news to Terra without arousing
suspicion. For this Mike was ready to talk in many voices with excuses as to why a direct
voice transmission would be delayedand any taped transmission was no problem.
"Program running," agreed Mike.
"Good. Mannie, calm down, son, and stick to your knitting. Let
other people do the fighting; you're needed here, we're going to have to improvise. Wyoh,
cut out and get word to Comrade Cecilia to get all Irregulars out of the corridors. Get
those children home and keep them homeand have their mothers urging other mothers to
do the same thing. We don't know where the fighting will spread. But we don't want
children hurt if we can help it."
"Right away, Prof!"
"Wait. As soon as you've told Sidris, get moving on your stilyagi.
I want a riot at the Authority's city officebreak in, wreck the place, and noise and
shouting and destructionno one hurt if it can be helped. Mike. Alert-Four-Em. Cut
off the Complex except for your own lines."
"Prof!" I demanded. "What sense in starting riots
here?"
"Mannie, Mannie! This is The Day! Mike, has the rape and murder
news reached other warrens?"
"Not that I've heard. I'm listening here and there with random
jumps. Tube stations are quiet except Luna City. Fighting has just started at Tube Station
West. Want to hear it?"
"Not now. Mannie, slide over there and watch it. But stay out of
it and slick close to a phone. Mike, start trouble in all warrens. Pass the news down the
cells and use Finn's version, not the truth. The Goons are raping and killing all the
women in the ComplexI'll give you details or you can invent them. Uh, can you order
the guards at tube stations in other warrens back to their barracks? I want riots but
there is no point in sending unarmed people against armed men if we can dodge it."
"I'll try."
I hurried to Tube Station West, slowed as I neared it. Corridors were
full of angry people. City roared in way I had never heard before and, as I crossed
Causeway, could hear shouts and crowd noise from direction of Authority's city office
although it seemed to me there had not been time for Wyoh to reach her stilyaginor
had there been; what Prof had tried to start was under way spontaneously.
Station was mobbed and I had to push through to see what I assumed to
be certain, that passport guards were either dead or fled. 'Dead' it turned out, along
with three Loonies. One was a boy not more than thirteen. He had died with his hands on a
Dragoon's throat and his head still sporting a little red cap. I pushed way to a public
phone and reported.
"Go back," said Prof. "and read the I.D. of one of those
guards. I want name and rank. Have you seen Finn?"
"No."
"He's headed there with three guns. Tell me where the booth you're
in is, get that name and come back to it."
One body was gone, dragged away; Bog knows what they wanted with it.
Other had been badly battered but I managed to crowd in and snatch dog chain from neck
before it, too, was taken somewhere. I elbowed back to phone, found a woman at it.
"Lady," I said, "I've got to use that phone. Emergency!"
"You're welcome to it! Pesky thing's out of order."
Worked for me; Mike had saved it. Gave Prof guard's name.
"Good," he said. "Have you seen Finn? He'll be looking for you at that
booth."
"Haven't s Hold it, just spotted him."
"Okay, hang onto him. Mike, do you have a voice to fit that
Dragoon's name?"
"Sorry, Prof. No."
"All right, just make it hoarse and frightened; chances are the
C.O. won't know it that well. Or would the trooper call Alvarez?"
"He would call his C.O. Alvarez gives orders through him."
"So call the C.O. Report the attack and call for help and die in
the middle of it. Riot sounds behind you and maybe a shout of 'There's the dirty bastard
now!' just before you die. Can you swing it?"
'Programmed. No huhu," Mike said cheerfully.
"Run it. Mannie, put Finn on."
Prof's plan was to sucker off-duty guards out of barracks and keep
suckering themwith Finn's men posted to pick them off as they got out of capsules.
And it worked, right up to point where Mort the Wart lost his nerve and kept remaining few
to protect himself while he sent frantic messages Earthsidenone of which got
through.
I wiggled out of Prof's discipline and took a laser gun when second
capsule of Peace Dragoons was due. I burned two Goons, found blood lust gone and let other
snipers have rest of squad. Too easy. They would stick heads up out of hatch and that
would be that. Half of squad would not come outuntil smoked out and then died with
rest. By that time I was back at my advance post at phone.
Warden's decision to hole up caused trouble at Complex; Alvarez was
killed and so was Goon C.O. and two of original yellow jackets. But a mixed lot of
Dragoons and yellows, thirteen, holed up with Mort, or perhaps were already with him;
Mike's ability to follow events by listening was spotty. But once it seemed clear that all
armed effectives were inside Warden's residence, Prof ordered Mike to start next phase.
Mike turned out all lights in Complex save those in Warden's residence,
and reduced oxygen to gasping pointnot killing point but low enough to insure that
anyone looking for trouble would not be in shape. But in residence, oxygen supply was cut
to zero, leaving pure nitrogen, and left that way ten minutes. At end of that time Finn's
men, waiting in p-suits at Warden's private tube station, broke latch on airlock and went
in, "shoulder to shoulder." Luna was ours.