The Moon is a Harsh Mistress (4 page)

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 money—whereupon 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 wants—and 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 ridiculous—pestilential, not
to be borne—that 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 Terra—or rice, or any food—at
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 true—bad 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 once—one 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 it—and 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 nearest—men 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, Man—stick
close!” as he moved toward door, parting crowd right and left like
children.

More
screams and I whiffed something—stink 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 door—with 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 again—nor
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 hotel—
Gostaneetsa 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
me—but 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 went—if 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 corridor—nothing 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 sight—for I am conspicuous—and 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 tall—marked a point under
my chin—and massing forty-eight? I bought that amount in sepia, went to
another shop and bought same amount—winning roll at first shop, losing at
second—came out even. Then I bought black hair tint at third
shop—and a red dress.

Wyoming
was wearing black shorts and pullover—practical 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 thought—excitement 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 out—and I didn’t recognize her. Then did and stopped to give
full applause. Just had to—whistles 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 Afro—but 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 you—not likely—we 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
that—I’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, too—the 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 trips—things 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.”