The Moon is a Harsh Mistress (11 page)

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.”

“Well—I’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 sort—and 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 erase—then 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 Mike—and 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 indiscretion—a 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 Mike—and 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 know—oh,
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
method—he can store data much faster. Soon—minutes—-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
fiction—knows it’s fiction—because 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
“Mi—
Señor
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 presence—and 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 pictures—your 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 tell—because was my business—is 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 thinkum—you’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
Holmes—Mike my friend—May 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 Luna—round it as seven thousand billion years.”