The Moon is a Harsh Mistress (22 page)

“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
laws—except Warden’s regulations—and 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 it—usual
case—or 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 shudder—ate 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
way—and 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 ancestry—except 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 seven—if 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 it—would 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 tunes—which 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
one—and 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 up—this 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 perfectly—Mike 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
all—didn’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 LaJoie—self, 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-City—which 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 boys—helped harvest our Chinee fishponds—got
stung by our bees—learned to handle a p-suit and went up with me to make
adjustments on solar battery—helped Anna butcher a hog and learned about
tanning leather—sat with Grandpaw and was respectful to his naive notions
about Terra—washed dishes with Milla, something no male in our family
ever did—rolled on floor with babies and puppies—learned 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 admitted—we could back away—when 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.