The Moon is a Harsh Mistress (35 page)

“Uh
… just fuhget ah evah asked the question, Cunn’l; it may be simpluh
hyuh.” (She did talk that way but was understandable once I got program.
Won’t spell it again.) “But if that is a simple marriage, what is a
‘complex’ one?”

Found
self explaining polyandries, clans, groups, lines, and less common patterns
considered vulgar by conservative people such as my own family—deal my
mother set up, say, after she ticked off my old man, though didn’t
describe that one; Mother was always too extreme.

Woman
said, “You have me confused. What is the difference between a line and a
clan?”

Are
quite different. Take own case. I have honor to be member of one of oldest line
marriages in Luna—and, in my prejudiced opinion, best. You asked about
divorce. Our family has never had one and would bet long odds never will. A
line marriage increases in stability year after year, gains practice in art of
getting along together, until notion of anybody leaving is unthinkable.
Besides, takes unanimous decision of all wives to divorce a husband—could
never happen. Senior wife would never let it get that far.”

Went
on describing advantages—financial security, fine home life it gives
children, fact that death of a spouse, while tragic, could never be tragedy it
was in a temporary family, especially for children—children simply could
not be orphaned. Suppose I waxed too enthusiastic—but my family is most
important thing in my life. Without them I’m just one-armed mechanic who
could be eliminated without causing a draft.

“Here’s
why is stable,” I said. “Take my youngest wife, sixteen. Likely be
in her eighties before is senior wife. Doesn’t mean all wives senior to
her will die by then; unlikely in Luna, females seem to be immortal. But may
all opt out of family management by then; by our family traditions they usually
do, without younger wives putting pressure on them. So Ludmilla—”

“Ludmilla?”

“Russki
name. From fairy tale. Milla will have over fifty years of good example before
has to carry burden. She’s sensible to start with, not likely to make
mistakes and if did, has other wives to steady her. Self-correcting, like a
machine with proper negative feedback. A good line marriage is immortal; expect
mine to outlast me at least a thousand years—and is why shan’t mind
dying when time comes; best part of me will go on living.”

Prof
was being wheeled out; he had them stop stretcher cart and listened. I turned
to him. “Professor,” I said, “you know my family. Would mind
telling this lady why it’s a happy family? If you think so.”

“It
is,” agreed Prof. “However, I would rather make a more general
remark. Dear madam, I gather that you find our Lunar marriage customs somewhat
exotic.”

“Oh,
I wouldn’t go that far!” she said hastily. “Just somewhat
unusual.”

“They
arise, as marriage customs always do, from economic necessities of the circumstances—and
our circumstances are very different from those here on Earth. Take the line
type of marriage which my colleague has been praising . . and justifiably, I
assure you, despite his personal bias—I am a bachelor and have no bias.
Line marriage is the strongest possible device for conserving capital and
insuring the welfare of children—the two basic societal functions for
marriage everywhere—in an enviroment in which there is no security,
neither for capital nor for children, other than that devised by individuals.
Somehow human beings always cope with their environments. Line marriage is a
remarkably successful invention to that end. All other Lunar forms of marriage
serve that same purpose, though not as well.”

He
said goodnight and left. I had with me—always!—a picture of my
family, newest one, our wedding with Wyoming. Brides are at their prettiest and
Wyoh was radiant—and rest of us looked handsome and happy, with Grandpaw
tall and proud and not showing failing faculties.

But
was disappointed; they looked at it oddly. But man—Mathews, name
was—said, “Can you spare this picture, Colonel?”

Winced.
“Only copy I have. And a long way from home.”

“For
a moment, I mean. Let me have it photographed. Right here, it need never leave
your hands,”

“Oh.
Oh, certainly!” Not a good picture of me but is face I have, and did Wyoh
justice and they just don’t come prettier than Lenore.

So
he photographed it and next morning they did come right into our hotel suite
and woke me before time and did arrest and take me away wheel chair and all and
did lock me in a cell with bars! For bigamy. For polygamy. For open immorality
and publicly inciting others to same.

Was
glad Mum couldn’t see.

Took
Stu all day to get case transferred to an F.N. court and dismissed. His lawyers
asked to have it tossed out on “diplomatic immunity” but F.N.
judges did not fall into trap, merely noted that alleged offenses had taken
place outside jurisdiction of lower court, except alleged
“inciting” concerning which they found insufficient evidence.
Aren’t any F.N. laws covering marriage; can’t be—just a rule
about each nation required to give “full faith and credence” to
marriage customs of other member nations.

Out
of those eleven billion people perhaps seven billion lived where polygamy is
legal, and Stu’s opinion manipulators played up
“persecution”; it gained us sympathy from people who otherwise
would never have heard of us—even gained it in North America and other
places where polygamy is not legal, from people who believe in “live and
let live.” All good, because always problem was to be noticed. To most of
those bee-swarm billions Luna was nothing; our rebellion hadn’t been
noticed.

Stu’s
operators had gone to much thought to plan setup to get me arrested. Was not
told until weeks later after time to cool off and see benefits. Took a stupid
judge, a dishonest sheriff, and barbaric local prejudice which I triggered with
that sweet picture, for Stu admitted later that range of color in Davis family
was what got judge angry enough to be foolish even beyond native talent for
nonsense.

My
one consolation, that Mum could not see my disgrace, turned out mistaken;
pictures, taken through bars and showing grim face, were in every Luna paper,
and write-ups used nastiest Earthside stories, not larger number that deplored
injustice. But should have had more faith in Mimi; she wasn’t ashamed,
simply wanted to go Earthside and rip some people to pieces.

While
helped Earthside, greatest good was in Luna. Loonies become more unified over
this silly huhu than had ever been before. They took it personally and
“Adam Selene” and “Simon Jester” pushed it. Loonies are
easygoing except on one subject, women. Every lady felt insulted by Terran news
stories—so male Loonies who had ignored politics suddenly discovered I was
their boy.

Spin-off—old
lags feel superior to those not transported. Later found self greeted by
ex-cons with: “Hi, jailbird!” A lodge greeting—I was
accepted.

But
saw nothing good about it then! Pushed around, treated like cattle,
fingerprinted, photographed, given food we wouldn’t offer hogs, exposed
to endless indignity, and only that heavy field kept me from trying to kill
somebody—had I been wearing number-six arm when grabbed, might have
tried.

But
steadied down once I was freed. Hour later we were on way to Agra; had at last
been summoned by committee. Felt good to be back in suite in maharajah’s
palace but eleven-hour zone change in less than three did not permit rest; we
went to hearing bleary-eyed and held together by drugs.

“Hearing”
was one-sided; we listened while chairman talked. Talked an hour; I’ll
summarize:

Our
preposterous claims were rejected. Lunar Authority’s sacred trust could
not be abandoned. Disorders on Earth’s Moon could not be tolerated.
Moreover, recent disorders showed that Authority had been too lenient. Omission
was now to be corrected by an activist program, a five-year plan in which all
phases of life in Authority’s trusteeship would be overhauled. A code of
laws was being drafted; civil and criminal courts would be instituted for
benefit of “client-employees”—which meant all persons in
trust area, not just consignees with uncompleted sentences. Public schools
would be established, plus indoctrinal adult schools for client-employees in
need of same. An economic, engineering, and agricultural planning board would
be created to provide fullest and most efficient use of Moon’s resources
and labor of client-employees. An interim goal of quadrupling grain shipments
in five years had been adopted as a figure easily obtainable once scientific
planning of resources and labor was in effect. First phase would be to withdraw
client-employees from occupations found not to be productive and put them to
drilling a vast new system of farm tunnels in order that hydroponics would
commence in them not later than March 2078. These new giant farms would be
operated by Lunar Authority, scientifically, and not left to whims of private
owners. It was contemplated that this system would, by end of five-year plan,
produce entire new grain quota; in meantime client-employees producing grain
privately would be allowed to continue. But they would be absorbed into new
system as their less efficient methods were no longer needed.

Chairman
looked up from papers. “In short, the Lunar colonies are going to be
civilized and brought into managerial coordination with the rest of
civilization. Distasteful as this task has been, I feel—speaking as a
citizen rather than as chairman of this committee—I feel that we owe you
thanks for bringing to our attention a situation so badly in need of
correction.”

Was
ready to burn his ears off. “Client-employees!” What a fancy way to
say “slaves”! But Prof said tranquilly, “I find the proposed
plans most interesting. Is one permitted to ask questions? Purely for
information?”

“For
information, yes.”

North
American member leaned forward. “But don’t assume that we are going
to take any backtalk from you cavemen! So mind your manners. You aren’t
in the clear on this, you know.”

“Order,”
chairman said. “Proceed, Professor.”

“This
term ‘client-employee’ I find intriguing. Can it be stipulated that
the majority of inhabitants of Earth’s major satellite are not
undischarged consignees but free individuals?”

“Certainly,”
chairman agreed blandly. “All legal aspects of the new policy have been
studied. With minor exceptions some ninety-one percent of the colonists have
citizenship, original or derived, in various member nations of the Federated
Nations. Those who wish to return to their home countries have a right to do
so. You will be pleased to learn that the Authority is considering a plan under
which loans for transportation can be arranged … probably under
supervision of International Red Cross and Crescent. I might add that I myself
am heartily backing this plan—as it renders nonsensical any talk about
‘slave labor.’” He smiled smugly.

“I
see,” agreed Prof. “Most humane. Has the committee—or the
Authority—pondered the fact that most—effectively all, I should
say—considered the fact that inhabitants of Luna are physically unable to
live on this planet? That they have undergone involuntary permanent exile
through irreversible physiological changes and can never again live in comfort
and health in a gravitational field six times greater than that to which their
bodies have become adjusted?”

Scoundrel
pursed lips as if considering totally new idea. “Speaking again for
myself, I would not be prepared to stipulate that what you say is necessarily
true. It might be true of some, might not be others; people vary widely. Your
presence here proves that it is not impossible for a Lunar inhabitant to return
to Earth. In any case we have no intention of forcing anyone to return. We hope
that they will choose to stay and we hope to encourage others to emigrate to
the Moon. But these are individual choices, under the freedoms guaranteed by
the Great Charter. But as to this alleged physiological phenomenon—it is
not a legal matter. If anyone deems it prudent, or thinks he would be happier,
to stay on the Moon, that’s his privilege.”

“I
see, sir. We are free. Free to remain in Luna and work, at tasks and for wages
set by you … or free to return to Earth to die.”

Chairman
shrugged. “You assume that we are villians—we’re not. Why, if
I were a young man I would emigrate to the Moon myself. Great opportunities! In
any case I am not troubled by your distortions—history will justify
us.”

Was
surprised at Prof; he was not fighting. Worried about him—weeks of strain
and a bad night on top. All he said was, “Honorable Chairman, I assume
that shipping to Luna will soon be resumed. Can passage be arranged for my
colleague and myself in the first ship? For I must admit, sir, that this
gravitational weakness of which I spoke is, in our cases, very real. Our
mission is completed; we need to go home.”

(Not
a word about grain barges. Nor about “throwing rocks,” nor even
futility of beating a cow. Prof just sounded tired.)

Chairman
leaned forward and spoke with grim satisfaction. “Professor, that
presents difficulties. To put it bluntly, you appear to be guilty of treason
against the Great Charter, indeed against all humanity … and an
indictment is being considered. I doubt if anything more than a suspended
sentence would be invoked against a man of your age and physical condition,
however. Do you think it would be prudent of us to give you passage back to the
place where you committed these acts—there to stir up more
mischief?”

Prof
sighed. “I understand your point. Then, sir, may I be excused? I am
weary.”

“Certainly.
Hold yourself at the disposal of this committee. The hearing stands adjourned.
Colonel Davis—”

“Sir?”
I was directing wheel chair around, to get Prof out at once; our attendants had
been sent outside.