The Moon is a Harsh Mistress (39 page)

More
whoops that went on and on. You can find in minutes who made that speech but
one gets you ten Prof wrote it and Wyoh planted it.

Here
is how it wound up over course of days:

Prime
Minister and Secretary of State for Foreign Affairs: Professor Bernardo de la
Paz.

Speaker,
Finn Nielsen; Speaker Pro Tem, Wyoming Davis.

Undersecretary
of State for Foreign Affairs and Minister of Defense, General O’Kelly
Davis; Minister of Information, Terence Sheehan (Sheenie turned Pravda over to
managing editor to work with Adam and Stu); Special Minister-without-Portfolio
in Ministry of Information, Stuart Rene LaJoie, Congressman-at-Large; Secretary
of State for Economics and Finance (and Custodian of Enemy Property), Wolfgang
Korsakov; Minister of Interior Affairs and Safety, Comrade
“Clayton” Watenabe; Minister-without-Portfolio and Special Advisor
to Prime Minister, Adam Selene—plus a dozen ministers and
ministers-without-portfolio from warrens other than Luna City.

See
where that left things? Brush away fancy titles and B cell was still running
things as advised by Mike, backed by a Congress in which we could not lose a
test vote—but did lose others we did not want to win, or did not care
about.

But
at time could not see sense in all that talk-talk.

During
evening session Prof reported on trip and then yielded to me—Committee
Chairman Korsakov consenting—so that I could report what “five-year
plan” meant and how Authority had tried to bribe me. I’ll never
make a speaker but had time during dinner break to swot speech Mike had
written. He had slanted it so nastily that I got angry all over again and was
angry when I spoke and managed to make it catching. Congress was ready to riot
by time I sat down.

Prof
stepped forward, thin and pale, and said quietly, “Comrade Members, what
shall we do? I suggest, Chairman Korsakov consenting, that we discuss
informally how to treat this latest insolence to our nation.”

One
member from Novylen wanted to declare war and they would have done so right
then if Prof had not pointed out that they were still hearing committee
reports.

More
talk, all bitter. At last Comrade Member Chang Jones spoke: “Fellow
Congressmen—sorry, Gospodin Chairman Korsakov—I’m a rice and
wheat farmer. Mean I used to be, because back in May I got a bank loan and sons
and I are converting to variety farming. We’re broke—had to borrow
tube fare to get here—but family is eating and someday we might pull
square with bank. At least I’m no longer raising grain.

“But
others are. Catapult has never reduced headway by one barge whole time
we’ve been free. We’re still shipping, hoping their cheques will be
worth something someday.

“But
now we know! They’ve told us what they mean to do with us—to us! I
say only way to make those scoundrels know we mean business is stop shipments
right now! Not another tonne, not a kilo … until they come here and
dicker honestly for honest price!”

Around
midnight they passed Embargo, then adjourned subject to call … standing
committees to continue.

Wyoh
and I went home and I got reacquainted with my family. Was nothing to do;
Mike-Adam and Stu had been working on how to hit them with it Earthside and
Mike had shut catapult down (“technical difficulties with ballistic
computer”) twenty-four hours earlier. Last barge in trajectory would be
taken by Poona Ground Control in slightly over one day and Earth would be told,
nastily, that was last they would ever get.

Shock
to farmers was eased by continuing to buy grain at catapult—but cheques
now carried printed warning that Luna Free State did not stand behind them, did
not warrant that Lunar Authority would ever redeem them even in Scrip, etc.,
etc. Some farmers left grain anyhow, some did not, all screamed. But was
nothing they could do; catapult was shut down, loading belts not moving.

Depression
was not immediately felt in rest of economy. Defense regiments had depleted
ranks of ice miners so much that selling ice on free market was profitable;
LuNoH0Co steel subsidiary was hiring every able-bodied man it could find, and
Wolfgang Korsakov was ready with paper money, “National Dollars,”
printed to resemble Hong Kong dollar and in theory pegged to it. Luna had
plenty of food, plenty of work, plenty of money; people were not hurting,
“beer, betting, women, and work” went on as usual.

“Nationals,”
as they were called, were inflation money, war money, fiat money, and were
discounted a fraction of a percent on day of first issue, concealed as
“exchange service charge.” They were spendable money and never did
drop to zero but were inflationary and exchange reflected it increasingly; new
government was spending money it did not have.

But
that was later—Challenge to Earth, to Authority and Federated Nations,
was made intentionally nasty. F.N. vessels were ordered to stay clear of Luna
by ten diameters and not orbit at any distance under pain of being destroyed
without warning. (No mention of how, since we could not.) Vessels of private
registry would be permitted to land if a) permission was requested ahead of
time with ballistic plan, b) a vessel thus cleared placed itself under Luna
Ground Control (Mike’) at a distance of one hundred thousand kilometers
while following approved trajectory, and c) was unarmed save for three hand
guns permitted three officers. Last was to be confirmed by inspection on
landing before anybody was allowed to leave ship and before ship was serviced
with fuel and/or reaction mass; violation would mean confiscation of ship. No
person allowed to land at Luna other than ship’s crew in connection with
loading, unloading, or servicing save citizens of Terran countries who had
recognized Free Luna. (Only Chad—and Chad had no ships. Prof expected
some private vessels to be re-registered under Chad merchant flag.)

Manifesto
noted that Terran scientists still in Luna could return home in any vessel
which conformed to our requirements. It invited all freedom-loving Terran
nations to denounce wrongs done us and which the Authority planned against us,
recognize us, and enjoy free trade and full intercourse—and pointed out
that there were no tariffs or any artificial restrictions against trade in
Luna, and was policy of Luna government to keep it that way. We invited
immigration, unlimited, and pointed out that we had a labor shortage and any
immigrant could be self-supporting at once.

We
also boasted of food—adult consumption over four thousand calories per
day, high in protein, low in cost, no rationing. (Stu had Adam-Mike stick in
price of 100-proof vodka—fifty cents HKL per liter, less in quantity, no
taxes. Since this was less than one-tenth retail price of 80-proot vodka in
North America, Stu knew it would hit home. Adam, “by nature” a
teetotaler, hadn’t thought of it—one of Mike’s few
oversights.)

Lunar
Authority was invited to gather at one spot well away from other people, say in
unirrigated part of Sahara, and receive one last barge of grain
free—straight down at terminal velocity. This was followed by a snotty
lecture which implied that we were prepared to do same to anyone who threatened
our peace, there being a number of loaded barges at catapult head, ready for
such unceremonious delivery.

Then
we waited.

But
we waited busily. Were indeed a few loaded barges; these we unloaded and
reloaded with rock, with changes made in guidance transponders so that Poona
Control could not affect them. Their retros were removed, leaving only lateral
thrustors, and spare retros were taken to new catapult, to be modified for
lateral guidance. Greatest effort went into moving steel to new catapult and
shaping it into jackets for solid rock cylinders—steel was bottleneck.

Two
days after our manifesto a “clandestine” radio started beaming to
Terra. Was weak and tended to fade and was supposed to be concealed, presumably
in a crater, and could be worked only certain hours until brave Terran
scientists managed to rig automatic repeat. Was near frequency of Voice of Free
Luna, which tended to drown it out with brassy boasts.

(Terrans
remaining in Luna had no chance to make signals. Those who had chosen to stick
with research were chaperoned by stilyagi every instant and locked into
barracks to sleep.)

But
“clandestine” station managed to get “truth” to Terra.
Prof had been tried for deviationism and was under house arrest. I had been
executed for treason. Hong Kong Luna had pulled out, declared self separately
independent … might be open to reason. Rioting in Novylen. All food
growing had been collectivized and black-market eggs were selling for three
dollars apiece in Lana City. Battalions of female troops were being enlisted,
each sworn to kill at least one Terran, and were drilling with fake guns in
corridors of Luna City.

Last
was an almost-true. Many ladies wanted to do something militant and had formed
a Home Defense Guard, “Ladies from Hades.” But their drills were of
a practical nature—and Hazel was sulking because Mum had not allowed her
to join. Then she got over sulks and started “Stilyagi Debs,” a
very junior home guard which drilled after school hours, did not use weapons,
concentrated on backing up stilyagi air & pressure corps, and practiced first
aid—and own no-weapons fighting, which—possibly—Mum never
learned.

I
don’t know how much to tell. Can’t tell all, but stuff in history
books is so wrong!

I
was no better a “defense minister” than “congressman.”
Not apologizing, had no training for either. Revolution is an amateur thing for
almost everybody; Prof was only one who seemed to know what he was doing, and,
at that, was new to him, too—he had never taken part in a successful
revolution or ever been part of a government, much less head.

As
Minister of Defense I could not see many ways to defend except for steps
already taken; that is, stilyagi air squads in warrens and laser gunners around
ballistic radars. If F.N. decided to bomb, didn’t see any way to stop
them; wasn’t an interception missile in all Luna and that’s not a
gadget you whomp up from bits and pieces. My word, we couldn’t even make
fusion weapons with which such a rocket is tipped.

But
I went through motions. Asked same Chinee engineers who had built laser guns to
take a crack at problem of intercepting bombs or missiles—one same
problem save that a missile comes at you faster.

Then
turned attention to other things. Simply hoped that F.N. would never bomb
warrens. Some warrens, L-City in particular, were so deep down that they could
probably stand direct hits. One cubic, lowest level of Complex where central
part of Mike lived, had been designed to withstand bombing. On other hand Tycho
Under was a big natural bubble cave like Old Dome and roof was only meters
thick; sealer on under side is kept warm with hot water pipes to make sure new
cracks sealed—would not take much of a bomb to crack Tycho Under.

But
is no limit to how big a fusion bomb can be; F.N. could build one big enough to
smash L-City——or theoretically even a Doomsday job that would split
Luna like a melon and finish job some asteroid started at Tycho. If they did,
couldn’t see any way to stop them, so didn’t worry.

Instead
put time on problems I could manage, helping at new catapult, trying to work up
better aiming arrangements for laser drills around radars (and trying to get
drillmen to stick; half of them quit once price of ice went up), trying to
arrange decentralized standby engineering controls for all warrens. Mike did
designing on this, we grabbed every general-purpose computer we could find
(paying in “nationals” with ink barely dry), and I turned job over
to McIntyre, former chief engineer for Authority; was a job within his talents
and I couldn’t do all rewiring and so forth, even if had tried.

Held
out biggest computer, one that did accounting for Bank of Hong Kong in Luna and
also was clearinghouse there. Looked over its instruction manuals and decided
was a smart computer for one that could not talk, so asked Mike if he could
teach it ballistics? We made temporary link-ups to let two machines get
acquainted and Mike reported it could learn simple job we wanted it
for—standby for new catapult—although Mike would not care to ride
in ship controlled by it; was too matter-of-fact and uncritical. Stupid,
really.

Well,
didn’t want it to whistle tunes or crack jokes; just wanted it to shove
loads out a catapult at right millisecond and at correct velocity, then watch
load approach Terra and give a nudge.

HK
Bank was not anxious to sell. But we had patriots on their board, we promised
to return it when emergency was over, and moved it to new site—by
rolligon, too big for tubes, and took all one dark semi-lunar. Had to jerry-rig
a big airlock to get it out of Kong warren. I hooked it to Mike again and he
undertook to teach art of ballistics against possibility that his linkage to
new site might be cut in an attack.

(You
know what bank used to replace computer? Two hundred clerks working abacuses.
Abacusi? You know, slipsticks with beads, oldest digital computer, so far back
in prehistory that nobody knows who invented. Russki and Chinee and Nips have
always used them, and small shops today.)

Trying
to improve laser drills into space-defense weapons was easier but less
straightforward. We had to leave them mounted on original cradles; was neither
time, steel, nor metalsmiths to start fresh. So we concentrated on better
aiming arrangements. Call went out for telescopes. Scarce—what con
fetches along a spyglass when transported? What market later to create supply?
Surveying instruments and helmet binoculars were all we turned up, plus optical
instruments confiscated in Terran labs. But we managed to equip drills with
low-power big-field sights to coach-on with and high-powcr scopes for fine
sighting, plus train and elevation circles and phones so that Mike could tell
them where to point. Four drills we equipped with self-synchronous repeater
drives so that Mike could control them himself—liberated these selsyns at
Richardson; astronomers used them for Bausch cameras and Schmidts in sky
mapping.