The Moon is a Harsh Mistress (30 page)

I
got fidgety. Prof read Keats. Grain barges continued to arrive at Bombay.

In
a way was not sorry about latter. When we flew from Bombay to Agra we got up
before dawn and were taken out to field as city was waking. Every Loonie has
his hole, whether luxury of a long-established home like Davis Tunnels or rock
still raw from drill; cubic is no problem and can’t be for centuries.

Bombay
was bee-swarms of people. Are over million (was told) who have no home but some
piece of pavement. A family might claim right (and hand down by will,
generation after generation) to sleep on a piece two meters long and one wide
at a described location in front of a shop. Entire family sleeps on that space,
meaning mother, father, kids, maybe a grandmother. Would not have believed if
had not seen. At dawn in Bombay roadways, side pavements, even bridges are
covered with tight carpet of human bodies. What do they do? Where do they work?
How do they eat? (Did not look as if they did. Could count ribs.)

If
I hadn’t believed simple arithmetic that you can’t ship stuff
downhill forever without shipping replacement back, would have tossed in cards.
But … tanstanfl. “There ain’t no such thing as a free
lunch,” in Bombay or in Luna.

At
last we were given appointment with an “Investigating Committee.”
Not what Prof had asked for. He had requested public hearing before Senate,
complete with video cameras. Only camera at this session was its
“in-camera” nature; was closed. Not too closed, I had little
recorder. But no video. And took Prof two minutes to discover that committee
was actually vips of Lunar Authority or their tame dogs.

Nevertheless
was chance to talk and Prof treated them as if they had power to recognize
Luna’s independence and willingness to do so. While they treated us as a
cross between naughty children and criminals up for sentencing.

Prof
was allowed to make opening statement. With decorations trimmed away was
assertion that Luna was de-facto a sovereign state, with an unopposed
government in being, a civil condition of peace and order, a provisional
president and cabinet carrying on necessary functions but anxious to return to
private life as soon as Congress completed writing a constitution—and
that we were here to ask that these facts be recognized de-jure and that Luna
be allowed to take her rightful place in councils of mankind as a member of
Federated Nations.

What
Prof told them bore a speaking acquaintance with truth and they were not where
they could spot discrepancies. Our “provisional president” was a
computer, and “cabinet” was Wyoh, Finn, Comrade Clayton, and
Terence Sheehan, editor of Pravda, plus Wolfgang Korsakov, board chairman of
LuNoHoCo and a director of Bank of Hong Kong in Luna. But Wyoh was only person
now in Luna who knew that “Adam Selene” was false face for a
computer. She had been terribly nervous at being left to hold fort alone.

As
it was, Adam’s “oddity” in never being seen save over video
was always an embarrassment. We had done our best to turn it into a
“security necessity” by opening offices for him in cubic of
Authority’s Luna City office and then exploding a small bomb. After this
“assassination attempt” comrades who had been most fretful about
Adam’s failure to stir around became loudest in demands that Adam must
not take any chances—this being helped by editorials.

But
I wondered while Prof was talking what these pompous chooms would think if they
knew that our “president” was a collection of hardware owned by
Authority?

But
they just sat staring with chill disapproval, unmoved by Prof’s
rhetoric—probably best performance of his life considering he delivered
it flat on back, speaking into a microphone without notes, and hardly able to
see his audience.

Then
they started in on us. Gentleman member from Argentina—never given their
names; we weren’t socially acceptable—this Argentino objected to
phrase “former Warden” in Prof’s speech; that designation had
been obsolete half a century; he insisted that it be struck out and proper
title inserted: “Protector of the Lunar Colonies by Appointment of the
Lunar Authority.” Any other wording offended dignity of Lunar Authority.

Prof
asked to comment; “Honorable Chairman” permitted it. Prof said
mildly that he accepted change since Authority was free to designate its
servants in any fashion it pleased and was no intention to offend dignity of
any agency of Federated Nations … but in view of functions of this
office—former functions of this former office—citizens of Luna Free
State would probably go on thinking of it by traditional name.

That
made about six of them try to talk at once. Somebody objected to use of word
“Luna” and still more to “Luna Free State”—it was
“the Moon,” Earth’s Moon, a satellite of Earth and property
of Federated Nations, just as Antarctica was—and these proceedings were a
farce.

Was
inclined to agree with last point. Chairman asked gentleman member from North
America to please be in order and to address his remarks through Chair. Did
Chair understand from witness’s last remark that this alleged de-facto
regime intended to interfere with consignee system?

Prof
fielded that and tossed it back. “Honorable Chairman, I myself was a
consignee, now Luna is my beloved home. My colleague, the Honorable the
Undersecretary for Foreign Affairs Colonel O’Kelly
Davis”—myself!—“is Luna born, and proud of his descent
from four transported grandparents. Luna has grown strong on your outcasts.
Give us your poor, your wretched; we welcome them. Luna has room for them, nearly
forty million square kilometers, an area greater than all Africa—and
almost totally empty. More than that, since by our method of living we occupy
not ‘area’ but ‘cubic’ the mind cannot imagine the day
when Luna would refuse another shipioad of weary homeless.”

Chairman
said, “The witness is admonished to refrain from making speeches. The
Chair takes it that your oratory means that the group you represent agrees to
accept prisoners as before.”

“No,
sir.”

“What?
Explain yourself.”

“Once
an immigrant sets foot on Luna today he is a free man, no matter what his
previous condition, free to go where he listeth.”

“So?
Then what’s to keep a consignee from walking across the field, climbing
into another ship, and returning here? I admit that I am puzzled at your
apparent willingness to accept them … but we do not want them. It is our
humane way of getting rid of incorrigibles who would otherwise have to be
executed.”

(Could
have told him several things that would stop what he pictured; he had obviously
never been to Luna. As for “incorrigibles,” if really are, Luna
eliminates such faster than Terra ever did. Back when I was very young, they
sent us a gangster lord, from Los Angeles I believe; he arrived with squad of
stooges, his bodyguards, and was cockily ready to take over Luna, as was rumored
to have taken over a prison somewhere Earthside.

(None
lasted two weeks. Gangster boss didn’t make it to barracks; hadn’t
listened when told how to wear a p-suit.)

“There
is nothing to keep him from going home so far as we are concerned, sir,”
Prof answered, “although your police here on Terra might cause him to
think. But I’ve never heard of a consignee arriving with funds enough to
buy a ticket home. Is this truly an issue? The ships are yours; Luna has no
ships—and let me add that we are sorry that the ship scheduled for Luna
this month was canceled. I am not complaining that it forced on my colleague
and myself—Prof stopped to smile—a most informal method of travel.
I simply hope that this does not represent policy. Luna has no quarrel with
you; your ships are welcome, your trade is welcome, we are at peace and wish to
stay so. Please note that all scheduled grain shipments have come through on
time.”

(Prof
did always have gift for changing subject.)

They
fiddled with minor matters then. Nosy from North America wanted to know what
had really happened to “the Ward—” He stopped himself.
“The Protector. Senator Hobart” Prof answered that he had suffered
a stroke (a “coup” is a “stroke”) and was no longer
able to carry out his duties—but was in good health otherwise and
receiving constant medical care. Prof added thoughtfully that he suspected that
the old gentleman had been failing for some time, in view of his indiscretions
this past year … especially his many invasions of rights of free
citizens, including ones who were not and never had been consignees.

Story
was not hard to swallow. When those busy scientists managed to break news of
our coup, they had reported Warden as dead … whereas Mike had kept him
alive and on job by impersonating him. When Authority Earthside demanded a
report from Warden on this wild rumor, Mike had consulted Prof, then had
accepted call and given a convincing imitation of senility, managing to deny,
confirm, and confuse every detail. Our announcements followed, and thereafter Warden
was no longer available even in his computer alter ego. Three days later we
declared independence.

This
North American wanted to know what reason they had to believe that one word of
this was true? Prof smiled most saintly smile and made effort to spread thin
hands before letting them fall to coverlet. “The gentleman member from
North America is urged to go to Luna, visit Senator Hobart’s sickbed, and
see for himself. Indeed all Terran citizens are invited to visit Luna at any
time, see anything. We wish to be friends, we are at peace, we have nothing to
hide. My only regret is that my country is unable to furnish transportation;
for that we must turn to you.”

Chinee
member looked at Prof thoughtfully. He had not said a word but missed nothing.

Chairman
recessed hearing until fifteen hundred. They gave us a retiring room and sent
in lunch. I wanted to talk but Prof shook head, glanced around room, tapped
ear. So I shut up. Prof napped then and I leveled out my wheel chair and joined
him; on Terra we both slept all we could. Helped. Not enough.

They
didn’t wheel us back in until sixteen hundred; committee was already
sitting. Chairman then broke own rule against speeches and made a long one
more-in-sorrow-than-anger.

Started
by reminding us that Luna Authority was a nonpolitical trusteeship charged with
solemn duty of insuring that Earth’s satellite the Moon—Luna, as
some called it—was never used for military purposes. He told us that
Authority had guarded this sacred trust more than a century, while governments
fell and new governments rose, alliances shifted and shifted
again—indeed, Authority was older than Federated Nations, deriving
original charter from an older international body, and so well had it kept that
trust that it had lasted through wars and turmoils and realignments.

(This
is news? But you see what he was building towards.)

“The
Lunar Authority cannot surrender its trust,” he told us solemnly.
“However, there appears to be no insuperable obstacle to the Lunar
colonists, if they show political maturity, enjoying a degree of autonomy. This
can be taken under advisement. Much depends on your behavior. The behavior, I
should say, of all you colonists. There have been riots and destruction of
property; this must not be.”

I
waited for him to mention ninety dead Goons; he never did. I will never make a
statesman; I don’t have high-level approach.

“Destroyed
property must be paid for,” he went on. “Commitments must be met.
If this body you call a Congress can guarantee such things, it appears to this
committee that this so-called Congress could in time be considered an agency of
the Authority for many internal matters. Indeed it is conceivable that a stable
local government might, in time, assume many duties now failing on the
Protector and even be allowed a delegate, non-voting, in the Grand Assembly.
But such recognition would have to be earned.

“But
one thing must be made clear. Earth’s major satellite, the Moon, is by
nature’s law forever the joint property of all the peoples of Earth. It
does not belong to that handful who by accident of history happen to live
there. The sacred trust laid upon the Lunar Authority is and forever must be
the supreme law of Earth’s Moon.”

(“—accident
of history,” huh? I expected Prof to shove it down his throat. I thought
he would say—No, never did know what Prof would say. Here’s what he
did say):

Prof
waited through several seconds of silence, then said, “Honorable
Chairman, who is to be exiled this time?”

“What
did you say?”

“Have
you decided which one of you is to go into exile? Your Deputy Warden
won’t take the job”—this was true; he preferred to stay
alive. “He is functioning now only because we have asked him to. If you
persist in believing that we are not independent, then you must be planning to
send up a new warden.”

“Protector!”

“Warden.
Let us not mince words. Though if we knew who he is to be, we might be happy to
call him ‘Ambassador.’ We might be able to work with him, it might
not be necessary to send with him armed hoodlums … to rape and murder our
women!”

“Order!
Order! The witness will come to order!”

“It
is not I who was not in order, Honorable Chairman. Rape it was and murder most
foul. But that is history and now we must look to the future. Whom are you
going to exile?”

Prof
struggled to raise self on elbow and I was suddenly alert; was a cue.
“For you all know, sir, that it is a one-way trip. I was born here. You
can see what effort it is for me to return even temporarily to the planet which
has disinherited me. We are outcasts of Earth who—”

He
collapsed. Was up out of my chair—and collapsed myself, trying to reach
him.

Was
not all play-acting even though I answered a cue. Is terrible strain on heart
to get up suddenly on Terra; thick field grabbed and smashed me to floor.