The Moon is a Harsh Mistress (46 page)

I
said, “Listen, yammerhead, you heard President say this news just came
in—so how do you know how anybody feels about it?”

He
turned red. “Gospodin President! Epithets! Personalities!”

“Don’t
call the Minister names, Manuel.”

“Won’t
if he won’t. He’s simply using fancier words. What’s that
nonsense about nuclear bombs? We haven’t any and you all know it.”

Prof
looked puzzled. “I am confused by that, too. This dispatch so alleged.
But the thing that puzzled me is that we could actually see, by video, what
certainly seemed to be atomic explosions.”

“Oh.”
I turned to Wright. “Did your brainy friends tell you what happens when
you release a few billion calories in a split second all at one spot? What
temperature? How much radiance?”

“Then
you admit that you did use atomic weapons!”

“Oh,
Bog!” Head was aching. “Said nothing of sort. Hit anything hard
enough, strike sparks. Elementary physics, known to everybody but
intelligentsia. We just struck damnedest big sparks ever made by human agency,
is all. Big flash. Heat, light, ultraviolet. Might even produce X-rays,
couldn’t say. Gamma radiation I strongly doubt. Alpha and beta,
impossible. Was sudden release of mechanical energy. But nuclear?
Nonsense!”

Prof
said, “Does that answer your questions, Mr. Minister?”

“It
simply raises more questions. For example, this bombardment is far beyond
anything the Cabinet authorized. You saw the shocked faces when those terrible
lights appeared on the screen. Yet the Minister of Defense says that it is even
now continuing, every twenty minutes. I think—”

Glanced
at watch. “Another just hit Cheyenne Mountain.”

Wright
said, “You hear that? You hear? He boasts of it. Gospodin President, this
carnage must stop!”

I
said, “Yammer—Minister, are you suggesting that their space defense
HQ is not a military target? Which side are you on? Luna’s? Or
F.N.?”

“Manuel!”

“Tired
of this nonsense! Was told to do job, did it. Get this yammerhead off my
back!”

Was
shocked silence, then somebody said quietly, “May I make a suggestion?”

Prof
looked around. “If anyone has a suggestion that will quiet this
unseemliness, I will be most happy to hear it.”

“Apparently
we don’t have very good information as to what these bombs are doing. It
seems to me that we ought to slow up that twenty-minute schedule. Stretch it
out, say to one every hour—and skip the next two hours while we get more
news. Then we might want to postpone the attack on great China at least
twenty-four hours.”

Were
approving nods from almost everybody and murmurs: “Sensible
idea!”—“Da. Let’s not rush things.” Prof said,
“Manuel?”

I
snapped, “Prof, you know answer! Don’t shove it on me!”

“Perhaps
I do, Manuel … but I’m tired and confused and can’t remember
it.”

Wyoh
said suddenly, “Mannie, explain it. I need it explained, too.”

So
pulled self together. “A simple matter of law of gravitation. Would have
to use computer to give exact answer but next half dozen shots are fully
committed. Most we can do is push them off target—and maybe hit some town
we haven’t warned. Can’t dump them into an ocean, is too late;
Cheyenne Mountain is fourteen hundred kilometers inland. As for stretching
schedule to once an hour, that’s silly. Aren’t tube capsules you
start and stop; these are falling rocks. Going to hit somewhere every twenty
minutes. You can hit Cheyenne Mountain which hasn’t anything alive left
on it by now—or can hit somewhere else and kill people. Idea of delaying
strike on Great China by twenty-four hours is just as silly. Can abort missiles
for Great China for a while yet. But can’t slow them up. If you abort,
you waste them—and everybody who thinks we have steel casings to waste
had better go up to catapult head and look.”

Prof
wiped brow. “I think all questions have been answered, at least to my
satisfaction.”

“Not
to mine, sir!”

“Sit
down, Gospodin Wright. You force me to remind you that your ministry is not
part of the War Cabinet. If there are no more questions—I hope there are
none—I will adjourn this meeting. We all need rest. So let
us—”

“Prof!”

“Yes,
Manuel?”

“You
never let me finish reporting. Late tomorrow or early Sunday we catch
it.”

“How,
Manuel?”

“Bombing.
Invasion possible. Two cruisers headed this way.”

That
got attention. Presently Prof said tiredly, “The Government Cabinet is
adjourned. The War Cabinet will remain.”

“Just
a second,” I said. “Prof, when we took office, you got undated
resignations from us.”

“True.
I hope not to have to use any of them, however.”

“You’re
about to use one.”

“Manuel,
is that a threat?”

“Call
it what you like.” I pointed at Wright. “Either that yammerhead
goes … or I go.”

“Manuel,
you need sleep.”

Was
blinking back tears. “Certainly do! And going to get some. Right now!
Going to find a doss here at Complex and get some. About ten hours. After that,
if am still Minister of Defense, you can wake me. Otherwise let me
sleep.”

By
now everybody was looking shocked. Wyoh came up and stood by me. Didn’t
speak, just slipped hand into my arm.

Prof
said firmly, “All please leave save the War Cabinet and Gospodin
Wright.” He waited while most filed out. Then said, “Manuel, I
can’t accept your resignation. Nor can I let you chivvy me into hasty
action concerning Gospodin Wright, not when we are tired and overwrought. It
would be better if you two were to exchange apologies, each realizing that the
other has been overstrained.”

“Uh—”
I turned to Finn. “Has he been fighting?” I indicated Wright.

“Huh?
Hell, no. At least he’s not in my outfits. How about it, Wright? Did you
fight when they invaded us?’

Wright
said stiffly, “I had no opportunity. By the time I knew of it, it was
over. But now both my bravery and my loyalty have been impugned. I shall
insist—”

“Oh,
shut up,” I said. “If duel is what you want, can have it first
moment I’m not busy. Prof, since he doesn’t have strain of fighting
as excuse for behavior, I won’t apologize to a yammerhead for being a
yammerhead. And you don’t seem to understand issue. You let this
yammerhead climb on my back—and didn’t even try to stop him! So
either fire him, or fire me.”

Finn
said suddenly, “I match that, Prof. Either fire this louse—or fire
us both.” He looked at Wright. “About that duel,
choom—you’re going to fight me first. You’ve got two
arms—Mannie hasn’t.”

“Don’t
need two arms for him. But thanks, Finn.”

Wyoh
was crying—could feel it though couldn’t hear it. Prof said to her
most sadly, “Wyoming?”

“I’m
s-s-sorry, Prof! Me, too.”

Only
“Clayton” Watenabe, Judge Brody, Wolfgang, Stu, and Sheenie were
left, handful who counted—War Cabinet. Prof looked at them; I could see
they were with me, though it cost Wolfgang an effort; he worked with Prof. not
with me.

Prof
looked back at me and said softly, “Manuel, it works both ways. What you
are doing is forcing me to resign.” He looked around. “Goodnight,
comrades. Or rather, ‘Good morning.’ I’m going to get some
badly needed rest.” He walked briskly out without looking back.

Wright
was gone; I didn’t see him leave. Finn said, “What about these
cruisers, Mannie?”

I
took deep breath. “Nothing earlier than Saturday afternoon. But you ought
to evacuate Tycho Under. Can’t talk now. Groggy.”

Agreed
to meet him there at twenty-one hundred, then let Wyoh lead me away. Think she
put me to bed but don’t remember.

Prof
was there when I met Finn in Warden’s office shortly before twenty-one
hundred Friday. Had had nine hours’ sleep, bath, breakfast Wyoh had
fetched from somewhere, and a talk with Mike—everything going to revised
plan, ships had not changed ballistic, Great China strike about to happen.

Got
to office in time to see strike by video—all okay and effectively over by
twenty-one-oh-one and Prof got down to business. Nothing said about Wright, or
about resigning. Never saw Wright again.

I
mean I never saw him again. Nor ask about him. Prof didn’t mention row,
so I didn’t.

We
went over news and tactical situation. Wright had been correct in saying that
“thousands of lives” had been lost; news up from Earthside was full
of it. How many we’ll never know; if a person stands at ground zero and
tonnes of rock land on him, isn’t much left. Those they could count were
ones farther away, killed by blast. Call if fifty thousand in North America.

Never
will understand people! We spent three days warning them—and you
couldn’t say they hadn’t heard warnings; that was why they were
there. To see show. To laugh at our nonsense. To get “souvenirs.”
Whole families went to targets, some with picnic baskets. Picnic baskets!
Bojemoi
!

And
now those alive were yelling for our blood for this “senseless
slaughter.” Da. Hadn’t been any indignation over their invasion and
(nuclear!) bombing of us four days earlier—but oh were they sore over our
“premeditated murder.” Great New York Times demanded that entire
Lunar “rebel” government be fetched Earthside and publicly
executed—“This is clearly a case in which the humane rule against
capital punishment must be waived in the greater interests of all
mankind.”

Tried
not to think about it, just as had been forced not to think too much about
Ludmilla. Little Milla hadn’t carried a picnic lunch. She hadn’t
been a sightseer looking for thrills.

Tycho
Under was pressing problem. If those ships bombed warrens—and news from
Earthside was demanding exactly that—Tycho Under could not take it; roof
was thin. H-bomb would decompress all levels; airlocks aren’t built for
H-bomb blasts.

(Still
don’t understand people. Terra was supposed to have an absolute ban
against using H-bombs on people; that was what F.N. was all about. Yet were
loud yells for F.N. to H-bomb us. They quit claiming that our bombs were
nuclear, but all North America seemed frothingly anxious to have us nukebombed)

Don’t
understand Loonies for that matter. Finn had sent word through his militia that
Tycho Under must be evacuated; Prof had repeated it over video. Nor was it
problem; Tycho Under was small enough that Novylen and L-City could doss and
dine them. We could divert enough capsules to move them all in twenty
hours—dump them into Novylen and encourage half of them to go on to
L-City. Big job but no problems. Oh, minor problems—start compressing
city’s air while evacuating people, so as to save it; decompress fully at
end to minimize damage; move as much food as was time for; cofferdam accesses
to lower farm tunnels; so forth—all things we knew how to do and with
stilyagi and militia and municipal maintenance people had organization to do.

Had
they started evacuating? Hear that hollow echo!

Were
capsules lined up nose to tail at Tycho Under and no room to send more till
some left. And weren’t moving. “Mannie,” said Finn,
“don’t think they are going to evacuate.”

“Damn
it,” I said, “they’ve got to. When we spot a missile headed
for Tycho Under will be too late. You’ll have people trampling people and
trying to crowd into capsules that won’t hold them. Finn, your boys have
got to make them.”

Prof
shook his head. “No, Manuel.”

I
said angrily, “Prof, you carry this ‘no coercion’ idea too
far! You know they’ll riot.”

“Then
they will riot. But we will continue with persuasion, not force. Let us now
review plans.’

Plans
weren’t much but were best we could do. Warn everybody about expected
bombings and/or invasion. Rotate guards from Finn’s militia above each
warren starting when and if cruisers passed around Luna into blind space,
Farside—not get caught flat-footed again. Maximum pressure and p-suit
precautions, all warrens. All military and semi-military to go on blue alert
sixteen hundred Saturday, red alert if missiles launched or ships maneuvered.
Brody’s gunners encouraged to go into town and get drunk or whatever,
returning by fifteen hundred Saturday—Prof’s idea. Finn wanted to
keep half of them on duty. Prof said No, they would be in better shape for a
long vigil if they relaxed and enjoyed selves first—I agreed with Prof.

As
for bombing Terra we made no changes in first rotation. Were getting anguished
responses from India, no news from Great China. Yet India had little to moan
about. Had not used a grid on her, too heavily populated. Aside from picked
spots in Thar Desert and some peaks, targets were coastal waters off seaports.

But
should have picked higher mountains or given less warning; seemed from news
that some holy man followed by endless pilgrims chose to climb each target peak
and hold off our retaliation by sheer spiritual strength.

So
we were murderers again. Besides that, our water shots killed millions of fish
and many fishermen, as fishermen and other seafarers had not heeded warnings.
Indian government seemed as furious over fish as over fishermen—but
principle of sacredness of all life did not apply to us; they wanted our heads.

Africa
and Europe responded more sensibly but differently. Life has never been sacred
in Africa and those who went sightseeing on targets got little bleeding-heart
treatment. Europe had a day to learn that we could hit where we promised and
that our bombs were deadly. People killed, yes, especially bullheaded sea
captains. But not killed in empty-headed swarms as in India and North America.
Casualties were even lighter in Brasil and other parts of South America.

Then
was North America’s turn again—0950.28 Saturday 17 Oct ‘76.

Mike
timed it for exactly 1000 our time which, allowing for one day’s progress
of Luna in orbit and for rotation of Terra, caused North America to face toward
us at 0500 their East Coast time and 0200 their West Coast time.