The Moon Is a Harsh Mistress

13

Her name was Marie Lyons; she was eighteen years old and born in Luna, mother having been exiled via Peace Corps in '56. No record of father. She seems to have been a harmless person. Worked as a stock-control clerk in shipping department, lived in Complex.

Maybe she hated Authority and enjoyed teasing Peace Dragoons. Or perhaps it started as a commercial transaction as cold-blooded as any in a crib behind a slot-machine lock. How can we know? Six Dragoons were in it. Not satisfied with raping her (if rape it was) they abused her other ways and killed her. But they did not dispose of body neatly; another civil service fem found it before was cold. She screamed. Was her last scream.

We heard about it at once; Mike called us three while Alvarez and Peace Dragoon C.O. were digging into matter in Alvarez's office. Appears that Peace Goon boss had no trouble laying hands on guilty; he and Alvarez were questioning them one at a time, and quarreling between grillings. Once we heard Alvarez say: "I told you those goons of yours had to have their own women! I warned you!"

"Stuff it," Dragoon officer answered. "I've told you time and again they won't ship any. The question now is how we hush this up."

"Are you crazy? Warden already knows."

"It's still the question."

"Oh, shut up and send in the next one."

Early in filthy story Wyoh joined me in workshop. Was pale under makeup, said nothing but wanted to sit close and clench my hand.

At last was over and Dragoon officer left Alvarez. Were still quarreling. Alvarez wanted those six executed at once and fact made public (sensible but not nearly enough, for his needs); C.O. was still talking about "hushing it up." Prof said, "Mike, keep an ear there and listen where else you can. Well, Mike? Wyoh? Plans?"

I didn't have any. Wasn't a cold, shrewd revolutionist; just wanted to get my heel into faces that matched those six voices. "I don't know. What do we do, Prof?"

"'Do'? We're on our tiger; we grab its ears. Mike. Where's Finn Nielsen? Find him."

Mike answered, "He's calling now." He cut Finn in with us; I heard: "--at Tube South. Both guards dead and about six of our people. Just people, I mean, not necessarily comrades. Some wild rumor about Goons going crazy and raping and killing all women at Complex. Adam, I had better talk to Prof."

"I'm here, Finn," Prof answered in a strong, confident voice. "Now we move, we've got to. Switch off and get those laser guns and men who trained with them, any you can round up."

"Da! Okay, Adam?"

"Do as Prof says. Then call back."

"Hold it, Finn!" I cut in. "Mannie here. I want one of those guns."

"You haven't practiced, Mannie."

"If it's a laser, I can use it!"

"Mannie," Prof said forcefully, "shut up. You're wasting time; let Finn go. Adam. Message for Mike. Tell him Plan Alert Four."

Prof's example damped my oscillating. Had forgotten that Finn was not supposed to know Mike was anybody but "Adam Selene"; forgotten everything but raging anger. Mike said, "Finn has switched off, Prof, and I put Alert Four on standby when this broke. No traffic now except routine stuff filed earlier. You don't want it interrupted, do you?"

"No, just follow Alert Four. No Earthside transmission either way that tips any news. If one comes in, hold it and consult." Alert Four was emergency communication doctrine, intended to slap censorship on news to Terra without arousing suspicion. For this Mike was ready to talk in many voices with excuses as to why a direct voice transmission would be delayed--and any taped transmission was no problem.

"Program running," agreed Mike.

"Good. Mannie, calm down, son, and stick to your knitting. Let other people do the fighting; you're needed here, we're going to have to improvise. Wyoh, cut out and get word to Comrade Cecilia to get all Irregulars out of the corridors. Get those children home and keep them home--and have their mothers urging other mothers to do the same thing. We don't know where the fighting will spread. But we don't want children hurt if we can help it."

"Right away, Prof!"

"Wait. As soon as you've told Sidris, get moving on your stilyagi. I want a riot at the Authority's city office--break in, wreck the place, and noise and shouting and destruction--no one hurt if it can be helped. Mike. Alert-Four-Em. Cut off the Complex except for your own lines."

"Prof!" I demanded. "What sense in starting riots here?"

"Mannie, Mannie! This is The Day! Mike, has the rape and murder news reached other warrens?"

"Not that I've heard. I'm listening here and there with random jumps. Tube stations are quiet except Luna City. Fighting has just started at Tube Station West. Want to hear it?"

"Not now. Mannie, slide over there and watch it. But stay out of it and slick close to a phone. Mike, start trouble in all warrens. Pass the news down the cells and use Finn's version, not the truth. The Goons are raping and killing all the women in the Complex--I'll give you details or you can invent them. Uh, can you order the guards at tube stations in other warrens back to their barracks? I want riots but there is no point in sending unarmed people against armed men if we can dodge it."

"I'll try."

I hurried to Tube Station West, slowed as I neared it. Corridors were full of angry people. City roared in way I had never heard before and, as I crossed Causeway, could hear shouts and crowd noise from direction of Authority's city office although it seemed to me there had not been time for Wyoh to reach her stilyagi--nor had there been; what Prof had tried to start was under way spontaneously.

Station was mobbed and I had to push through to see what I assumed to be certain, that passport guards were either dead or fled. 'Dead' it turned out, along with three Loonies. One was a boy not more than thirteen. He had died with his hands on a Dragoon's throat and his head still sporting a little red cap. I pushed way to a public phone and reported.

"Go back," said Prof. "and read the I.D. of one of those guards. I want name and rank. Have you seen Finn?"

"No."

"He's headed there with three guns. Tell me where the booth you're in is, get that name and come back to it."

One body was gone, dragged away; Bog knows what they wanted with it. Other had been badly battered but I managed to crowd in and snatch dog chain from neck before it, too, was taken somewhere. I elbowed back to phone, found a woman at it. "Lady," I said, "I've got to use that phone. Emergency!"

"You're welcome to it! Pesky thing's out of order."

Worked for me; Mike bad saved it. Gave Prof guard's name. "Good," he said. "Have you seen Finn? He'll be looking for you at that booth."

"Haven't s-- Hold it, just spotted him."

"Okay, hang onto him. Mike, do you have a voice to fit that Dragoon's name?"

"Sorry, Prof. No."

"All right, just make it hoarse and frightened; chances are the C.O. won't know it that well. Or would the trooper call Alvarez?"

"He would call his C.O. Alvarez gives orders through him."

"So call the C.O. Report the attack and call for help and die in the middle of it. Riot sounds behind you and maybe a shout of 'There's the dirty bastard now!' just before you die. Can you swing it?"

'Programmed. No huhu," Mike said cheerfully.

"Run it. Mannie, put Finn on."

Prof's plan was to sucker off-duty guards out of barracks and keep suckering them--with Finn's men posted to pick them off as they got out of capsules. And it worked, right up to point where Mort the Wart lost his nerve and kept remaining few to protect himself while he sent frantic messages Earthside--none of which got through.

I wiggled out of Prof's discipline and took a laser gun when second capsule of Peace Dragoons was due. I burned two Goons, found blood lust gone and let other snipers have rest of squad. Too easy. They would stick heads up out of hatch and that would be that. Half of squad would not come out--until smoked out and then died with rest. By that time I was back at my advance post at phone.

Warden's decision to hole up caused trouble at Complex; Alvarez was killed and so was Goon C.O. and two of original yellow jackets. But a mixed lot of Dragoons and yellows, thirteen, holed up with Mort, or perhaps were already with him; Mike's ability to follow events by listening was spotty. But once it seemed clear that all armed effectives were inside Warden's residence, Prof ordered Mike to start next phase.

Mike turned out all lights in Complex save those in Warden's residence, and reduced oxygen to gasping point--not killing point but low enough to insure that anyone looking for trouble would not be in shape. But in residence, oxygen supply was cut to zero, leaving pure nitrogen, and left that way ten minutes. At end of that time Finn's men, waiting in p-suits at Warden's private tube station, broke latch on airlock and went in, "shoulder to shoulder." Luna was ours.