The Moon Is a Harsh Mistress

16

Woke up scared silly in pitch darkness. "Manuel!" Didn't know which end was up. "Manuel!" it called again. "Wake up!"

That brought me out some; was signal intended to trigger me. Recalled being stretched on a table in infirmary at Complex, staring up at a light and listening to a voice while a drug dripped into my veins. But was a hundred years ago, endless time of nightmares, unendurable pressure, pain.

Knew now what no-end-is-up feeling was; had experienced before. Free fall. Was in space.

What had gone wrong? Had Mike dropped a decimal point? Or had he given in to childish nature and played a joke, not realizing would kill? Then why, after all years of pain, was I alive? Or was I? Was this normal way for ghost to feel, just lonely, lost, nowhere?

"Wake up, Manuel! Wake up, Manuel!"

"Oh, shut up!" I snarled. "Button your filthy king-and-ace!" Recording went on; I paid no attention. Where was that reeking light switch? No, doesn't take a century of pain to accelerate to Luna's escape speed at three gravities, merely feels so. Eighty-two seconds--but is one time when human nervous system feels every microsecond. Three gees is eighteen grim times as much as a Loonie ought to weigh.

Then discovered those vacuum skulls had not put arm back on. For some silly reason they had taken it off when they stripped me to prepare me and I was loaded with enough don't-worry and let's-sleep pills not to protest. No huhu had they put it on again. But that drecklich switch was on my left and sleeve of p-suit was empty.

Spent next ten years getting unstrapped with one hand, then a twenty-year sentence floating around in dark before managed to find my cradle again, figure out which was head end, and from that hint locate switch by touch. That compartment was not over two meters in any dimension. This turns out to be larger than Old Dome in free fall and total darkness. Found it. We had light.

(And don't ask why that coffin did not have at least three lighting systems all working all time. Habit, probably. A lighting system implies a switch to control it, nyet? Thing was built in two days; should be thankful switch worked.)

Once I had light, cubic shrank to true claustrophobic dimensions and ten percent smaller, and I took a look at Prof.

Dead, apparently. Well, he had every excuse. Envied him but was now supposed to check his pulse and breathing and suchlike in case he had been unlucky and still had such troubles. And was again hampered and not just by being onearmed. Grain load had been dried and depressured as usual before loading but that cell was supposed to be pressured--oh, nothing fancy, just a tank with air in it. Our p-suits were supposed to handle needs such as life's breath for those two days. But even best p-suit is more comfortable in pressure than in vacuum and, anyhow, I was supposed to be able to get at my patient.

Could not. Didn't need to open helmet to know this steel can had not stayed gas tight, knew at once, naturally, from way p-suit felt. Oh, drugs I had for Prof, heart stimulants and so forth, were in field ampules; could jab them through his suit. But how to check heart and breathing? His suit was cheapest sort, sold for Loonie who rarely Leaves warren; had no readouts.

His mouth hung open and eyes stared. A deader, I decided. No need to ex Prof beyond that old limen; had eliminated himself. Tried to see pulse on throat; his helmet was in way.

They had provided a program clock which was mighty kind of them. Showed I had been out forty-four-plus hours, all to plan, and in three hours we should receive horrible booting to place us in parking orbit around Terra. Then, after two circums, call it three more hours, we should start injection into landing program--if Poona Ground Control didn't change its feeble mind and leave us in orbit. Reminded self that was unlikely; grain is not left in vacuum longer than necessary. Has tendency to become puffed wheat or popped corn, which not only lowers value but can split those thin canisters like a melon. Wouldn't that be sweet? Why had they packed us in with grain? Why not just a load of rock that doesn't mind vacuum?

Had time to think about that and to become very thirsty. Took nipple for half a mouthful, no more, because certainly did not want to take six gees with a full bladder. (Need not have worried; was equipped with catheter. But did not know.)

When time got short I decided couldn't hurt Prof to give him a jolt of drug that was supposed to take him through heavy acceleration; then, after in parking orbit, give him heart stimulant--since didn't seem as if anything could hurt him.

Gave him first drug, then spent rest of minutes struggling back into straps, one-handed. Was sorry I didn't know name of my helpful friend; could have cursed him better.

Ten gees gets you into parking orbit around Terra in a mere 3.26 x 10^7 microseconds; merely seems longer, ten gravities being sixty times what a fragile sack of protoplasm should be asked to endure. Call it thirty-three seconds. My truthful word, I suspect my ancestress in Salem spent a worse half minute day they made her dance.

Gave Prof heart stimulant, then spent three hours trying to decide whether to drug self as well as Prof for landing sequence. Decided against. All drug had done for me at catapulting had been to swap a minute and a half of misery and two days of boredom for a century of terrible dreams--and besides, if those last minutes were going to be my very last, I decided to experience them. Bad as they would be, they were my very own and I would not give them up.

They were bad. Six gees did not feel better than ten; felt worse. Four gees no relief. Then we were kicked harder. Then suddenly, just for seconds, in free fall again. Then came splash which was not "gentle" and which we took on straps, not pads, as we went in headfirst. Also, don't think Mike realized that, after diving in hard, we would then surface and splash hard again before we damped down into floating. Earthworms call it "floating" but is nothing like floating in free fall; you do it at one gee, six times what is decent, and odd side motions tacked on. Very odd motions-- Mike had assured us that solar weather was good, no radiation danger inside that Iron Maiden. But he had not been so interested in Earthside Indian Ocean weather; prediction was acceptable for landing barges and suppose he felt that was good enough--and I would have thought so, too.

Stomach was supposed to be empty. But I filled helmet with sourest, nastiest fluid you would ever go a long way to avoid. Then we turned completely over and I got it in hair and eyes and some in nose. This is thing earthworms call "seasickness" and is one of many horrors they take for granted.

Won't go into long period during which we were towed into port. Let it stand that, in addition to seasickness, my air bottles were playing out. They were rated for twelve hours, plenty for a fifty-hour orbit most of which I was unconscious and none involving heavy exercise, but not quite enough with some hours of towing added. By time barge finally held still I was almost too dopy to care about trying to break out.

Except for one fact-- We were picked up, I think, and tumbled a bit, then brought to rest with me upside down. This is a no-good position at best under one gravity; simply impossible when supposed to a) unstrap self, b) get out of suit-shaped cavity, c) get loose a sledgehammer fastened with butterfly nuts to bulkhead. d) smash same against breakaways guarding escape hatch, e) batter way out, and f) finally, drag an old man in a p-suit out after you.

Didn't finish step a); passed out head downwards.

Lucky this was emergency-last-resort routine. Stu LaJoie had been notified before we left; news services had been warned shortly before we landed. I woke up with people leaning over me, passed out again, woke up second time in hospital bed, flat on back with heavy feeling in chest--was heavy and weak all over--but not ill, just tired, bruised, hungry, thirsty, languid. Was a transparent plastic tent over bed which accounted for fact I was having no trouble breathing.

At once was closed in on from both sides, a tiny Hindu nurse with big eyes on one side, Stuart LaJoie on other. He grinned at me, "Hi, cobber! How do you feel?"

"Uh... I'm right. But oh bloody! What a way to travel!"

"Prof says it's the only way. What a tough old boy he is."

"Hold it. Prof said? Prof is dead."

"Not at all. Not in good shape--we've got him in a pneumatic bed with a round-the-clock watch and more instruments wired into him than you would believe. But he's alive and will be able to do his job. But, truly, he didn't mind the trip; he never knew about it, so he says. Went to sleep in one hospital, woke up in another. I thought he was wrong when he refused to let me wangle it to send a ship but he was not--the publicity has been tremendous!"

I said slowly, "You say Prof 'refused' to let you send a ship?"

"I should say 'Chairman Selene' refused. Didn't you see the dispatches, Mannie?"

"No." Too late to fight over it. "But last few days have been busy."

"A dinkum word! Here, too--don't recall when last I dossed."

"You sound like a Loonie."

"I am a Loonie, Mannie, don't ever doubt it. But the sister is looking daggers at me." Stu picked her up, turned her around. I decided he wasn't all Loonie yet. But nurse didn't resent. "Go play somewhere else, dear, and I'll give your patient back to you--still warm--in a few minutes." He shut a door on her and came back to bed. "But Adam was right; this way was not only wonderful publicity but safer."

"Publicity, I suppose. But 'safer'? Let's not talk about!"

"Safer, my old. You weren't shot at. Yet they had two hours in which they knew right where you were, a big fat target. They couldn't make up their minds what to do; they haven't formed a policy yet. They didn't even dare not bring you down on schedule; the news was full of it, I had stories slanted and waiting. Now they don't dare touch you, you're popular heroes. Whereas if I had waited to charter a ship and fetch you... Well, I don't know. We probably would have been ordered into parking orbit; then you two--and myself, perhaps-- would have been taken off under arrest. No skipper is going to risk missiles no matter how much he's paid. The proof of the pudding, cobber. But let me brief you. You're both citizens of The People's Directorate of Chad, best I could do on short notice. Also, Chad has recognized Luna. I had to buy one prime minister, two generals, some tribal chiefs and a minister of finance--cheap for such a hurry-up job. I haven't been able to get you diplomatic immunity but I hope to, before you leave hospital. At present they haven't even dared arrest you; they can't figure out what you've done. They have guards outside but simply for your 'protection'--and a good thing, or you would have reporters nine deep shoving microphones into your face."

"Just what have we done?--that they know about, I mean. Illegal immigration?"

"Not even that, Mannie. You never were a consignee and you have derivative PanAfrican citizenship through one of your grandfathers, no huhu. In Professor de la Paz's case we dug up proof that he had been granted naturalized Chad citizenship forty years back, waited for the ink to dry, and used it. You're not even illegally entered here in India. Not only did they bring you down themselves, knowing that you were in that barge, but also a control officer very kindly and fairly cheaply stamped your virgin passports. In addition to that, Prof's exile has no legal existence as the government that proscribed him no longer exists and a competent court has taken notice--that was more expensive."

Nurse came back in, indignant as a mother cat. "Lord Stuart you must let my patient rest!"

"At once, ma chere."

"You're 'Lord Stuart'?"

"Should be 'Comte.' Or I can lay a dubious claim to being the Macgregor. The blue-blood bit helps; these people haven't been happy since they took their royalty away from them."

As he left he patted her rump. Instead of screaming, she wiggled it. Was smiling as she came over to me. Stu was going to have to watch that stuff when he went back to Luna. If did.

She asked how I felt. Told her I was right, just hungry. "Sister, did you see some prosthetic arms in our luggage?"

She had and I felt better with number-six in place. Had selected it and number-two and social arm as enough for trip. Number-two was presumably still in Complex; I hoped somebody was taking care of it. But number-six is most all-around useful arm; with it and social one I'd be okay.

Two days later we left for Agra to present credentials to Federated Nations. I was in bad shape and not just high gee; could do well enough in a wheel chair and could even walk a little although did not in public. What I had was a sore throat that missed pneumonia only through drugs, traveler's trots, skin disease on hands and spreading to feet--just like my other trips to that disease-ridden hole, Terra. We Loonies don't know how lucky we are, living in a place that has tightest of quarantines, almost no vermin and what we have controlled by vacuum anytime necessary. Or unlucky, since we have almost no immunities if turns out we need them. Still, wouldn't swap; never heard word "venereal" until first went Earthside and had thought "common cold" was state of ice miner's feet.

And wasn't cheerful for other reason. Stu had fetched us a message from Adam Selene; buried in it, concealed even from Stir, was news that chances had dropped to worse than one in a hundred. Wondered what point in risking crazy trip if made odds worse? Did Mike really know what chances were? Couldn't see any way he could compute them no matter how many facts he had.

But Prof didn't seem worried. He talked to platoons of reporters, smiled at endless pictures, gave out statements, telling world he placed great confidence in Federated Nations and was sure our just claims would be recognized and that he wanted to thank "Friends of Free Luna" for wonderful help in bringing true story of our small but sturdy nation before good people of Terra--F. of F.L. being Stu, a professional public opinion firm, several thousand chronic petition signers, and a great stack of Hong Kong dollars.

I had picture taken, too, and tried to smile, but dodged questions by pointing to throat and croaking.

In Agra we were lodged in a lavish suite in hotel that had once been palace of a maharajah (and still belonged to him, even though India is supposed to be socialist) and interviews and picture-taking went on--hardly dared get out of wheel chair even to visit W.C. as was under orders from Prof never to be photographed vertically. He was always either in bed or in a stretcher--bed baths, bedpans, everything--not only because safer, considering age, and easier for any Loonie, but also for pictures. His dimples and wonderful, gentle, persuasive personality were displayed in hundreds of millions of video screens, endless news pictures.

But his personality did not get us anywhere in Agra. Prof was carried to office of President of Grand Assembly, me being pushed alongside, and there he attempted to present his credentials as Ambassador to F.N. and prospective Senator for Luna--was referred to Secretary General and at his offices we were granted ten minutes with assistant secretary who sucked teeth and said he could accept our credentials "without prejudice and without implied commitment." They were referred to Credentials Committee--who sat on them.

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.