The Moon Is a Harsh Mistress

4

Heard her giggle a few times while I rigged out bed and made it. Then sat down by her, took end she was through with and started reading. Chuckled a time or two but a joke isn't too funny to me if read cold, even when I see it could be fission job at proper time. I got more interested in how Wyoh rated them.

She was marking "plus," "minus," and sometimes question mark, and plus stories were marked "once" or "always"--few were marked "always." I put my ratings under hers. Didn't disagree too often.

By time I was near end she was looking over my judgments. We finished together. "Well?" I said. "What do you think?"

"I think you have a crude, rude mind and it's a wonder your wives put up with you."

"Mum often says so. But how about yourself, Wyoh? You marked plusses on some that would make a slot-machine girl blush."

She grinned. "Da. Don't tell anybody; publicly I'm a dedicated party organizer above such things. Have you decided that I have a sense of humor?"

"Not sure. Why a minus on number seventeen?"

"Which one is that?" She reversed roll and found it. "Why, any woman would have done the same! It's not funny, it's simply necessary."

"Yes, but think how silly she looked."

"Nothing silly about it. Just sad. And look here. You thought this one was not funny. Number fifty-one."

Neither reversed any judgments but I saw a pattern: Disagreements were over stories concerning oldest funny subject. Told her so. She nodded. "Of course. I saw that. Never mind, Mannie dear; I long ago quit being disappointed in men for what they are not and never can be."

I decided to drop it. Instead told her about Mike.

Soon she said, "Mannie, you're telling me that this computer is alive?"

"What do you mean?' I answered. "He doesn't sweat, or go to W.C. But can think and talk and he's aware of himself. Is he 'alive'?"

"I'm not sure what I mean by 'alive,'" she admitted. "There's a scientific definition, isn't there? Irritability, or some such. And reproduction."

"Mike is irritable and can be irritating. As for reproducing, not designed for it but--yes, given time and materials and very special help, Mike could reproduce himself."

"I need very special help, too," Wyoh answered, "since I'm sterile. And it takes me ten whole lunars and many kilograms of the best materials. But I make good babies. Mannie, why shouldn't a machine be alive? I've always felt they were. Some of them wait for a chance to savage you in a tender spot."

"Mike wouldn't do that. Not on purpose, no meanness in him. But he likes to play jokes and one might go wrong--like a puppy who doesn't know he's biting. He's ignorant No, not ignorant, he knows enormously more than I, or you, or any man who ever lived. Yet he doesn't know anything."

"Better repeat that. I missed something."

I tried to explain. How Mike knew almost every book in Luna, could read at least a thousand times as fast as we could and never forget anything unless he chose to erase, how he could reason with perfect logic, or make shrewd guesses from insufficient data... and yet not know anything about how to be "alive." She interrupted. "I scan it. You're saying he's smart and knows a lot but is not sophisticated. Like a new chum when he grounds on The Rock. Back Eartbside he might be a professor with a string of degrees... but here he's a baby."

"That's it. Mike is a baby with a long string of degrees. Ask how much water and what chemicals and how much photoflux it takes to crop fifty thousand tonnes of wheat and he'll tell you without stopping for breath. But can't tell if a joke is funny,"

"I thought most of these were fairly good."

"They're ones he's heard--read--and were marked jokes so he filed them that way. But doesn't understand them because he's never been a--a people. Lately he's been trying to make up jokes. Feeble, very." I tried to explain Mike's pathetic attempts to be a "people." "On top of that, he's lonely."

"Why, the poor thing! You'd be lonely, too, if you did nothing but work, work, work, study, study, study, and never anyone to visit with. Cruelty, that's what it is."

So I told about promise to find "not-stupids." "Would you chat with him, Wye? And not laugh when he makes funny mistakes? If you do, he shuts up and sulks."

"Of course I would, Mannie! Uh... once we get out of this mess. If it's safe for me to be in Luna City. Where is this poor little computer? City Engineering Central? I don't know my way around here."

"He's not in L-City; he's halfway across Crisium. And you couldn't go down where he is; takes a pass from Warden. But--"

"Hold it! 'Halfway across Crisium--' Mannie, this computer is one of those at Authority Complex?"

"Mike isn't just 'one of those' computers," I answered, vexed on Mike's account. "He's boss; he waves baton for all others. Others are just machines, extensions of Mike, like this is for me," I said, flexing hand of left arm. "Mike controls them. He runs catapult personally, was his first job--catapult and ballistic radars. But he's logic for phone system, too, after they converted to Lunawide switching. Besides that, he's supervising logic for other systems."

Wyoh closed eyes and pressed fingers to temples. "Mannie, does Mike hurt?"

"'Hurt?' No strain. Has time to read jokes."

"I don't mean that. I mean: Can he hurt? Feel pain?"

"What? No. Can get feelings hurt. But can't feel pain. Don't think he can. No, sure he can't, doesn't have receptors for pain. Why?"

She covered eyes and said softly, "Bog help me." Then looked up and said, "Don't you see, Mannie? You have a pass to go down where this computer is. But most Loonies can't even leave the tube at that station; it's for Authority employees only. Much less go inside the main computer room. I had to find out if it could feel pain because--well, because you got me feeling sorry for it, with your talk about how it was lonely! But, Mannie, do you realize what a few kilos of toluol plastic would do there?"

"Certainly do!" Was shocked and disgusted.

"Yes. We'll strike right after the explosion--and Luna will be free! Mmm... I'll get you explosives and fuses--but we can't move until we are organized to exploit it. Mannie, I've got to get out of here, I must risk it. I'll go put on makeup." She started to get up.

I shoved her down, with hard left hand. Surprised her, and surprised me--had not touched her in any way save necessary contact. Oh, different today, but was 2075 and touching a fem without her consent--plenty of lonely men to come to rescue and airlock never far away. As kids say, Judge Lynch never sleeps.

"Sit down, keep quiet!" I said. "I know what a blast would do. Apparently you don't. Gospazha, am sorry to say this... but if came to choice, would eliminate you before would blow up Mike."

Wyoming did not get angry. Really was a man some ways--her years as a disciplined revolutionist I'm sure; she was all girl most ways. "Mannie, you told me that Shorty Mkrum is dead."

"What?" Was confused by sharp turn. "Yes. Has to be. One leg off at hip, it was; must have bled to death in two minutes. Even in a surgery amputation that high is touch-and-go." (I know such things; had taken luck and big transfusions to save me--and an arm isn't in same class with what happened to Shorty.)

"Shorty was," she said soberly, "my best friend here and one of my best friends anywhere. He was all that I admire in a man--loyal, honest, intelligent, gentle, and brave--and devoted to the Cause. But have you seen me grieving over him?"

"No. Too late to grieve."

"It's never too late for grief. I've grieved every instant since you told me. But I locked it in the back of my mind for the Cause leaves no time for grief. Mannie, if it would have bought freedom for Luna--or even been part of the price--I would have eliminated Shorty myself. Or you. Or myself. And yet you have qualms over blowing up a computer!"

"Not that at all!" (But was, in part. When a man dies, doesn't shock me too much; we get death sentences day we are born. But Mike was unique and no reason not to be immortal. Never mind "souls"--prove Mike did not have one. And if no soul, so much worse. No? Think twice,)

"Wyoming, what would happen if we blew up Mike? Tell."

"I don't know precisely. But it would cause a great deal of confusion and that's exactly what we--"

"Seal it. You don't know. Confusion, da. Phones out. Tubes stop running. Your town not much hurt; Kong Kong has own power. But L-City and Novylen and other warrens all power stops. Total darkness. Shortly gets stuffy. Then temperature drops and pressure. Where's your p-suit?"

"Checked at Tube Station West."

"So is mine. Think you can find way? In solid dark? In time? Not sure I can and I was born in this warren. With corridors filled with screaming people? Loonies are a tough mob; we have to be--but about one in ten goes off his cams in total dark. Did you swap bottles for fresh charges or were you in too much hurry? And will suit be there with thousands trying to find p-suits and not caring who owns?"

"But aren't there emergency arrangements? There are in Hong Kong Luna."

"Some. Not enough. Control of anything essential to life should be decentralized and paralleled so that if one machine fails, another takes over. But costs money and as you pointed out, Authority doesn't care. Mike shouldn't have all jobs. But was cheaper to ship up master machine, stick deep in The Rock where couldn't get hurt, then keep adding capacity and loading on jobs--did you know Authority makes near as much gelt from leasing Mike's services as from trading meat and wheat? Does. Wyoming, not sure we would lose Luna City if Mike were blown up. Loonies are handy and might jury-rig till automation could be restored. But I tell you true: Many people would die and rest too busy for politics."

I marveled it. This woman had been in The Rock almost all her life... yet could think of something as new-choomish as wrecking engineering controls. "Wyoming, if you were smart like you are beautiful, you wouldn't talk about blowing up Mike; you would think about how to get him on your side."

"What do you mean?" she said. "The Warden controls the computers."

"Don't know what I mean," I admitted. "But don't think Warden controls computers--wouldn't know a computer from a pile of rocks. Warden, or staff, decides policies, general plans. Half-competent technicians program these into Mike. Mike sorts them, makes sense of them, plans detailed programs, parcels them out where they belong, keeps things moving. But nobody controls Mike; he's too smart. He carries out what is asked because that's how he's built. But he's selfprogramming logic, makes own decissions. And a good thing, because if he weren't smart, system would not work."

"I still don't see what you mean by 'getting him on our side.'"

"Oh. Mike doesn't feel loyalty to Warden. As you pointed out: He's a machine. But if I wanted to foul up phones without touching air or water or lights, I would talk to Mike. If it struck him funny, he might do it."

"Couldn't you just program it? I understood that you can get into the room where he is."

"If I--or anybody--programmed such an order into Mike without talking it over with him, program would be placed in 'hold' location and alarms would sound in many places. But if Mike wanted to--" I told her about cheque for umpteen jillion. "Mike is still finding himself, Wyoh. And lonely. Told me I was 'his only friend'--and was so open and vulnerable I wanted to bawl. If you took pains to be his friend, too--without thinking of him as 'just a machine'--well, not sure what it would do, haven't analyzed it. But if I tried anything big and dangerous, would want Mike in my corner."

She said thoughtfully, "I wish there were some way for me to sneak into that room where he is. I don't suppose makeup would help?"

"Oh, don't have to go there. Mike is on phone. Shall we call him?"

She stood up. "Mannie, you are not only the oddest man I've met; you are the most exasperating. What's his number?"

"Comes from associating too much with a computer." I went to phone. "Just one thing, Wyoh. You get what you want out of a man just by batting eyes and undulating framework."

"Well... sometimes. But I do have a brain."

"Use it. Mike is not a man. No gonads. No hormones. No instincts. Use fem tactics and it's a null signal. Think of him as supergenius child too young to notice vive-la-difference."

"I'll remember. Mannie, why do you call him 'he'?"

"Uh, can't call him 'it,' don't think of him as 'she.'"

"Perhaps I had better think of him as 'she.' Of her as 'she' I mean."

"Suit yourself." I punched MYCROFFXXX, standing so body shielded it; was not ready to share number till I saw how thing went. Idea of blowing up Mike had shaken me. "Mike?"

"Hello, Man my only friend."

"May not be only friend from now on, Mike. Want you to meet somebody. Not-stupid."

"I knew you were not alone, Man; I can hear breathing. Will you please ask Not-Stupid to move closer to the phone?"

Wyoming looked panicky. She whispered, "Can he see?"

"No, Not-Stupid, I cannot see you; this phone has no video circuit. But binaural microphonic receptors place you with some accuracy. From your voice, your breathing, your heartbeat, and the fact that you are alone in a bundling room with a mature male I extrapolate that you are female human, sixtyfive-plus kilos in mass, and of mature years, on the close order of thirty."

Wyoming gasped. I cut in. "Mike, her name is Wyoming Knott."

"I'm very pleased to meet you, Mike. You can call me 'Wye.'"

"Why not?" Mike answered.

I cut in again. "Mike, was that a joke?"

"Yes, Man. I noted that her first name as shortened differs from the English causation-inquiry word by only an aspiration and that her last name has the same sound as the general negator. A pun. Not funny?"

Wyoh said, "Quite funny, Mike. I--"

I waved to her to shut up. "A good pun, Mike. Example of 'funny-only-once' class of joke. Funny through element of surprise. Second time, no surprise; therefore not funny. Check?"

"I had tentatively reached that conclusion about puns in thinking over your remarks two conversations back. I am pleased to find my reasoning confirmed."

"Good boy, Mike; making progress. Those hundred jokes--I've read them and so has Wyoh."

"Wyoh? Wyoming Knott?"

"Huh? Oh, sure. Wyoh, Wye, Wyoming, Wyoming Knott--all same. Just don't call her 'Why not'."

"I agreed not to use that pun again, Man. Gospazha, shall I call you 'Wyoh' rather than 'Wye'? I conjecture that the monosyllabic form could be confused with the causation inquiry monosyllable through insufficient redundancy and without intention of punning."

Wyoming blinked--Mike's English at that time could be smothering--but came back strong. "Certainly, Mike. 'Wyoh' is the form of my name that I like best."

"Then I shall use it. The full form of your first name is still more subject to misinterpretation as it is identical in sound with the name of an administrative region in Northwest Managerial Area of the North American Directorate."

"I know, I was born there and my parents named me after the State. I don't remember much about it."

"Wyoh, I regret that this circuit does not permit display of pictures. Wyoming is a rectangular area lying between Terran coordinates forty-one and forty-five degrees north, one hundred four degrees three minutes west and one hundred eleven degrees three minutes west, thus containing two hundred fifty three thousand, five hundred ninety-seven point two six square kilometers. It is a region of high plains and of mountains, having limited fertility but esteemed for natural beauty. Its population was sparse until augmented through the relocation subplan of the Great New York Urban Renewal Program, A.D. twenty-twenty-five through twenty-thirty."

"That was before I was born," said Wyoh, "but I know about it; my grandparents were relocated--and you could say that's how I wound up in Luna."

"Shall I continue about the area named 'Wyoming'?" Mike asked.

"No, Mike," I cut in, "you probably have hours of it in storage."

"Nine point seven three hours at speech speed not including cross-references, Man."

"Was afraid so. Perhaps Wyoh will want it some day. But purpose of call is to get you acquainted with this Wyoming... who happens also to be a high region of natural beauty and imposing mountains."

"And limited fertility," added Wyoh. "Mannie, if you are going to draw silly parallels, you should include that one. Mike isn't interested in how I look."

"How do you know? Mike, wish I could show you picture of her."

"Wyoh, I am indeed interested in your appearance; I am hoping that you will be my friend. But I have seen several pictures of you."

"You have? When and how?"

"I searched and then studied them as soon as I heard your name. I am contract custodian of the archive files of the Birth Assistance Clinic in Hong Kong Luna. In addition to biological and physiological data and case histories the bank contains ninety-six pictures of you. So I studied them."

Wyoh looked very startled. "Mike can do that," I explained, "in time it takes us to hiccup. You'll get used to it."

"But heavens! Mannie, do you realize what sort of pictures the Clinic takes?"

"Hadn't thought about it."

"Then don't! Goodness!"

Mike spoke in voice painfully shy, embarrassed as a puppy who has made mistakes. "Gospazha Wyoh, if I have offended, it was unintentional and I am most sorry. I can erase those pictures from my temporary storage and key the Clinic archive so that I can look at them only on retrieval demand from the Clinic and then without association or mentation. Shall I do so?"

"He can," I assured her. "With Mike you can always make a fresh start--better than humans that way. He can forget so completely that he can't be tempted to look later... and couldn't think about them even if called on to retrieve. So take his offer if you're in a huhu."

"Uh... no, Mike, it's all right for you to see them. But don't show them to Mannie!"

Mike hesitated a long time--four seconds or more. Was, I think, type of dilemma that pushes lesser computers into nervous breakdowns. But he resolved it. "Man my only friend, shall I accept this instruction?"

"Program it, Mike," I answered, "and lock it in. But, Wyoh, isn't that a narrow attitude? One might do you justice. Mike could print it out for me next time I'm there."

"The first example in each series," Mike offered, "would be, on the basis of my associational analyses of such data, of such pulchritudinous value as to please any healthy, mature human male."

"How about it, Wyoh? To pay for apleistrudel."

"Uh... a picture of me with my hair pinned up in a towel and standing in front of a grid without a trace of makeup? Are you out of your rock-happy mind? Mike, don't let him have it!"

"I shall not let him have it. Man, this is a not-stupid?"

"For a girl, yes. Girls are interesting, Mike; they can reach conclusions with even less data than you can. Shall we drop subject and consider jokes?"

That diverted them. We ran down list, giving our conclusions. Then tried to explain jokes Mike had failed to understand. With mixed success. But real stumbler turned out to be stories I had marked "funny" and Wyoh had judged "not" or vice versa; Wyoh asked Mike his opinion of each.

Wish she had asked him before we gave our opinions; that electronic juvenile delinquent always agreed with her, disagreed with me. Were those Mike's honest opinions? Or was he trying to lubricate new acquaintance into friendship? Or was it his skewed notion of humor--joke on me? Didn't ask.

But as pattern completed Wyob wrote a note on phone's memo pad: "Mannie, re --17, 51, 53, 87, 90, & 99--Mike is a she!"

I let it go with a shrug, stood up. "Mike, twenty-two hours since I've had sleep. You kids chat as long as you want to. Call you tomorrow."

"Goodnight, Man. Sleep well. Wyoh, are you sleepy?"

"No, Mike, I had a nap. But, Mannie, we'll keep you awake. No?"

"No. When I'm sleepy, I sleep." Started making couch into bed.

Wyoh said, "Excuse me, Mike," got up, took sheet out of my hands. "I'll make it up later. You doss over there, tovarishch; you're bigger than I am. Sprawl out."

Was too tired to argue, sprawled out, asleep at once. Seem to remember hearing in sleep giggles and a shriek but never woke enough to be certain.

Woke up later and came fully awake when I realized was hearing two fem voices, one Wyoh's warm contralto, other a sweet, high soprano with French accent. Wyoh chuckled at something and answered, "All right, Michelle dear, I'll call you soon. 'Night, darling."

"Fine. Goodnight, dear."

Wyoh stood up, turned around. "Who's your girl friend?" I asked. Thought she knew no one in Luna City. Might have phoned Hong Kong... had sleep-logged feeling was some reason she shouldn't phone.

"That? Why, Mike, of course. We didn't mean to wake you."

"What?"

"Oh. It was actually Michelle. I discussed it with Mike, what sex he was, I mean. He decided that he could be either one. So now she's Michelle and that was her voice. Got it right the first time, too; her voice never cracked once."

"Of course not; just shifted voder a couple of octaves. What are you trying to do: split his personality?"

"It's not just pitch; when she's Michelle its an entire change in manner and attitude. Don't worry about splitting her personality; she has plenty for any personality she needs. Besides, Mannie, it's much easier for both of us. Once she shifted, we took our hair down and cuddled up and talked girl talk as if we had known each other forever. For example, those silly pictures no longer embarrassed me--in fact we discussed my pregnancies quite a lot. Michelle was terribly interested. She knows all about O.B. and G.Y. and so forth but just theory--and she appreciated the raw facts. Actually, Mannie, Michelle is much more a woman than Mike was a man."

"Well... suppose it's okay. Going to be a shock to me first time I call Mike and a woman answers."

"Oh, but she won't!"

"Huh?"

"Michelle is my friend. When you call, you'll get Mike. She gave me a number to keep it straight--'Michelle' spelled with a Y. M Y, C, H, E, L, L, E, and Y, Y, Y make it come out ten."

I felt vaguely jealous while realizing it was silly. Suddenly Wyoh giggled. "And she told me a string of new jokes, ones you wouldn't think were funny--and, boy, does she know rough ones!"

"Mike--or his sister Michelle--is a low creature. Let's make up couch. I'll switch."

"Stay where you are. Shut up. Turn over. Go back to sleep." I shut up, turned over, went back to sleep.

Sometime much later I became aware of "married" feeling--something warm snuggled up to my back. Would not have wakened but she was sobbing softly. I turned and got her head on my arm, did not speak. She stopped sobbing; presently breathing became slow and even. I went back to sleep.