Robert Heinlein - The Moon Is a Harsh Mistress

Not everybody was willing. Many comrades turned out to be talk-talk soldiers. Still more thought war was over once we had eliminated Peace Goons and captured Warden. Others were indignant to learn how far down they were in Party structure; they wanted to elect a new structure, themselves at top. Adam received endless calls proposing this or something like it--would listen, agree, assure them that their services must not be wasted by waiting for election--and refer them to Prof or me. Can't recall any of these ambitious people who amounted to anything when I tried to put them to work.

Was endless work and nobody wanted to do it. Well, a few. Some best volunteers were people Party had never located. But in general, Loonies in and out of Party had no interest in "patriotic" work unless well paid. One chum who claimed to be a Party member (was not) spragged me in Raffles where we set up headquarters and wanted me to contract for fifty thousand buttons to be worn by pre-coup "Veterans of Revolution"--a "small" profit for him (I estimate 400 percent markup), easy dollars for me, a fine thing for everybody.

When I brushed him off, he threatened to denounce me to Adam Selene--"A very good friend of mine, I'll have you know!"--for sabotage.

That was "help" we got. What we needed was something else. Needed steel at new catapult and plenty--Prof asked, if really necessary to put steel around rock missiles; I had to point out that an induction field won't grab bare rock. We needed to relocate Mike's ballistic radars at old site and install doppler radar at new site--both jobs because we could expect attacks from space at old site.

We called for volunteers, got only two who could be used--and needed several hundred mechanics who did not mind hard work in p-suits. So we hired, paying what we had to---LuNoHoCo went in hock to Bank of Hong Kong Luna; was no time to steal that much and most funds had been transferred Earthside to Stu. A dinkum comrade, Foo Moses Morris, co-signed much paper to keep us going--and wound up broke and started over with a little tailoring shop in Kongville. That was later.

Authority Scrip dropped from 3-to-1 to 17-to-1 after coup and civil service people screamed, as Mike was still paying in Authority checks. We said they could stay on or resign; then those we needed, we rehired with Hong Kong dollars. But created a large group not on our side from then on; they longed for good old days and were ready to stab new regime.

Grain farmers and brokers were unhappy because payment at catapult head continued to be Authority scrip at same old fixed prices. "We won't take it!" they cried--and LuNoHoCo man would shrug and tell them they didn't have to but this grain still went to Authority Earthside (it did) and Authority scrip was all they would get. So take cheque, or load your grain back into rolligons and get it out of here.

Most took it. All grumbled and some threatened to get out of grain and start growing vegetables or fibers or something that brought Hong Kong dollars--and Prof smiled.

We needed every drillman in Luna, especially ice miners who owned heavy-duty laser drills. As soldiers. We needed them so badly that, despite being shy one wing and rusty, I considered joining up, even though takes muscle to wrestle a big drill, and prosthetic just isn't muscle. Prof told me not to be a fool.

Dodge we had in mind would not work well Earthside; a laser beam carrying heavy power works best in vacuum--but there it works just dandy for whatever range its collimation is good for. These big drills, which had carved through rock seeking pockets of ice, were now being mounted as "artillery" to repel space attacks. Both ships and missiles have electronic nervous systems and does electronic gear no good to blast it with umpteen joules placed in a tight beam. If target is pressured (as manned ships are and most missiles), all it takes is to burn a hole, depressure it. If not pressured, a heavy laser beam can still kill it--burn eyes, louse guidance, spoil anything depending on electronics as most everything does.

An H-bomb with circuitry ruined is not a bomb, is just big tub of lithium deuteride that can't do anything but crash. A ship with eyes gone is a derelict, not a warship.

Sounds easy, is not. Those laser drills were never meant for targets a thousand kilometers away, or even one, and was no quick way to rig their cradles for accuracy. Gunner had to have guts to hold fire until last few seconds--on a target heading at him maybe two kilometers per second. But was best we had, so we organized First and Second Volunteer Defense Gunners of Free Luna--two regiments so that First could snub lowly Second and Second could be Jealous of First. First got older men, Second got young and eager.

Having called them "volunteers," we hired in Hong Kong dollars--and was no accident that ice was being paid for in controlled market in wastepaper Authority script.

On top of all, we were talking up a war scare. Adam Selene talked over video, reminding that Authority was certain to try to regain its tyranny and we had only days to prepare; papers quoted him and published stories of their own--we had made special effort to recruit newsmen before coup. People were urged to keep p-suits always near and to test pressure alarms in homes. A volunteer Civil Defense Corps was organized in each warren.

What with moonquakes always with us, each warren's pressure co-op always had sealing crews ready at any hour. Even with silicone stay-soft and fiberglass any warren leaks. In Davis Tunnels our boys did maintenance on seal every day. But now we recruited hundreds of emergency sealing crews, mostly stilyagi, drilled them with fake emergencies, had them stay in p-suits with helmets open when on duty.

They did beautifully. But idiots made fun of them--"play soldiers," "Adam's little apples," other names. A team was going through a drill, showing they could throw a temporary lock around one that had been damaged, and one of these pinheads stood by and rode them loudly.

Civil Defense team went ahead, completed temporary lock, tested it with helmets closed; it held--came out, grabbed this joker, took him through into temporary lock and on out into zero pressure, dumped him.

Belittlers kept opinions to selves after that. Prof thought we ought to send out a gentle warning not to eliminate so peremptorily. I opposed it and got my way; could see no better way to improve breed. Certain types of loudmouthism should be a capital offense among decent people.

But our biggest headaches were self-anointed statesmen.

Did I say that Loonies are "non-politica1"? They are, when comes to doing anything. But doubt if was ever a time two Loonies over a liter of beer did not swap loud opinions about how things ought to be run.

As mentioned, these self-appointed political scientists tried to grab Adam Selene's ear. But Prof had a place for them; each was invited to take part in "Ad-Hoc Congress for Organization of Free Luna"--which met in Community Hall in Luna City, then resolved to stay in session until work was done, a week in L-City, a week in Novylen, then Hong Kong, and start over. All sessions were in video. Prof presided over first and Adam Selene addressed them by video and encouraged them to do a thorough job--"History is watching you."

I listened to some sessions, then cornered Prof and asked what in Bog's name he was up to? "Thought you didn't want any government. Have you heard those nuts since you turned them loose?"

He smiled most dimply smile. "What's troubling you, Manuel?"

Many things were troubling me. With me breaking heart trying to round up heavy drills and men who could treat them as guns these idlers had spent an entire afternoon discussing immigration. Some wanted to stop it entirely. Some wanted to tax it, high enough to finance government (when ninety-nine out of a hundred Loonies had had to be dragged to The Rock!); some wanted to make it selective by "ethnic ratios." (Wondered how they would count me?) Some wanted to limit it to females until we were 50-50. That had produced a Scandinavian shout: "Ja, cobber! Tell 'em send us hoors! Tousands and tousands of hoors! I marry 'em, I betcha!"