Robert Heinlein - The Moon Is a Harsh Mistress

I said, "What in Bog's name you talking about?" Then, "Come back! Haven't conceded anything!"

So Great New York Times printed:

LUNAR "UNDERSECRETARY" SAYS:

"FOOD BELONGS TO HUNGRY"

New York Today--O'Kelly Davis, soi-disant "Colonel of the Armed Forces of Free Luna" here on a junket to stir up support for the insurgents in the F.N. Lunar colonies, said in a voluntary statement to this paper that the "Freedom from Hunger" clause in the Grand Charter applied to the Lunar grain shipments--

I asked Prof how should have handled? "Always answer an unfriendly question with another question," he told me. "Never ask him to clarify; he'll put words in your mouth. This reporter-- Was he skinny? Ribs showing?"

"No. Heavyset."

"Not living on eighteen hundred calories a day, I take it, which is the subject of that order he cited. Had you known you could have asked him how long he had conformed to the ration and why he quit? Or asked him what he had for breakfast--and then looked unbelieving no matter what he answered. Or when you don't know what a man is getting at, let your counter-question shift the subject to something you do want to talk about. Then, no matter what he answers, make your point and call on someone else. Logic does not enter into it--just tactics."

"Prof, nobody here is living on eighteen hundred calories a day. Bombay, maybe. Not here."

"Less than that in Bombay. Manuel, that 'equal ration' is a fiction. Half the food on this planet is in the black market, or is not reckoned through one ruling or another. Or they keep two sets of books, and figures submitted to the F.N. having nothing to do with the economy. Do you think that grain from Thailand and Burma and Australia is correctly reported to the Control Board by Great China? I'm sure that the India representative on that food board doesn't. But India keeps quiet because she gets the lion's share from Luna... and then 'plays politics with hunger'--a phrase you may remember--by using our grain to control her elections. Kerala had a planned famine last year. Did you see it in the news?"

"No."

"Because it wasn't in the news. A managed democracy is a wonderful thing, Manuel, for the managers....nd its greatest strength is a 'free press' when 'free' is defined as 'responsible' and the managers define what is 'irresponsible.' Do you know what Luna needs most?"

"More ice."

"A news system that does not bottleneck through one channel. Our friend Mike is our greatest danger."

"Huh? Don't you trust Mike?"

"Manuel, on some subjects I don't trust even myself. Limiting the freedom of news 'just a little bit' is in the same category with the classic example 'a little bit pregnant.' We are not yet free nor will we be as long as anyone--even our ally Mike--controls our news. Someday I hope to own a newspaper independent of any source or channel. I would happily set print by hand, like Benjamin Franklin."

I gave up. "Prof, suppose these talks fail and grain shipments stop. What happens?"

"People back home will be vexed with us... and many here on Terra would die. Have you read Malthus?"

"Don't think so."

"Many would die. Then a new stability would be reached with somewhat more people--more efficient people and better fed. This planet isn't crowded; it is just mismanaged... and the unkindest thing you can do for a hungry man is to give him food. 'Give.' Read Malthus. It is never safe to laugh at Dr. Malthus; he always has the last laugh. A depressing man, I'm glad he's dead. But don't read him until this is over; too many facts hamper a diplomat, especially an honest one."

"I'm not especially honest."

"But you have no talent for dishonesty, so your refuge must be ignorance and stubbornness. You have the latter; try to preserve the former. For the nonce. Lad, Uncle Bernardo is terribly tired."

I said, "Sorry," and wheeled out of his room. Prof was hitting too hard a pace. I would have been willing to quit if would insure his getting into a ship and out of that gravity. But traffic stayed one way--grain barges, naught else.

But Prof had fun. As I left and waved lights out, noticed again a toy he had bought, one that delighted him like a kid on Christmas--a brass cannon.

A real one from sailing ship days. Was small, barrel about half a meter long and massing, with wooden carriage, only kilos fifteen. A "signal gun" its papers said. Reeked of ancient history, pirates, men "walking plank." A pretty thing but I asked Prof why? If we ever managed to leave, price to lift that mass to Luna would hurt--I was resigned to abandoning a p-suit with years more wear in it--abandon everything but two left arms and a pair of shorts, If pressed, might give up social arm. If very pressed, would skip shorts.

He reached out and stroked shiny barrel. "Manuel, once there was a man who held a political make-work job like so many here in this Directorate, shining brass cannon around a courthouse."

"Why would courthouse have cannon?"

"Never mind. He did this for years. It fed him and let him save a bit, but he was not getting ahead in the world. So one day he quit his job, drew out his savings, bought a brass cannon--and went into business for himself."

"Sounds like idiot."

"No doubt. And so were we, when we tossed out the Warden. Manuel, you'll outlive me. When Luna adopts a flag, I would like it to be a cannon or, on field sable, crossed by bar sinister gules of our proudly ignoble lineage. Do you think it could be managed?"

"Suppose so, if you'll sketch. But why a flag? Not a flagpole in all Luna."

"It can fly in our hearts... a symbol for all fools so ridiculously impractical as to think they can fight city hail. Will you remember, Manuel?"

"Sure. That is, will remind you when time comes." Didn't like such talk. He had started using oxygen tent in private--and would not use in public.

Guess I'm "ignorant" and "stubborn"--was both in place called Lexington, Kentucky, in Central Managerial Area. One thing no doctrine about, no memorized answers, was life in Luna. Prof said to tell truth and emphasize homely, warm, friendly things, especially anything different. "Remember, Manuel, the thousands of Terrans who have made short visits to Luna are only a tiny fraction of one percent. To most people we will be as weirdly interesting as strange animals in a zoo. Do you remember that turtle on exhibition in Old Dome? That's us."

Certainly did; they wore that insect out, staring at. So when this male-female team started quizzing about family life in Luna was happy to answer. I prettied it only by what I left out--things that aren't family life but poor substitutes in a community overloaded with males, Luna City is homes and families mainly, dull by Terra standards--but I like it. And other warrens much same, people who work and raise kids and gossip and find most of their fun around dinner table. Not much to tell, so I diseussed anything they found interesting. Every Luna custom comes from Terra since that's where we all came from, but Terra is such a big place that a custom from Micronesia, say, may be strange in North America.

This woman--can't call her lady--wanted to know about various sorts of marriage. First, was it true that one could get married without a license "on" Luna?

I asked what a marriage license was?

Her companion said, "Skip it, Mildred. Pioneer societies never have marriage licenses."

"But don't you keep records?" she persisted.

"Certainly," I agreed. "My family keeps a family book that goes back almost to first landing at Johnson City--every marriage, birth, death, every event of importance not only in direct line but all branches so far as we can keep track. And besides, is a man, a schoolteacher, going around copying old family records all over our warren, writing a history of Luna City. Hobby."