Robert Heinlein - The Moon Is a Harsh Mistress

Moments later was alone with chairman, soundproof door locked--meant nothing; room could have a dozen ears, plus one in my left arm.

He said, "A drink? Coffee?"

I answered, "No, thank you, sir. Have to watch my diet here."

"I suppose so. Are you really limited to that chair? You look healthy."

I said, "I could, if had to, get up and walk across room. Might faint. Or worse. Prefer not to risk. Weigh six times what I should. Heart's not used to it."

"I suppose so. Colonel, I hear you had some silly trouble in North America. I'm sorry, I truly am. Barbaric place. Always hate to have to go there. I suppose you're wondering why I wanted to see you."

"No, sir, assume you'll tell when suits you. Instead was wondering why you still call me 'Colonel.'"

He gave a barking laugh. "Habit, I suppose. A lifetime of protocol. Yet it might be well for you to continue with that title. Tell me, what do you think of our five-year plan?"

Thought it stunk. "Seems to have been carefully thought out."

"Much thought went into it. Colonel, you seem to be a sensible man-- I know you are, I know not only your background but practically every word you've spoken, almost your thoughts, ever since you set foot on Earth. You were born on the Moon. Do you regard yourself as a patriot? Of the Moon?"

"Suppose so. Though tend to think of what we did just as something that had to be done."

"Between ourselves--yes. That old fool Hobart. Colonel, that is a good plan... but lacks an executive. If you are really a patriot or let's say a practical man with your country's best interests at heart, you might be the man to carry it out." He held up hand. "Don't be hasty! I'm not asking you to sell out, turn traitor, or any nonsense like that. This is your chance to be a real patriot--not some phony hero who gets himself killed in a lost cause. Put it this way. Do you think it is possible for the Lunar colonies to hold out against all the force that the Federated Nations of Earth can bring to bear? You're not really a military man, I know--and I'm glad you're not--but you are a technical man, and I know that, too. In your honest estimation, how many ships and bombs do you think it would take to destroy the Lunar colonies?"

I answered, "One ship, six bombs."

"Correct! My God, it's good to talk to a sensible man. Two of them would have to be awf'ly big, perhaps specially built. A few people would stay alive, for a while, in smaller warrens beyond the blast areas. But one ship would do it, in ten minutes."

I said, "Conceded, sir, but Professor de la Paz pointed out that you don't get milk by beating a cow. And certainly can't by shooting it."

"Why do you think we've held back, done nothing, for over a month? That idiot colleague of mine--I won't name him--spoke of 'backtalk.' Backtalk doesn't fret me; it's just talk and I'm interested in results. No, my dear Colonel, we won't shoot the cow... but we would, if forced to, let the cow know that it could be shot. H-missiles are expensive toys but we could afford to expend some as warning shots, wasted on bare rock to let the cow know what could happen. But that is more force than one likes to use--it might frighten the cow and sour its milk." He gave another barking laugh. "Better to persuade old bossy to give down willingly."

I waited. "Don't you want to know how?" he asked.

"How?" I agreed.

"Through you. Don't say a word and let me explain--"

He took me up on that high mountain and offered me kingdoms of Earth. Or of Luna. Take job of "Protector Pro Tem" with understanding was mine permanently if I could deliver. Convince Loonies they could not win. Convince them that this new setup was to their advantage--emphasize benefits, free schools, free hospitals, free this and that--details later but an everywhere government just like on Terra. Taxes starting low and handled painlessly by automatic checkoff and through kickback revenues from grain shipments. But, most important, this time Authority would not send a boy to do a man's job--two regiments of police at once.

"Those damned Peace Dragoons were a mistake," he said, "one we won't make again. Between ourselves, the reason it has taken us a month to work this out is that we had to convince the Peace Control Commission that a handful of men cannot police three million people spread through six largish warrens and fifty and more small ones. So you'll start with enough police--not combat troops but military police used to quelling civilians with a minimum of fuss. Besides that, this time they'll have female auxiliaries, the standard ten per cent-no more rape complaints. Well, sir? Think you can swing it? Knowing it's best in the long run for your own people?"

I said I ought to study it in detail, particularly plans and quotas for five-year plan, rather than make snap decision.

~Certainly, certainly!" he agreed. "I'll give you a copy of the white paper we've made up; take it home, study it, sleep on it. Tomorrow we'll talk again. Just give me your word as a gentleman to keep it under your hair. No secret, really... but these things are best settled before they are publicized. Speaking of publicity, you'll need help--and you'll get it. We'll go to the expense of sending up topnotch men, pay them what it's worth, have them centrifuge the way those scientists do--you know. This time we're doing it right. That fool Hobart--he's actually dead, isn't he?"

"No, sir. Senile, however."

"Should have killed him, Here's your copy of the plan."

"Sir? Speaking of old men-- Professor de la Paz can't stay here. Wouldn't live six months."

"That's best, isn't it?"

I tried to answer levelly, "You don't understand. He is greatly loved and respected. Best thing would be for me to convince him that you mean business with those H-missiles--and that it is his patriotic duty to salvage what we can. But, either way, if I return without him. .. well, not only could not swing it; wouldn't live long enough to try."

"Hmm-- Sleep on it. We'll talk tomorrow. Say fourteen o'clock."

I left and as soon as was loaded into lorry gave way to shakes. Just don't have high-level approach.

Stu was waiting with Prof. "Well?" said Prof.

I glanced around, tapped ear. We huddled, heads over Prof's head and two blankets over us all. Stretcher wagon was clean and so was my chair; I checked them each morning. But for room itself seemed safer to whisper under blankets.

Started in. Prof stopped me. "Discuss his ancestry and habits later. The facts."

"He offered me job of Warden."

"I trust you accepted."

"Ninety percent. I'm to study this garbage and give answer tomorrow. Stu, how fast can we execute Plan Scoot?"

"Started. We were waiting for you to return. If they let you return."

Next fifty minutes were busy. Stu produced a gaunt Hindu in a dhoti; in thirty minutes he was a twin of Prof, and lifted Prof off wagon onto a divan. Duplicating me was easier. Our doubles were wheeled into suite's living room just at dusk and dinner was brought in. Several people came and went --among them elderly Hindu woman in sari, on arm of Stuart LaJoie. A plump babu followed them.

Getting Prof up steps to roof was worst; he had never worn powered walkers, had no chance to practice, and had been flat on back for more than a month.

But Stu's arm kept him steady; I gritted teeth and climbed those thirteen terrible steps by myself. By time I reached roof, heart was ready to burst. Was put to it not to black out. A silent little flitter craft came out of gloom right on schedule and ten minutes later we were in chartered ship we had used past month--two minutes after that we jetted for Australia. Don't know what it cost to prepare this dance and keep it ready against need, but was no hitch.

Stretched out by Prof and caught breath, then said, "How you feel, Prof?"