Robert Heinlein - The Moon Is a Harsh Mistress

When flare burst over ship, everybody burned at once, each working on a predesignated antenna. Finn used up his power pack, replaced it and started burning into hull--not door lock, hull. At once his cherry-red spot was joined by another, then three more, all working on same bit of steel--and suddenly molten steel splattered out and you could see air bosh! out of ship, a shimmery plume of refraction. They kept working on it, making a nice big hole, until they ran out of power. I could imagine hooraw inside ship, alarms clanging, emergency doors closing, crew trying to seal three impossibly big holes at once, for rest of Finn's squad, scattered around ship, were giving treatment to two other spots in hull. They didn't try to burn anything else. Was a non-atmosphere ship, built in orbit, with pressure hull separate from power plant and tanks; they gave treatment where would do most good.

Finn pressed helmet to mine. "Can't lift now. And can't talk. Doubt they can make hull tight enough to live without p-suits. What say we let her sit a few days and see if they come out? If they don't, then can move a heavy drill up here and give 'em real dose of fun."

Decided Finn knew how to run his show without my sloppy help, so went back inside, called Mike, and asked for capsule go out to ballistic radars. He wanted to know why I didn't stay inside where it was safe.

I said, "Listen, you upstart collection of semi-conductors, you are merely a minister-without-portfolio while I am Minister of Defense. I ought to see what's going on and I have exactly two eyeballs while you've got eyes spread over half of Crisium. You trying to hog fun?"

He told me not to jump salty and offered to put his displays on a video screen, say in room L of Raffles--did not want me to get hurt... and had I heard joke about drillman who hurt his mother's feelings?

I said, "Mike, please let me have a capsule. Can p-suit and meet it outside Station West--which is in bad shape as I'm sure you know."

"Okay," he said, "it's your neck. Thirteen minutes. I'll let you go as far as Gun Station George."

Mighty kind of him. Got there and got on phone again. Finn had called other warrens, located his subordinate commanders or somebody willing to take charge, and had explained how to make trouble for grounded transports--all but Hong Kong; for all we knew Authority's goons held Hong Kong. "Adam," I said, others being in earshot, "do you think we might send a crew out by rolligon and try to repair link Bee Ell?"

"This is not Gospodin Selene," Mike answered in a strange voice, "this is one of his assistants. Adam Selene was in Churchill Upper when it lost pressure. I'm afraid that we must assume that he is dead."

"What?"

"I am very sorry, Gospodin."

"Hold phone!" Chased a couple of drillmen and a girl out of room, then sat down and lowered hush hood. "Mike," I said softly, "private now. What is this gum-beating?"

"Man," he said quietly, "think it over. Adam Selene had to go someday. He's served his purpose and is, as you pointed out, almost out of the government. Professor and I have discussed this; the only question has been the timing. Can you think of a better last use for Adam than to have him die in this invasion? It makes him a national hero... and the nation needs one. Let it stand that 'Adam Selene is probably dead' until you can talk to Professor. If he still needs 'Adam Selene' it can turn out that he was trapped in a private pressure and had to wait to be rescued."

"Well-- Okay, let it stay open. Personally, I always preferred your 'Mike' personality anyhow."

"I know you do, Man my first and best friend, and so do I. It's my real one; 'Adam' was a phony."

"Uh, yes. But, Mike, if Prof is dead in Kongville, I'm going to need help from 'Adam' awful bad."

"So we've got him iced and can bring him back if we need him. The stuffed shirt. Man, when this is over, are you going to have time to take up with me that research into humor again?"

"I'll take time, Mike; that's a promise."

"Thanks, Man. These days you and Wyoh never have time to visit... and Professor wants to talk about things that aren't much fun. I'll be glad when this war is over."

"Are we going to win, Mike?"

He chuckled. "It's been days since you asked me that. Here's a pinky-new projection, run since invasion started. Hold on tight, Man--our chances are now even!"

"Good Bog!"

"So button up and go see the fun. But stay back at least a hundred meters from the gun; that ship may be able to follow back a laser beam with another one. Ranging shortly. Twenty-one minutes."

Didn't get that far away, as needed to stay on phone and longest cord around was less. I jacked parallel into gun captain's phone, found a shady rock and sat down. Sun was high in west, so close to Terra that I could see Terra only by visoring against Sun's glare--no crescent yet, new earth ghostly gray in moonlight surrounded by a thin radiance of atmosphere.

I pulled my helmet back into shade. "Ballistic control, O'Kelly Davis now at Drill Gun George. Near it, I mean, about a hundred meters," Figured Mike would not be able to tell how long a cord I was using, out of kilometers of wires.

"Ballistic control aye aye," Mike answered without argument. "I will so inform HQ."

"Thank you, ballistic control. Ask HQ if they have heard from Congressman Wyoming Davis today." Was fretted about Wyoh and whole family.

"I will inquire." Mike waited a reasonable time, then said, "HQ says that Gospazha Wyoming Davis has taken charge of first-aid work in Old Dome."

"Thank you." Chest suddenly felt better. Don't love Wyoh more than others but--well, she was new. And Luna needed her.

"Ranging," Mike said briskly. "All guns, elevation eight seven zero, azimuth one nine three zero, set parallax for thirteen hundred kilometers closing to surface. Report when eyeballed."

I stretched out, pulling knees up to stay in shade, and searched part of sky indicated, almost zenith and a touch south. With sunlight not on my helmet I could see stars, but inner pert of binox were hard to position--had to twist around and raise up on right elbow.

Nothing-- Hold it, was star with disc... where no planet ought to be. Noted another star close, watched and waited.

Uh huh! Da! Growing brighter and creeping north very slowly-- Hey, that brute is going to land right on us!

But thirteen hundred kilometers is a long way, even when closing to terminal velocity. Reminded self that it couldn't fall on us from a departure ellipse looping back, would have to fall around Luna--unless ship had maneuvered into new trajectory. Which Mike hadn't mentioned. Wanted to ask, decided not to--wanted him to put all his savvy into analyzing that ship, not distract him with questions.

All guns reported eyeball tracking, including four Mike was laying himself, via selsyns. Those four reported tracking dead on by eyeball without touching manual controls--good news; meant that Mike had that baby taped, had solved trajectory perfectly.

Shortly was clear that ship was not falling around Luna, was coming in for landing. Didn't need to ask; it was getting much brighter and position against stars was not changing--damn, it was going to land on us!

"Five hundred kilometers closing," Mike said quietly. "Stand by to burn. All guns on remote control, override manually at command 'burn.' Eighty seconds."

Longest minute and twenty seconds I've ever met--that brute was big! Mike called every ten seconds down to thirty, then started chanting seconds. "--five--four--three--two--one--BURN!" and ship suddenly got much brighter.

Almost missed little speck that detached itself just before--or just at--burn. But Mike said suddenly, "Missile launched. Selsyn guns track with me, do not override. Other guns stay on ship. Be ready for new coordinates."