Christopher Nuttall - A Learning Experience

“I really hate it when people suggest I have a moral responsibility to do anything,” Steve admitted. “On the face of it, I suppose you do have a point. But let’s face it — we overthrew Saddam and, partly because of problems in the federal government, we wound up fighting a bloody war for six years. There’s still a striking lack of gratitude in large parts of the Middle East.”

He held up a hand before Dawlish could say a word. “I know, we didn’t help them as much as we had hoped,” he added. “But it put me off future interventions even before we captured the alien ship. In future, our only interventions will be against governments that refuse to allow their people to leave their states and go to space.”

“I see,” Dawlish said. “I have quite a few other questions…”

Steve grinned. “I’ve a better idea,” he said. “How would you like to see the moon?”

Dawlish grinned back. “I’d love it.”

Heinlein Colony, Luna

Gunter Dawlish had never really wanted to be an astronaut. They did nothing, beyond flying to orbit and then landing back on boring old Earth. There was no drama in the space program, in his view, nothing particularly exciting. But now… he took a step forward and gasped as he realised just how weak the gravity on the moon actually was. He could jump into the air and fly…

“It gets everyone,” Rochester called after him. “We give new arrivals a few days to get used to it before we put them to work.”

“It’s bloody fucking fantastic,” Gunter said. He knew he sounded like a kid and he didn’t much care. “you could make a mint just letting people come to the moon for a few days.”

“We’re working on it,” Rochester assured him, as Gunter dropped back down to the ground. “Heinlein — the author — talked about people flying under the lunar dome. We’re actually planning to build a stadium for such games in the next few months. Maybe even build some form of antigravity broomstick and play Quidditch.”

Gunter snorted. “Just how big is the colony now?”

“Oh, we’re expanding all the time,” Rochester said. “We have some alien laser cutters to dig into the ground, then human technology to expand and keep expanding. One of our processors turned lunar rock into something we can use to line the colony edges, then we just build the rest of the structure up piece by piece. At worst, all we have to do is dig out a cave, install an airlock and Bob’s the bloke who buggers your auntie.”

He shrugged. “We have around two thousand people working here now,” he added, “with new chambers and living accommodation added all the time. Someone had the bright idea of installing a fish farm, so we’re hopefully going to get some better food in the next few weeks.”

“And we have millions of requests — literally — for places on the moon,” Steve Stuart said. “I think the colony will expand at terrifying speed. But it won’t be the only place.”

Gunter turned to him and lifted an eyebrow. “Where else?”

“We have plans underway to start terraforming Mars,” Steve Stuart reminded him. “And there will be thousands of asteroids to turn into small homesteads. The stars are the limit, quite literally.”

The tour of the colony took longer than Gunter had expected, but he couldn’t help admiring just how much work had been done in just over a month. Rochester put it down to an absence of idiotic bureaucratic safety regulations and the skills of a dozen former combat engineers. They were very good at improvising, he explained, detailing some of the problems they’d had in adapting Earth technology for the lunar surface. Even trucks and tractors designed for very cold environments had needed heavy modification before they could be placed on the moon and put to work.

“That’s one of the few laws we have,” Rochester said, as they passed through a large airlock and into an underground chamber. He pointed at a sign on the rear of the hatch. “And common sense reigns supreme.”

Gunter had to smile. The sign read ANYONE STUPID ENOUGH TO NOT CHECK THEIR SPACESUIT BEFORE PASSING THROUGH THIS HATCH DESERVES TO DIE.

“It seems rather blunt,” he said. “What do your people think of it?”

“They put it up,” Rochester said. He shrugged. “On Earth, you have idiots winning the Darwin Awards by sneaking onto railway lines and getting killed… and then their relatives try to sue the train operators. Or criminals breaking in and then suffering an accident and trying to sue the person they tried to rob. Here… if there genuinely is someone to blame, they will get hammered, but if it was a genuine accident or the victim’s stupidity we will learn from it and move on. We certainly won’t shut down the whole program for years while politicians beat their breasts and cry crocodile tears for a TV audience.”

He smiled. “We do take care to keep the children well away from the airlocks,” he added. “There aren’t many kids up here, but those we do have are supposed to stay in the lower levels without their parents or another adult accompanying them.”

Gunter looked over at him. “You have kids here?”

“This is a city, or it will be,” Rochester said. “You’d be surprised by just how many people on my team wanted to move their families here.”

He shrugged. “Setting up the school took some time,” he added. “But once we hired some decent teachers the kids started to settle down and study properly. And they love the low-gravity environment.”

“I recall at least one science-fiction novel where Luna-born children could never return to Earth,” Gunter said, slowly. “Is that actually going to be a problem?”

“It could be,” Rochester said. “We give everyone muscle-building stimulants, but someone who stays in Luna gravity long enough will have problems when they return to Earth. Ideally, of course, everyone should exercise frequently to keep building up their muscles, but some people will probably fail to keep up with it.”

He shrugged, again. “As we say, time and time again, you are responsible for your own behaviour,” he reminded Gunter. “If someone doesn’t exercise… well, the condition of their body is their responsibility.”

Gunter shook his head, then looked over at Steve Stuart. “What sort of taxes are you going to have here?”

“We plan to insist that no one is charged more than ten percent of their earnings,” Steve Stuart said. “Both personnel and business; if a business is based here, on lunar soil, it won’t be taxed more than ten percent either. We want to avoid the endless problems people have with filling in tax assessments back in the States. If you earn a thousand dollars, you owe one hundred dollars to the government.”

“I might move here,” Gunter said. “Would you take me?”

“We’d take anyone who was willing to accept the rights and responsibilities of citizenship,” Steve Stuart said. “If you wanted to be based here, you would be welcome. But I did have a different job offer in mind for you. I think I’ll need a press secretary.”

Gunter shook his head, quickly. “I hate dealing with the press,” he said. “Sorry.”

Rochester snorted. “You are the press.”

“And that’s why I hate it,” Gunter said. “Being a reporter can be fun, being someone who has to handle the reporters is far less… interesting. But I would definitely like to move here.”

“We’ll let you know as soon as the first apartment blocks are up and running,” Rochester assured him. “Now, if you’d like to see the aliens…?”

“Mr. Komura passed the test with flying colours,” Kevin said, when Steve returned to the starship. “He was something of an idealist when he joined the United Nations, but he isn’t any longer. Apparently, actually dealing with the politicians and diplomats is bad for one’s hero-worship.”