The Moon is a Harsh Mistress (10 page)

“Looks
like computer diagram—a ternary logic.”

“Does
it really? At the next level there are two ways of linking: This comrade,
second level, knows his cell leader, his two cellmates, and on the third level
he knows the three in his subcell—he may or may not know his cellmates’
subcells. One method doubles security, the other doubles speed—of repair
if security is penetrated. Let’s say he does not know his
cellmates’ subcells—Manuel, how many can he betray? Don’t say
he won’t; today they can brainwash any person, and starch and iron and
use him. How many?”

“Six,”
I answered. “His boss, two ceilmates, three in sub-cell.”

“Seven,”
Prof corrected, “he betrays himself, too. Which leaves seven broken links
on three levels to repair. How?”

“I
don’t see how it can be,” objected Wyoh. “You’ve got
them so split up it falls to pieces.”

“Manuel?
An exercise for the student.”

“Well
… blokes down here have to have way to send message up three levels.
Don’t have to know who, just have to know where.”

“Precisely!”

“But,
Prof,” I went on, “there’s a better way to rig it.”

“Really?
Many revolutionary theorists have hammered this out, Manuel. I have such
confidence in them that I’ll offer you a wager—at, say, ten to
one.”

“Ought
to take your money. Take same cells, arrange in open pyramid of tetrahedrons.
Where vertices are in common, each bloke knows one in adjoining
cell—knows how to send message to him, that’s all he needs.
Communications never break down because they run sideways as well as up and
down. Something like a neural net. It’s why you can knock a hole in a
man’s head, take chunk of brain out, and not damage thinking much. Excess
capacity, messages shunt around. He loses what was destroyed but goes on
functioning.”

“Manuel,”
Prof said doubtfully, “could you draw a picture? It sounds good—but
it’s so contrary to orthodox doctrine that I need to see it.”

“Well
… could do better with stereo drafting machine. I’ll try.”
(Anybody who thinks it’s easy to sketch one hundred twenty-one
tetrahedrons, a five-level open pyramid, clear enough to show relationships is
invited to try!)

Presently
I said, “Look at base sketch. Each vertex of each triangle shares self
with zero, one, or two other triangles. Where shares one, that’s its
link, one direction or both—but one is enough for a multipli-redundant
communication net. On corners, where sharing is zero, it jumps to right to next
corner. Where sharing is double, choice is again right-handed.

“Now
work it with people. Take fourth level, D-for-dog. This vertex is comrade Dan.
No, let’s go down one to show three levels of communication knocked
out—level E-for-easy and pick Comrade Egbert.

“Egbert
works under Donald, has cellmates Edward and Elmer, and has three under him,
Frank, Fred, and Fatso … but knows how to send message to Ezra on his own
level but not in his cell. He doesn’t know Ezra’s name, face,
address, or anything—but has a way, phone number probably, to reach Ezra
in emergency.

“Now
watch it work. Casimir, level three, finks out and betrays Charlie and Cox in
his cell, Baker above him, and Donald, Dan, and Dick in subcell—which
isolates Egbert, Edward, and Elmer. and everybody under them.

“All
three report it—redundancy, necessary to any communication
system—but follow Egbert’s yell for help. He calls Ezra. But Ezra
is under Charlie and is isolated, too. No matter, Ezra relays both messages
through his safety link, Edmund. By bad luck Edmund is under Cox, so he also
passes it laterally, through Enwright … and that gets it past burned-out
part and it goes up through Dover, Chambers, and Beeswax, to Adam, front office
… who replies down other side of pyramid, with lateral pass on E-for-easy
level from Esther to Egbert and on to Ezra and Edmund. These two messages, up
and down, not only get through at once but in way they get through, they define
to home office exactly how much damage has been done and where. Organization
not only keeps functioning but starts repairing self at once.”

Wyoh
was tracing out lines, convincing herself it would work—which it would,
was “idiot” circuit. Let Mike study a few milliseconds, and could
produce a better, safer, more foolproof hookup. And
probably—certainly—ways to avoid betrayal while speeding up
routings. But I’m not a computer.

Prof
was staring with blank expression. “What’s trouble?” I said.
“It’ll work; this is my pidgin.”

“Manuel
my b—Excuse me: Señor O’Kelly … will you head this
revolution?”

“Me?
Great Bog, nyet! I’m no lost-cause martyr. Just talking about
circuits.”

Wyoh
looked up. “Mannie,” she said soberly, “you’re opted.
It’s settled.”

Did
like hell settle it.

Prof
said, “Manuel, don’t be hasty. Here we are, three, the perfect
number, with a variety of talents and experience. Beauty, age, and mature male
drive—”

“I
don’t have any drive!”

“Please,
Manuel. Let us think in the widest terms before attempting decisions. And to
facilitate such, may I ask if this hostel stocks potables? I have a few florins
I could put into the stream of trade.”

Was
most sensible word heard in an hour. “Stilichnaya vodka?”

“Sound
choice.” He reached for pouch.

“Tell
it to bear,” I said and ordered a liter, plus ice. It came down; was
tomato juice from breakfast.

“Now,”
I said, after we toasted, “Prof, what you think of pennant race? Got
money says Yankees can’t do it again?”

“Manuel,
what is your political philosophy?”

“With
that new boy from Milwaukee I feel like investing.”

“Sometimes
a man doesn’t have it defined but, under Socratic inquiry, knows where he
stands and why.”

“I’ll
back ‘em against field, three to two.”

“What?
You young idiot! How much?”

“Three
hundred. Hong Kong.”

“Done.
For example, under what circumstances may the State justly place its welfare
above that of a citizen?”

“Mannie,”
Wyoh asked, “do you have any more foolish money? I think well of the
Phillies.”

I
looked her over. “Just what were you thinking of betting?”

“You
go to hell! Rapist.”

“Prof,
as I see, are no circumstances under which State is justified in placing its
welfare ahead of mine.”

“Good.
We have a starting point.”

“Mannie,”
said Wyoh, “that’s a most self-centered evaluation.”

“I’m
a most self-centered person.”

“Oh,
nonsense. Who rescued me? Me, a stranger. And didn’t try to exploit it.
Professor, I was cracking not facking. Mannie was a perfect knight.”

“
Sans
peur et sans reproche
. I knew, I’ve known him for years. Which is
not inconsistent with evaluation he expressed.”

“Oh,
but it is! Not the way things are but under the ideal toward which we aim.
Mannie, the ‘State’ is Luna. Even though not soverign yet and we
hold citizenships elsewhere. But I am part of the Lunar State and so is your family.
Would you die for your family?”

“Two
questions not related.”

“Oh,
but they are! That’s the point.”

“Nyet.
I know my family, opted long ago.”

“Dear
Lady, I must come to Manuel’s defense. He has a correct evaluation even
though he may not be able to state it. May I ask this? Under what circumstances
is it moral for a group to do that which is not moral for a member of that
group to do alone?”

“Uh
… that’s a trick question.”

“It
is the key question, dear Wyoming. A radical question that strikes to the root
of the whole dilemma of government. Anyone who answers honestly and abides by
all consequences knows where he stands—and what he will die for.”

Wyoh
frowned. “‘Not moral for a member of the group—’”
she said. “Professor … what are your political principles?”

“May
I first ask yours? If you can state them?”

“Certainly
I can! I’m a Fifth Internationalist, most of the Organization is. Oh, we
don’t rule out anyone going our way; it’s a united front. We have
Communists and Fourths and Ruddyites and Societians and Single-Taxers and you
name it. But I’m no Marxist; we Fifths have a practical program. Private
where private belongs, public where it’s needed, and an admission that
circumstances alter cases. Nothing doctrinaire.”

“Capital
punishment?”

“For
what?”

“Let’s
say for treason. Against Luna after you’ve freed Luna.”

“Treason
how? Unless I knew the circumstances I could not decide.”

“Nor
could I, dear Wyoming. But I believe in capital punishment under some
circumstances … with this difference. I would not ask a court; I would
try, condemn, execute sentence myself, and accept full responsibility.”

“But—Professor,
what are your political beliefs?”

“I’m
a rational anarchist.”

“I
don’t know that brand. Anarchist individualist, anarchist Communist,
Christian anarchist, philosophical anarchist, syndicalist,
libertarian—those I know. But what’s this? Randite?”

“I
can get along with a Randite. A rational anarchist believes that concepts such
as ‘state’ and ‘society’ and ‘government’
have no existence save as physically exemplified in the acts of
self-responsible individuals. He believes that it is impossible to shift blame,
share blame, distribute blame … as blame, guilt, responsibility are
matters taking place inside human beings singly and nowhere else. But being
rational, he knows that not all individuals hold his evaluations, so he tries
to live perfectly in an imperfect world … aware that his effort will be
less than perfect yet undismayed by self-knowledge of self-failure.”

“Hear,
hear!” I said. “‘Less than perfect.’ What I’ve
been aiming for all my life.”

“You’ve
achieved it,” said Wyoh. “Professor, your words sound good but
there is something slippery about them. Too much power in the hands of
individuals—surely you would not want … well, H-missiles for
example—to be controlled by one irresponsible person?”

“My
point is that one person is responsible. Always. If H-bombs exist—and
they do—some man controls them. In terms of morals there is no such thing
as ‘state.’ Just men. Individuals. Each responsible for his own acts.”

“Anybody
need a refill?” I asked.

Nothing
uses up alcohol faster than political argument. I sent for another bottle.

I
did not take part. I was not dissatisfied back when we were “ground under
Iron Heel of Authority.” I cheated Authority and rest of time
didn’t think about it. Didn’t think about getting rid of
Authority—impossible. Go own way, mind own business, not be
bothered—

True,
didn’t have luxuries then; by Earthside standards we were poor. If had to
be imported, mostly did without; don’t think there was a powered door in
all Luna. Even p-suits used to be fetched up from Terra—until a smart
Chinee before I was born figured how to make “monkey copies” better
and simpler. (Could dump two Chinee down in one of our maria and they would get
rich selling rocks to each other while raising twelve kids. Then a Hindu would
sell retail stuff he got from them wholesale—below cost at fat profit. We
got along.)

I
had seen those luxuries Earthside. Wasn’t worth what they put up with.
Don’t mean heavy gravity, that doesn’t bother them; I mean
nonsense. All time
kukai moa
. If chicken guano in one earthworm city
were shipped to Luna, fertilizer problem would be solved for century. Do this.
Don’t do that. Stay back of line. Where’s tax receipt? Fill out
form. Let’s see license. Submit six copies. Exit only. No left turn. No
right turn. Queue up to pay fine. Take back and get stamped. Drop
dead—but first get permit.

Wyoh
plowed doggedly into Prof, certain she had all answers. But Prof was interested
in questions rather than answers, which baffled her. Finally she said,
“Professor, I can’t understand you. I don’t insist that you
call it ‘government’—I just want you to state what rules you
think are necessary to insure equal freedom for all.”

“Dear
lady, I’ll happily accept your rules.”

“But
you don’t seem to want any rules!”

“True.
But I will accept any rules that you feel necessary to your freedom. I am free,
no matter what rules surround me. If I find them tolerable, I tolerate them; if
I find them too obnoxious, I break them. I am free because I know that I alone
am morally responsible for everything I do.”

“You
would not abide by a law that the majority felt was necessary?”

“Tell
me what law, dear lady, and I will tell you whether I will obey it.”

“You
wiggled out. Every time I state a general principle, you wiggle out.”

Prof
clasped hands on chest. “Forgive me. Believe me, lovely Wyoming, I am
most anxious to please you. You spoke of willingness to unite the front with
anyone going your way. Is it enough that I want to see the Authority thrown off
Luna and would die to serve that end?”

Wyoh
beamed. “It certainly is!” She fisted his
ribs—gently—then put arm around him and kissed cheek.
“Comrade! Let’s get on with it!”

“Cheers!”
I said. “Let’s fin’ Warden ‘n’ ‘liminate him!”
Seemed a good idea; I had had a short night and don’t usually drink much.

Prof
topped our glasses, held his high and announced with great dignity:
“Comrades … we declare the Revolution!”

That
got us both kissed. But sobered me, as Prof sat down and said, “The
Emergency Committee of Free Luna is in session. We must plan action.”

I
said, “Wait, Prof! I didn’t agree to anything. What’s this
‘Action’ stuff?”

“We
will now overthrow the Authority,” he said blandly.

“How?
Going to throw rocks at ‘em?”

“That
remains to be worked out. This is the planning stage.”