The Moon Is a Harsh Mistress

by Robert A. Heinlein

  “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.”

  6

  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 re
sponsible 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.”

  I said, “Prof, you know me. If kicking out Authority was thing we could buy. I wouldn’t worry about price.”

  “‘—our lives, our fortunes, and our sacred honor.’”

  “Huh?”

  “A price that once was paid.”

  “Well—I’d go that high. But when I bet I want a chance to win. Told Wyoh last night I didn’t object to long odds—”

  “‘One in ten’ is what you said, Mannie.”

  “Da, Wyoh. Show me those odds, I’ll tap pot. But can you?”

  “No, Manuel, I can’t.”

  “Then why we talk-talk? I can’t see any chance.”

  “Nor I, Manuel. But we approach it differently. Revolution is an art that I pursue rather than a goal I expect to achieve. Nor is this a source of dismay; a lost cause can be as spiritually satisfying as a victory.”

  “Not me. Sorry.”

  “Mannie,” Wyoh said suddenly, “ask Mike.”

  I stared. “You serious?”

  “Quite serious. If anyone can figure out odds, Mike should be able to. Don’t you think?”

  “Um. Possible.”

  “Who, if I may ask,” Prof put in, “is Mike?”

  I shrugged. “Oh, just a nobody.”

  “Mike is Mannie’s best friend. He’s very good at figuring odds.”

  “A bookie? My dear, if we bring in a fourth party we start by violating the cell principle.”

  “I don’t see why,” Wyoh answered. “Mike could be a member of the cell Mannie will head.”

  “Mmm … true. I withdraw objection. He is safe? You vouch for him? Or you, Manuel?”

  I said, “He’s dishonest, immature, practical joker, not interested in politics.”

  “Mannie, I’m going to tell Mike you said that. Professor, he’s nothing of the sort—and we need him. Uh, in fact he might be our chairman, and we three the cell under him. The executive cell.”

  “Wyoh, you getting enough oxygen?”

  “I’m okay, I haven’t been guzzling it the way you have. Think, Mannie. Use imagination.”

  “I must confess,” said Prof, “that I find these conflicting reports very conflicting.”

  “Mannie?”

  “Oh, hell.” So we told him, between us, all about Mike, how he woke up. got his name, met Wyoh. Prof accepted idea of a self-aware computer easier than I accepted idea of snow first time I saw. Prof just nodded and said, “Go on.”

  But presently he said, “This is the Warden’s own computer? Why not invite the Warden to our meetings and be done with it?”

  We tried to reassure him. At last I said, “Put it this way. Mike is his own boy, just as you are. Call him rational anarchist, for he’s rational and he feels no loyalty to any government.”

  “If this machine is not loyal to its owners, why expect it to be loyal to you?”

  “A feeling. I treat Mike well as I know how, he treats me same way.” I told how Mike had taken precautions to protect me. “I’m not sure he could betray me to anyone who didn’t have those signals, one to secure phone, other to retrieve what I’ve talked about or stored with him; machines don’t think way people do. But feel dead sure he wouldn’t want to betray me and probably could protect me even if somebody got those signals.”

  “Mannie,” suggested Wyoh, “why not call him? Once Professor de la Paz talks to him he will know why we trust Mike. Professor, we don’t have to tell Mike any secrets until you feel sure of him.”

  “I see no harm in that.”

  “Matter of fact,” I admitted, “already told him some secrets.” I told them about recording last night’s meeting and how I stored it.

  Prof was distressed, Wyoh was worried. I said, “Damp it! Nobody but me knows retrieval signal. Wyoh, you know how Mike behaved about your pictures; won’t let me have those pictures even though I suggested lock on them. But if you two will stop oscillating, I’ll call him, make sure that nobody has retrieved that recording. and tell him to erase—then it’s gone forever, computer memory is all or nothing. Or can go one better. Call Mike and have him play record back into recorder, wiping storage. No huhu.”

  “Don’t bother,” said Wyoh. “Professor, I trust Mike—and so will you.”

  “On second thought,” Prof admitted, “I see little hazard from a recording of last night’s meeting. One that large always contains spies and one of them may have used a recorder as you did, Manuel. I was upset at what appeared to be your indiscretion—a weakness a member of a conspiracy must never have, especially one at the top, as you are.”

  “Was not member of conspiracy when I fed that recording into Mike—and not now unless somebody quotes odds better than those so far!”

  “I retract; you were not indiscreet. But are you seriously suggesting that this machine can predict the outcome of a revolution?”

  “Don’t know.”

  “I think he can!” said Wyoh.

  “Hold it, Wyoh. Prof, he could predict it fed all significant data.”

  “That’s my point, Manuel. I do not doubt that this machine can solve problems I cannot grasp. But one of this scope? It would have to know—oh, goodness!—all of human history, all details of the entire social, political, and economic situation on Terra today and the same for Luna, a wide knowledge of psychology in all its ramifications, a wide knowledge of technology with all its possibilities, weaponry, communications, strategy and tactics, agitprop techniques, classic authorities such as Clausewitz, Guevera, Morgenstern, Machiavelli, many others.”

  “Is that all?”

  “‘Is that all?’ My dear boy!”

  “Prof, how many history books have you read?”

  “I do not know. In excess of a thousand.”

  “Mike can zip through that many this afternoon, speed limited only by scanning method—he can store data much faster. Soon—minutes—-he would have every fact correlated with everything else he knows, discrepancies noted, probability values assigned to uncertainties. Prof, Mike reads every word of every newspaper up from Terra. Reads all technical publications. Reads fiction—knows it’s fiction—because isn’t enough to keep him busy and is always hungry for more. If is any book he should read to solve this, say so. He can cram it down fast as I get it to him.”

  Prof blinked. “I stand corrected. Very well, let us see if he can cope with it. I still think there is something known as ‘intuition’ and ‘human judgment.’”

  “Mike has intuition,” Wych said. “Feminine intuition, that is.”

  “As for ‘human judgment,’” I added, “Mike isn’t human. But all he knows he got fro
m humans. Let’s get you acquainted and you judge his judgment.”

  So I phoned. “Hi, Mike!”

  “Hello, Man my only male friend. Greetings, Wyoh my only female friend. I heard a third person. I conjecture that it may be Professor Bernardo de la Paz.”

  Prof looked startled, then delighted. I said, “Too right, Mike. That’s why I called you; Professor is not-stupid.”

  “Thank you, Man! Professor Bernardo de la Paz, I am delighted to meet you.”

  “I am delighted to meet you, too, sir.” Prof hesitated, went on “Mi—Señor Holmes, may I ask how you knew that I was here?”

  “I am sorry, sir; I cannot answer. Man? ‘You know my methods.’”

  “Mike is being crafty, Prof. It involves something he learned doing a confidential job for me. So he threw me a hint to let you think that he had identified you by hearing your presence—and he can indeed tell much from respiration and heartbeat … mass, approximate age, sex, and quite a bit about health; Mike’s medical storage is as full as any other.”

  “I am happy to say,” Mike added seriously, “that I detect no signs of cardiac or respiratory trouble, unusual for a man of the Professor’s age who has spent so many years Earthside. I congratulate you, sir.”

  “Thank you, Señor Holmes.”

  “My pleasure, Professor Bernardo de la Paz.”

  “Once he knew your identity, he knew how old you are, when you were shipped and what for, anything that ever appeared about you in Lunatic or Moonglow or any Lunar publication, including pictures—your bank balance, whether you pay bills on time, and much more. Mike retrieved this in a split second once he had your name. What he didn’t tell—because was my business—is that he knew I had invited you here, so it’s a short jump to guess that you’re still here when he heard heartbeat and breathing that matched you. Mike, no need to say ‘Professor Bernardo de la Paz’ each time; ‘Professor’ or”Prof’ is enough.”

  “Noted, Man. But he addressed me formally, with honorific.”

  “So both of you relax. Prof, you scan it? Mike knows much, doesn’t tell all, knows when to keep mouth shut.”

  “I am impressed!”