Tongues of the Moon

by Philip José Farmer

  Jealous, Broward hurried there and found the two standing there and looking up at the half-Earth. Ingrid was holding a puppy in her arms. This was one of the few animals that had been taken unharmed from the shattered tanks of the fallen Zemlya.

  There was also the problem of women. One woman to every three men. How would this be solved? Was there any answer other than heartaches, frustration, hate, even murder?

  "I had a dream," said Broward to them. "I dreamed that we on the Moon were building a great tower which would reach up to the Earth and that was our only way to get back to Earth. But everybody spoke a different tongue, and we couldn't understand each other. Therefore, we kept putting the bricks in the wrong places or getting into furious but unintelligible argument about construction."

  He stopped, saw they expected more, and said, "I'm sorry. That's all there was. But the moral is obvious."

  "Yes," said Ingrid, stroking the head of the wriggling puppy. She looked up at Earth, close to the horizon. "The physicists say it'll be two hundred years before we can go back. Do you realize that, barring accident or war, all three of us might live to see that day? That we might return with our great-great-great-great-great-great grandchildren? And we can tell them of the Earth that was, so they will know how to build the Earth that must be."

  'Two hundred years?" said Broward. "We won't be the same persons then."

  But he doubted that even the centuries could change Scone. The man was made of rock. He would not bend or flow. Broward felt sorry for him. He would be a fossil, truly a stone man, a petrified hero.

  "We'll never get back unless we do today's work every day," said Scone. "I'll worry about Earth when it's time to worry. Let's go; we've work to do."

  Broward was walking down a corridor when he felt the rock beneath his feet tremble. Far, far below him, a battery of lasers was drilling into the depths of the Moon. Primarily, the drillers were looking for water, and they were sure that they were headed for a huge pocket of the liquid in one form or another. Secondarily, hollowing out tunnels would increase the Lebensraum for the inhabitants of Clavius. Some day, the population would be large enough to need that extra room.

  That is, thought Broward, it would if the survivors of mankind could agree on a means of keeping peace. At the moment, that did not seem very likely.

  He stopped before a door and spoke into the outline of a square set above a blank screen. It sprang into life; Ingrid Nashdoi's features appeared on it. Seeing Broward, she smiled and brushed back a lock of light brown hair hanging over one forehead.

  Like all on the Clavian base, she had a small circular area on the right side of her head where the hair had been shaved off before the bonephone was removed.

  Broward walked in, looked around, and said, "Where's Miller?"

  "Scone called a meeting. As a matter of fact, he came here to tell Miller he was wanted. I don't know why he didn't use the com."

  Broward grinned sourly. Ingrid said, "I hate myself. I'm not being honest. And I'm not fooling you. Scone is interested in me. I guess everybody knows that. Accept my apologies?"

  "That's one reason I love you," said Broward. "You're honest."

  "My! How popular I've suddenly become! You're the second man who's told me that today."

  "The other one was Scone?"

  Ingrid laughed and said, "Hardly! Do you think Scone would put himself in a position to be rejected? No, if he. asks me to marry him. he'll do so when he's dead sure that I won't or can't refuse."

  "I wonder why Scone didn't tell me there was a meeting?" said Broward.

  "You didn't hear a word I was saying. You don't really love me."

  Broward said, "I wish I thought you really cared. But..."

  "Scone called a meeting of the scientists who are responsible for our food supply. He did say something to Miller about Miller's also being present at a policy meeting later. I imagine you won't be left out of that."

  Broward looked relieved. He smiled and said, "Who was the other man, Ingrid?"

  "What other man? Oh... you mean...? Well, that's a private affair. However, I expect others soon. It won't be so flattering, though. It's just that... well, when cows are scarce, the price is high."

  "What?"

  "There are three and a half men to every woman on the Moon," replied Ingrid. "Don't ask me how the statisticians account for all those half-men walking around without heads or arms. Can't you just see them?"

  She laughed; Broward grinned slightly. He said, "It's very serious. We have to increase the population, and we must use all the genes available. Can't have inbreeding, you know."

  "I'm a psychologist," she said, "but it doesn't need a psychologist to predict trouble ahead. I overheard Doctor Abarbanel yesterday. You know her, the tall, many-curved, dark-haired, thick-lipped, disgustingly sultry biochemist? She said that the women on the base will just have to get used to group-marriage. She seemed to like the idea."

  "She was serious?"

  "Why shouldn't she be? You have any better ideas?" "Not at present," said Broward. "I don't like the idea though. What about Scone? He'd never sanction it. He's a strict moralist, at least in sexual matters. When it comes to spilling blood, that's something else."

  "I couldn't stand the idea of you... that is..."

  Ingrid came up to him, put her hands on his shoulders, and looked carefully at him. "If you were serious a moment ago, why don't you say so?"

  He took her into his arms, kissed her a long time. Then, releasing her, he said, "I've known for about a week that I loved you, Ingrid. But I didn't think that now was the time to start courting. There's too much to do just now; things are too uncertain."

  She gave a little laugh and said, "'If all men were like you in times of trouble, the human race would be extinct. People don't wait until they're sure the bombs are going to quit bursting. Why do you think that, despite the millions killed, there were more people on Earth at the end of the Second World War than there were when it started?"

  "I don't like to start anything I'm not sure I can finish."

  "In some ways, you're worse than Scone," she said. "But I love you."

  "I don't want to share you with any other men," he said fiercely.

  "I'm glad you don't. I wouldn't like it if you said it was all right, it was for the glory of the state and humankind. But..."

  "But what?" said Broward. Ingrid opened her mouth but closed it when Broward's name was announced over the IP. He listened, then said, "This is what I've been waiting for. Scone is going to brief us on the meeting with the representatives from the other bases."

  "They're coming here? How did he manage that?"

  "He holds the key to the future of man. The Zemlya. The Russ and the Chinese have to play along with him. But I don't think Scone is going to get what he wants without a long hard struggle."

  Clavius is a crater near the south pole of the Moon. It is so wide across that a man standing on its floor in the center cannot even see its towering walls; they are hidden beyond the curve of the horizon. And the Earth always hangs just a little above the horizon. It was towards the Earth that those first entering the conference looked. They could not help it, for Scone had had the ceiling and one wall depolarized for transparency, and those within the room could see the great globe. Their first thought was what Scone had wanted; the dead Earth made sure of that. All life there is gone, and we are the survivors. It is up to us to ensure that life does not die entirely in the solar system.

  The room itself was carved out of rock and normally was used for recreation. Now, the gaming machines and tables had been pushed against the wall and about a hundred aluminum folding chairs were arranged in rows facing the platform. On this was a large rectangular table with eleven chairs which faced the audience. Scone sat in the middle chair. Immediately on his right was Dahlquist, the Swedish linguist, delegate of the West Europeans (all of whom had taken refuge in Clavius after their base was wrecked). The four Russian delegates sat on Scone's right; the Chinese, o
n his left.

  For a while, there was much shuffling around and talking in low tones, then Old Man Dahlquist, so-called because he was senior by many years to anybody else on the Moon, rose.

  He rapped once with a gavel and then spoke in flawless Midwestern English.

  "Ladies and gentlemen, I introduce to you the chairman of this meeting, Colonel Scone."

  Scone rose and looked around. There was no applause. He opened his mouth, but before he could say anything, John Ying, a Chinese delegate, jumped to his feet and spoke excitedly in Mandarin.

  "I protest! Under what authority does... ?"

  Scone bellowed at him. "Sit down! You accepted my invitation to attend this meeting, and you were told why you are here! I am chairman, and I will waste no time disputing my right to be so nor the reason for this conference! Moreover, during this conference, no one who speaks in anything but English will be recognized. Sit down and shut up until I give you permission to speak!"

  Broward, sitting in the front row of the audience, thought that Scone was being very arrogant indeed. Yet, he could not help being pleased. The North Americans had suffered much after the war when the Chinese had occupied the western coast. Later, the Russians had forced withdrawal of all the Chinese except a few token garrisons. The Russians were no better, but the westerners had not forgotten their savage treatment by the Orientals.

  Ying was red in the face, quivering, his fists clenched. He glared at Scone, but Scone regarded him with a face as immovable as that of Mount Everest. Presently, Ying sat down.

  "Now," said Scone. "Everyone in this room has been given a document. This outlines the reasons for our being here. Also, the rules by which we will proceed. If you don't care to attend or to obey the parliamentary rules, leave now."

  He paused and stared around the room. Seeing that no one was disposed to take action, he said, "Very well. The first thing we should take into consideration is the military aspect. That is, the type of action to be taken against the Axis colonies on Mars, if there are any left, and what type of organization we will operate with.

  "Unfortunately, there are other matters to be cleared up before we can discuss that. The main thing is, which base will be the leader? I say leader, not equal partner, because I know what will happen if we have a joint military head. With three commanders-in-chief, all with equal powers, we will have nothing but quarreling over matters of policy and ways to implement that policy. To survive, we must have one unquestioned leader, a man who can decide at once what action to take. And who will be obeyed without hesitation.

  He paused again to look at the shocked men at the table with him.

  Broward, though he felt uncomfortable at the brutal directness of Scone and his arrogance, was also pleased. To see the situation now reversed, the Americans giving the orders and the Russians and Chinese helpless to do anything about it, warmed him.

  Ying said, "Colonel Scone."

  "You will address me as Mr. Chairman."

  Ying swallowed and said, "Mr. Chairman."

  "You may speak, General Ying."

  "You Clavians need us as much as we need you. Therefore..."

  "You are wrong, General. We need you, but not as much as you need us. Not nearly as much. You know that. Let's have no more argument on that point."

  Ying closed his eyes, and his lips moved silently.

  Scone smiled slightly. He said, "Russian was the means for intercommunication between the bases. It will now be English. And this brings up another matter. Language is not only a means for communication. It may also be a barrier to communication. I foresee that we will all become one people in the future, a long time before we or our descendants are able to return to Earth. The use of three or more languages will keep us separate, maintain the hostilities and misunderstandings. I propose, therefore, that we make one language the primary tongue of all. Our children will be taught this language, will grow up thinking of it as their native tongue."

  Broward rose. "Mr. Chairman!"

  "Captain Broward."

  "I move that all the bases of the Moon should agree to accept one language as the primary language. This will be spoken everywhere, except in the privacy of one's quarters, where one may use whatever language pleases him."

  Miller, the zoologist, rose and seconded the motion.

  Scone then declared that the representatives and delegates could speak for their choices. Each speaker was to be limited to two minutes, and a particular language could not be pled for more than once.

  Panchurin, the Russian commandant, was the first to be recognized. He was a short broad man with brown-yellow hair and a broad high cheekboned face and was thirty-five years old.

  "I do not understand how English can be made the language of base intercommunication but some other language can also be the universal speech. There is a contradiction."

  "English will be used during the present state of emergency. Afterwards, we will adopt whichever tongue is chosen at this meeting. Let me remind you what I told you in the document. That is, that the voting on various issues will not be a farce. I have not, as they say in English, packed the house. For every American or West European at this meeting, there is a Russian and a Chinese."

  Broward smiled. It was true that the Russian and Chinese bases had a number of delegates to equal those of Clavius. But they had sent only those specifically invited by Scone. And he had included among the Russian nationals various Turkish speakers, Armenians, Georgians, Lithuanians, Estonians. And among the Chinese were several Japanese, Indonesians, Indians, Thai, and Filipinos, none of whom had any reason to love the Chinese.

  Panchurin said, "Then I understand correctly that the universal language will be chosen by popular vote? That the particular one will not be rammed down our throats?"

  "Of course not. I am only requiring that we vote on one now because, after the Axis have been dealt with, we may not be able to agree so easily or quickly on an issue like this."

  "I would speak of the Russian language," said Panchurin, "its glory, its beauty, the ease of learning it, its antiquity, its universality, the fact that the two greatest novelists of all ages, Tolstoy and Dostoyevsky, wrote in it, and that the immortal Lenin used it to expound Marxism. But I am sure that other speakers will use much the same arguments for their own tongues, so I will refrain. You may rest assured, however, that we Russians will uphold our own glorious speech. And we are confident that many among you non-Russians also appreciate its superiority."

  Scone then recognized Emile Lorilleux, the geochemist. He spoke passionately and poetically for two minutes on the beauty, the conciseness and exactness, the great adaptability, the long recognized distinction of French as a diplomatic tool, and the greatness of its literature, second to none.

  There were others. Kreooson, the only Greek on the Moon, spoke even more eloquently of the unbroken continuity of his native speech, of the richness and beauty, the tongue of Homer, Euripides, Plato, Aristotle, and Kazantzakis, of the many contributions it had made and was still making to scientific and poetic discourse. Near the end, he began to look desperate, and tears appeared in his eyes.

  It was then that Old Man Dahlquist asked for the floor. When he rose, there was a respectful silence and concentrated attention. Arne Dahlquist was a legend, loved by many and honored even by the Chinese. He was 90 years old, though, he looked no more than sixty. He was reputed to be the greatest linguist that had ever lived; he could speak fluently every major Indo-European and Ural-Altaic language and many of the lesser. He was conversant in the Kadai-Malayo-Polynesian tongues. He talked well in Japanese, Mandarin, Cantonese, Malayalam, and Burmese, and he could talk at ease with any speaker of Navaho, Apache, Dakota, Ojibway, Cherokee, Nahuatl, Maya, or Quechua.

  "I brought several thousands of microfilms of my research material. This has been fortunate for future Lunarian research. Without these records, our descendants might not know anything of the great variety of tongues used on Earth, since the majority of their speakers have die
d. And it is probable that the bomb attack itself, plus the havoc necessarily created by Nature during the next two hundred years, will destroy most of mankind's books and records.

  '"Well, that is neither here nor there, so where could it be, then?" He paused to smile at his little joke, then continued, "You have more important things to think about than linguistic scholarship, and most of you care little about such things as the structure of Nahuatl or the beauty of its literature.

  "Just as your sons and daughters and their children will care little that their parents' speech is not the one

  they are using. All, Russian, English, Chinese, and the other nationalities represented here, will be speaking one tongue. For begin to deviate into dialects. And, after Moonman has moved back to earth and established various colonies there, the dialects will evolve into separate languages. This is inevitable, but it has no bearing on the immediate future.

  "What I am trying to point out to you—forgive the ramblings of an old man speaking on the subject dearest to his heart—is that there is no necessity of voting at this time on what language should be universal after peace comes— if it comes. If we come to blows with the Spanish speakers of Mars or their Bantu allies, we may be exterminated or else enslaved. In either case, our languages will no longer be a matter of choice. Our masters will impose their speech upon us. But we may win. Who knows? Only God—I use the term in a consciously mythological or literary sense only, of course —only God knows.

  "But what if Martian and Moonman avoid each other, leaving each to his own destiny, thus making sure that we don't annihilate one another and put an end to mankind forever? This is a possible solution. What, then, if this state of actionless war, of eternal emergency, is maintained? Then, since English is the means of intercommunication, since it is the language with the most prestige, it will be used more and more. The other tongues will die of disuse. And they will die quickly.

  "Remember, the situation is not the same here as it was on Earth. There, even a secondary tongue had many speakers to hand it on to the children. Breton and Basque took a long time a-dying, though their fate was as certain as that of Atinu or Wend or Yuma. But there are very few people on the Moon. Three hundred by latest count. If the state of war continues for a generation, a good percentage of you, as old men and women, will barely remember the tongue you now speak so trippingly.