I said, “Look, I take orders from head of state—Prof over there. If he wants opinions, he’ll ask. No use yelling at each other.” I looked at watch. “Call it two and a half minutes. More margin, of course, for other targets; Kansas City is farthest from deep water. But some Great Lake cities are already past ocean abort; Lake Superior is best we can do. Salt Lake City maybe an extra minute. Then they pile up.” I waited.
“Roll call,” said Prof. “To carry-out the program. General Nielsen?”
“Da!”
“Gospazha Davis?”
Wyoh caught breath. “Da.”
“Judge Brody?”
“Yes, of course. Necessary.”
“Wolfgang?”
“Yes.”
“Comte LaJoie?”
“Da.”
“Gospodin Sheehan?”
“You’re missing a bet. But I’ll go along. Unanimous.”
“One moment. Manuel?”
“Is up to you, Prof; always has been. Voting is silly.”
“I am aware that it is up to me, Gospodin Minister. Carry out bombardment to plan.”
Most targets we managed to hit by second salvo though all were defended except Mexico City. Seemed likely (98.3 percent by Mike’s later calculation) that interceptors were exploding by radar fusing with set distances that incorrectly estimated vulnerability of solid cylinders of rock. Only three rocks were destroyed; others were pushed off course and thereby did more harm than if not fired at.
New York was tough; Dallas turned out to be very tough. Perhaps difference lay in local control of interception, for it seemed unlikely that command post in Cheyenne Mountain was still effective. Perhaps we had not cracked their hole in the ground (don’t know how deep down it was) but I’ll bet that neither men nor computers were still tracking.
Dallas blew up or pushed aside first five rocks, so I told Mike to take everything he could from Cheyenne Mountain and award it to Dallas … which he was able to do two salvoes later; those two targets are less than a thousand kilometers apart.
Dallas’s defenses cracked on next salvo; Mike gave their spaceport three more (already committed) then shifted back to Cheyenne Mountain—later ones had never been nudged and were still earmarked “Cheyenne Mountain.” He was still giving that battered mountain cosmic love pats when America rolled down and under Terra’s eastern edge.
I stayed with Mike all during bombardment, knowing it would be our toughest. As he shut down till time to dust Great China, Mike said thoughtfully, “Man, I don’t think we had better hit that mountain again.”
“Why not, Mike?”
“It’s not there any longer.”
“You might divert its backups. When do you have to decide?”
“I would put them on Albuquerque and Omaha but had best start now; tomorrow will be busy. Man my best friend, you should leave.”
“Bored with me, pal?”
“In the next few hours that first ship may launch missiles. When that happens I want to shift all ballistic control to Little David’s Sling—and when I do, you should be at Mare Undarum site.”
“What’s fretting you, Mike?”
“That boy is accurate, Man. But he’s stupid. I want him supervised. Decisions may have to be made in a hurry and there isn’t anyone there who can program him properly. You should be there.”
“Okay if you say so, Mike. But if needs a fast program, will still have to phone you.” Greatest shortcoming of computers isn’t computer shortcoming at all but fact that a human takes a long time, maybe hours, to set up a program that a computer solves in milliseconds. One best quality of Mike was that he could program himself. Fast. Just explain problem, let him program. Samewise and equally, he could program “idiot son” enormously faster than human could.
“But, Man, I want you there because you may not be able to phone me; the lines may be cut. So I’ve prepared a group of possible programs for Junior; they may be helpful.”
“Okay, print ‘em out. And let me talk to Prof.”
Mike got Prof; I made sure he was private, then explained what Mike thought I should do. Thought Prof would object—was hoping he would insist I stay through coming bombardment/invasion/whatever—those ships. Instead he said, “Manuel, it’s essential that you go. I’ve hesitated to tell you. Did you discuss odds with Mike?”
“Nyet.”
“I have continued to do so. To put it bluntly, if Luna City is destroyed and I am dead and the rest of the government is dead—even if all Mike’s radar eyes here are blinded and he himself is cut off from the new catapult—all of which may happen under severe bombardment … even if all this happens at once, Mike still gives Luna even chances if Little David’s Sling can operate—and you are there to operate it.”
I said, “Da, Boss. Yassuh, Massuh. You and Mike are stinkers and want to hog fun. Will do.”
“Very good, Manuel.”
Stayed with Mike another hour while he printed out meter after meter of programs tailored to other computer—work that would have taken me six months even if able to think of all possibilities. Mike had it indexed and cross-referenced—with horribles in it I hardly dare mention. Mean to say, given circumstances and seemed necessary to destroy (say) Paris, this told how—what missiles in what orbits, how to tell Junior to find them and bring to target. Or anything.
Was reading this endless document—not programs but descriptions of purpose-of-program that headed each—when Wyoh phoned. “Mannie dear, has Prof told you about going to Mare Undarum?”
“Yes. Was going to call you.”
“All right. I’ll pack for us and meet you at Station East. When can you be there?”
“Pack for ‘us’? You’re going?”
“Didn’t Prof say?”
“No.” Suddenly felt cheerful.
“I felt guilty about it, dear. I wanted to go with you … but had no excuse. After all, I’m no use around a computer and I do have responsibilities here. Or did. But now I’ve been fired from all my jobs and so have you.”
“Huh?”
“You are no longer Defense Minister; Finn is. Instead you are Deputy Prime Minister—”
“Well!”
“—and Deputy Minister of Defense, too. I’m already Deputy Speaker and Stu has been appointed Deputy Secretary of State for Foreign Affairs. So he goes with us, too.”
“I’m confused.”
“It’s not as sudden as it sounds; Prof and Mike worked it out months ago. Decentralization, dear, the same thing that McIntyre has been working on for the warrens. If there is a disaster at L-City, Luna Free State still has a government. As Prof put it to me, ‘Wyoh dear lady, as long as you three and a few Congressmen are left alive, all is not lost. You can still negotiate on equal terms and never admit your wounds.’”
So I wound up as a computer mechanic. Stu and Wyoh met me, with luggage (including rest of my arms), and we threaded through endless unpressured tunnels in p-suits, on a small flatbed rolligon used to haul steel to site. Greg had big rolligon meet us for surface stretch, then met us himself when we went underground again.
So I missed attack on ballistic radars Saturday night.
28
Captain of first ship, FNS Esperance, had guts. Late Saturday he changed course, headed straight in. Apparently figured we might attempt jingle-jangle with radars, for he seems to have decided to come in close enough to see our radar installations by ship’s radar rather than rely on letting his missiles home in on our beams.
Seems to have considered himself, ship, and crew expendable, for he was down to a thousand kilometers before he launched, a spread that went straight for five out of six of Mike’s radars, ignoring random jingle-jangle.
Mike, expecting self soon to be blinded, turned Brody’s boys loose to burn ship’s eyes, held them on it for three seconds before he shifted them to missiles.
Result: one crashed cruiser, two ballistic radars knocked out by H-missiles, three missiles “killed”—and two gun crews killed, one by
H-explosion, other by dead missile that landed square on them—plus thirteen gunners with radiation burns above 800-roentgen death level, partly from flash, partly from being on surface too long. And must add: Four members of Lysistrata Corps died with those crews; they elected to p-suit and go up with their men. Other girls had serious radiation exposure but not up to 800-r level.
Second cruiser continued an elliptical orbit around and behind Luna.
Got most of this from Mike after we arrived Little David’s Sling early Sunday. He was feeling groused over loss of two of his eyes and still more groused over gun crews—I think Mike was developing something like human conscience; he seemed to feel it was his fault that he had not been able to outfight six targets at once. I pointed out that what he had to fight with was improvised, limited range, not real weapons.
“How about self, Mike? Are you right?”
“In all essentials. I have outlying discontinuities. One live missile chopped my circuits to Novy Leningrad, but reports routed through Luna City inform me that local controls tripped in satisfactorily with no loss in city services. I feel frustrated by these discontinuities—but they can be dealt with later.”
“Mike, you sound tired.”
“Me tired? Ridiculous! Man, you forget what I am. I’m annoyed, that’s all.”
“When will that second ship be back in sight?”
“In about three hours if he were to hold earlier orbit. But he will not—probability in excess of ninety percent. I expect him in about an hour.”
“A Garrison orbit, huh? Oho!”
“He left my sight at azimuth and course east thirty-two north. Does that suggest anything, Man?”
Tried to visualize. “Suggests they are going to land and try to capture you, Mike. Have you told Finn? I mean, have you told Prof to warn Finn?”
“Professor knows. But that is not the way I analyze it.”
“So? Well, suggests I had better shut up and let you work.”
Did so. Lenore fetched me breakfast while I inspected Junior—and am ashamed to say could not manage to grieve over losses with both Wyoh and Lenore present. Mum had sent Lenore out “to cook for Greg” after Milla’s death—just an excuse; were enough wives at site to provide homecooking for everybody. Was for Greg’s morale and Lenore’s, too; Lenore and Milla had been close.
Junior seemed to be right. He was working on South America, one load at a time. I stayed in radar room and watched, at extreme magnification, while he placed one in estuary between Montevideo and Buenos Aires; Mike could not have been more accurate. I then checked his program for North America, found naught to criticize—locked it in and took key. Junior was on his own—unless Mike got clear of other troubles and decided to take back control.
Then sat and tried to listen to news both from Earthside and L-City. Co-ax cable from L-City carried phones, Mike’s hookup to his idiot child, radio, and video; site was no longer isolated. But, besides cable from L-City, site had antennas pointed at Terra; any Earthside news Complex could pick up, we could listen to directly. Nor was this silly extra; radio and video from Terra had been only recreation during construction and this was now a standby in case that one cable was broken.
F.N. official satellite relay was claiming that Luna’s ballistic radars had been destroyed and that we were now helpless. Wondered what people of Buenos Aires and Montevideo thought about that. Probably too busy to listen; m some ways water shots were worse than those where we could find open land.
Luna City Lunatic’s video channel was carrying Sheenie telling Loonies outcome of attack by Esperance, repeating news while warning everybody that battle was not over, a warship would be back in our sky any moment—be ready for anything, everybody stay in p-suits (Sheenie was wearing his, with helmet open), take maximum pressure precautions, all units stay on red alert, all citizens not otherwise called by duty strongly urged to seek lowest level and stay there till all clear. And so forth.
He went through this several times—then suddenly broke it: “Flash! Enemy cruiser radar-sighted, low and fast. It may dido for Luna City. Flash! Missiles launched, headed for ejection end of—”
Picture and sound chopped off.
Might as well tell now what we at Little David’s Sling learned later: Second cruiser, by coming in low and fast, tightest orbit Luna’s field permits, was able to start its bombing at ejection end of old catapult, a hundred kilometers from catapult head and Brody’s gunners, and knock many rings out in minute it took him to come into sight-and-range of drill guns, all clustered around radars at catapult head. Guess he felt safe. Wasn’t. Brody’s boys burned eyes out and ears off. He made one orbit after that and crashed near Torricelli, apparently in attempt to land, for his jets fired just before crash.
But our next news at new site was from Earthside: that brassy F.N. frequency claimed that our catapult had been destroyed (true) and that Lunar menace was ended (false) and called on all Loonies to take prisoner their false leaders and surrender themselves to mercy of Federated Nations (nonexistent—“mercy,” that is).
Listened to it and checked programming again, and went inside dark radar room. If everything went as planned, we were about to lay another egg in Hudson River, then targets in succession for three hours across that continent—“in succession” because Junior could not handle simultaneous hits; Mike had planned accordingly.
Hudson River was hit on schedule. Wondered how many New Yorkers were listening to F.N. newscast while looking at spot that gave it lie.
Two hours later F.N. station was saying that Lunar rebels had had missiles in orbit when catapult was destroyed—but that after those few had impacted would be no more. When third bombing of North America was complete I shut down radar. Had not been running steadily; Junior was programmed to sneak looks only as necessary, a few seconds at a time.
I then had nine hours before next bombing of Great China.
But not nine hours for most urgent decision, whether to hit Great China again. Without information. Except from Terra’s news channels. Which might be false. Bloody. Without knowing whether or not warrens had been bombed. Or Prof was dead or alive. Double bloody. Was I now acting prime minister? Needed Prof: “head of state” wasn’t my glass of chai. Above all, needed Mike—to calculate facts, estimate uncertainties, project probabilities of this course or that.
My word, didn’t even know whether ships were headed toward us and, worse yet, was afraid to look. If turned radar on and used Junior for sky search, any warship he brushed with beams would see him quicker than he saw them; warships were built to spot radar surveillance. So had heard. Hell, was no military man; was computer technician who had bumbled into wrong field.
Somebody buzzed door; I got up and unlocked. Was Wyoh, with coffee. Didn’t say a word, just handed it to me and went away.
Sipped it. There it is, boy—they’re leaving you alone, waiting for you to pull miracles out of pouch. Didn’t feel up to it.
From somewhere, back in my youth, heard Prof say, “Manuel, when faced with a problem you do not understand, do any part of it you do understand, then look at it again.” He had been teaching me something he himself did not understand very well—something in maths—but had taught me something far more important, a basic principle.
Knew at once what to do first.
Went over to Junior and had him print out predicted impacts of all loads in orbit—easy, was a pre-program he could run anytime against real time running. While he was doing it, I looked for certain alternate programs in that long roll Mike had prepared.
Then set up some of those alternate programs—no trouble, simply had to be careful to read them correctly and punch them in without error. Made Junior print back for check before I gave him signal to execute.
When finished—forty minutes—every load in trajectory intended for an inland target had been retargeted for a seacoast city—with hedge to my bet that execution was delayed for rocks farther back. But, unless I canceled, Junior would reposition them as soon a
s need be.
Now horrible pressure of time was off me, now could abort any load into ocean right up to last few minutes before impact. Now could think. So did.
Then called in my ‘War Cabinet”—Wyoh, Stu, and Greg my “Commander of Armed Forces,” using Greg’s office. Lenore was allowed to go in and out, fetching coffee and food, or sitting and saying nothing. Lenore is a sensible fem and knows when to keep quiet.
Stu started it. “Mr. Prime Minister, I do not think that Great China should be hit this time.”
“Never mind fancy titles, Stu. Maybe I’m acting, maybe not. But haven’t time for formality.”
“Very well. May I explain my proposal?”
“Later.” I explained what I had done to give us more time; he nodded and kept quiet. “Our tightest squeeze is that we are out of communication, both Luna City and Earthside. Greg, how about that repair crew?”
“Not back yet.”
“If break is near Luna City, they may be gone a long time. If can repair at all. So must assume we’ll have to act on our own. Greg, do you have an electronics tech who can jury-rig a radio that will let us talk to Earthside? To their satellites, I mean—that doesn’t take much with right antenna. I may be able to help and that computer tech I sent you isn’t too clumsy, either.” (Quite good, in fact, for ordinary electronics—a poor bloke I had once falsely accused of allowing a fly to get into Mike’s guts. I had placed him in this job.)
“Harry Biggs, my power plant boss, can do anything of that sort,” Greg said thoughtfully, “if he has the gear.”
“Get him on it. You can vandalize anything but radar and computer once we get all loads out of catapult. How many lined up?”
“Twenty-three, and no more steel.”
“So twenty-three it is, win or lose. I want them ready for loading; might lob them off today.”
“They’re ready. We can load as fast as the cat can throw them.”
“Good. One more thing—Don’t know whether there’s an F.N. cruiser—maybe more than one—in our sky or not. And afraid to look. By radar, I mean; radar for skywatch could give away our position. But must have skywatch. Can you get volunteers for an eyeball skywatch and can you spare them?”