Tongues Of The Moon Part 3

Broward, looking through a screen which showed the view to the rear, cried out. Not because of the light from the atomic bomb which had exploded on the other side of the cliff. He yelled because the top of the Zemlya had also lit up. And he knew in that second what had happened. The light did not come from the warhead, for an extremely high mountain was between the huge globe and the blast If the upper region of the Zemlya glowed, it was because a tongue from a Russian s.h.i.+p had brushed against it.

It must have been an accident, for the Russians surely had no wish to wreck the Zemlya. If they defeated the USAF, they could recapture the globe with no trouble.

"My G.o.d, she's falling!" yelled Broward. "Out of control!"

Scone looked once and quickly. He turned away and said, "All craft land immediately. All personnel transfer to my s.h.i.+p."

The maneuver took three minutes, for the men in the other dishes had to connect air tanks to their suits and then run from their s.h.i.+ps to Scone's. Moreover, one man in each destroyer was later than his fellows since he had to set up the controls on his craft.

Scone did not explain what he meant to do until all personnel had made the transfer. In the meantime, they were at the mercy of the Russians if the enemy had chosen to attack over the top of the cliff. But Scone was gambling that the Russians would be too horrified at what was happening to the Zemlya. His own men would have been frozen if he had not compelled them to act The Earth dying twice within twenty-four hours was almost more than they could endure.

Only the American commander, the man of stone, seemed not to feel.

Scone took his s.h.i.+p up against the face of the cliff until she was just below the top. Here the cliff was thin because of the slope on the other side. And here, hidden from view of the Russians, he drove a tongue two decimeters wide through the rock.

And, at the moment three Russian destroyers hurtled over the edge, tongues of compressed light las.h.i.+ng out on every side in the cla.s.sic flailing movement, Scone's beam broke through the cliff.

The three empty USAF s.h.i.+ps, on automatic, shot upwards at a speed that would have squeezed their human occupants into jelly-if they had had occupants. Their tongues shot out and flailed, caught the Russian tongues.

Then, the American vessels rammed into the Russians, drove them upwards, flipped them over. And all six craft fell along the cliff's face, Russian and American intermingled, cras.h.i.+ng into each other, bouncing off the sheer face, exploding, their fragments colliding, and smashed into the bottom of the canyon.

Scone did not see this, for he had completed the tongue through the tunnel, turned it off for a few seconds, and sent a video beam through. He was just in time to see the big battle-bird start to float off the ground where it had been waiting. Perhaps, it had not accompanied the destroyers because of Russian contempt for American ability. Or, perhaps, because the commander was under orders not to risk the big s.h.i.+p unless necessary. Even now, the Lermontov rose slowly as if it might take two paths: over the cliff or towards the Zemlya. But, as it rose, Scone applied full power.

Some one, or some detecting equipment, on the Lermontov must have caught view of the tongue as it slid through s.p.a.ce to intercept the battlebird. A tongue shot out towards the American beam. Then Scone's was in contact with the hull, and a hole appeared in the irradiated plastic.

Majestically, the Lermontov continued rising-and so cut itself almost in half. And, majestically, it fell.

Not before the Russian commander touched off all the missiles aboard his s.h.i.+p in a last frenzied defense, and the missiles flew out in all directions. Two hit the slope, blew off the face of the mountain on the Lermontov's side, and a jet of atomic energy flamed out through the tunnel created by Scone.

But he had dropped his craft like an elevator, was halfway down the cliff before the blasts made his side of the mountain tremble.

Half an hour later, the base of Eratosthenes sued for peace. For the sake of human continuity, said Panchurin, all fighting must cease forever on the Moon.

The Chinese, who had been silent up to then despite their comrades' pleas for help, also agreed to accept the policy of Nationalism.

Now, Broward expected Scone to break down, to give way to the strain. He would only have been human if he had done so.

He did not. Not, at least, in anyone's presence. Broward awoke early during a sleep-period. Unable to forget the dream he had just had, he went to find Ingrid Nashdoi. She was not in her lab; her a.s.sistant told him that she had gone to the dome with Scone.

Jealous, Broward hurried there and found the two standing there and looking up at the half-Earth. Ingrid washolding 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.

Broward, looking at them, thought of the problems that faced the Moon people. There was that of government, though this seemed for the moment to be settled. But he knew that there would be more conflict between the bases and that his own promotion of the Athenian ideology would cause grave trouble.

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 s.e.xual matters. When it comes to spilling blood, that's something else."

"I don't know. I do know something Abarbanel didn't think of. That is, whether or not we have polygamy, a woman isn't always going to bear children by whomever she chooses. The gene potential will have to be used. So, that means that if a woman has three children-and I doubt that they'll allow us to limit ourselves-each will have a different father. Of course, there's artificial insemination, so... What's the matter? You look upset."

"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, on 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 doc.u.ment. 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, whichbase 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.

"Since we of Clavius hold the whip hand, and since I am the commander of Clavius, I will be the commander-in-chief."

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.