Chairman said, “In other words you ask us to buy a pig in a poke. You demand that we legalize your outlaw status . . . then you will talk about fantastic claims that you can increase grain shipments ten- or a hundredfold. What you claim is impossible; I am expert in Lunar economics. And what you ask is impossible; takes the Grand Assembly to admit a new nation.”
Then place it before the Grand Assembly. Once seated as sovreign equals, we will discuss how to increase shipments and negotiate terms. Honorable Chairman, we grow the grain, we own it. We can grow far more. But not as slaves. Luna’s soverign freedom must first be recognized.”
“Impossible and you know it. The Lunar Authority cannot abdicate its sacred responsibility.”
Prof sighed. “It appears to be an impasse. I can only suggest that these hearings be recessed while we all take thought. Today our barges are arriving. . . but the moment that I am forced to notify my government that I have failed. . . they. . . will . . . stop!”
Prof’s head sank back on pillow as if it had been too much for him–as may have been. I was doing well enough but was young and had had practice in how to visit Terra and stay alive. A Loonie his age should not risk it. After minor foofooraw which Prof ignored they loaded us into a lorry and scooted us back to hotel. Once under way I said, “Prof, what was it you said to Señor Jellybelly that raised blood pressure?”
He chuckled. “Comrade Stuart’s investigations of these gentlemen turn up remarkable facts. I asked who owned a certain brothel off Calle Florida in B.A. these days and did it now have a star redhead?”
“Why? You used to patronize it?” Tried to imagine Prof in such!
“Never. It has been forty years since I was last in Buenos Aires. He owns that establishment, Manuel, through a dummy, and his wife, a beauty with Titian hair, once worked in it.”
Was sorry had asked. “Wasn’t that a foul blow? And undiplomatic?”
But Prof closed eyes and did not answer.
He was recovered enough to spend an hour at a reception for newsmen that night, with white hair framed against a purple pillow and thin body decked out in embroidered pajamas. Looked like vip corpse at an important funeral, except for eyes and dimples. I looked mighty vip too, in black and gold uniform which Stu claimed was Lunar diplomatic uniform of my rank. Could have been, if Lana had had such things–did not or I would have known. I prefer a p-suit; collar was tight. Nor did I ever find out what decorations on it meant. ~A reporter asked me about one, based on Luna at crescent as seen from Terra; told him it was a prize for spelling. Stu was in earshot and said, “The Colonel is modest. That decoration is of the same rank as the Victoria Cross and in his case was awarded for an act of gallantry on the glorious, tragic day of–”
He led him away, still talking. Stu could lie standing up almost as well as Prof. Me, I have to think out a lie ahead of time.
India newspapers and casts were rough that night; “threat” to stop grain shipments made them froth. Gentlest proposal was to clean out Luna, exterminate us “criminal troglodytes” and replace us with “honest Hindu peasants” who understood sacredness of life and would ship grain and more grain.
Prof picked that night to talk and give handouts about Luna’s inability to continue shipments, and why–and Stu’s organization spread release throughout Terra. Some reporters took time to dig out sense of figures and tackled Prof on glaring discrepancy:
“Professor de la Paz, here you say that grain shipments will dwindle away through failure of natural resources and that by 2082 Luna won’t even be able to feed its own people. Yet earlier today you told the Lunar Authority that you could increase shipments a dozen times or more.”
Prof said sweetly, “That committee is the Lunar Authority?”
“Well. . . it’s an open secret.”
“So it is, sir, but they have maintained the fiction of being an impartial investigating committee of the Grand Assembly. Don’t you think they should disqualify themselves? So that we could receive a fair hearing?”