“Uh. . . it’s not my place to say, Professor. Let’s get back to my question. How do you reconcile the two?”
“I’m interested in why it’s not your place to say, sir. Isn’t it the concern of every citizen of Terra to help avoid a situation which will produce war between Terra and her neighbor?”
“‘War’? What in the world makes you speak of ‘war,’ Professor?”
“Where else can it end, sir? If the Lunar Authority persists in its intransigence? We cannot accede to their demands; those figures show why. If they will not see this, then they will attempt to subdue us by force. . . and we will fight back. Like cornered rats–for cornered we are, unable to retreat, unable to surrender. We do not choose war; we wish to live in peace with our neighbor planet–in peace and peacefully trade. But the choice is not ours. We are small, you are gigantic. I predict that the next move will be for the Lunar Authority to attempt to subdue Luna by force. This ‘peace-keeping’ agency will start the first interplanetary war.”
Journalist frowned. “Aren’t you overstating it? Let’s assame the Authority–or the Grand Assembly, as the Authority hasn’t any warships of its own–let’s suppose the nations of Earth decide to displace your, uh, ‘government.’ You might fight, on Luna–I suppose you would. But that hardly constitutes interplanetary war. As you pointed out, Luna has no ships. To put it bluntly, you can’t reach us.”
I had chair close by Prof’s stretcher, listening. He turned to me. “Tell them, Colonel.”
I parroted it. Prof and Mike had worked out stock situation. I had memorized and was ready with answers. I said, “Do you gentlemen remember the Pathfinder? How she came plunging in, out of control?”
They remembered. Nobody forgets greatest disaster of early days of space flight when unlucky Pathfinder hit a Belgian village.
“We have no ships,” I went on, “but would be possible to throw those bargeloads of grain.. . instead of delivering them parking orbit.”
Next day this evoked a headling: LOONIES THREATEN TO THROW RICE. At moment it produced awkward silence.
Finally journalist said, “Nevertheless I would like to know how you reconcile your two statements–no more grain after 2082. . . and ten or a hundred times as much.”
“There is no conflict,” Prof answered. “They are based on different sets of circumstances. The figures you have been looking at show the present circumstances . . . and the disaster they will produce in only a few years through drainage of Luna’s natural resources–disaster which these Authority bureaucrats–or should I say ‘authoritarian bureaucrats?’–would avert by telling us to stand in the corner like naughty children!”
Prof paused for labored breathing, went on: “The circumstances under which we can continue, or greatly increase, our grain shipments are the obvious corollary of the first. As an old teacher I can hardly refrain from classroom habits; the corollary should be left as an exercise for the student. Will someone attempt it?”
Was uncomfortable silence, then a little man with strange accent said slowly, “It sound to me as if you talk about way to replenish natural resource.”
“Capital! Excellent!” Prof flashed dimples. “You, sir, will have a gold star on your term report! To make grain requires water and plant foods–phosphates, other things, ask the experts. Send these things to us; we’ll send them back as wholesome grain. Put down a hose in the limitless Indian Ocean. Line up those millions of cattle here in India; collect their end product and ship it to us. Collect your own night soil–don’t bother to sterilize it; we’ve learned to do such things cheaply and easily. Send us briny sea water, rotten fish, dead animals, city sewage, cow manure, offal of any sort–and we will send it back, tonne for tonne as golden grain. Send ten times as much, we’ll send back ten times as much grain. Send us your poor, your dispossessed, send them by thousands and hundreds of thousands; we’ll teach them swift, efficient Lunar methods of tunnel farming and ship you back unbelievable tonnage. Gentlemen, Luna is one enormous fallow farm, four thousand million hectares, waiting to be plowed!”