Mentioned to Stu. “Forget it,” he said. “Captain Leures has foam pads aboard. He won’t let them be hurt; they’re his life insurance.”
21
My family, all thirty-odd from Grandpaw to babies, was waiting beyond next lock on level he!ow and we got cried on and slobbered on and hugged and this time Stu did not hold back. Little Hazel made ceremony of kissing us; she had Liberty Caps, set one on each, then kissed us–and at that signal whole family put on Liberty Caps, and I got sudden tears. Perhaps is what patriotism feels like, choked up and so happy it hurts. Or maybe was just being with my beloveds again.
“Where’s Slim?” I asked Hazel. “Wasn’t he invited?”
“Couldn’t come. He’s junior marshal of your reception.”
“Reception? This is all we want.”
“You’ll see.”
Did. Good thing family came out to meet us; that and ride to L-City (filled a capsule) were all I saw of them for some time. Tube Station West was a howling mob, all in Liberty Caps. We three were carried on shoulders all way to Old Dome, surrounded by a stilyagi bodyguard, elbows locked to force through cheering, singing crowds. Boys were wearing red caps and white shirts and their girls wore white jumpers and red shorts color of caps.
At station and again when they put us down in Old Dome I got kissed by fems I have never seen before or since. Remember hoping that measures we had taken in lieu of quarantine were effective–or half of L-City would be down with colds or worse. (Apparently we were clean; was no epidemic. But I remember time–was quite small–when measles got loose and thousands died.)
Worried about Prof, too; reception was too rough for a man good as dead an hour earlier. But he not only enjoyed it, he made a wonderful speech in Old Dome–one short on logic, loaded with ringing phrases. “Love” was in it, and “home” and “Luna” and “comrades and neighbors” and even “shoulder to shoulder” and all sounded good.
They had erected a platform under big news video on south face. Adam Selene greeted us from video screen and now Prof’s face and voice were projected from it, much magnified, over his head–did not have to shout. But did have to pause after every sentence; crowd roars drowned out even bull voice from screen–and no doubt pauses helped, as rest. But Prof no longer seemed old, tired, ill; being back inside The Rock seemed to be tonic he needed. And me, too! Was wonderful to be right weight, feel strong, breathe pure, replenished air of own city.
No mean city! Impossible to get all of L-City inside Old Dome–but looked as if they tried. I estimated an area ten meters square, tried to count heads, got over two hundred not half through and gave up. Lunatic placed crowd at thirty thousand, seems impossible.
Prof’s words reached more nearly three million; video carried scene to those who could not crowd into Old Dome, cable and relay flashed it across lonely maria to all warrens. He grabbed chance to tell of slave future Authority planned for them. Waved that “white paper.” “Here it is!” he cried. “Your fetters! Your leg irons! Will you wear them?”
“NO!”
“They say you must. They say they will H-bomb . . . then survivors will surrender and put on these chains. Will you?”
“NO! NEVER!”
“Never,” agreed Prof. “They threaten to send troops . . . more and more troops to rape and murder. We shall fight them.”
“DA!”
“We shall fight them on the surface, we shall fight them in the tubes, we shall fight them in the corridors! If die we must, we shall die free!”
“Yes! Ja-da! Tell ’em, tell ’em!”
“And if we die, let history write: This was Luna’s finest hour! Give us liberty . . . or give us death!”
Some of that sounded familiar. But his words came out fresh and new; I joined in roars. Look. . . I knew we couldn’t whip Terra–I’m tech by trade and know that an H-missile doesn’t care how brave you are. But was ready, too. If they wanted a fight, let’s have it!