“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.