“But surely your ice won’t last forever?”
“Well, now–” I scratched head and grinned. “We’re careful; we keep our sewage and garbage and sterilize and use it. Never put a drop back into city system. But–don’t tell Warden, dear, but back when Greg was teaching me to drill, we happened to drill into bottom of main south reservoir–and had a tap with us, spilled hardly a drop. But we do buy some metered water, looks better–and ice pocket accounts for not buying much. As for power–well, power is even easier to steal. I’m a good electrician, Wyoh.”
“Oh, wonderful!” Wyoming paid me a long whistle and looked delighted. “Everybody should do that!”
“Hope not, would show. Let ’em think up own ways to outwit Authority; our family always has. But back to your plan, Wyoh: two things wrong. Never get ‘solidarity’; blokes like Hauser would cave in–because they are in a trap; can’t hold out. Second place, suppose you managed it. Solidarity. So solid not a tonne of grain is delivered to catapult head. Forget ice; it’s grain that makes Authority important and not just neutral agency it was set up to be. No grain. What happens?”
“Why, they have to negotiate a fair price, that’s what!”
“My dear, you and your comrades listen to each other too much. Authority would call it rebellion and warship would orbit with bombs earmarked for L-City and Hong Kong and Tycho Under and Churchill and Novylen, troops would land, grain barges would lift, under guard–and farmers would break necks to cooperate. Terra has guns and power and bombs and ships and won’t hold still for trouble from ex-cons. And troublemakers like you–and me; with you in spirit–us lousy troublemakers will be rounded up and eliminated, teach us a lesson. And earthworms would say we had it coming . . . because our side would never be heard. Not on Terra.”
Wyoh looked stubborn. “Revolutions have succeeded before. Lenin had only a handful with him.”
“Lenin moved in on a power vacuum. Wye, correct me if I’m wrong. Revolutions succeeded when–only when–governments had gone rotten soft, or disappeared.”
“Not true! The American Revolution.”
“South lost, nyet?”
Not that one, the one a century earlier. They had the sort of troubles with England that we are having now–and they won!”
“Oh, that one. But wasn’t England in trouble? France, and Spain, and Sweden–or maybe Holland? And Ireland. Ireland was rebelling; O’Kellys were in it. Wyoh, if you can stir trouble on Terra–say a war between Great China and North American Directorate, maybe PanAfrica lobbing bombs at Europe, I’d say was wizard time to kill Warden and tell Authority it’s through. Not today.”
“You’re a pessimist.”
“Nyet, realist. Never pessimist. Too much Loonie not to bet if any chance. Show me chances no worse then ten to one against and I’ll go for broke. But want that one chance in ten.” I pushed back chair. “Through eating?”
“Yes. Bolshoyeh spasebaw, tovarishch. It was grand!”
“My pleasure. Move to couch and I’ll rid of table and dishes, –no, can’t help; I’m host.” I cleared table, sent up dishes, saving coffee and vodka, folded table, racked chairs, turned to speak.
She was sprawled on couch, asleep, mouth open and face softened into little girl.
Went quietly into bath and closed door. After a scrubbing I felt better–washed tights first and were dry and fit to put on by time I quit lazing in tub–don’t care when world ends long as I’m bathed and in clean clothes.
Wyoh was still asleep, which made problem. Had taken room with two beds so she would not feel I was trying to talk her into bundling–not that I was against it but she had made clear she was opposed. But my bed had to be made from couch and proper bed was folded away. Should I rig it out softly, pick her up like limp baby and move her? Went back into bath and put on arm.
Then decided to wait. Phone had hush hood. Wyoh seemed unlikely to wake, and things were gnawing me. I sat down at phone, lowered hood, punched “MYCROFTXXX.”
“Hi, Mike.”
“Hello, Man. Have you surveyed those jokes?”