THE MOON IS A HARSH MISTRESS by Robert A. Heinlein

“Hold on. I want to tell you something.”

“Sorry, got to go. Take it or leave it, I’m no vermin exterminator; I’m a computerman.”

Nothing frustrates a man so much as not letting him get in his say. With luck and help from Warden, Chief Engineer would have ulcers by Christmas.

Was late anyhow and made humble apology to Billy. Alvarez had thought up new wrinkle, close search on leaving Complex. I endured it with never a nasty word for Dragoons who searched me; wanted to get home. But those thousand jokes bothered them. “What’s this?” one demanded.

“Computer paper,” I said. “Test runs.”

His mate joined him. Don’t think they could read. They wanted to confiscate, so I demanded they call Chief Engineer. They let me go. I felt not displeased; more and more such and guards were daily more hated.

Decision to make Mike more a person arose from need to have any Party member phone him on occasion; my advice about concerts and plays was simply a side effect. Mike’s voice over phone had odd quality I had not noticed during time I had visited him only at Complex. When you speak to a man by phone there is background noise. And you hear him breathe, hear heartbeats, body motions even though rarely conscious of these. Besides that, even if he speaks under a hush hood, noises get through, enough to “fill space,” make him a body with surroundings.

With Mike was none of this.

By then Mike’s voice was “human” in timbre and quality, recognizable. He was baritone, had North American accent with Aussie overtones; as “Michelle” he (she?) had a light soprano with French flavor. Mike’s personality grew also. When first I introduced him to Wyoh and Prof he sounded like a pedantic child; in short weeks he flowered until I visualized a man about own age.

His voice when he first woke was blurred and harsh, hardly understandable. Now it was clear and choice of words and phrasing was consistent–colloquial to me, scholarly to Prof, gallant to Wyoh, variation one expects of mature adults.

But background was dead. Thick silence.

So we filled it. Mike needed only hints. He did not make his breathing noisy, ordinarily you would not notice. But he would stick in touches. “Sorry, Mannie, you caught me bathing when the phone sounded”–and let one hear hurried breathing. Or “I was eating–had to swallow.” He used such even on me, once he undertook to “be a human body.”

We all put “Adam Selene” together, talking it over at Raffles. How old was he? What did he look like? Married? Where did he live? What work? What interests?

We decided that Adam was about forty, healthy, vigorous, well educated, interested in all arts and sciences and very well grounded in history, a match chess player but- little time to play. He was married in commonest type, a troika in which he was senior husband–four children. Wife and junior husband not in politics, so far as we knew.

He was ruggedly handsome with wavy iron-gray hair and was mixed race, second generation one side, third on other. Was wealthy by Loonie standards, with interests in Novylen and Kongville as well as L-City. He kept offices in Luna City, outer office with a dozen people plus private office staffed by male deputy and female secretary.

Wyoh wanted to know was he bundling with secretary? I told her to switch off, was private. Wyoh said indignantly that she was not being snoopy–weren’t we trying to create a rounded character?

We decided that offices were in Old Dome, third ramp, southside, heart of financial district. If you know L-City. you recall that in Old Dome some offices have windows since they can look out over floor of Dome; I wanted this for sound effects.

We drew a floor plan and had that office existed, it would have been between Aetna Luna and Greenberg & Co. I used pouch recorder to pick up sounds at spot; Mike added to it by listening at phones there.

Thereafter when you called Adam Selene, background was not dead. If “Ursula,” his secretary, took call, it was: “Selene Associates. Luna shall be free!” Then she might say, “Will you hold? Gospodin Selene is on another call” whereupon you might hear sound of W.C., followed by running water and know that she had told little white lie. Or Adam might answer: “Adam Selene here. Free Luna. One second while I shut off the video.” Or deputy might answer: “This is Albert Ginwallah, Adam Selene’s confidential assistant. Free Luna. If it’s a Party matter–as I assume it is; that was your Party name you gave–please don’t hesitate; I handle such things for the Chairman.”

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