Rydberg: “And / say, with respect, they are demonstrating what could, what would happen on a world of wild individualists who felt they were under a foreign tyranny … Please, I am not on their side myself, I am simply telling you what they believe … Can the Peace Authority secure the network? Yes, if first you commit genocide on the Lunarians. Otherwise you must guard the whole of it, at unbearable expense, and the guard will keep failing, because they are Terrans, not Lunarians, and as for robots, humans can always find ways to outwit them.”
“Whereas the Selenarchs, if they rule the Moon, can effectively maintain the system?”
“Yes, Mr. President. They have the organization and the loyal, able followers. They will not have the revolutionary saboteurs.”
“Are you certain?” •
“Nothing is certain forever. I am speaking of today, our children’s lifetimes, and I hope our grandchildren’s. By then, Earth may no longer need power from Luna.”
“But meanwhile the Selenarchs can blackmail us.”
“Consider their psychology, sir. Those utilities enjoy huge earnings. Why jeopardize that? Lunarians are not interested in dominion over … our kind of humans.”
“Then what games do they mean to play?”
“That I cannot tell you. I wonder if they can, themselves. The future will show. I only say, this game is played out and you should concede.”
Undetectable in circuit, Dagny has followed the conversation. It is her wont.
Whipsaw, from a degree of relief about a firestorm from space to a dread of global energy famine. The peoples of Earth and their leaders are alike exhausted. It is easiest to accept the assurances, override the remaining opposition, and yield. After all, the positive inducements are substantial.
The measure comes to the floor. It passes. The Council ratifies, the president signs. Once the stipulated compensatory arrangements have been made, Luna shall be free and sovereign.
Baronial men leave the transmitters. The circling ships enter Lunar orbit and discharge cargoes that turn out to be quite commonplace. As part of the accord, these craft will soon be in Terrestrial hands.
No gatherings jubilate. On Earth, the mood is mostly a dull thankfulness that the confrontation is past. Lunarians are not given to mass histrionics. Terran Moondwellers who feel happy with the outcome celebrate apart. As for those who do not, they begin preparing to emigrate.
Alone, Dagny and Rydberg speak. She wears a bipedal robot body. Weary to the depths of her spirit, if downloads have any, she will not simulate the image of the dead woman; but neither will she be a mere voice.
“It worked,” she sighs: for she has mastered the making of human sounds. “Between the Trust, Fireball, Brandir and his fellows, the space captains—”
“Do not forget yourself,” he says.
The faceless head shakes. “No, nor those I haven’t named. You know who they were. Never mind. What we set up and played through, the whole charade, it worked. I honestly doubted it would. But what else was there to try?” His tone goes metallic. “If it had failed, it would have stopped being a charade.”
“Yes. Janvier realized that. Do you realize that he did? It succeeded because reality stood behind it.”
“And it was simpler than what’s ahead of us.”
“You’ll navigate, I’m sure.”
He gives her a long look, as if it were into living eyes. “We will?”
“Luna, Earth, Fireball, everybody.”
“Except you?”