Tongues Of The Moon Part 4

Scone then declared that the representatives and delegates could speak for their choices. Each speaker was to be limited to two minutes, and a particular language could not be pled for more than once.

Panchurin, the Russian commandant, was the first to be recognized. He was a short broad man with brown-yellow hair and a broad high cheekboned face and was thirty-five years old.

"I do not understand how English can be made the language of base intercommunication but some other language can also be the universal speech. There is a contradiction."

"English will be used during the present state of emergency. Afterwards, we will adopt whichever tongue is chosen at this meeting. Let me remind you what I told you in the doc.u.ment. That is, that the voting on various issues will not be a farce. I have not, as they say in English, packed the house. For every American or West European at this meeting, there is a Russian and a Chinese."

Broward smiled. It was true that the Russian and Chinese bases had a number of delegates to equal those of Clavius. But they had sent only those specifically invited by Scone. And he had included among the Russian nationals various Turkish speakers, Armenians, Georgians, Lithuanians, Estonians. And among the Chinese were several j.a.panese, Indonesians, Indians, Thai, and Filipinos, none of whom had any reason to love the Chinese.

Panchurin said, "Then I understand correctly that the universal language will be chosen by popular vote?

That the particular one will not be rammed down our throats?"

"Of course not. I am only requiring that we vote on one now because, after the Axis have been dealt with, we may not be able to agree so easily or quickly on an issue like this."

"I would speak of the Russian language," said Panchurin, "its glory, its beauty, the ease of learning it, its antiquity, its universality, the fact that the two greatest novelists of all ages, Tolstoy and Dostoyevsky, wrote in it, and that the immortal Lenin used it to expound Marxism. But I am sure that other speakers will use much the same arguments for their own tongues, so I will refrain. You may rest a.s.sured, however, that we Russians will uphold our own glorious speech. And we are confident that many among you non-Russians also appreciate its superiority."

Scone then recognized Emile Lorilleux, the geochemist. He spoke pa.s.sionately and poetically for two minutes on the beauty, the conciseness and exactness, the great adaptability, the long recognized distinction of French as a diplomatic tool, and the greatness of its literature, second to none.

There were others. Kreooson, the only Greek on the Moon, spoke even more eloquently of the unbroken continuity of his native speech, of the richness and beauty, the tongue of Homer, Euripides, Plato, Aristotle, and Kazantzakis, of the many contributions it had made and was still making to scientific and poetic discourse. Near the end, he began to look desperate, and tears appeared in his eyes.

It was then that Old Man Dahlquist asked for the floor. When he rose, there was a respectful silence and concentrated attention. Arne Dahlquist was a legend, loved by many and honored even by the Chinese. He was 90 years old, though, he looked no more than sixty. He was reputed to be the greatest linguist that had ever lived; he could speak fluently every major Indo-European and Ural-Altaic language and many of the lesser. He was conversantin the Kadai-Malayo-Polynesian tongues. He talked well in j.a.panese, Mandarin, Cantonese, Malayalam, and Burmese, and he could talk at ease with any speaker of Navaho, Apache, Dakota, Ojibway, Cherokee, Nahuatl, Maya, or Quechua.

"As you know," he said, smiling at them. "I have been on the Moon for six years. My project was concerned with the Earth, not this satellite, and its intention was to demonstrate the single source of most of the American Indian tongues and to ill.u.s.trate the relations.h.i.+p of the Amerindian Ursprache to Ainu. Perhaps, even to other tongues of the Old World. I came here because my project was to take a long time, and there was a greater chance of extending my life span if I lived in the less taxing gravity of the Moon.

"I brought several thousands of microfilms of my research material. This has been fortunate for future Lunarian research. Without these records, our descendants might not know anything of the great variety of tongues used on Earth, since the majority of their speakers have died. And it is probable that the bomb attack itself, plus the havoc necessarily created by Nature during the next two hundred years, will destroy most of mankind's books and records.

'"Well, that is neither here nor there, so where could it be, then?" He paused to smile at his little joke, then continued, "You have more important things to think about than linguistic scholars.h.i.+p, and most of you care little about such things as the structure of Nahuatl or the beauty of its literature.

"Just as your sons and daughters and their children will care little that their parents' speech is not the one they are using. All, Russian, English, Chinese, and the other nationalities represented here, will be speaking one tongue. For begin to deviate into dialects. And, after Moonman has moved back to earth and established various colonies there, the dialects will evolve into separate languages. This is inevitable, but it has no bearing on the immediate future.

"What I am trying to point out to you-forgive the ramblings of an old man speaking on the subject dearest to his heart-is that there is no necessity of voting at this time on what language should be universal after peace comes- if it comes. If we come to blows with the Spanish speakers of Mars or their Bantu allies, we may be exterminated or else enslaved. In either case, our languages will no longer be a matter of choice. Our masters will impose their speech upon us. But we may win. Who knows? Only G.o.d-I use the term in a consciously mythological or literary sense only, of course -only G.o.d knows.

"But what if Martian and Moonman avoid each other, leaving each to his own destiny, thus making sure that we don't annihilate one another and put an end to mankind forever? This is a possible solution. What, then, if this state of actionless war, of eternal emergency, is maintained? Then, since English is the means of intercommunication, since it is the language with the most prestige, it will be used more and more. The other tongues will die of disuse. And they will die quickly.

"Remember, the situation is not the same here as it was on Earth. There, even a secondary tongue had many speakers to hand it on to the children. Breton and Basque took a long time a-dying, though their fate was as certain as that of Atinu or Wend or Yuma. But there are very few people on the Moon. Three hundred by latest count. If the state of war continues for a generation, a good percentage of you, as old men and women, will barely remember the tongue you now speak so trippingly.

"Therefore, I propose that we forget all about the vote. You have already decided the issue. Or, I should say Colonel Scone has done so."

He sat down, and there was a silence.

Scone did not wait for Dahlquist's words to take effect but said immediately, "The motion has been made and seconded that, after the war with the Axis is ended, we adopt one language as the primary speech for the Moon bases.

Now, we don't have voting machines, so we will have to have a show of hands. To insure there's no complaint about a possible miscount, each of the bases may select one member for a hand-counting committee."

The committee was quickly chosen, and the three went up to the platform where they could have a better view. Scone then said, "All those voting yea for the motion will signify by raising hands."

Broward looked around and saw that practically the only ones holding up their hands were the native English-speakers of Clavius, a few West Europeans, an Armenian in the Russian delegation, and a Thai in the Chinese group.

Suddenly, it struck him that he had been thinking like those others who had pled for their own tongue. He had taken it for granted that the motion would be carried-because of Scone's strong action in repressing Ying-and had thought that the issue would be only which language would be selected. Now, he saw that Scone, in asking Broward to make the motion, had not told him everything. Scone might be big and impa.s.sive, but he was not unintelligent. He had, surely had, arranged with Dahliquist before the meeting to make that speech. And Dahlquist's words had had the intended effect. They had frightened everybody into wanting to put off the issue as long as possible. So, although Dahlquist had told them the truth when he said that it was not necessary to vote, he had also scared them into avoiding the issue. They thought that if they waited until peace came, then they could deal with Scone, refuse to accept one and only one language, save their beloved language for their children and grandchildren.

Only, they had either forgotten, or did not really understand, or else did not want to believe Dahlquist when he said that it was not necessary to vote.

Scone rapped his gavel and said, "Obviously, we won't have to count the nay-sayers. Very well, then. We will wait until peace comes."

Later, the others would get to thinking about what had happened and would see what Broward knew. But there would be nothing to do about it then. And, indeed, if Scone kept them busy enough, they might not have time tomeditate and thus arrive at the truth.

"The next big issue is something that has to be decided at once," said Scone. "Putting it off will cause a great deal of trouble. Perhaps enough to disrupt us, make us weak for the conflict with the Axis. That problem is the shortage of women."

He paused, as if reviewing again what he must have gone over many times in his mind. It was then that a light on a squawkbox on the desk before him began flas.h.i.+ng. He flipped a switch and leaned over close to it He spoke a few words, then straightened and said, "'You will have to excuse me for a few minutes. The meeting is adjourned until I return. In the meantime, be thinking about solutions to the next issue."

He stepped down off the platform and strode down the central aisle towards the exit. On reaching the first row, however, he beckoned to Broward. Broward followed him, wondering what could be important enough to call him from the meeting. Or was this move another trick by Scone? It was then that he saw Ingrid Nashdoi on a chair in the back row. He raised his eyebrows and smiled when he was sure that she saw him. She smiled back and shrugged her shoulders.

Outside the conference room, Scone said, "I just got a flash from the radar chief. Come with me to my office."

Broward followed him in. Scone sat down behind his desk and said, "A scouts.h.i.+p, one of our robots, finally reported in. It was one of three. I sent one; and there was a Russian and Chinese s.h.i.+p, also. All three were to find out what the situation on Mars is. All but ours must have been caught; anyway, they're overdue in their reports. The Silverfish was able to take some pretty good pictures."

He made a steeple of his hands and looked straight ahead, through Broward. Broward fidgeted a while, then said, finally, "Is it that bad?"

"Oh? Bad? Bad enough. Our Martian bases were really clobbered, though they didn't go out without a fight.

One of the South African bases was destroyed; on the surface, at least And there's evidence that Deimos was. .h.i.t. So badly, in fact, that the garrison didn't respond to the scout's presence. It made no effort to fire; it didn't even emit any radar or lasers, none that the scout detected."

"So the Martian Axe is a definite threat?"

"More than that The scout also detected an immense fleet moving towards Mars, approximately ten million miles away from it"

"It couldn't be ours," said Broward. "It would have come here first."

"Undoubtedly, it's the Argentinean main fleet, carrying Felipe Howards. Probably, the aristocracy of the Axe Party and their families, too. Do you see what this means?"

Broward shook his head, and Scone continued. "It means that Howards planned to set off those cobalt bombs. He intended to destroy all life on Earth and then rebuild a new society, an all-Axe world. It'll be started on Mars, and, when Earth is ready for resettling, completed on Earth. A totally Spanish-speaking fascist world."

"He'd have to be a raving maniac to do that!" said Broward.

"He's a maniac all right, but he knows what he's doing and how to do it," said Scone. "The thing is, he hasn't finished his job. He must know by now that his forces failed on the Moon, and he'll want to make sure of the Soviet bases on Ganymede and Mercury, too. So, we can expect some action in the near future. The h.e.l.l of it is, if that fleet is as big as the scout reported, Howards has the muscle to beat us. He could lose half his fleet and still have twice as many s.h.i.+ps and missiles as we can muster. Plus the fact that his forces are unified. They don't have to guard against each other while they're fighting the enemy."

"You didn't call me in here just to tell me this."

"Of course not. Bob, I have something special I want you to do."

Broward knew then that Scone was planning something of utmost importance and extreme danger. This was the first time that he had ever called him by his first name. But there must be even more than that to cause him to do so.

Could it be that what Scone wanted him to do was so dangerous that even he hesitated to ask? Or was it something else, something sinister in Scone's motive?

"The point is this," said Scone. "We are badly outnumbered and outweaponed. The Martians have every advantage over us, aside, of course, from operating on the basis of an incorrect ideology. But I have never noticed that being ideologically perverted kept any nation from being excellent fighters. I can say this in the privacy of my office; I know that you would not think of repeating it."

"You said that the point is... ?"

"If the Martians bring their full weight against us, and I see no reason why they won't, we'll be wiped out. So, we can strip the bases of all that the s.h.i.+ps can carry and find a hiding place, a new colony. We might even all board the Zemlya and take off for the stars, leaving the Axis in full possession of the solar system.

"I don't like to do that; in fact, I won't.

Two, we can beat the Martians to the punch. But there is only one way to do that. Somebody must go to Earth and get the means to enable us to smash the Martians. More than that. Smash Mars!"

"I don't understand," said Broward. "Planetbuster," said Scone. "Did you ever hear of it?" -No."

"It is-was-top secret, but that, of course doesn't mean that word somehow wouldn't get around. The Russians were building it. It was, if my intelligence is right, a device 100% efficient in converting matter into energy.

And it was supposed to have an amplification factor in it. You might say it was 500% efficient. Yes, I know, that's impossible. But, effectively that was what it was supposed to do. Don't ask me the principle behind it "This-call it a bomb-was not intended to be used as a weapon on Earth. It would have destroyed the Russians also, even if set off at the South Pole. But the Russians wanted to build and test one. They had planned toexplode it on Juno. It was their prediction that the asteroid, even though it has a diameter of 210 kilometers, would be shattered into a million tiny fragments."

Broward felt frozen. He said, "You can't be thinking of sending some one down there... ?"

"Why not?" replied Scone. "I'd go myself, but it's obvious that I must stay here. I know where the bomb is located. And we have a small experimental vessel that's s.h.i.+elded heavily enough to withstand twenty times the radiation you'll find down there. Moreover, I've already given orders to have special suits equipped for any work you have to do outside the s.h.i.+p. Believe me, it can be done. I've talked to those who know, and they've told me it can be done."

"But, even if it's found, how do you know it'll be operative? Who knows how to control it?"

Broward became aware that he was breathing hard and that his fists were clenched.

"Why me?" he said, "I'm a physical anthropologist and a doctor! What do I know about getting a s.h.i.+p down there, or handling a device of that nature?"

"You're a doctor, and you've had a great deal of training in radiation. You won't be piloting the s.h.i.+p; another man will do that. As for the bomb, it's a comparatively small package, and perfectly safe. Besides, I picked you for another reason I haven't mentioned yet."

"What's that?" said Broward. He caught himself in time, bit down on the words. A little more anger, and he would have accused Scone of sending him in order to have a free hand with Ingrid.

"Didn't you spend a year in East Siberia on an anthropological study of the descendants of the colonists?"

"Yes," said Broward. "What of it?"

"The bomb is located in an underwater installation off the coast of East Siberia."

Broward sighed. Trust the man to have checked through the biographical files to find data he could use.

Scone had him. He was, in many ways, a logical choice.

"Am I being ordered to go? Or being asked to volunteer?" he said.

"The survival of all men on the Moon demands that someone get that bomb. You should be proud because I think enough of your qualifications to order you to go."

Broward knew better than to ask him what would happen if he refused. For a moment, he wondered if Scone wanted him to rebel. That would give Scone an easy and legal way to get rid of Broward. Now, there was a chance Broward could return from the mission. How much chance, Broward would not know until he evaluated the situation.

"Who's going with me?" he said.

"Captain Yamanuchi will be your pilot and navigator."

"You think of everything," Broward said. Fleetingly, Scone looked surprised. But if he guessed what Broward meant, he did not care to pursue it.

"It'll be some time before the s.h.i.+p is ready," Scone said. "Report to Dr. Wellers in Section T. I'll see you before you leave."

"Yes, sir," Broward answered. He saluted, spun around, and walked stiffly out of the office. His only thought was to talk to Ingrid before he left. He did not care what obstacles Scone would put in his way to prevent that.

Wellers and Yamanuchi were waiting for him. Wellers was a tall thin Englishman with large brown eyes and sunken cheeks. He had two Ph.D.'s, one in selenic physics, one in spatial navigation. Generally, he was regarded as a nut His outspokenness had gotten him in trouble, but he was so brilliant that the Terrestrial authorities had ignored his views as much as possible. They had sent him to the Moon where he would have only a small audience and could be watched more closely. His case, however, was nothing unusual. The Moon was half-populated with people of dubious views but great usefulness.

The other man was Moshe Yamanuchi. He was stocky, about thirty, had light-brown curly hair and deep purple-blue eyes with long eyelashes. Aside from his name, he had nothing about him to indicate his j.a.panese ancestry. In his own way, he was even more of a curiosity than Wellers. His grandfather, one of the many j.a.panese converted to Judaism some time after World War II, had emigrated to Israel. He had married a Sabra of Danish-Polish-Scotch descent. The second son of this union had taken to wife a woman of Dutch-Czech-Algerian ancestry. Moshe, their last child, was born in northern Alaska; his parents had been among the victims of the Third Diaspora, moved by the Soviets in their effort to demolish forever the Israeli state and Judaism.

Moshe Yamanuchi was the only "Jew" on the Moon. It was said that Moshe had been a.s.signed there by mistake. He was not listed as having a religion and he had applied for members.h.i.+p to the Communist Party. The officials who had sent him to the Moon had been misled by his surname, and so on. When it finally became known, and Scone was notified that a man of Jewish "blood" was under his command, nothing was done about it. Yamanuchi was a likeable and valuable man, and people found it difficult to believe that he could actually be a Jew. He didn't fit the picture.

Moshe himself, though he claimed to be an atheist, joked about his divinity. He was both the son of David and the Sun-G.o.ddess. The blood of Solomon and Abraham and the Mikados flowed in a duke's mixture through his veins, he said, although it flowed somewhat sluggishly, since it was also cold Alaskan blood.

Now, looking at Yamanuchi, Broward thought of Scone's motives for sending this man with him. He was as good as any for a job like this, better than most. Yet, if he did not return, he would be a victim of Scone's "killing two birds with one stone" policy. Scone would have rid himself of the "j.a.panese Jew."

The two men greeted Broward. Wellers began at once to give them information by lecture and by the scope pictures on the console. Photographs, diagrams, mathematical equations, lines of text appeared on the large screen.

Wellers explained in a high-pitched monotonous voice. Two hours later, the two soldiers knew thoroughly theessential details. The vital mathematical facts involving the navigational problems were already taped and checked and on the way to the s.h.i.+p. "Both the s.h.i.+p and your mobile suits will be extra-protected from the high radiation by the misnamed anti-fields," said Wellers. "You'll be safe-as long as the field generators work. They have been known to malfunction at critical occasions."

"It's like getting a pep talk from Father Death himself," Yamanuchi said.

"I wish I could be with you," Wellers replied. "You'll be getting a direct observation of what's happened to Earth." Broward shuddered and said, "'If I had my way, you could take my place."

The IP shrilled. "Captain Broward! Report at once to Section G."

Broward went to the IP. "Broward speaking. Any idea why I'm wanted in G?"

"This is Eilers, Sperm Bank. We want a deposit, Captain. Scone's orders."

Broward said, "Received. Be there in a minute." Then, as an afterthought, "What about Captain Yamanuchi"

"I've got no orders about him."

"Has he already made a deposit?"

"Young and Yexa are the only ones in the Y file. Why?"' "Nothing," said Broward.

He was sick. Yamanuchi, the handsome, intelligent, and tough one, was to be denied a chance to contribute to the betterment of the human species. Scone did not want "tainted" genes.

"Don't look so stricken," Moshe said. He was smiling. "I know exactly why I'm not being asked to commit the sin of Onan. But Scone's dealing with a very tricky Jew. I've already taken the necessary steps-horizontally, that is, if you can take steps horizontally-to ensure that I have at least two children. Maybe more, since twins run in my family."

Broward grinned and said, "Do I understand... ? Why, you philandering barnyard rooster, you!"

"If there is one trait I have inherited from my remote ancestor, King David, it is a powerful hunger for beautiful women and the ability to, pardon the expression, draw them like flies to honey. There are two lovely females-discretion and an old-fas.h.i.+oned sense of honor seal my lips concerning their names-who at this moment are nouris.h.i.+ng the fruits of our loves in their wombs.

"In death-time, a young man's fancy turns to thoughts of love. In other words, when I considered that my line, my species, might become extinct unless I did my duty, I seed my duty and I done it, no pun intended it. Although I must admit I enjoyed it, and I don't mean the pun."

"If Scone hears of this," Broward said, "he'll have you shot. You know what a stiff-necked moralist he is, when it comes to s.e.x, anyway."

"While others dawdle, I delve," Moshe replied. "And he won't hear of it. Not unless..."

Wellers said, "I didn't hear a thing. I wouldn't want to start an investigation of that sort. The hunters might start sniffing around my lair and unearth the fact that I sometimes mix a high-minded concern for mathematics with an interest in things they might consider low-minded."