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But our attitude was conciliatory--"Look, people of Terra, we don't want to kill you. In this necessary retaliation we are making every effort to avoid killing you... but if you can't or won't get your governments to leave us in peace, then we shall be forced to kill you. We're up here, you're down there; you can't stop us. So please be sensible!"

We explained over and over how easy it was for us to hit them, how hard for them to reach us. Nor was this exaggeration. It's barely possible to launch missiles from Terra to Luna; it's easier to launch from Earth parking orbit--but very expensive. Their practical way to bomb us was from ships.

This we noted and asked them how many multimilliondollar ships they cared to use up trying it? What was it worth to try to spank us for something we had not done? It had cost them seven of their biggest and best already--did they want to try for fourteen? If so, our secret weapon that we used on FNS Pax was waiting.

Last above was a calculated boast--Mike figured less than one chance in a thousand that Pax had been able to get off a message reporting what had happened to her and it was still less likely that proud F.N. would guess that convict miners could convert their tools into space weapons. Nor did F.N. have many ships to risk. Were about two hundred space vehicles in commission, not counting satellites. But nine-tenths of these were Terra-to-orbit ships such as Lark--and she had been able to make a Luna jump only by stripping down and arriving dry.

Spaceships aren't built for no purpose--too expensive. F.N. had six cruisers that could probably bomb us without landing on Luna to refill tanks simply by swapping payload for extra tanks. Had several more which might be modified much as Lark had been, plus a few convict and cargo ships which could get into orbit around Luna but could never go home without refilling tanks.

Was no possible doubt that F.N. could defeat us; question was how high a price they would pay. So we had to convince them that price was too high before they had time to bring enough force to bear. A poker game-- We intended to raise so steeply that they would fold and drop out. We hoped. And then never have to show our busted flush.

Communication with Hong Kong Luna was restored at end of first day of radio-video phase, during which time Mike was "throwing rocks," getting first barrage lined up. Prof called--and was I happy to hear! Mike briefed him, then I waited, expecting one of his mild reprimands--bracing self to answer sharply: "And what was I supposed to do? With you out of touch and possibly dead? Me left alone as acting head of government and crisis on top of us? Throw it away, just because you couldn't be reached?"

Never got to say it. Prof said, "You did exactly right, Manuel. You were acting head of government and the crisis was on top of you. I'm delighted that you did not throw away the golden moment merely because I was out of touch."

What can you do with a bloke like that? Me with heat up to red mark and no chance to use it--had to swallow and say, "Spasebaw, Prof."

Prof confirmed death of "Adam Selene." "We could have used the fiction a little longer but this is the perfect opportunity. Mike, you and Manuel have matters in hand; I had better stop off at Churchill on my way home and identify his body."

So he did. Whether Prof picked a Loonie body or a trooper I never asked, nor how he silenced anybody else involved--perhaps no huhu as many bodies in Churchill Upper were never identified. This one was right size and skin color; it had been explosively decompressed and burned in face--looked awful!

It lay in state in Old Dome with face covered, and was speech-making I didn't listen to--Mike didn't miss a word; his most human quality was his conceit. Some rockhead wanted to embalm this dead flesh, giving Lenin as a precedent. But Pravda pointed out that Adam was a staunch conservationist and would never want this barbaric exception made. So this unknown soldier, or citizen, or citizen-soldier, wound up in our city's cloaca.

Which forces me to tell something I've put off. Wyoh was not hurt, merely exhaustion. But Ludmilla never came back. I did not know it--glad I didn't--but she was one of many dead at foot of ramp facing Ben Marche. An explosive bullet hit between her lovely, little-girl breasts. Kitchen knife in her hand had blood on it--! think she had had time to pay Ferryman's Fee.

Stu came out to Complex to tell me rather than phoning, then went back with me. Stu had not been missing; once fight was over he had gone to Raffles to work with his special codebook--but that can wait. Mum reached him there and he offered to break it to me.

So then I had to go home for our crying-together--though it is well that nobody reached me until after Mike and I started Hard Rock. When we got home, Stu did not want to come in, not being sure of our ways. Anna came out and almost dragged him in. He was welcome and wanted; many neighbors came to cry. Not as many as with most deaths--but we were just one of many families crying together that day.

Did not stay long--couldn't; had work to do. I saw Milla just long enough to kiss her good-bye. She was lying in her room and did look as if she did be simply sleeping. Then I stayed a while with my beloveds before going back to pick up load. Had never realized, until that day, how old Mimi is. Sure, she had seen many deaths, some her own descendants. But little Milla's death did seem almost too much for her. Ludmilla was special--Mimi's granddaughter, daughter in all but fact, and by most special exception and through Mimi's intervention her co-wife, most junior to most senior.

Like all Loonies, we conserve our dead--and am truly glad that barbaric custom of burial was left back on old Earth; our way is better. But Davis family does not put that which comes out of processor into our commercial farming tunnels. No. It goes into our little greenhouse tunnel, there to become roses and daffodils and peonies among soft-singing bees. Tradition says that Black Jack Davis is in there, or whatever atoms of him do remain after many, many, many years of blooming.

Is a happy place, a beautiful place.

Came Friday with no answer from F.N. News up from Earthside seemed equal parts unwillingness to believe we had destroyed seven ships and two regiments (F.N. had not even confirmed that a battle had taken place) and complete disbelief that we could bomb Terra, or could matter if we did--they still called it "throwing rice." More time was given to World Series.

Stu worried because had received no answers to code messages. They had gone via LuNoHoCo's commercial traffic to their Zurich agent, thence to Stu's Paris broker, from him by less usual channels to Dr. Chan, with whom I had once had a talk and with whom Sm had talked later, arranging a communication channel. Stu had pointed out to Dr. Chan that, since Great China was not to be bombed until twelve hours after North America, bombing of Great China could be aborted after bombing of North America was a proved fact--if Great China acted swiftly. Alternatively, Stu had invited Dr. Chan to suggest variations in target if our choices in Great China were not as deserted as we believed them to be.

Stu fretted--had placed great hopes in quasi-cooperation he had established with Dr. Chan. Me, I had never been sure--only thing I was sure of was that Dr. Chan would not himself sit on a target. But he might not warn his old mother.

My worries had to do with Mike. Sure, Mike was used to having many loads in trajectory at once--but had never had to astrogate more than one at a time. Now he had hundreds and had promised to deliver twenty-nine of them simultaneously to the exact second at twenty-nine pinpointed targets.

More than that-- For many targets he had backup missiles, to smear that target a second time, a third, or even a sixth, from a few minutes up to three hours after first strike.