In early '76 I had too much to do. Could not neglect customers. Party work took more time even though all possible was delegated. But decisions had to be made on endless things and messages passed up and down. Had to squeeze in hours of heavy exercise, wearing weights, and dasn't arrange permission to use centrifuge at Complex, one used by earthworm scientists to stretch time in Luna--while had used it before, this time could not advertise that I was getting in shape for Earthside.

Exercising without centrifuge is less efficient and was especially boring because did not know there would be need for it. But according to Mike 30 percent of ways events could fall required some Loonie, able to speak for Party, to make trip to Terra.

Could not see myself as an ambassador, don't have education and not diplomatic. Prof was obvious choice of those recruited or likely to be. But Prof was old, might not live to land Earthside. Mike told us that a man of Prof's age, body type, etc., had less than 40 percent chance of reaching Terra alive.

But Prof did gaily undertake strenuous training to let him make most of his poor chances, so what could I do but put on weights and get to work, ready to go and take his place if old heart clicked off? Wyoh did same, on assumption that something might keep me from going. She did it to share misery; Wyoh always used gallantry in place of logic.

On top of business, Party work, and exercise was farming. We had lost three sons by marriage while gaining two fine lads, Frank and Ali. Then Greg went to work for LuNoHoCo, as boss drillman on new catapult.

Was needful. Much skull sweat went into hiring construction crew. We could use non-Party men for most jobs, but key spots had to be Party men as competent as they were politically reliable. Greg did not want to go; our farm needed him and he did not like to leave his congregation. But accepted.

That made me again a valet, part time, to pigs and chickens. Hans is a good farmer, picked up load and worked enough for two men. But Greg had been farm manager ever since Grandpaw retired, new responsibility worried Hans. Should have been mine, being senior, but Hans was better farmer and closer to it; always been expected he would succeed Greg someday. So I backed him up by agreeing with his opinions and tried to be half a farm hand in hours I could squeeze. Left no time to scratch.

Late in February I was returning from long trip, Novylen, Tycho Under, Churchill. New tube had just been completed across Sinus Medii, so I went on to Hong Kong in Luna--business and did make contacts now that I could promise emergency service. Fact that Endsville-Beluthihatchie bus ran only during dark semi-lunar had made impossible before.

But business was cover for politics; liaison with Hong Kong had been thin. Wyoh had done well by phone; second member of her cell was an old comrade.--"Comrade Clayton"--who not only had clean bill of health in Alverez's File Zebra but also stood high in Wyoh's estimation. Clayton was briefed on policies, warned of bad apples, encouraged to start cell system while leaving old organization untouched. Wyoh told him to keep his membership, as before.

But phone isn't face-to-face. Hong Kong should have been our stronghold. Was less tied to Authority as its utilities were not controlled from Complex; was less dependent because lack (until recently) of tube transport had made selling at catapult head less inviting; was stronger financially as Bank of Hong Kong Luna notes were better money than official Authority scrip.

I suppose Hong Kong dollars weren't "money" in some legal sense. Authority would not accept them; times I went Earthside had to buy Authority scrip to pay for ticket. But what I carried was Hong Kong dollars as could be traded Earthside at a small discount whereas scrip was nearly worthless there. Money or not, Hong Kong Bank notes were backed by honest Chinee bankers instead of being fiat of bureaucracy. One hundred Hong Kong dollars was 31.1 grams of gold (old troy ounce) payable on demand at home office--and they did keep gold there, fetched up from Australia. Or you could demand commodities: non-potable water, steel of defined grade, heavy water of power plant specs, other things. Could buy these with scrip, too, but Authority's prices kept changing, upward. I'm no fiscal theorist; time Mike tried to explain I got headache. Simply know we were glad to lay hands on this non-money whereas scrip one accepted reluctantly and not just because we hated Authority.

Hong Kong should have been Party's stronghold. But was not. We had decided that I should risk face-to-face there, letting some know my identity, as a man with one arm can't disguise easily. Was risk that would jeopardize not only me but could lead to Wyoh, Mum, Greg, and Sidris if I took a fall. But who said revolution was safe?

Comrade Clayton turned out to be young Japanese--not too young, but they all look young till suddenly look old. He was not all Japanese--Malay and other things--but had Japanese name and household had Japanese manners; "giri" and "gimu" controlled and it was my good fortune that he owed much gimu to Wyoh.

Clayton was not convict ancestry; his people had been "volunteers" marched aboard ship at gunpoint during time Great China consolidated Earthside empire. I didn't hold it against him; he hated Warden as bitterly as any old lag.

Met him first at a teahouse--taproom to us L-City types--and for two hours we talked everything but politics. He made up mind about me, took me home. My only complaint about Japanese hospitality is those chin-high baths are too bleeding hot.

But turned out I was not jeopardized. Mama-san was as skilled at makeup as Sidris, my social arm is very convincing, and a kimona covered its seam. Met four cells in two days, as "Comrade Bork" and wearing makeup and kimona and tabi and, if a spy was among them, don't think he could identify Manuel O'Kelly. I had gone there intensely briefed, endless figures and projections, and talked about just one thing: famine in '82, six years away. "You people are lucky, won't be hit so soon. But now with new tube, you are going to see more and more of your people turning to wheat and rice and shipping it to catapult head. Your time will come."

They were impressed. Old organization, as I saw it and from what I heard, relied on oratory, whoop-it-up music, and emotion, much like church. I simply said, "There it is, comrades. Check those figures; I'll leave them with you."

Met one comrade separately. A Chinee engineer given a good look at anything can figure way to make it. Asked this one if he had ever seen a laser gun small enough to carry like a rifle. He had not. Mentioned that passport system made it difficult to smuggle these days. He said thoughtfully that jewels ought not to be hard--and he would be in Luna City next week to see his cousin. I said Uncle Adam would be pleased to hear from him.

All in all was productive trip. On way back I stopped in Novylen to check an old-fashioned punched-tape "Foreman" I had overhauled earlier, had lunch afterwards, ran into my father. He and I were friendly but didn't matter if we let a couple of years go by. We talked through a sandwich and beer and as I got up he said, "Nice to see you, Mannie. Free Luna!"

I echoed, too startled not to. My old man was as cynically non-political as you could find; if he would say that in public, campaign must be taking hold.

So I arrived in L-City cheered up and not too tired, having napped from Torricelli. Took Belt from Tube South, then dropped down and through Bottom Alley, avoiding Causeway crowd and heading home. Went into Judge Brody's courtroom as I came to it, meaning to say hello. Brody is old friend and we have amputation in common. After he lost a leg he set up as a judge and was quite successful; was not another judge in L-City at that time who did not have side business, at least make book or sell insurance.