“Turning your back on the people of Earth isn’t wrong? Those people put you where you are today.”
“This may come as a shock to some of your viewers, Trevor, but there is no contract between the citizens of Luna and the people of Earth. Earth spent the money to start the Lunar colonies of its own free will. It’s a little late in the game to start demanding payback. I’d also like to point out an important fact that often slips through the cracks in discussions like this—the overwhelming majority of the money that Earth spent was spent on Earth, paying Earth’s wages and buying Earth’s products. That money filtered through Earth’s economy, not Luna’s, providing income for grocery store clerks and charge station attendants down there. Earth’s economy benefitted greatly from starting the Lunar colonies, and anyone who pretends otherwise either hasn’t looked at the numbers carefully enough, or they’re purposefully ignoring them. Honestly, it looks to me as though Earth derived the most benefit from those dollars. It seems a little greedy to be asking for payback in addition to what you’ve already gotten.”
Something indefinable crossed York’s face. “So you’re denying that you owe Earth anything?”
“Listen carefully, Trevor. If I buy you a beer of my own free will, are you under any obligation to buy me one in return?”
“But it’s not the same! We spent billions—”
Lister’s eyebrows raised. “So the amount of money is the variable? At what point does the switch occur? One billion? Ten? The cost of the second beer? We owe Earth nothing.”
York stared, then switched tactics. “Simple human decency would have dictated that you help Emily Starnes. The poor woman starved to death right here in Crisium. How do you justify that?”
“I don’t have to. It’s not as though we locked her in a room and denied her food. As you and every other mortal being in Luna and on Earth are aware by now, Emily Starnes crossed through the Holmes Door of her own free will and hid in a side tunnel down in an unfinished level. We have the death penalty here in Crisium, but we certainly didn’t apply it to her. She killed herself. You can call it accidental death, or you can call it suicide, but either way, she chose the course of actions that led to her death. I feel no more guilt over her death than I would if someone died of explosive decompression on the surface after choosing not to check their surface suit before going out. People make choices every day. Some are fatal. Life is dangerous.”
“You’re a monster!” York roared in outrage.
“That depends on your definition. Perhaps I am,” Lister admitted calmly. “On the other hand, I happen to think that you, or rather, the current society on Earth, is the monster. You created Emily Starnes—the product of a sick society. Then you blamed her fate on us. We simply chose not to accept the guilt. It’s that simple.”
“But it’s so unfair! You have so much, and she had so little. Surely, it wouldn’t hurt so much to provide for one person.”
“One person? No, of course not. The problem is that it’s never just one. Your society can’t stop with producing only one person like Emily. You produce them by the hundreds every day. Is that fair? To them? To you? To us?”
“But all she needed was a little food, and you can produce it easily.”
“ ‘From each according to his abilities, to each according to his needs,’ ” Lister quoted. “Is that what you’re saying?”
“Well… yes.”
“Do you know who said that?”
“No.”
“Karl Marx, although he lifted the thought from someone else. Communism, they called it. The last country that practiced it failed over fifty years ago. Unfortunately, it’s an insidious disease, and a great many people continue to urge some fragment of that philosophy on you with the best of intentions. You see, Trevor, the trouble arises in determining ability and need. Nearly every person alive can give you a thousand reasons why they need a new house, preferably a bigger, fancier one. Give them half a chance and they’ll also tell you that they need a new car, new clothes, and while you’re at it, a swimming pool in the back yard. All these so-called needs far exceed the aggregate ability to produce. Trevor, the word need is one of the most dangerous words in the English language. Use it only when no other word will do.”
“But food is a genuine need,” York said.
“So is shelter. So is transportation, at least in today’s world. The question is, where does it end? At a bare subsistence level? Or do you add an arbitrary 10 percent to improve the quality of life? While we’re at it, why don’t we make it 20 or 30 percent? Soon, the poor are living better than the people who are footing the bill through taxes… after all, the money has to come from somewhere. At that point, unless they’re fools, the taxpayers see that they would be better off not working and quit. Sure enough, their standard of living improves. But that increases the load on those still working. Eventually, those people get the message, too. A society where no one works because they cannot get ahead is on the verge of collapse. People must see that it is to their benefit to work harder, not someone else’s.”
“But it’s not like that. Of course, there are people on unemployment, but America hasn’t collapsed.”
“A major Depression isn’t enough to convince you that something’s wrong? How about the food riots? You had a big one in Sacramento just a month ago. If I recall correctly, the National Guard killed six people. If American society hasn’t collapsed, it’s certainly one sick patient.”
York, clearly disturbed, tried to regain control of the interview. “Commissioner Lister, are you saying that you don’t care about what happens on Earth?”
Lister smiled sadly. “On the contrary, I happen to care very, very much. I simply believe that people should be responsible for their own actions—that they should be willing to bear the consequences of those actions with a minimum of fuss. Earth, North America in particular, chose the course they are on. Now the bill has come due, but no one seems to want to pay. That, to me, seems irresponsible.”
“Who are you to judge the people of North America? Do you have a god complex?”
Lister laughed easily. “No, just common sense.”
York shook his head slightly as though dazed. He turned, “Bob, switch off.”
“Off.”
The woman began to move towards York, reaching into her bag. York waved her back. “Not now, Sue.”
He turned back to Lister. “The camera is off Whatever we say now will be off the record.” He exhaled heavily. “Look, Commissioner Lister, let’s be serious for a moment. I think you know that I don’t approve of you—”
“Somehow, I got that impression,” Lister said dryly.
“—But my personal opinion of you isn’t really all that negative. To me, this is just business. The public on Earth buys this stuff and I make a lot of money giving it to them.” He shook his head slowly. “Really, now, I meant for this interview to have a… shall we say, a certain slant to it, but I certainly didn’t intend for it to go like this. Wouldn’t you rather just start the interview over? Is this some kind of joke? Why are you doing this?”
“Perhaps it’s what I happen to believe.”
“It’s political death!”
“Since you’re from Earth, you may not be aware, but I only intend to serve one term in office—about another eight months to go, now. Since I don’t care to be reelected, I can say anything I damn well please. As it happens, the people of Crisium seem to approve of the way I’ve run their government for them, but I can’t say that it really matters to me one way or another.”