The Luna Deception by Felix R. Savage Page A

Mr. Reyes.”
    “Aw, just get on with it,” Simon burst out. “The guy’s not made of candyglass. Just bandage him up and give him some meds so he can walk.”
    “Let the doctor do her job,” Fr. Lynch said. “She isn’t getting paid for this. She’s working pro bono, and we’re all very grateful.”
    Simon mumbled something that ended in “ass.”
    “Your feelings are understood, Simon,” Dr. Miller said tightly. “If you don’t want me here, all you have to do is allow those medibots to be fixed, and you’ll never have to see me again.”
    “Not likely. Let those bots get their probes ‘n’ scalpels into us, they’d sterilize every living soul in here.”
    Wearily, Dr. Miller said, “I’m sorry, but it simply isn’t true that the medibots are programmed to secretly sterilize people. That would be a violation of your human rights.”
    “Yeah, well, the facts speak for themselves. When we were using the medibots, the birth rate in here was frickin’ dismal. Since we jarked ‘em, people’s been having babies left and right. And if you think that’s a coincidence, I have to say respectfully, Doc, your fancy medical degree ain’t worth shit.”
    Mendoza heard a ripple of laughter. More people had crowded in to watch his feet being treated. Or more likely, to watch the sparks fly. He’d already got the picture that Simon revelled in picking fights. Of course, Simon himself would call it ‘speaking his mind.’ There was one like that in every hab.
    “Well, Doc?” the old man continued. “You attended some of them births yourself. You ain’t gonna deny the evidence of your own eyes? Facts are facts, and here’s another. From the City Council’s point of view, what we are, is a problem. They don’t want us having kids. They’d like this community to wither away. But if we was gone, who’d look after their silkworms ‘n’ cows for them? Animals need the human touch. They won’t thrive for bots.” Simon spat audibly on the floor.
    “Don’t spit in here, please,” Dr. Miller said. Mendoza could tell that Simon was getting to her. The increasingly rough way she handled his feet gave it away. “Mr. Lynch—” she appealed to the Jesuit.
    “Ain’t no Mister Lynch in here. You call him Father, that’s etiquette,” Simon said.
    At the same time, Fr. Lynch said, “Honestly, Simon, I don’t think you’re right about the secret birth control program. Sterilization is irreversible. It’s more likely that the medibots are programmed to slip contraceptives to the women, passing them off as vitamins and so forth.”
    Simon crowed, “That’s what I said! What you got to say to that, Doc?”
    Dr. Miller dropped Mendoza’s feet and spun around. Mendoza sat up, glad to no longer be the focus of attention. “The fact,” the petite doctor said, “is we’ve got a population problem. Shackleton City was meant to be a utopia, but it’s turning into a gulag with broadband. It’s not fair that you people have to live in squalor, slaving away at menial jobs, without any real educational provisions made for you, nor any opportunites for social mobility. We’re meant to be better than this!”
    Mendoza saw, though Dr. Miller seemingly did not, that she had just lost her audience. You didn’t win people’s hearts by telling them they were dirty and stupid.
    “Your church could help, Mr. Lynch. You’ve got a lot of clout with the less advantaged demographic, for whatever reason. I just think it’s incredibly irresponsible of you to support these unsubstantiated rumors about a secret birth control program!”
    Mendoza never knew how Fr. Lynch would have responded. At that minute, without warning, the doctor’s assistant lunged at Mendoza.
    Mendoza threw himself off the cot. The speed of his own reflexes astonished him. He rolled under the next cot. The bot crashed into the cot he’d been sitting on. People screamed and stampeded for the door. Mendoza crawled as fast as he could under the row