Stranger in a Strange Land

Jubal shuddered. “Read it?’ Good God, no! It’s bad enough to write such a thing. And don’t even consider revising it, certainly not to fit the facts. My child, a true-confession story should never be tarnished by any taint of truth.”

“Okay, Boss. And Anne says if you want to come down to the pool and have a bite before you eat, come on.”

“I can’t think of a better time. Shall we adjourn to the terrace, gentlemen’?”

At the pool the party progressed liquidly with bits of fish and other Scandinavian high-caloric comestibles added to taste. At Jubal’s invitation Mike tried brandy, somewhat cut with water. Mike found the resulting sensation extremely disquieting, so he analysed his trouble, added oxygen to the ethanol in an inner process of reversed fermentation and converted it to glucose and water, which gave him no trouble.

Jubal had been observing with interest the effect of his first drink of liquor on the Man from Mars—saw him become drunk almost at once, saw him sober up even more quickly. In an attempt to understand what had happened, Jubal urged more brandy on Mike—which he readily accepted since his water brother offered it. Mike sopped up an extravagant quantity of fine imported liquor before Jubal was willing to concede that it was impossible to get him drunk.

Such was not the case with Jubal, despite his years of pickling; staying sociable with Mike during the experiment dulled the edge of his wits. So, when he attempted to ask Mike what he had done, Mike thought that he was inquiring about the events during the raid by the S.S.—concerning which Mike still felt latent guilt. He tried to explain and, if needed, receive Jubal’s pardon.

Jubal interrupted when at last he figured out what the boy was talking about. “Son, I don’t want to know what you did, nor how you did it. What you did was just what was needed—perfect, just perfect. But—” He blinked owlishly. “—don’t tell me about it. Don’t ever tell anybody about it.”

“Not?”

“‘Not.’ It was the damnedest thing I’ve seen since my uncle with the two heads debated free silver and triumphantly refuted himself. An explanation would spoil it.”

“I do not grok rightly?”

“Nor do I. So let’s not worry and have another drink.”

Reporters and other newsmen started arriving while the party was still climbing. Jubal received each of them with courteous dignity, invited them to eat, drink, and relax—but to refrain from badgering himself or the Man from Mars.

Those who failed to heed his injunction were tossed into the pool.

At first Jubal kept Larry and Duke at flank to administer the baptism as necessary. But, while some of the unfortunate importunates became angry and threatened various things which did not interest Jubal (other than to caution Mike not to take any steps), others relaxed to the inevitable and added themselves to the dousing squad on a volunteer basis, with the fanatic enthusiasm of proselytes—Jubal had to stop them from ducking the doyen lippmann of the New York Times for a third time.

During the evening Dorcas came out of the house, sought out Jubal and whispered in his ear: “Telephone, Boss. For you.”

“Take a message.”

“You must answer it, Boss.”

“I’ll answer it with an ax! Duke, get me an ax. I’ve been intending to get rid of that Iron Maiden for some time—and tonight I’m in the mood for it.”

“Boss… you want to answer this one. It’s the man you spoke to for quite a long time this afternoon.”

“Oh. Why didn’t you say so?” Jubal lumbered upstairs, made sure his study door was bolted behind him, went to the phone. Another of Douglas’ sleek acolytes was on the screen but was replaced quickly by Douglas. “It took you long enough to answer your phone.”

“It’s my phone, Mr. Secretary. Sometimes I don’t answer it at all.”

“So it would seem. Why didn’t you tell me that this Caxton fellow is an alcoholic?”

“Is he?”

“He certainly is! He isn’t missing—not in the usual sense. He’s been off on one of his periodic benders. He was located, sleeping it off, in a fleabag in Sonora.”

“I’m glad to hear that he has been found. Thank you, sir.”

“He’s been picked up on a technical charge of ‘vagrancy.’ The charge won’t be pressed—instead we are releasing him to you.”

“I am very much in your debt, sir.”

“Oh, it’s not entirely a favor! I’m having him delivered to you in the state in which he was found—filthy, unshaven, and, I understand, smelling like a brewery. I want you to see for yourself what sort of a tramp he is.”

“Very well, sir. When may I expect him?”

“Almost at once, I fancy. A courier arrow left Nogales some time ago. At Mach three or better it should be overhead soon. The pilot has instructions to deliver him to you and get a receipt.”

“He shall have it.”

“Now, Counsellor… having delivered him, I wash my hands of it. I shall expect you, and your client, to appear for talks whether you fetch along that drunken libeller or not.”

“Agreed. When?”

“Shall we say tomorrow at ten? Here.”

“‘Twere best done quickly.’ Agreed.”