Stranger in a Strange Land

“Have him pass them through the flap. And you tell him that you are my ‘senior executive assistant’ and that you will fetch my receipt acknowledging personal delivery if that is what he wants. This is still the Martian Embassy—until I check what’s in those papers.”

“Just let him stand in the corridor?”

“I’ve no doubt that Major Bloch can find him a chair. Anne, I am aware that you were gently reared—but this is a situation in which rudeness pays off. We don’t give an inch, nor a kind word, until we get exactly what we want.”

“Yes, Boss.”

The package was bulky because there were many copies; there was one document only. Jubal called in everyone and passed them around. “Girls, I am offering one lollipop for each loophole, boobytrap, or ambiguity—prizes of similar value to males. Now everybody keep quiet.”

Presently Jubal broke the silence. “He’s an honest politician—he stays bought.”

“Looks that way,” admitted Caxton.

“Anybody?” No one claimed a prize; Douglas had kept it simple and straightforward, merely implementing the agreement reached earlier. “Okay,” said Jubal, “everybody is to witness every copy, after Mike signs it—especially you, Skipper, and Sven and Stinky. Get your seal, Miriam. Hell, let Bradley in now and have him witness, too—then give the poor guy a drink. Duke, call the desk and tell ’em to send up the bill; we’re checking out. Then call Greyhound and tell ’em we want our go-buggy. Sven, Skipper, Stinky—we’re getting out of here the way Lot left Sodom…why don’t you three come up in the country with us, take off your shoes, and relax? Plenty of beds, home cooking, and no worries.”

The two married men asked for, and received, rain checks; Dr. Mahmoud accepted. The signing took rather long, mostly because Mike enjoyed signing his name, drawing each letter with great care and artistic satisfaction. The salvageable remains of the picnic (mostly unopened bottles) had been sent up and loaded by the time all copies were signed and sealed, and the hotel bill had arrived.

Jubal glanced at the fat total and did not bother to add it. Instead he wrote on it: “Approved for payment—J. Harshaw for V. M. Smith,” and handed it to Bradley.

“This is your boss’s worry now,” he told Bradley.

Bradley blinked. “Sir?”

“Oh, just to keep it ‘via channels.’ Mr. Douglas will doubtless turn it over to the Chief of Protocol. Isn’t that the usual procedure? I’m rather green about these things.”

Bradley accepted the bill. “Yes,” he said slowly. “Yes, that’s right. LaRue will voucher it—I’ll give it to him.”

“Thank you, Mr. Bradley. Thanks for everything!”

PART THREE: HIS ECCENTRIC EDUCATION

XXII

IN ONE LIMB OF A SPIRAL GALAXY, close to a star known as “Sol” to some of its dependents, another star of the same type underwent catastrophic readjustment and became nova. Its glory would be seen on Mars in another three-replenished (729) years, or 1370 Terran years. The Old Ones noted the coming event as being useful, shortly, for instruction of the young, while never ceasing the exciting and crucial discussion of esthetic problems concerning the new epic woven around the death of the Fifth Planet.

The departure of the spaceship Champion for its home planet was noted without comment and a watch was kept on the strange nestling sent back in it, but nothing more, since it would be some time yet before it would be fruitful to grok the outcome. The twenty-three humans left behind on Mars coped, successfully in most ways, with an environment lethal to naked humans but less difficult, on the whole, than that in the Free State of Antarctica. One of them discorporated through an undiagnosed illness sometimes called “heartbreak” and at other times “homesickness.” The Old Ones cherished the wounded spirit and sent it back where it belonged for further healing; aside from that the Martians left the Terrans alone.