Stranger in a Strange Land

“Ah, but he would understand it! Ben, recently Mike made his will, drew it up himself—no attorney—and sent it to me to criticize. Ben, it was one of the shrewdest legal documents I’ve ever seen. He recognized that he had more wealth than his heirs could possibly need—so he used half his money to guard the other half… rigged it so that anyone who contests the will does so to his own great disadvantage. It is a very cynical document in that respect and is booby-trapped not only against possible heirsclaimants of his legal parents and his natural parents—he knows he’s a bastard, though I don’t know how he found out—but also the same with respect to every member of the Envoy’s company… he provided a generous way to settle out of court with any possible unknown heir having a good prima-facie claim—and rigged it so that they would almost have to overthrow the government to go into court and break his will… and the will also showed that he knew exactly each stock, bond, security, and asset he owned. I couldn’t find anything to criticize in it.” (—including, Jubal thought, his provision for you, my brother!) “Then he went to the trouble of depositing holographic originals in several places… and Fair-Witness copies in half a dozen reliable brains. Don’t tell me that I could rig his money without his understanding what I had done!”

Ben looked morose. “I wish you could.”

“I don’t. But that was just the starter. It wouldn’t help if we could. Mike hasn’t taken a dollar out of his drawing account for almost a year. I know, because Douglas called me to ask if I thought the major portion of the backlog should be reinvested? Mike hadn’t bothered to answer his letters. I told him that was his headache… but that if I were steward, I would follow my principal’s last instructions.”

“No withdrawals? Jubal, he’s spending a lot.”

“Maybe the church racket pays well.”

“That’s the odd part about it. The Church of All Worlds is not really church.”

“Then what is it?”

“Uh, primarily it’s a language school.”

“Repeat?”

“To teach the Martian language.”

“Well, no harm in that. But I wish, then, that he wouldn’t call it a church.”

“Well, I guess it is a church, within the legal definition.”

“Look, Ben, a roller skating rink is a church—as long as some sect claims that roller skating is essential to their faith and a part of their worship. You wouldn’t even have to go that far—simply claim that roller skating served a desirable though not essential function parallel to that which religious music serves in most churches. If you can sing to the glory of God, you can skate to the same end. Believe me, this has all been threshed out. There are temples in Malaya which are nothing to an outsider but boarding houses for snakes… but the same High Court rules them to be ‘churches’ as protects our own sects.”

“Well, Mike raises snakes, too, as well as teaching Martian. But, Jubal, isn’t anything ruled out?”

“Mmm… that’s a moot point. There are minor restrictions, adjudicated. A church usually can’t charge a fee for fortune telling or calling up spirits of the dead but it can accept offerings… and then let custom make the ‘offerings’ become fees in fact. Human sacrifice is illegal everywhere—but I’m by no means sure that it is not still done in several spots around the globe—and probably right here in this former land of the free and home of the brave. The way to do anything under the guise of religion that would otherwise be suppressed is to do it in the inner sanctum and keep the gentiles out. Why, Ben? Is Mike doing something that might get him jailed or hanged?”

“Uh, I don’t know. Probably not.”

“Well, if he’s careful—the Fosterites have demonstrated how to get by with almost anything. Certainly much more than Joseph Smith was lynched for.”

“Matter of fact, Mike has lifted quite a lot from the Fosterites. That’s part of what worries me.”

“But what does worry you? Specifically.”

“Uh, Jubal, this has got to be a ‘water brother’ matter.”

“Okay, I had assumed that. I’m prepared to face redhot pincers and the rack, if necessary. Shall I start carrying poison in a hollow tooth? Against the possibility of cracking?”

“Uh, the members of the inner circle are supposed to be able to discorporate voluntarily any second—no poison needed.”

“I’m sorry, Ben. I never got that far. Never mind, I know other adequate ways to put up the only final defense against the third degree. Let’s have it.”

“You can discorporate at will, they tell me—if you learn Martian first. Never mind. Jubal, I said Mike raises snakes. I meant that both figuratively and literally—the whole setup is a snake pit. Unhealthy.