Stranger in a Strange Land

The unqualified scope of the question made it difficult for Jill to answer. What did she want? What did she expect? From the time she had crossed her Rubicon she had thought of nothing but escape—and getting to Harshaw’s home. She had no plans. “I don’t know.”

“I thought not. You had told me enough to let me know that you were A.W.O.L. from your hospital, so, on the assumption that you might wish to protect your license, I took the liberty, while you were asleep, of having a message sent from Montreal to your Chief of Nursing. You asked for two weeks emergency leave because of sudden illness in your family. Okay? You can back it up with details later.”

Jill felt sudden and shaking relief. By temperament she had buried all worry about her own welfare once she had made her decision; nevertheless down inside her was a heavy lump caused by what she had done to an on the whole excellent professional standing. “Oh, Jubal, thank you!” She added, “I’m not really delinquent in watch standing yet; today was my day off.”

“Good. Then you are covered like a tent. What do you want to do?”

“I haven’t had time to think. Uh, I suppose I should get in touch with my bank and get some money—” She paused, trying to recall what her bank balance was. It was never large and sometimes she forgot to—Jubal cut in on her thoughts. “If you get in touch with your bank, you will have cops pouring out of your ears. Hadn’t you better stay here until things level off?”

“Uh, Jubal, I wouldn’t want to impose on you.”

“You already have imposed on me. Don’t worry about it, child. There are always free-loaders around here, coming and going… one family stayed seventeen months. But nobody imposes on me against my will, so relax about it. If you turn out to be useful as well as ornamental, you can stay forever. Now about our patient: you said you wanted him to get his ‘rights.’ I suppose you expected my help in that?”

“Well, I… Ben said—Ben seemed to think that you would help.”

“I like Ben but he does not speak for me. I am not in the slightest interested in whether or not this lad gets his so-called rights. I don’t go for the ‘True Prince’ nonsense. His claim to Mars is lawyers’ hogwash; as a lawyer myself I need not respect it. As for the wealth that is supposed to be coming to him, the situation results from other people’s inflamed passions and our odd tribal customs; he has earned none of it. In my opinion he would be lucky if they bilked him out of it—but I would not bother to scan a newspaper to find out which outcome eventuated. If Ben expected me to fight for Smith’s ‘rights,’ you have come to the wrong house.”

“Oh.” Jill felt suddenly forlorn. “I guess I had better make arrangements to move him.”

“Oh, no! Not unless you wish, that is.”

“But I thought you said—”

“I said I was not interested in a web of legal fictions. But a patient and guest under my roof is another matter. He can stay, if he likes. I just wanted to make it clear that I had no intention of meddling with politics to suit any romantic notions you or Ben Caxton may have. My dear, I used to think I was serving humanity… and I pleasured in the thought. Then I discovered that humanity does not want to be served; on the contrary it resents any attempt to serve it. So now I do what pleases Jubal Harshaw.” He turned to Dorcas as if the subject were closed. “Time for dinner, isn’t it, Dorcas? Is anyone doing anything about it?”

“Miriam.” She put down her needlepoint and stood up.

“I’ve never been able to figure out just how these girls divide up the work.”

“Boss, how would you know?—since you never do any.” Dorcas patted him on the stomach. “But you never miss any meals.”

A gong sounded and they went in to eat. If the redheaded Miriam had cooked dinner, she had apparently done so with all modern shortcuts; she was already seated at the foot of the table and looked cool and beautiful. In addition to the three secretaries, there was a young man slightly older than Larry who was addressed as “Duke” and who included Jill in the conversation as if she had always lived there. There was also a middle-aged couple who were not introduced at all, who ate as if they were in a restaurant and left the table as soon as they were finished without ever having spoken to the others.

But the table talk among the others was lively and irreverent. Service was by non-android serving machines, directed by controls at Miriam’s end of the table. The food was excellent and, so far as Jill could tell, none of it was syntho.

But it did not seem to suit Harshaw. He complained that his knife was dull, or the meat was tough, or both; he accused Miriam of serving leftovers. No one seemed to hear him but Jill was becoming embarrassed on Miriam’s account when Anne put down her knife and fork. “He mentioned his mother’s cooking,” she stated bleakly.

“He is beginning to think he is boss again,” agreed Dorcas.

“How long has it been?”

“About ten days.”