Stranger in a Strange Land

Harshaw stopped long enough to remind himself that this baby innocent was neither babyish nor innocent—was in fact sophisticated in a culture which he was beginning to realize, however dimly, was far in advance of human culture in some very mysterious ways… and that these naive remarks came from a superman—or what would do in place of a “superman” for the time being. Then he answered Smith, choosing his words most carefully as he had in mind a dangerous experiment and did not want disaster to follow from semantic mishap.

“Mike… if you reach a—‘cusp’—where you must do something in order to protect Jill, you do it.”

“Yes, Jubal. I will.”

“Don’t worry about wasting food. Don’t worry about anything else. Protect Jill.”

“Always I will protect Jill.”

“Good. But suppose a man pointed a gun at someone—or simply had it in his hand. Suppose you did not want or need to kill him… but you needed to make the gun go away. Could you do it?”

Mike paused only briefly. “I think I grok it. A gun is a wrong thing. But it might be needful for the man to remain corporate.” He thought. “I can do it.”

“Good. Mike, I am going to show you a gun. A gun is a wrong thing.”

“A gun is a very wrong thing. I will make it go away.”

“Don’t make it go away as soon as you see it.”

“Not?”

“Not. I will lift the gun and start to point it at you. Like this. Before I can get it pointed at you, make it go away. But don’t stop me, don’t hurt me, don’t kill me, don’t do anything to me. Just the gun. Don’t waste me as food, either.”

“Oh, I never would,” Mike said earnestly. “When you discorporate, my brother Jubal, I hope to be allowed to eat of you myself, praising and cherishing you with every bite… until I grok you in fullness.”

Harshaw controlled a seasick reflex he had not felt in decades and answered gravely, “Thank you, Mike.”

“It is I who must thank you, my brother—and if it should come to be that I am selected before you, I hope that you will find me worthy of grokking. Sharing me with Jill. You would share me with Jill? Please?”

Harshaw glanced at Jill, saw that she had kept her face serene—reflected that she probably was a rock-steady scrub nurse. “I will share you with Jill,” he said solemnly. “But, Mike, no one of us will be food today, nor any time soon. Right now I am going to show you this gun—and you wait until I say… and then you be very careful, because I have many things to do before I am ready to discorporate.”

“I will be careful, my brother.”

“All right.” Harshaw leaned over, grunting slightly, and opened a lower drawer of his desk. “Look in here, Mike. See the gun? I’m going to pick it up. But don’t do anything until I tell you to. Girls—get up and move away to the left; I don’t want it pointed at you. Okay. Mike, not yet.” Harshaw reached for the gun, a very elderly police special, took it out of the drawer. “Get ready, Mike. Now!”—and Harshaw did his very best to get the weapon aimed at the Man from Mars.

His hand was suddenly empty. No shock, no jar, no twisting—the gun was gone and that was all.

Jubal found that he was shaking, so he stopped it. “Perfect,” he said to Mike. “You got it before I had it aimed at you. That’s utterly perfect.”

“I am happy.”

“So am I. Duke, did that get in the camera?”

“Yup. I put in fresh film cartridges. You didn’t say.”

“Good.” Harshaw sighed and found that he was very tired. “That’s all today, kids. Run along. Go swimming. You, too, Anne.”

Anne said, “Boss? You’ll tell me what the films show?”

“Want to stay and see them?”

“Oh, no! I couldn’t, not the parts I Witnessed. But I would like to know—later—whether or not they show that I’ve slipped my clutches.”

“All right.”

XIII

WHEN THEY HAD GONE, Harshaw started to give instructions to Duke—then instead said grumpily, “What are you looking sour about?”

“Boss, when are we going to get rid of that ghoul?”

“‘Ghoul’? Why, you provincial lout!”

“Okay, so I come from Kansas. You won’t find any cases of cannibalism in Kansas—they were all farther west. I’ve got my own opinions about who is a lout and who isn’t… but I’m eating in the kitchen until we get rid of him.”

Harshaw said icily, “So? Don’t put yourself out. Anne can have your closing check ready in five minutes… and it ought not to take you more than ten minutes to pack up your comic books and your other shirt.”

Duke had been setting up a projector. He stopped and straightened up. “Oh, I didn’t mean that I was quitting.”

“It means exactly that to me, son.”

“But—I mean, what the hell? I’ve eaten in the kitchen lots of times.”