Stranger in a Strange Land

“Jubal… you don’t mean that.”

“No. No, I don’t really mean it. Because you can’t. If you tried it, your gun would go where my pistol went—and if you hurried him you’d probably go with it. Duke, you don’t know what you are fiddling with—and I don’t either except that I know it’s dangerous and you don’t. Mike is not ‘gentle as a lamb’ and he is not a savage. I suspect we are the savages. Ever raise snakes?”

“Uh… no.”

“I did, when I was a kid. Thought I was going to be a zoologist then. One winter, down in Florida, I caught what I thought was a scarlet snake. Know what they look like?”

“I don’t like snakes.”

“Prejudice again, rank prejudice. Most snakes are harmless, useful, and fun to raise. The scarlet snake is a beauty—red, and black and yellow—docile and makes a fine pet. I think this little fellow was fond of me, in its dim reptilian fashion. Of course I knew how to handle snakes, how not to alarm them and not give them a chance to bite, because the bite of even a non-poisonous snake is a nuisance. But I was fond of this baby; he was the prize of my collection. I used to take him out and show him to people, holding him back of his head and letting him wrap himself around my wrist.

“One day I got a chance to show my collection to the herpetologist of the Tampa zoo—and I showed him my prize first. He almost had hysterics. My pet was not a scarlet snake—it was a young coral snake. The American cobra… the most deadly snake in North America. Duke, do you see my point?”

“I see that raising snakes is dangerous. I could have told you.”

“Oh, for Pete’s sake! I already had rattlesnakes and water moccasins in my collection. A poisonous snake is not dangerous, not any more than a loaded gun is dangerous—in each case, if you handle it properly. The thing that made that coral snake dangerous was that I hadn’t known what it was, what it could do. If, in my ignorance, I had handled it carelessly, it would have killed me as casually and as innocently as a kitten scratches. And that’s what I’m trying to tell you about Mike. He seems as gentle as a lamb—and I’m convinced that he really is gentle and unreservedly friendly with anyone he trusts. But if he doesn’t trust you—well, he’s not what he seems to be. He seems like an ordinary young male human, rather underdeveloped, decidedly clumsy, and abysmally ignorant … but bright and very docile and eager to learn. All of which is true and not surprising, in view of his ancestry and his strange background. But, like my pet snake, Mike is more than he appears to be. If Mike does not trust you, blindly and all out, he can be instantly aggressive and much more deadly than that coral snake. Especially if he thinks you are harming one of his water brothers, such as Jill—or me.”

Harshaw shook his head sadly. “Duke, if you had given way to your natural impulse to take a poke at me, a few minutes ago when I told you some homely truths about yourself, and if Mike had been standing in that doorway behind you… well, I’m convinced that you would have stood no chance at all. None. You would have been dead before you knew it, much too quickly for me to stop him. Mike would then have been sorrowfully apologetic over having ‘wasted food’—namely your big, beefy carcass. Oh, he would feel guilty about that; you heard him a while ago. But he wouldn’t feel guilty about killing you; that would just be a necessity you had forced on him… and not a matter of any great importance anyhow, even to you. You see, Mike believes that your soul is immortal.”

“Huh? Well, hell, so do I. But—”

“Do you?” Jubal said bleakly. “I wonder.”

“Why, certainly I do! Oh, I admit I don’t go to church much, but I was brought up right. I’m no infidel. I’ve got faith.”

“Good. Though I’ve never been able to understand ‘faith’ myself, nor to see how a just God could expect his creatures to pick the one true religion out of an infinitude of false ones—by faith alone. It strikes me as a sloppy way to run an organization, whether a universe or a smaller one. However, since you do have faith and it includes belief in your own immortality, we need not trouble further over the probability that your prejudices will result in your early demise. Do you want to be cremated or buried?”

“Huh? Oh, for cripe’s sake, Jubal, quit trying to get my goat.”

“Not at all. I can’t guarantee to get you off my place safely as long as you persist in thinking that a coral snake is a harmless scarlet snake—any blunder you make may be your last. But I promise you I won’t let Mike eat you.”

Duke’s mouth dropped open. At last he managed to answer, explosively, profanely, and quite incoherently. Harshaw listened, then said testily, “All right, all right, but pipe down. You can make any arrangements with Mike you like. I thought I was doing you a favor.” Harshaw turned and bent over the projector. “I want to see these pictures. Stick around, if you want to, until I’m through. Prob’ly safer. Damn!” he added. “The pesky thing savaged me.”