Stranger in a Strange Land

“Her. And you might try crossing her palm with silver in convincing denominations. Her name is Madame Alexandra Vesant. Washington Exchange. That’s V, E, S, A, N, T.”

“I’ve got it,” Jubal said happily. “And, Tom, you’ve done me a world of good!”

“Hope so. Anything for the network soon?”

“Hold it.” Jubal glanced at a note Miriam had placed at his elbow some moments ago. It read: “Larry says the transceiver won’t trans—and he doesn’t know why.” Jubal went on, “That spot coverage failed earlier through a transceiver failure here—and I don’t have anyone who can repair it.”

“I’ll send somebody.”

“Thanks. Thanks twice.”

Jubal switched off, placed the call by name and instructed the operator to use hush & scramble if the number was equipped to take it. It was, not to his surprise. Very quickly Madame Vesant’s dignified features appeared in his screen. He grinned at her and called, “Hey, Rube!”

She looked startled, then looked more closely. “Why, Doe Harshaw, you old scoundrel! Lord love you, it’s good to see you. Where have you been hiding?”

“Just that, Becky—hiding. The clowns are after me.”

Becky Vesey didn’t ask why; she answered instantly, “What can I do to help? Do you need money?”

“I’ve got plenty of money, Becky, but thanks a lot. Money won’t help; I’m in much more serious trouble than that—and I don’t think anyone can help me but the Secretary General himself, Mr. Douglas. I need to talk to him—and right away. Now… or even sooner.”

She looked blank. “That’s tall order, Doc.”

“Becky, I know it is—because I’ve been trying for a week to get through to him… and I can’t. But don’t you get mixed up in it yourself, Becky… because, girl, I’m hotter than a smoky bearing. I just took a chance that you might be able to advise me—a phone number, maybe, where I could reach him. But I don’t want you to mix into it personally. You’d get hurt—and I’d never be able to look the Professor in the eye if I ever meet him again… God rest his soul.”

“I know what the Professor would want me to do!” she said sharply. “So let’s knock off the nonsense, Doc. The Professor always swore that you were the only sawbones fit to carve people; the rest were butchers. He never forgot that time in Elkton.”

“Now, Becky, we won’t bring that up. I was paid.”

“You saved his life.”

“I did no such thing. It was his rugged constitution and his will to fight back—and your nursing.”

“Uh… Doc, we’re wasting time. Just how hot are you?”

“They’re throwing the book at me… and anybody near me is going to get splashed. There’s a warrant out for me—a Federation warrant—and they know where I am and I can’t run. It will be served any minute now… and Mr. Douglas is the only person who can stop it.”

“You’ll be sprung. I guarantee that.”

“Becky, I’m sure you would. But it might take a few hours. It’s that ‘back room’ I’m afraid of, Becky. I’m too old for a session in the back room.”

“But—Oh, goodness! Doe, can’t you give me some details? I really ought to cast a horoscope on you, then I’d know what to do. You’re Mercury, of course, since you’re a doctor. But if I knew what house to look in to find your trouble, I could do better.”

“Girl, there isn’t time for that. But thanks.” Jubal thought rapidly. Whom to trust? And when? “Becky, just knowing could put you in as much trouble as I am in… unless I convince Mr. Douglas.”

“Tell me, Doc. I’ve never taken a powder at a clem yet—and you know it.”

“All right. So I’m ‘Mercury.’ But the trouble lies in Mars.”

She looked at him sharply. “How?”

“You’ve seen the news. You know that the Man from Mars is supposed to be making a retreat some place high up in the Andes. Well, he’s not. That’s just to hoax the yokels.”

Becky seemed startled but not quite as Jubal had expected her to be. “Just where do you figure in this, Doc?”

“Becky, there are people all over this sorry planet who want to lay hands on that boy. They want to use him, they want to make him geek for them, their way. But he’s my client and I don’t propose to hold still for it. If I can help it. But my only chance is to talk with Mr. Douglas himself, face to face.”

“The Man from Mars is your client? You can turn him up?”

“Yes. But only to Mr. Douglas. You know how it is, Becky—the mayor can be a good Joe, kind to children and dogs. But he doesn’t necessarily know everything his town clowns are up to—especially if they haul a man in and take him into that back room.”

She nodded. “I’ve had my troubles with cops. Cops!”

“So I need to dicker with Mr. Douglas before they haul me in.”

“All you want is to talk to him on the telephone?”

“Yes. If you can swing it. Here, let me give you my number—and I’ll be sitting right here, hoping for a call… until they pick me up. If you can’t swing it… thanks anyway, Becky, thanks a lot. I’ll know you tried.”

“Don’t switch off!” she said sharply.

“Eh?”