Stranger in a Strange Land

Digby was not pleased with his promotion. The Man from Mars had interrupted him with his work half finished — and that stupid jackass Short was certain to louse it up. Foster listened with angelic patience until Digby ran down, then said, «Listen, junior, you're an angel now — so forget it. Eternity is no time for recriminations. You too were a stupid jackass until you poisoned me. Afterwards you did well enough. Now that Short is Supreme Bishop he'll do all right, he can't help it. Same as with the Popes. Some of them were warts until they got promoted. Check with one of them, go ahead — there's no professional jealousy here.»

Digby calmed down, but made one request.

Foster shook his halo. «You can't touch him. You shouldn't have tried to. Oh, you can submit a requisition for a miracle if you want to make a fool of yourself. But, I'm telling you, it'll be turned down — you don't understand the System yet. The Martians have their own setup, different from ours, and as long as they need him, we can't touch him. They run their show their way — the Universe has variety, something for everybody — a fact you field workers often miss.»

«You mean this punk can brush me aside and I've got to hold still for it?»

«I held still for the same thing, didn't I? I'm helping you now, am I not? Now look, there's work to be done and lots of it. The Boss wants performance, not gripes. If you need a Day off to calm down, duck over to the Muslim Paradise and take it. Otherwise, straighten your halo, square your wings, and dig in. The sooner you act like an angel the quicker you'll feel angelic. Get Happy, junior!»

Digby heaved a deep ethereal sigh. «Okay, I'm Happy. Where do I start?»

Jubal did not hear of Digby's disappearance when it was announced, and, when he did, while he had a fleeting suspicion, he dismissed it; if Mike had had a finger in it, he had gotten away with it — and what happened to supreme bishops worried Jubal not at all as long as he wasn't bothered.

His household had gone through an upset. Jubal deduced what had happened but did not know with whom-and didn't want to inquire. Mike was of legal age and presumed able to defend himself in the clinches. Anyhow, it was high time the boy was salted.

Jubal couldn't reconstruct the crime from the way the girls behaved because patterns kept shifting — ABC vs D, then BCD vs A … or AB vs CD, or AD vs CB, through all ways that four women can gang up on each other.

This continued most of the week following that ill-starred trip to church, during which period Mike stayed in his room and usually in a trance so deep that Jubal would have pronounced him dead had he not seen it before. Jubal would not have minded it if service had not gone to pieces. The girls seemed to spend half their time tiptoeing in «to see if Mike was all right» and they were too preoccupied to cook, much less be secretaries. Even rock-steady Anne — Hell, Anne was the worst! Absent-minded, subject to unexplained tears … Jubal would have bet his life that if Anne were to witness the Second Coming, she would memorize date, time, personae, events, and barometric pressure without batting her calm blue eyes.

Late Thursday Mike woke himself and suddenly it was ABCD in the service of Mike, «less than the dust beneath his chariot wheels.» The girls resumed giving Jubal service, so he counted his blessings and let it lie … except for a wry thought that, if he demanded a showdown, Mike could quintuple their salaries by a post card to Douglas — but the girls would just as readily support Mike.

With domestic tranquility restored Jubal did not mind that his kingdom was ruled by a mayor of the palace. Meals were on time and better than ever; when he shouted «Front!» the girl who appeared was bright-eyed, happy, and efficient — such being the case, Jubal did not give a hoot who rated the most side boys. Or girls.

Besides, the change in Mike was interesting. Before that week Mike had been docile in a fashion that Jubal classed as neurotic; now he was so self-confident that Jubal would have described it as cocky had it not been that Mike continued to be unfailingly polite and considerate.

He accepted homage from the girls as if a natural right, he seemed older than his age rather than younger, his voice deepened, he spoke with forcefulness rather than timidly. Jubal decided that Mike had joined the human race; he could discharge this patient.

Except (Jubal reminded himself) on one point: Mike still did not laugh. He could smile at a joke and sometimes did not ask to have them explained. Mike was cheerful, even merry — but he never laughed.

Jubal decided that it was not important. This patient was sane, healthy — and human. Short weeks earlier Jubal would have given odds against a cure. He was humble enough not to claim credit; the girls had had more to do with it. Or should he say «girl?»