Stranger in a Strange Land

They took the data he had accumulated and, with a view to testing that trial solution, began to work toward considering an inquiry leading to an investigation of esthetic parameters involved in the possibility of the artistic necessity of destroying Earth. But much waiting would be, before fullness would grok decision.

The Daibutsu at Kamakura was again washed by a giant wave secondary to a seismic disturbance 280 kilometers off Honshu. The wave killed 13,000 people and lodged a male infant high in the Buddha image's interior, where it was found and succored by surviving monks. This infant lived ninety-seven Terran years after the disaster that wiped out his family and produced no progeny nor anything of note aside from a reputation for sustained belching. Cynthia Duchess entered a nunnery with all benefits of modern publicity and left without fanfare three days later. Ex-Secretary General Douglas suffered a stroke which impaired the use of his left hand but not his ability to conserve assets entrusted to him. Lunar Enterprises, Ltd., published a prospectus on a bond issue for the wholly-owned subsidiary Ares Chandler Corporation. The Lyle-Drive Exploratory Vessel Mary Jane Smith landed on Pluto. Fraser, Colorado, reported the coldest February of its recorded history.

Bishop Oxtongue, at the New Grand Avenue Temple, preached on the text (Matt. XXIV:24): «For there shall arise false Christs, and false prophets, and shall shew great signs and wonders; insomuch that, if it were possible, they shall deceive the very elect.» He made clear that his diatribe did not refer to Mormons, Christian Scientists, Roman Catholics, nor Fosterites — especially not the last — nor to any fellow travelers whose good works counted more than inconsequential differences in creed or ritual … but solely to upstart heretics who were seducing faithful contributors away from the faiths of their fathers. In a subtropical resort city in the same nation three complainants swore on information charging public lewdness on the part of a pastor, three of his assistants, and John Doe, Mary Roe, et al., plus charges of running a disorderly house and contributing to delinquency of minors. The county attorney had no interest in prosecuting as he had on file a dozen like it — complaining witnesses always failed to appear at arraignment.

He pointed this out. Their spokesman said, «You'll have plenty of backing this time. Supreme Bishop Short is determined that this antichrist shall flourish no longer.»

The prosecutor was not interested in antichrists — but there was a primary coming up. «Well, just remember I can't do much without backing.»

«You'll have it.»

Dr. Jubal Harshaw was not aware of this incident but knew of too many others for peace of mind. He had succumbed to that most insidious vice, the news. Thus far he had merely subscribed to a clipping service instructed for «Man from Mars,» «V. M. Smith,» «Church of All Worlds,» and «Ben Caxton.» But the monkey was on his back — twice lately he fought off an impulse to order Larry to set up the babble box.

Damn it, why couldn't those kids tape him an occasional letter? — instead of letting him worry.«Front!»

Anne came in but he continued to stare out at snow and an empty swimming pool. «Anne,» he said, «rent us a tropical atoll and put this mausoleum up for sale.»

«Yes, Boss.»

«But get a lease before you hand this back to the Indians; I will not put up with hotels. How long has it been since I wrote pay copy?»

«Forty-three days.»

«Let that be a lesson to you. Begin “Death Song of a Wood's Colt”.

The depths of winter longing are ice within my heart
The shards of broken covenants lie sharp against my soul
The wraiths of long-lost ecstasy still keep us two apart
The sullen winds of bitterness still keen from turn to pole.

The scars and twisted tendons, the stumps of struck-off limbs,
The aching pit of hunger and throb of unset bone,
My sanded burning eyeballs, as light within them dims,
Add nothing to the torment of lying here alone …

The shimmering flames of fever trace out your blessed face
My broken eardrums echo yet your voice inside my head
I do not fear the darkness that comes to me apace
I only dread the loss of you that comes when I am dead.

«There,» he added briskly, «sign it “Louisa M. Alcott” and send it to Togetherness magazine.»