Stranger in a Strange Land

Caxton did not answer; the tank had filled with the fatherly features of Secretary General Douglas. «Friends,» he began, «fellow citizens of the Federation, I have tonight a unique honor and privilege. Since the triumphant return of our trail-blazing Champion — » He continued to congratulate the citizens of Earth on their successful contact with another planet, another race. He managed to imply that the exploit was the personal accomplishment of every citizen, that any one of them could have led the expedition had he not been busy with serious work — and that he, Secretary Douglas, had been their humble instrument to work their will. The notions were never stated baldly, the assumption being that the common man was the equal of anyone and better than most — and that good old Joe Douglas embodied the common man. Even his mussed cravat and cowlicked hair had a «just folks» quality.

Ben Caxton wondered who had written it. Jim Sanforth, probably — Jim had the slickest touch of any of Douglas's staff in selecting loaded adjectives to tickle and soothe; he had written commercials before he went into politics and had no com punctions. Yes, that bit about «the hand that rocks the cradle» was Jim's work — Jim was the type who would entice a young girl with candy.

«Turn it off!» Jill demanded.

«Quiet pretty foots. I must hear this.» «… and so, friends, I have the honor to bring you our fellow citizen Valentine Michael Smith, the Man from Mars! Mike, we know you are tired and have not been well — but will you say a few words to your friends?»

The stereo scene cut to a semi-close of a man in a wheel chair. Hovering over him was Douglas and on the other side was a nurse, stiff, starched, and photogenic.

Jill gasped. Ben whispered, «Keep quiet!»

The smooth babyface of the man in the chair broke into a shy smile; he looked at the camera and said, «Hello, folks. Excuse me for sitting down. I'm still weak.» He seemed to speak with difficulty and once the nurse took his pulse.

In answer to questions from Douglas he paid compliments to Captain van Tromp and his crew, thanked everyone for his rescue, and said that everyone on Mars was terribly excited over contact with Earth and that he hoped to help in welding friendly relations between the two planets. The nurse interrupted but Douglas said gently, «Mike, do you feel strong enough for one more question?»

«Sure, Mr. Douglas — if I can answer it.»

«Mike? What do you think of the girls here on Earth?»

«Gee!»

The babyface looked awestruck and ecstatic and turned pink. The scene cut to head and shoulders of the Secretary General. «Mike asked me to tell you,» he went on in fatherly tones, «that he will be back to see you as soon as he can. He has to build up his muscles, you know. Possibly next week, if the doctors say he is strong enough.» The scene shifted to Wise Girl lozenges and a playlet made clear that a girl who did not use them was not only out of her mind but a syntho in the hay; men would cross the street to avoid her. Ben switched channels, then turned to Jill and said moodily, «Well, I can tear up tomorrow's column. Douglas has him under his thumb.»

«Ben!»

«Huh?»

«That's not the Man from Mars!»

«What? Baby, are you sure?»

«Oh, it looked like him. But it was not the patient I saw in that guarded room.»

Ben pointed out that dozens of persons had seen Smith — guards, internes, male nurses, the captain and crew of the Champion, probably others. Quite a few of them must have seen this newscast — the administration would have to assume that some of them would spot a substitution. It did not make sense — too great a risk.

Jill simply stuck out her lower lip and insisted that the person on stereo was not the patient she had met. Finally she said angrily, «Have it your own way!Men!»

«Now, Jill…»

«Please take me home.»

Ben went for a cab. He did not order one from the restaurant but selected one from the landing flat of a hotel across the way. Jill remained chilly on the flight back. Ben got out the transcripts and reread them. He thought a while, and said, «Jill?»

«Yes, Mr. Caxton?»

«I'll “mister” you! Look, Jill, I apologize. I was wrong.»

«And what leads you to this conclusion?»

He slapped the papers against his palm. «This. Smith could not have shown this behavior yesterday and then given that interview tonight. He would have flipped his contols … gone into one of those trance things.»

«I am gratified that you have finally seen the obvious.»

«Jill, will you kindly kick me, then let up? Do you know what this means?»

«It means they used an actor to fake it. I told you an hour ago.»

«Sure. An actor and a good one, carefully typed and coached. But it implies more than that. As I see it, there are two possibilities. The first is that Smith is dead and — »

«Dead!» Jill was suddenly back in that curious water-drinking ceremony and felt the strange, warm, unworldly flavor of Smith's personality, felt it with unbearable sorrow.