Stranger in a Strange Land

«Why, no — oh, one item: the Palace announced that the Man from Mars had returned and was vacationing in the — Jubal!Are you mixed up in that?»

«Just a moment. Mike, come here. Anne, grab your robe.»

«Got it, Boss.»

«Mr. Mackenzie — meet the Man from Mars.»

Mackenzie's jaw dropped. «Hold it! Let me get a camera on this! We'll pick it up off the phone — and repeat in stereo as quick as those jokers of mine get there. Jubal . . . I'm safe on this? You wouldn't — »

«Would I swindle you with a Fair Witness at my elbow? I'm not forcing this on you. We should wait and tie in Argus and Trans-Planet.»

«Jubal! You can't do this to me.»

«I won't. The agreement with all of you was to monitor the cameras when I signalled. And use it if newsworthy. I didn't promise not to give interviews in addition.» Jubal added, «Not only did you loan equipment but you've been helpful personally, Tom. I can't express how helpful.»

«You mean, uh, that telephone number?»

«Correct! But no questions about that, Tom. Ask me privately — next year.»

«Oh, I wouldn't think of it. You keep your lip buttoned and I'll keep mine. Now don't go away — »

«One more thing. Those messages you're holding. Send them back to me.»

«Eh? All right — I've kept them in my desk, you were so fussy. Jubal, I've got a camera on you. Can we start?»

«Shoot.»

«I'm going to do this one myself!» Mackenzie turned his face and apparently looked at the camera. «Flash news! This is your NWNW reporter on the spot while it's hot! The Man from Mars just phoned and wants to talk to you! Cut. Monitor, insert flash-news acknowledgement to sponsor. Jubal, anything special I should ask?»

«Don't ask about South America. Swimming is your safest subject. You can ask me about his plans.»

«End of cut. Friends, you are now face to face and voice to voice with Valentine Michael Smith the Man from Mars! As NWNW, always first with the burst, told you earlier, Mr. Smith has just returned from high in the Andes — and we welcome him back! Wave to your friends, Mr. Smith — »

(«Wave at the telephone, son. Smile and wave.»)

«Thank you, Valentine Michael Smith. We're happy to see you so healthy and tan. I understand you have been gathering strength by learning to swim?»

«Boss! Visitors. Or something.»

«Cut! — after the word “swim”. What the hell, Jubal?»

«I'll see. Jill, ride herd on Mike — it might be General Quarters.»

But it was the NWNW unit landing — and again rose bushes were damaged — Larry returning from phoning Mackenzie, and Duke, returning. Mackenzie decided to finish the telephone interview quickly, since he was now assured of depth and color through his unit. In the meantime its crew would check equipment on loan to Jubal. Larry and Duke went with them.

The interview finished with inanities, Jubal fielding questions Mike failed to understand; Mackenzie signed off with a promise that a color and depth interview would follow. «Stay synched with this station!» He waited for his technicians to report.

Which the crew boss did, promptly. «Nothing wrong with this field setup, Mr. Mackenzie.»

«Then what was wrong before?»

The technician glanced at Larry and Duke. «It works better with power. The breaker was open at the board.»

Harshaw stopped a wrangle about whether Duke had, or had not, told Larry that a circuit breaker must be reset if the equipment was to be used. Jubal did not care who was to blame — it all confirmed his conviction that technology had reached its peak with the Model-T Ford and had been growing decadent ever since. They got through the depth and color interview. Mike sent greetings to his friends of the Champion, including one to Dr. Mahmoud delivered in throat-rasping Martian.

At last Jubal set the telephone for two hours' refusal, stretched and felt great weariness, wondered if he were getting old. «Where's dinner? Which one of you wenches was supposed to cook tonight? Gad, this household is falling to rack and ruin!»

«It was my turn tonight,» Jill answered, «but — »

«Excuses, always excuses!»

«Boss,» Anne interrupted sharply, «how do you expect anyone to cook when you've kept us penned up all afternoon?»

«That's the moose's problem,» Jubal said dourly. «If Armageddon is held on these premises, I expect meals hot and on time right up to the final trump. Furthermore — »

«Furthermore,» Anne completed, «it is only seven-forty and plenty of time to have dinner by eight. So quit yelping. Cry-baby.»

«Only twenty minutes of eight? Seems like a week since lunch. You haven't left a civilized amount of time for a pre-dinner drink.»

«Poor you!»

«Somebody get me a drink. Get everybody a drink. Let's skip dinner; I feel like getting as tight as a tent rope in the rain. Anne, how are we fixed for smörgåsbord?»

«Plenty.»

«Why not thaw out eighteen or nineteen kinds and let everybody eat when he feels like it? What's all the argument?»

«Right away,» agreed Jill.