A Stranger in a Strange Land

by Robert Anson Heinlein

  The woman showed up quickly, as did the drinks. Boone swung a seat out of the box's back row and put it cornerwise in front of him so that she could visit more easily. "Folks, meet Miss Dawn Ardent. M'dear, that's Miss Boardman, the little lady down in the corner - and this is the famous Doctor Jubal Harshaw here by me-"

  "Really? Doctor, I think your stories are simply divine."

  "Thank you."

  "Oh, I really do. I put one of your tapes on my player and let it lull me to sleep almost every night."

  "Higher praise a writer cannot expect," Jubal said with a straight face.

  "That's enough, Dawn," put in Boone. "The young man sitting between them is� Mr. Valentine Smith the Man from Mars."

  He eyes came open wider as her mouth opened. "Oh, my goodness!"

  Boone roared. "Bless you, child! I guess I really snuck up on you that time."

  She said, "Are you really the Man from Mars?"

  "Yes, Miss Dawn Ardent."

  "Just call me 'Dawn.' Oh, goodness!"

  Boone patted her hand. "Don't you know it's a sin to doubt the word of a Bishop? M'dear, how would you like to help lead the Man from Mars to the light?"

  "Oh, I'd love it!"

  (You certainly would, you sleek bitch! Jill said to herself. She had been growing increasingly angry ever since Miss Ardent had joined them. The dress the woman was wearing was long sleeved, high necked, and opaque - and covered nothing. It was a knit fabric almost exactly the shade of her tanned skin and Jill was certain that skin was all there was under it - other than Miss Ardent, which was really quite a lot, in all departments. The dress was ostentatiously modest compared with the extreme styles worn by many of the female half of the congregation, some of whom, in the snake dance, seemed about to jounce out of their clothes.

  Jill thought that, despite being dressed, Miss Ardent looked as if she had just wiggled out of bed and was anxious to crawl back in. With Mike. Quit squirming your carcass at him, you cheap hussy!

  Boone said, "I'll speak to the Supreme Bishop about it, m'dear. Now you'd better get back downstairs and lead that parade. Jug needs your help."

  She stood up obediently. "Yes, Bishop. Pleased to meet you, Doctor, and Miss Broad. I hope I'll see you again, Mr. Smith. I'll pray for you." She undulated away.

  "A fine girl, that," Boone said happily. "Ever catch her act, Doctor?"

  "I think not. What does she do?"

  Boone seemed unable to believe his ears. "You don't know?"

  "Didn't you hear her name? That's Dawn Ardent - she's simply the highest paid peeler in all Baja California, that's who she is. Men have committed suicide over her - very sad. Works under an irised spotlight and by the time she's down to her shoes, the light is just on her face and you really can't see anything else. Very effective. Highly spiritual. Would you believe it, looking at that sweet face now, that she used to be a most immoral woman?"

  "I can't believe it."

  "Well, she was. Ask her. She'll tell you. Better yet, come to a cleansing for seekers - I'll let you know when she's going to be on. When she confesses, it gives other women courage to stand up and tell about their sins. She doesn't hold anything back - and, of course, it does her good, too, to know that she's helping other people. Very dedicated woman now - flies her own car up here every Saturday night right after her last show, so as to be here in time to teach Sunday School. She teaches the Young Men's Happiness Class and attendance has more than tripled since she took over."

  "I can believe that," Jubal agreed. "How old are these lucky 'Young Men'?"

  Boone looked at him and laughed. "You're not fooling me, you old devil - somebody told you the motto of Dawn's class: 'Never too old to be young.'"

  "No, truly."

  "In any case you can't attend her class until you've seen the light and gone through cleansing and been accepted. Sorry. This is the One True Church, Pilgrim, nothing at all like those traps of Satan, those foul pits of iniquity that call themselves 'churches' in order to lead the unwary into idolatry and other abominations. You can't just walk in here because you want to kill a couple hours out of the rain - you gotta be saved first. In fact- Oh, oh, camera warning." Red lights were blinking in each corner of the great hail. "And Jug's got 'em done to a turn. Now you'll see some action."

  The snake dance picked up more volunteers and the few left seated were clapping the cadence and bouncing up and down. Pairs of ushers were hurrying to pick up the fallen, some of whom were quiet but others, mostly women, were writhing and foaming at the mouth. These were dumped hastily in front of the altar and left to flop like freshly caught fish. Boone pointed his cigar at a gaunt redhead, a woman apparently about forty whose dress was badly torn by her exertions. "See that woman? It has been at least a year since she has gone all through a service without being possessed by the Spirit. Sometimes Archangel Foster uses her mouth to talk to us� and when that happens it takes four husky acolytes to hold her down. She could go to heaven any time, she's ready. But she's needed here. Anybody need a refill? Bar service is likely to be a little slow once the cameras are switched on and things get lively."

  Almost absently Mike let his glass be replenished. He shared none of Jill's disgust with the scene. He had been deeply troubled when he had discovered that the "Old One" had been no Old One at all but mere spoiled food, with no Old One anywhere near. But he had tabled that matter and was drinking deep of the events around him.

  The frenzy going on below him was so Martian in its flavor that he felt both homesick and warmly at home. No detail of the scene was Martian, all was wildly different, yet he grokked correctly that this was a growing-closer as real as water ceremony, and in numbers and intensity that he had never met before outside his own nest. He wished forlornly that someone would invite him to join that jumping up and down. His feet tingled with an urge to merge himself with them.

  He spotted Miss Dawn Ardent again in its van and tried to catch her eye - perhaps she would invite him. He did not have to recognize her - by size and proportions even though he had noted when he had first seen her that she was exactly as tall as his brother Jill with very nearly the same shapings and masses throughout. But Miss Dawn Ardent had her own face, with her pains and sorrows and growings graved on it under her warm smile. He wondered if Miss Dawn Ardent might some day be willing to share water with him and grow closer. Senator Bishop Boone had made him feel wary and he was glad that Jubal had not permitted them to sit side by side. But Mike was sorry when Miss Dawn Ardent had been sent away.

  Miss Dawn Ardent did not feel him looking at her. The snake dance carried her away.

  The man on the platform had both his arms raised; the great cave became quieter. Suddenly he brought them down. "Who's happy?"

  "WE'RE HAPPY!"

  "Why?"

  "GOD� LOVES US!"

  "How d'you know?"

  "FOSTER TOLD US!"

  He dropped to his knees, raised one clenched fist. "Let's hear that lion ROAR!"

  The congregation roared and shrieked and screamed while he controlled the din using his fist as a baton, raising the volume, lowering it, squeezing it down to a subvocal growl, then suddenly driving it to crescendo that shook the balcony. Mike felt it beat on him and he wallowed in it, with ecstasy so painful that he feared that he would be forced to withdraw. But Jill had told him that he must not ever do so again, except in the privacy of his own room; he controlled it and let the waves wash over him.

  The man stood up. "Our first hymn," he said briskly, "is sponsored by Manna Bakeries, makers of Angel Bread, the loaf of love with our Supreme Bishop's smiling face on every wrapper and containing a valuable premium coupon redeemable at your nearest neighborhood Church of the New Revelation, Brothers and Sisters, tomorrow Manna Bakeries with branches throughout the land start a giant, price-slashing sale of pre-equinox goodies. Send your child to school tomorrow with a bulging box of Archangel Foster cookies, each one blessed and wrapped in an appropriate text - and pray that each goodie he gives a
way may lead a child of sinners nearer to the light.

  "And now let's really live it up with the holy words of that old favorite: 'Forward, Foster's Children!' All together-"

  "Forward, Foster's Chil-dren! Smash apart your foes

  Faith our Shield and Ar-mar! Strike them down by rows-!"

  "Second verse!"

  "Make no peace with sin-nen! God is on our side!"

  Mike was so joyed by it all that he did not stop then to translate and weigh and try to grok the words. He grokked that the words were not of essence; it was a growing-closer. The snake dance started moving again, the marchers chanting the potent sounds along with the choir and those too feeble to march.

  After the hymn they caught their breaths while there were announcements, Heavenly messages, another commercial, and the awarding of door prizes. Then a second hymn, "Happy Faces Uplifted," was sponsored by Dattelbaum's Department Stores where the Saved Shop in Safety since no merchandise is offered which competes with a sponsored brand - a children's Happy Room in each branch supervised by a Saved sister. The young priest moved out to the very front of the platform and cupped his ear, listening- "We� want� Digby!"

  "Who?"

  "We - Want - DIG-BY!"

  "Louder! Make him hear you!"

  "WE-WANT-DIG-BY!" Clap, clap, stomp, stomp.

  "WE- WANT-DIG-BY!" Clap, clap, stomp, stomp- It went on and on, getting louder as the building rocked with it. Jubal leaned to Boone and said, "Much of that and you'll do what Samson did." "Never fear," Boone told him, around his cigar. "Reinforced, fireproof, and sustained by faith. Besides, it's built to shake; it was designed that way. Helps."

  The lights went down, curtains behind the altar parted, and a blinding radiance from no visible source picked out the Supreme Bishop, waving his clasped hands over his head and smiling at them.

  They answered with the lion's roar and he threw them kisses. On his way to the pulpit he stopped, half raised one of the possessed women still writhing slowly near the altar, kissed her on the forehead, lowered her gently, started on - stopped again and knelt by the bony redhead. The Supreme Bishop reached behind him and a portable microphone was instantly placed in his hand.

  He put his other arm around the woman's shoulders, placed the pickup near her lips.

  Mike could not understand her words. Whatever they were, he was reasonably sure that they were not English.

  But the Supreme Bishop was translating, interjecting his words quickly at each pause in the foaming spate. "Archangel Foster is with us today - "He is especially pleased with you. Kiss the sister on your right - "Archangel Foster loves you all. Kiss the sister on your left-

  "He has a special message for one of us here today."

  The woman spoke again; Digby seemed to hesitate. "What was that? Louder, I pray you." She muttered and screamed at length.

  Digby looked up and smiled. "His message is for a pilgrim from another planet - Valentine Michael Smith the Man from Mars! Where are you, Valentine Michael! Stand up, stand up!"

  Jill tried to stop him but Jubal growled, "Easier to do it than to fight it. Let him stand up, Jill. Wave, Mike. Now you can sit down." Mike did so, amazed to find that they were now chanting: "Man from Mars! Man from Mars!"

  The sermon that followed seemed to be directed at him, too, but try as he would, he could not understand it. The words were English, or most of them were, but they seemed to be put together wrongly and there was so much noise, so much clapping, and so many shouts of "Hallelujah!" and "Happy Day!" that he grew quite confused. He was glad when it was over.

  As soon as the sermon was finished, Digby turned the service back to the young priest and left; Boone stood up. "Come on, folks. We pull a sneak now - ahead of the crowd."

  Mike followed along, Jill's hand in his. Presently they were going through an elaborately arched tunnel with the noise of the crowd left behind them. Jubal said, "Does this way lead to the parking lot? I told my driver to wait."

  "Eh?" Boone answered. "It does if you go straight ahead. But we're going to see the Supreme Bishop first."

  "What?" Jubal replied. "No, I don't think we can. It's time for us to get on home."

  Boone stared. "Doctor, you don't mean that. The Supreme Bishop is waiting for us right now. You can't just walk out on him - you must pay your respects. You're his guests."

  Jubal hesitated, then gave in. "Well - there won't be a lot of other people? This boy has had enough excitement for one day."

  "Just the Supreme Bishop. He wants to see you privately." Boone ushered them into a small elevator concealed in the decorations of the tunnel; moments later they were waiting in a parlor of Digby's private apartments.

  A door opened, Digby hurried in. He had removed his vestments and was dressed in flowing robes. He smiled at them. "Sorry to keep you waiting, folks - I just have to have a shower as soon as I come off. You've no notion how it makes you sweat to punch Satan and keep on slugging. So this is the Man from Mars? God bless you, son. Welcome to the Lord's House. Archangel Foster wants you to feel at home here. He's watching over you."

  Mike did not answer. Jubal was surprised to see how short the Supreme Bishop was. Lifts in his shoes when he was on stage? Or the way the lighting was arranged? Aside from the goatee he wore in evident imitation of the departed Foster, the man reminded him of a used-car salesman - the same ready smile and warm sincere manner. But he reminded Jubal of some one else, too� somebody- Got it! "Professor" Simon Magus, Becky Vesey's long-dead husband. Jubal relaxed a little and felt friendlier toward the clergyman. Simon had been as likable a scoundrel as he had ever known - Digby had turned his charm on Jill, "Don't kneel, daughter; we're just friends in private here." He spoke a few words to her, startling Jill with a surprising knowledge of her background and adding earnestly, "I have deep respect for your calling, daughter. In the blessed words of Archangel Foster, God commands us first to minister to the body in order that the soul may seek the light untroubled by ills of the flesh. I know that you are not yet one of us� but your service is blessed by the Lord. We are fellow travelers on the road to Heaven."

  He turned to Jubal. "You, too, Doctor. Archangel Foster has told us that the Lord commands us to be happy - and many is the time I have put down my crook, weary unto death with the cares and woes of my flock, and enjoyed an innocent, happy hour over one of your stories - and have stood up refreshed, ready to fight again."

  "Uh, thank you, Bishop."

  "I mean it deeply. I've had your record searched in Heaven - now, now, never mind; I know that you are an unbeliever but let me speak. Even Satan has a purpose in God's Great Plan. It is not yet time for you to believe. Out of your sorrow and heartache and pain you spin happiness for other people. This is all credited on your page of the Great Ledger. Now please! I did not bring you here to argue technology. We never argue with anyone, we wait until they see the light and then we welcome them. But today we shall just enjoy a happy hour together."

  Digby then proceeded to act as if he meant it. Jubal was forced to admit that the glib fraud was a charming host, and his coffee and liquor and food were all excellent. Jubal noticed that Mike seemed decidedly jumpy, especially when Digby deftly cut him out of the herd and spoke with him alone - but, confound it, the boy was simply going to have to get used to meeting people and talking to them on his own, without Jubal or Jill or somebody to feed him his lines.

  Boone was showing Jill some relics of Foster in a glass case on the other side of the room; Jubal covertly watched her evident reluctance with mild amusement while he spread pate de fois gras on toast. He heard a door click and looked around; Digby and Mike were missing. "Where did they go, Senator?"

  "Eh? What was that, Doctor?"

  "Bishop Digby and Mr. Smith. Where are they?"

  Boone looked around, seemed to notice the closed door. "Oh, they've just stepped in there for a moment. That's a little retiring room used for private audiences. You were in it, weren't you? When the Supreme Bishop was showing you around.
"

  "Um, yes." It was a small room with nothing in it but a chair on a dais - a "throne," Jubal corrected himself with a private grin - and a kneeler with an arm rest. Jubal wondered which one would use the throne and which one would be left with the kneeler - if this tinsel bishop tried to argue religion with Mike he was in for some shocks. "I hope they don't stay in there too long. We really do have to be getting back."

  "I doubt if they'll stay long. Probably Mr. Smith wanted a word in private. People often do - and the Supreme Bishop is very generous that way. Look, I'll call the parking lot and have your cab waiting right at the end of that passageway where we took the elevator - that's the Supreme Bishop's private entrance. Save you a good ten minutes."

  "That's very kind of you."

  "So if Mr. Smith has something on his soul he wants to confess, we won't have to hurry him. I'll step outside and phone." Boone left.

  Jill came over and said worriedly, "Jubal, I don't like this. I think we were deliberately maneuvered so that Digby could get Mike alone and work on him."

  "I'm sure of it."

  "Well? They haven't any business doing that. I'm going to bust right in on them and tell Mike it's time to leave."

  "Suit yourself," Jubal answered, "but I think you're acting like a broody hen. This isn't like having the S.S. on our tails, Jill; this swindle is much smoother. There won't be any strong-arm stuff." He smiled. "It's my opinion that if Digby tries to convert Mike, they'll wind up with Mike converting him. Mike's ideas are pretty hard to shake."

  "I still don't like it."

  "Relax. Help yourself to the free chow."

  "I'm not hungry."

  "Well, I am� and if I ever tuned down a free feed, they'd toss me out of the Authors' Guild." He piled paper-thin Virginia ham on buttered bread, added to it other items, none of them syntho, until he had an unsteady ziggurat, munched it and licked mayonnaise from his fingers.