A Stranger in a Strange Land

by Robert Anson Heinlein

  She answered promptly, "I am here because I wish to be here."

  "Mmmm� not sure that's a responsive answer."

  "Jubal, sometimes I wish you were small enough to spank. May I finish what I was saying?"

  "You have the floor." Would any of them be here? Would Maryam have married Stinky and gone off to Beirut if Mike had not approved it? The name "Fatima Michele" might be an acknowledgment of her adopted faith plus her husband's wish to compliment his closest friend - or it might be code almost as explicit as baby Abby's double name, one which stated that Mike was somewhat more than godfather to the daughter of Dr. and Mrs. Mahmoud. If so, did Stinky wear his antlers unaware? Or with serene pride as Joseph was alleged to have done? Uh� but it must be concluded with utter certainty that Stinky knew the minutes of his houri; water brothership permitted not even diplomatic omission of any matter so important. If indeed it was important, which as a physician and agnostic Jubal doubted. But to them it would be - "You aren't listening."

  "Sorry. Woolgathering." - and stop it, you nasty old man� reading meanings into names that mothers give their children indeed! Next thing you'll be taking up numerology� then astrology� then spiritualism - until your senility has progressed so far that all there is left is custodial treatment for a hulk too dim-witted to discorporate in dignity. Go to locked drawer nine in the clinic, code "Lethe" - and use at least two grains to be sure, although one is more than enough - "There's no need for you to read those clippings, because we know the public news about Mike before you do - and Ben has given us a water promise to let us know any private news we need to know at once - and Mike of course knows this. But, Jubal, Mike can't be hurt. If you would only visit the Nest, as we three have done, you would know this."

  "I have never been invited."

  "We didn't have specific invitations, either; we just went. Nobody has to have an invitation to go to his own home� any more than they require invitations to come here. Like 'The Death of the Hired Man.' But you are just making excuses, Jubal, and poor ones - for Ben urged you to, and both Dawn and Duke sent word to you."

  "Mike hasn't invited me."

  "Boss, that Nest belongs to me and to you quite as much as it does to Mike. Mike is first among equals� as you are here. Is this Abby's home?"

  "Happens," he answered evenly, "that title already vests in her with lifetime tenancy for me." Jubal had changed his own will, knowing that Mike's will now made it unnecessary to provide for any water brother of Mike. But not being sure of the exact 'water' status of this nestling - save that she was usually wet - he had made redispositions in her favor and in favor of descendants, if any, of certain others. "I hadn't intended to tell you, but there is no harm in your knowing."

  "Jubal� you've made me cry. And you've almost made me forget what I was saying. And I must say it. Mike would never hurry you, you know that. I grok he is waiting for fullness - and I grok that you are, too."

  "Mmmm� I grok you speak rightly."

  "All right. I think you are especially glum today simply because Mike has been arrested again. But that's happened many-"

  "'Arrested?' I hadn't heard about this! What goes on?" He added, "Damn it, girl-"

  "Jubal, Jubal! Ben hasn't called; that's all we need to know. You know how many times Mike has been arrested - in the army, as a carney, other places - half a dozen times as a preacher. He never hurts anybody; he just lets them do it. They can never convict him and he gets out as soon as he wishes - at once, if he wants to."

  "What is it this time?"

  "Oh, the usual nonsense - public lewdness, statutory rape, conspiracy to defraud, keeping a disorderly house, contributing to the delinquency of minors, conspiracy to evade the state truancy laws-"

  "Huh?"

  "That involves their own nestlings' school. Their license to operate a parochial school was canceled; the kids still didn't go back to public school. No matter, Jubal - none of it matters. The one thing on which they are technically in violation of the law - and so are you, Boss darling - can't possibly be proved. Jubal, if you had ever seen the Temple and the Nest you would know that even the F.D.S. couldn't sneak a spy-eye into it. So relax. After a lot of publicity, charges will be dropped - and the crowds at the outer services will be bigger than ever."

  "Hmm! Anne, does Mike rig these persecutions himself?"

  She looked startled, an expression her face was unused to. "Why, I had never considered the possibility, Jubal. Mike can't lie, you know."

  "Does it involve lying? Suppose he planted perfectly true rumors about himself? But ones that can't be proved in court?"

  "Do you think Michael would do that?"

  "I don't know. I do know that the slickest way in the world to lie is to tell the right amount of truth at the right time - and then shut up. And it wouldn't be the first time that persecution has been courted for its headline value. All right, I'll dismiss it from my mind unless it turns out he can't handle it. Are you still 'Front'?"

  "If you can refrain from chucking Abby under the chin and saying cootchy-coo and similar uncommercial noises, I'll fetch her. Otherwise I had better tell Dorcas to get up and get to work."

  "Bring in Abby. I'm going to make an honest effort to make some commercial noises - a brand-new plot, known as boy-meets-girl."

  "Say, that's a good one, Boss! I wonder why nobody ever thought of it before? Half a sec-" She hurried out.

  Jubal did restrain himself - less than one minute of uncommercial noises and demonstrations, just enough to invoke Abigail's heavenly smile, cum dimples, then Anne settled back and let the infant nurse. "Title:" he began. "'Girls Are Like Boys, Only More So.' Begin. Henry M. Haversham Fourth had been very carefully reared, He believed that there were only two kinds of girls: those in his presence and those who were not. He vastly preferred the latter sort, especially when they stayed that way. Paragraph. He had not been introduced to the young lady who fell into his lap, and he did not consider a common disaster as equivalent to a formal intro-' What the hell do you want? Can't you see I'm working?"

  "Boss-" said Larry.

  "Get out of that door, close it behind you, and-"

  "Boss! Mike's church has burned down!"

  They made a disorderly rout for Larry's room, Jubal a half length behind Larry at the turn, Anne with eleven pounds up closing rapidly despite her handicap. Dorcas trailed the field through being late out the starting gate; the racket wakened her.

  "-midnight last night. What you are now viewing is what was the main entrance of the cult's temple, as it appeared immediately after the explosion. This is your Neighborly Newsman for New World Networks with your midmorning roundup. Stay switched to this pitch for dirt that's alert, And now a moment for your local sponsor-" The scene of destruction shimmered out and med-close shot of a lovely young housewife replaced, with dolly-in.

  "Damn, Larry, unplug that contraption and wheel it into the study. Anne - no, Dorcas. Phone Ben."

  Anne protested, "You know the Temple never had a telephone - ever. How can she?"

  "Then have somebody chase over and - no, of course not; the Temple wouldn't have anybody - uh, call the chief of police there. No, the district attorney. The last you heard Mike was still in jail?"

  "That's right."

  "I hope he still is - and all the others, too."

  "So do I. Dorcas, take Abby. I'll do it."

  But as they returned to the study the phone was signalling an incoming call and demanding hush amp; scramble. Jubal cursed and set the combo, intending to blast whoever it was off the frequency.

  But it was Ben Caxton. "Hi, Jubal."

  "Ben! What the hell is the situation?"

  "I see you've had some of the news. That's why I called, to put your mind at rest. Everything is under control. No sweat."

  "What about the fire? Anybody hurt?"

  "No damage at all. Mike says to tell you-"

  "No damage? I just saw a shot of it; it looked like a total-"

  "Oh, that-" Ben s
hrugged it off. "Look, Jubal, please listen and let me talk. I've got other things and other calls after this one. You aren't the only person who needs to be reassured. But Mike said to call you first."

  "Uh� very well, sir. I shall keep silent."

  "Nobody hurt, nobody even scorched. Oh, a couple of million dollars in property damage, most of it uninsured. Nichevo. The place was already choked with experiences; Mike planned to abandon it soon in any case. Yes, it was fireproof - but anything will burn with enough gasoline and dynamite."

  "Incendiary job, huh?"

  "Please, Jubal. They had arrested eight of us - all they could catch of the Ninth Circle, John Doe warrants, mostly. Mike had all of us bailed out in a couple of hours, except himself. He's still in the hoosegow-"

  "I'll be right there!"

  "Take it easy. Mike says for you to come if you want to, but there is absolutely no need for it. His words. And I agree. It would just be a pleasure trip. The fire was set last night while the Temple was empty, everything canceled because of the arrests - empty, that is, except for the Nest. All of us in town, except Mike, were gathered in the Innermost Temple, holding a special Sharing-Water in his honor, when the explosion and fire were set off. So we adjourned to an emergency Nest."

  "From the looks of it, you were lucky to get out at all."

  "We were completely cut off, Jubal. We're all dead-"

  "What?"

  "We're all listed as dead or missing so far as the authorities know. You see, nobody left the building after that holocaust started� by any known exit."

  "Uh� a 'priest's hole' arrangement?"

  "Jubal, Mike has very special methods for dealing with such things - and I'm not going to discuss them over the phone, even scrambled."

  "You said he was in jail?"

  "So I did. He still is."

  "But-"

  "That's enough. If you do come here, don't go to the Temple. It's kaput. Our organization is busted up. We're through in this town. You could say that they've licked us, I suppose. I'm not going to tell you where we are� and I'm not calling from there, anyhow. If you must come - and I see no point in it; there's nothing you can do - just come as you ordinarily would� and we'll find you."

  "That's all. Good-by. Anne, Dorcas, Larry - and you, too, Jubal, and the baby. Share water. Thou art God." The screen went blank.

  Jubal swore. "I knew it! I knew it all along! That's what comes of mucking around with religion. Dorcas, get me a taxi. Anne - no, finish feeding your child. Larry, pack me a small bag. Anne, I'll want most of the iron money and Larry can go into town tomorrow and replenish the supply."

  "But, Boss," protested Larry, "we're all going."

  "Certainly we are," Anne agreed crisply.

  "Pipe down, Anne. And close your mouth, Dorcas. This is not a time when women have the vote. That city is the front line at the moment and anything can happen. Larry, you are going to stay here and protect two women and a baby. Forget that about going to the bank; you won't need cash because none of you is to stir off the place until I'm back. Somebody is playing rough and there is enough hook up between this house and that church that they might play rough here, too. Larry, flood lights all night long, heat up the fence, don't hesitate to shoot. And don't be slow about getting everybody into the vault if necessary - better put Abby's crib in there at once. Now get with it, all of you - I've got to change clothes."

  Thirty minutes later Jubal was alone, by choice, in his suite; the rest were busy at assigned tasks. Larry called up, "Boss! Taxi about to land."

  "Be right down," he called back, then turned to take a last look at the Fallen Caryatid. His eyes were filled with tears. He said softly, "You tried, didn't you, youngster? But that stone was always too heavy� too heavy for anyone."

  Gently he touched a hand of the crumpled figure, turned and left.

  XXXV

  JUBAL HAD A MISERABLE TRIP. The taxi was automatic and it did just what he expected of machinery, developed trouble in the air and homed for maintenance instead of carrying out its orders. Jubal wound up in New York, farther from where he wanted to be than when he started. There he found that he could make better time by commercial schedule than he could by any charter available. So he arrived hours later than he expected to, having spent the time cooped up with strangers (which he detested) and watching a stereo tank (which he detested only slightly less).

  But it did inform him somewhat. He saw an insert of Supreme Bishop Short proclaiming a holy war against the Antichrist, i.e� Mike, and he saw too many shots of what was obviously an utterly ruined building - he failed to see how any of them had escaped alive. Augustus Greaves, in his most solemn lippmann tones, viewed with alarm everything about it but pointed out that, in every spite-fence quarrel, one neighbor supplies the original incitement - and made it plain that, in his weasel-worded opinion, the so-called Man from Mars was at fault.

  At last Jubal stood on a municipal landing flat sweltering in winter clothes unsuited to the blazing sun overhead, noted that palm trees still looked like a poor grade of feather duster, regarded bleakly the ocean beyond them, thinking that it was a dirty unstable mass of water, certainly contaminated with grape fruit shells and human excrement even though he couldn't see such at this distance - and wondered what to do next.

  A man wearing a uniform cap approached him. "Taxi, sir?"

  "Uh, yes, I think so." At worst he could go to a hotel, call in the press, and give out an interview that would publicize his whereabouts - there was occasionally some advantage to being newsworthy.

  "Over this way, sir." The cabby led him out of the crowd and to a battered Yellow Cab. As he put his bag in after Jubal, the pilot said quietly, "I offer you Water."

  "Eh? Never thirst."

  "Thou art God." The hack driver sealed the door and got into his own compartment.

  They wound up on a private landing flat on one wing of a big beach hotel - a four-car space, the hotel's own landing flat being on another wing. The pilot set the cab to home-in alone, took Jubal's bag and escorted him inside. "You couldn't have come in too easily via the lobby," he said conversationally, "as the foyer on this floor is filled with some very badtempered cobras. So if you decide you want to go down to the street, be sure to ask somebody first. Me, or anybody - I'm Tim."

  "I'm Jubal Harshaw."

  "I know, brother Jubal. In this way. Mind your step." They entered the hotel suite of the large, extreme luxury sort, and Jubal was led on into a bedroom with bath; Tim said, "This is yours," put Jubal's bag down and left. On the side table Jubal found water, glasses, ice cubes, and a bottle of brandy, opened but untouched. He was unsurprised to find that it was his preferred brand. He mixed himself a quick one, sipped it and sighed, then took off his heavy winter jacket.

  A woman came in bearing a tray of sandwiches. She was wearing a plain dress which Jubal took to be the uniform of a hotel chambermaid since it was quite unlike the shorts, scarves, pediskirts, halters, sarongs and other bright-colored ways to display rather than conceal that characterized most females in this resort. But she smiled at him, said, "Drink deep and never thirst, our brother," put the tray down, went into his bath and started a tub for him, then checked around by eye in bath and in bedroom. "Is there anything you need, Jubal?"

  "Me? Oh, no, everything is just fine. I'll make a quick cleanup and - is Ben Caxton around?"

  "Yes. But he said you would want a bath and get comfortable first. If you want anything, just say so. Ask anyone. Or ask for me. I'm Patty."

  "Oh! The Life of Archangel Foster."

  She dimpled and suddenly was not plain but pretty, and much younger than the thirtyish Jubal had guessed her to be. "Yes."

  "I'd like very much to see it some time. I'm interested in religious art."

  "Now? No, I grok you want your bath. Unless you'd like help with your bath?"

  Jubal recalled that his Japanese friend of the many tattoos had been a bath girl in her teens and would have made - had, many times - the s
ame offer. But Patty was not Japanese and he simply wanted to wash away the sweat and stink and get into clothes suited to the climate. "No, thank you, Patty. But I do want to see them, at your convenience."

  "Any time. There's no hurry." She left, unhurried but moving silently and very quickly.

  Jubal soaped and dunked himself and refrained from lounging as the warm water invited his tired muscles to do; he wanted to see Ben and find out the score. Shortly he was checking through what Larry had packed for him and grunted with annoyance to find no summerweight slacks. He settled for sandals, shorts, and a bright sport shirt, which made him look like a paint-splashed emu and accented his hairy, thinning legs. But Jubal had ceased worrying about his appearance several decades earlier; it was comfortable and it would do, at least until he needed to go out on the Street� or into court. Did the bar association here have reciprocity with Pennsylvania? He couldn't recall. Well, it was always possible to act with another attorney-of-record.

  He found his way into a large living room, most comfortable but having that impersonal quality of all hotel accommodations. Several people were gathered near the largest stereovision tank Jubal had ever seen outside a theater. One of them glanced up, said, "Hi, Jubal," and came toward him.

  "Hi, Ben. What's the situation? Is Mike still in jail?"

  "Oh, no. He got out shortly after I talked to you."

  "He's been arraigned then. Is the preliminary hearing set?"

  Ben smiled. "That's not quite the way it is, Jubal. Mike is technically a fugitive from justice. He wasn't released on bail. He escaped."

  Jubal looked disgusted. "What a silly thing to do. Now the case will be eight times as difficult."

  "Jubal, I told you not to worry. All the rest of us are presumed dead - and Mike is simply missing. We're through with this city, so it doesn't matter in the least. We'll go someplace else."

  "They'll extradite him."

  "Never fear. They won't."

  "Well� where is he? I want to talk to him."

  "Oh, he's right here, a couple of rooms down from you. But he's withdrawn in meditation. He left word to tell you, when you arrived, to take no action - none. You can talk to him right now if you insist; Jill will call him out of it. But I don't recommend it. There's no hurry."