A Stranger in a Strange Land

by Robert A. Heinlein

  Boone grinned. "There's always that, ain't th'r? But send word around to me or the Supreme Bishop and you won't stay in long." He looked around the crowded room. "Seem to be kind o' short on chairs in here. Not much chance for a plain senator with all those muckamucks elbowing each other."

  "Perhaps you would honor us by joining us, Senator," Jubal answered smoothly, "at this table?"

  "Eh? Why, thank you, sir! Don't mind if I do - ringside seat."

  "That is," Harshaw added, "if you don't mind the political implications of being seen seated with the official Mars delegation. We aren't trying to crowd you into an embarrassing situation."

  Boone barely hesitated. "Not at all! Who cares what people think? Matter of fact, between you and I, the Bishop is very, very interested in this young man."

  "Fine. There's a vacant chair there by Captain van Tromp - that man there... but probably you know him."

  "Van Tromp? Sure, sure, old friends, know him well - met him at the reception." Senator Boone nodded at Smith, swaggered down and seated himself.

  Most of those present were seated now and fewer were getting past the guards at the doors. Jubal watched one argument over seating and the longer he watched it the more it made him fidget. At last he felt that he simply could not stand it; he could not sit still and watch this indecency go on. So he leaned over and spoke very privately with Mike, made sure that, if Mike did not understand why, at least he understood what Jubal wanted him to do.

  Mike listened. "Jubal, I will do."

  "Thanks, son." Jubal got up and approached a group of three: the assistant chief of protocol, the Chief of the Uruguayan Delegation, and a third man who seemed angry but baffled. The Uruguayan was saying forcefully: "-seat him, then you must find seats for any and all other local chiefs of state - eighty or more. You've admitted that you can't do that. This is Federation soil we stand on... and no chief of state has precedence over any other chief of state. If any exceptions are made-"

  Jubal interrupted by addressing the third man, "Sir-" He waited just long enough to gain his attention, plunged on. "-the Man from Mars has instructed me to ask you to do him the great honor of sitting with him if your presence is not required elsewhere."

  The man looked startled, then smiled broadly. "Why, yes, that would be satisfactory."

  The other two, both the palace official and the Uruguayan dignitary, started to object. Jubal turned his back on them. "Let's hurry, sir - I think we have very little time." He had seen two men coming in with what appeared to be a stand for a Christmas tree and a bloody sheet - but what was almost certainly the "Martian Flag." As they hurried to where he was, Mike got up and was standing, waiting for them.

  Jubal said, "Sir, permit me to present Valentine Michael Smith. Michael - the President of the United States!"

  Mike bowed very low.

  There was barely time to seat him on Mike's right, as the improvised flag was even then being set up behind them. Music started to play, everyone stood, and a voice proclaimed:

  "The Secretary General!"

  * * *

  XX

  JUBAL HAD CONSIDERED HAVING Mike remain seated while Douglas came in, but had rejected the idea; he was not trying to place Mike a notch higher than Douglas but merely to establish that the meeting was between equals. So, when he stood up, he signaled Mike to do so likewise. The great double doors at the back of the conference hall had opened at the first strains of "Hail to Sovereign Peace" and Douglas came in. He went straight to his chair and started to sit down.

  Instantly Jubal signaled Mike to sit down, the result being that Mike and the Secretary General sat down simultaneously - with a long, respectful pause of some seconds before anyone else resumed his seat. Jubal held his breath. Had LaRue done it? Or not? He hadn't quite promised - Then the first fortissimo tocsin of the "Mars" movement filled the room-the "War God" theme that startles even an audience expecting it. With his eyes on Douglas and with Douglas looking back at him, Jubal was at once up out of his chair again, like a scared recruit snapping to attention. Douglas stood up, too, not as quickly but promptly.

  But Mike did not get up; Jubal had not signalled him to do so. He sat quietly, impassively, quite unembarrassed by the fact that everyone else without any exception got quickly back on his feet when the Secretary General stood up. Mike did not understand any of it and was quite content to do what his water brother told him to do. Jubal had puzzled over this bit, after he had demanded the "Martian Anthem." If the demand was met, what should Mike do while it was played? It was a nice point, and the answer depended on just what role Mike was playing in this comedy- The music stopped. On Jubal's signals Mike then stood up, bowed quickly, and sat down, seating himself about as the Secretary General and the rest were seated. They were all back in their seats much more quickly this time, as no one could have missed the glaring point that Mike had remained seated through the "anthem." Jubal sighed with relief. He had gotten away with it. A great many years earlier he had seen one of that vanishing tribe of royalty (a reigning queen) receive a parade - and he had noticed that the royal lady had bowed after her anthem was played, i.e., she had acknowledged a salute offered to her own sovereign self.

  But the political head of a democracy stands and uncovers for his nation's anthem like any other citizen - for he is not a sovereign.

  But, as Jubal had pointed out to LaRue, one couldn't have it two ways. Either Mike was merely a private citizen (in which case this silly gymkhana should never have been held; Douglas should have had the guts to tell all these overdressed parasites to stay home!) - or, by the preposterous legal theory inherent in the Larkin Decision, the kid was a sovereign all by his little lonesome.

  Jubal felt tempted to offer LaRue a pinch of snuff. Well, the point had not been missed by at least one - the Papal Nuncio was keeping his face straight but his eyes were twinkling.

  Douglas started to speak: "Mr. Smith, we are honored and happy to have you here as our guest today. We hope that you will consider the planet Earth your home quite as much as the planet of your birth, our neighbor - our good neighbor - Mars-" He went on at some length, in careful, rounded, pleasant periods, which did not quite say anything. Mike was welcome - but whether he was welcome as a sovereign, as a tourist from abroad, or as a citizen returning home, was quite impossible to determine (Jubal decided) from Douglas' words.

  Jubal watched Douglas, hoping to catch his eye, looking for some nod or expression that would show how Douglas had taken the letter Jubal had sent to him by hand immediately on arrival. But Douglas never looked at him. Presently Douglas concluded, still having said nothing and said it very well.

  Jubal said quietly, "Now, Mike."

  Smith addressed the Secretary General - in Martian.

  But he cut it off before consternation could build up and said gravely: "Mr. Secretary General of the Federation of Free Nations of the Planet Earth-" then went on again in Martian.

  Then in English: "-we thank you for our welcome here today. We bring greetings to the peoples of Earth from the Ancient Ones of Mars-" and shifted again into Martian.

  Jubal felt that "Ancient Ones" was a good touch; it carried more bulge than "Old Ones" and Mike had not objected to the change in terminology. In fact, while Mike had insisted on "speaking rightly," Jubal's draft had not required much editing. It had been Jill's idea to alternate, sentence by sentence, a Martian version and an English version - and Jubal admitted with warm pleasure that her gimmick puffed up a formal little speech as devoid of real content as a campaign promise into something as rollingly impressive as Wagnerian opera. (And about as hard to figure out, Jubal added.)

  It didn't matter to Mike. He could insert the Martian translation as easily as he could memorize and recite the edited English version, i.e., without effort for either. If it would please his water brothers to say these sayings, it made Mike happy.

  Someone touched Jubal on the shoulder, shoved an envelope in his hand, and whispered, "From the Secretary General." Jubal l
ooked up, saw that it was Bradley, hurrying silently away. Jubal opened the envelope in his lap, glanced at the single sheet inside.

  The note was one word: "Yes," and had been signed with initials "J.E.D."-all in the famous green ink.

  Jubal looked up, found that Douglas' eyes were now on him; Jubal nodded ever so slightly and Douglas looked away. The conference was now over; all that remained was to let the world know it.

  Mike concluded the sonorous nullities he had been given; Jubal heard his own words: "-growing closer, with mutual benefit to both worlds-" and "-each race according to its own nature-" but did not listen. Douglas then thanked the Man from Mars, briefly but warmly. There was a pause.

  Jubal stood up. "Mr. Secretary General-"

  "Yes, Dr. Harshaw?"

  "As you know, Mr. Smith is here today in a dual role. Like some visiting prince in the past history of our own great race, traveling by caravan and sailing across uncharted vastnesses to a distant realm, he brings to Earth the good wishes of the Ancient Powers of Mars. But he is also a human being, a citizen of the Federation and of the United States of America. As such, he has rights and properties and obligations." Jubal shook his head. "Pesky ones, I'm sorry to say. As attorney for him in his capacity as a citizen and a human being, I have been puzzling over his business affairs and I have not even managed a complete list of what he owns - much less decide what to tell tax collectors-"

  Jubal stopped to wheeze. "I'm an old man, I might not live to complete the task. Now you know that my client has had no business experience in the human sense - Martians do these things differently. But he is a young man of great intelligence - the whole world knows that his parents were geniuses - and blood will tell. There's no doubt that in a few years, he could, if he wished, do very nicely on his own without the aid of one old, broken-down lawyer. But his affairs need attention today; business won't wait.

  "But, in fact, he is more eager to learn the history and the arts and the ways of the people of this, his second home, than he is to bury himself in debentures and stock issues and royalties - and I think in this he is wise. Although without business experience, Mr. Smith possesses a direct and simple wisdom that continues to astonish me... and to astonish all who meet him. When I explained to him the trouble I was having, he simply looked at me with a clear, calm gaze and said, 'Why, that's no problem, Jubal - we'll ask Mr. Douglas.'" Jubal paused and said anxiously, "The rest of this is just personal business, Mr. Secretary. Should I see you about it privately? And let the rest of these ladies and gentlemen go home?"

  "Go right ahead, Dr. Harshaw." Douglas added, "Protocol is dispensed with as of now. Anyone who wishes to leave please feel free to do so."

  No one left. "All right," Jubal went on. "I can wrap it up in one sentence. Mr. Smith wants to appoint you his attorney-in-fact, with full power to handle all his business affairs. Just that."

  Douglas looked convincingly astonished. "That's a tall order, Doctor."

  "I know it is, sir. I pointed out to him that it was an imposition, that you are the busiest man on this planet and didn't have time for his affairs." Jubal shook his head and smiled. "I'm afraid it didn't impress him - seems on Mars the busier a person is the more is expected of him. Mr. Smith simply said, 'We can ask him.' So I'm asking you. Of course we don't expect an answer off hand - that's another Martian trait: Martians are never in a hurry. Nor are they inclined to make things complicated. No bond, no auditing, none of that claptrap - a written power of attorney if you want it. But it does not matter to him; he would do it just as readily, orally and right now - Chinese style. That's another Martian trait; if a Martian trusts you, he trusts you all the way. He doesn't come prying around to see if you're keeping your word. Oh, I should add: Mr. Smith is not making this request of the Secretary General; he's asking a favor of Joseph Edgerton Douglas, you personally. If you should retire from public life, it would not affect this in the slightest. Your successor in office, whoever he might be, doesn't figure in it. It's you he trusts... not just whoever happens to occupy the Octagon Office in this Palace."

  Douglas nodded. "Regardless of my answer, I feel honored... and humble."

  "Because if you decline to serve, or can't serve, or do take on this chore and want to drop it later, or anything, Mr. Smith has his own second choice for the job - Ben Caxton, it is. Stand up for a second, Ben; let people see you. And if both you and Caxton can't or won't, his next choice is - well, I'll guess we'll reserve that name for the moment; just let it rest that there are successive choices. Uh, let me see now-" Jubal looked fuddled- "I'm out of the habit of talking on my feet. Miriam, where is that piece of paper we listed things on?"

  Jubal accepted a sheet from her, and added, "Better give me the other copies, too-" She passed over to him a thick stack of sheets. "This is a little memo we prepared for you, sir - or for Caxton, if it turns out that way. Mmm, lemme see - oh yes, steward to pay himself what he thinks the job is worth but not less than - well, a considerable sum, nobody else's business, really. Steward to deposit monies in a drawing account for living expenses of party of the first part - uh, oh yes, I thought maybe you would want to use the Bank of Shanghai, say, as your depository, and, say, Lloyd's as your business agent - or maybe the other way around - just to protect your own name and fame. But Mr. Smith won't hear of any fixed instructions - just an unlimited assignment of power, revocable by either side at choice. But I won't read all this; that's why we wrote it out-" Jubal turned and looked vacantly around. "Uh, Miriam - trot around and give this to the Secretary General, that's a good girl. Urn, these other copies, I'll leave them here. You may want to pass 'em out to people... or you may need them yourself. Oh, I'd better give one to Mr. Caxton though - here, Ben-"

  Jubal looked anxiously around. "Uh, I guess that's all I have to say, Mr. Secretary. Did you have anything more to say to us?'

  "Just a moment. Mr. Smith?"

  "Yes, Mr. Douglas?"

  "Is this what you want? Do you want me to do what it says on this paper?"

  Jubal held his breath, avoided even glancing at his client- Mike had been carefully coached to expect such a question - but there had been no telling what form it would take, nor any way to tell in advance how Mike's literal interpretations could trip them.

  "Yes, Mr. Douglas." Mike's voice rang out clearly in the big room - and in a billion rooms around a planet.

  "You want me to handle your business affairs?"

  "Please, Mr. Douglas. It would be a goodness. I thank you-"

  Douglas blinked. "Well, that's clear enough. Doctor, I'll reserve my answer - but you shall have it promptly."

  "Thank you, sir. For myself as well as for my client."

  Douglas started to stand up. Assemblyman Kung's voice sharply interrupted. "One moment! How about the Larkin Decision?"

  Jubal grabbed it before Douglas could speak. "Ah, yes, the Larkin Decision. I've heard quite a lot of nonsense talked about the Larkin Decision - but mostly from irresponsible persons. Mr. Kung, what about the Larkin Decision?"

  "I'm asking you. Or your client. Or the Secretary General."

  Jubal said gently, "Shall I speak, Mr. Secretary?"

  "Please do."

  "Very well." Jubal paused, slowly took out a big handkerchief and blew his nose in a prolonged blast, producing a minor chord three octaves below middle C. He then fixed Kung with his eye and said solemnly, "Mr. Assemblyman, I'll address this to you - because I know it is unnecessary to address it to the government in the person of the Secretary. Once a long, long tine ago, when I was a little boy, another little boy, equally young and foolish, and I formed a club. Just the two of us. Since we had a club, we had to have rules... and the first rule we passed, unanimously, I should add - was that henceforth we would always call our mothers, 'crosspatch.' Silly, of course... but we were very young. Mr. Kung, can you deduce the outcome of that 'rule'?"

  "I won't guess, Dr. Harshaw."

  "I tried to implement our 'Crosspatch' decision once. Once was enough
and it saved my chum from making the same mistake. All it got me was my young bottom well warmed with a peach switch. And. that was the end of the 'crosspatch' decision."

  Jubal cleared his throat. "Just a moment Mr. Kung. Knowing that someone was certain to raise this non-existent issue I tried to explain the Larkin Decision to my client. At first be had trouble realizing that anyone could think that this legal fiction would apply to Mars. After all, Mars is inhabited, by an old and wise race - much older than yours, sir, and possibly wiser. But when he did understand it, he was amused. Just that, sir - tolerantly amused. Once - just once - I under-rated my mother's power to punish a small boy's impudence. That lesson was cheap, a bargain- But this planet cannot afford such a lesson on a planetary scale. Before we attempt to parcel out lands which do not belong to us, it behooves us to be very sure what peach switches are hanging in the Martian kitchen."

  Kung looked blandly unconvinced- "Dr. Harshaw, if the Larkin Decision is no more than a small boy's folly... why were national honors rendered to Mr. Smith?"

  Jubal shrugged- "That question should be put to the government, not me. But I can tell you how I interpreted them - as elementary politeness to the Ancient Ones of Mars."

  "Please?"

  "Mr. Kung, those honors were no hollow echo of the Larkin Decision. In a fashion quite beyond human experience, Mr. Smith is the Planet Mars."

  Kung did not even blink. "Continue."

  "Or, rather, the entire Martian race. In Smith's person, the Ancient Ones of Mars are visiting us. Honors rendered to him are honors rendered to them - and harm done to him is harm done to them. This is true in a very literal but utterly unhuman sense. It was wise and prudent for us to render honors to our neighbors today - but the wisdom in it has nothing to do with the Larkin Decision. No responsible person has argued that the Larkin precedent applies to an inhabited planet - I venture to say that no one ever will." Jubal paused and looked up, as if asking Heaven for help. "But, Mr. Kung, be assured that the ancient rulers of Mars do not fail to notice how we treat their ambassador. The honors rendered to them through him were a gracious symbol. I am certain that the government of this planet showed wisdom thereby. In time, you will learn that it was a most prudent act as well."