THE MARTIAN DIPLOMATIC DELEGATION & Inside Straight Sodality,Unlimited, as organized by Jubal HarshaW, landed on the flat of theExecutive Palace shortly before ten o’clock the next morning. Theunpretentious pretender to the Martian throne, Mike Smith, had not worriedabout the purpose of the trip; he had simply enjoyed every minute of theshort flight south, with utter and innocent delight.
The trip was made in a chartered Flying Greyhound, and Mike sat up in theastrodome above the driver, with Jill on one side and Dorcas on his other,and stared and stared in awed wonderment as the girls pointed out sights tohim and chattered in his ears. The seat, being intended for two people, wasvery crowded, but Mike did not mind, as a warming degree of growing closernecessarilY resulted. He sat with an arm around each, and looked andlistened and tried to grok and could not have been happier if he had been tenfeet under water.
It was, in fact, his first view of Terran civilization He had seen nothing at all inbeing removed from the Champion to suite K-12 at Bethesda Center; he hadindeed spent a few minutes in a taxi ten days earlier going from the hospitalto Ben’s apartment but at the time he had grokked none of it. Since that timehis world had been bounded by a house and a swimming pool, plus5urroundiflg garden and grass and trees-he had not been as far as Jubal’sgate.
But now he was enormously more sophisticated than he had been ten daysago. He understood windows, realized that the bubble surrounding him was awindow and meant for looking out of and that the changing sights he sawwere indeed the cities of these people. He understood maps and could pickout, with the help of the girls, where they were and what they were seeing onthe map flowing across the lap board in front of them. But of course he hadalways known about maps; he simply had not known until recently thathumans knew about maps. It had given him a twinge of happy homesicknessthe first time he had grokked a human map. Sure, it was static and deadcompared with the maps used by his people-but it was a map. Mike was notdisposed by nature and certainly not by training to invidious comparisonseven human maps were very Martian in essence -he liked them.
Now he saw almost two hundred miles of countryside, much of it sprawlingworld metropolis, and savored every inch of it, tried to grok it. He was startledby the enormous size of human cities and by their bustling activity visibleeven from the air, so very different from the slow motion, monestary-gardenpace of cities of his own people. It seemed to him that a human city mustwear out almost at once, becoming so choked with living experience that onlythe strongest of the Old Ones could bear to visit its deserted streets and grokin contemplation the events and emotions piled layer on endless Layer in it.
He himself had visited abandoned cities at home only on a few wonderful anddreadful occasionS, and then his teachers had stopped having him do so,grokking that he was not strong enough for such experience.
Careful questions to Jill and Dorcas, the answers of which he then related towhat he had read, enabled him to grok in part enough to relieve his mindsotnewbat the city was very young; it had been founded only a little over twoEarth centuries ago. Since Earth time units had no real flavor for him, heconverted to Martian years and Martian numbers years (3^4 + 3^3 = 108Martian years).
Terrifying and beautiful! Why, these people must even now be preparing toabandon the city to its thoughts before it shattered under the strain andbecame not. And yet, by mere time, the city was only an egg.
Mike looked forward to returning to Washington in a century or two to walk itsempty streets and try to grow close to its endless pain and beauty, grokkingthirstily until he was Washington and the city was himself-if he were strongenough by then. Then he firmly filed the thought away as he knew that hemust grow and grow and grow before he would be able to praise and cherishthe city’s mighty anguish.
The Greyhound driver swung far east at one point in response to a temporaryrerouting of unscheduled traffic (caused, unknown to Mike, by Mike’s ownpresence)~ and Mike, for the first time, saw the sea.
Jill had to point it out to him and tell him that it was water, and Dorcas addedthat it was the Atlantic Ocean and traced the shore line on the map. Mike wasnot ignorant: he had known since he was a nestling that the planet nextnearer the Sun was almost covered with the water of life and lately he hadlearned that these people accepted this lavish richness casually. He hadeven taken, unassisted, the much more difficult hurdle of grokking at last theMartian orthodoxy that the water ceremony did not require water, that waterwas merely symbol for the essence beautiful but not indispensable.
But, like many a human still virgin toward some major human experience,Mike discovered that knowing a fact in the abstract was not at all the samething as experiencing its physical reality; the sight of the Atlantic Ocean filledhim with such awe that Jill squeezed him and said sharply, .Stop it, Mike!
Don’t you dare!“Mike chopped off his emotion and stored it away for later use. Then he staredat the ocean, stretching out to an unimaginably distant horizon, and tried tomeasure its size in his mind until his head was buzzing with threes andpowers of threes and superpowers of powers.
As they landed Jubal called out, .Now remember, girls, form a square aroundhim and don’t be at all backward about planting a heel in an instep or jabbingan elbow into some oaf’s solar plexus. Anne, I realize you’ll be wearing yourcloak but that’s no reason not to step on a foot if you’re crowded. Or is it?“.Quit fretting, Boss; nobody crowds a Witness-but I’m wearing spike heelsand I weigh more than you do.“.Okay. Duke, you know what to do-but get Larry back here with the bus assoon as possible. I don’t know when I’ll need it.“.I grok it, Boss. Quit jittering.“.I’ll jitter as I please. Let’s go.“ Harshaw, the four girls with Mike, and Caxtongot out; the bus took off at once. To Harshaw’s mixed relief andapprehension the landing flat was not crowded with newsmen.
But it was far from empty. A man picked him out at once, stepped brisklyforward and said heartily, .Dr. Harshaw? I’m Tom Bradley, senior executiveassistant to the Secretary General. You are to go directly to Mr. Douglas’
private office. He will see you for a few moments before the conferencestarts.“.No.“Bradley blinked. .I don’t think you understood me. These are instructionsfrom the Secretary General. Oh, he said that it was all right for Mr. Smith tocome with you-the Man from Mars, I mean-.
.No. This party stays together, even to go to the washroom. Right now we’regoing to that conference room. Have somebody lead the way. And have allthese people stand back; they’re crowding us. In the meantime, I have anerrand for you. Miriam, that letter.“.But, Dr. Harshaw-.
.I said, .No!’ Can’t you understand plain English? But you are to deliver thisletter to Mr. Douglas at once and to him ersonal1Ya1~ fetch back his receiptto me.“ Harshaw paused to write his signature across the flap of the envelopeMiriam had handed to him, pressed his thumb print over the signature, andhanded it to Bradley. .Tell him that it is most urgent that he read this at oncebeforethe meeting.“.But the Secretary General specifically desires-.
.The Secretary desires to see that letter. Young man, I am endowed withsecond sight . . . and I predict that you won’t be working here later today ifyou waste any time getting it to him.“Bradley locked eyes with Jubal, then said, .Jim, take over,“ and left, with theletter. Jubal sighed inwardly. He had sweated over that letter; Anne and hehad been up most of the night preparing draft after draft. Jubal had everyintention of arriving at an open settlement, in full view of the world’s newscameras and microphones-but he bad no intention of letting Douglas betaken by surprise by any proposal.
Another man stepped forward in answer to Bradley’s order; Jubal sized himup as a prime specimen of the clever, conscienceless young-men-on-theway-up who gravitate to those in power and do their dirty work; he dislikedhim on sight. The man smiled heartily and said smoothly, .The name’s JimSanforth, Doctor-I’m the Chief’s press secretary. I’ll be buffering for you fromnow on-arranging your press interviews and so forth. I’m sorry to say that theconference room is not quite ready; there have been last minute changesand we’ve had to move to a larger room. Now it’s my thought that-.
.It’s my thought that we’ll go to that conference room right now. We’ll standup until chairs are fetched for us.“.Doctor, I’m sure you don’t understand the situation. They are still stringingwires and things, and that room is swarming with reporters andcommentators.“.Very well. We’ll chat with .em till you’re ready.“.No, Doctor. I have instructions“.Youngster, you can take your instructions, fold them until they are all cornersand shove them in your oubliette. We are not at your beck and call. You willnot arrange press interviews for us. We are here for just one purpose: apublic conference. If the conference is not ready to meet, we’ll see the pressnow-in the conference room.“.But-.
.And that’s not all. You’re keeping the Man from Mars standing on a windyroof“ Harshaw raised his voice. .Is there anyone here smart enough to leadus straight to this conference room without getting lost?“Sanforth swallowed and said, .Follow me, Doctor.“The conference room was indeed crowded with newsmen and techniciansbut there was a big oval table, plenty of chairs, and several smaller tables.
Mike was spotted at once and Sanforth’s protests did not keep them fromcrowding in on him. But Mike’s flying wedge of amateur Amazons got him asfar as the big table; Jubal sat him against it with Dorcas and Jill in chairsflanking him and the Fair Witness and Miriam seated behind him. Once thiswas done, Jubal made no attempt to fend oft questions or pictures. Mike hadbeen warned that he would meet lots of people and that many of them woulddo strange things and Jubal had most particularly warned him to take nosudden actions (such as causing persons or things to go away, or to stop)unless Jill told him to.
Mike took the confusion gravely, without apparent upset; Jill was holding hishand and her touch reassured him.
Jubal wanted news pictures taken, the more the better; as for questions putdirectly to Mike, Jubal did not fear them and made no attempt to field them. Aweek of trying to talk with Mike had convinced him that no reporter couldpossibly get anything of importance out of Mike in only a few minutes-withoutexpert help. Mike’s habit of answering a question as asked, answering itliterally and stopping, would be enough to nullify most attempts to pump him.
And so it proved. Most questions Mike answered with a polite: .I do notknow,“ or an even less committal; .Beg pardon?“But one question backfired on the questioner. A Reuters correspondent,anticipating a monumental fight over Mike’s status as an heir, tried to sneakin his own test of Mike’s competence: .Mr. Smith? What do you know aboutthe laws of inheritance here?“Mike was aware that he was having trouble grokking in fullness the humanconcept of property and, in particular, the ideas of bequest and inheritance.
So he most carefully avoided inserting his own ideas and stuck to the book-abook which Jubal recognized shortly as Ely on Inheritance and Bequest,chapter one.
Mike related what he had read, with precision and careful lack of expression,like a boring but exact law professor, for page after tedious page, while theroom gradually settled into stunned silence and his interrogator gulped.
Jubal let it go on until every newsman there knew more than he wanted toknow about dower and curtesy, consanguinean and uterine, per stirpes andper capita, and related mysteries. At last Jubal touched his shoulder, .That’senough, Mike.“Mike looked puzzled. .There is much more.“.Yes, but later. Does someone have a question on some other subject?“A reporter for a London Sunday paper of enormous circulation jumped in witha question closer to his employer’s pocketbook: .Mr. Smith, we understandyou like the girls here on Earth. But have you ever kissed a girl?“.Yes.“.Did you like it?“.Yes.“.How did you like it?“Mike barely hesitated over his answer. .Kissing girls is a goodness,“ heexplained very seriously. .It is a growing-closer. It beats the hell out of cardgames.“Their applause frightened him. But he could feel that Jill and Dorcas were notfrightened, that indeed they were both trying to restrain thatincomprehensible noisy expression of pleasure which he himself could notlearn. So he calmed his fright and waited gravely for whatever might happennext.
By what did happen next he was saved from further questions, answerable ornot, and was granted a great joy; he saw a familiar face and figure justentering by a side door, .My brother Dr. Mahmoud!“ Mike went on talking inoverpowering excitement-but in Martian.
The Champion’s staff semanticist waved and smiled and answered in thesame jarring language while hurrying to Mike’s side. The two continuedtalking in unhuman symbols, Mike in an eager torrent, Mahmoud not quite asrapidly, with sound effects like a rhinoceros ramming an ironmonger’s lorry.
The newsmen stood it for some time, those who operated by sound recordingit and the writers noting it as local color. But at last one interrupted. .Dr.
Mahmoud! What are you saying? Clue us!“Mahmoud turned, smiled briefly and said in clipped Oxonian speech, .For themost part, I’ve been saying, .Slow down, my dear boy-do, please.’
.And what does he say?“.The rest of our conversation is personal, private, of no possible intrest toothers, I assure you. Greetings, y’know. Old friends.“ He turned back to Mikeand continued to chat-in Martian.
In fact, Mike was telling his brother Malimoud all that had happened to him inthe fortnight since he had last seen him, so that they might grok closer-butMike’s abstraction of what to tell was purely Martian in concept, it beingconcerned primarily with new water brothers and the unique flavor of each . .
. the gentle water that was Jill . . . the depth of Anne . . . the strange not-yetfully-grokked fact that Jubal tasted now like an egg, then like an Old One, butwas neither-the ungrokkable vastness of ocean-Mahmoud had less to tell Mike since less had happened in the interim to him,by Martian standards-one Dionysian excess quite unMartian and of which hewas not proud, one long day spent lying face down in Washington’s SuleimanMosque, the results of which he had not yet grokked and was not ready todiscuss. No new water brothers.
He stopped Mike presently and offered his hand to Jubal. .You’re Dr.
Harshaw, I know. Valentine Michael thinks he has introduced me to all ofyou-and he has, by his rules.“Harshaw looked him over as he shook hands with him. Chap looked andsounded like a huntin’, shootin’, sportin’ Britisher, from his tweedy,expensively casual clothes to a clipped grey moustache . . . but his skin wasnaturally swarthy rather than ruddy tan and the genes for that nose camefrom somewhere close to the Levant. Harshaw did not like fake anything andwould choose to eat cold compone over the most perfect syntho .sirloin.“But Mike treated him as a friend, so .friend“ he was, until proved otherwise.
To Mahmoud, Harshaw looked like a museum exhibit of what he thought ofas a .Yank“-vulgar, dressed too informally for the occasion, loud, probablyignorant and almost certainly provincial. A professional man, too, which madeit worse, as in Dr. Mahmoud’s experience most American professional menwere under-educated and narrow, mere technicians. He held a vast butcarefully concealed distaste for all things American. Their incrediblepolytheistic babel of religions, of course, although they were hardly to beblamed for that . . . their cooking (cooking/Il), their manners, their bastardarchitecture and sickly arts . . . and their blind, pathetic, arrogant belief intheir superiority long after their sun had set. Their women. Their women mostof all, their immodest, assertive women, with their gaunt, starved bodieswhich nevertheless reminded him disturbingly of houris. Four of them here,crowded around Valentine Michael-at a meeting which certainly should be allmale- But Valentine Michael had offered him all these people-including theseubiquitous female creatures-offered them proudly and eagerly as his waterbrothers, thereby laying on Mahmoud a family obligation closer and morebinding than that owed to the sons of one’s father’s brother-since Mahmoudunderstood the Martian term for such accretive relationships from directobservation of what it meant to Martians and did not need to translate itclumsily and inadequately as .catenative assemblage,“ nor even as .thingsequal to the same thing are equal to each other.“ He had seen Martians athome; he knew their extreme poverty (by Earth standards); he had dippedinto-and had guessed at far more-of their cultural extreme wealth; and hadgrokked quite accurately the supreme value that Martians place oninterpersonal relationships.
Well, there was nothing else for it-he had shared water with ValentineMichael and now he must justify his friend’s faith in him . . . he simply hopedthat these Yanks were not complete bounders.
So he smiled warmly and shook hands firmly. .Yes. Valentine Michael hasexplained to me-most proudly-that you are all in-. (Mahmoud used one wordof Martian.) .-to him.“.Eh?“.Water brotherhood. You understand?“.I grok it.“Mahmoud strongly doubted if Harshaw did, but he went on smoothly, .Since Imyself am already in that relationship to him, I must ask to be considered amember of the family. I know your name, and I have guessed that this mustbe Mr. Caxton-in fact I have seen your face pictured at the head of yourcolumn, Mr. Caxton; I read it when I have opportunity-but let me see if I havethe young ladies straight. This must be Anne.“.Yes. But she’s cloaked at the moment.“.Yes, of course. I’ll pay my respects to her when she is not busyprofessionally.“Harshaw introduced him to the other three . . . and Jill startled him byaddressing him with the correct honorific for a water brother, pronouncing itabout three octaves higher than any adult Martian would talk but with sorethroatpurity of accent. It was one of the scant dozen Martian words shecould speak out of the hundred-odd that she was beginning to understandbutthis one she had down pat because it was used to her and by her manytimes each day.
Dr. Mahmoud’s eyes widened slightly-perhaps these people would turn outnot to be mere uncircumcised barbarians after all . . . and his young friend didhave strong intuitions. Instantly he offered Jill the correct honorific inresponse and bowed over her hand.
Jill saw that Mike was obviously delighted; she managed, slurringly butpassably, to croak the shortest of the nine forms by which a water brothermay return the response-although she did not grok it fully and would not haveconsidered suggesting (in English) the nearest human biological equivalent .
. . certainly not to a man she had Just met!
However, Mahmoud, who did understand it, took it in its symbolic meaningrather than its (humanly impossible) literal meaning, and spoke rightly inresponse. But Jill had passed the limit of her linguistic ability; she did notunderstand his answer at all an............