Stranger in a Strange Land (27 page)

“Tell me what you are doing.”

“Sir, that's rather complicated. I—”

“Then unravel it. Speak up, Major.”

“Yes, sir. I came here pursuant to orders. You see—”

“I don't see.”

“Well, sir, an hour and a half ago a flying squad was sent here to make several arrests. When we couldn't raise them by radio, I was sent to find them and render assistance.”

“Whose orders?”

“Uh, the Commandant's, sir.”

“And did you find them?”

“No, sir. Not a trace.”

Douglas looked at Harshaw. “Counsellor, did you see anything of another squad?”

“It's not my duty to keep track of your servants, Mr. Secretary.”

“That is hardly an answer to my question.”

“You are correct, sir. I am not being interrogated. Nor will I be, other than by due process. I am acting for my client; I am not nursemaid to these uniformed, uh, persons. But I suggest, from what I have seen, that they could not find a pig in a bath tub.”

“Mmm . . . possibly. Major, round up your men and return.”

“Yes, sir!” The major saluted.

“Just a moment!” Harshaw interrupted. “These men broke into my house. I demand to see their warrant.”

“Oh. Major, show him your warrant.”

Major Bloch turned red. “Sir, the officer ahead of me had the warrants.”

Douglas stared. “Young man . . . are you telling me that you broke into a citizen's home
without a warrant?
”

“But—Sir, you don't understand! There
are
warrants. Captain Heinrich has them. Sir.”

Douglas looked disgusted. “Get on back. Place yourself under arrest. I'll see you later.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Hold it,” Harshaw demanded. “I exercise my right to make citizen's arrest. I shall have him placed in our local lockup. ‘Armed breaking and entering.' ”

Douglas blinked. “Is this necessary?”

“
I
think it is. These fellows seem awfully hard to find—I don't want this one to leave our local jurisdiction. Aside from criminal matters, I haven't had opportunity to assess property damage.”

“You have my assurance, sir, that you will be fully compensated.”

“Thank you, sir. But what is to keep another uniformed joker from coming along later? He wouldn't even need to break down the door! My castle stands violated, open to any intruder. Mr. Secretary, only the moments of delay afforded by my once-stout door kept this scoundrel from dragging me away before I could reach you . . . and you heard him say that there is another like him at large—with, so
he
says, warrants.”

“Doctor, I know nothing of any such warrant.”

“Warrants, sir. He said ‘warrants for several arrests.' Perhaps a better term would be ‘lettres de cachet.' ”

“That's a serious imputation.”

“This is a serious matter.”

“Doctor, I know nothing of these warrants, if they exist. But I give you my personal assurance that I will look into it at once, find out why they were issued, and act as the merits may appear. Can I say more?”

“You can say a great deal more, sir. I can reconstruct why those warrants were issued. Someone in your service, in an excess of zeal, caused a pliant judge to issue them . . . for the purpose of seizing the persons of myself and my guests in order to question us, out of your sight. Out of
anyone's
sight, sir! We will discuss issues with
you
. . . but we will not be questioned by such as
this
—” Jubal hooked a thumb at the major. “—in some windowless back room! Sir, I hope for justice at your hands . . . but if those warrants are not canceled at once, if I am not assured beyond quibble that the Man from Mars, Nurse Boardman, and myself will be undisturbed, free to come and go, then—” Jubal shrugged helplessly. “—I must seek a champion. There are persons and powers outside the administration who hold deep interest in the affairs of the Man from Mars.”

“You threaten me.”

“No, sir. I plead with you. We wish to negotiate. But we cannot while being hounded. I beg you, sir—call off your dogs!”

Douglas glanced aside. “Those warrants, if any, will not be served. As soon as I can track them down they will be canceled.”

“Thank you, sir.”

Douglas looked at Major Bloch. “You insist on booking him?”

“Him? Oh, he's merely a fool in uniform. Let's forget damages, too. You and I have serious matters to discuss.”

“You may go, Major.” The S.S. officer saluted and left abruptly. Douglas continued, “Counsellor, the matters you raise cannot be settled over the telephone.”

“I agree.”

“You and your, uh, client will be my guests at the Palace. I'll send my yacht. Can you be ready in an hour?”

Harshaw shook his head. “Thank you, Mr. Secretary. We'll sleep here . . . and when it comes time I'll dig up a dog sled, or something. No need to send your yacht.”

Mr. Douglas frowned. “Come, Doctor! As you pointed out, conversations will be quasi-diplomatic. In proffering protocol I have conceded this. Therefore I must be allowed to provide official hospitality.”

“Well, sir, my client has had too much official hospitality—he had the Devil's own time getting shut of it.”

Douglas's face became rigid. “Sir, are you implying—”

“I'm not implying anything. Smith has been through a lot and is not used to high-level ceremony. He'll sleep sounder here. And so shall I. I am an old man, sir; I prefer my own bed. I might point out that talks may break down and my client would be forced to look elsewhere—in which case we would find it embarrassing to be guests under your roof.”

The Secretary General looked grim. “Threats again. I thought you trusted me, sir? I distinctly heard you say that you were ‘ready to negotiate.' ”

“I do trust you, sir.” (—
as far as I could throw a fit!
) “And we are ready to negotiate. But I use ‘negotiate' in its original sense, not in this new-fangled meaning of ‘appeasement.' However, we will be reasonable. But we can't start talks at once; we're shy one factor and must wait. How long, I don't know.”

“What do you mean?”

“We expect the administration to be represented by whatever delegation you choose—and we have the same privilege.”

“Surely. But let's keep it small. I shall handle this myself, with an assistant or two. The Solicitor General . . . our experts in space law. To transact business requires a small group—the smaller the better.”

“Most certainly. Our group will be small. Smith—myself—I'll bring a Fair Witness—”

“Oh, come now!”

“A Witness does not hamper. We'll have one or two others—but we lack one man. I have instructions that a fellow named Ben Caxton must be present . . . and I can't find the beggar.”

Jubal, having spent hours of maneuvering in order to toss in this one remark, waited. Douglas stared. “ ‘Ben Caxton?' Surely you don't mean that cheap winchell?”

“The Caxton I refer to has a column with one of the syndicates.”

Harshaw shook his head. “Then that's all, Mr. Secretary. My instructions give me no leeway. I'm sorry to have wasted your time. I beg to be excused.” He reached out as if to switch off.

“Hold it!”

“Sir?”

“I'm not through speaking to you!”

“I beg the Secretary-General's pardon. We will wait until he excuses us.”

“Yes, yes, never mind. Doctor, do you read the tripe that comes out of this Capitol labeled news?”

“Good Heavens, no!”

“I wish I didn't have to. It's preposterous to talk about having journalists present. We'll see them after everything is settled. But even if we were to admit them, Caxton would not be one. The man is poisonous . . . a keyhole sniffer of the worst sort.”

“Mr. Secretary,
we
have no objection to publicity. In fact, we insist on it.”

“Ridiculous!”

“Possibly. But I serve my client as I think best. If we reach agreement affecting the Man from Mars and the planet which is his home, I want every person on this planet to know how it was done and what was agreed. Contrariwise, if we fail, people must hear how the talks broke down. There will be no star chamber, Mr. Secretary.”

“Damn it, I wasn't speaking of a star chamber and you know it! I mean quiet, orderly talks without elbows jostled!”

“Then let the press in, sir, through cameras and microphones . . . but with elbows outside. Which reminds me—we will be interviewed, my client and I, over the networks later today—and I shall announce that we want public talks.”

“What?
You mustn't give out interviews
now
—why, that's contrary to the whole spirit of this discussion.”

“I can't see that it is. Are you suggesting that a citizen must have your permission to speak to the press?”

“No, of course not, but—”

“I'm afraid it's too late. Arrangements have been made and the only way you could stop it would be by sending more carloads of thugs. My reason for mentioning it is that you might wish to give out a news release—in advance—telling the public that the Man from Mars has returned and is vacationing in the Poconos. So as to avoid any appearance that the government was taken by surprise. You follow me?”

“I follow you.” The Secretary General stared at Harshaw. “Please wait.” He left the screen.

Harshaw motioned Larry to him while his other hand covered the sound pickup. “Look, son,” he whispered, “with that transceiver out I'm bluffing on a busted flush. I don't know whether he left to issue that release . . . or has gone to set the dogs on us again. You high-tail out, get Tom Mackenzie on another phone, tell him that if he doesn't get the setup working, he's going to miss the biggest story since the Fall of Troy. Then be careful coming home—there may be cops.”

“How do I call Mackenzie?”

“Uh—” Douglas was back on screen. “Speak to Miriam.”

“Dr. Harshaw, I took your suggestion. A release much as you worded it . . . plus substantiating details.” Douglas smiled in his homespun
persona.
“I added that the administration will discuss interplanetary relations with the Man from Mars—as soon as he had rested from his trip—and would do so publicly . . .
quite
publicly.” His smile became chilly and he stopped looking like good old Joe Douglas.

Harshaw grinned in admiration—why, the old thief had rolled with the punch and turned a defeat into a coup for the administration. “That's perfect, Mr. Secretary! We'll back you right down the line!”

“Thank you. Now about this Caxton person—Letting the press in does not apply to him. He can watch it over stereovision and make up his lies from that. But he will not be present.”

“Then there will be no talks, Mr. Secretary, no matter what you told the press.”

“I don't believe you understand me, Counsellor. This man is offensive to me. Personal privilege.”

“You are correct, sir. It is a matter of personal privilege.”

“Then we'll say no more about it.”

“You
misunderstand
me
. It is indeed personal privilege. But not yours. Smith's.”

“Eh?”

“You are privileged to select your advisers—and you can fetch the Devil himself and we shall not complain. Smith is privileged to select his advisers and have them present. If Caxton is not present, we will not be there. We will be at some quite different conference. One where you won't be welcome. Even if you speak Hindi.”

Harshaw thought clinically that a man of Douglas's age should not indulge in rage. At last Douglas spoke—to the Man from Mars.

Mike had stayed on screen, as silently and as patiently as the Witness. Douglas said, “Smith, why do you insist on this ridiculous condition?”

Harshaw said instantly, “Don't answer, Mike!”—then to Douglas: “Tut, tut, Mr. Secretary! The Canons! You may not inquire why my client has instructed me. And the Canons are violated with exceptional grievance in that my client has but lately learned English and cannot hold his own against you. If you will learn Martian, I may permit you to put the question . . . in
his
language. But not today.”

Douglas frowned. “I might inquire what Canons
you
have played fast and loose with—but I haven't time; I have a government to run. I yield. But don't expect me to shake hands with this Caxton!”

“As you wish, sir. Now back to the first point, I haven't been able to find Caxton.”

Douglas laughed. “You insisted on a privilege—one I find offensive. Bring whom you like. But round them up yourself.”

“Reasonable, sir. But would you do the Man from Mars a favor?”

“Eh? What favor?”

“Talks will not begin until Caxton is located—that is not subject to argument. But I have not been able to find him. I am merely a private citizen.”

“What do you mean?”

“I spoke disparagingly of the Special Service squadrons—check it off to the irk of a man who has had his door broken down. But I know that they can be amazingly efficient . . . and they have the cooperation of police forces everywhere. Mr. Secretary, if you were to call in your S.S. Commandant and tell him that you wanted to locate a man at once—well, sir, it would produce more activity in an hour than I could in a century.”

“Why on Earth should I alert police forces everywhere to find one scandal-mongering reporter?”