A Stranger in a Strange Land

by Robert Anson Heinlein

  "What sort of a job?"

  "Oh, just a follow-up on the jail break. Some few of those in jail or prison I couldn't release; they were vicious. So I got rid of them before I got rid of the bars and doors. But I have been slowly grokking this whole city for many months now� and quite a few of the worst were not in jail. Some of them were even in public office. I have been waiting, making a list, making sure of fullness in each case. So, now that we are leaving this city - they don't live here anymore. Missing. They needed to be discorporated and sent back to the foot of the line to try again. Incidentally, that was the grokking that changed Jill's attitude from squeamishness to hearty approval: when she finally grokked in fullness that it is utterly impossible to kill a man - that all we were doing was much like a referee removing a man from a game for 'unnecessary roughness.'"

  "Aren't you afraid of playing God, lad?"

  Mike grinned with unashamed cheerfulness. "I am God. Thou art God� and any jerk I remove is God, too. Jubal, it is said that God notes each sparrow that falls. And so He does. But the proper closest statement of it that can be made in English is that God cannot avoid noting the sparrow because the Sparrow is God. And when a cat stalks a sparrow both of them are God, carrying out God's thoughts."

  Another sky car started to land and vanished just before touching; Jubal hardly thought it worth comment. "How many did you find worthy of being tossed out of the game last night?"

  "Oh, quite a number. About a hundred and fifty. I guess - I didn't count. This is a large city, you know. But for a while it is going to be an unusually decent one. No cure, of course - there is no cure, short of acquiring a hard discipline." Mike looked unhappy. "And that is what I must ask you about, Father. I'm afraid I have misled the people who have followed me. All our brothers."

  "How, Mike?"

  "They're too optimistic. They have seen how well it has worked for us, they all know how happy they are, how strong and healthy and aware - how deeply they love each other. And now they think they grok that it is just a matter of time until the whole human race will reach the same beatitude. Oh, not tomorrow - some of them grok that two thousand years is but a moment for such an experiment. But eventually.

  "And I thought so, too, at first. I led them to think so. But, Jubal, I had missed a key point: Humans are not Martians. I made this mistake again and again - corrected myself� and still made it. What works perfectly for Martians does not necessarily work for humans. Oh, the conceptual logic which can be stated only in Martian does work for both races. The logic is invariant� but the data are different. So the results are different."

  "I couldn't see why, if people were hungry, some of them didn't volunteer to be butchered so that the rest could eat� on Mars this is obvious - and an honor. I couldn't understand why babies were so prized. On Mars our two little girls in there would simply be dumped outdoors, to live or to die - and on Mars nine out of ten nymphs die their first season. My logic was right but I had misread the data: here babies do not compete but adults do; on Mars adults don't compete at all, they've been weeded out as babies. But one way or another, competing and weeding has to take place� or a race goes down hill.

  "But whether or not I was wrong in trying to take the competition out at both ends, I have lately begun to grok that the human race won't let me, no matter what."

  Duke stuck his head into the room. "Mike? Have you been watching outside? There is quite a crowd gathering around the hotel."

  "I know," agreed Mike. "Tell the others that waiting has not filled." He went on to Jubal, "'Thou art God.' It's not a message of cheer and hope, Jubal. It's a defiance - and an unafraid unabashed assumption of personal responsibility." He looked sad. "But I rarely put it over. A very few, so far just these few here with us today, our brothers, understood me and accepted the bitter half along with the sweet, stood up and drank it - grokked it. The others, the hundreds and thousands of others, either insisted on treating it as a prize without a contest - a 'conversion'� or ignored it entirely. No matter what I said they insisted on thinking of God as something outside themselves. Something that yearns to take every indolent moron to His breast and comfort him. The notion that the effort has to be their own� and that all the trouble they are in is of their own doing� is one that they can't or won't entertain."

  The Man from Mars shook his head. "And my failures are so much more numerous than my successes that I am beginning to wonder if full grokking will show that I am on the wrong track entirely - that this race must be split up, hating each other, fighting each other, constantly unhappy and at war even with their own individual selves� simply to have that weeding out that every race must have. Tell me, Father? You must tell me."

  "Mike, what in hell ever led you to believe that I was infallible?"

  "Perhaps you are not. But every time I have needed to know something, you have always been able to tell me - and fullness always showed that you spoke rightly."

  "Damn it, I refuse this apotheosis! But I do see one thing, son. You are the one who has urged everyone else never to be in a hurry - 'waiting will fill,' you say."

  "That is right."

  "And now you are violating your own prime rule. You have waited only a little while - a very short while by Martian standards, I take it - and already you want to throw in the towel. You've proved that your system can work for a small group - and I'm glad to confirm it; I've never seen such happy, healthy, cheerful people. That ought to be enough to suit you for the short time you've put in. Come back when you have a thousand times this number, all working and happy and unjealous, and we'll talk it over again. Fair enough?"

  "You speak rightly, Father."

  "But I ain't through. You've been fretting that maybe the fact that you failed to hook more than ninety-nine out of a hundred was because the race couldn't get along without its present evils, had to have them for weeding out. But damn it, lad, you've been doing the weeding out - or rather, the failures have been doing it to themselves by not listening to you. Had you planned to eliminate money and property?"

  "Oh, no! Inside the Nest we don't need it, but-"

  "Nor does any family that's working well. Yours is just bigger. But outside you need it in dealing with other people. Sam tells me that our brothers, instead of getting unworldly, are slicker with money than ever. Is that right?"

  "Oh, yes. Making money is a simple trick, once you grok."

  "You've just added a new beatitude: 'Blessed is the rich in spirit, for he shall make dough.' How do our people stack up in other fields? Better or worse than average?"

  "Oh, better, of course - if it's anything worth grokking at all. You see, Jubal, it's not a faith; the discipline is simply a method of efficient functioning at any activity you try."

  "That's your whole answer, son. If what you say is true - and I'm not judging; I'm asking, you're answering - then that's all the competition you need� and a fairly one-sided race, too. If one tenth of one percent of the population is capable of getting the news, then all you have to do is show them - and in a matter of some generations all the stupid ones will die out and those with your discipline will inherit the Earth. Whenever that is - a thousand years from now, or ten thousand - will be plenty soon enough to worry about whether some new hurdle is necessary to make them jump higher. But don't go getting faint-hearted because only a handful have turned into angels overnight. Personally, I never expected any of them to manage it. I simply thought you were making a damn fool of yourself by pretending to be a preacher."

  Mike sighed and smiled. "I was beginning to be afraid I was - worrying that I had let my brothers down."

  "I still wish you had called it 'Cosmic Halitosis' or some such. But the name doesn't matter. If you've got the truth, you can demonstrate it. Show people. Talking about it doesn't prove it."

  The Man from Mars stood up. "You've got me all squared away, Father. I'm ready now. I grok the fullness." He looked toward the doorway. "Yes, Patty. I heard you. The waiting is ended."

&n
bsp; "Yes, Michael."

  XXXVII

  JUBAL AND THE MAN FROM MARS strolled slowly into the living room with the big stereo tank. Apparently the entire Nest was gathered, watching it. It showed a dense and turbulent crowd, somewhat restrained by policemen. Mike glanced at it and looked serenely happy. "They come. Now is the fullness." The sense of ecstatic expectancy Jubal had felt growing ever since his arrival swelled greatly, but no one moved.

  "It's a mighty big tip, sweetheart," Jill agreed.

  "And ready to turn," added Patty.

  "I'd better dress for it," Mike commented. "Have I got any clothes around this dump? Patty?"

  "Right away, Michael."

  Jubal said, "Son, that mob looks pretty ugly to me. Are you sure this is any time to tackle them?"

  "Oh, sure," said Mike. "They've come to see me� so now I go down to meet them." He paused while some clothing got out of the way of his face; he was being dressed at break-neck speed with the unnecessary help of several women - unnecessary as each garment seemed to know where to go and how to drape itself. "This job has its obligations as well as its privileges - the star has to show up for the show� grok me? The marks expect it."

  Duke said, "Mike knows what he's doing, Boss."

  "Well� I don't trust mobs."

  "That crowd is mostly curiosity seekers, they always are. Oh, there are some Fosterites and some others with grudges - but Mike can handle any crowd. You'll see. Right, Mike?"

  "Keerect, Cannibal. Pull in a tip, then give 'em a show. Where's my hat? Can't walk in the noonday sun without a hat." An expensive Panama with a sporty colored band glided out and settled itself on his head; he cocked it jauntily. "There! Do I look all right?" He was dressed in his usual outer-services mufti, a smartly tailored, sharply creased, white business suit, shoes to match, snowy shirt, and luxurious dazzling scarf.

  Ben said, "All you lack is a brief case."

  "You grok I need one? Patty, do we have one?"

  Jill stepped up to him. "Ben was kidding, dear. You look just perfect." She straightened his tie and kissed him - and Jubal felt kissed. "Go talk to them."

  "Yup. Time to turn the tip. Anne? Duke?"

  "Ready, Mike." Anne was wearing her floor-length Fair Witness, cloak, wrapping her in dignity; Duke was just the opposite, being sloppily dressed, with a lighted cigarette dangling from his face, an old hat on the back of his head with a card marked "PRESS" stuck in its band, and himself hung about with cameras and kit.

  They headed for the door to the foyer common to the four penthouse suites. Only Jubal followed; all the others, thirty and more, stayed around the stereo tank. Mike paused at the door. There was a hall table there, with a pitcher of water and glasses, a dish of fruit and a fruit knife. "Better not come any farther," he advised Jubal, "or Patty would have to escort you back through her pets."

  Mike poured himself a glass of water, drank part of it. "Preaching is thirsty work." He handed the glass to Anne. then took the fruit knife and sliced off a chunk of apple.

  It seemed to Jubal that Mike sliced off one of his fingers� but his attention was distracted as Duke passed the glass to him. Mike's hand was not bleeding and Jubal had grown somewhat accustomed to legerdemain. He accepted the glass and took a sip, finding that his own throat was very dry.

  Mike gripped his arm and smiled. "Quit fretting. This will take only a few minutes. See you later, Father." They went out through the guardian cobras and the door closed. Jubal went back to the room where the others were, still carrying the glass. Someone took it from him; he did not notice, as he was watching images in the big tank.

  The mob seemed denser, surging about and held back by police armed only with night sticks. There were a few shouts but mostly just the unlocalized muttering of crowd.

  Someone said, "Where are they now, Patty?"

  "They've just dropped down the tube. Michael is a little ahead, Duke stopped to catch Anne. They're entering the lobby. Michael has been spotted, pictures are being taken."

  The scene in the tank resolved into enormous head and shoulders of a brightly cheerful newscaster: "This is NWNW New World Networks' mobile newshound on the spot while it's hot - your newscaster, Happy Holliday. We have just learned that the fake messiah, sometimes known as the Man from Mars, has crawled out of his hide-out in a hotel room here in beautiful St. Petersburg, the City that Has Everything to Make You Sing. Apparently Smith is about to surrender to the authorities. He crushed out of jail just yesterday, using high explosives smuggled in to him by his fanatic followers. But the tight cordon placed around this city seems to have been too much for him. We don't know yet - I repeat, we don't know yet - so stay with the chap who covers the map - and now a word from your local sponsor who has given you this keyhole peep at the latest leap-"

  "Thank you, Happy Holliday and all you good people watching via NWNW! What Price Paradise? Amazingly Low! Come out and see for yourself at Elysian Fields, just opened as homesites for a restricted clientele. Land reclaimed from the warm waters of the glorious gulf and every lot guaranteed to be at least eighteen inches above mean high water and only a small down payment on a Happy - oh, oh, later, friends-phone Gulf nine-two eight two eight!"

  "And thank you, Jick Morris and the developers of Elysian Fields! I think we've got something, folks! Yes, sir, I think we do-"

  ("They're coming out the front entrance," Patty said quietly. "The crowd hasn't spotted Michael yet.")

  "Maybe not yet� but soon. You are now looking at the main entrance of the magnificent Sans Souci Hotel, Gem of the Gulf, whose management is in no way responsible for this hunted fugitive and who have cooperated with the authorities throughout according to a statement just issued by Chief of Police Davis. And while we're waiting to see what will happen, a few high lights in the strange career of this half-human monster raised on Mars-"

  The live scene was replaced by quick cuts of stock shots: The Envoy blasting off years earlier, the Champion floating upwards silently and effortlessly under Lyle Drive, Martians on Mars, the triumphant return of the Champion, a quick of the first faked interview with the "Man from Mars"-"What do you think of the girls here on Earth?" "Gee!"-a quicker shot of the conference in the Executive Palace and the much publicized awarding of a doctorate in philosophy, all with rapid-fire commentary.

  "See anything, Patty?"

  "Michael is at the top of the steps, the crowd is at least a hundred yards away, being kept off the hotel grounds. Duke has grabbed some pix and Mike is waiting to let him change lenses. No hurry."

  Happy Holliday Went on, as the tank shifted to the crowd, semi-close and panning: "You understand, friends, that this wonderful community is in a unique condition today. Something strange has been going on and these people are in no mood to trifle. Their laws have been flouted, their security forces treated with contempt, they are angry, righteously so. The fanatic followers of this alleged antichrist have stopped at nothing to create turmoil in a futile effort to let their leader escape the closing net of justice. Anything can happen-anything!"

  The announcer's voice climbed: "Yes, he's coming out now - he's walking toward the people!" The scene cut to reverse; Mike was walking directly toward another camera. Anne and Duke were behind him and dropping farther behind. "This is it! This is it! This is the blow-off'."

  Mike continued to walk unhurriedly toward the crowd until he loomed up in the stereo tank in life size, as if he were in the room with his water brothers. He stopped on the grass verge in front of the hotel, a few feet from the crowd. "You called me?"

  He was answered with a growl.

  The sky held scattered clouds; at that instant the sun came out from behind one and a shaft of golden light hit him.

  His clothes vanished. He stood before them, a golden youth, clothed only in his own beauty - beauty that made Jubal's heart ache, thinking that Michelangelo in his ancient years would have climbed down from his high scaffolding to record it for generations unborn. Mike said gently, "Look at me. I am a son of
man."

  The scene cut for a ten-second plug, a line of can-can dancers singing:

  "Come on, ladies, do your duds!

  In the smoothest, yummiest suds!

  Lover Soap is kind to hands-

  But be sure you save the bands!"

  The tank filled completely with foamy suds amid girlish laughter and the scene cut back to the newscast: "God damn you!" A half brick caught Mike in the ribs. He turned his face slightly toward his assailant. "But you yourself are God. You can damn only yourself� and you can never escape yourself."

  "Blasphemer!" A rock caught him just over his left eye and blood welled forth.

  Mike said calmly, "In fighting me, you fight yourself� for Thou art God and I am God� and all that groks is God - there is no other."

  More rocks hit him, from various directions; he began to bleed in several places. "Hear the Truth. You need not hate, you need not fight, you need not fear. I offer you the water of life-" Suddenly his hand held a tumbler of water, sparkling in the sunlight. "-and you may share it whenever you so will� and walk in peace and love and happiness together."

  A rock caught the glass and shattered it. Another struck him in the mouth.

  Through bruised and bleeding lips he smiled at them, looking straight into the camera with an expression of yearning tenderness on his face. Some trick of sunlight and stereo formed a golden halo back of his head. "Oh my brothers, I love you so! Drink deep. Share and grow closer without end. Thou art God."

  Jubal whispered it back to him. The scene made a five-second cut:

  "Cahuenga Cave! The night club with real Los Angeles smog, imported fresh every day. Six exotic dancers."