His Excellency, the Most Honorable Joseph E. Douglas, Secretary General of the World Federation of Free States, picked at his breakfast omelet and wondered peevishly why a man could not get a decent cup of coffee these days. In front of him his morning newspaper, prepared by the night shift of his information staff, moved past his eyes at his optimum reading speed in a feedback executive scanner, custom-built by Sperry. The words would flow on as long as he looked in that direction; if he turned his head, the machine would note it and stop instantly.
He was looking that way now and the projected print moved along the screen, but he was not really reading but simply avoiding the eyes of his boss across the table. Mrs. Douglas did not read newspapers; she had other ways of finding out what she needed to know.
"Joseph-"
He looked up and the machine stopped. "Yes, my dear?"
"You have something on your mind"
"Eh? What makes you say that, my dear?"
"Joseph, I haven't watched you and coddled you and darned your socks and kept you out of trouble for thirty-five years for nothing. I know when there is something on your mind."
The hell of it is, he admitted to himself, she does know. He looked at her and wondered why he had ever let her bully him into no-termination contract. Originally she had been only his secretary, back in the days (he thought of them as "The Good Old Days") when he had been a state legislator, beating the bushes for individual votes. Their first contract had been a simple ninety day cohabitation agreement, supposedly to economize scarce campaign funds by saving on hotel bills; both of them had agreed that it was merely a convenience, with "cohabitation" to be construed simply as living under one roof... and she hadn't darned his socks even then!
He tried to remember how and when the situation had changed. Mrs. Douglas's official biography, Shadow of Greatness: One Woman's Story, stated that he had proposed to her during the counting of ballots in his first election to office - and that such was his romantic need that nothing would do but old-fashioned, death-do-us-part marriage.
Well, he didn't remember it that way - but there was no use arguing with the official version.
"Joseph! Answer me!"
"Eh? Nothing at all, my dear. I spent a restless night."
"I know you did. When they wake you up in the middle of the night, don't you think I know it?"
He reflected that her suite was a good fifty yards across the palace from his. "How do you know it, my dear?"
"Hunh? Woman's intuition, of course. What was the message Bradley brought you?"
"Please, my dear - I've got to finish the morning news before the Council meeting."
"Joseph Edgerton Douglas, don't try to evade me."
He sighed. "The fact is, we've lost sight of that beggar Smith."
"Smith? Do you mean the Man from Mars? What do you mean: '-lost sight of-?' That's ridiculous."
"Be that as it may, my dear, he's gone. He disappeared from his hospital room sometime late yesterday."
"Preposterous! How could he do that?"
"Disguised as a nurse, apparently. We aren't sure."
"But- Never mind. He's gone, that's the main thing. What muddleheaded scheme are you using to get him back?"
"Well, we have some of our own people searching for him. Trusted ones, of course. Berquist-"
"Berquist! That garbage head! When you should have every police officer from the FDS down to precinct truant officers searching for him you send Berquist!"
"But, my dear, you don't see the situation. We can 't. Officially he isn't lost at all. You see there's - well, the other chap. The, uh, 'official' Man from Mars,"
"Oh..." She drummed the table. "I told you that substitution scheme would get us in trouble."
"But, my dear, you suggested it yourself."
"I did not. And don't contradict me, Mmm... send for Berquist. I must talk to him at once."
"Uh, Berquist is out on his trail. He hasn't reported back yet."
"Uh? Berquist is probably half way to Zanzibar by now. He's sold us out, I never did trust that man. I told you when you hired him that-"
"When I hired him?"
"Don't interrupt - that any man who would take money two ways would take it three ways just as quickly." She frowned. "Joseph, the Eastern Coalition Is behind this. It's a logical certainty. You can expect a vote-of-confidence move in the Assembly before the day is out."
"Eli? I don't see why. Nobody knows about it."
"Oh, for Heaven's sake! Everyone will know about it; the Eastern Coalition will see to that. Now keep quiet and let me think." Douglas shut up and went back to his newspaper. He read that the Los Angeles City County Council had voted to petition the Federation for aid in their smog problems on the grounds the Ministry of Health had failed to provide something or other, it did not matter what - but a sop must be thrown to them as Charlie was going to have a difficult time being re-elected with the Fosterites running their own candidate - he needed Charlie. Lunar Enterprises was off two points at closing, probably, he decided, because of- "Joseph."
"Yes, my dear?"
"Our own 'Man from Mars' is the one and only; the one the Eastern Coalition will pop up with is a fake. That is how it must be."
"But, my dear, we can't make it stick."
"What do you mean, we can't? We're stuck with it, so we've got to make it stick."
"But we can 't. Scientists would spot the substitution at once. I've had the devil's own time keeping them away from him this long."
"Scientists!"
"But they can, you know."
"I don't know anything of the sort. Scientists indeed! Half guess work and half sheet superstition. They ought to be locked up; they ought to be prohibited by law. Joseph, I've told you repeatedly the only true science is astrology."
"Well, I don't know, my dear. Mind you, I'm not running down astrology-"
"You'd better not! After all it's done for you."
"-but I am saying that some of these science professors are pretty sharp. One of them was telling me the other day that there is a star that weighs six thousand times as much as lead. Or was it sixty thousand? Let me see-"
"Bosh! How could they possibly know a thing like that? Keep quiet, Joseph, while I finish this. We admit nothing. Their man is a fake. But in the meantime we make full use of our Special Service squads and grab him back, if possible, before the Eastern Coalition makes its disclosure. If it is necessary to use strong measures and this Smith person gets shot resisting arrest, or something like that, well, it's too bad, but I for one won't mourn very long. He's been a nuisance all along."
"Agnes! Do you know what you are suggesting?"
"I'm not suggesting anything. People get hurt every day. This matter must be cleared up, Joseph, for everybody. The greatest good of the greatest number, as you are so fond of quoting."
"But I don't want to see the lad hurt."
"Who said anything about hurting him? But you must take firm steps, Joseph; it's your duty. History will justify you. Which is more important? - to keep things running on an even keel for five billion people, or to go soft and sentimental about one man who isn't even properly a citizen?"
Douglas didn't answer. Mrs. Douglas stood up. "Well, I can't waste the rest of the morning arguing intangibles with you, Joseph; I've got to get hold of Madame Vesant at once and have a new horoscope cast for this emergency. But I can tell you this: I didn't give the best years of my life putting you where you are today just to have you throw it away through lack of backbone. Wipe the egg off your chin." She turned and left.
The chief executive of the planet remained at the table through two more cups of coffee before he felt up to going to the Council Chamber. Poor old Agnes! So ambitious. He guessed he had been quite a disappointment to her... and no doubt the change of life wasn't making things any easier for her. Well, at least she was loyal, right to her toes... and we all have our shortcomings; she was probably as sick of him as he - no point in that!
He straig
htened up. One damn sure thing! He wasn't going to let them he rough with that Smith lad. He was a nuisance, granted, but he was a nice lad and rather appealing in a helpless, half-witted way. Agnes should have seen how easily he was frightened, then she wouldn't talk that way. Smith would appeal to the maternal in her.
But as a matter of strict fact, did Agnes have any "maternal" in her? When she set her mouth that way, it was hard to see it. Oh shucks, all women had maternal instincts; science had proved that. Well, hadn't they?
Anyhow, damn her guts, he wasn't going to let her push him around. She kept reminding him that she had put him into the top spot, but he knew better, and the responsibility was his and his alone. He got up, squared his shoulders, pulled in part of his middle, and went to the Council Chamber.
All during the long session he kept expecting someone to drop the other shoe. But no one did and no aide came in with any message for him. He was forced to conclude that the fact that Smith was missing actually was close held in his own personal staff unlikely as that seemed.
The Secretary General wanted very badly to close his eyes and hope that the whole horrid mess would go away, but events would not let him. Nor would his wife let him.
Agnes Douglas' personal saint, by choice, was Evita Peron, whom she fancied she resembled. Her own persona, the mask that she held out to the world, was that of helper and satellite to the great man she was privileged to call husband. She even held this mask up to herself, for she had the Red Queen's convenient ability to believe anything she wished to believe. Nevertheless, her own political philosophy could have been stated baldly (which it never was) as a belief that men should rule the world and women should rule men.
That all of her beliefs and actions derived from a blind anger at a fate that had made her female never crossed her mind... still less could she have believed that there was any connection between her behavior and her father's wish for a son... or her own jealousy of her mother. Such evil thoughts never entered her head. She loved her parents and had fresh flowers put on their graves on all appropriate occasions; she loved her husband and often said so publicly; she was proud of her womanhood and said so publicly almost as often - she frequently joined the two assertions.
Agnes Douglas did not wait for her husband to act in the case of the missing Man from Mars. All of her husband's personal staff took orders as readily from her as from him... in some cases, even more readily. She sent for the chief executive assistant for civil information, as Mr. Douglas's press agent was called, then turned her attention to the most urgent emergency measure, that of getting a fresh horoscope cast. There was a private, scrambled link from her suite in the Palace to Madame Vesant's studio; the astrologer's plump, bland features and shrewd eyes came on the screen almost at once. "Agnes? What is it, dear? I have a client with me."
"Your circuit is hushed?"
"Of course."
"Get rid of the client at once. This is an emergency."
Madame Alexandra Vesant bit her lip, but her expression did not change otherwise and her voice showed no annoyance. "Certainly. Just a moment." Her features, faded out of the screen, were replaced by the "Hold" signal. A man entered the room, stood waiting by the side of Mrs. Douglas' desk; she turned and saw that it was James Sanforth, the press agent she had sent for.
"Have you heard from Berquist?" she demanded without preamble.
"Eh? I wasn't handling that; that's McCrary's pidgin."
She brushed the irrelevancy aside. "You've got to discredit him before he talks."
"Huh? You think Berquist has sold us out?"
"Don't be naive. You should have checked with me before you used him."
"But I didn't. It was McCrary's job."
"You are supposed to know what is going on. I-" Madame Vesant's face came back on the screen. "Sit down over there," Mrs. Douglas said to Sanforth. "Wait." She turned back to the screen. "Allie dear, I want fresh horoscopes for Joseph and myself, just as quickly as you possibly can cast them."
"Very well." The astrologer hesitated. "I can be of much greater assistance to you, dear, if you will tell me something of the nature of the emergency."
Mrs. Douglas drummed on the desk. "You don't actually have to know, do you?"
"Of course not. Anyone possessing the necessary rigorous training, mathematical skill, and knowledge of the stars could calculate a horoscope, knowing nothing more than the exact hour and place of birth of the subject. You know that, dear. You could learn to do it yourself... if you weren't so terribly busy. But remember: the stars incline but they do not compel. You enjoy free will. If I am to make the extremely detailed and difficult analysis necessary to advise you in a crisis, I must know in what sector to look. Are we most concerned with the influence of Venus? Or possibly with Mars? Or will the-"
Mrs. Douglas decided. "With Mars," she interrupted. "Allie, I want you to cast a third horoscope."
"Very well. Whose?"
"Uh... Allie, can I trust you?"
Madame Vesant looked hurt. "Agnes, if you do not trust me, it would be far better for you not to consult me. There are others who can give you scientific readings. I am not the only student of the ancient knowledge. I understand that Professor von Krausemeyer is well thought of, even though he is sometimes inclined to..." She let her voice trail oft
"Please, please! Of course I trust you! I wouldn't think of letting anyone else perform a calculation for me. Now listen carefully. No one can hear from your side?"
"Of course not, dear."
"I want you to cast a horoscope for Valentine Michael Smith."
"'Valentine Mich-' The Man from Mars?"
"Yes, yes. Allie, he's been kidnapped. We've got to find him."
Some two hours later Madame Alexandra Vesant pushed herself back from her work table and sighed. She had had her secretary cancel all appointments and she really had tried; several sheets of paper, covered with diagrams and figures, and a dog-eared nautical almanac were in front of her and testified to her efforts. Alexandra Vesant differed from some other practicing astrologers in that she really did attempt to calculate the "influences" of the heavenly bodies, using a paper-backed book titled The Arcane Science of Judicial Astrology and Key to Solomon's Stone which had been given to her by her late husband, Professor Simon Magus, the well known mentalist, stage hypnotist and illusionist, and student of the secret arts.
She trusted the book as she had trusted him; there was no one who could cast a horoscope like Simon, when he was sober - half the time he had not even needed to refer to the book, he knew it so well. She knew that she would never have that degree of skill, so she always referred to the almanac and to the manual. Her calculations were sometimes a little fuzzy, for the same reason that her checkbook sometimes did not balance; Becky Vesey (as she had been known as a child) had never really mastered the multiplication tables and she was inclined to confuse sevens with nines.
Nevertheless her horoscopes were eminently satisfactory; Mrs. Douglas was not her only distinguished client.
But this time she had been a touch panicky when the wife of the Secretary General demanded that she cast a horoscope for the Man from Mars. She had felt the way she used to feel when some officious idiot from the audience committee had insisted on retying her blindfold just before the Professor was to ask her questions. But she had discovered way back then, as a mere child, that she had natural stage presence and inner talent for the right answer; she had suppressed her panic and gone on with the show.
Now she had demanded of Agnes the exact hour, date, and place of birth of the Man from Mars, being fairly sure that the data could not be supplied.
But the information had been supplied, and most precisely, after a short delay, from the log of the Envoy. By then she was no longer panicky, had simply accepted the information and promised to call back as soon as the horoscopes were ready.
But now, after two hours of painful arithmetic, although she had completed new findings for Mr. and Mrs. Douglas, she was no farther ahea
d with Smith than when she had started. The trouble was very simple - and insuperable. Smith had not been born on Earth.
Her astrological bible did not include the idea of human beings born anywhere else; its anonymous author had lived and died before even the first rocket to the Moon. She had tried very hard to find a logical way out of the dilemma, on the assumption that all the principles were included in her manual and that what she must do was to find a way to correct for the lateral displacement. But she found herself lost in a mass of unfamiliar relationships; when it came right down to it she was not even sure whether or not the signs of the Zodiac were the same when seen from Mars and what could one possibly do without the signs of the Zodiac?
She could just as easily have tried to extract a cube root, that being the hurdle that had caused her to quit school.
She got out from a bottom desk drawer a tonic she kept at hand for such difficult occasions. She took one dose quickly, measured out a second, and thought about what Simon would have done. After a while she could hear his even, steady tones: "Confidence, kiddo, confidence! Have confidence in yourself and the yokels will have confidence in you. You owe it to them."
She felt much better now and started writing out the results of the two horoscopes for the Douglases. That done, it turned out to be easy to write one for Smith, and she found, as she always did, that the words on paper proved themselves - they were all so beautifully true! She was just finishing as Agnes Douglas called again. "Allie? Haven't you finished yet?"
"Just completed," Madame Vesant answered with brisk self-confidence. "You realize, of course, that young Smith's horoscope presented an unusual and very difficult problem in the Science. Born, as he was, on another planet, every aspect and attitude had to be recalculated. The influence of the Sun is lessened; the influence of Diana is missing almost completely. Jupiter is thrown into a novel, perhaps I should say 'unique,' aspect, as I am sure you will see. This required computation of-"
A Stranger in a Strange Land Page 11