“Jubal! Please, Father!”
“Uh . . . yes, Mike? What is it?”
“Wake up! Fullness is not yet. Here, let me help you.”
Jubal sighed. “Okay, Mike.” He let himself be helped and led into the bath, let his head be held while he threw up, accepted a glass of water and rinsed out his mouth.
“Okay now?”
“Okay, son. Thanks.”
“Then I’ve got some things to attend to. I love you, Father. Thou art God.”
“I love you, Mike. Thou art God.” Jubal puttered around a while longer, making himself presentable, changing clothes, taking one short brandy to kill the slightly bitter taste still in his stomach, then went out to join the others.
Patty was alone in the room with the babble tank and it was switched off. She looked up. “Some lunch now, Jubal?”
“Yes, thanks.”
She came up to him. “That’s good. I’m afraid most of them simply ate and scooted. But each of them left a kiss for you. And here it is, all in one package.” She managed to deliver in full all the love placed in her proxy cemented together with her own; Jubal found that it left him feeling strong, with her serene acceptance shared, no bitterness left.
“Come out into the kitchen,” she said. “Tony’s gone so most of the rest are there—not that his growls ever really chased anybody out.” She stopped and tried to stare down the back of her neck. “Isn’t that final scene changing a little? Sort of smoky, maybe?”
Jubal solemnly agreed that he thought it was. He couldn’t see any change . . . but he was not going to argue with Patty’s idiosyncrasy. She nodded. “I expected it. I can see around me all right—except myself. I still need a double mirror to see my back clearly. Mike says my Sight will include that presently. No matter.”
In the kitchen perhaps a dozen were lounging at a table and elsewhere; Duke was at the range, stirring a small sauce pan. “Hi, Boss. I ordered a twenty-place bus. That’s the biggest that can land on our little landing flat . . . and we’ll need one almost that big, what with the diaper set and Patty’s pets. Okay?”
“Certainly. Are they all coming home?” If they ran out of bedrooms, the girls could make up doses that would do in the living room and here and there—and this crowd would probably double up anyhow. Come to think of it, he might not be allowed to sleep solo himself . . . he made up his mind not to fight it. It was friendly to have a warm body on the other side of the bed, even if your intentions weren’t active. By God, he had forgotten how friendly it was! Growing closer—
“Not everybody. Tim will pilot us, then turn in the bus and go to Texas for a while. The Skipper and Beatrix and Sven we’re going to drop off in New Jersey.”
Sam looked up from the table. “Ruth and I have got to get back to our kids. And Saul is coming with us.”
“Can’t you stop by home for a day or two first?”
“Well, maybe. I’ll talk it over with Ruth.”
“Boss,” put in Duke, “how soon can we fill the swimming pool?”
“Well, we never filled it earlier than April before—but with the new heaters I suppose we could fill it anytime.” Jubal added, “But we’ll still have some nasty weather—snow still on the ground yesterday.”
“Boss, lemme clue you. This gang can walk through snow hip deep on a tall giraffe and not notice it—and will, to swim. Besides that, there are cheaper ways of keeping that water from freezing than with those big oil heaters.”
“Jubal!”
“Yes, Ruth?”
“We’ll stop for a day or maybe more. The kids don’t miss me—and I’m not aching to take over being motherly without Patty to discipline them anyhow. Jubal, you’ve never really seen me until you’ve seen me with my hair floating around me in the water—looking like Mrs. DoAsYouWouldBeDoneBy.”
“It’s a date. Say, where is the Squarehead and the Dutchman? Beatrix has never been home—they can’t be in such a hurry.”
“I’ll tell ’em, Boss.”
“Patty, can your snakes stand a clean, warm basement for a while? Until we can do better? I don’t mean Honey Bun, she’s people. But I don’t think the cobras should have the run of the house.”
“Of course, Jubal.”
“Mmm—” Jubal looked around. “Dawn, can you take short-hand?”
“She doesn’t need it,” put in Anne, “any more than I do.”
“I should have known. Use a typewriter?”
“I will learn, if you wish it,” Dawn answered.
“Consider yourself hired—until there’s a vacancy for a high priestess somewhere. Jill, have we forgotten anybody?”
“No, Boss. Except that all those who left feel free to camp on you anytime, too. And they will.”
“I assumed that. Nest number two, when and as needed.” He went over to the range, glanced into the pan Duke was stirring. It held a small amount of broth. “Hmm . . . Mike?”
“Yup.” Duke dipped out a little in the spoon, tasted it. “Needs a little salt.”
“Yes, Mike always did need a little seasoning.” Jubal took the spoon and tasted the broth. Duke was correct; the flavor was sweet and could have used salt. “But let’s grok him as he is. Who’s left to share?”
“Just you. Tony left me here with strict instructions to stir by hand, add water as needed, and wait for you. Not to let it scorch.”
“Then grab a couple of cups. We’ll share it and grok together.”
“Right, Boss.” Two cups came sailing down and rested by the sauce pan. “This is a joke on Mike—he always swore that he would outlive me and serve me up for Thanksgiving. Or maybe the joke’s on me—because we had a bet on it and now I can’t collect.”
“You won only by default. Split it evenly.”
Duke did so. Jubal raised his cup. “Share!”
“Grow ever closer.”
Slowly they drank the broth, stretching it out, savoring it, praising and cherishing and grokking their donor. Jubal found, to his surprise, that although he was overflowing with emotion, it was a calm happiness that did not bring tears. What a quaint and gawky puppy his son had been when first he saw him . . . so eager to please, so naive in his little mistakes—and what a proud power he had become without ever losing his angelic innocence. I grok you at last, son—and would not change a line!
Patty had his lunch waiting for him; he sat down and dug in, hungry and feeling that it had been days since breakfast. Sam was saying, “I was telling Saul that I grok no need to make any change in plans. We go on as before. If you’ve got the right merchandise, the business grows, even though the founder has passed on.”
“I wasn’t disagreeing,” Saul objected. “You and Ruth will found another temple—and we’ll found others. But we’ll have to take time now to accumulate capital. This isn’t a street comer revival, nor yet something to set up in a vacant shop; it requires staging and equipment. That means money—not to mention such things as paying for a year or two on Mars for Stinky and Maryam . . . and that’s just as essential.”
“All right already! Who’s arguing? We wait for fullness . . . and go ahead.”
Jubal said suddenly, “Money’s no problem.”
“How’s that, Jubal?”
“As a lawyer I shouldn’t tell this . . . but as a water brother I do what I grok. Just a moment—Anne.”
“Yes, Boss.”
“Buy that spot. The one where they stoned Mike. Better get about a hundred-foot radius around it.”
“Boss, the spot itself is public parkway. A hundred-foot radius will cut off some public road and a piece of the hotel grounds.”
“Don’t argue.”
“I wasn’t arguing. I was giving you facts.”
“Sorry. They’ll sell. They’ll reroute that route. Hell, if their arms are twisted properly, they’ll donate the land—twisting done through Joe Douglas, I think. And have Douglas claim from the morgue whatever was left when those ghouls got through with him and we’ll bury him on that spot—say a year from
now . . . with the whole city mourning and the cops that didn’t protect him today standing at attention.” What to put over him? The Fallen Caryatid? No, Mike had been strong enough for his stone. The Little Mermaid would be better—but it wouldn’t be understood. Maybe one of Mike himself, just as he was when he said, “Look at me. I am a Son of Man.” If Duke didn’t catch a shot of it, New World did—and maybe there was a brother, or would be a brother, with the spark of Rodin in him to do it right and not fancy it up.
“We’ll bury him there,” Jubal went on, “unprotected, and let the worms and the gentle rain grok him. I grok Mike will like that. Anne, I want to talk to Joe Douglas as soon as we get home.”
“Yes, Boss. We grok with you.”
“Now about that other.” He told them about Mike’s will. “So you see, each one of you is at least a millionaire—just how much more than that I haven’t estimated lately . . . but much more, even after taxes. No strings on it at all . . . but I grok that you will spend as needed for temples and similar stuff. But there’s nothing to stop you from buying yachts if you wish. Oh, yes! Joe Douglas stays on as manager for any who care to let the capital ride, same pay as before . . . but I grok Joe won’t last long, whereupon management devolves on Ben Caxton. Ben?”
Caxton shrugged. “It can be in my name. I grok I’ll hire me a real businessman, name of Saul.”
“That wraps it then. Some waiting time but nobody will dare really fight this will; Mike rigged it. You’ll see. How soon can we get out of here? Is the tab settled?”
“Jubal,” Ben said gently, “We own this hotel.”
Not long thereafter they were in the air, with no trouble from police—the town had quieted down as fast as it had flared up. Jubal sat forward with Stinky Mahmoud and relaxed—discovered that he was not tired, not unhappy, not even fretting to get back to his sanctuary. They discussed Mahmoud’s plans to go to Mars to learn the language more deeply . . . after, Jubal was pleased to learn, completing the diction, which Mahmoud estimated at a year for his own part in checking the phonetic spellings.
Jubal said grumpily, “I suppose I shall be forced to learn the pesky stuff myself, just to understand the chatter around me.”
“As you grok, brother.”
“Well, damn it, I won’t put up with assigned lessons and regular school hours! I’ll work as suits me, just as I always have.”
Mahmoud was silent a moment. “Jubal, we used classes and schedules at the Temple because we were handling groups. But some got special attention.”
“That’s what I’m going to need.”
“Anne, for example, is much, much farther along than she ever let you know. With her total-recall memory, she learned Martian in nothing flat, hooked in rapport with Mike.”
“Well, I don’t have that sort of memory—and Mike’s not available.”
“No, but Anne is. And, stubborn as you are, nevertheless Dawn can place you in rapport with Anne—if you’ll let her. And you won’t need Dawn for the second lesson; Anne will then be able to handle it all. You’ll be thinking in Martian inside of days, by the calendar—much longer by subjective time, but who cares?” Mahmoud leered at him. “You’ll enjoy the warming-up exercises.”
Jubal bristled. “You’re a low, evil, lecherous Arab—and besides that you stole one of my best secretaries.”
“For which I am forever in your debt. But you haven’t lost her entirely; she’ll give you lessons, too. She’ll insist on it.”
“Go ’way and find another seat. I want to think.”
Somewhat later Jubal shouted, “Front!”
Dorcas came forward and sat down beside him, steno gear ready.
He glanced at her before he started to work. “Child, you look even happier than usual. Glowing.”
Dorcas said dreamily, “I’ve decided to name him ‘Dennis,’ ”
Jubal nodded. “Appropriate. Very appropriate.” Appropriate meaning even if she were mixed up about the paternity, he thought to himself. “Do you feel like working?”
“Oh, yes! I feel grand.”
“Begin. Stereoplay. Rough draft. Working title: ‘A Martian Named Smith.’ Opener: zoom in on Mars, using stock or bonestelled shots, unbroken sequence, then dissolving to miniature matched set of actual landing place of Envoy. Space ship in middle distance. Animated martians, typical, with stock as available or rephotographed. Cut to close: Interior space ship. Female patient stretched on—”
XXXIX.
THE VERDICT to be passed on the third planet around Sol was never in doubt. The Old Ones of the fourth planet were not omniscient and in their way were as provincial as humans. Grokking by their own local values, even with the aid of vastly superior logic, they were certain in time to perceive an incurable “wrongness” in the busy, restless, quarrelsome beings of the third planet, a wrongness which would require weeding, once it had been grokked and cherished and hated.
But, by the time they would slowly get around to it, it would be highly improbable approaching impossible that the Old Ones would be able to destroy this weirdly complex race. The hazard was so slight that those concerned with the third planet did not waste a split eon on it.
Certainly Foster did not. “Digby!”
His assistant looked up. “Yes, Foster.”
“I’ll be gone a few eons on a special assignment. Want you to meet your new supervisor.” Foster turned and said, “Mike, this is Archangel Digby, your assistant. He knows where every thing is around the studio and you’ll find him a very steady straw boss for anything you conceive.”
“Oh, we’ll get along,” Archangel Michael assured him, and said to Digby, “Haven’t we met before?”
Digby answered, “Not that I remember. Of course, out of so many when-wheres—” He shrugged.
“No matter. Thou art God.”
“Thou art God,” Digby responded.
Foster said, “Skip the formalities, please. I’ve left you a load of work and you don’t have all eternity to fiddle with it. Certainly ‘Thou art God’—but who isn’t?”
He left, and Mike pushed back his halo and got to work. He could see a lot of changes he wanted to make—
Books by Robert A. Heinlein
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EXPANDED UNIVERSE: MORE WORLDS OF ROBERT A. HEINLEIN
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FARNHAM’S FREEHOLD
FRIDAY
GLORY ROAD
THE GREEN HILLS OF EARTH
HAVE SPACE SUIT—WILL TRAVEL
I WILL FEAR NO EVIL
JOB: A COMEDY OF JUSTICE
THE MAN WHO SOLD THE MOON
THE MENACE FROM EARTH
METHUSELAH’S CHILDREN
THE MOON IS A HARSH MISTRESS
THE NOTEBOOKS OF LAZARUS LONG
THE NUMBER OF THE BEAST
ORPHANS OF THE SKY
THE PAST THROUGH TOMORROW: “FUTURE HISTORY” STORIES
PODKAYNE OF MARS
THE PUPPET MASTERS
RED PLANET
REVOLT IN 2100
ROCKET SHIP GALILEO
THE ROLLING STONES
SIXTH COLUMN
SPACE CADET
THE STAR BEAST
STARMAN JONES
STARSHIP TROOPERS
STRANGER IN A STRANGE LAND
THREE BY HEINLEIN
TIME ENOUGH FOR LOVE
TIME FOR THE STARS
TOMORROW THE STARS (Ed.)
TO SAIL BEYOND THE SUNSET
TRAMP ROYALE
TUNNEL IN THE SKY
THE UNPLEASANT PROFESSION OF JONATHAN HOAG
WALDO & MAGIC, INC.
THE WORLDS OF ROBERT A. HEINLEIN
Robert A. Heinlein, Strang
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(Series: # )
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