Stranger in a Strange Land

«Some people have all the luck. Look what I'm stuck with.» He switched on the Peeping Tom above his desk; Jill saw in it a water bed; floating in it was a tiny old woman.

«What's her trouble?»

«Mmm … Nurse, if she didn't have money to burn, you might call it senile dementia. As it is, she is in for rest and a check-up.»

Jill made small talk, then pretended to see a call light. She went to her desk, dug out the night log — yes, there it was:V.M. Smith, K-12 — transfer.Below that was:Rose S. Bankerson (Mrs.) — red K-12 (diet kitchen instrd by Dr. Garner-no orders — flr nt respnbl)

Why had they moved Smith at night? To avoid outsiders, probably. But where had they taken him? Ordinarily she would have called «Reception,» but Ben's opinions plus the phony broadcast had made her jumpy; she decided to wait and see what she could pick up on the grapevine.

But first Jill went to the floor's public booth and called Ben. His office told her that Mr. Caxton had left town. She was startled speechless — then pulled herself together and left word for Ben to call.

She called his home. He was not there; she recorded the same message.

Ben Caxton had wasted no time. He retained James Oliver Cavendish. While any Fair Witness would do, the prestige of Cavendish was such that a lawyer was hardly necessary — the old gentleman had testified many times before the High Court and it was said that the wills locked up in his head represented billions. Cavendish had received his training in total recall from the great Dr. Samuel Renshaw and his hypnotic instruction as a fellow of the Rhine Foundation. His fee for a day was more than Ben made in a week, but Ben expected to charge it to the Post syndicate — the best was none too good for this job.

Caxton picked up the junior Frisby of Biddle, Frisby, Frisby, Biddle, & Reed, then they called for Witness Cavendish. The spare form of Mr. Cavendish, wrapped in the white cloak of his profession, reminded Ben of the Statue of Liberty — and was almost as conspicuous. Ben had explained to Mark Frisby what he intended to try (and Frisby had pointed out that he had no rights) before they called for Cavendish; once in the Fair Witness's presence they conformed to protocol and did not discuss what he might see and hear.

The cab dropped them on Bethesda Center; they went down to the Director's Office. Ben handed in his card and asked to see the Director.

An imperious female asked if he had an appointment. Ben admitted that he had none.

«Then your chance of seeing Dr. Broemer is very slight. Will you state your business?»

«Tell him,» Caxton said loudly, so that bystanders would hear, «that Caxton of the Crow's Nest is here with a lawyer and a Fair Witness to interview Valentine Michael Smith, the Man from Mars.»

She was startled but recovered and said frostily, «I shall inform him. Will you be seated, please?»

«Thanks, I'll wait here.»

Frisby broke out a cigar, Cavendish waited with the calm patience of one who has seen all manner of good and evil, Caxton jittered. At last the snow queen announced, «Mr. Berquist will see you.»

«Berquist? Gil Berquist?»

«I believe his name is Mr. Gilbert Berquist.»

Caxton thought about it — Gil Berquist was one of Douglas's platoon of stooges, «executive assistants.» «I don't want Berquist; I want the Director.»

But Berquist was coming out, hand shoved out, greeter's grin on his face. «Benny Caxton! How are you, chum? Still peddling the same old hoke?» He glanced at the Witness.

«Same old hoke. What are you doing here, Gil?»

«If I ever manage to get out of public service I'm going to get me a column, too — phone in a thousand words of rumor and loaf the rest of the day. I envy you, Ben.»

«I said, “What are you doing here, Gil?” I want to see the Director, then see the Man from Mars. I didn't come here for your high-level brush-off.»

«Now, Ben, don't take that attitude. I'm here because Dr. Broemer has been driven frantic by the press — so the Secretary General sent me to take over the load.»

«Okay. I want to see Smith.»

«Ben, old boy, every reporter, special correspondent, feature writer, commentator, free-lance, and sob sister wants that. Polly Peepers was here twenty minutes ago.She wanted to interview him on love life among the Martians.» Berquist threw up both hands.

«I want to see Smith. Do I, or don't I?»

«Ben, let's go where we can talk over a drink. You can ask me anything.»

«I don't want to ask you anything; I want to see Smith. This is my attorney, Mark Frisby.» As was customary, Ben did not introduce the Fair Witness.

«We've met,» Berquist acknowledged. «How's your father, Mark? Sinuses giving him fits?»

«About the same.»

«This foul climate. Come along, Ben. You, too, Mark.»