Stranger in a Strange Land

The a.c. of p. was almost tapping his foot. «Dr. Mahmoud,please! The chart places you on the other side of the room! The Secretary General will be here any moment — and the place is still simply swarming with reporters and goodness knows who else… and I don't know what I'm going to do!»

«Then do it someplace else, bub,» Jubal suggested.

«What? Who are you? Are you on the list?» He worriedly consulted a seating chart.

«Who are you?» Jubal answered. «The head waiter? I'm Jubal Harshaw. If my name is not on that list, you can tear it up. Look, buster, if the Man from Mars wants Dr. Mahmoud by him, that settles it.»

«But he can't sit here! Seats at the conference table are reserved for High Ministers, Chiefs of Delegations, High Court Justices, and equal ranks — and I don't know how I can squeeze them in if any more show up — and the Man from Mars, of course.»

«“Of course,” » Jubal agreed.

«And of course Dr. Mahmoud has to be near the Secretary General — just back of him, so that he'll be ready to interpret. I must say you're not being helpful.»

«I'll help.» Jubal plucked the paper out of the official's hand. «Mmm … lemme see now. The Man from Mars will sit opposite the Secretary General, near where he happens to be. Then — » Jubal took a pencil and attacked the chart. « — this half, from here to here, belongs to the Man from Mars.» Jubal scratched cross marks and joined them with a thick black arc, then began scratching out names assigned to that side of the table. «That takes care of half of your work … because I'll seat anybody on our side.»

The protocol officer was too shocked to talk. His mouth worked but only noises came out. Jubal looked at him mildly. «Something the matter? Oh — I forgot to make it official.» He scrawled under his amendments:«J. Harshaw for V. M. Smith.» «Trot back to your top sergeant, son, and show him that. Tell him to check his rule book on official visits from heads of friendly planets.»

The man opened his mouth — left without stopping to close it. He returned on the heels of an older man. The newcomer said in a no-nonsense manner, «Dr. Harshaw, I'm LaRue, Chief of Protocol. Do you actually need half the main table? I understood that your delegation was quite small.»

«That's beside the point.»

LaRue smiled briefly. «I'm afraid it's not beside the point. I'm at my wit's end for space. Almost every official of first rank has elected to be present. If you are expecting more people — though I do wish you had notified me — I'll have a table placed behind these two seats reserved for Mr. Smith and yourself.»

«No.»

«I'm afraid that's the way it must be. I'm sorry.»

«So am I — for you. Because if half the main table is not reserved for Mars, we are leaving. Tell the Secretary General you busted up his conference by being rude to the Man from Mars.»

«Surely you don't mean that?»

«Didn't you get my message?»

«Uh … well, I took it as a jest.»

«I can't afford to joke, son. Smith is either top man from another planet paying an official visit to the top man of this planet — in which case he is entitled to all the side boys and dancing girls you can dig up — or he is just a tourist and gets no official courtesies of any sort. You can't have it both ways. Look around you, count the “officials of first rank” as you call them, and guess whether they would be here if, in their minds, Smith is just a tourist.»

LaRue said slowly, «There's no precedent.»

Jubal snorted. «I saw the Chief of Delegation from the Lunar Republic come in — go tell him there's no precedent. Then duck! — I hear he's got a quick temper. But, son, I'm an old man and I had a short night and it's none of my business to teach you your job. Tell Mr. Douglas that we'll see him another day… when he's ready to receive us properly. Come on, Mike.» He started to pry himself painfully out of his chair.

LaRue said hastily, «No, no, Dr. Harshaw! We'll clear this side of the table. I'll — Well, I'll do something. It's yours.»

«That's better.» Harshaw remained poised to get up. «But where's the Flag of Mars? And how about honors?»

«I'm afraid I don't understand.»

«Never seen a day when I had so much trouble with plain English. Look — See that Federation Banner back of where the Secretary is going to sit? Where's the one over here, for Mars?»

LaRue blinked. «I must admit you've taken me by surprise. I didn't know the Martians used flags.»

«They don't. But you couldn't possibly whop up what they use for high state occasions.» (Nor could I, boy, but that's beside the point!) «So we'll let you off easy and take an attempt for the deed. Piece of paper, Miriam — now, like this.» Harshaw drew a rectangle, sketched in it the traditional human symbol for Mars, a circle with an arrow leading out to upper right. «Make the field in white and the sigil of Mars in red — should be sewed in silk of course, but with a sheet and some paint any Boy Scout could improvise one. Were you a Scout?»

«Uh, some time ago.»