The Man Who Fell to Earth

They turned over to Fifth Avenue at midtown, pulling up in front of Farnsworth’s old office building, which now bore, at one side of the entranceway, a brass plaque that read, in discreet raised letters: World Enterprises Corporation. Newton adjusted his dark glasses to a darker shade, to protect against the outside sunlight, and eased himself out of the limousine. He stood on the pavement, stretching, feeling the sun — mildly warm to the people around him, pleasantly hot to him — on his face.

Arthur put his head out the window and said, “Shall I wait, Mr. Newton?”

He stretched again, enjoying the sunlight, the air. He had not left his apartment for over a month. “No.” he said. “I’ll call you, Arthur. But I doubt I’ll need you before evening; you may go to a movie if you’d like.”

He walked in, through the main hallway, past the rows of elevators, and down to the special elevator at the end of the hall, where an attendant awaited him, standing stiffly, his uniform impeccable. Newton smiled to himself; he could imagine the flurry of commands that must have gone out the day before, after he had called and said he would be coming in the next morning. He hadn’t been in the offices for three months. It was seldom that he ever left his apartment. The elevator boy gave him a rehearsed and nervous, “Good morning. Mr. Newton.” He smiled at him and stepped in.

The elevator took him slowly and very smoothly up to the seventh floor, which had formerly housed Farnsworth’s law offices. Farnsworth was waiting for him when he stepped out. The lawyer was dressed like a potentate in a gray silk suit, a brilliant red jewel flashing on a fat and perfectly manicured ring finger. “You’re looking well, Mr. Newton,” he said, taking his extended hand with gentle care. Farnsworth was observant; he would have noticed, quickly enough, the wince that Newton made if he were touched roughly in any way.

“Thank you, Oliver. I’ve been feeling especially well.”

Farnsworth led him down a hallway, past offices and into a suite of rooms with the plaque, W. E. Corp. They walked by a battery of secretaries, who became respectfully silent at their approach, and into Farnsworth’s office, with O. Y. Farnsworth, President, in small brass letters on the door.

Inside, the office was furnished as before, with mixed rococo pieces dominated by the huge, grotesquely ornamented Caffieri desk. The room was, as always, filled with music — a violin piece this time. It was unpleasant to Newton’s ears; but he said nothing.

A maid brought them tea, while they chatted for a few minutes — Newton had learned to like tea, although he had to drink it lukewarm — and then they began to talk about business; their status in the courts, the arranging and rearranging of directorships, holding companies, grants and licenses and royalties, the financing of new plants, the purchase of old ones, the markets, prices, and the fluctuation of public interest in the seventy-three consumer articles they made — television antennas, transistors, photographic film, and radiation detectors — and the three hundred-odd patents they leased out, from the oil refining process to a harmless substitute for gunpowder that was used in children’s toys. Newton was well aware of Farnsworth’s amazement — even more than usual — with his own grasp of these things, and he told himself it would be wise if he made a few intentional blunders in his recollection of figures and details. Yet it was enjoyable, exciting — even though he knew the vain and cheap pride that gave the pleasure — in using his Anthean mind on these matters. It was as if one of these people — he always thought of them as “these people,” much as he had grown to like and to admire them — should find himself dealing with a group of very alert and resourceful chimpanzees. He was fond of them and, with his fundamental human vanity, unable to resist the easy pleasure of exercising his mental superiority to their dumbfounded amazement. Yet, enjoyable as this might be, he had to remember that these people were more dangerous than chimpanzees — and it had been thousands of years since any of them had seen an Anthean undisguised.