Stranger in a Strange Land

by Robert A. Heinlein

Meechum added, “Doc, if you ask me, that one is a case for the basket before morning.” “No one asked you. Go have a cigarette with the guards. I want to think.”

GILLIAN BOARDMAN was a competent nurse and her hobby was men.

From this introduction, one expects her to be much more promiscuous than she winds up being.

it had been spoken with force, as if it might be a last communication before withdrawal. Perhaps he had so deeply mistaken right conduct in dealing with a woman creature that it might be ready to discorporate. He did not want the woman to die at that moment, even though it was its right and possibly its obligation.

“Real steak? Not syntho?” “Guaranteed. Stick a fork in it and it will moo.” “You must be on an expense account, Ben.” “That’s irrelevant and ignoble. How about it?”

Jill nodded. “I figured that out. that’s why I discounted his odd remarks. I’m not dumb.” “No, you’re real bright, for a female.” “Would you like this martini in your hair?” “I apologize. Women are smarter than men; that is proved by our whole setup. Gimme, I’ll fill it.”

let’s start the steak. Where’s the button?” “Right here.” “Well, push it.” “Me? You offered to cook dinner.” “Ben Caxton, I will lie here and starve before I will get up to push a button six inches from your finger.”

“That ain’t half, honey. Smith is heir to the entire crew.” “Huh?” “All eight signed a ‘Gentlemen Adventurers’ contract, making them mutually heirs to each other—all of them and their issue. They did it with care, using as models contracts in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries that had stood up against every effort to break them. These were highpowered people; among them they had quite a lot. Happened to include considerable Lunar Enterprises stock, too, besides what Brant held. Smith might own a controlling interest, or at least a key bloc.”

The Secretary General has to guess right. As you know, his administration is shaky.” “I don’t pay attention to politics.” “You should. It’s barely less important than your own heart beat.” “I don’t pay attention to that, either.” “Don’t talk when I’m orating.

“But, Ben, that would be the case anyhow. This notion of a single man owning a planet . . . it’s fantastic!” “Don’t use that word to a lawyer; straining at gnats and swallowing camels is a required course in law schools.

All I require is one elderly, wealthy patient.” “Not going to marry me, Jill?” “After my future husband kicks off, yes. Or maybe I’ll be so rich I can keep you as a pet.” “How about starting tonight?” “After he kicks off.”

Remember, friends, every wise girl uses Wise Girls. Easy to carry, pleasant to take, guaranteed no-fail, and approved for sale without prescription under Public Law 1312. Why take a chance on old-fashioned, unesthetic, harmful, unsure methods? Why risk losing his love and respect?”

Sort of remarkable that this was published before birth control pills became available let alone commonplace.

The 3-D picture cut to a young woman, so sensuous, so mammalian, so seductive, as to make any male unsatisfied with local talent.

I love the description of a woman as so “mammalian.”

Smith had learned that these creatures could endure emotions dreadful to contemplate and not die. His Brother Mahmoud underwent a spiritual agony five times daily and not only did not die but had urged the agony on him as a needful thing.

The words were in his human vocabulary and Smith did as ordered, emotion shaking him. This brother wanted him to place his whole body in the water of life! No such honor had ever come to him; to the best of his knowledge no one had ever been offered such a privilege.

She could barely lift the packed bag, straining with both hands, and she could not carry it. But it was equipped with “Red Cap” casters. They cut ugly scars in Ben’s grass rug before she got it to the parquet of the entrance way.

I think suitcases with wheels were new at the time.

The Kingdom of South Africa, Federation associate, was again cited before the High Court for persecution of its white minority. The lords of fashion, gathered in Rio, decreed that hem lines would go down and navels would be covered.

Mr. and Mrs. Harrison Campbell VI had a son and heir by host-mother at Cincinnati Children’s Hospital while the happy parents were vacationing in Peru.

This was a joke in 1960 and is now a commonplace.

Anyone possessing the necessary rigorous training, mathematical skill, and knowledge of the stars could calculate a horoscope, knowing nothing but the hour and place of birth of the subject. You could learn it . . . if you weren’t so terribly busy. But remember: the stars incline but do not compel. If I am to make a detailed analysis 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—” Mrs. Douglas decided. “With Mars,” she interrupted. “Allie, I want a third horoscope.”

They were all amazingly beautiful; they were also amazingly good secretaries. In Harshaw’s opinion the principle of least action required that utility and beauty be combined.

“Doctor, no stimulants!” Harshaw turned to Jill. “Eh?” “I’m sorry, sir. I’m just a nurse . . . but this case is different. I know.” “Mmm . . . he’s my patient now, nurse. But about forty years ago I found out I wasn’t God, and ten years later I discovered I wasn’t even Aesculapius. What do you want to try?”

can do.” “Okay, Boss.” Larry hesitated. “Mind if I stay over night in Philly?” “Suit yourself. But what in God’s name can a man do at night in Philadelphia?” Harshaw turned away. “Front!”

I used to think I was serving humanity . . . and I pleasured in the thought. Then I discovered that humanity does not want to be served; on the contrary it resents any attempt to serve it. So now I do what pleases Jubal Harshaw.”

“I’ve never figured out how these girls divide up the work.” “Boss, how would you know?—you never do any.” Dorcas patted him on the stomach. “But you never miss any meals.”

Half a century earlier he had sworn a mighty oath never again to pick up a stray cat—and now, so help him, by the multiple paps of Venus Genetrix he had picked up two at once . . . no, three, if he counted Caxton. That he had broken his oath more times than there were years intervening did not trouble him; he was not hobbled by consistency. Nor did two more pensioners under his roof bother him; pinching pennies was not in him. In most of a century of gusty living he had been broke many times, had often been wealthier than he now was; he regarded both as shifts in the weather and never counted his change.

Four were big enough, as planets go, to be noticeable; the rest were pebbles, concealed in the fiery skirts of the primary or lost in black reaches of space. All, as is always the case, were infected with that oddity of distorted entropy called life; on the third and fourth planets surface temperatures cycled around the freezing point of hydrogen monoxide; in consequence they had developed life forms similar enough to permit a degree of social contact.

I wonder which are the other two inhabited ones.

a Martian artist had been composing a work of art. It could have been called a poem, a musical opus, or a philosophical treatise; it was a series of emotions arranged in tragic, logical necessity. Since it could be experienced by a human only in the sense in which a man blind from birth might have a sunset explained to him, it does not matter which category it be assigned.

This artist, however, had become so preoccupied that he forgot to come in out of the cold; when his absence was noticed his body was hardly fit to eat. He had not noticed his discorporation and had gone on composing his sequence.

“Remind me,” Jubal told her, “to write an article on the compulsive reading of news. The theme will be that most neuroses can be traced to the unhealthy habit of wallowing in the troubles of five billion strangers. Title is ‘Gossip Unlimited’—no, make that ‘Gossip Gone Wild.’ ”

This turned out to be prophetic.

He didn’t get to be the best winchell in the business through playing his cards face up.” “Ben is not a winchell! He’s a lippmann!” “Sorry, I’m colorblind in that range.

I regret that I am not clear what the distinction is between the two.

“Anne is a Fair Witness?” “Graduate, unlimited license, admitted to testify before the High Court. Sometime ask her why she gave up public practice. But don’t plan anything else that day—the wench will recite the whole truth and nothing but the truth, which takes time.

My dear, it is not a crime to be present at a miracle. Nor to work one.

“Yes, Boss.” “You’re not privileged to call me ‘Boss’; you’re not tax deductible.” “Yes, Jubal.”

Woman, here, by the grace of God and an inside straight, we have a personality untouched by the psychotic taboos of our tribe—and you want to turn him into a copy of every fourth-rate conformist in this frightened land! Why not go whole hog? Get him a briefcase.”

am sorry twice that I wasted food. Then a necessity was. Or so I grokked.” “Eh? What food?” Jill said hastily, “He’s talking about those men, Jubal. Berquist and the man with him.” “Oh, yes.” Harshaw reflected that he retained unMartian notions of food. “Mike, don’t worry about wasting that ‘food.’ I doubt if a meat inspector would have passed them.

it went straight away from us again. You saw it.” “Yes,” agreed Jubal. “ ‘Straight away from us.’ ” “But it can’t—not from both angles.” “What do you mean, ‘it can’t’? It did.” Harshaw added, “If we had used doppler-radar in place of cameras, I wonder what it would have shown?” “How should I know? I’m going to take these cameras apart.” “Don’t bother.” “But—” “Duke, the cameras are okay. What is ninety degrees from everything else?” “I’m no good at riddles.” “It’s not a riddle. I could refer you to Mr. A. Square from Flatland, but I’ll answer it.

A Martian dies when he decides to, having discussed it with friends and received consent of his ancestors’ ghosts to join them. Having decided to die, he does so, as easily as you close your eyes—no violence, no illness, not even an overdose of sleeping pills. One second he is alive and well, the next second he’s a ghost. Then his friends eat what he no longer has any use for, ‘grokking’ him, as Mike would say, and praising his virtues as they spread the mustard. The ghost attends the feast; it is a bar mitzvah or confirmation service by which the ghost attains the status of ‘Old One’—an elder statesman, as I understand it.”

Tell me—how did you feel when you took part in the symbolic cannibalism that plays so paramount a part in your church’s rituals?” Duke stared. “What the devil do you mean?” Jubal blinked solemnly back. “Were you a member? Or simply went to Sunday School?” “Huh? Why, certainly I was a member, I still am—though I don’t go much.” “I thought perhaps you weren’t entitled to receive it. Well, you know what I’m talking about if you stop to think.”

Harshaw disdained to surround himself with flappers suitable to his own rank—he answered his telephone himself if he happened to be at hand because each call offered odds that he could be rude to some stranger for daring to invade his privacy without cause—“cause” by Harshaw’s definition.

The truth was that he did not want to ask the Bear what had happened to Algy. The Bear might answer.

I don’t recognize this reference

emotionally he disliked some more than others and the Church of the New Revelation set his teeth on edge. The Fosterites’ flat-footed claim to gnosis through a direct line to Heaven, their arrogant intolerance, their football-rally and sales-convention services—these depressed him. If people must go to church, why the devil couldn’t they be dignified, like Catholics, Christian Scientists, or Quakers?

“Boss,” Anne interrupted sharply, “how do you expect anyone to cook when you’ve kept us penned up all afternoon?” “That’s the moose’s problem,” Jubal said dourly. “If Armageddon is held on these premises, I expect meals hot and on time right up to the final trump. Furthermore—”

Duke, you’ll find glasses behind ‘The Anatomy of Melancholy’ up there—”

“Son, I don’t want to know. You did what was needed—just perfect. But—” He blinked owlishly. “—don’t tell me. Don’t ever tell anybody.” “Not?” “‘Not.’ Damnedest thing I’ve seen since my uncle with two heads debated free silver and refuted himself. An explanation would spoil it.” “I do not grok?” “Nor I. So let’s have another drink.”

Anne? What’s so special about the way that lad kisses?” Anne looked dreamy, then dimpled. “You should have tried it.” “I’m too old to change. But I’m interested in everything about the boy. Is this something different?” Anne pondered it. “Yes.” “How?” “Mike gives a kiss his whole attention.” “Oh, rats! I do myself. Or did.” Anne shook her head. “No. I’ve been kissed by men who did a very good job. But they don’t give kissing their whole attention. They can’t. No matter how hard they try parts of their minds are on something else. Missing the last bus—or their chances of making the gal—or their own techniques in kissing—or maybe worry about jobs, or money, or will husband or papa or the neighbors catch on. Mike doesn’t have technique . . . but when Mike kisses you he isn’t doing anything else. You’re his whole universe . . . and the moment is eternal because he doesn’t have any plans and isn’t going anywhere. Just kissing you.” She shivered. “It’s overwhelming.”

Son, if a deputy sheriff beats a prisoner to death, it’s sweepstakes odds that the county commissioners wouldn’t have permitted it had they known. At worst they shut their eyes—afterwards—rather than upset applecarts. Assassination has never been a policy in this country.” “I’ll show you backgrounds of a number of deaths I’ve looked into.” Jubal waved it aside. “I said it wasn’t a policy. We’ve always had assassination—from prominent ones like Huey Long to men beaten to death with hardly a page-eight story. But it’s never been a policy and the reason you are alive is that it is not Joe Douglas’s policy.

So look at Douglas and ponder that, in his ignorance, stupidity, and self-seeking, he resembles his fellow Americans but is a notch or two above average. Then look at the man who will replace him if his government topples.” “There’s little difference.” “There’s always a difference! This is between ‘bad’ and ‘worse’—which is much sharper than between ‘good’ and ‘better.’ ” “Well? What do you want me to do?”

Mike has the misfortune to be heir to more wealth than Croesus dreamed of . . . plus a claim to political power under a politico-judicial precedent unparalleled in jug-headedness since Secretary Fall was convicted of receiving a bribe that Doheny was acquitted of paying.

One of my most valued friends believes in astrology; I would never offend her by telling her what I think.

is there any reason why a citizen’s franchise should be voided simply because he is dead? The precinct I was raised in had a large graveyard vote—almost Martian.

A week of talking with Mike had convinced him that no reporter could get anything out of Mike without expert help. Mike’s habit of answering literally and stopping would nullify attempts to pump him.