The next morning, the Mars mission arrived at the official residence of the Secretary-General.The unassuming ruler of Mars, Mike Smith, is not at all worried about the purpose of the trip.Along the way, he enjoyed it a lot.They rode in a rented Skyhound; Mike sat in the cockpit with Jill on one side and Dorcas on the other.The girls were chirping and pointing at things in the path, and Mike just kept looking around with wide-eyed eyes.The seat was originally used by two people, but now three people sit together, and the result is naturally growing closer.He held a girl in one hand, listening, watching, trying to get enlightened, couldn't have been happier even ten feet underwater.
This is the first time he has seen the civilization of the earth.He had seen nothing on the trip from the Victor to Bethesda Hospital; ten days earlier he had spent a few minutes in a taxi with no epiphany.Since then, his world has been confined to the house, swimming pool, garden and greenery, and he has never even gone out of Jubal's gate.
But now he is very sophisticated.He understands the windows, the bubbles around them for looking out, and what he sees is the city.A map slid out of the seat lap, and he found his position on the map with the help of the girls.It was only recently that he had discovered that humans knew maps.When he realized the human map for the first time, he couldn't help but feel a blissful nostalgia.Man's map is still and lifeless compared with the maps of his fellow man, but a map is a map.Essentially, the human map and the Martian's are one and the same.He likes them.
He could see almost two hundred miles of scenery, mostly countryside, sprawling around the capitals of the world.He savored every inch of land and tried his best to understand.He was startled by the size and noise of human cities, how different they were from the monastery-garden cities built by his brethren.In his opinion, such a human city would surely collapse in a blink of an eye.It is full of experience, even the most desolate neighborhood, only the strongest spirit elders can bear it, and can comprehend the events and emotions stacked in it in meditation.In his hometown, he himself visited several abandoned cities, and the feeling was both incredible and daunting.Later, his teachers realized that he was not strong enough and forbade him to continue participating in such activities.
He asked Jill and Dorcas some questions, and from it he had an insight into the age of the city; it was founded more than two Earth centuries ago.To him, the Earth's unit of time was meaningless, so he converted it into a Martian year and a Martian number—a perfect three plus a wait (3 to the power of 3 + 3 to the 3rd power = 108 Martian years).
How terrible and yet how beautiful!Well, these people must be preparing to abandon this city, let it think freely, and then collapse under the pressure and turn into nothingness... But, if only in terms of time, this city is still just an egg.
Mike looked forward to returning to Washington in a century or two, walking its empty streets, trying to get close to its endless pain and beauty.If he had been strong enough then, he would have devoured his epiphany until he was Washington and the city was himself.He must grow, grow, and grow before he is able to praise and cherish the great suffering of this city.He stored the thought away.
Many vehicles on the road have temporarily changed their course (Mike did not know that it was himself who caused this situation), the driver of the Greyhound turned east, and Mike saw the sea.
Jill had to tell him it was water, and Dorcas added that it was the Atlantic Ocean, showing him its outline on a map.Mike had known since he was a brood that the planet a little closer to the sun was almost entirely covered with the water of life, and lately he had discovered that these people accepted this abundance almost absent-mindedly.There is a traditional theory among the Martians (it took him a lot of effort to realize it) that water rituals do not require water; water is a symbol of essence, beautiful but not necessary.But now, he discovered the vast discrepancy between abstract theory and physical reality—the Atlantic Ocean filled him with awe, and almost immediately sent him into a state of closure.Jill had to snap out in the harshest tone, "Mike! No!" Mike cut off his emotion and stored it away.He stared at the ocean stretching to the horizon, trying to measure it until his head buzzed with threes, powers of three, and powers of powers.
They landed at the official residence of the Secretary-General.Jubal said loudly: "Remember, girls, surround him on all sides, and don't hesitate to use your high heels and elbows when you need to use your high heels and elbows. Annie, although you are wearing a notary's cloak, you can still step on it when people squeeze you." Kick it up. Right?"
"Don't worry about it, boss. No one will crowd the notary. Besides, I have pointed heels and weigh more than you."
"Okay. Duke, get Larry and the car out of here."
"Revelation, Boss. Don't be so neurotic."
"I'm as neurotic as I like. Let's go." Harshaw, Ben Caxton and the four girls and Mike got out; the Greyhound took off again.The tarmac was not packed, but it was far from empty, either.A man stepped forward and said enthusiastically, "Dr. Harshaw? I'm Tom Bradley, Senior Executive Assistant to the Secretary. You should go to the Secretary's office now, and he will meet with you before the meeting begins." you."
"No."
Bradley blinked his eyes, "I don't think you understand what I mean. This is the Secretary-General's instructions. Oh, he said that Mr. Smith can go with you, I mean Mars, it doesn't matter."
"No. We're going to the conference room and have someone lead the way. In the meantime, I have an errand for you. Miriam, that letter."
"But, Dr. Harshaw—"
"I said, 'No!' You must give this letter to Mr. Douglas immediately, and bring me his receipt." Harshaw took the envelope from Miriam, signed his name on the seal, Another thumbprint on the signature, before handing it to Bradley, "Tell him to read it right away—before the meeting starts."
"But the Secretary-General wishes—"
"The Secretary-General wants to see this letter. Young man, I am born clairvoyant. I can predict that if you delay in delivering the letter, we will not see you here tomorrow."
Bradley yelled, "Jim, you're in charge," and left with the letter.Jubal breathed a sigh of relief.The letter had taken him a lot of work; he and Anne had spent more than half of last night scratching and drafting.Jubal wanted an open deal, but he didn't want to mess with Douglas.
Someone took Bradley's orders and stepped forward.Smart, young and ambitious.Jubal saw at a glance that this must be a guy who is attracted by power and is willing to do dirty work for those in power.He smiled slightly: "Jim Sanvers, the doctor, is the chief's press secretary. From now on, I will be your shield, arranging media interviews for you. I'm sorry that the conference room is not ready yet; We moved to a bigger room at the last minute. I think we can—”
"I think we can go to that conference room, right away."
"Doctor, you don't understand. They're still wiring stuff, and the room is full of reporters, and—"
"Very well, we can also chat with them by the way."
"No, doctor. I was instructed to—"
"Boy, you can take your instructions and fold them squarely - and tuck them in your hips. We're here for one purpose only: to attend an open meeting. If the meeting isn't ready, we'll see you." Press — see you in the conference room."
"But--"
"Do you want Martian visitors to stand on such a windy roof?" Harshaw raised the door. "Is there no one here with enough brains to lead us to the conference room?"
Sanvers swallowed. "Come with me, doctor."
The conference room was chaotic, filled with journalists and technicians, but there was also a large oval table, several smaller tables, and many chairs.Everyone found Mike, and even Sanvers' protests couldn't make the crowd back half a step.Mike's Amazons escorted him to the big table; Jubal seated Dorcas and Jill on either side of him, and the notary and Miriam behind him.After that he stopped asking questions or taking photos.Mike already knew in advance that people would do many strange things, and Jubal had warned him not to act rashly (such as people or things disappearing, stopping, etc.) unless Jill asked him to do so.
Mike grimly faced the chaos; Jill took his hand, her touch reassuring him.
Jubal is eager to be photographed, as many as possible; as for asking questions, he is not afraid.After a week of exchanges, he had firmly established his belief that no random reporter could take anything out of Mike's mouth unless he was assisted by an expert.Mike is used to taking people's meaning literally, and his answers are limited to the literal meaning, so any attempt to ask him for information is doomed to be in vain.
To most questions, Mike's answer was, "I don't know." Or, "Excuse me?"
― A Reuters correspondent foreseeing that Mike's heir status will cause controversy, so he wanted to make a surprise attack and conduct a behavioral test quietly, "Mr. Smith? How much do you know about inheritance laws?"
Mike knew he hadn't yet enlightened on the concept of human property, especially the part about bequests and inheritances.So he came to a scripted book.Jubal recognized it as the first chapter of Erie on Legacy and Legacy.
Mike recited what he had read page after page, with deadly precision and no expression.In the end, the whole room was silent, and the person who asked the question swallowed.
Jubal let him recite it until every reporter knew more about dowry and widower estates, consanguinity and matriarchy, succession by line and headship than they ever wanted to know in their lifetimes.After a long time, Jubal said, "Enough, Mike."
Mike looked confused, "It's not over yet."
"Let's talk about that later. Anyone else have any other questions?"
A "Sunday London" reporter popped up and asked a question in keeping with the publication's positioning: "Mr. Smith, we understand that you like girls. Have you kissed any girls?"
"yes."
"Like it?"
"yes."
"How much do you like it?"
Mike hardly hesitated. "Kissing girls is a good thing," he explained, "better than playing bloody poker."
Their applause startled him.But he could feel that Jill and Dorcas were not afraid; they were in a good mood, and were trying not to make the noise that he could not learn.So he was no longer afraid, and waited quietly.
He was overjoyed to be rescued from yet more problems: a familiar figure entered through a side door. "My brother, Dr. Mahmed!" Mike, overwhelmed with excitement, began to babble—in Martian.
The linguist of the "Victor" waved to him with a smile, and ran towards Mike, answering in the same harsh voice.The two continued to talk in an inhuman language, Mike eagerly babbling on, Mahmed more slowly, sounding like a rhino wrestling with a tin shack.
The reporters let them talk for a while.The broadcast reporter took out the tape recorder, and the text reporter annotated the conversation between the two as the local color of Mars.At last someone interrupted them: "Dr. Mahmed! What are you talking about?"
Mahmed replied in a clear Oxford accent: "Most of the time I was saying 'slow down my dear boy please slow down.'"
"Then what did he say?"
"It's all personal privacy, meaningless to outsiders. Greetings between old friends and the like." He continued—speaking in Martian.
Mike was telling his water brother everything that had happened since they parted so they could fully empathize with each other.But Mike is pretty much Martian when it comes to judging what's worth talking about, so he's mostly talking about the new water brothers and their respective flavors... Jill is soft... Annie is deep and wide... and the weird Zhu Baal, Mike hasn't been fully enlightened yet, he's alternately an egg, sometimes a spirit elder, but neither—and the unenlightened vastness of the ocean—
Mahmed didn't have that much to say.By Martian standards, he encountered far less: a Dionysian orgy he wasn't proud of, and a long day of prostration in Washington's Suleymaniye Mosque, which turned out to be an unenlightened one, Also unwilling to discuss.There are no new water brothers.
It didn't take long before he interrupted Mike and offered Jubal his hand. "You're Dr. Harshaw. Valentine Michael thinks he's introduced me—at least by his standards."
Harshaw shook hands and looked at each other.From the expensive tweed loungewear to the trimmed gray moustache, the guy is British in his "hunt, shoot, play sports" style...with dark skin and a nose that's clearly Levantine in his genes.Counterfeit.Harshaw didn't like knockoffs, and he'd rather eat cold cornbread than the most perfect synthetic "sirloin."
But Mike considered him a friend, and he was a "friend" until there was other evidence to the contrary.
In Mahmed's view, Harshaw was a specimen of a museum Yankee: coarse in manners, inappropriately casual in his clothes, loud in his speech, mostly stupid, almost certainly a redneck.And a professional—which is even worse, because in Dr. Mahmed's view, American professionals are uneducated, narrow-minded, and skilled workers at best.He has an endless distaste for all things American.Their incredible pagan Babel, their cooking, (cooking, huh!!), their manners, their hybrid architecture and disgusting art, and their blind, arrogant beliefs: though their sun has long gone However, he still thinks he is superior to others.And their women.Especially their women: ignorant of humility, assertive and conceited, but those over-diet carcasses just made him distracted, and he couldn't help but think of the beauties in heaven.Four of them surrounded Valentine Michael at the moment, but this meeting was supposed to be a man's business - and yet Valentine Michael introduced them to him, including those who should not be in this situation. Appearing female creatures.He proudly and eagerly called them Water Brothers.In doing so, Mahmed owed them an obligation even greater than he owed to his own cousins.Mahmed understood the concept of water brothers through direct observation of the Martians. He didn't need to randomly translate it into "equivalent" or "things that are equal to the same thing are also equal to each other".He had seen the Martians back home; he knew how poor they were (by Earth standards); The absolute value of relationships.
Well, there is no other way.He'd shared the water with Valentine Michael, and now he had to prove his friends were right about him... I hope these Yankees aren't exactly upstarts.
So he smiled warmly, "Valentin Smith explained it to me—and was so proud that you all shared with him—" (Mahmed said a Martian word.)
"what?"
"The friendship of water brothers."
"I got enlightened."
Mahmed was very suspicious of this, but did not show any signs of expression, "Since I have such a relationship with him, I must ask everyone to treat me as their own family. I know your name, doctor, and guessed that this must be That's Mr. Ben Caxton - I've seen your picture in your column, Mr. Ben Caxton - now let me see if I recognize the young ladies. This must be Annie."
"That's right, but she's wearing a notary suit now."
"Yes, of course. I'll greet her later."
Harshaw introduced the others to him.Jill startled him.The girl actually greeted him with the honorific language between brothers.Although the pitch was three octaves higher than that of any Martian, the Martian's inflamed voice was exactly the same.Jill has understood a hundred words and can speak a dozen of them.This word is even more familiar to her, because she hears it and uses it several times a day.
Dr. Mahmed's eyes widened.Maybe these guys weren't just some uncircumcised savages... After all, his little friend Mike did have pretty good instincts.Immediately he gave Jill the answer that was in keeping with Water Brother etiquette, and leaned over to kiss her hand.
Jill could see that Mike was amused.There are nine ways for a water brother to respond to Mahmed's words, and she hoarsely squeezed out the shortest one.But she didn't understand what it meant.If she could find the closest corresponding meaning for this sentence in English according to human physiology, she would never say it in public, let alone a man she just met!
Mahmed understood this, he accepted its symbolic meaning, not its (never possible for a human being) literal meaning, and answered correctly.Jill was at the end of her rope; she couldn't understand what was being said, even if she had been asked to answer in English.
But she had an idea.There were jugs of water on the table, one at a distance, and a pile of glasses around them.She brought a pitcher and a tall glass, and filled the glass.Jill looked into Mahmed's eyes and said sincerely, "Water. Our nest is yours." She moistened her lips and handed the cup to Mahmed.
He answered her in Martian language, but found that the other party didn't understand, so he translated: "He who shares the water shares everything." He took a sip and was about to hand back the glass when he suddenly reacted and handed the glass to Harshaw instead.
Jubal said, "I don't speak Martian, boy, but thank you for the water. May you never be thirsty." He drank a third of it. "Ah!" The glass was in Ben's hand.
Ben Caxton gazed at Mahmed and said solemnly, "Grow closer. With the water of life we grow closer." He took a sip and handed it to Dorcas.
Although others have set an example, Dorcas still hesitates. "Dr. Mahmed, do you really understand how serious this is for Mike?"
"Yes, miss."
"Well...it's the same for us. Do you understand? Are you... enlightened?"
"I am fully enlightened...otherwise I would have refused."
"Yes. May you drink always. May our eggs share a nest." Tears rolled down her face; she had drank, and hastily handed the glass to Miriam.
Miriam whispered, "Don't cry, girl." Then she said to Mike, "We welcome our brother with water." Then she turned to Mahmed, "Nest, water, life." She drank the water, "Our brother." She handed him the cup.
Mahmed drank the water from his glass and said in Arabic: ""
"Amen," Jubal replied.
Dr. Mahmed gave him a quick look and decided it was better not to ask him if he really understood; he was afraid that he would lose control of his inner confusion and doubt.This is not the place to cast doubt.But no matter what, he felt a warmth deep in his soul, the water ritual always had that effect... though it smelt of heresy.
His thoughts were cut in half by the adjutant of protocol who rushed over. "You are Dr. Mahmed? Your place is over there, Doctor. Come with me."
Mahmed smiled. "No, here is my place. Dorcas, may I get a chair between you and Valentine Michael?"
"Of course, Doctor. I'll move you somewhere."
The aide-de-camp almost stamped his foot. "Dr. Mahmed, please! Seats are assigned, you should sit on the other side of the room! The Secretary-General is due to arrive at any moment, but the place is full of journalists and God knows who else... I can't Know what to do!"
"Then go elsewhere, kiddo," Jubal suggested.
"What? Who are you? Are you on the list?" He said, looking worriedly at the seating chart.
"Who are you?" Jubal replied, "Chief Chief? I'm Jubal Harshaw. If it's not on the list, you can tear it up. Listen, kid, if Mars If the visitor wants Dr Mahmad to sit next to him, then there is nothing to discuss."
"But he can't sit here! The seats around the conference table are reserved for people at the level of federal ministers, heads of delegation, high judges. If there are other big people coming, I don't know how to get them It's stuffed in. And Mars, of course."
"Of course," Jubal agreed.
"Besides, Dr. Mahmed is supposed to sit near the Secretary-General, behind him, so that he can translate at all times. I must point out that you are not doing us a favor."
"I'll help." Jubal snatched the paper from the other party's hand, "Mmm... let me see. The visitor from Mars is going to sit opposite the Secretary-General, who happens to be there now. Then—" Zhu Barr picked up a pencil and attacked the seating chart, "—this half, from here to here, belongs to the visitor from Mars." Jubal drew two brackets and connected them with a thick black arc , and crossed out all the names that were originally arranged on this side of the table, "This will help you do half of the work... because I will arrange the people on our side."
The officer of ceremonies was stunned speechless.He opened and closed his mouth, making only vague sounds.Jubal looked at him benignly. "Any more questions? Oh—I forgot to sign and stamp." He scribbled below his correction: W. M. Smith, J. Harshawday. "Run, boy, and give this to your officer. Tell him to look up the handbook for official visits by heads of friendly planets."
The man opened his mouth—and turned away without even stopping to close it.After a while, he walked back behind an older man step by step.The newcomer said with a nonsense attitude: "Dr. Harshaw, this is Rush, the Chief of Protocol. Do you really need half of the main table? As far as I know, your delegation is not large."
"It has nothing to do with that."
A smile spread across Rush's face, but it was fleeting. "I'm afraid it has a lot to do with that. I'm at my wit's end trying to make room. Nearly everyone at the highest level has decided to attend. If you have more people to fill - though I do hope you will Give me advance notice—I can have a table set up after the two reserved for Mr Smith and yourself."
"No."
"I'm afraid it must. I'm sorry."
"So do I—I'm sorry for you. Because, if the head table doesn't leave half for Mars, we'll leave. Tell the secretary that you're disrespectful to Martian's visitor and screwed up his meeting."
"Surely you don't mean it?"
"Didn't you understand?"
"Well... well, I thought you were joking."
"I can't be kidding, boy. Either Smith is the head of another planet, coming to pay official visits to the head of this planet - which means he's entitled to all the highest courtesy; or he's just a tourist , is not entitled to any official treatment. You can't have it both ways. Look around you, count your so-called highest ranking officials, and take a guess. If they thought Smith was just an ordinary tourist, would these people Will you be there?"
Rush said slowly, "There is no precedent for such a thing."
Jubal snorted, "I saw that the head of the Moon Ring Republic delegation is here too. Tell him your unprecedented words, and then run away quickly! - I heard that he has a bad temper. But, boy Well, I'm an old man, and I didn't rest well last night, and I don't need to teach you how to do your job. Tell Mr. Douglas we'll meet him some other time... when he's ready to receive us properly. Go. Come on, Mike." He began to rise from his chair in agony.
Rush stopped hastily, "No, no, Dr. Harshaw! We'll clear this half of the table. I'll—well, I'll figure it out. It's yours."
"That's much better." Harshaw maintained a posture ready to stand up, "but where is the flag of Mars? And the guard of honor?"
"I'm afraid I don't understand you."
"It's the first time in my life that I can get into so much trouble speaking straight English. Listen—do you see that Confederate flag behind the secretary's seat? Why not here? I mean Mars? "
Rush blinked. "I have to admit, we weren't prepared for this. I didn't know the Martians used flags."
"They don't. But you can't conjure us up the way they do in international exchanges. (I can't do it, boy, but it has nothing to do with that!) So let me show you the way A piece of paper, Miriam—well, like this." Harshaw drew a rectangle, inside which he outlined the traditional human symbol for Mars, a circle, and an arrow shooting from the center to the upper right. , "White for the base and red for the badge of Mars. Of course, it's supposed to be embroidered with silk thread, but it's temporary, just make do. Get a white sheet, pick some paint, any Boy Scout will do it. Have you ever been a Boy Scout?"
"Well, it's been a while."
"Very well, you know what it is?. Now let's talk about the guard of honor. When the Secretary-General comes in, are you going to play "Peace First?"
"Oh, it's necessary."
"Then you will definitely play the hymn to Mars afterwards."
"I don't see how that's possible. Even if there was a hymn to Mars...we don't have it. Be reasonable, Dr. Harshaw!"
"Listen, boy, I'm being reasonable. We're here for a little informal meeting, only to find out you've turned it into a circus. Well, if you want a circus, then You've got to have elephants. We know you can't play Martian music any more than a boy with a tin whistle can play a symphony. But you can play a symphony—Nine Stars Symphony. Enlightened? I am Say, you know what I mean? Cut from the beginning of the chapter on Mars; play the rest of it... at least a couple of bars until everyone knows what it is."
Rush looked thoughtful, "Yeah, I think that's all right. But, Dr. Harshaw, I'm afraid I can't guarantee anything even with this contingency. I—I don't think I have that right. "
"Or the guts," Harshaw sarcastically said, "well, we don't want a circus anyway. Tell Mr. Douglas we'll come back when he's less busy. It's a pleasure chatting with you, boy. Next time we come I'll come over to the Secretary General's office to say hello to you when you're here—if you're still around." Again he went through the whole "I'm old and weak and can't stand up easily" scene, moving slowly and seemingly in pain.
Rush yelled, "Dr. Harshaw, please don't go! Uh...the secretary won't be here until I tell my superiors that everything is ready. So, I'll go see what I can do, okay?"
Harshaw relaxed with a grunt. "Whatever you want. But now that you're here, there's one more thing. I heard a commotion just now. From what I've heard, it's a few crew members from the 'Victor' trying to come in. They're Smith's. Let them in, friend. We'll accommodate them, just to fill this side of the table." With that, Harshaw sighed and rubbed his waist.
"Okay, sir." Rush agreed stiffly and left.
Miriam whispered, "Boss, did you twist your back when you took the big top the night before?"
"Be quiet, girl, or I'll let you taste the whip." Jubal looked around in satisfaction.Senior officials were still rushing into the room.He told Douglas that he wanted "small informal talks," knowing that meeting the Martian delegation was as irresistible to those in power and for power as open flames are to moths.And now, Mike would be seen by these Earth Chiefs as a ruler (he was sure of that)—and right in front of the world.After today, let's see if they still dare to drive this child to hide everywhere!
Samvers was chasing reporters away, and the unfortunate protocol adjutant was trembling like a nervous babysitter.He was responsible for this game of grabbing seats, but he found that there were too few seats, and there were too many big people, and they kept crowding into the room.Jubal could see that Douglas had no intention of starting the meeting before eleven; besides, everyone else had been notified when it would start.The reason why Jubal came earlier on purpose was entirely for the private meeting that he refused.Well, the delay is exactly what Jubal has in mind.
The leader of the Eastern Alliance walked in.This Mr. Kong voluntarily gave up being the head of his own country's mission, so strictly speaking, his status is only a senator.But the aide-de-camp dropped everything and rushed over, seating Douglas' chief political enemy next to the seat reserved for the secretary general.Jubal was not surprised by this, which just confirmed his view that Douglas was not stupid.
Dr. Nelson, the doctor on board the "Victor", came in with the captain of the spaceship, Van Tromp, and Mike greeted them happily.Jubal was also satisfied that Mike finally had something to do instead of sitting motionless like a puppet in front of the camera.Jubal also took the opportunity to rearrange the seats.He made Mike sit directly opposite the Secretary-General, and he sat on Mike's left.In this position, he can touch Mike at any time.Mike was at a loss for human behavior, so Jubal devised a few imperceptible signals for him, with which even a horse could perform dressage—"stand up," "sit down," " Bow," "Handshake"—the only difference is that Mike isn't a horse, and he's flawless after only five minutes of training.
Mahmed came to Jubal from among the crew. "The doctor, the captain, and the doctor are also our brother's water brothers, and Valentine Michael wants another ceremony to confirm it, all of us together. I told him to wait first. Do you agree?"
"Huh? Yes, of course. Too many people here." Damn, how many water brothers does Mike have? "Perhaps you three can come with us when we leave? We can have something to eat and talk privately."
"It's an honor for me. I'm sure they both would as well."
"Very well. Dr. Mahmed, how many water brothers do our young brothers have? Will there be others?"
"No one else. At least not on the 'Victor'." Mahmed decided not to bring it up? , because he didn't want the other party to know how panicked he was when he found out that Mike's water brothers were so big just now, "I'll tell Swin and the old man.
Harshaw smiled to himself when he saw the papal ambassador enter and sit at the head table.Show that ass-headed Rasch how serious this meeting is!Someone patted Harshaw on the shoulder, "Is this the location of the visitor from Mars?"
"Yes." Harshaw said.
"I am Tom Boone, Councilor Boone. I have brought him a message from Archbishop Digby."
Jubal tuned his cerebral cortex into high gear for emergencies. "I'm Jubal Harshaw, Senator—" He signaled Mike to stand and shake hands, "—this is Mr. Smith. Mike, this is Senator Boone."
"How are you, Senator Boone?" Mike showed the perfect etiquette of the dance school, and then looked at Boone with interest.People have made him understand that although the word "senator" seems to have the same meaning as "elder spirit", the two are actually not the same thing; but despite this, he is still very interested in "senator".He thought, it seems that he has not yet realized his spirit.
"I'm fine, thank you, Mr. Smith. I won't take up too much of your time; this carnival seems to be about to begin. Mr. Smith, Archbishop Digby has sent me an invitation to you, on his own behalf. You are invited to attend the service of the New Revelation at the Archangel Foster Chapel."
"Sorry?" Jubal cut in. "Mr. Senator, you know, a lot of stuff here—everything—was unheard of for a visitor from Mars. But Mr. Smith just happened to see one of your services on the stereo-"
"That's different."
“我知道。他对贵教表现出了浓厚的兴趣，还提了不少问题——很多我都无法回答。”
布恩目光炯炯地看着他，“你不是信徒？”
“我必须承认我不是。”
“你也一起来吧。罪人总是有希望获救的。”
“谢谢你，我会的。”（我当然要来，朋友！我可不会让迈克一个人走进你们的陷阱里！）
“下个星期天。我会告诉迪格比主教的。”
“假如可能的话，下个星期天。”朱巴尔纠正道，“到时候我们没准已经进了大牢呢。”
布恩笑道：“这种可能性总是存在的，对吗？给我或者大主教捎个口信，你们就不会在里头待太久。”他四下啾了瞅，“椅子好像不大够。大人物们也得推推搡搡，我这种普普通通的参议员看来没什么希望了。”
“或许我们能有幸请你与我们坐在一起，议员，”朱巴尔圆滑地回答道，“就坐这张桌子？”
“啊？哎呀，谢谢你，先生！乐意之极。这可是头排的好座位。”
“前提是，”朱巴尔补充道，“你不介意让人看见你与火星使团有瓜葛。我们不希望让你陷入尴尬的境地。”布恩几乎没有犹豫，“一点也不！事实上，咱们私下说说，主教对这个年轻人非常、非常感兴趣。”
“很好。范特龙普船长旁边有把椅子。或许你认识他？”
“范特龙普？当然，当然，老朋友了，跟他熟得很——在招待会上见过。”布恩议员冲史密斯点点头，大摇大摆地走到船长身边坐了下来。
警卫放进来的人越来越少了。又有人为座位起了争执，朱巴尔越看越不是滋味。他终于坐不住了，实在无法眼睁睁看着这可耻的一幕继续下去。他跟迈克交待了几句。迈克或许不理解他的理由，但至少要让他知道自己打算干什么。
“朱巴尔，我没问题。”
“谢谢你，孩子。”朱巴尔起身走向围在一起的三个人：礼宾副官、乌拉圭使团团长，还有个一脸忿忿不平的人。乌拉圭人正说着：“——给他安排座位，你就得为每位国家领导人找位置——足足八十个，或许更多。这是联邦领地，哪个国家的领袖都不比另一个国家的更该享受优先权。如果不一视同仁——”
他的话被朱巴尔打断了。朱巴尔对第三个人道了声：“先生——”三个人的注意力都集中到他身上。朱巴尔径直说下去，“——火星来客指示我过来征询您的意见，您是否愿意给他这个荣幸，与他坐在一起……如果您不需要前往其他什么地方的话。”
那人吃了一惊，然后笑逐颜开，“什么？当然，我非常乐意。”
礼宾副官和乌拉圭权贵齐声抗议起来；朱巴尔转过身去，不理不睬。“咱们快走吧，先生，时间不多了。”他看见几个人走了进来，手里拿的东西好像圣诞树底座加上一面血淋淋的床单。那自然就是“火星旗”了。见他俩快步走来，迈克站起身等待着。
朱巴尔道：“阁下，允许我向您介绍瓦伦丁·迈克尔·史密斯。迈克尔，这位是美国总统。”
迈克深深地鞠了一躬。
朱巴尔安排他坐在迈克的右手边，不等他坐稳，临时拼凑的旗帜就竖了起来。音乐响起，众人纷纷起立，一个声音宣布道：“秘书长到！”。
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