Read Online Stranger in a Strange Land by Robert A. Heinlein - Free Book Online
Authors: Robert A. Heinlein
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trembling.
The bug was still burning a hole in her pocket when she went off duty; she decided to return it to Caxton at once. She changed clothes, shifted it to her bag, and went to the roof. Once in the air and headed toward Ben's apartment she began to breathe easier. She phoned him in flight.
"Caxton speaking."
"Jill, Ben. I want to see you. Are you alone?"
He answered slowly, "I don't think it's smart, kid. Not now."
"Ben, I've got to see you. I'm on my way over."
"Well, okay, if that's how it's got to be."
"Such enthusiasm!"
"Now look, hon, it isn't that I-"
"'Bye!" She switched off calmed down and decided not to take it out on poor Ben-fact was they both were playing out of their league. At least she was-she should have stuck to nursing and left politics alone.
She felt better when she saw Ben and better yet when she kissed him and snuggled into his arms. Ben was such a dear-maybe she really should marry him. But when she tried to speak he put a hand over her mouth, then whispered close against her ear, "Don't talk. No names and nothing but trivialities. I may be wired by now."
She nodded and he led her into the living room. Without speaking she got out the wire recorder and handed it to him. His eyebrows went up when he saw that she was returning not just a spool but the whole works but he made no comment. Instead he handed her a copy of the afternoon Post.
"Seen the paper?" he said in a natural voice. "You might like to glance at it while I wash up."
"Thanks." As she took it he pointed to a column; he then left, taking with him the recorder. Jill saw that the column was Ben's own syndicated outlet.
THE CROW'S NEST by Ben Caxton
Everyone knows that jails and hospitals have one thing in common: they both can be very hard to get out of. In some ways a prisoner is less cut off than a patient; a prisoner can send for his lawyer, can demand a Fair Witness, he can invoke habeas corpus and require the jailor to show cause in Open court.
But it takes only a simple NO VISITORS sign, ordered by one of the medicine men of our peculiar tribe, to consign a hospital patient to oblivion more thoroughly than ever was the Man in the Iron Mask.
To be sure, the patient's next of kin cannot be kept out by this device -but the Man from Mars seems to have no next of kin. The crew of the ill-fated Envoy had few ties on Earth; if the Man in the Iron Mask- pardon me I mean the "Man from Mars"-has any relative who is guarding his interests, a few thousand inquisitive reporters (such as your present scrivener) have been unable to verify it.
Who speaks for the Man from Mars? Who ordered an armed guard placed around him? What is his dread disease that no one may catch a glimpse of him, nor ask him a question? I address you, Mr. Secretary General; the explanation about "physical weakness" and "gee-fatigue" won't wash; if that were the answer, a ninety-pound nurse would do as well as an armed guard.
Could this disease be financial in nature? Or (let's say it softly) is it political?
There was more, all in the same vein; Jill could see that Ben was deliberately baiting the administration, trying to force them to bring Smith out into the open. What that would accomplish she did not know, her own horizon not encompassing high politics and high finance. She felt, rather than knew, that Caxton was taking serious risk in challenging the established authorities, but she had no notion of the size of the danger, nor of what form it might take.
She thumbed through the rest of the paper.
The bug was still burning a hole in her pocket when she went off duty; she decided to return it to Caxton at once. She changed clothes, shifted it to her bag, and went to the roof. Once in the air and headed toward Ben's apartment she began to breathe easier. She phoned him in flight.
"Caxton speaking."
"Jill, Ben. I want to see you. Are you alone?"
He answered slowly, "I don't think it's smart, kid. Not now."
"Ben, I've got to see you. I'm on my way over."
"Well, okay, if that's how it's got to be."
"Such enthusiasm!"
"Now look, hon, it isn't that I-"
"'Bye!" She switched off calmed down and decided not to take it out on poor Ben-fact was they both were playing out of their league. At least she was-she should have stuck to nursing and left politics alone.
She felt better when she saw Ben and better yet when she kissed him and snuggled into his arms. Ben was such a dear-maybe she really should marry him. But when she tried to speak he put a hand over her mouth, then whispered close against her ear, "Don't talk. No names and nothing but trivialities. I may be wired by now."
She nodded and he led her into the living room. Without speaking she got out the wire recorder and handed it to him. His eyebrows went up when he saw that she was returning not just a spool but the whole works but he made no comment. Instead he handed her a copy of the afternoon Post.
"Seen the paper?" he said in a natural voice. "You might like to glance at it while I wash up."
"Thanks." As she took it he pointed to a column; he then left, taking with him the recorder. Jill saw that the column was Ben's own syndicated outlet.
THE CROW'S NEST by Ben Caxton
Everyone knows that jails and hospitals have one thing in common: they both can be very hard to get out of. In some ways a prisoner is less cut off than a patient; a prisoner can send for his lawyer, can demand a Fair Witness, he can invoke habeas corpus and require the jailor to show cause in Open court.
But it takes only a simple NO VISITORS sign, ordered by one of the medicine men of our peculiar tribe, to consign a hospital patient to oblivion more thoroughly than ever was the Man in the Iron Mask.
To be sure, the patient's next of kin cannot be kept out by this device -but the Man from Mars seems to have no next of kin. The crew of the ill-fated Envoy had few ties on Earth; if the Man in the Iron Mask- pardon me I mean the "Man from Mars"-has any relative who is guarding his interests, a few thousand inquisitive reporters (such as your present scrivener) have been unable to verify it.
Who speaks for the Man from Mars? Who ordered an armed guard placed around him? What is his dread disease that no one may catch a glimpse of him, nor ask him a question? I address you, Mr. Secretary General; the explanation about "physical weakness" and "gee-fatigue" won't wash; if that were the answer, a ninety-pound nurse would do as well as an armed guard.
Could this disease be financial in nature? Or (let's say it softly) is it political?
There was more, all in the same vein; Jill could see that Ben was deliberately baiting the administration, trying to force them to bring Smith out into the open. What that would accomplish she did not know, her own horizon not encompassing high politics and high finance. She felt, rather than knew, that Caxton was taking serious risk in challenging the established authorities, but she had no notion of the size of the danger, nor of what form it might take.
She thumbed through the rest of the paper.
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