cultural wealth; and grokked the supreme value that Martians placed on inter-personal relationships.
Well, there was nothing else for it — he had shared water with Valentine Michael and now he must justify his friend's faith in him… he hoped that these Yanks were not complete bounders.
So he smiled warmly. «Yes. Valentine Michael has explained to me — most proudly — that you are all in — » (Mahmoud used one word of Martian.) « — to him.»
«Eh?»
«Water brotherhood. You understand?»
«I grok it.»
Mahmoud doubted if Harshaw did, but went on smoothly, «Since I am in that relationship to him, I must ask to be considered a member of the family. I know your name, Doctor, and I have guessed that this must be Mr. Caxton — I have seen your face pictured at the head of your column, Mr. Caxton — but let me see if I have the young ladies straight. This must be Anne.»
«Yes. But she's cloaked.»
«Yes, of course. I'll pay my respects to her later.»
Harshaw introduced him to the others… and Jill startled him by addressing him with the correct honorific for a water brother, pronouncing it three octaves higher than any Martian would talk but with sore-throat purity of accent. It was one of a dozen words she could speak out of a hundred-odd that she was beginning to understand — but this one she had down pat because it was used to her and by her many times each day.
Dr. Mahmoud's eyes widened — perhaps these people were not mere uncircumcised barbarians… his young friend did have strong intuition. Instantly he offered Jill the correct honorific in response and bowed over her hand.
Jill saw that Mike was delighted; she managed to croak the shortest of nine forms by which a water brother may return the response — although she did not grok it and would not have considered suggesting (in English) the nearest human biological equivalent… certainly not to a man she had just met!
Mahmoud, who did understand it, took its symbolic meaning rather than its (humanly impossible) literal meaning, and spoke rightly in response. Jill had passed her limit; she did not understand his answer and could not reply even in English.
But she got an inspiration. At intervals around the table were water pitchers each with its clump of glasses. She got a pitcher and tumbler, filled the latter.
She looked Mahmoud in the eye, said earnestly. «Water. Our nest is yours.» She touched it to her lips and handed it to Mahmoud.
He answered in Martian, saw that she did not understand and translated, «Who shares water shares all.» He took a sip and started to return it — checked himself and offered Harshaw the glass.
Jubal said, «I can't speak Martian, son — but thanks for water. May you never be thirsty.» He drank a third of it.«
Caxton looked at Mahmoud and said soberly, «Grow closer. With water of life we grow closer.» He sipped it and passed it to Dorcas.
In spite of precedents already set Dorcas hesitated. «Dr. Mahmoud? You do know how serious this is to Mike?»
«I do, miss.»
«Well … it's just as serious to us. You understand? You … grok?»
«I grok its fullness … or I would have refused to drink.»
«All right. May you always drink deep. May our eggs share a nest.» Tears started down her cheeks; she drank and passed the glass hastily to Miriam.
Miriam whispered, «Pull yourself together, kid,» then spoke to Mike, «With water we welcome our brother,» — then added to Mahmoud, «Nest, water, life.» She drank. «Our brother.» She offered him the glass.
Mahmoud drank what was left and spoke, but in Arabic:«“
«Amen,» Jubal agreed.
Dr. Mahmoud looked quickly at him, decided not to inquire whether Harshaw had understood; this was not the place to say anything which might lead to unbottling his own troubles, his doubts. Nevertheless he felt warmed in his soul — as always — by water ritual … even though it reeked of heresy.
His thoughts were cut short by the assistant chief of protocol bustling up. «You're Dr. Mahmoud. You belong on the far side, Doctor. Follow me.»
Mahmoud smiled. «No, I belong here. Dorcas, may I pull up a chair and sit between you and Valentine Michael?»
«Certainly, Doctor. I'll scrunch over.»
The a.c. of p. was almost tapping his foot. «Dr. Mahmoud,
«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
«But he
«“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
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:«
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
