«I know. He expressed great interest and asked many questions — many of which I could not answer.»
Boone looked keenly at him. «You're not one of the faithful?»
«I must admit I am not.»
«Come along yourself. Always hope for a sinner.»
«Thank you, I will.» (I surely will, friend! — I won't let Mike go into your trap alone!)
«Next Sunday — I'll tell Bishop Digby.»
«Next Sunday if possible,» Jubal corrected. «We might be in jail.»
Boone grinned. «There's always that, ain't th'r? Send word around to me or the Supreme Bishop and you won't stay in long.» He looked around the room. «Kind o' short on chairs. Not much chance for a plain senator with all those muckamucks elbowing each other.»
«Perhaps you would honor us by joining us, Senator,» Jubal answered smoothly, «at this table?»
«Eh? Why, thank you, sir! Don't mind if I do — ringside seat.»
«That is,» Harshaw added, «if you don't mind the implications of being seen seated with the Mars delegation. We aren't trying to crowd you into an embarrassing situation.»
Boone barely hesitated. «Not at all! Matter of fact, between you and I, the Bishop is very, very interested in this young fellow.»
«Fine. There's a chair by Captain van Tromp — probably you know him.»
«Van Tromp? Sure, sure, old friends, know him well — met him at the reception.» Senator Boone nodded at Smith, swaggered down and seated himself.
Fewer were getting past the guards. Jubal watched one argument over seating and the longer he watched the more he fidgeted. At last he could not sit still and watch this indecency go on. So he spoke with Mike, made sure that, if Mike did not understand why, at least he knew what Jubal wanted.
«Jubal, I will do.»
«Thanks, son.» Jubal got up and approached a group of three: the assistant chief of protocol, the Chief of the Uruguayan Delegation, and a man who seemed angry and baffled. The Uruguayan was saying: « — seat him, then you must find seats for all local chiefs of state — eighty or more. This is Federation soil and no chief of state has precedence over any other. If exceptions are made — »
Jubal interrupted by addressing the third man. «Sir — » He waited long enough to gain attention, plunged on. « — the Man from Mars has instructed me to ask you to do him the great honor of sitting with him… if your presence is not required elsewhere.»
The man looked startled, then smiled broadly. «Why, yes, that would be satisfactory.»
The other two, palace official and Uruguayan dignitary, started to object; Jubal turned his back. «Let's hurry, sir — we have very little time.» He had seen men coming in with what appeared to be a stand for a Christmas tree and a bloody sheet — but what was certainly the «Martian Flag.» As they hurried, Mike stood up and was waiting.
Jubal said, «Sir, permit me to present Valentine Michael Smith. Michael — the President of the United States!»
Mike bowed very low.
There was barely time to seat him on Mike's right while the improvised flag was being set up. Music sounded, everyone stood, and a voice proclaimed:
«
XX
JUBAL HAD considered having Mike remain seated while Douglas came in, but had rejected the idea; he was not trying to place Mike higher than Douglas but merely to establish that the meeting was between equals. So, when he stood up, he signalled Mike to do so. Great doors at the back of the hall opened at the first strains of «
Instantly Jubal signalled Mike to sit down, the result being that Mike and the Secretary General sat down simultaneously — with a respectful pause before anyone else did so.
Jubal held his breath. Had LaRue done it? He hadn't quite promised —
The fortissimo tocsin of the «Mars» movement filled the room — the «War God» theme that startles even an audience expecting it. With his eyes on Douglas and Douglas looking back at him, Jubal was up out of his chair like a recruit snapping to attention.
Douglas stood, not as quickly but promptly.
But Mike did not; Jubal had not signalled him. He sat, unembarrassed by the fact that everyone else got back on his feet when the Secretary General did. Mike did not understand any of it and was content to do what his water brother wanted.
Jubal had puzzled over this, after he had demanded the «Martian Anthem.» If the demand was met, what should Mike do? The answer depended on what role Mike was playing in this comedy —
The music stopped. On Jubal's signals Mike stood up, bowed quickly, and sat down, seating himself about as the Secretary General and the rest were seated. They all sat down more quickly this time, as no one missed the glaring point that Mike had remained seated through the «anthem.»
Jubal sighed with relief. He had gotten away with it. Many years earlier he had seen one of the vanishing tribe of royalty (a reigning queen) receive a parade — and he had noticed that the royal lady bowed
But the head of a democracy stands for his nation's anthem like any citizen — he is not a sovereign.
As Jubal had pointed out, one couldn't have it two ways. Either Mike was a private citizen, in which case this gymkhana should never have been held — or, by the theory inherent in the Larkin Decision, the kid was sovereign all by his lonesome.
Jubal felt tempted to offer LaRue a pinch of snuff. Well, the point had not been missed by one — the Papal Nuncio kept his face straight but his eyes were twinkling.
Douglas started to speak: «Mr. Smith, we are honored and happy to have you as our guest. We hope that you will consider Earth your home quite as much as the planet of your birth, our neighbor — our good neighbor — Mars — » He went on in rounded, pleasant periods. Mike was welcomed — but whether as a sovereign, as a tourist, or as a citizen returning home, was impossible to tell.
Jubal watched Douglas, looking for some sign that would show how Douglas had taken the letter Jubal had sent to him. But Douglas never looked at him. Presently Douglas concluded, having said nothing and said it very well.
Jubal said, «Now, Mike.»
Smith addressed the Secretary General — in Martian.
He cut it off and said gravely: «Mr. Secretary General of the Federation of Free Nations of the Planet Earth — » then went on again in Martian.
Then in English: « — we thank you for our welcome here today. We bring greetings to the peoples of Earth from the Ancient Ones of Mars — » and shifted again into Martian.
Jubal felt that «Ancient Ones» was a good touch; it carried more bulge than «Old Ones» and Mike had not objected. It had been Jill's idea to alternate a Martian version with the English one — and Jubal admitted with warm pleasure that her gimmick puffed up a formal little speech as devoid of content as a campaign promise into something as rollingly impressive as Wagnerian opera. (And as hard to figure out!)
It didn't matter to Mike. He could insert the Martian as easily as he could memorize and recite the English. If it would please his water brothers to say these sayings, it made Mike happy.
Someone touched Jubal's shoulder, shoved an envelope in his hand, and whispered, «From the Secretary General.» Jubal looked up, saw that it was Bradley, hurrying silently away. Jubal opened the envelope, glanced inside.
