never to be in a hurry - 'waiting will fill,' you say.'
'That is right.'
'And now you are violating your own prime rule. You have waited only a little while - a very short while by Martian standards, I take it - and already you want to throw in the towel. You've proved that your system can work for a small group - and I'm glad to confirm it; I've never seen such happy, healthy, cheerful people. That ought to be enough to suit you for the short time you've put in. Come back when you have a thousand times this number, all working and happy and unjealous, and we'll talk it over again. Fair enough?'
'You speak rightly, Father.'
'But I ain't through. You've been fretting that maybe the fact that you failed to hook more than ninety-nine out of a hundred was because the race couldn't get along without its present evils, had to have them for weeding out. But damn it, lad, you've been doing the weeding out - or rather, the failures have been doing it to themselves by not listening to you. Had you planned to eliminate money and property?'
'Oh, no! Inside the Nest we don't need it, but-'
'Nor does any family that's working well. Yours is just bigger. But outside you need it in dealing with other people. Sam tells me that our brothers, instead of getting unworldly, are slicker with money than ever. Is that right?'
'Oh, yes. Making money is a simple trick, once you grok.'
'You've just added a new beatitude: 'Blessed is the rich in spirit, for he shall make dough.' How do our people stack up in other fields? Better or worse than average?'
'Oh, better, of course - if it's anything worth grokking at all. You see, Jubal, it's not a faith; the discipline is simply a method of efficient functioning at any activity you try.'
'That's your whole answer, son. If what you say is true - and I'm not judging; I'm asking, you're answering - then that's all the competition you need? and a fairly one-sided race, too. If one tenth of one percent of the population is capable of getting the news, then all you have to do is show them - and in a matter of some generations all the stupid ones will die out and those with your discipline will inherit the Earth. Whenever that is - a thousand years from now, or ten thousand - will be plenty soon enough to worry about whether some new hurdle is necessary to make them jump higher. But don't go getting faint-hearted because only a handful have turned into angels overnight. Personally, I never expected any of them to manage it. I simply thought you were making a damn fool of yourself by pretending to be a preacher.'
Mike sighed and smiled. 'I was beginning to be afraid I was - worrying that I had let my brothers down.'
'I still wish you had called it 'Cosmic Halitosis' or some such. But the name doesn't matter. If you've got the truth, you can demonstrate it. Show people. Talking about it doesn't prove it.'
The Man from Mars stood up. 'You've got me all squared away, Father. I'm ready now. I grok the fullness.' He looked toward the doorway. 'Yes, Patty. I heard you. The waiting is ended.'
'Yes, Michael.'
XXXVII
JUBAL AND THE MAN FROM MARS strolled slowly into the living room with the big stereo tank. Apparently the entire Nest was gathered, watching it. It showed a dense and turbulent crowd, somewhat restrained by policemen. Mike glanced at it and looked serenely happy. 'They come. Now is the fullness.' The sense of ecstatic expectancy Jubal had felt growing ever since his arrival swelled greatly, but no one moved.
'It's a mighty big tip, sweetheart,' Jill agreed.
'And ready to turn,' added Patty.
'I'd better dress for it,' Mike commented. 'Have I got any clothes around this dump? Patty?'
'Right away, Michael.'
Jubal said, 'Son, that mob looks pretty ugly to me. Are you sure this is any time to tackle them?'
'Oh, sure,' said Mike. 'They've come to see me? so now I go down to meet them.' He paused while some clothing got out of the way of his face; he was being dressed at break-neck speed with the unnecessary help of several women - unnecessary as each garment seemed to know where to go and how to drape itself. 'This job has its obligations as well as its privileges - the star has to show up for the show? grok me? The marks expect it.'
Duke said, 'Mike knows what he's doing, Boss.'
'Well? I don't trust mobs.'
'That crowd is mostly curiosity seekers, they always are. Oh, there are some Fosterites and some others with grudges - but Mike can handle any crowd. You'll see. Right, Mike?'
'Keerect, Cannibal. Pull in a tip, then give 'em a show. Where's my hat? Can't walk in the noonday sun without a hat.' An expensive Panama with a sporty colored band glided out and settled itself on his head; he cocked it jauntily. 'There! Do I look all right?' He was dressed in his usual outer-services mufti, a smartly tailored, sharply creased, white business suit, shoes to match, snowy shirt, and luxurious dazzling scarf.
Ben said, 'All you lack is a brief case.'
'You grok I need one? Patty, do we have one?'
Jill stepped up to him. 'Ben was kidding, dear. You look just perfect.' She straightened his tie and kissed him - and Jubal felt kissed. 'Go talk to them.'
'Yup. Time to turn the tip. Anne? Duke?'
'Ready, Mike.' Anne was wearing her floor-length Fair Witness, cloak, wrapping her in dignity; Duke was just the opposite, being sloppily dressed, with a lighted cigarette dangling from his face, an old hat on the back of his head with a card marked 'PRESS' stuck in its band, and himself hung about with cameras and kit.
They headed for the door to the foyer common to the four penthouse suites. Only Jubal followed; all the others, thirty and more, stayed around the stereo tank. Mike paused at the door. There was a hall table there, with a pitcher of water and glasses, a dish of fruit and a fruit knife. 'Better not come any farther,' he advised Jubal, 'or Patty would have to escort you back through her pets.'
Mike poured himself a glass of water, drank part of it. 'Preaching is thirsty work.' He handed the glass to Anne. then took the fruit knife and sliced off a chunk of apple.
It seemed to Jubal that Mike sliced off one of his fingers? but his attention was distracted as Duke passed the glass to him. Mike's hand was not bleeding and Jubal had grown somewhat accustomed to legerdemain. He accepted the glass and took a sip, finding that his own throat was very dry.
Mike gripped his arm and smiled. 'Quit fretting. This will take only a few minutes. See you later, Father.' They went out through the guardian cobras and the door closed. Jubal went back to the room where the others were, still carrying the glass. Someone took it from him; he did not notice, as he was watching images in the big tank.
The mob seemed denser, surging about and held back by police armed only with night sticks. There were a few shouts but mostly just the unlocalized muttering of crowd.
Someone said, 'Where are they now, Patty?'
'They've just dropped down the tube. Michael is a little ahead, Duke stopped to catch Anne. They're entering the lobby. Michael has been spotted, pictures are being taken.'
The scene in the tank resolved into enormous head and shoulders of a brightly cheerful newscaster: 'This is NWNW New World Networks' mobile newshound on the spot while it's hot - your newscaster, Happy Holliday. We have just learned that the fake messiah, sometimes known as the Man from Mars, has crawled out of his hide-out in a hotel room here in beautiful St. Petersburg, the City that Has Everything to Make You Sing. Apparently Smith is about to surrender to the authorities. He crushed out of jail just yesterday, using high explosives smuggled in to him by his fanatic followers. But the tight cordon placed around this city seems to have been too much for him. We don't know yet - I repeat, we don't know yet - so stay with the chap who covers the map - and now a word from your local sponsor who has given you this keyhole peep at the latest leap-'
'Thank you, Happy Holliday and all you good people watching via NWNW! What Price Paradise? Amazingly Low! Come out and see for yourself at Elysian Fields, just opened as homesites for a restricted clientele. Land reclaimed from the warm waters of the glorious gulf and every lot guaranteed to be at least eighteen inches above mean high water and only a small down payment on a Happy - oh, oh, later, friends-phone Gulf nine-two eight two eight!'
'And thank you, Jick Morris and the developers of Elysian Fields! I think we've got something, folks! Yes, sir, I think we do-'
('They're coming out the front entrance,' Patty said quietly. 'The crowd hasn't spotted Michael yet.')
