Clifton threw me a quick glance, then played up. He took his cigar out of his mouth, shook hands, and said quietly, Glad to see you back, Chief. He was a small man, bald-headed and middle-aged, and looked like a lawyer and a good poker player.
Anything special while I was away?
No. Just routine. I gave Penny the file.
Good. I turned to Bill Corpsman, again offered my hand.
He did not take it. Instead he put his fists on his hips, looked up at me, and whistled. Amazing! I really do believe we stand a chance of getting away with it. He looked me up and down, then said, Turn around, Smythe. Move around. I want to see you walk.
I found that I was actually feeling the annoyance that Bonforte would have felt at such uncalled-for impertinence, and, of course, it showed in my face. Dak touched Corpsman's sleeve and said quickly, Knock it off, Bill. You remember what we agreed?
Chicken tracks! Corpsman answered. This room is soundproof. I just want to make sure he is up to it. Smythe, how's your Martian? Can you spiel it?
I answered with a single squeaking polysyllabic in High Martian, a sentence meaning roughly, Proper conduct demands that one of us leave! but it means far more than that, as it is a challenge which usually ends in someone's nest being notified of a demise.
I don't think Corpsman understood it, for he grinned and answered, I've got to hand it to you, Smythe. That's good.
But Dak understood it. He took Corpsman by the arm and said, Bill, I told you to knock it off. You're in my ship and that's an order. We play it straight from here on every second.
Clifton added, Pay attention to him, Bill. You know we agreed that was the way to do it. Otherwise somebody might slip.
Corpsman glanced at him, then shrugged. All right, all right. I was just checking up after all, this was my idea. He gave me a one-sided smile and said, Howdy, Mister Bonforte. Glad to see you back.
There was a shade too much emphasis on Mister but I answered, Good to be back, Bill. Anything special I need to know before we go down?
I guess not. Press conference at Goddard City after the ceremonies. I could see him watching me to see how I would take it.
I nodded. Very well.
Dak said hastily, Say, Rog, how about that? Is it necessary? Did you authorize it?
I was going to add, Corpsman went on, turning to Clifton, before the Skipper here got the jitters, that I can take it myself and tell the boys that the Chief has dry laryngitis from the ceremonies or we can limit it to written questions submitted ahead of time and I'll get the answers written out for him while the ceremonies are going on. Seeing that he looks and sounds so good close up, I would say to risk it. How about it, Mister 'Bonforte'? Think you can swing it?
I see no problem involved in it, Bill. I was thinking that if I managed to get by the Martians without a slip I would undertake to ad-lib double talk to a bunch of human reporters as long as they wanted to listen. I had good command of Bonforte's speaking style by now and at least a rough notion of his policies and attitudes and I need not be specific.
But Clifton looked worried. Before he could speak the ship's horn brayed out, Captain is requested to come to the control room. Minus four minutes.
Dak said quickly, You all will have to settle it. I've got to put this sled in its slot I've got nobody up there but young Epstein. He dashed for the door.
Corpsman called out, Hey, Skip! I wanted to tell you He was out the door and following Dak without waiting to say good-by.
Roger Clifton closed the door Corpsman had left open, came back, and said slowly, Do you want to risk this press conference?
That is up to you. I want to do the job.
Mmm ... Then I'm inclined to risk it if we use the written-questions method. But I'll check Bill's answers myself before you have to give them.
Very well. I added, If you can find a way to let me have them ten minutes or so ahead of time, there shouldn't be any difficulty. I'm a very quick study.
He inspected me. I quite believe it Chief. All right, I'll have Penny slip the answers to you right after the ceremonies. Then you can excuse yourself to go to the men's room and just stay there until you are sure of them.
That should work.
I think so. Uh, I must say I feel considerably better now that I've seen you. Is there anything I can do for you?
I think not, Rog. Yes, there is, too. Any word about him?
Eh? Well, yes and no. He's still in Goddard City; we're sure of that. He hasn't been taken off Mars, or even out in the country. We blocked them on that, if that was their intention.
Eh? Goddard City is not a big place, is it? Not more than a hundred thousand? What's the hitch?
The hitch is that we don't dare admit that you I mean that he is missing. Once we have this adoption thing wrapped up, we can put you out of sight, then announce the kidnapping as if it had just taken place and make them take the city apart rivet by rivet. The city authorities are all Humanity Party appointees, but they will have to co-operate after the ceremony. It will be the most wholehearted co-operation you ever saw, for they will be deadly anxious to produce him before the whole Kkkahgral nest swarms over them and tears the city down around their ears.
Oh. I'm still learning about Martian psychology and customs.
Aren't we all!
Rog? Mmm ... What leads you to think that he is still alive? Wouldn't their purpose be better served and with less risk just by killing him? I was thinking queasily how simple it had turned out to be to get rid of a body, if a man was ruthless enough.
I see what you mean. But that, too, is tied up with Martian notions about propriety. (He used the Martian word.) Death is the one acceptable excuse for not carrying out an obligation. If he were simply killed, they would adopt him into the nest after his death and then the whole nest and probably every nest on Mars would set out to avenge him. They would not mind in the least if the whole human race were to die or be killed but to kill this one human being to keep him from being adopted, that's another kettle of fish entirely. Matter of obligation and propriety in some ways a Martian's response to a situation is so automatic as to remind one of instinct. It is not, of course, since they are incredibly intelligent. But they do the damnedest things. He frowned and added, Sometimes I wish I had never left Sussex.
The warning hooter broke up the discussion by forcing us to hurry to our bunks. Dak had cut it fine on purpose; the shuttle rocket from Goddard City was waiting for us when we settled into free fall. All five of us went down, which just filled the passenger couches again a matter of planning, for the Resident Commissioner had expressed the intention of coming up to meet me and had been dissuaded only by Dak's message to him that our party would require all the space.
I tried to get a better look at the Martian surface as we went down, as I had had only one glimpse of it, from the control room of the Tom Paine since I was supposed to have been there many times I could not show the normal curiosity of a tourist. I did not get much of a look; the shuttle pilot did not turn us so that we could see until he leveled off for his glide approach and I was busy then putting on my oxygen mask.
That pesky Mars-type mask almost finished us; I had never had a chance to practice with it Dak did not think of it and I had not realized it would be a problem; I had worn both space suit and aqua lung on other occasions and I thought this would be about the same. It was not. The model Bonforte favored was a mouthfree type, a Mitsubushi Sweet Winds which pressurizes directly at the nostrils a nose clamp, nostril plugs, tubes up each nostril which then run back under each ear to the supercharger on the back of your neck. I concede that it is a fine device, once you get used to it, since you can talk, eat, drink, etc., while wearing it. But I would rather have a dentist put both hands in my mouth.