Stranger in a Strange Land Read Online Free Page B

Man from Mars.”
    He looked her over. “You certainly aren’t. But you are going to help me see him—which is why I didn’t pick you up.”
    â€œHuh? Ben, you’ve been out in the sun without your hat. They’ve got a marine guard around him.”
    â€œSo they have. So We talk it over.”
    â€œI don’t see what there is to talk about.”
    â€œLater. Let’s eat.”
    â€œNow you sound rational. Would your expense account run to the New Mayflower? You are on an expense account, aren’t you?”
    Caxton frowned. “Jill, I wouldn’t risk a restaurant closer than Louisville. It would take this hack two hours to get that far. How about dinner in my apartment?”
    â€œâ€˜â€”Said the Spider to the Fly.’ Ben, I’m too tired to wrestle.”
    â€œNobody asked you to. King’s X, cross my heart and hope to die.”
    â€œI don’t like that much better. If I’m safe with you, I must be slipping. Well, all right, King’s X.”
    Caxton punched buttons; the taxi, which had been circling under a “hold” instruction, woke up and headed for the apartment hotel where Ben lived. He punched a phone number and said to Jill, “How much time do you want to get liquored up, sugar foot? I’ll tell the kitchen to have the steaks ready.”
    Jill considered it. “Ben, your mousetrap has a private kitchen.”
    â€œOf sorts. I can grill a steak.”
    â€œI’ll grill the steak. Hand me the phone.” She gave orders, stopping to make sure that Ben liked endive.
    The taxi dropped them on the roof and they went down to his flat. It was old-fashioned, its one luxury a live grass lawn in the living room. Jill stopped, slipped off her shoes, stepped barefooted into the living room and wiggled her toes among the cool green blades. She sighed. “My, that feels good. My feet have hurt ever since I entered training.”
    â€œSit down.”
    â€œNo, I want my feet to remember this tomorrow.”
    â€œSuit yourself.” He went into his pantry and mixed drinks.
    Presently she followed and became domestic. Steak was in the package lift; with it were pre-baked potatoes. She tossed the salad, handed it to the refrigerator, set up a combination to grill the steak and heat the potatoes, but did not start the cycle. “Ben, doesn’t this stove have remote control?”
    He studied the setup, flipped a switch. “Jill, what would you do if you had to cook over an open fire?”
    â€œI’d do darn well. I was a Girl Scout. How about you, smarty?”
    They went to the living room; Jill sat at his feet and they applied themselves to martinis. Opposite his chair was a stereovision tank disguised as an aquarium; he switched it on, guppies and tetras gave way to the face of the well-known winchell Augustus Greaves.
    â€œâ€”it can be stated authoritatively,” the image was saying, “that the Man from Mars is being kept under drugs to keep him from disclosing these facts. The administration would find it extremely—”
    Caxton flipped it off. “Gus old boy,” he said pleasantly, “you don’t know a durn thing more than I do.” He frowned. “Though you might be right about the government keeping him under drugs.”
    â€œNo, they aren’t,” Jill said suddenly.
    â€œEh? How’s that, little one?”
    â€œThe Man from Mars isn’t under hypnotics.” Having blurted more than she had meant to, she added, “He’s got a doctor on continuous watch, but there aren’t any orders for sedation.”
    â€œAre you sure? You aren’t one of his nurses?”
    â€œNo. Uh . . . matter of fact, there’s an order to keep women away from him and some tough marines to make sure of it.”
    Caxton nodded. “So I heard. Fact is, you don’t know whether they are drugging him or not.”
    Jill bit her lip. She would