Jubal looked anxiously around. “Uh, I guess that’s all I have to say, Mr. Secretary. Did you have anything more to say to us?”

“Just a moment. Mr. Smith?”

“Yes, Mr. Douglas?”

“Is this what you want? Do you want me to do what it says on this paper?

Jubal held his breath, avoided even glancing at his client. Mike had been carefully coached to expect such a question . . . but there had been no telling what form it would take, nor any way to tell in advance how Mike’s literal interpretations could trip them.

“Yes, Mr. Douglas.” Mike’s voice rang out clearly in the big room—and in a billion rooms around a planet.

“You want me to handle your business affairs?”

“Please, Mr. Douglas. It would be a goodness. I thank you.”

Douglas blinked. “Well, that’s clear enough. Doctor, I’ll reserve my answer—but you shall have it promptly.”

“Thank you, sir. For myself as well as for my client.”

Douglas started to stand up. Assemblyman Kung’s voice sharply interrupted. “One moment! How about the Larkin Decision?”

Jubal grabbed it before Douglas could speak. “Ah, yes, the Larkin Decision. I’ve heard quite a lot of nonsense talked about the Larkin Decision—but mostly from irresponsible persons. Mr. Kung, what about the Larkin Decision?”

“I’m asking you. Or your . . . client. Or the Secretary General.”

Jubal said gently, “Shall I speak, Mr. Secretary?”

“Please do.”

“Very well.” Jubal paused, slowly took out a big handkerchief and blew his nose in a prolonged blast, producing a minor chord three octaves below middle C. He then fixed Kung with his eye and said solemnly, “Mr. Assemblyman, I’ll address this to you—because I know it is unnecessary to address it to the government in the person of the Secretary. Once a long, long time ago, when I was a little boy, another little boy, equally young and foolish, and I formed a club. Just the two of us. Since we had a club, we had to have rules . . . and the first rule we passed—unanimously, I should add—was that henceforth we would always call our mothers, ‘Crosspatch.’ Silly, of course . . . but we were very young. Mr. Kung, can you deduce the outcome of that ‘rule’?”

“I won’t guess, Dr. Harshaw.”

“I tried to implement our ‘Crosspatch’ decision once. Once was enough and it saved my chum from making the same mistake. All it got me was my young bottom well warmed with a peach switch. And that was the end of the ‘Crosspatch’ decision.”

Jubal cleared his throat. “Just a moment, Mr. Kung. Knowing that someone was certain to raise this nonexistent issue I tried to explain the Larkin Decision to my client. At first he had trouble realizing that anyone could think that this legal fiction would apply to Mars. After all, Mars is inhabited, by an old and wise race—much older than yours, sir, and possibly wiser. But when he did understand it, he was amused. Just that, sir—tolerantly amused. Once—just once—I underrated my mother’s power to punish a small boy’s impudence. That lesson was cheap, a bargain. But this planet cannot afford such a lesson on a planetary scale. Before we attempt to parcel out lands which do not belong to us, it behooves us to be very sure what peach switches are hanging in the Martian kitchen.”

Kung looked blandly unconvinced. “Dr. Harshaw, if the Larkin Decision is no more than a small boy’s folly . . . why were national honors rendered to Mr. Smith?”

Jubal shrugged. “That question should be put to the government not to me. But I can tell you how I interpreted them—as elementary politeness . . . to the Ancient Ones of Mars.”

“Please?”

“Mr. Kung, those honors were no hollow echo of the Larkin Decision. In a fashion quite beyond human experience, Mr. Smith is the Planet Mars!”

Kung did not even blink. “Continue.”

“Or, rather, the entire Martian race. In Smith’s person, the Ancient Ones of Mars are visiting us. Honors rendered to him are honors rendered to them—and harm done to him is harm done to them. This is true in a very literal but utterly unhuman sense. It was wise and prudent for us to render honors to our neighbors today—but the wisdom in it has nothing to do with the Larkin Decision. No responsible person has argued that the Larkin precedent applies to an inhabited planet—I venture to say that no one ever will.” Jubal paused and looked up, as if asking Heaven for help. “But, Mr. Kung, be assured that the ancient rulers of Mars do not fail to notice how we treat their ambassador. The honors rendered to them through him were a gracious symbol. I am certain that the government of this planet showed wisdom thereby. In time, you will learn that it was a most prudent act as well.”