Stranger in a Strange Land

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