The Candle Lighter THE TRUSTEESHIP DIRECTOR fished out a pack of ciga- rettes and offered them to Jaffa Doane. "I heard your speech last night," he said. "Cigarette?" "I don't smoke," said Jaffa Doane. "It was a good speech." The Director lit his cigarette thoughtfully, flicked the match away. Doane waited with patience in his eyesan expression that seemed very much out of place on the face of Jaffa Doane. But Doane had practiced patience before the Director's "invitation" had reached him that morning. He knew it was coming; you can't tell blunt truths on a world hookup and not expect to make a stir. The Director said, "I've checked your record, Doane. It's a good one. You have consistently fought for a lot of things that I happen to believe in myself. Naturally, I think you're off base this time, but I was with you on the Kaffirs; I was with you on the Ainus; I'll be with you again. I'm sure. In fact, if you look it up in the books of your Equality League, you'll find that I sent in my two dollars dues long ago." He peered at Doane under his eyebrows and chuckled. "Don't look so surprised." "I can't help it," Doane said severely. "After what your administration has done to the Martians" "The Martians! Why, thoseNever mind." He clamped the words down in his throat. "Just what," he demanded, "have we done to them?" Doane leaned forward. "Turned them into savages! Ex- ploited them, degraded them, reduced them to barbarism. Do you want the entire catalogue, sir? / know how the Mars Trusteeship has been run! The Administrators have made themselves gods, sir, godsl Their every whim is a commandment. That's what you've done!" The Director managed a smile, though his nostrils were flaring. "I said I heard your speech," he reminded Doane. "You had some suggestions to make, didn't you?" "I did," said Doane proudly. "And among them, you suggested that we remove Ad- ministrator Kellem and replace him with someone accept- able to the Equality League." "It was. Kellem's handling of the General Mercantile incident was" "I know," the Director interrupted, and for the first time his smile relaxed. "I have here a radiogram from the Administration Comzone on Mars. Read it, Mr. Doane." Doane took it suspiciously, but as he read, he began to beam. MEDICAL CHECKUP SHOWS LOW-PRESSURE ASTHMA APPROACHING TERTIARY STAGE, INCURABLE AND DAN- GEROUS WITHOUT IMMEDIATE PERMANENT RETURN TO EARTH. REQUEST IMMEDIATE CLEARANCE FOR REPLACEMENT AND RETIREMENT. KELLEM, MARS Doane gloated, "He's retiring! Low-pressure asthma, my foot! I thought the stink from General Mercantile would drive him out!" The Director said in a level tone, "Kellem almost died last week, Doane." "All right." Doane shrugged. "It makes no difference. In any case, I demand to be consulted in choosing his successor." The Director eyed him. "You do, do you?" He pressed a button on his desk and said, "Ask Ne Mieek to come in." A sexy contralto replied, "Yes, sir." The Director looked at Doane. "Ever seen a Martian?" he asked. "You take such an interest in them, I wonder if you've ever met one. Face-to-face, I mean; the pictures don't quite do them justice. No? Well, it's about time you did." He stood up and gestured toward the door. "Jaffa Doane," he said, "meet Ne Mieek." Doane rose and turned to see who was coming in. He swallowed. "How do you do," he managed to say. A suppressed sighing sound came from the thing that dragged itself through the doorway. Doane thought it formed words in a sort of airless whisper, the sound that might be made by a man with a slashed throat. It went: "GI'd f n'w y" The vowels were almost inaudible, the consonants as though they were being forced out against a gag. It was English, all right; you could make it out if you tried. But if the thing's words were understandable, its ex- pression was not. As the Director had said, you had to meet a Martian in the flesh; photos did not give more than a hint. On the squashed, whitely translucent face was what Doane thought a grin of savage glee, while the huge dull eyes held inexpressible sorrow. Neither interpretation, Doane told himself, meant much; that was anthrophomor- phic thinking, and dangerous. But those looks took a little getting used to, all the same. "Don't try to shake hands with him, Mr. Doane," said the Director. "He hasn't any." It was true. Four supple, articulated tentacles waved around the .Martian's midsection, but there were no hands or arms. The pear-shaped body was supported on stubby little legs which had neither knee nor ankle, as far as Jaffa Doane could see. The Director was saying, "Ne Mieek is the Martian legate here in Washington and, like Kellem, the strain of an alien environment has hurt his health. He'll be going back to Mars on your ship, Doane, and you'll be working with him." "Working with him?" Doane gasped. The Director allowed himself a look of surprise. "Haven't you figured it out yet, Doane? Since we must replace Kellem anyhow, we have decided to grant the Equality League's request. We are picking a man for the post that the League is certain to approvebecause he is the president of it I mean you, Mr. Doane." "Me? Me? But I've never been on Mars!" "In eighteen days," said the Director, "you will no longer be able to make that statement. That is, unless you refuse the appointment." Jaffa Doane stood up and there was corrosive anger in his voice. "You'd like that, wouldn't you? You want me to turn it down, so you can tell the news services what a lot of hot air the president of the Equality League really is. Well, I can recognize a shoddy little political trick when I see one. You hand me a political hot potato, throw me in on a job that your fat-cats have finally messed up to the point where there are riots and investigations. If things go wrong. I'm the goat that shuts up the Equality League. If things go right, your administration gets the credit." "I take it you refuse," said the Director. "No, sir! I don't refuse! It's a cheap trickand I'll make you wish you'd never thought of it. I accept!" He looked over his shoulder at the Martian who had become, in the space of a heartbeat, one of his charges. Jaffa Doane couldn't help wincing a littlethey did look so much like ragged corpses! But he said, "Come along, Ne Mieek. We're going to your home." For more than a million members of the Equality League, Jaffa Doane was a severe and shining leader; his words were trumpet calls and his surging drive for justice was a bright flame. One or two of the members, however, took a more personal view of their president, among them a young lady whose name was Ruth-Ann Wharton. On the books, she was listed as Mr. Doane's personal secretary, but it had been several months now since she had first begun to contemplate a promotion for herself. It had occurred to her that the eighteen-day flight to Mars on the shuttle rocket might provide the time and leisure for Jaffa Doane to notice just what a pearl he had as a secretary. But it had been a disappointing voyage; Doane had kept to his stateroom most of the way. A hatful of hours out of Marsport, Ruth-Ann was banging on her boss's stateroom door. "Jaffa," she called plaintively, and not for the first time, "Ne Mieek and another Martian are waiting for you. Please hurry." Doane's low, controlled voice said, "I'll be there in a moment, Miss Wharton." She scowled at the door. "Ill give you exactly one minute." But she didn't give him that much. She ham- mered again. "Jaffa, they're waiting." Pause. Then the calm, relaxed voice. "Yes, of course. One moment." Ruth-Ann stamped her foot. "Oh, darn you!" she said and did what she had wanted to do in the first place. She turned the knob and walked in. "They've been waiting half an hour and Ne Mieek says it's very important." The room was in semi-darkness, lit only by the light from the corridor outside. From the rumpled heap of bedclothing, Jaffa Doane's voice said placidly, "I'm aware of that, Miss Wharton." Her hands found the light switch. The bedclothing erupted and Jaffa Doane sat up, leaning on an elbow, blinking at her. "What?" he croaked blearily. "Say, haven't I asked you to call me only from the outside?" "You have," she said hotly, flinging back the ray-screen on the port. The tempered glass was treated to filter out most of the glare, but the direct sunlight lit up the little room like a movie set. "Get up," she ordered. "If you're not outside and fully dressed in five minutes, I'm coming back and I'll dress you myself. Anyway, Jaffa, it looks as if it really is important. Ne Mieek is sighing and talking about your duty to your job. And the other Martianwell, it's hard to tell, every- thing considered, but he looks sick." "Sick?" Jaffa Doane yawned and scratched. "Sick how?" Ruth-Ann shook her head. "Come on out and see for yourself." Looking hazily at his face in the mirror of the tiny washroom as he shaved, Jaffa Doane decided that Ruth- Ann, after all, was right. He did have a tendency to be not difficult, exactly, not grumpy or nasty, but a little hard to wake up in the mornings. And besides, this was an important day. He was about to meet his charges. He wiped off the depilatory and stubble and stood erect, eyes burning into his own reflection in the mirror. The sound of his stateroom door made him jump. "I'm coming right out!" he yelled. In the room that had been fitted out as his office for the duration of the tripand which he had hardly set foot inNe Mieek and Ruth-Ann were waiting. With them was another Martian and, looking at him, Jaffa Doane knew what the girl had meant when she said there was something wrong. A strappin...
margozap