_One can't be too cautious about the people one meets in Tangier. They're all weirdies of one kind or another. Me? Oh, _

 _I'm A Stranger Here Myself_

By MACK REYNOLDS

The Place de France is the town's hub. It marks the end of BoulevardPasteur, the main drag of the westernized part of the city, and thebeginning of Rue de la Liberté, which leads down to the Grand Socco andthe medina. In a three-minute walk from the Place de France you can gofrom an ultra-modern, California-like resort to the Baghdad of Harunal-Rashid. 

It's quite a town, Tangier. 

King-size sidewalk cafes occupy three of the strategic corners on thePlace de France. The Cafe de Paris serves the best draft beer in town, gets all the better custom, and has three shoeshine boys attached to theestablishment. You can sit of a sunny morning and read the Paris editionof the New York _Herald Tribune_ while getting your shoes done up likemirrors for thirty Moroccan francs which comes to about five cents atcurrent exchange. 

You can sit there, after the paper's read, sip your expresso and watchthe people go by. 

Tangier is possibly the most cosmopolitan city in the world. In nativecostume you'll see Berber and Rif, Arab and Blue Man, and occasionally aSenegalese from further south. In European dress you'll see Japs andChinese, Hindus and Turks, Levantines and Filipinos, North Americans andSouth Americans, and, of course, even Europeans--from both sides of theCurtain. 

In Tangier you'll find some of the world's poorest and some of therichest. The poorest will try to sell you anything from a shoeshine totheir not very lily-white bodies, and the richest will avoid your eyes, afraid _you_ might try to sell them something. 

In spite of recent changes, the town still has its unique qualities. Asa result of them the permanent population includes smugglers andblack-marketeers, fugitives from justice and international con men, espionage and counter-espionage agents, homosexuals, nymphomaniacs, alcoholics, drug addicts, displaced persons, ex-royalty, and subversivesof every flavor. Local law limits the activities of few of these. 

Like I said, it's quite a town. 

 * * * * *

I looked up from my _Herald Tribune_ and said, "Hello, Paul. Anythingnew cooking?"

He sank into the chair opposite me and looked around for the waiter. Thetables were all crowded and since mine was a face he recognized, heassumed he was welcome to intrude. It was more or less standardprocedure at the Cafe de Paris. It wasn't a place to go if you wanted tobe alone. 

Paul said, "How are you, Rupert? Haven't seen you for donkey's years. "

The waiter came along and Paul ordered a glass of beer. Paul was aneasy-going, sallow-faced little man. I vaguely remembered somebodysaying he was from Liverpool and in exports. 

"What's in the newspaper?" he said, disinterestedly. 

"Pogo and Albert are going to fight a duel, " I told him, "and Lil Abneris becoming a rock'n'roll singer. "

He grunted. 

"Oh, " I said, "the intellectual type. " I scanned the front page. "TheRusskies have put up another manned satellite. "

"They have, eh? How big?"

"Several times bigger than anything we Americans have. "

The beer came and looked good, so I ordered a glass too. 

Paul said, "What ever happened to those poxy flying saucers?"

"What flying saucers?"

A French girl went by with a poodle so finely clipped as to look asthough it'd been shaven. The girl was in the latest from Paris. Everypore in place. We both looked after her. 

"You know, what everybody was seeing a few years ago. It's too bad oneof these bloody manned satellites wasn't up then. Maybe they would'veseen one. "

"That's an idea, " I said. 

We didn't say anything else for a while and I began to wonder if I couldgo back to my paper without rubbing him the wrong way. I didn't knowPaul very well, but, for that matter, it's comparatively seldom you everget to know anybody very well in Tangier. Largely, cards are playedclose to the chest. 

 * * * * *

My beer came and a plate of tapas for us both. Tapas at the Cafe deParis are apt to be potato salad, a few anchovies, olives, and possiblysome cheese. Free lunch, they used to call it in the States. 

Just to say something, I said, "Where do you think they came from?" Andwhen he looked blank, I added, "The Flying Saucers. "

He grinned. "From Mars or Venus, or someplace. "

"Ummmm, " I said. "Too bad none of them ever crashed, or landed on theYale football field and said _Take me to your cheerleader_, orsomething. "

Paul yawned and said, "That was always the trouble with those crackpotblokes' explanations of them. If they were aliens from space, then whynot show themselves?"

I ate one of the potato chips. It'd been cooked in rancid olive oil. 

I said, "Oh, there are various answers to that one. We could probablysit around here and think of two or three that made sense. "

Paul was mildly interested. "Like what?"

"Well, hell, suppose for instance there's this big Galactic League ofcivilized planets. But it's restricted, see. You're not eligible formembership until you, well, say until you've developed space flight. Then you're invited into the club. Meanwhile, they send secret missionsdown from time to time to keep an eye on your progress. "

Paul grinned at me. "I see you read the same poxy stuff I do. "

A Moorish girl went by dressed in a neatly tailored gray jellaba, European style high-heeled shoes, and a pinkish silk veil so transparentthat you could see she wore lipstick. Very provocative, dark eyes can beover a veil. We both looked after her. 

I said, "Or, here's another one. Suppose you have a very advancedcivilization on, say, Mars. "

"Not Mars. No air, and too bloody dry to support life. "

"Don't interrupt, please, " I said with mock severity. "This is a veryold civilization and as the planet began to lose its water and air, itwithdrew underground. Uses hydroponics and so forth, husbands its waterand air. Isn't that what we'd do, in a few million years, if Earth lostits water and air?"

"I suppose so, " he said. "Anyway, what about them?"

"Well, they observe how man is going through a scientific boom, anindustrial boom, a population boom. A boom, period. Any day now he'sgoing to have practical space ships. Meanwhile, he's also got the H-Bomband the way he beats the drums on both sides of the Curtain, he's notagainst using it, if he could get away with it. "

Paul said, "I got it. So they're scared and are keeping an eye on us. That's an old one. I've read that a dozen times, dished up different. "

I shifted my shoulders. "Well, it's one possibility. "

"I got a better one. How's this. There's this alien life form that's wayahead of us. Their civilization is so old that they don't have anyrecords of when it began and how it was in the early days. They've gonebeyond things like wars and depressions and revolutions, and greed forpower or any of these things giving us a bad time here on Earth. They'reall like scholars, get it? And some of them are pretty jolly well takenby Earth, especially the way we are right now, with all the problems, get it? Things developing so fast we don't know where we're going or howwe're going to get there. "

 * * * * *

I finished my beer and clapped my hands for Mouley. "How do you mean, _where we're going_?"

"Well, take half the countries in the world today. They're trying toindustrialize, modernize, catch up with the advanced countries. Look atEgypt, and Israel, and India and China, and Yugoslavia and Brazil, andall the rest. Trying to drag themselves up to the level of the advancedcountries, and all using different methods of doing it. But look at theso-called advanced countries. Up to their bottoms in problems. Juveniledelinquents, climbing crime and suicide rates, the loony-bins full ofthe balmy, unemployed, threat of war, spending all their money onarmaments instead of things like schools. All the bloody mess of it. Why, a man from Mars would be fascinated, like. "

Mouley came shuffling up in his babouche slippers and we both orderedanother schooner of beer. 

Paul said seriously, "You know, there's only one big snag in this sortof talk. I've sorted the whole thing out before, and you always come upagainst this brick wall. Where are they, these observers, or scholars, or spies or whatever they are? Sooner or later we'd nab one of them. You know, Scotland Yard, or the F. B. I. , or Russia's secret police, orthe French Sűreté, or Interpol. This world is so deep in police, counter-espionage outfits and security agents that an alien would slipup in time, no matter how much he'd been trained. Sooner or later, he'dslip up, and they'd nab him. "

I shook my head. "Not necessarily. The first time I ever considered thispossibility, it seemed to me that such an alien would base himself inLondon or New York. Somewhere where he could use the libraries forresearch, get the daily newspapers and the magazines. Be right in thecenter of things. But now I don't think so. I think he'd be right herein Tangier. "

"Why Tangier?"

"It's the one town in the world where anything goes. Nobody gives a damnabout you or your affairs. For instance, I've known you a year or morenow, and I haven't the slightest idea of how you make your living. "

"That's right, " Paul admitted. "In this town you seldom even ask a manwhere's he's from. He can be British, a White Russian, a Basque or aSikh and nobody could care less. Where are _you_ from, Rupert?"

"California, " I told him. 

"No, you're not, " he grinned. 

I was taken aback. "What do you mean?"

"I felt your mind probe back a few minutes ago when I was talking aboutScotland Yard or the F. B. I. Possibly flushing an alien. Telepathy is asense not trained by the humanoids. If they had it, your job--andmine--would be considerably more difficult. Let's face it, in spite ofthese human bodies we're disguised in, neither of us is humanoid. Whereare you really from, Rupert?"

"Aldebaran, " I said. "How about you?"

"Deneb, " he told me, shaking. 

We had a laugh and ordered another beer. 

"What're you doing here on Earth?" I asked him. 

"Researching for one of our meat trusts. We're protein eaters. Humanoidflesh is considered quite a delicacy. How about you?"

"Scouting the place for thrill tourists. My job is to go around to thesebackward cultures and help stir up inter-tribal, or international, conflicts--all according to how advanced they are. Then our touristscome in--well shielded, of course--and get their kicks watching it. "

Paul frowned. "That sort of practice could spoil an awful lot of goodmeat. "

THE END

Transcriber's Note:

 This etext was produced from _Amazing Stories_ December 1960. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U. S. Copyright on this publication was renewed. Minor spelling and typographical errors have been corrected without note.