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Read Ebook: Martyr by Nourse Alan Edward
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Ebook has 370 lines and 22952 words, and 8 pages
"But you have pain," said Dr. Moss.
"So? A little twinge, now and then."
"Whenever you lose your temper. Whenever anything upsets you."
"All right--a twinge."
"Which makes you sit down for ten or fifteen minutes. Which doesn't go away with one nitro-tablet any more, so you have to take two, and sometimes three--right?"
Dan Fowler blinked. "All right, sometimes it gets a little bad--"
"And it used to be only once or twice a month, but now it's almost every day. And once or twice you've blacked clean out for a while, and made your staff work like demons to cover for you and keep it off the teevies, right?"
"Say, who's been talking to you?"
"Jean has been talking to me."
"Oh, yes. The Hearings. Why not turn it over to your staff? They know what's going on."
"Nonsense. They know, but not like I know. After the Hearings, fine--I'll come along like a lamb. But now--"
Fowler champed his cigar and scowled. "After it was done I'd have to Free-Agent for a year, wouldn't I?" It was an accusation.
The young doctor looked at the old man shrewdly. Dan Fowler was 56 years old--and he looked forty. It seemed incredible even to Moss that the man could have done what he had done, and look almost as young and fighting-mad now as he had when he started. Clever old goat, too--but Dan Fowler's last remark opened the hidden door wide. Moss smiled to himself. "You're afraid of it, aren't you, Senator?"
"Of rejuvenation? Nonsense."
The doctor shrugged. As he talked, Dan Fowler sat silent, chewing his cigar furiously. But listening--he was listening, all right. "Well, it was crude, then," Moss said. "It's not so crude any more." He pointed to a large bronze plaque hanging on the office wall. "You've seen that before. Read it."
Below it were the names:
Martin Aronson, Ph. D. Education
Thomas Bevalaqua Literature and Art
Chauncy Devlin Music
Frederick A. Kehler, M. S. Engineering
William B. Morse, L. L. D. Law
Rev. Hugh H. F. Norton Philosophy and Theology
Jacob Prowsnitz, Ph. D. History
Arthur L. Rodgers, M. D. Medicine
Carlotta Sokol, Ph. D. Sociopsychology
Harvey Tatum Business
"I know," said Dan Fowler. "June 1st, 2005. They were volunteers."
"Fine," said Dan Fowler. "I still can't do it now."
"That was just ten people," Moss cut in. "It took five years to get ready for them. But now we can do five hundred a year--only five hundred select individuals, to live on instead of dying. And you've got the gall to sit there and tell me you don't have the time for it!"
Dr. Moss spread his hands. "The Criterion Committee does the choosing."
There was silence in the room for a moment. Then Moss spread his hands. "The hearings are that critical, eh?"
"I'm afraid so."
"They'd fumble it. They'd foul it up. Senator Libby fouled it up once already, a long time ago. Rinehart's lived for a hundred and nineteen years, and he's learning new tricks every year. I've only lived fifty-six of them, but I know his tricks. I can beat him."
"Somebody's got to do it. My card is on top."
A 'phone buzzer chirped. "Yes, he's here." Dr. Moss handed Dan the receiver. A moment later the Senator was grinning like a cat struggling into his overcoat and scarf. "Sorry, Doc--I know what you tell me is true, and I'm no fool. If I have to stop, I'll stop."
"Tomorrow, then."
"Not tomorrow. One of my lads is back from the Mars Colony. Tomorrow we pow-wow--but hard. After the hearings, Doc. And meanwhile, keep your eye on the teevies. I'll be seeing you."
The door clicked shut with a note of finality, and Dr. David Moss stared at it gloomily. "I hope so," he said. But nobody in particular heard him.
Carl scowled. "I thought it was all set for February 15th."
Carl Golden shook his head. "I don't like it, Dan."
"What, the switch in dates?"
"The switch. I wish you hadn't done that."
"But why? Look, son, I know that with Ken Armstrong dead our whole approach has to be changed--it's going to be trickier, but it might even work out better. The Senate knows what's been going on between Rinehart and me, and so does the President. They know elections are due next June. They know I want a seat on his Criterion Committee before elections, and they know that to get on it I'll do my damnedest to unseat him. They know I've shaken him up, that he's scared of me. Okay, fine. With Armstrong there to tell how he was chosen for Retread back in '87, we'd have had Rinehart running for his life...."
"But you don't," Carl cut in flatly, "and that's that."
Carl was shaking his head sadly.
"Well, what's wrong?"
"You aren't going to like this, Dan. Rinehart's clean. Armstrong comitted suicide."
Fowler's mouth fell open, and he sat back hard. "Oh, no."
"Sorry."
"Ken Armstrong? Suicided?" He shook his head helplessly, groping for words. "I--I--oh, Jesus. I don't believe it. If Ken Armstrong suicided, I'm the Scarlet Whore of Babylon."
"There's no chance that you're wrong," said the old man.
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