“Well, if he really believes it, I don’t like it. There’s too much of what he said that rings a bell somewhere.”
Dan clanked the cup down and swore. “He’s demented, that’s what he is! He’s waited too long for his Retread, and his brain’s starting to go. If his idea were true, why did he wait so long to tell somebody about it?”
“Maybe he wanted to see you hang yourself.”
“But I can only hang myself on facts, not on the paranoid delusions of a sick old man. No, Paul is wrong—he’s got to be wrong.” Dan broke off, staring across at Carl. “Look, boy, if he isn’t wrong, then we’re whipped, that’s all. And I’ve spent thirty years of my life perpetrating some kind of hideous fraud on the people of this country.”
“But you can’t blame yourself if you didn’t know,” Jean Fowler protested.
“That’s what you think, kiddie. I’m not a meek, harmless little mouse like Dwight MacKenzie. I’ve got the loudest mouth in the Senate. I scream and shout and knock heads together and get things done, and when a man does it that way it’s his job to know what he’s doing. Well, now I don’t know. I think Paul’s wrong, but do you think I’d care to walk into the Hoffman Center for a Retread right now without being sure? Not on your life. Any more than I could walk into those Hearings next week. We’ve got to stop everything and find out right now and for certain, whether Paul’s wrong or not.”
He dragged a sheaf of yellow paper out of his pocket and spread it on the table. “I worked out a plan on the way back. We’ve got a tough job on our hands, more than we can possibly handle before next week. So number one job is to shift the Hearings back again. I’ll take care of that as soon as I can get MacKenzie on the wire.”
“What are you giving him for a reason?” Jean wanted to know.
“Anything but the truth. Doesn’t matter. MacKenzie is convinced I’m going to win at the Hearings, and he wants to be on the right side of the toast when it’s buttered. He’ll shove the date back to February 15. Okay, next we need a crew—a crowd of people who can do fast, accurate, hard work and not squeal if they don’t sleep for a month or so. Bob Sandborn is in Washington, he can handle statistics for us. Jack Torrelli has good contacts with the insurance people. In addition, we need a couple of good sharp detectives. Any ideas, Jean?”
“A couple. I’ll need time to reach them, though.”
“How much time?”
“A day or two.”
“Then get on it. We’ll have lots for them to do by tomorrow.” The Senator turned back to Carl. “I want you to hit Starship Project first.”
Carl shook his head. “Not me, there’s a better man for the job. Saw him last night, and he’s dying for something to do. Terry Fisher. He’ll know how to dig out what we want. He was doing it on Mars for five years.”
Dan frowned. “He was also on the bottle, Carl. We can’t take a risk like that.”
“There won’t be any risk. Terry drank to get away from what he found on Mars, that’s all. He’s not drinking now.”
“Well, if you say so. I’ll want to see the Starship setup, too, but I want it ready for a quick scan. Get hold of Fisher this morning and get him clearance papers for Nevada. You’d better tackle the ad men yourself then, while Torrelli hits Metro Insurance. Don’t waste time with underlings, go to the top and wave my name around like a flag. They won’t like it a bit, but they know I’ve got a string on Kornwall in Communications. We’ll have his scalp if they don’t play ball with us. All you have to do is make sure that they believe it.”
“What’s on Kornwall?”
“Kornwall has been fronting for ‘Moses’ Tyndall for years. That’s why Tyndall never bothered me too much, because I could have gotten him through Kornwall any time I wanted to. And the ad-men and Metro have everything they own sunk into Tyndall’s political plans.”
“I see,” Carl said, but his frown lingered. “If you’re sure.”
“Of course I’m sure. Don’t worry about it, lad. It’s okay.”
“I just hope you’re not underestimating John Tyndall.”
“Why?”
“I used to work for him, remember? And he doesn’t like you. He knows in the long run it’s going to be you or he, one or the other, who ride this rejuvenation issue right into the White House. Well, what happens if ‘Moses’ gets wind of this mess? Say that he finds out what your brother told you, or even finds out that you’re worried about something?”
Dan chewed his lip. “He could be a pain, all right.”
“He sure could. More than just a pain, and Kornwall wouldn’t be much help, either, if the news got out.”
“Well, it’s a risk we have to take, that’s all. We’ll have to be fast and quiet.” Dan Fowler pushed his coffee cup aside and jumped for the phone booth when the blinker began flashing. “This will get us started, at least. Jean, you keep somebody on the switchboard, and keep track of us all. When I get through with MacKenzie, I may be out of touch for a day or so. You’ll have to be my ears, and cover for me.” And to the phone: “Yes, yes. I was calling Dwight MacKenzie—” Pause. “Hello, Dwight? —What? Well, balls of fire! Where is he? Timagami—Ontario? An island!” He covered the speaker and looked at Carl. “He’s gone moosehunting.” Then: “Okay, so there isn’t any phone. Get me Eastern Sea-Jet Charter Service instead.”
Twenty minutes later Dan Fowler was in the air again, flying north into an evil-looking winter sky.
A long series of gray, flickering pictures, then, for Dan Fowler. A fast sandwich eaten on the plane as the Capitol’s pale sun was swallowed up. A gray sky, then almost black, temperature dropping, a gray drizzling rain. Cold. Wind bouncing the gray shape of the little ski-plane around like a stick in a stream. Gray news from the pilot: “Eight feet of snow up there, according to reports. Lake’s frozen three feet thick. Going to a rough ride, Senator.” A gray memory of Jean’s quick kiss before he climbed aboard, the sharp worry in her eyes—“Got your pills, Dad? Try to sleep. Take it easy. Give me a call about anything—” (Tough thing to do without any phones, but why tell her that? She’s already scared enough. Confounded heart, anyway.) A wobbly takeoff that almost dumped his stomach into his lap and sent the briefcase flying across the cabin. Then rain, and gray-black nothing out there as they headed north. Faster, man, can’t you get this crate to move a little? Sorry, Senator, nasty currents up here. Maybe if we go higher—
Time! Paul had said it was more precious than life, and now time ran screaming by in great deadly seeps, like a black-winged buzzard. And through it all, weariness, tiredness that Dan had never felt before. Not the weariness of years, nor of hard work, just a gray, heartsick, sense that time at last was running out on him. He should have rejuvenated months ago, then at least he’d have time. But now—what if Paul were right?
No rejuvenation for Dan Fowler now, of course. Not until Paul is proven wrong, a thousand times wrong. That was it, that was the real weariness that wasn’t time-weariness or body-weariness. Just mind-weariness. Weariness at the thought of wasted work, the wasted years—a wasted life. Unless Paul were proven wrong.
Angry at his grayness, Dan snapped on the little TV, searched for diversion. Wonderful pickup these days. News of the world brought to you by Atomics International, the fuel that will power the Starship. . the President returned to Washington today after three-week vacation conference in Calcutta with Chinese and Indian dignitaries. . full accord and a cordial ending to the meeting. . American medical supplies to be made available. . and on the home front, appropriations renewed for Antarctica Project. . solar energy in every home within a decade, according to Project Director Roderigo Aviado. . Special bulletin: huge Abolitionist rally last night in New Chicago as John “Moses” Tyndall returned to that city for the fifteenth anniversary of the movement he started there back in 2119. . cut to scene of wild, placard-waving crowd and a huge banner proclaiming DOWN WITH REJUVENATION THE DEVILS WORK . . . then back to Tyndall’s hawk face and strident voice lashing out at Senator Daniel Fowler’s universal rejuvenation program. . twenty-five hour work week hailed by Senator Rinehart of Alaska as a great progressive step for the American people. . Senator Rinehart, chairman of the all-powerful Criterion Committee, holding forth hope last night that improved rejuvenation techniques may enable the Hoffman Center to handle up to six hundred candidates a year within five years. . Dan snarled in disgust, cut Rinehart’s comforting, confidence-inspiring face off in mid-smile.