“Huh? Who the hell—”
“Wait a minute, Jim,” Raymond cut in. “And you too, Simeon. I don’t want any fighting in here!”
“I’m simply stating views that I expound regularly at our meetings,” Barchet said. “For your information, Mr. Harker, Cal Mitchison is the best publicity-agent money can buy. I will not consent to his dismissal.”
“You may have to consent to my resignation, then,” Harker said angrily. “Dammit, Mart, if I knew this outfit was run by—”
“Watch yourself, Mr. Harker,” Barchet warned.
“Calm down, Jim.” Raymond disengaged himself from his desk and, glowering down at Barchet, said, “Simeon, you know damned well Harker was approved by a majority of the shareholders. You have no business raising a squabble like this now. He was hired and given free rein-and if he wants to fire Mitchison, it’s within his province.”
“I insist on bringing the matter before the Board-and if Mitchison is dismissed without full vote, I’ll cause trouble. Good day, Dr. Raymond.”
The little man sailed past Harker without a word and slammed the door. Harker grinned and said, “What was he so upset about?”
Raymond slumped wearily behind his desk. “Barchet’s the official voice of old Beller in this outfit-and Beller was as conservative as they come. He thinks you’re an arch-radical because you held office for the Nat-Libs. And the little bugger carries a lot of weight on the Board, so we have to humor him.”
Harker nodded. He understood now what Raymond had meant when he said he had been “outvoted” in the matter of hiring Harker as first choice. It did not increase his opinion of Beller Research Laboratories.
“I wouldn’t blame you if you quit today,” Raymond said suddenly. “With Mitchison on pins and needles to give the word to the public, and that idiot Klaus battling for my job because he’s tired of enzyme work—”
“Klaus? But he’s just a kid!”
“He’s twenty-nine, and for an ex-prodigy that’s ancient. Degree from Harvard at fifteen, that sort of thing. I have to keep close watch on him or he’ll put a scalpel in my back.”
“Why not fire him?” Harker suggested.
“Two reasons. He’s got a contract, for one-and for another I’d rather have him with us than agin’ us, if you know what I mean. Lesser of two evils.”
Raymond sighed. “Great little place we have here, Jim. Sometimes I feel like closing the windows and turning up the gas.” He shook his head reflectively. “But it wouldn’t work. Someone would drag me next door and bring me back to life again, I guess.”
He reached into the bookshelf and produced the liquor bottle. “One quick shot apiece,” he said. “Then I want to take you round back to show you the rest of the lab.”
Chapter VI
The grand tour of the laboratory grounds was as disturbing as it was stimulating. Seemingly tireless, Raymond marched him through room after room where elaborate experiments were going on.
“Serotonin-diffraction goes on in here. This room’s plasma research; remind me to bring you back some time when the big centrifuge is running. Fascinating. This is Klaus’ enzyme lab, and down here—”
Harker puffed along behind the lab director, listening to the flow of unfamiliar terms, dazzled by the array of formidable scientific devices. He saw kennels where lively dogs bounded joyfully up and down and struggled to lick his hands through the cage; it was a little jarring to learn that every dog in the room had been “dead” at least once, for periods ranging from a few minutes to twenty-eight hours. He met a grave little rhesus monkey that held the record; it had been dead thirty-nine hours, two months before.
“We had a pair of them,” Raymond said. “We brought this fellow back at the 39-hour mark, and held the other off for nine more hours in hopes of hitting a full two days. We didn’t make it. The surviving monk moped for days about it.”
Harker nodded. He was swept on; into a large room lined with ledgers, which Raymond said contained all the records of the Beller Laboratories since its opening in 2024. White-smocked researchers turned to look up as Harker and his guide passed through into a long, well-lit lab room, then out into the afternoon warmth and across to the other building, for more of the same.
“Well,” Harker said finally, after they had returned to Raymond’s office. “It’s a busy place.”
Raymond nodded. “We keep it moving. And it gets results. Despite everything, it gets results.”
Despite everything. Harker didn’t like the implications of that. He was beginning to form a picture of Raymond as an able man surrounded by stumbling-blocks and obstacles, and bulling his way through none-the-less. He wondered how it would be once he got the campaign into full swing, not too many weeks from now.
Harker leaned back, trying to relax. Raymond said, “Is it too early for you to give me an outline of the program you’re planning?”
Harker hunched his shoulders forward uneasily. “It’s still in the formative stage. I’m seeing Governor Winstead on Friday, as you know, and early next week I’ll go down to Washington and talk to Senator Thurman. If we get them on our side, the rest is relatively easy.”
“And if we don’t?”
Harker did not smile. “Then we have a fight.”
“Why do you say that? Can’t we just set up an instruction center and start resuscitating? ”
“Pardon me, Mart, if I say that your approach’s a naive one. We can’t do any such thing. Not even if you limit use of the apparatus to fully qualified M.D.s. You see, anything as radical as this will have to be routed through the Federal Health Department, and they’ll simply boot it on up to the President, and he’ll refer it to Congress. What we need is a law making use of your technique legal.”
“Is there any law saying it’s illegal to reanimate the dead?” Raymond asked.
“Not yet. But you can bet there’ll be an attempt to ram one through, before long. Which is why we have to put through a law of our own.”
Raymond fell silent; his blue-cheeked face looked grave. An idea occurred to Harker and he said, “Do you have any idea how big our public-relations budget is?”
Raymond shrugged. “Pretty big. I guess you can have three or four hundred thousand, if you need it.”
“Three or four hundred million is more in line with what we’ll need,” Harker said. He saw the stunned expression on Raymond’s face and added, “Certainly at least a million, to begin with.”
“But why? Why should it be necessary to sell the idea of restoring life? You’d think the people of America would rise up and acclaim us as saviors.”
“You’d think so, wouldn’t you?” Harker shook his head bleakly. “It doesn’t work that way, Mart. For one thing, they’ll be afraid to try it. There’ll be plenty of ‘zombie’ jokes, and behind those jokes will be unvoiced fear. Uh-uh, Mart. If we’re going to put this thing across, we’ll need a big public-relations budget. And we can’t let a bubblehead like Mitchison handle the job.”
“It’ll take a little time to fire him.”
“Why?”
“You heard Barchet. Mitchison’s Barchet’s man. We’ll have to go through shareholder channels to get rid of Mitchison.”
“How long will that take?”
“Two weeks, maybe three,” Raymond said. “Will that hold things up too badly? ”
“We’ll manage,” Harker said tiredly.
Harker spent the next morning, Wednesday, at his office, tidying up unfinished business. The delayer on the Bryant hearing had come through, and he read the document carefully, scowled, and jammed it into his desk drawer. He phoned the Bryant home and learned that the old man was very low; the doctor refused to let Harker speak with him. Harker suspected the fine hand of Jonathan Bryant lurking behind that ukase, but there wasn’t much he could do about it. The old man wasn’t going to last forever, anyway-but Harker genuinely wanted him to hold out until after the hearing, at least.