“How about the rest?”
“The recent ones are still on the premises, in Lab B. I guess I didn’t get a chance to show you the ward.”
“I guess not,” Harker said wryly. “Well, we’re going to have to issue a general statement on your experiments so far. Get Vogel and Smathers to write it up, and I’ll revise it into releaseable form. Tell them not to say anything about the six idiots, but it’s okay to mention the fact that four of the cadavers couldn’t be revived.”
Vogel delivered the first draft of the statistical summary about one-thirty that afternoon. Harker read it through once, made a couple of changes, and typed it out. He stressed the fact that many of the reanimatees had returned to normal life. He did not mention that six of the revivals had been unsuccessful, and that the patient had had to be destroyed.
The release was mimeographed and was ready in time for his daily three-o’clock press conference. He handed out the sheets and waited.
Times said, “Could we have the names of the successful revivifications?”
“Flatly impossible. This is to protect them, naturally. They still aren’t in perfect health.”
“When was the first successful reanimation?” asked Associated Press.
Harker glanced at Raymond, who said, “Exactly ten months ago. To be exact, it was at 3:30 in the afternoon on Tuesday July 17 of last year. Dr. Vogel operated.”
“What was the name of the patient?” United Press shot out quickly.
Harker laughed. “Good try, but no score. Patients’ names will not be revealed.”
“How many unsuccessful attempts were there before the July 17 success?” Times wanted to know.
“I don’t have the exact figure,” Harker said, because Raymond had neglected to give it to him. “Mart, what would you say? About—”
He hesitated. Raymond caught the hint and said, “I’d estimate approximately thirty attempts over a period of two years.”
“And there have been seventy-one tries since then?” Transcontinental TV said.
“Right. With sixty-seven reanimations.”
“All completely successful?” the sharp Times man said.
Harker looked vague. “Varying degrees of success,” he replied ambiguously.
“Would you care to elaborate on that, Mr. Harker?”
“Not just now.”
Video cameras recorded his statement. He was used to the televised press-conference, from long experience in public office, and he maintained a perfectly guileless expression while uttering the evasion.
The Scripps-Howard-Cauldwell man said, “As you know, Senator Thurman is pressing for a detailed Senate investigation of your laboratory. Would you welcome such an investigation?”
“If it’s conducted fairly and without prejudice,” Harker said, “of course we’d welcome it. We’re not trying to fool anyone. We’ve discovered something wonderful and we want the people of the world to share in it.”
“How do you feel about the American-Conservative party stand on reanimation?” Times asked.
“I wasn’t aware there was one.”
“They issued a statement at noon today. It implies that the National-Liberal Party is going to exploit the discovery for its own personal advantage. They point to your presence as legal adviser as proof of that.”
Harker smiled, but beneath the smile was sudden bitterness.
So it would be political capital too? He said, “This comes as a big surprise to me. I don’t have any formal affiliation with the National-Liberals, though of course I generally support their program. I’m not even a member of the national committee. And we’ve received no encouragement or anything else from them.”
“But you were a former Nat-Lib governor, Mr. Harker. Doesn’t that make you a major figure in the party hierarchy?” Scripps-Howard-Cauldwell asked.
It was a loaded question. Harker mopped the sweat from his forehead, glared straight into the eye of the video camera, and said, “I still vote Nat-Lib, if that’s what you mean. But ex-governors are just ex-governors, period.”
“How about the claim of Cal Mitchison and David Klaus that there have been unethical practices in this lab?” Transcontinental TV asked slyly.
Harker said, “I hardly think that’s worth talking about. Mitchison and Klaus are former employees who didn’t perform competently and who were discharged. It’s as simple as that.”
“You were the lawyer for the late Richard Bryant,” said the Times man. “Did you make any attempts to have Mr. Bryant resuscitated?”
“I did not. The family issued a statement expressing no desire to have Mr. Bryant revivified, and at no time did anyone here suggest that he should be. The movement to revive Richard Bryant was strictly unofficial.”
Harker was starting to weary under the barrage of questions. He looked at his watch; the half-hour he allotted to these conferences had elapsed. He felt as if he were wrung dry.
“I’ll have to ask you to cut it short now,” he said. “Unless there are any other very urgent questions, we’ll stop here.”
Times said, “One question, Mr. Harker. Have any reanimations taken place since the announcement of the process yesterday morning?”
Harker shook his head. “The answer is no. Until the legal status of reanimation is settled, we’re not proceeding with further experiments on human beings”—he regretted the unfortunate word experiments as soon as it passed his lips, but by then it was too late—“although we’re continuing with other phases of our research. We’ve been bombarded with requests for reanimations, but we don’t intend to attempt any.
Obviously a legal decision on the validity of our process is needed first. The death-certificate laws, for instance; they’ll have to be considered. And a host of other things. Well, gentlemen, I think our time is just about up.”
The fearsome blaze of the video cameras died away, and the newsmen packed up their pocket recorders and left. Marker sank down wearily behind the desk and looked at Mart Raymond.
The scientist smiled admiringly. “Jim, I don’t know how you do it. Stand up to those eagles, I mean. The pressure doesn’t let up for a second.”
“I’m used to it,” Harker said with forced casualness. His stomach felt knotted, tight; his throat was dry and seemed to be covered with hundreds of small blisters. His legs, under the desk, quivered of their own volition.
Gradually, as the minutes passed, he recovered his poise. The press-conference had been a sort of purgative; he had put forth all the thoughts that had been boiling within him during the day.
The battle, he saw now, would be fought on a number of fronts—but the essential standpoint was a politico-legal one. They had to secure Congressional approval for the process. And they had to win friends and influence people in a hurry, before die various splintered opponents of reanimation, the Beller Labs, and James Harker could join forces and provide a united front.
What would happen if reanimation lost? No doubt the technique would survive, no matter what the legal verdict was. But it would become an undercover, furtive activity, as abortion had been before the permissive laws of the late twentieth century. And undercover meant dangerous, illegal equated with deadly. The tools of medicine are always deadly in unskilled hands.
No doubt about it, the fight was on. It was, thought Harker, the old, old struggle—the battle to give humanity something it craved, despite the obstacles provided by fear, greed, and ignorance. The essential fact—that of the conquest of death—could easily be clouded over by half-truths, distortions, and the well-meant fanaticism of self-righteous pressure groups.