Lurie said to the guards, “This is Mr. James Harker. We’ve brought him here to visit the labs.”
“Right.”
The guard who had grunted assent took a red button from his pocket and jammed it against Harker’s lapel. It adhered. “That’s your security tag. Keep it visible at all times or we can’t answer for the consequences.”
“What if it falls off?”
“It won’t.”
Harker and his companions followed round the roadblock while Mitchison took the car somewhere to be parked. Harker saw three large buildings, all of them very old, and several smaller cabins behind them, at the very edge of the encroaching forest.
“Those are the dormitories for the researchers,” Lurie said, pointing to the cabins. “The big building over here is the administrative wing, and the other two are lab buildings.”
Harker nodded. It was an impressive setup. The group turned into the administrative building.
It was every bit as old-fashioned on the inside as outside. The lighting was, of all things, by incandescent bulbs; the air-conditioners were noisily evident, and the windows did not have opaquing controls. Harker followed the other three into a small, untidy, book-lined room—and, suddenly, he realized that Dr. Raymond was taking charge.
“This is my office,” Raymond said. “Won’t you be seated?”
Harker sat. He reached for his cigarettes and Raymond interjected immediately, “Sorry, but no smoking is permitted anywhere on the laboratory grounds.”
“Of course.”
Raymond sat back. Klaus and Lurie flanked him. In a quiet, terribly calm voice, Raymond said, “I think Dr. Lurie has explained the essentials of our situation.”
“All I know is that you claim to have perfected a process for restoring the dead to life, and that you want me to act as legal adviser and public spokesman. Is that right?”
“Indeed. The fee will be $600 per week for as long as your services will be required.”
“For which you’ll insist on my full-time participation, I expect.”
“We have confidence in your ability, Mr. Harker. You may apportion your time as you see fit.”
Harker nodded slowly. “On the surface, I don’t see any objections. But naturally I’ll expect a thorough demonstration of what you’ve achieved so far, if I’m to take on any kind of work for you.”
Levelly Raymond said, “We would hardly think of employing you unless we could take you into our fullest confidence. Come with me.”
He opened an inner door and stepped through; Harker walked around the desk to follow him, with Klaus and Lurie bringing up the rear.
They now were in a large room with the faint iodoform odor Harker associated with hospitals; it was brightly, almost starkly lit, and Harker saw two lab tables, one empty, one occupied by a dog, both surrounded by looming complex mechanical devices. A bearded, grave-looking young man in the white garb of a surgeon stood by the dog-laden table.
“Are we ready, Dr. Raymond?”
Raymond nodded. To Harker he said, “This is Dr. Vogel. One of our surgeons. He will anesthetize the dog you see and kill it.”
Harker moistened his lips nervously. He knew better than to protest, but the idea of casually killing animals in the name of science touched off a host of involuntary repugnance-reactions in him.
He watched stonily as Vogel fitted a mask over the dog’s face—it was a big, shaggy animal of indeterminate breed—and attached instruments to its body.
“We’re recording heartbeat and respiration,” Raymond murmured. “The anesthetic will gradually overcome the dog. In case you’re concerned, the animal feels no pain in any part of this experiment.”
Some moments passed; finally Vogel peered at his dials, nodded, and pronounced the dog in full narcosis. Harker fought against the inner tension that gripped him.
“Dr. Vogel will now bring death to the dog,” Raymond said.
With practiced, efficient motions the surgeon slit the animal’s bloodvessels, inserted tubes, adjusted clamps. An assistant glided forward from the corner of the room to help. Harker found a strange fascination in watching the life-blood drain from the dog into dangling containers. The needle registering the heartbeat sank inexorably toward zero; respiration dropped away. At last Vogel looked up and nodded.
“The dog is dead,” he declared. “The blood has been drained away. This pump will ensure oxygenation of the blood during the period of the animal’s death. We will now proceed to the next table—”
Where, Harker saw, another dog had been placed while his attention had been riveted on the death scene. This dog lay in a slumped furry heap that grotesquely reminded Harker of Eva as she had looked when they pulled her from the sea. His throat felt terribly dry.
“This animal,” Vogel said stiffly, “underwent the killing treatment nine hours and thirteen minutes ago. Its blood has been stored during that time. Now—”
Spellbound, Harker watched the surgeon’s busy hands as he and the assistant fastened tubes to the dead animal’s body and lowered a complicated instrument into place. “We are now restoring blood to the dead animal. When the indicator gauge reads satisfactorily, injection of adrenalin and other hormones will restore ‘life’ to the animal. The blood is being pumped back at the same rate and rhythm that the animal’s own heart uses.”
“In some cases,” Raymond remarked, “we’ve restored dogs dead nearly thirty-six hours.”
Harker nodded. He was forcing himself to a realization of the gulf that lay between these calmly efficient men and himself. Yet they needed him and he needed them; neither type of mind was complete in itself.
The resuscitation of the second dog took fifteen minutes. At length Vogel nodded, withdrew die reviving apparatus. The heart-beat indicator was fluttering; respiration was beginning. The dog’s eyes opened wearily. It wagged its tail feebly and almost comically.
Lurie remarked, “For the next several hours the dog will show signs of having undergone a serious operation—which it has. In a day or two it’ll be as good as new—once the stitches have healed, of course. In Lab Building Two we can show you dozens of dogs that have been through the killing process and were returned to life, happy, hearty—”
“This dog,” Raymond said calmly, “is the son of a dog we temporarily ‘killed’ two years ago. The period of death doesn’t seem to interfere with later mating or with any other life process.”
While they spoke, Vogel was repeating the process of revivification on the dog that had been killed twenty minutes before. This time Harker watched with less revulsion as life returned to the animal.
In a dry voice he said, “Your experiments—are—well, impressive.”
Raymond shook his head. “On the contrary. We’ve merely repeated work that was carried out more than eighty years ago. These techniques are far from new. But our application of them to—”
“Yes,” Harker said weakly. “To hitman life. That’s—that’s the clincher, I’d say.”
Harker realized that Raymond was staring at him coldly, appraisingly, as if trying to read his mind before proceeding to the next demonstration. Harker felt his face reddening under the scrutiny.
“We’re lucky enough to be able to—ah—clinch things,” Raymond said.
“With a human being?”
Raymond nodded. “You understand that getting human specimens for research has been our gravest problem. I’ll have to ask you not to voice any of the questions that may arise in your mind now.”
Harker nodded. He could recognize a security blanket when it was lowered.
Raymond turned and said in a mortuary voice, “Bring in Mr. Doe.”