Martyr Page 10

Armstrong," said Dan slowly.

  Jean nodded. "Oh, here's Carl now."

  He came in, rubbing his hands, and gave Dan a queer look. "Everythingunder control, Dan?"

  Dan nodded. He told Carl about Tyndall's proposition. Carl gave a wrygrin. "He hasn't changed a bit, has he?"

  "Yes, he has. He's gotten lots stronger."

  Carl scowled, and slapped the desk with his palm. "You should havestopped him, Dan. I told you that a long time ago--back when I firstcame in with you. He was aiming for your throat even then, trying touse me and what I knew about Dad to sell the country a pack of liesabout you. He almost did, too. I hated your guts back then. I thoughtyou were the rottenest man that ever came up in politics, until yougot hold of me and pounded sense into my head. And Tyndall's neverforgiven you that, either."

  "All right--we're still ahead of him. Have you just finished with thead-men?"

  "Oh, no. I just got back from a trip south. My nose is still cold."

  Dan's eyebrows went up. "And how was Dr. Aviado? I haven't seen areport from Antarctica Project for five years."

  "Yes you have. You just couldn't read them. Aviado is quite atheoretician. That's how he got his money and his Project, down there,with plenty of room to build his reflectors and nobody around to gethurt if something goes wrong. Except a few penguins. And he's done areal job of development down there since his rejuvenation."

  "Ah." Dan glanced up hopefully.

  "Now there," said Carl, "is a real lively project. Solar energy intopower on a utilitarian level. The man is fanatic, of course, but withhis plans he could actually be producing in another five years." Helit a cigarette, drew on it as though it were bitter.

  "Could?"

  "Seems he's gotten sidetracked a bit," said Carl.

  Dan glanced at Terry Fisher. "How?"

  "Well, his equipment is working fine, and he can concentrate solarheat from ten square miles onto a spot the size of a manhole cover.But he hasn't gone too far converting it to useful power yet." Carlsuddenly burst out laughing. "Dan, this'll kill you. Billions andbillions of calories of solar heat concentrated down there, and whatdo you think he's doing with it? He's digging a hole in the ice twothousand feet deep and a mile wide. That's what."

  "A hole in the ice!"

  "Exactly. Conversion? Certainly--but first we want to be sure we'reright. So right now his whole crew is very busy _trying to melt downAntarctica_. And if you give him another ten years, he'll have itdone, by god."

  * * * * *

  This was the last, most painful trip of all.

  Dan didn't even know why he was going, except that Paul had told himhe should go, and no stone could be left unturned.

  The landing in New York Crater had been rough, and Dan had cracked hiselbow on the bulkhead; he nursed it now as he left the Volta on thedeserted street of the crater city, and entered the low one-storylobby of the groundscraper. The clerk took his name impassively, andhe sat down to wait.

  An hour passed, then another.

  Then: "Mr. Devlin will see you now, Senator."

  Down in the elevator, four--five--six stories. Above him was theworld; here, deep below, with subtly efficient ventilators and shaftsand exotic cubby-holes for retreat, a man could forget that a worldabove existed.

  Soft lighting in the corridor, a golden plastic door. The door swungopen, and a tiny old man blinked out.

  "Mr. Chauncey Devlin?"

  "Senator Fowler!" The little old man beamed. "Come in, come in--mydear fellow, if I'd realized it was you, I'd never have dreamed ofkeeping you so long--" He smiled, obviously distressed. "Retreat hasits disadvantages, too, you see. Nothing is perfect but life, as theysay. When _you've_ lived for a hundred and ninety years, you'll beglad to get away from people, and to be able to keep them out, fromtime to time."

  In better light Dan stared openly at the man. A hundred and ninetyyears. It was incredible. He told the man so.

  "Isn't it, though?" Chauncey Devlin chirped. "Well, I was a was-baby!Can you imagine? Born in London in 1945. But I don't even think aboutthose horrid years any more. Imagine--people dropping bombs on eachother!"

  A tiny bird of a man--three times rejuvenated, and still the mind wassharp, the eyes were sharp. The face was a strange mixture of recentyouth and very great age. It stirred something deep inside Dan--almosta feeling of loathing. An uncanny feeling.

  "We've always known your music," he said. "We've always loved it. Justa week ago we heard the Washington Philharmonic doing--"

  "The eighth." Chauncey Devlin cut him off disdainfully. "They alwaysdo the eighth."

  "It's a great symphony," Dan protested.

  Devlin chuckled, and bounced about the room like a little boy. "It wasonly half finished when they chose me for the big plunge," he said."Of course I was doing a lot of conducting then, too. Now I'd muchrather just write." He hurried across the long, softly-lit room to thepiano, came back with a sheaf of papers. "Do you read music? This isjust what I've been doing recently. Can't get it quite right, butit'll come, it'll come."

  "Which will this be?" asked Dan.

  "The tenth. The ninth was under contract, of course--strictly apot-boiler, I'm afraid. Thought it was pretty good at the time, but_this_ one--ah!" He fondled the smooth sheets of paper. "In this one Icould _say_ something. Always before it was hit and run, make a stabat it, then rush on to stab at something else. Not _this_ one." Hepatted the manuscript happily. "With this one there will be _nothing_wrong."

  "It's almost finished?"

  "Oh, no. Oh, my goodness no! A fairly acceptable first movement, butnot what I _will_ do on it--as I go along."

  "I see. I--understand. How long have you worked on it now?"

  "Oh, I don't know--I must have it down here somewhere. Oh, yes.Started it in April of 2057. Seventy-seven years."

  They talked on, until it became too painful. Then Dan rose, andthanked his host, and started back for the corridor and life again. Hehad never even mentioned his excuse for coming, and nobody had missedit.

  Chauncey Devlin, a tiny, perfect wax-image of a man, so old, so wise,so excited and full of enthusiasm and energy and carefulness,working eagerly, happily--

  Accomplishing nothing. Seventy-seven years. The picture of a man whohad been great, and who had slowly ground to a standstill.

  And now Dan knew that he hadn't really been looking at Chauncey Devlinat all. He had been looking at the whole human race.

  VIII

  February 15th, 2135.

  The day of the Hearings, to consider the charges and petition formallyplaced by The Honorable Daniel Fowler, Independent Senator from theGreat State of Illinois. The long oval hearing-room was filling early;the gallery above was packed by 9:05 in the morning. Teevie-boys allover the place. The Criterion Committee members, taking their placesin twos and threes--some old, some young, some rejuvenated, some not,taking their places in the oval. Then the other Senators--not thePresident, of course, but he'll be well represented by SenatorRinehart himself, ah yes. Don't worry about the President.

  * * * * *

  Bad news in the papers. Trouble in New Chicago, where so much troubleseems to start these days. Bomb thrown in the Medical Center outthere, a _bomb_ of all things! Shades of Lenin. Couple of peoplekilled, and one of the doctors nearly beaten to death on the streetbefore the police arrived to clear the mob away. Dan Fowler's namepopping up here and there, not pleasantly. Whispers and accusations,_sotto voce_. And 'Moses' Tyndall's network hookup last night--ofcourse nobody with any sense listens to _him_, but did you hear thathall go wild?

  Rinehart--yes, that's him. Well, he's got a right to look worried. IfDan can unseat him here and now, he's washed up. According to therules of the Government, you know, Fowler can legally petition forRinehart's chairmanship without risking it as a platform plank in thenext election, and get a hearing here, and then if the Senate voteshim in, he's got the election made. Dan's smart. They're scared tothrow old Rinehart
out, of course--after all, he's let them keep theirthumbs on rejuvination all these years with his Criteria, and if theysupported him they got named, and if they didn't, they didn't getnamed. Not quite as crude as that, of course, but that's what itboiled down to, let me tell you! But now, if they reject Dan'spetition and the people give him the election over their heads,they're _really_ in a spot. Out on the ice on their rosy red--

  How's that? Can't be too long now. I see Tyndall has just come in,Bible and all. See if he's got any tomatoes in his