Martyr Page 3

NortonPhilosophy and Theology

  Jacob Prowsnitz, Ph. D.History

  Arthur L. Rodgers, M. D.Medicine

  Carlotta Sokol, Ph. D.Sociopsychology

  Harvey TatumBusiness

  "I know," said Dan Fowler. "June 1st, 2005. They were volunteers."

  "Ten out of several dozen volunteers," Moss amended. "Those ten werechosen by lot. Already people were dreaming of what sub-totalprosthesis could do. It could preserve the great minds, it couldcompound the accumulated wisdom of one lifetime with anotherlifetime--and maybe more. Those ten people--representing ten greatfields of study--risked their lives. Not to live forever--just to seeif rejuvenation could really preserve their minds in newly builtbodies. All of them were old, older than you are, Senator, some weresicker than you, and all of them were afraid. But seven of the ten are_still alive today_, a hundred and thirty years later. Rodgers died ina jet crash. Tatum died of neuro-toxic virus, because we couldn't doanything to rebuild neurones in those days. Bevalaqua suicided. Therest are still alive, after two more rejuvenations."

  "Fine," said Dan Fowler. "I still can't do it now."

  "That was just ten people," Moss cut in. "It took five years to getready for them. But now we can do five hundred a year--only fivehundred select individuals, to live on instead of dying. And you'vegot the gall to sit there and tell me you don't have the time for it!"

  * * * * *

  The old man rose slowly, lighting another cigar. "It could be fivethousand a year. That's why I don't have the time. Fifteen thousand,fifty thousand. We could do it--but we're not doing it. WalterRinehart's been rejuvenated--twice already! _I'm_ on the list becauseI shouted so loud they didn't dare leave me off. But _you're_ not onit. Why not? You could be. Everybody could be."

  Dr. Moss spread his hands. "The Criterion Committee does thechoosing."

  "_Rinehart's_ criteria! Only five hundred a year. Use it for a weapon.Build power with it. Get a strangle-hold on it, and never, never letit go." The Senator leaned across the desk, his eyes bright withanger. "I haven't got time to stop what I'm doing now--because I can_stop_ Rinehart, if I only live that long, I can break him, split hisCriterion Committee wide open _now_ while there's still a chance, andopen rejuvenation up to everybody instead of five hundred lucky ones ayear. I can stop him because I've dug at him and dug at him fortwenty-nine years, and shouted and screamed and fought and made peoplelisten. And if I fumble now, it'll all be down the drain, finished,washed up.

  "If that happens, _nobody_ will ever stop him."

  There was silence in the room for a moment. Then Moss spread hishands. "The hearings are that critical, eh?"

  "I'm afraid so."

  "Why has it got to be _your_ personal fight? Other people could doit."

  "They'd fumble it. They'd foul it up. Senator Libby fouled it up oncealready, a long time ago. Rinehart's lived for a hundred and nineteenyears, and he's learning new tricks every year. I've only livedfifty-six of them, but I know his tricks. I can beat him."

  "But why _you_?"

  "Somebody's got to do it. My card is on top."

  A 'phone buzzer chirped. "Yes, he's here." Dr. Moss handed Dan thereceiver. A moment later the Senator was grinning like a catstruggling into his overcoat and scarf. "Sorry, Doc--I know what youtell me is true, and I'm no fool. If I have to stop, I'll stop."

  "Tomorrow, then."

  "Not tomorrow. One of my lads is back from the Mars Colony. Tomorrowwe pow-wow--but hard. After the hearings, Doc. And meanwhile, keepyour eye on the teevies. I'll be seeing you."

  The door clicked shut with a note of finality, and Dr. David Mossstared at it gloomily. "I hope so," he said. But nobody in particularheard him.

  III

  A Volta two-wheeler was waiting for him outside. Jean drove off downthe drive with characteristic contempt for the laws of gravity whenDan had piled in, and Carl Golden was there, looking thinner, moregaunt and hawk-like than ever before, his brown eyes sharp under hisshock of black hair, his long, thin aquiline nose ("If you weren't aJew you'd be a discredit to the Gentiles," Dan Fowler had twitted himonce, years before, and Carl had looked down his long, thin, aquilinenose, and sniffed, and let the matter drop, because until then he hadnever been sure whether his being a Jew had mattered to Dan Fowler ornot, and now he knew, and was quite satisfied with the knowledge) andthe ever-present cigarette between thin, sensitive fingers. Danclapped him on the shoulder, and shot a black look at his daughter,relegating her to an indescribable Fowler limbo, which was where shebelonged, and would reside until Dan got excited and forgot how she'dbetrayed him to Dr. Moss, which would take about ten or fifteenminutes all told. Jean Fowler knew her father far too well to worryabout it, and squinted out the window at the afternoon traffic as thecar skidded the corner into the Boulevard Throughway, across the rivertoward home. "God damn it, boy, you could have _wired_ me at least.One of Jean's crew spotted the passage list, so I knew you'd left, andgot the hearing moved up to next month--"

  Carl scowled. "I thought it was all set for February 15th."

  Dan chuckled. "It was. But I was only waiting for you, and got theball rolling as soon as I knew you were on your way. Dwight McKenzieis still writing the Committee's business calendar, of course, and hedidn't like it a bit, but he couldn't find any solid reason why it_shouldn't_ be set ahead. And I think our good friend Senator Rinehartis probably wriggling on the stick about now, just on the shock valueof the switch. Always figure in the shock value of everything you do,my boy--it pays off more than you'd ever dream--"

  Carl Golden shook his head. "I don't like it, Dan."

  "What, the switch in dates?"

  "The switch. I wish you hadn't done that."

  "But why? Look, son, I know that with Ken Armstrong dead our wholeapproach has to be changed--it's going to be trickier, but it mighteven work out better. The Senate knows what's been going on betweenRinehart and me, and so does the President. They know elections aredue next June. They know I want a seat on his Criterion Committeebefore elections, and they know that to get on it I'll do my damnedestto unseat him. They know I've shaken him up, that he's scared of me.Okay, fine. With Armstrong there to tell how he was chosen for Retreadback in '87, we'd have had Rinehart running for his life...."

  "But you don't," Carl cut in flatly, "and that's that."

  "What, are you crazy, son? _I needed Armstrong, bad._ Rinehart knewit, and had him taken care of. It was fishy--it stunk from here toMars, but Rinehart covered it up fast and clean. But with the stuffyou got up in the Colony, we can charge Rinehart with murder, and thewhole Senate knows his motive already. He didn't _dare_ to letArmstrong testify."

  * * * * *

  Carl was shaking his head sadly.

  "Well, what's wrong?"

  "You aren't going to like this, Dan. Rinehart's clean. Armstrongcomitted suicide."

  Fowler's mouth fell open, and he sat back hard. "Oh, no."

  "Sorry."

  "Ken Armstrong? Suicided?" He shook his head helplessly, groping forwords. "I--I--oh, Jesus. I don't believe it. If Ken Armstrongsuicided, I'm the Scarlet Whore of Babylon."

  "Well, we'll try to keep _that_ off the teevies."

  "There's no chance that you're wrong," said the old man.

  Carl shook his head. "There's plenty that's funny about that MarsColony, but Armstrong's death was suicide. Period. Even Barness didn'tunderstand it."

  Sharp eyes went to Carl's face. "What's funny about the Colony?"

  Carl shrugged, and lit a cigarette. "Hard to say. This was my firstlook, I had nothing to compare it with. But there's _something_ wrong.I always thought the Mars Colony was a frontier, a real challenge--youknow, Man against the Wilderness, and all that. Saloons jammed onSaturday nights with rough boys out to get some and babes that had itto give. A place that could take Earthbound softies and toughen themup in a week, working to tame down the desert--"

  His voice trailed off. "They've got a saloon, all right--but ev
erybodyjust comes in quietly and gets slobbery drunk. Met a guy named Fisher,thought the same thing I did when he came up five years ago. A realgo-getter, leader type, lots of ideas and the guts to put them across.Now he's got a hob-nail liver and he came back here on the ship withme, hating Mars and everything up there, most of all himself.Something's wrong up there, Dan. Maybe that's why Armstrong bowedout."

  The Senator took a deep