in the sea.”
“There may be something to that.” Giannotti shook his head. “But it can’t be the whole story. It doesn’t account for humans outliving mice by an order of magnitude, for instance. Or species that live indefinitely, like bristlecone pines.” Weariness dragged at his smile. “No, most likely life has adapted itself to the fact, made the best it could of the fact, that sooner or later, one way or another, entropy will ring down the curtain on its wonderful chemical juggling act. Whether your kind represents the next step in evolution, a set of mutations that created a fail-safe system, I can’t say.”
“But you don’t think so, do you?” Hanno asked. “We don’t breed true.”
“No, you don’t,” Giannotti said with a barely perceptible wince. “However, that may come. Evolution is cut- and-try. If I may anthropomorphize,” he added. “Often it’s hard not to.”
Hanno clicked his tongue. “You know, when you say things like that, I have trouble believing you’re a believing Catholic.”
“Separate spheres,” Giannotti answered. “Ask any competent theologian. And I wish you would, for your own sake, you poor lonely atheist.” Quickly: “The point is, the material world and the spirit world are not identical.”
“And we’ll, outlive the galaxies, you and I and everybody,” he had said once toward dawn, when the bottle was low. “You may spend ten thousand years, or a million or a billion, in the flesh, but it will hardly mean more, then, than the three days that a premature baby had. Maybe less; the baby died innocent... But this is a fascinating problem, and it does have unlimited potentialities for the whole world, if we can solve it. Your existence cannot be a mere stochastic accident.”
Hanno didn’t argue, though lie preferred their everyday banter, or straightforward talk about the work. He had found after years- of acquaintance that here was one of the rare people whom he could trust with his secret; and in this case it might, just possibly, bring an end to the need for secrecy. If Sam Giannotti could endure knowing of lives that went on for millennia, and keep silent about them even with his wife, because of a faith whose elements Hanno remembered as having been ancient in Hiram’s Tyre—so be it.
“But never mind,” the scientist went on. “What I wish more, right now and always, is the same as ever. That you’d release me from my promise and let me make known—or better, make known yourself—what you are.”
“Sorry,” Hanno said. “Must I repeat why not?”
“Cast off that suspiciousness, can’t you? I forget how many times I’ve told you, the Middle Ages are behind us. Nobody will burn you for a witch. Show the world the proofs you showed me.”
“I’ve learned to be leery of doing anything irrevocable.”
“Will I never make you understand? I’m shackled. I can’t so much as tell my staff the truth. We piddle around and— If you come out of the closet, Bob, discovering the immortality mechanism will become the human race’s top priority. Every resource will go to it. The knowledge that it is possible is half the battle, I swear. They might crack it inside of ten years. Meanwhile, can’t you see the dying down of war, arms races, terrorism, despotism, given such a prospect before everyone? How many needless deaths can you stand to have on your conscience?”
“And I’ve told you before, I doubt the outcome would be anything like that sweet,” Hanno snapped. “Three thousand years of experience, as close as makes no difference, say otherwise. An overnight revelation like that would upset too many applecarts.”
He had no cause to repeat how he controlled the veto. If and when necessary, he would dispose of the things he had used to convince Giannotti. John Wanderer, Tu Shan, and Asagao were accustomed to following his lead, he far and away their senior. Should one of them rebel and reveal, that person possessed no evidence of the kind that Hanno had assembled. After forty or fifty years of. observation, people might take the claim seriously; but why would an immortal spend so great a while in custody? Richelieu had been right, three and a half centuries ago. The risks were too large. If your body stayed youthful, you kept a young animal’s strong desire to live.
Giannotti sank back into his chair. “Oh, hell, let’s not rehash a stale argument,” he muttered. Louder: “I do ask you to put that pessimism and cynicism of yours aside and think again. When everybody can have your lifespan, you’ll have no more reason to hide.”
“Sure,” Hanno agreed. “Why d’you suppose I founded this place? But let the change come gradually, with forewarning. Give me and my friends and the world time to prepare. Meanwhile, you said it, the argument has long since gone moldy.”
Giannotti laughed, as a man may laugh when he can lower a burden from his shoulders. “Okay. Shop talk and gossip. What’s new with you?”
Time goes fast in congenial company. The hour was past six when Hanno pulled up in front of CauldwelTs house.
The unpretentious building on Queen Anne Hill had a magnificent view. He stood for a minute and savored it. Beneath a westering sun the distant mountains seemed to glimmer only half real, as if they rose in a dream or in elfiand. Southward, beyond the slim silhouette of the Space Needle, the light turned Elliot Bay to molten silver and touched treetops with gold. Farther on, Rainier bulwarked heaven, blue rock-mass and white purity. Air went cool into breath. Traffic noises were a whisper, and a robin loosed scraps of melody. Yes, he thought, this was a lovely planet, an Aladdin’s hoard of wonders. Too bad how humans mucked it up. Nevertheless he intended to stick around.
A bit reluctantly, he went inside. Natalia Thurlow was there and the door not locked. She sat before the television watchingthe news. A jowly face and beaky nose filled the screen. The voice was lubricated, sonorous:
“—join in your noble cause. It is the cause of men and women of good will everywhere. This squandering of untold wealth on weapons of mass destruction, while human beings go hungry and homeless, must end, and end soon. I pledge myself—“ The view panned back to show a packed auditorium. On the stage, American and Soviet flags flanked Edmund Moriarty. The United Nations banner was spread directly behind, and a streamer above read CONCERNED CITIZENS’ COMMITTEE FOR PEACE.
“Judas priest!” Hanno groaned. “Do you want me to barf on our nice new carpet?”
Natalia turned the set off and came to give him a hug and a kiss. He responded energetically. She was a rangy blond in her mid-thirties who knew well how to please him, not least by being an independent sort.
Having disengaged, she ran ringers through the hair he had rumpled. “Hey, big boy, you came out of that bad mood in a hurry,” she laughed. “Not quite so fast, if you please. Dinner won’t wait for more than a short drink. I expected you earlier.” Usually she cooked. Hanno was good at it, but she found it relaxing after a day of working on computer software. She cocked her head. “Of course, afterward—”
“Well, all I want is a beer,” he said. “Sam and I hoisted a couple at the lab.”
“What? I thought you had less fun in prospect.”
“So did I, but I got out of die Internal Reaming Service sooner than I feared.” He had mentioned he was in for such a session, though not the identities actually involved. He sought the kitchen. She had already poured herself a sherry.
Returning with his mug of Ballard Bitter to sit down on the couch beside her, he found she had gone serious, half angry. “Bob,” she said, “I insist you quit making nasty cracks about the government. Sure, it has its faults, including heavy-handedness, but it is ours.”
“’Government of the people, by the people, and for the people.’ Yeah. Trouble is, the three classes of people aren’t the same.”
“I’ve heard you on the subject before, in case you’ve forgotten. If you’re right about that being the nature of government, why bitch at this one? It is the only thing that stands between us and what is far worse.”
“Not if Senator Moriarty has his way.”
“Wait a minute,” she said sharply. “You’re entitled to call him mistaken, but not to call him ... a traitor, the way I’ve heard you imply. He speaks for millions of perfectly decent Americans.”
“So they imagine. His real constituency is industries that vote their tariff protections and subsidies, bums who vote their handouts, and intellectuals who vote their slogans. As for mis new-found pacifism of his, that’s the current fashion. Before, his breed was always hell-bent to get us into foreign wars, except that we mustn’t win any that were fought against Communists. Now he’s picking up extra votes— someday they may help him into the White House—by telling us that violence never settles anything. If only the city fathers of Carthage could talk to bun.”
She put irritation aside and riposted with a grin, “Plagiarizing Heinlein, are you?”
