Short Fiction, Poul Anderson [simple e reader .TXT] 📗

I haven’t the figures. And everyone else is dying all the time, millimeter by millimeter, we’re all born dying. Every minute you hold back the cure for old age, you murder a million human beings.”

“This is the most fantastic⁠—”

“Let me finish! I get around. And I’m trained to look a little bit more closely at the facts everybody knows, the ordinary commonplace facts we take for granted and never think to inquire about because they are so ordinary. I’ve wondered about the Institute for a long time. Tonight I talked at great length with a fellow named Barwell⁠ ⁠… remember him? A clerk here. You fired him this morning for being too nosy. He had a lot to say.”

“Hm.” Lang sat quiet for a while. He didn’t rattle easily⁠—he couldn’t be snowed under by fast, aggressive talk. While Radek spat out what clues he had, Lang calmly reached into a drawer and got out an old-fashioned briar pipe, stuffed it and lit it.

“So what do you want?” he asked when Radek paused for breath.

“The truth, damn it!”

“There are privacy laws. It was established long ago that a citizen is entitled to privacy if he does nothing against the common weal⁠—”

“And you are! You’re like a man who stands on a river bank and has a lifebelt and won’t throw it to a man drowning in the river.”

Lang sighed. “I won’t deny we’re working on longevity,” he answered. “Obviously we are. The problem interests biologists throughout the Solar System. But we aren’t publicizing our findings as yet for a very good reason. You know how people jump to conclusions. Can you imagine the hysteria that would arise in this already unstable culture if there seemed to be even a prospect of immortality? You yourself are a prime case⁠ ⁠… on the most tenuous basis of rumor and hypothesis, you’ve decided that we have found a vaccine against old age and are hoarding it. You come bursting in here in the middle of the night, demanding to be made immortal immediately if not sooner. And you’re comparatively civilized⁠ ⁠… there are enough lunatics who’d come here with guns and start shooting up the place.”

Radek smiled bleakly. “Of course. I know that. And you ought to know the outfit I work for is reputable. If you have a good lead on the problem, but haven’t solved it yet, you can trust us not to make that fact public.”

“All right.” Lang mustered an answering smile, oddly warm and charming. “I don’t mind telling you, then, that we do have some promising preliminary results⁠—but, and this is the catch, we estimate it will take at least a century to get anywhere. Biochemistry is an inconceivably complex subject.”

“What sort of results are they?”

“It’s highly technical. Has to do with enzymes. You may know that enzymes are the major device through which the genes govern the organism all through life. At a certain point, for instance, the genes order the body to go through the changes involved in puberty. At another point, they order that gradual breakdown we know as aging.”

“In other words,” said Radek slowly, “the body has a built-in suicide mechanism?”

“Well⁠ ⁠… if you want to put it that way⁠—”

“I don’t believe a word of it. It makes a lot more sense to imagine that there’s something which causes the breakdown⁠—a virus, maybe⁠—and the body fights it off as long as possible but at last it gets the upper hand. The whole key to evolution is the need to survive. I can’t see life evolving its own anti-survival factor.”

“But nature doesn’t care about the individual, friend Radek. Only about the species. And the species with a rapid turnover of individuals can evolve faster, become more effective⁠—”

“Then why does man, the fastest-evolving metazoan of all, have one of the longest lifespans? He does, you know⁠ ⁠… among mammals, at any rate. Seems to me our bodies must be all-around better than average, better able to fight off the death virus. Fish live a longer time, sure⁠—and maybe in the water they aren’t so exposed to the disease. May flies are short-lived; have they simply adapted their life cycle to the existence of the virus?”

Lang frowned. “You appear to have studied this subject enough to have some mistaken ideas about it. I can’t argue with a man who insists on protecting his cherished irrationalities with fancy verbalisms.”

“And you appear to think fast on your feet, Dr. Lang.” Radek laughed. “Maybe not fast enough. But I’m not being paranoid about this. You can convince me.”

“How?”

“Show me. Take me into those underground rooms and show me what you actually have.”

“I’m afraid that’s impos⁠—”

“All right.” Radek stood up. “I hate to do this, but a man must either earn a living or go on the public freeloading roll⁠ ⁠… which I don’t want to do. The facts and conjectures I already have will make an interesting story.”

Lang rose too, his eyes widening. “You can’t prove anything!”

“Of course I can’t. You’re sitting on all the proof.”

“But the public reaction! God in Heaven, man, those people can’t think!”

“No⁠ ⁠… they can’t, can they?” He moved toward the door. “Goodnight.”

Radek’s muscles were taut. In spite of everything that had been said, a person hounded to desperation could still do murder.

There was a great quietness as he neared the door. Then Lang spoke. The voice was defeated, and when Radek looked back it was an old man who stood behind the desk.

“You win. Come along with me.”

They went down an empty hall, after dismissing the guards, and took an elevator below ground. Neither of them said anything. Somehow, the sag of Lang’s shoulders was a gnawing in Radek’s conscience.

When they emerged, it was to transfer past a sentry, where Lang gave a password and okayed his companion, to another elevator which purred them still deeper.

“I⁠—” The newsman cleared his throat, awkwardly. “I repeat what I implied earlier. I’m here mostly as a citizen interested in the public welfare⁠ ⁠… which includes my own, of course, and my family’s if I ever have one.