"No! I don't know!" Peccary was losing his detachment.
The bearded man considered him thoughtfully. "I shouldn't have let the
doctor go so soon. Apparently you were hit harder than we thought.
On the other hand it's just possible, living as you have these last
seventy years locked up in your palace and isolated from the rest of
the world, that you've lost touch with what is going on."
"I've lost touch with a great many things. Obviously I'm a prisoner.
How long is this going to last?"
"Only until my demolition squad is ready. Then we take you to your
production plant where you produce the Y Hormone. There will be a gun
at your back, of course. You know the combination to get us safely past
the automatic guards. Ah, I've waited all my life for this! Once we're
in the plant, my men will do the rest."
"You're going to blow it up?"
"Absolutely!"
* * * * *
"And what do you gain by that? The formula for the Y Hormone still
exists!"
The bearded man laughed. "Yes, I can see you've been out of touch with
the world. It's been thirty years since the country produced anyone
capable of working with that formula. That's when the last university
closed down--thirty years ago."
"That's shocking," said Dr. Peccary. "But my experiments showed
conclusively that the Y Hormone has no deleterious effect upon
intelligence. I took every precaution!"
"Nothing wrong with anyone's intelligence," said the bearded man,
"except that no one's under pressure to use it. When the future
stretches on indefinitely, it gets easier and easier to put things off
until tomorrow--even education--until finally it's put off forever.
There's only one man living who understands that formula."
"And who is that?"
The bearded man looked down at him hatefully. "Yourself, Dr. Peccary!
That's why we're so delighted to capture you--because now you'll never
use it again!"
Peccary stared at him aghast. "I understand now! You mean to steal
it. You mean to force it out of me and start producing the Y Hormone
yourself!"
This accusation resulted in a violent reaction from the bearded man. He
grasped Peccary by the lapels of his jacket and hauled him to his feet.
Peccary could feel the man's powerful hands trembling with rage.
"You fool! You utter imbecile! Don't you even yet know who we are?"
Peccary was so throttled by the man's clutch that he could only waggle
his head in the negative. The bearded man's face came close to his.
"We're mortals!" He flung Peccary back on the bunk contemptuously. "We
accept our allotted span of years and call it quits. But during that
time we live! We have to. It's all the time we have!" He glared at
Peccary a moment before resuming in a milder tone. "After we destroy
your production plant, Dr. Peccary, we're going to kill you. You might
as well know. It's the only way to make certain that the formula for
the Y Hormone will never be used again." Then he smiled. "But take
consolation. With the plant destroyed you'd gradually get old and die
anyway. For the brief period before we execute you, you might even
regain an appreciation for life." He bent suddenly, gripped Peccary's
wrist and hauled him to his feet again. "In fact, you might have
forgotten what life is. I'll refresh your memory. Come along!"
He dragged Peccary to the door, opened it and led him outside.
Peccary looked around. He found himself on the level floor of a canyon
whose vertical walls rose high on either side. He recognized the place
at once. Often when he was a boy he'd come here to camp overnight. It
had been a delightful wilderness with a year-round stream.
* * * * *
The canyon had changed. Some forty cabins like the one he'd been in
were built in the shade of the southern cliff, and the canyon floor
was covered with green crops and pasture. He heard singing, laughter.
People were at work in the fields, children were building rock castles
at the base of the cliff. On a cabin porch two elderly men sat playing
checkers.
"The last of the mortals," said the bearded man. "If there are any
other colonies we don't know of them. But when you're gone, Dr.
Peccary, they'll be the first of a new race! You asked earlier what we
intended to do with the boy we kidnaped. There he is." And he pointed
toward the canyon wall.
Peccary looked and saw Paul climbing upward along crevices and ledges.
The bearded man cupped his hands to his mouth and shouted. "Paul! How
is it?"
The boy straightened on a rocky pinnacle and looked back. His face was
ecstatic. "I'm climbing!" he crowed. "I've never been so high! I'm
climbing all the way to the top!" He waved and clambered on.
"Once in a great while a child is born to one of the immortals," the
bearded man said. "If we find him in time we can save him."
Peccary watched the boy move upward along the cliff. "Then why was he
so terrified when you captured him?"
"Because he'd had it pounded into him that if the Atavars got him
he'd die. He will, too, eventually. Like any other mortal. But in the
meanwhile--" He broke off and turned on Peccary savagely. "You see,
there's one thing you didn't consider at all! The Y Hormone stops aging
and keeps people healthy, but it can't protect them from accidents. The
immortals can still die if they get hit by a train or fall overboard
in the middle of the ocean. A mortal can accept the possibility of
accidental death because he knows he's going to die anyway sooner
or later, but can't you see the psychological shock to the immortals
when one of them dies? A man who had the potential of living forever,
suddenly wiped out! It's like the end of the world. And so they started
eliminating hazards. Automobiles went first. Then planes and trains.
They weren't needed anyway, because people stopped traveling. To travel
is to court accident. But one precaution breeds another, and before
long people were avoiding all dangerous occupations. With immortality
at stake, even the smallest risk was too much. Planing mills, machine
shops, mines, smelters--bah! Name me an occupation that doesn't
occasionally entail some hazard. Even motherhood!"
* * * * *
"But I anticipated the need for birth control! I had the plans all set
up."
"There was birth control all right, but not the way you planned it.
Ten years after your hormone went on the market the world had an extra
five billion people. For a few years they produced a surge of energy
until the older immortals started eliminating the hazards. After that,
starvation set in. Three-fourths of the population died. Your hormone
can't keep people from starving, either, and it was a shock from which
those who survived never recovered. Every new mouth to feed was a
threat. Childbirth practically stopped. But that left the remaining
immortals in a very soft position. For years now they've been existing
on the leftovers from civilization, finding shelter in the old houses,
ransacking the attics and closets of the dead for scraps of clothing,
daring to plant a few crops in areas where they'll grow with little
care. And after that--boredom."
He thrust an accusing finger at Peccary. "And you dared to use the
slogan, 'Time to achieve perfection!' I tell you, Dr. Peccary, the
source of man's courage and energy is the knowledge of death! Man was
meant to be mortal. We strive because we know the time is short. We
climb mountains, make love, descend to the depths of the sea and reach
for the stars because the certainty of death urges us on. It's the only
certainty the world had--and you would destroy it!"
Peccary quailed before the bearded man's ferocity. He was relieved when
his captor's attention was diverted by a party of horsemen who rode
up in neat order and stopped before their leader. Several horses were
loaded with explosives.
"We're ready, Sir," their spokesman said.
"Good," said the bearded man. "I see no reason to delay an instant."
An extra horse had been provided for Dr. Peccary. He was on the point
of being forcibly hoisted into the saddle when he was given a reprieve
by a diversion of another kind.
Approaching on the path through the center of the canyon, pedaling his
bicycle frantically, came--Staghorn!
* * * * *
He rode up to the group and leapt from his seat, his face blue from
exertion. He'd been climbing all the way from town. He stood gasping
for breath while he dragged his big gold watch from his pocket and
consulted the time. He managed a groan. "Only thirty minutes left.
Miles to go! But it's down hill all the way; we can make it!" He shoved
his bicycle forward. "On the handlebars, Dr. Peccary, quick!"
Peccary would have liked nothing better. But his movement toward
Staghorn was stopped instantly by the men who were trying to put him on
his horse. "They're going to kill me!" he cried. "They're going to blow
up my factory and kill me!"
"No, no!" said Staghorn. "That can't be. The consequences would be
disastrous." He turned to the bearded leader. "Look, Sir, I have no
time to explain, and I'm sure you wouldn't believe me even if I did.
All of you are illusions! This entire situation is nothing but a
mathematical probability. And so I insist that you release my friend,
Dr. Peccary, at once!"
The bearded man was so amazed by this request that he forgot to take
offense. He gaped at Staghorn. "Who are you? I can't imagine an
immortal risking himself on a bicycle!"
"At this moment I'm desperately mortal, and so is Dr. Peccary!"
"Nonsense. Dr. Peccary is a hundred and forty-two years old!"
"I've told you this situation has no existence in reality!"
The bearded man stomped the ground. "I've been living on this planet
fifty-five years. I know reality when I see it! And what's more, I'm
beginning to think you _are_ one of the immortals. Even an immortal
might show some courage when he knows he's going to be deprived of the
Y Hormone."
"If you must know, I'm Dr. Roger Staghorn! I can see that there's
industry and education in this canyon and so it's possible you've heard
of me. I have quite a record of scientific achievements back in the
twentieth century."
* * * * *
At this announcement the bearded man goggled at him, then threw back
his head and laughed uproariously. "You couldn't have picked a worse
masquerade. Dr. Roger Staghorn died in 1994!"
"I can't help that I'm Staghorn!"
The bearded man stopped laughing and thrust his face forward
threateningly. "You're a fraud! Because it so happens that _I'm_
Staghorn!"
"You? Staghorn?"
"I'm Henry Staghorn, great-grandson of the real Dr. Roger Staghorn!"
"Impossible. I have no intention of ever getting married!"
"Dr. Roger Staghorn married when he founded the Atavars, ninety years
ago! He saw the need of leaving mortal offspring and sacrificed himself
to that end. And he's buried in the cliff over there. Furthermore, he
became Dr. Peccary's most bitter enemy. If he were alive today, he'd
be tying the knot for Peccary's neck instead of trying to rescue him."
The bearded man drew a revolver from inside his jacket. "I think I'll
execute you here and now!"
Peccary all but fainted. If Staghorn were killed all hope was gone. But
Staghorn threw up a commanding hand.
"Stop, Henry! What you say may be perfectly true from your peculiar
viewpoint. But I'm still Roger Staghorn! Are you going to shoot your
own great-grandfather?"
Staghorn's tone, rather than his words, made the bearded man pause. He
turned to a companion.
And in that instant Staghorn moved. After all, he was slightly younger
and more agile than his great-grandson. He leapt onto his bicycle,
shouting at Peccary, "Turn around!"
Peccary whirled and sprang in the air as Staghorn aimed the bicycle
between his legs. He landed neatly on the handlebars, and with
simultaneous kicks sent the men on either side sprawling. Then he and
Staghorn were off down the canyon.
Behind them they could hear the thundering hoofs as the horsemen
started in pursuit.
"Go, Staghorn, go!" Peccary shouted.
The race would have been lost at once except for the downhill grade.
But because of it, Peccary's added weight was a help instead of a
hindrance. Shots rang out; bullets bounced from the rocks on either
side.
They made it out of the canyon's mouth and the grade increased on the
long straightaway toward town. Staghorn's feet spun as they darted
downward, maintaining their lead in front of the pursuing horsemen. The
town loomed ahead of them, closer and closer until at last they sped
into a street where the buildings gave them protection from bullets.
The bicycle slowed. They were on level ground again. Staghorn skidded
around a corner and stopped so suddenly that Dr. Peccary was propelled
forward and landed on his feet at the mouth of an alley. Abandoning the
bicycle, both men charged into it.
"The square!" Staghorn gasped. "I'm focused on the square!" He hauled
out his watch as he ran. Only seven minutes remained.
* * * * *
The deep-throated alarm whistle was sounding over the town. Its
inhabitants must have sighted the approach of the Atavars for they
were scurrying into buildings and basements, leaving the way clear for
Peccary and Staghorn. They emerged from the alley and turned left for a
block, then doubled back as they were sighted by the searching horsemen.
The hue and cry was on again, but Peccary's familiarity with his home
town served them well until they came within sight of the square. Then
they stopped in dismay and ducked into a doorway.
Across the street in the center of the little park, as though divining
that it must be their destination, was Staghorn's great-grandson
and three of his men. Their position enabled them to watch all four
approaches to the square at the same time.
Staghorn tugged out his watch again. Two minutes. They had to be in
focus! A second late and they'd be locked forever. He watched the
second hand creep around the dial.
"We have to chance it," he said. "When I start running, run with me!"
The second hand crept on. A minute left. Staghorn judged the distance
from their hiding place to the grassy plot where the bearded man was
standing. About seventy-five yards. Could he do seventy-five yards in
ten seconds? Could Peccary? Thirty seconds left ... twenty-five ...
twenty. He'd never gone through such a painful count-down ... fifteen
seconds.
"Ready, Dr. Peccary. It's now or never."