Walton was becoming hardened to astonishment; the further he excavated
into the late director's affairs, the less susceptible he was to the
visceral reaction of shock.
Still, this stunned him for a moment.
"Did you say you'd perfected this technique?" he asked slowly. "Or that
it was still in the planning stage?"
Lamarre tapped the thick, glossy black portfolio. "In here. I've got it
all." He seemed ready to burst with self-satisfaction.
Walton leaned back, spread his fingers against the surface of the desk,
and wrinkled his forehead. "I've had this job since 1300 on the tenth,
Mr. Lamarre. That's exactly two days ago, minus half an hour. And in
that time I don't think I've had less than ten major shocks and half a
dozen minor ones."
"Sir?"
"What I'm getting at is this: just why did Director FitzMaugham sponsor
this project of yours?"
Lamarre looked blank. "Because the director was a great humanitarian,
of course. Because he felt that the human life was short, far too
short, and he wished his fellow men to enjoy long life. What other
reason should there be?"
"I know FitzMaugham was a great man ... I was his secretary for
three years." (_Though he never said a word about you, Dr. Lamarre_,
Walton thought.) "But to develop immortality at this stage of man's
existence...." Walton shook his head. "Tell me about your work, Dr.
Lamarre."
"It's difficult to sum up readily. I've fought degeneration of the
body on the cellular level, and my tests show a successful outcome.
Phagocyte stimulation combined with--the data's all here, Mr. Walton. I
needn't run through it for you."
He began to hunt in the portfolio, fumbling for something. After a
moment he extracted a folded quarto sheet, spread it out, and nudged it
across the desk toward Walton.
The director glanced at the sheet; it was covered with chemical
equations. "Spare me the technical details, Dr. Lamarre. Have you
tested your treatment yet?"
"With the only test possible, the test of time. There are insects in my
laboratories that have lived five years or more--veritable Methuselahs
of their genera. Immortality is not something one can test in less
than infinite time. But beneath the microscope, one can see the cells
regenerating, one can see decay combated...."
Walton took a deep breath. "Are you aware, Dr. Lamarre, that for the
benefit of humanity I really should have you shot at once?"
"_What?_"
Walton nearly burst out laughing; the man looked outrageously funny
with that look of shocked incomprehension on his face. "Do you
understand what immortality would do to Earth?" he asked. "With no
other planet of the solar system habitable by man, and none of the
stars within reach? Within a generation we'd be living ten to the
square inch. We'd--"
"Director FitzMaugham was aware of these things," Lamarre interrupted
sharply. "He had no intention of administering my discovery wholesale
to the populace. What's more, he was fully confident that a
faster-than-light space drive would soon let us reach the planets, and
that the terraforming engineers would succeed with their work on Venus."
"Those two factors are still unknowns in the equation," Walton said.
"Neither has succeeded, as of now. And we can't possibly let word of
your discovery get out until there are avenues to handle the overflow
of population already on hand."
"So you propose--"
"To confiscate the notes you have with you, and to insist that you
remain silent about this serum of yours until I give you permission to
announce it."
"And if I refuse?"
Walton spread his hands. "Dr. Lamarre, I'm a reasonable man trying to
do a very hard job. You're a scientist--and a sane one, I hope. I'd
appreciate your cooperation. Bear with me a few weeks, and then perhaps
the situation will change."
Awkward silence followed. Finally Lamarre said, "Very well. If you'll
return my notes, I promise to keep silent until you give me permission
to speak."
"That won't be enough. I'll need to keep the notes."
Lamarre sighed. "If you insist," he said.
* * * * *
When he was again alone, Walton stored the thick portfolio in a file
drawer and stared at it quizzically.
_FitzMaugham_, he thought, _you were incredible!_
Lamarre's immortality serum, or whatever it was, was deadly. Whether
it actually worked or not was irrelevant. If word ever escaped that an
immortality drug existed, there would be rioting and death on a vast
scale.
FitzMaugham had certainly seen that, and yet he had sublimely
underwritten development of the serum, knowing that if terraforming and
the ultradrive project should fail, Lamarre's project represented a
major threat to civilization.
Well, Lamarre had knuckled under to Walton willingly enough. The
problem now was to contact Lang on Venus and find out what was
happening up there....
"Mr. Walton," said the annunciator. "There's a coded message arriving
for Director FitzMaugham."
"Where from?"
"From space, sir. They say they have news, but they won't give it to
anyone but Mr. FitzMaugham."