Everyone was against him, Malenkov sulked. Everyone. Now even a ghost.
"How long will he live--uh, he _is_ living?"
"The answer to the second question, Comrade Premier, is yes. He is
alive, although the manner of life is decidedly unusual. As for the
first question, does the Premier want a truthful answer?"
"I insist upon it," said Malenkov, who now desired more vodka, but
thought it a matter of impropriety to return to the bar and so call
the Comrade Doctor's attention to the fact that he drank heavily. Such
things had a way of getting out and causing trouble. Perhaps Chenkov
would know some way to use it as a weapon.
"Then, I do not know. I can promise nothing. He is alive now--in a very
special sort of way. How long he will live I cannot predict. He might
die in a minute, an hour, a year--he might live, if properly cared for,
for an eternity. He--"
The phone buzzed. Malenkov shuddered, jumped. It had sounded so loud.
He must have them mute the phones.
"This is the Comrade Premier," he said.
"Comrade Zhubin, the bio-chemist, Comrade Premier."