* * * * *
Emrys crumpled up the letter and hurled it across the room. He knew
Dyall for an old--associate of Jan Shortmire's, but he had not
thought him to be alive. What had Dyall done to warrant the longevity
treatment? He was nothing but a glorified machinist, a technician. And
now he might wreck all of Emrys' plans. But if the young man made no
reply, perhaps the old one would take the hint. And so it turned out;
there was no further word from Nicholas Dyall.
Finally, two weeks after Emrys had first come to Earth, he got a
telecall from Peter Hubbard. His documents were all in order and
he could receive his inheritance as soon as he passed the physical
examination.
Emrys went to the doctor's offices feeling a cold touch of apprehension
again. But all Dr. Jameson said when the examination was finished
was, "You have the physique of a man fifteen years your junior, Mr.
Shortmire."
Emrys fastened his tunic with fingers that shook from relief. "Guess
I'm lucky," he muttered.
The doctor cleared his throat. "Peter Hubbard was telling me about your
mother, that she was...."
Hubbard, that old fool! And Emrys had been so sure of his discretion.
"My mother was Morethan, yes." Then he realized it was possible
that Hubbard, too, had felt there might be something not-quite-human
manifest in his body and had tried to prepare the doctor. Emrys made
his tone more conciliatory. "On both Morethis and Earth, the child
takes citizenship from the father, so--"
"I wasn't worrying about any legal problems; I was merely thinking that
medical science would be interested."
"I do not wish the fact of my--of my birth publicized in any way--until
after my death," Emrys added placatorily. "Surely you can understand
what hell life would become if people knew I was half Morethan?"