Stripped to the waist, Downey stood in a gray steel room that somewhat
resembled the turret of a battleship. Gun-shaped implements bristled
from the grim painted walls; a veritable arsenal of knives glistened
behind him; while in the foreground was a series of tall machines
equipped with an intricacy of dials and tubes, to one of which Downey's
left arm had been strapped.
Just behind Downey stood a queer looking individual; robed in black,
although with bare knees, according to the local custom; and with a
black mask, and two tubes like doubly long opera glasses attached to
his eyes. Eagerly he was bending over the dials, and reciting, half
as though to himself, "339. 339.1. 340.1. 340.3." Then, with sudden
enthusiasm, he snapped off the mask and glasses, revealing a wizened
ancient face, and exclaimed,
"Young man, I congratulate you! You have passed!"
"Passed what, Doctor?" demanded Downey, as the examiner freed his arms
from the straps.
"Passed the body test! You have come through with high honors! I never
saw a more perfect physique! No flaw--no disease! Your score is more
than three hundred and forty--and two hundred and thirty, as you may
know, is considered a good average. I shall recommend you for immediate
decapitation! My congratulations again, young man!"
Downey glared at the blacked robed one. "I don't know what you're
talking about," he said. "It seems to me nearly every one here has lost
his head, but that's no reason I want to lose mine!"
"Ah, but it's considered a glorious thing, young man! To be decapitated
for your country's sake! Not every one can rise to such heights! Your
name will be enshrined in the Tablet of Heroes!"
"I can get along without that," stated Downey, drily. "All I'm asking
to know is what this nonsense is all about."
"Nonsense? You won't think it's nonsense, young man, when you put your
neck under the knife!"
Noting the look of bewilderment and horror on Downey's face, the Doctor
continued in a different vein:
"Well, maybe I'd better explain. I'm coming to see you're sincere in
claiming ignorance. Not that I can accept that silly story about the
twentieth century. But judging from your looks, your queer accent and
out-of-date manners, you are undoubtedly from some foreign country,
where maybe the people are uncivilized and don't know anything about
decapitation."
The black-robed one seated himself on a little revolving stool, crossed
his legs, and slowly went on:
"The original invention was made about three hundred years ago, by a
physician named John Knight, who lived in an ancient city called New
York. Was it necessary, Knight asked, for our best and most brilliant
minds to be taken from us at the early age of seventy or eighty owing
to some bodily defect? If fed by a vigorous blood-stream, the brain
would continue to function indefinitely--perhaps for centuries. But a
vigorous blood-stream, after senility had set in, could come only from
another body. Therefore, Dr. Knight concluded, if an old man's head
were grafted on to the body of a youth, the old man might continue to
live, with new limbs and organs, but with mental faculties unimpaired.
Think what a boon it would be for the race, if we could keep our great
geniuses alive for hundreds of years!"
"But how was it possible, Doctor," broke in Downey, "to attach one
man's body to another man's head?"
"It wasn't possible until after long experimentation. But the same
principle had already been applied in the grafting of limbs. There was
a gas, Etherene by name, which would produce suspended animation for
a few hours, even stopping the heartbeat and the circulation of the
blood. Any part of a man's body might be cut off while he was in this
condition; and if ligament was fitted to ligament, bone to bone, and
blood-vessel to blood-vessel, the removed portion might be attached in
its proper place to the body of another Etherene patient. Of course,
this required skilled surgery. But it was found that, by making proper
measurements in advance, it was possible to graft arms, legs, ears,
eyes and even whole bodies on to new possessors."
"That doesn't explain," remarked Downey, grimly, "where the new bodies
would come from."
"No, it doesn't." The speaker arose, pointed to a crimson wall-chart
marked, "Selective Decapitation Draft," and then went on to state,
"There has been a great deal of trouble on that score. In fact, the
Anti-Draft Revolution of the Twenties was fought on these grounds
alone. First, as to whose lives would be preserved by the new
invention. Of course, our rulers voted themselves that privilege.
Also, the friends and relations of the rulers. Then all persons whose
income tax was high enough were automatically entitled to remain
alive. Furthermore, those who got in by what is vulgarly called
graft--unfortunately, there have been some scandals on that account.
And, finally, if there were bodies enough to go around, a place was
to be made for the geniuses, such as great scientists, philosophers,
poets, etc.
"I regret greatly to say, however," the Doctor concluded, with a sigh,
"that we have never yet gotten that far down on the list."
"That still doesn't tell me," Downey insisted, "where you get the young
bodies to attach to the old heads."
"Well, that has always been a problem," admitted the Doctor. "At first
we used the bodies of criminals condemned to capital punishment. But
the age was a humane one, and abolished capital punishment. Then we
called for volunteers. But people showed a decided lack of patriotism.
So finally we adopted the draft. All young men between twenty-one and
thirty-one must be permanently registered. If they are selected in the
great annual lottery and are found to be without taint or disease, they
will have the blessed fate of giving their bodies to rejuvenate their
country's aged leaders."
"But are the drafted men the only ones taken?" inquired Downey,
anxiously.
"No, we are broad-minded. We offer the same distinguished lot to
criminals--and to aliens without a passport. That is how you gained
your chance, young man. As it happens, we are now far down the list.
Your turn will come in just three days."
With a groan, Downey stared at the gray, knife-lined walls that hedged
him about like a fortress prison. For the first time in his life he
regretted--and bitterly regretted--the care he had always taken to
keep in prime physical condition. He chewed his lips in mortification
to think that he had come to the twenty-third century only in order to
nourish some tottering dodo with his life blood. But for one reason
above all others he was stabbed with grief: a vision had burst over him
of Judith's eager face and burning bright blue eyes; and with a rush of
vehement emotion it came to him that he could not, must not die! How
would she fare, alone and friendless in this strange century? To escape
from the bleak steel walls appeared impossible; yet for her sake, more
than for his own, he must find a way to avert the threatened doom.