_They told only half the story to Daniel Carter
Griffin when he volunteered to die. They told him
of the glories of life re-born; youth re-captured;
love re-won; of Free Agenting around the cosmos.
Of many things, they spoke about ... but never
once did they mention the lurid second death._
[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
Planet Stories May 1954.
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
It occurred to Griffin as he sat waiting in the office that he had
forgotten what day it was.
It was a silly thing, and it upset him all out of proportion to its
importance. At first it had been no more than a disturbing flicker in
the back of his mind, an uneasy half-thought, not even consciously
formed. He had been waiting for Cranstead for a quarter of an hour,
and he hadn't been thinking very coherently about much of anything. His
right arm was still a bit sore, but mostly he was aware of a curious
feeling of strength and exhilaration as he eyed the cool gray walls of
the office. But something bothered him, nibbling away deep in his mind;
he crossed and uncrossed his legs, feeling a trifle impatient. And
then, with a shiver, he realized that he didn't even know what the date
was!
He pulled out his wallet with a frown, and searched for the pocket
calendar he carried. He glanced at it, and then put it back with a
grunt. It didn't help him a bit. He didn't even know what month it was,
or even year, for sure. He leaned back, trying to remember what day it
was, and his mind was abruptly flooded with the implications of the
staggering thing he had done--