A gaunt, frantic-looking man, with skin like cracked parchment across
his high cheekbones, and a pair of Carradine eyes looking down at Dan.
If Death should walk in human flesh, Dan thought, it would look like
John Tyndall.
"What do you want, 'Moses'?"
"Just dropped by to chat," said Tyndall. "You're heading for Las
Vegas, eh? Why?"
Dan jerked, fumbled for the upright-button. "I like the climate out
there. If you want to talk, talk and get it over with."
Tyndall lifted a narrow foot and gave the recline-button a sharp jab,
dumping the Senator back against the seat. "You're onto something. I
can smell it cooking, and I want my share, right now."
Dan stared into the gaunt face, and burst out laughing. He had never
actually been so close to John Tyndall before, and he did _not_ like
the smell, which had brought on the laugh, but he knew all about
Tyndall. More than Tyndall himself knew, probably. He could even
remember the early rallies Tyndall had led, feeding on the fears and
suspicions and nasty rumors grown up in the early days. It was evil,
they had said. This was not God's way, this was Man's way, as evil as
Man was evil. If God had wanted Man to live a thousand years, he would
have given him such a body--
Or:
They'll use it for a tool! Political football. They'll buy and sell
with it. They'll make a cult of it, they're doing it right now! Look
at Walter Rinehart. Did you hear about his scheme? To keep it down to
five hundred a year? They'll make themselves a ruling class, an
immortal elite, with Rinehart for their Black Pope. Better that
_nobody_ should have it--
Or:
Immortality, huh? But what kind? You hear what happened to Harvey
Tatum? That's right, the jet-car man, big business. He was one of
their 'Noble Ten' they're always bragging about. But they say he had
to have special drugs every night, that he had _changed_. That's
right, if he didn't get these drugs, see, he'd go mad and try to suck
blood and butcher up children--oh, they didn't dare publish it, had to
put him out of the way quietly, but my brother-in-law was down in
Lancaster one night when--
* * * * *
All it really needed was the man, and one day there was 'Moses'
Tyndall. Leader of the New Crusade for God. Small, at first. But the
ad-men began supporting him, broadcasting his rallies, playing him up
big. Abolish rejuvenation, it's a blot against Man's immortal soul.
Amen. Then the insurance people came along, with money. (The ad-men
and the insurance people weren't too concerned about Man's immortal
soul--they'd take their share now, thanks--but this didn't bother
Tyndall too much. Misguided, but they were on God's side. He prayed
for them.) So they gave Tyndall the first Abolitionist seat in the
Senate, in 2124, just nine years ago, and the fight between Rinehart
and Dan Fowler that was brewing even then had turned into a
three-cornered fight--
* * * * *