But some of it was Paul, just Paul. The house was exactly as Dan had expected it would be (though he had never been inside this house since Paul had come to Starship Project fifteen years ago)--stuffy, severe, rather gloomy, rooms packed with bookshelves, drawing boards, odds and ends of papers and blueprints and inks, thick, ugly furniture from the early 2000's, a cluttered, improvised, helter-skelter barn of a testing-lab, with modern equipment that looked lost and alien scattered among the mouldering junk of two centuries. "Get your coat," said Dan. "It's cold outside. We're going back to Washington." "Have a drink." Paul waved him toward the sideboard. "Relax. Your pilot needs a rest." "Paul, I didn't come here to play games. The games are over now." Paul poured a brandy with deliberation. Handed Dan one, sipped his own. "Good brandy," he murmured. "Wish I could afford more of it." "_Paul._ You're going with me." The old man shrugged with a little tired smile. "I'll go with you if you insist, of course. But I'm not going." "Do you know what you're saying?" "Perfectly." "Paul, you don't just say 'Thanks, but I don't believe I'll have any' when they give you a rejuvenation permit. _Nobody_ refuses rejuvenation. Why, there are a million people out there begging for a place on the list. It's _life_, Paul. You can't just turn it down--" "This _is_ good brandy," said Paul. "Would you care to take a look at my lab, by the way? Not too well equipped, but sometimes I can work here better than--" Dan swung on his brother viciously. "I will tell you what I'm going to do," he grated, hitting each word hard, like knuckles rapping the table. "I'm going to take you to the plane. If you won't come, my pilot and I will drag you. When we get to Washington, we'll take you to the Center. If you won't sign the necessary releases, I'll forge them. I'll bribe two witnesses who will swear in the face of death by torture that they saw you signing. I'll buy out the doctors that can do the job, and if they won't do it, I'll sweat them down until they _will_." * * * * * He slammed the glass down on the table, feeling his heart pounding in his throat, feeling the pain creep up. "I've got lots of things on lots of people, and I can get things done when I want them done. People don't fool with me in Washington any more, because when they do they get their fingers burned off at the knuckles. For Christ sake, Paul, I knew you were stubborn but I didn't think you were block-headed stupid!" Paul shrugged, apologetically. "I'm impressed, Dan. Really." "You don't think I can do it?" Dan roared. "Oh, no doubt you _could_. But such a lot of trouble for an unwilling victim. And I'm your brother, Dan. Remember?" Dan Fowler spread his hands in defeat, then sank down in the chair. "Paul, tell me _why_." "I don't want to be rejuvenated." As though he were saying, "I don't want any sugar in my coffee."