The experience with the drab, as with the courtesan, was mechanically satisfactory, emotionally inadequate. He paid her--knowing she, too, would have given herself for nothing, had she known how--and went to his hotel limp with the same not-physical weakness he had felt before. The effects of the trip or the accident were lingering. He half expected Uvrei to appear that night, but the old one did not come. Why should he? This talk of spirit-son and soul-father was sophistry; there had been a bargain and each had kept his part. The afternoon of the fourth day, a vidicast reporter called to ask whether Emrys Shortmire was any relation to the Jan Shortmire who had invented the space-warp engines. Emrys could not deny his identity without jeopardizing his inheritance; however, he refused to be interviewed personally or let his picture be used. He did not, he said, want to be dwarfed by his father's reputation. Nonetheless, his arrival was mentioned on the newscasts and panic rose up in him when he heard his name spoken publicly. The next day a letter came for him. People rarely wrote letters any more, except to the distant planets, yet this one had an Earth postmark. Cold with panic again, he tore it open and read: My dear Mr. Shortmire: This evening's vidicast informed me that you were on Earth. You will not, I am sure, know my name. However, I was a friend of your father's, when we were both young men, and it would give me great pleasure to make your acquaintance. NICHOLAS DYALL * * * * * 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...."