An odd smile appeared on Carteret's thin face. "It's one that bears the test of time, Jim. Our Savior went meekly to the Cross, and on the third day He arose. It was an act that has captured the imaginations and hearts of men for two thousand years." Harker frowned. "I don't quite see--" He stopped. Abruptly the deeper meaning of the priest's words was borne in on him, and he stared at Carteret aghast, wondering. "Would _you_ do something like that?" he asked. "If I had faith in my cause," Carteret said. "Do you have faith in yours?" Hesitantly Harker said, "I--think so." "Therein lies the answer, Jim. Think about it a while. Don't rush yourself. I'll leave you now, and let you get used to the idea." * * * * * Alone, Harker stared through the office window at the dark, rain-streaked sky outside. Summer lightning crackled suddenly across the darkness; moments later thunder came rolling down from the hills. A cold sweat came over him as he revolved Carteret's words in his mind: _Our Savior went meekly to the Cross, and on the third day He arose._ Do I dare, he wondered? It was, he knew without doubt, the act that would settle the fate of reanimation for good. With success would come triumph; failure for him unquestionably meant the downfall of the project. _Shall I risk it?_ _Do I dare?_ He thought back over a life that had lasted forty-three years, a comfortable life, most of it spent in easy circumstances as he rose through law school to political prominence, then down the other side of the curve into a short-lived obscurity. He had never known real danger in his life. There had been enemies, of course--political ones, who had worked his downfall. But that was a gentle kind of strife, a chess-game more than a pitched war. This was different. This was life or death, on the line--and for what? For a cause. He had never known a cause he might be willing to risk death for. Now that the risk presented itself, he wondered if he had the courage to submit to it. Harker sat quietly for perhaps half an hour, thinking. Then he reached for the phone and dialed his home number. Lois answered. In a calm, level voice, he told her exactly what he was going to do. She was silent for a moment; then she said simply, "Jim, why do you have to do this thing?" _How can I explain?_ he wondered. _How can I show her that a moment can come when you stand between life and death, and the choice is entirely yours?_ He said, "I think it's the only way, Lois. It'll prove to the world that reanimation can be trusted." "But the awful risk, Jim--" _One-chance-out-of-six for idiocy_, he thought bleakly. "I wouldn't do it if I thought it was risky, Lois. The whole point is that it _isn't_ risky. You think I want to be a goddam martyr?" "Sometimes I think you do, Jim," she said very quietly. He chuckled harshly. "Well, maybe. But I know what I'm doing. It'll hammer home reanimation the way no amount of talking ever could."