Death -- Fiction; Immortalism -- Fiction; Science fiction
There were statements from various ranking government officials,
though. They unanimously favored setting up a federal research
grant project for studying further applications of the techniques of
reanimation.
The nurse appeared and said, "Mr. Raymond would like to see you, sir."
"Send him in."
Raymond grinned and remarked, "You look like you've been getting up to
date."
"I have been. Things look pretty good, don't they?"
"They look tremendous," Raymond said. "Dixon phoned from Washington
to say that Vorys and Brewster have been won over. The Committee's
recommending a multi-million dollar federal grant to us for continuing
research."
"Great! Now I suppose you can lick the business of insanity, Mart."
Raymond grinned cheerfully again. "Didn't I tell you? We broke through
that wall about four days ago. It's a matter of insulating the hormone
feed lines. Yours was the last risky reanimation."
Before Harker could reply, the phone by the side of his bed chimed
briefly. He picked it up and heard a voice say, "Albany calling for Mr.
James Harker."
"That's me," Harker said.
"Go ahead, Albany."
There was a pause; then a new voice said, "Jim? Leo Winstead here. Just
heard the news. Everything all right?"
"Couldn't be okayer, Leo."
Winstead coughed. "Jim, maybe this is too soon to ask you to think
about returning to work, but I want to put a proposition to you."
"What kind?"
"New York State is short one senator right now. I have to appoint
somebody to replace Thurman. And it seemed to me that _you_--"
Harker nearly let the phone drop. When he had recovered his poise he
said, "I'm still a sick man, Leo. Don't shock me like that."
"Sorry if I did. But it's a job I think you're equipped to handle.
Interested?"
"I sort of think I am," Harker said wryly.
When he had finished talking to Winstead, he hung up the phone and
looked at Mart Raymond. "That was Governor Winstead. He's naming me to
the Senate to fill the rest of Thurman's term."
"Wonderful!"
"I suppose it is," Harker admitted.
He sent for Lois and told her about it, and she wept a little, partly
for joy and partly, he suspected, because she did not want him to take
on any new responsibilities.
Harker flicked the tears away. He stretched gently, mindful of his
sutures.
Lois said, "It's all finished, isn't it? The struggling and the
conniving, the plotting and scheming? Everything's going to be all
right now."
He smiled at her. He was thinking that the stream of events could
have come out much worse. He had taken a desperate gamble, and he and
humanity both were that much the richer for it.
But the world as he had known it for forty-odd years was dead, and
would not return to life. This was a new era--an era in which the
darkest fact of existence, death, no longer loomed high over man.
Staggering tasks awaited mankind now. A new code of laws was needed, a
new ethical system. The first chapter had closed, but the rest of the
book remained to be written.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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