Chapter 4

Dr. Peccary could feel fingers probing at his sore head. A bit of damp cloth or cotton was pressed against his upper lip. The sharp odor that stabbed his nostrils made him jerk his head away and suck in his breath.

“Good. He’s coming around.”

Dr. Peccary opened his eyes. For a few seconds faces and objects swung around him giddily, but finally the environment achieved stability. He saw that he was in a log cabin, on a bunk. Seated in a chair beside him was a man whose manner could belong only to a doctor. Standing behind the doctor was the bearded man.

“He’ll be all right,” the doctor said, packing bottles and probes into his little black bag.

Dr. Peccary sat up and touched the back of his head gingerly. It was very, very sore. He’d never had an illusion quite like this before. Besides, the illusion had persisted too long. How long had he been out? Hours? Days? Good lord, had Staghorn deserted him?

The bearded man ushered the doctor out, locked the door and came back to observe Peccary. He put a booted foot on the chair and leaned an elbow on his knee.

“I hardly need tell you, Dr. Peccary,” he said, “that this is the happiest day of my life.”

“But not of mine,” Peccary responded sourly. “I doubt if you can make it a bit worse by telling me what this is all about and what you plan to do with me.”

The bearded man showed surprise. “You don’t know?”

“No! I don’t know!” Peccary was losing his detachment.

The bearded man considered him thoughtfully. “I shouldn’t have let the doctor go so soon. Apparently you were hit harder than we thought. On the other hand it’s just possible, living as you have these last seventy years locked up in your palace and isolated from the rest of the world, that you’ve lost touch with what is going on.”

“I’ve lost touch with a great many things. Obviously I’m a prisoner. How long is this going to last?”

“Only until my demolition squad is ready. Then we take you to your production plant where you produce the Y Hormone. There will be a gun at your back, of course. You know the combination to get us safely past the automatic guards. Ah, I’ve waited all my life for this! Once we’re in the plant, my men will do the rest.”

“You’re going to blow it up?”

“Absolutely!”

“And what do you gain by that? The formula for the Y Hormone still exists!”

The bearded man laughed. “Yes, I can see you’ve been out of touch with the world. It’s been thirty years since the country produced anyone capable of working with that formula. That’s when the last university closed down--thirty years ago.”

“That’s shocking,” said Dr. Peccary. “But my experiments showed conclusively that the Y Hormone has no deleterious effect upon intelligence. I took every precaution!”

“Nothing wrong with anyone’s intelligence,” said the bearded man, “except that no one’s under pressure to use it. When the future stretches on indefinitely, it gets easier and easier to put things off until tomorrow--even education--until finally it’s put off forever. There’s only one man living who understands that formula.”

“And who is that?”

The bearded man looked down at him hatefully. “Yourself, Dr. Peccary! That’s why we’re so delighted to capture you--because now you’ll never use it again!”

Peccary stared at him aghast. “I understand now! You mean to steal it. You mean to force it out of me and start producing the Y Hormone yourself!”

This accusation resulted in a violent reaction from the bearded man. He grasped Peccary by the lapels of his jacket and hauled him to his feet. Peccary could feel the man’s powerful hands trembling with rage.

“You fool! You utter imbecile! Don’t you even yet know who we are?”

Peccary was so throttled by the man’s clutch that he could only waggle his head in the negative. The bearded man’s face came close to his.

“We’re mortals!” He flung Peccary back on the bunk contemptuously. “We accept our allotted span of years and call it quits. But during that time we live! We have to. It’s all the time we have!” He glared at Peccary a moment before resuming in a milder tone. “After we destroy your production plant, Dr. Peccary, we’re going to kill you. You might as well know. It’s the only way to make certain that the formula for the Y Hormone will never be used again.” Then he smiled. “But take consolation. With the plant destroyed you’d gradually get old and die anyway. For the brief period before we execute you, you might even regain an appreciation for life.” He bent suddenly, gripped Peccary’s wrist and hauled him to his feet again. “In fact, you might have forgotten what life is. I’ll refresh your memory. Come along!”

He dragged Peccary to the door, opened it and led him outside.

Peccary looked around. He found himself on the level floor of a canyon whose vertical walls rose high on either side. He recognized the place at once. Often when he was a boy he’d come here to camp overnight. It had been a delightful wilderness with a year-round stream.

The canyon had changed. Some forty cabins like the one he’d been in were built in the shade of the southern cliff, and the canyon floor was covered with green crops and pasture. He heard singing, laughter. People were at work in the fields, children were building rock castles at the base of the cliff. On a cabin porch two elderly men sat playing checkers.

“The last of the mortals,” said the bearded man. “If there are any other colonies we don’t know of them. But when you’re gone, Dr. Peccary, they’ll be the first of a new race! You asked earlier what we intended to do with the boy we kidnaped. There he is.” And he pointed toward the canyon wall.

Peccary looked and saw Paul climbing upward along crevices and ledges. The bearded man cupped his hands to his mouth and shouted. “Paul! How is it?”

The boy straightened on a rocky pinnacle and looked back. His face was ecstatic. “I’m climbing!” he crowed. “I’ve never been so high! I’m climbing all the way to the top!” He waved and clambered on.

“Once in a great while a child is born to one of the immortals,” the bearded man said. “If we find him in time we can save him.”

Peccary watched the boy move upward along the cliff. “Then why was he so terrified when you captured him?”

“Because he’d had it pounded into him that if the Atavars got him he’d die. He will, too, eventually. Like any other mortal. But in the meanwhile--” He broke off and turned on Peccary savagely. “You see, there’s one thing you didn’t consider at all! The Y Hormone stops aging and keeps people healthy, but it can’t protect them from accidents. The immortals can still die if they get hit by a train or fall overboard in the middle of the ocean. A mortal can accept the possibility of accidental death because he knows he’s going to die anyway sooner or later, but can’t you see the psychological shock to the immortals when one of them dies? A man who had the potential of living forever, suddenly wiped out! It’s like the end of the world. And so they started eliminating hazards. Automobiles went first. Then planes and trains. They weren’t needed anyway, because people stopped traveling. To travel is to court accident. But one precaution breeds another, and before long people were avoiding all dangerous occupations. With immortality at stake, even the smallest risk was too much. Planing mills, machine shops, mines, smelters--bah! Name me an occupation that doesn’t occasionally entail some hazard. Even motherhood!”

“But I anticipated the need for birth control! I had the plans all set up.”

“There was birth control all right, but not the way you planned it. Ten years after your hormone went on the market the world had an extra five billion people. For a few years they produced a surge of energy until the older immortals started eliminating the hazards. After that, starvation set in. Three-fourths of the population died. Your hormone can’t keep people from starving, either, and it was a shock from which those who survived never recovered. Every new mouth to feed was a threat. Childbirth practically stopped. But that left the remaining immortals in a very soft position. For years now they’ve been existing on the leftovers from civilization, finding shelter in the old houses, ransacking the attics and closets of the dead for scraps of clothing, daring to plant a few crops in areas where they’ll grow with little care. And after that--boredom.”

He thrust an accusing finger at Peccary. “And you dared to use the slogan, ‘Time to achieve perfection!’ I tell you, Dr. Peccary, the source of man’s courage and energy is the knowledge of death! Man was meant to be mortal. We strive because we know the time is short. We climb mountains, make love, descend to the depths of the sea and reach for the stars because the certainty of death urges us on. It’s the only certainty the world had--and you would destroy it!”

Peccary quailed before the bearded man’s ferocity. He was relieved when his captor’s attention was diverted by a party of horsemen who rode up in neat order and stopped before their leader. Several horses were loaded with explosives.

“We’re ready, Sir,” their spokesman said.

“Good,” said the bearded man. “I see no reason to delay an instant.”