Time Enough for Love (5 page)

“Because we needed you, sir.”

“That’s not an ethical reason, just a pragmatic one. The need was not mutual.”

“Senior, I have studied your life as thoroughly as the records permit. It seems to me that you often acted pragmatically.”

Lazarus grinned. “That’s my boy! I was wondering if you would have the gall to try to twist it into some high moral principle, like a damned preacher. I don’t trust a man who talks about ethics when he’s picking my pocket. But if he’s acting in his own self-interest and says so, I have usually been able to work out some way to do business with him.”

“Lazarus, if you will let us complete your rejuvenation, you’ll feel like living again. I think you know that; you’ve been through it before.”

“To what end, sir? When I’ve had more than two thousand years of trying everything? When I’ve seen so many planets that they blur in my mind? When I’ve had so many wives I can’t remember their names? ‘We pray for one last landing on the Globe that gave us birth—’ I can’t even do
that
; the lovely green planet I was born on has aged even more than I have; to return to it would be a time for tears, not a happy homecoming. No, Son, despite all rejuvenation there comes a time when the only reasonable thing to do is turn out the lights and go to steep—and you, damn you, you took it away from me.”

“I’m sorry—no, I’m
not
sorry. But I do ask your pardon.”

“Well…you might get it. But not now. What was this aching reason you needed me? You mentioned some problem other than the troublemakers you transport.”

“Yes, although it is not one that would have caused me to interfere with your right to die your own way; I can handle it, one way or another. I think Secundus is becoming both too crowded and too civilized—”

“I’m sure of it, Ira.”

“Therefore I think the Families should move again.”

“I agree even though I am not interested. As a thumb rule, one can say that any time a planet starts developing cities of more than one million people, it is approaching critical mass. In a century or two it won’t be fit to live on. Do you have a planet in mind? Do you think you can get the Trustees to go along? And will the Families follow the Trustees?”

“Yes to the first, maybe to the second, probably No to the third. I have a planet in mind as ‘Tertius,’ one as good or better than Secundus. I think many of the Trustees would agree with my reasoning but I’m not sure of the overwhelming support such a move would need—Secundus is too comfortable for the danger to seem imminent to most people. As for the Families themselves—no, I don’t think we could persuade most of them to uproot and move…but even a few hundred thousand would suffice. Gideon’s Band—you follow me?”

“I’m way ahead of you. Migration always involves selection and improvement. Elementary. If they’ll do it.
If
. Ira, I had a hell of a time selling the idea to the Families when we moved here back in the twenty-third century. Could not have sold it at all if Earth had not become a dreary place. Good luck—you’ll need it.”

“Lazarus, I don’t expect to succeed. I will
try
. But if I fail, I’ll resign and migrate anyhow. To Tertius if I can organize a party large enough for a viable colony. To some planet colonized but very thinly settled if not.”

“Do you mean that, Ira? Or, when the time comes, will you kid yourself that it is really your duty to hang on? If a man has the temperament for power—and you have or you wouldn’t be where you are—he finds it hard to abdicate.”

“I mean it, Lazarus. Oh, I like to run things; I know it. I hope to lead the Families on their third Exodus. But I don’t expect to. However, I think my chances of putting together a viable colony—of young people, not over a hundred years old, two hundred at most—without the aid of the Foundation, are fairly good. But if I fail in that, too”—he shrugged—“migration will be the only worthwhile course open to me; Secundus will have nothing more to offer.” Weatheral added, “Perhaps I feel as you do, sir, in a minor way. I have no wish to be Chairman Pro Tem all my days. I’ve had almost a century of it; that’s enough. If I can’t put this over.”

Lazarus was thoughtfully silent; Weatheral waited.

“Ira, install that suicide switch for me. But tomorrow. Not today.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Don’t you want to know why?” Lazarus picked up the large envelope, his will. “If you convince me that you are going to migrate, come hell or high water and no matter what the Trustees do, I want to rewrite this. My investments and cash accounts here and there—if somebody hasn’t stolen them while my back was turned—add up to a nice piece of change. Possibly enough to make the difference between success and failure in mounting a migration. If the Trustees won’t back it with Foundation funds. And they won’t.”

Weatheral said nothing. Lazarus glared at him. “Didn’t your mother teach you to say ‘Thank you’?”

“For what, Lazarus? For giving me something after you’re dead and no longer need it? If you do this, it will be to tickle your vanity—not to please me.”

Lazarus grinned. “Hell, yes. I ought to stick in a condition that you name the planet ‘Lazarus.’ But I would have no way to enforce it. Okay, we understand each other. And I think—Do you respect good machinery?”

“Eh? Yes. As much as I despise machinery that doesn’t do what it is putatively designed to do.”

“We still understand each other. I think I’ll leave the ‘Dora’—that’s my yacht—to you personally rather than to the Families’ chairman…
if
you lead a migration.”

“Uh…you tempt me to thank you.”

“Don’t. Just be good to her. She’s a sweet craft, she’s never known anything but kindness. She’ll make a fine flagship for you. With simple reoutfitting—specs for it in her computer—she’ll house a staff of twenty or thirty. And you can ground and reconnoiter in her, then lift off again—which your transports won’t be able to do, most likely.”

“Lazarus… I don’t want to inherit either money or a yacht from you. Let them finish your rejuvenation—and come with us, man! I’ll step aside and you can boss. Or you can have no duties at all. But come!”

Lazarus smiled bleakly and shook his head. “I’ve been on six such colonizing ventures to virgin planets, not counting Secundus. All to planets I discovered. Gave it up centuries back. Anything gets boring in time. Do you think Solomon serviced
all
his thousand wives? If so, what sort of job did he do on the last one?—poor girl! Find me something new to do and I might never touch that suicide switch and
still
give you all I’ve got for your colony. It ’ud be a fair swap…as this halfway rejuvenation is most unsatisfactory; I don’t feel well, yet I can’t die. So I’m stuck between the suicide switch and giving in for the full treatment…the donkey that starved to death between two piles of hay. But it would have to be
new
, Ira, not something I’ve done over and over again. Like that old whore, I’ve climbed the same stairs too many times; my feet hurt.”

“I’ll think about the problem, Lazarus. I’ll give it hard and systematic research.”

“Seven to two you can’t find
anything
I haven’t done.”

“I’ll make a real try. You’ll lay off the suicide switch while I research it?”

“No promises. Not once I get this will redrafted. Can you trust your chief legal eagle? May need some help…because this will”—he tapped the envelope—“leaving everything to the Families would stand up on Secundus no matter how many flaws are in it. But if I leave it to a private party—you, I mean—some of my descendants—quite a passel—will scream ‘undue influence’ and try to break it. Ira, they’ll keep it tied up in court until it’s dribbled away in legal fees. Let’s avoid that, eh?”

“We can. I’ve made changes in the rules. On this planet a man can put his will through probate before his death, and if there are flaws, the court is required to help him rephrase it to accomplish his purposes. If he does it that way, no contest can be entertained by any court; it goes automatically into effect on his death. Of course if he changes his will, the new will must go through the same process—which makes changing his mind expensive. But by using preprobate, it does not take a lawyer for even the most complex will. And the lawyers can’t touch it afterwards.”

Lazarus’ eyes widened with pleasure. “Didn’t you annoy a few lawyers?”

“I’ve annoyed so many,” Ira said dryly, “that every transport to Felicity has voluntary migrants in it—and so many lawyers have annoyed
me
that some are involuntary ones.” The Chairman Pro Tem looked sourly amused. “Once I said to my Chief Justice, ‘Warren, I’ve had to reverse too many of your decisions. You’ve been splitting hairs, misinterpreting the rules, and ignoring equity ever since you came into office. Go home; you’re under house arrest until the ‘Last Chance’ lifts. You can have an escort during daylight hours to let you wind up your private affairs.’”

Lazarus chuckled. “Shoulda hanged him. You know what he did, don’t you? Set up shop again on Felicity and went into politics. If they didn’t lynch him.”

“His problem and theirs, not mine. Lazarus, I
never
let a man be executed for being a fool—but if he’s too obnoxious, I ship him out. There’s no need to sweat over your new will if you want one. Just dictate it with any elaborations and explanations you see fit. Then we’ll run it through a semantic analyzer to rephrase it into airtight legal language. Once it satisfies you, you can submit it to the High Court—which will come to you if you prefer—and the Court will validate it. Done that way it could then be overturned only by arbitrary act of a new Chairman Pro Tem. Which I consider most unlikely; the Trustees do not place such men in office.”

Weatheral added, “But I hope you will take plenty of time, Lazarus. I want a fair chance to search for something new, something that will restore your interest in life.”

“All right. But don’t dally; I won’t be put off with a Scheherazade gag. Have them send me a recorder—tomorrow morning, say.”

Weatheral seemed about to speak, did not. Lazarus looked at him sharply. “
This
conversation is being recorded?”

“Yes, Lazarus. Sound and holography, everything that happens in this suite. But—your pardon, sir!—it goes only to my desk and does not become a permanent record until I have checked and okayed it. Nothing so far, that is.”

Lazarus shrugged. “Forget it. Ira, I learned centuries back that there is
no
privacy in any society crowded enough to need ID’s. A law guaranteeing privacy simply insures that bugs—microphones and lenses and so forth—are that much harder to spot. I hadn’t thought about it up till now because I take it for granted that my privacy will be invaded any time I visit such places—then I ignore it unless I’m up to something the local law won’t like. In which case I use evasive tactics.”

“Lazarus, that record can be wiped. Its only purpose is to make me certain that the Senior is being properly taken care of—a responsibility I will not delegate.”

“I said, ‘Forget it.’ But I’m surprised at your naïveté, a man in your position, in thinking that the record is piped only to your desk. I’ll lay long odds, any amount you like, that it goes one, two, even three or more other places.”

“If so, Lazarus, and I can find it out, Felicity will have some new colonists—after they’ve spent some unpleasant hours in the Colosseum.”

“Ira, it doesn’t matter. If any fool wants to watch an old, old man grunting on the pot or taking a bath, he’s welcome. You yourself insured that it would happen by making a point of the record being secret, your eyes only. Security people always spy on their bosses; they can’t help it, it’s a syndrome that goes with the job. Have you had dinner? I’d be pleased to have you stay if you have time.”

“I would be honored indeed to have dinner with the Senior.”

“Oh, knock it off, Bud; there’s no virtue in being old, it just takes a long time. I’d like you to stay because I’m enjoying human companionship. Those two over there are no company; I’m not even sure they’re human. Robots, maybe. Why do they wear those diving suits and shiny helmets? I like to see a man’s face.”

“Lazarus, those are total isolation garments. For your protection, not theirs. Against infection.”

“
What?
Ira, when a bug bites me, the bug dies. Even so, since they have to wear that, how is it that
you
come in wearing street clothes?”

“Not quite, Lazarus. For my purpose I needed a social talk, face to face. So the last two hours before I came in I spent undergoing a most careful physical examination, followed by scalp-to-toe sterilization of skin, hair, ears, nails, teeth, nose, throat—even a gas inhalation which I can’t name but did not like—while my clothes were sterilized even more thoroughly. Even that envelope I fetched to you. This suite is sterile and kept so.”

“Ira, such precautions are silly. Unless my immunity has been intentionally lowered?”

“No. Or let me say, ‘I think not.’ No reason for it as any transplant will of course be done from your own clone.”

“So it’s unnecessary. If I didn’t catch anything in that flophouse, why would I catch anything now? But I
don’t
catch things. I worked as a physician during a plague—don’t look surprised; medicine is just one of fifty-odd trades I’ve followed. Unknown plague on Ormuzd; everybody caught it, twenty-eight percent died. Save yours truly, who didn’t even have a sniffle. So tell those—No, you’ll want to do it through the Director of the Clinic; bypassing your chain-of-command ruins morale—though why I should care about this organization’s morale I don’t know, seeing that I am an involuntary guest. Tell the Director that, if I must have nurses, I want them to dress like nurses. Or, better yet, like people. Ira, if you want cooperation out of me of
any
sort, you’ll start by cooperating with
me
. Otherwise I’m going to take the joint apart with my bare hands.”

“I’ll speak to the Director, Lazarus.”

“Good. Now let’s have dinner. But a drink first—and if the Director doesn’t think I should have one, tell him bluntly that he will have to go back to force-feeding and there is some question as to whose throat the tube will go down; I’m in no mood to be pushed around. Is there any real whisky on this planet? Wasn’t the last time I was here.”