enzyme types, and other characteristics responsive to genetic analysis)—strong reason to believe that the Senior has many descendants not recorded in genealogies, both inside and outside the Howard Families.
To put it mildly, he is a shameless old goat whose seed is scattered all through this part of our Galaxy.
Take the years of the Exodus, after he stole the New Frontiers. He was not married even once during those years, and ship’s records and legends based on memoirs of that time suggest that he was, in an early idiom, a “woman hater,” a misogynist.
Perhaps. Biostatistical records (rather than genealogies), when analyzed, suggest that he was not that unapproachable. The computer that analyzed it offered to bet me even money on more than one hundred offspring fathered by him during those years. (I refused the bet; that computer beats me at chess even though I insist on a one-rook advantage.)
I do not find this surprising in view of the almost pathological emphasis placed on longevity among the Families at that time. The oldest male, if still virile—and he certainly was—would have been subjected to endless temptation, endless opportunity, by females anxious to have offspring of his demonstrated superiority—“superiority” by the only criterion the Howard Families respected. We can assume that marital status would not matter much; all Howard Families marriages were marriages of convenience—Ira Howard’s will insured that—and they were rarely for life. The only surprising aspect is that so few fertile females managed to trip him when unquestionably so many thousands were willing. But he was always fast on his feet.
As may be—If today I see a man with sandy red hair, a big nose, an easy disarming grin, and a slightly feral look in his gray-green eyes, I always wonder how recently the Senior has passed through that part of the Galaxy. If such a stranger comes close to me, I put my hand on my purse. If he speaks to me, I resolve not to make wagers or promises.
But how did the Senior, himself only a third-generation member of Ira Howard’s breeding experiment, manage to live and stay young his first three hundred years without artificial rejuvenation?
A mutation, of course—which simply says that we don’t know. But in the course of his several rejuvenations we have learned a little about his physical makeup. He has an unusually large heart that beats very slowly. He has only twenty-eight teeth, no caries, and seems to be immune to infection. He has never had surgery other than for wounds or for rejuvenation procedures. His reflexes are extremely fast—but appear always to be reasoned, so one may question the correctness of the term “reflex.” His eyes have never needed correction either for distance or close work; his hearing range is abnormally high, abnormally low, and is unusually acute throughout his range. His color vision includes indigo. He was born without prepuce, without vermiform appendix,—and apparently without a conscience.
I am pleased that he is my ancestor.
Justin Foote the 45th
Chief Archivist, Howard Foundation
PREFACE TO REVISED EDITION
In this abridged popular edition the technical appendix has been published separately in order to make room for an account of the Senior’s actions after he left Secundus until his disappearance. An apocryphal and obviously impossible tale of the last events in his life has been included at the insistence of the editor of the original memoir, but it cannot be taken seriously.
Carolyn Briggs
Chief Archivist
Note: My lovely and learned successor in office does not know what she is talking about. With the Senior, the most fantastic is always the most probable.
Justin Foote the 45th
Chief Archivist Emeritus
PRELUDE
I
As the door of the suite dilated, the man seated staring glumly out the window looked around. “Who the hell are you?”
“I am Ira Weatheral of the Johnson Family, Ancestor, Chairman Pro Tem of the
To put it mildly, he is a shameless old goat whose seed is scattered all through this part of our Galaxy.
Take the years of the Exodus, after he stole the New Frontiers. He was not married even once during those years, and ship’s records and legends based on memoirs of that time suggest that he was, in an early idiom, a “woman hater,” a misogynist.
Perhaps. Biostatistical records (rather than genealogies), when analyzed, suggest that he was not that unapproachable. The computer that analyzed it offered to bet me even money on more than one hundred offspring fathered by him during those years. (I refused the bet; that computer beats me at chess even though I insist on a one-rook advantage.)
I do not find this surprising in view of the almost pathological emphasis placed on longevity among the Families at that time. The oldest male, if still virile—and he certainly was—would have been subjected to endless temptation, endless opportunity, by females anxious to have offspring of his demonstrated superiority—“superiority” by the only criterion the Howard Families respected. We can assume that marital status would not matter much; all Howard Families marriages were marriages of convenience—Ira Howard’s will insured that—and they were rarely for life. The only surprising aspect is that so few fertile females managed to trip him when unquestionably so many thousands were willing. But he was always fast on his feet.
As may be—If today I see a man with sandy red hair, a big nose, an easy disarming grin, and a slightly feral look in his gray-green eyes, I always wonder how recently the Senior has passed through that part of the Galaxy. If such a stranger comes close to me, I put my hand on my purse. If he speaks to me, I resolve not to make wagers or promises.
But how did the Senior, himself only a third-generation member of Ira Howard’s breeding experiment, manage to live and stay young his first three hundred years without artificial rejuvenation?
A mutation, of course—which simply says that we don’t know. But in the course of his several rejuvenations we have learned a little about his physical makeup. He has an unusually large heart that beats very slowly. He has only twenty-eight teeth, no caries, and seems to be immune to infection. He has never had surgery other than for wounds or for rejuvenation procedures. His reflexes are extremely fast—but appear always to be reasoned, so one may question the correctness of the term “reflex.” His eyes have never needed correction either for distance or close work; his hearing range is abnormally high, abnormally low, and is unusually acute throughout his range. His color vision includes indigo. He was born without prepuce, without vermiform appendix,—and apparently without a conscience.
I am pleased that he is my ancestor.
Justin Foote the 45th
Chief Archivist, Howard Foundation
PREFACE TO REVISED EDITION
In this abridged popular edition the technical appendix has been published separately in order to make room for an account of the Senior’s actions after he left Secundus until his disappearance. An apocryphal and obviously impossible tale of the last events in his life has been included at the insistence of the editor of the original memoir, but it cannot be taken seriously.
Carolyn Briggs
Chief Archivist
Note: My lovely and learned successor in office does not know what she is talking about. With the Senior, the most fantastic is always the most probable.
Justin Foote the 45th
Chief Archivist Emeritus
PRELUDE
I
As the door of the suite dilated, the man seated staring glumly out the window looked around. “Who the hell are you?”
“I am Ira Weatheral of the Johnson Family, Ancestor, Chairman Pro Tem of the
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