Time Enough for Love Read Free Page B

chair for the Chairman—chop chop!” His gestures made his meaning clear. The taller technician touched the controls of a chair nearby; it rolled away, wheeled around, and stopped at a comfortable tête-à-tête distance from Lazarus.
    Ira Weatheral said thank you—to Lazarus, not to the tech—sat down, then sighed as the chair felt him out and cuddled him. Lazarus said, “Comfortable?”
    “Quite.”
    “Anything to eat or drink? Or smoke? You may have to interpret for me.”
    “Nothing, thank you. But may I order for you?”
    “Not now. They keep me stuffed like a goose—once they force-fed me, damn them. Since we’re comfortable, let’s get on with the powwow.” He suddenly roared, “WHAT THE HELL AM I DOING IN THIS JAIL?”
    Weatheral answered quietly, “Not ‘jail,’ Lazarus. The VIP suite of the Howard Rejuvenation Clinic, New Rome.”
    “‘Jail,’ I said. All it lacks is cockroaches. This window—you couldn’t break it with a crowbar. That door—it opens to any voice…except mine . If I go to the john, one of those dummies is at my elbow. Apparently afraid I’ll drown myself in the pot. Hell, I don’t even know whether that nurse is a man or a woman—and don’t like it either way. I don’t need somebody to hold my hand while I go pee-pee! I resent it.”
    “I’ll see what can be worked out, Lazarus. But the technicians are understandably jumpy. A person can get hurt quite easily in any bathroom—and they all know that, if you are hurt, no matter by what mischance, the technician in charge at the time will suffer cruel and unusual punishment. They are volunteers and are drawing high bonuses. But they’re jumpy.”
    “So I figured out. ‘Jail.’ If this is a rejuvenation suite… WHERE’S MY SUICIDE SWITCH?”
    “Lazarus—‘Death is every man’s privilege.’”
    “That’s what I said! That switch belongs right there; you can see where it has been dismounted. So I’m in jail without trial, with my most basic right taken from me. Why? I’m furious, man. Do you realize what danger you are in? Never tease an old dog; he might have one bite left. Old as I am, I could break your arms before those dummies could reach us.”
    “You are welcome to break my arms if it pleases you.”
    “Huh?” Lazarus Long looked baffled. “No, it’s not worth the sweat. They would have you patched up good as new in thirty minutes.” He suddenly grinned. “But I could snap your neck, then crush your skull, about as fast. That’s one injury beyond the power of rejuvenators.”
    Weatheral did not stir, did not tense. “I feel sure you could,” he said quietly. “But I do not think that you would kill one of your descendants without giving him a chance to parley for his life. You are my remote grandfather, sir, by seven different tracks.”
    Lazarus chewed his lip and looked unhappy. “Son, I have so many descendants that consanguinity doesn’t matter. But you’re essentially right. In all my life I have never killed a man unnecessarily. I think.” Then he grinned. “But if I don’t get my suicide switch back, I could make an exception in your case.”
    “Lazarus, if you wish, I will have that switch remounted at once. But—‘Ten Words’?”
    “Uh—” Lazarus looked ungracious. “Okay. ‘Ten Words.’ Not eleven.”
    Weatheral hesitated a split second, then counted on his fingers: “I learned . your . language . to . explain . why . we . need . you.”
    “Ten by the Rule,” Lazarus admitted. “But meaning that you need fifty. Or five hundred. Or five thousand.”
    “Or none,” Weatheral amended. “You can have your switch without giving me any chance to explain. I promised.”
    “Humph!” said Lazarus. “Ira, you old scoundrel, you have me convinced that you really are my kin. You figured that I would not suicide without hearing what you have on your mind—once I knew you had bothered to learn a dead language just to make palaver. All right, talk. You can start by