Then, sobering, he snatched the aeroderm injector from the table where Astrell had dropped it. Fitting in the ampule, he held the jet against his arm-vein.
"There were some interesting details in Tornelescu's notes, Ross," he announced in a voice that rang with exaltation. "One of them was that Thigpen always carried an ampule of the perfected catalyst in his writer."
He pressed the injector's plunger. The ampule's contents sprayed into his arm.
After that, it was like the time with Astrell, except that Mawson was male, not female.
And, that the process stopped at the proper point, instead of going on into catabolic disaster.
Young now, in the prime of life, glowing with health except for his crippled legs, the adjudicator leaned back in his grav-seat. A slow smile tugged at the corners of his mouth.
"You understand, don't you, that this changes our situation somewhat, Mr. Ross?" he inquired.
"I understand," Ross answered curtly.
"Good." The other rubbed his hands and chuckled. "As a matter of fact, as I see it, I no longer have any need for your services. Changed as I am, young again, I'll have no trouble hiding till I myself can find or buy Thigpen's code." A pause. "That transforms you, Mr. Ross. It transforms you from an asset to a liability, by my bookkeeping."
Ross didn't answer.