"I just wanted to know," said Hyrst. He thought of his son, and the two daughters he hoped he would never see. He thought of Elena. It was too late to do anything for her, but the others were still living. So was he, and he intended to stay that way, at least until he had done what he set out to do.
"Old Bellaver was behind that killing, wasn't he? Old Quentin, this one's grandfather."
"Yes. Don't bother me."
"One thing more. Do we Lazarites live longer than men?"
Shearing gave him a curious, brief look. "Yes."
The tug was out of sight behind a massive rearing shape that seemed to clutch a broken ship between its paws. Symbolic, perhaps, of space? Who knew? Hyrst led Shearing in wild impala-like leaps across an open space, and into a narrow way that twisted, filled with darkness, among the bases of a group that resembled an outlandish procession following a king.
"How much longer?"
"Humane Penalty first came in a hundred and fourteen years ago, right? After Seitz' method was perfected for saving spacemen. I was one of the first they used it on."
"My God," said Hyrst. Yet, somehow, he was not as surprised as he might have been.
"I've aged," said Shearing apologetically. "I was only twenty-seven then."