Was there envy in the doctor's eyes? "Twenty-five, I'd say. If I didn't know you were forty, as the records show."
"And you, Doctor, must be seven or eight years younger. Look at yourself. Tired lines, gray at the temple—your body a prey to disease, and to aches. Doesn't it make you jealous that I am what I am, and you what you are?"
The doctor got up abruptly and motioned to the guards. Jim rose, protesting frantically as they closed in, and took his arms.
"You are jealous! That's why you want to destroy me. Jealous! Jealous!"
"Jealous, Jim Simson? Hardly." The doctor smiled pityingly just before the guards led Jim away. "You see, I have two children."
They stripped him in a small closed room, and prepared him for the irrevocably final step. They put him on a rolling stretcher, strapping him down at his chest, legs and arms. The bright narrow ceiling sailed over him.
They wheeled him into a large amphitheatre with blue-white lights. White garbed figures swam into view, their faces masked. One bent over him.
"Hello, Roger MacComb."
He stared into keen blue eyes. "Dr. Tiel!" He recognized the man, and a great relief surged through him. He lowered his voice confidentially: "Stop them, Doctor. They want to reconvert me."
"Of course," the doctor said. "Didn't I promise it to you—twenty years ago? Surely, you haven't forgotten my promise?"