Emrys crumpled up the letter and hurled it across the room. He knew Dyall for an old—associate of Jan Shortmire's, but he had not thought him to be alive. What had Dyall done to warrant the longevity treatment? He was nothing but a glorified machinist, a technician. And now he might wreck all of Emrys' plans. But if the young man made no reply, perhaps the old one would take the hint. And so it turned out; there was no further word from Nicholas Dyall.
Finally, two weeks after Emrys had first come to Earth, he got a telecall from Peter Hubbard. His documents were all in order and he could receive his inheritance as soon as he passed the physical examination.
Emrys went to the doctor's offices feeling a cold touch of apprehension again. But all Dr. Jameson said when the examination was finished was, "You have the physique of a man fifteen years your junior, Mr. Shortmire."
Emrys fastened his tunic with fingers that shook from relief. "Guess I'm lucky," he muttered.
The doctor cleared his throat. "Peter Hubbard was telling me about your mother, that she was...."
Hubbard, that old fool! And Emrys had been so sure of his discretion. "My mother was Morethan, yes." Then he realized it was possible that Hubbard, too, had felt there might be something not-quite-human manifest in his body and had tried to prepare the doctor. Emrys made his tone more conciliatory. "On both Morethis and Earth, the child takes citizenship from the father, so—"
"I wasn't worrying about any legal problems; I was merely thinking that medical science would be interested."
"I do not wish the fact of my—of my birth publicized in any way—until after my death," Emrys added placatorily. "Surely you can understand what hell life would become if people knew I was half Morethan?"
The doctor sighed. "Yes, I know. I can't blame you."
"Tell me, Doctor," Emrys asked tensely, "is there anything about me that doesn't seem ... quite human?"