"You can't go ahead with it, Logan."
"Why not?"
"The Earth Tribunal will find out."
"You won't tell them." Logan was doing something across the room. He was the only moving thing in front of a hundred cold shelves of sleeping warriors.
Brandon gasped, tried to get up, fell back. "How'll you fake my death?"
"With an injection of sulfacardium. Heart failure. Too much pulse on a too old heart. Simple." Logan turned and there was a hypodermic in his hand.
Brandon lay there. The ship went on and on. The body was upstairs, lying breathing in its metal cradle, mothered by him and jerked to life by him, and now going away. Brandon managed to say:
"Do me a favor?"
"What?"
"Give me the drug now. I don't want to be awake when you send Lazarus out. I don't want that."