Henry lived in an era that had been preceded by wars which destroyed more than half the people of Earth. It was a time of rigidly controlled population, highly specialized training, and constantly increasing life expectancy. Each human life was considered a distinct and invaluable thing. Since the end of the final war, the Crime War, seventy years before, murder had become an obscene and almost meaningless word, and natural death was rarely mentioned. Saving another person's life was considered the most magnificent act that anyone could perform, and almost the only way to become a public hero, since actors, entertainers, policemen, and officials were thought to be no better than anyone else.
"I'm—I'm sorry," Henry said, blushing until he perspired. "I'm all mixed up."
"That's all right, Henry. You were out there a long time."
Something struck twice against the hull of the ice-sweeper. "There's a clumsy pilot!" Ranjit yelled. "I better go see what he's trying to do."
"Wait," Henry said, grabbing the old man's arm again. "I—" He stopped speaking and frowned in confusion. When he considered recent events, he realized that Vicenzo and Aziz, by their inexpert maneuvering, had almost caused him to pass beyond. All of Henry's education, haphazard as it had been, emphasized the belief that a person who caused another to pass beyond could only be regarded with loathing. A person who saved a life must be treated with eternal gratitude and veneration by the beneficiary.
Ranjit said, "Let's go, Henry! What are you up to? I've had a feeling you ain't exactly zeroed."
"I—I think I should tell you," Henry said.
"Listen. Somebody coming aboard," Ranjit said, jerking his arm from Henry's relaxed grip and facing the doorway in the netting. Henry waited for Vicenzo and Aziz to enter the compartment.
CHAPTER II