Thursday passed slowly. Harker remained at home, in his study, and tried to read the books he had brought from the library. He was surprised to learn that formal resuscitation research dated from the middle years of the past century. He traced down a few of the terms Raymond had thrown at him, and learned a bit about the mechanics of the Beller reanimation technique.
But, he realized when he put the books down, he knew very little in detail. He had simply skimmed the surface, acquiring a veneer of terms which he could use to impress the even-less-educated.
A politician's trick, he thought. But what else could he do?
He woke early on Friday, before six, and made breakfast for himself. By the time he had turned off the autocook and set the kitchen-servo to mop-up, Lois and the children were moving about upstairs. They had come down for breakfast before he was ready to leave.
"Morning, Dad," Chris said. "Up early, eh?"
"I have to make a 9:30 jet," he explained. "It's the last one before noon."
Paul appeared, thumbing his eyes, yawning. "Where you going, Daddy?"
"Albany," Harker said.
The seven-year-old looked awake immediately. "Albany? Are you Governor again, Daddy?"
"Hush, stupid!" Chris said savagely.