"These dogs," Senator Vorys said as Raymond and Vogel demonstrated reanimation on a pair of spaniels, "they feel no pain?" Vorys was a waspish, bald little man, with seemingly a lifetime tenure as American-Conservative Senator from South Carolina.
"Absolutely none," Raymond assured him.
"Animal experiments are legal," remarked Senator Westmore, the Californian Nat-Lib. "No grounds for objecting there."
"I wasn't objecting," snapped Vorys. "Merely inquiring."
Harker smiled to himself.
The dogs were cleared away in due time; Harker saw the tension-lines reassert themselves on Raymond's face, and he knew the main event was about to begin.
When Raymond spoke, his voice was thin and strained. "Gentlemen, I know you've come here for one main purpose—to see if human life can be restored. The time has come for us to demonstrate our technique."
Raymond licked his lips. Tension mounted in the lab room. The senators stirred in anticipation; the five staff-men scribbled notes furiously. Harker felt dry fingers clutching at his windpipe. It was a sensation he remembered having felt on two election nights, at that moment just after the polls had closed—when, with the die irretrievably cast, there was nothing to do but wait until the electronic counters had done their job and announced the winner.
He waited now. Two white-smocked assistants rolled in an operating-table on which a covered cadaver lay.
In a harsh, edgy voice Raymond said, "We secure most of our experimental cadavers from local hospitals. We have permits for this. The body here is approximately the one hundredth we have used in our work, and the seventy-second since the first successful reanimation."