He knows, he told himself. He knows the party has decided not to ask that I be continued. He knows that I’m a dead man. He knows I’m almost through and can’t help him any more—and he’s crossed me out. He won’t tell me a thing. Not the thing I want to know.
But he did not allow his face to change. He knew his face would not betray him. His face was too well trained.
“I know there is an answer,” said the senator. “There’s always been an answer to any question about immortality. You can’t have it until there’s living space. Living space to throw away, more than we ever think we’ll need, and a fair chance to find more of it if it’s ever needed.”
Dr. Smith nodded. “That’s the answer, senator. The only answer I can give.”
He sat silent for a moment, then he said: “Let me assure you on one point, senator. When Extrasolar Research finds the living space, we’ll have the immortality.”
The senator heaved himself out of the chair, stood planted solidly on his feet.
“It’s good to hear you say that, doctor,” he said. “It is very heartening. I thank you for the time you gave me.”
Out on the street, the senator thought bitterly:
They have it now. They have immortality. All they’re waiting for is the living space and another hundred years will find that. Another hundred years will simply have to find it.
Another hundred years, he told himself, just one more continuation, and I would be in for good and all.