Downey stared, and said nothing, more convinced than ever of the Councillor's madness.
"Of course, if it were not for you young man," the leader went on, meditatively, "I would have been in my grave two centuries ago. It is you who supply us with the robust young bodies to keep our old heads alive. I well remember how, just two hundred and nine years ago, I was pronounced at the point of death from heart disease—and the transfusion to a young body was performed barely in the nick of time. Since then, I've had the operation repeated once every thirty years—which accounts for my present good health."
From amid these rambling phrases, Downey had begun to catch a gleam of horrible meaning. Was the old man really mad after all? Or had he and his followers been kept alive through some dread process of grafting new bodies on to old heads?
Even as these questions flashed across the young man's mind, he heard the renewed rasping of the Councillor's voice, "I give you one final chance, sir! If you can't explain who you are and where you're from, you will be honored, according to the law of Nuamerica, by giving your head—"
He was interrupted by a half muffled cry. Judith, with one hand to her mouth, had vainly tried to keep back her horror.
The scowl on the Councillor's mummy face gave way to a faint smile as he turned to the girl, and said, "Have no fear, lady. You will not share in the honor. Don't you know that the Official Head Commission only last year exempted women from the Draft?"
"Have no fear, lady," the counsellor said, "you will not share the honor. You are exempt."