Part 1 (2/2)
I am pleased that he is my ancestor.
Justin Foote the 45th Chief Archivist, Howard Foundation
PREFACE TO REVISED EDITION.
In this abridged popular edition the technical appendix has been published separately in order to make room for an account of the Senior's actions after he left Secundus until his disappearance. An apocryphal and obviously impossible tale of the last events in his life has been included at the insistence of the editor of the original memoir, but it cannot be taken seriously.
Carolyn Briggs Chief Archivist Chief Archivist
Note: My lovely and learned successor in office does not know what she is talking about. With the Senior, the most fantastic is always the most probable.
Justin Foote the 45th Chief Archivist Emeritus Chief Archivist Emeritus
PRELUDE.
I.
As the door of the suite dilated, the man seated staring glumly out the window looked around. ”Who the h.e.l.l are you?”
”I am Ira Weatheral of the Johnson Family, Ancestor, Chairman Pro Tem of the Families.”
”Took you long enough. Don't call me 'Ancestor.' And why just the Chairman Pro Tem?” the man in the chair growled. ”Is the Chairman too d.a.m.n busy to see me? Don't I rate even that? that?” He made no move to stand, nor did he invite his visitor to sit down.
”Your pardon, Sire. I am am chief executive for the Families. But it has been customary for some time now-several centuries-for the chief executive to hold the t.i.tle 'Chairman Pro Tem' . . against the possibility that you might show up and take the gavel.” chief executive for the Families. But it has been customary for some time now-several centuries-for the chief executive to hold the t.i.tle 'Chairman Pro Tem' . . against the possibility that you might show up and take the gavel.”
”Eh? Ridiculous. I haven't presided at a meeting of the Trustees for a thousand years. And 'Sire' is as bad as 'Ancestor'-call me by name. It's been two days since I sent for you. Did you come by the scenic route? Or has the rule that ent.i.tles me to the ear of the Chairman been revoked?”
”I am not aware of that rule, Senior; it was probably long before my time-but it is my honor and duty-and pleasure -to wait on you at any time. I will be pleased and honored to call you by name if you will tell me what your name is now. As for the delay-thirty-seven hours since I received your summons-I have spent it studying Ancient English, as I was told that you were not answering to any other language.”
The Senior looked slightly sheepish. ”It's true I'm not handy with the jabber they speak here-my memory has been playing tricks on me lately. I guess I've been sulky about answering even when I understood. Names-I forget what name I checked in by when I grounded here. Mmm, 'Woodrow Wilson Smith' was my boyhood name. Never used it much. I suppose 'Lazarus Long' is the name I've used oftenest-call me 'Lazarus.' ”
”Thank you, Lazarus.”
”For what? Don't be so d.a.m.ned formal. You're not a kid, or you wouldn't be Chairman-how old are you? Did you really take the trouble to learn my milk language just to call on me? And in less than two days? Was that from scratch? It takes me at least a week to tack on a new language, another week to smooth out accent.”
”I am three hundred and seventy-two standard years old, Lazarus-just under four hundred Earth years. I learned Cla.s.sic English when I took this job-but as a dead language, to enable me to read old records of the Families in the original. What I did since your summons was to learn to speak and understand it . . in North American twentieth-century idiom-your 'milk language' as you said-as that is what the linguistic a.n.a.lyzer computed that you were speaking.”
”Pretty smart machine. Maybe I am speaking it the way I did as a youngster; they claim that's the one language a brain never forgets. Then I must be talking in a Cornbelt rasp like a rusty saw . . whereas you're speaking a sort of Texas drawl with an Oxford British overlay. Odd. I suppose the machine picks the version out of its permanents closest to the sample fed into it.”
”I believe so, Lazarus, although the techniques involved are not my field. Do you have trouble understanding my accent?”
”Oh, none at all. Your accent is okay; it's closer to educated General American of that time than is the accent I learned as a kid. But I can follow anything from Bluegum to Yorks.h.i.+re; accent is no problem. It was mighty kind of you to bother. Warming.”
”My pleasure. I have a talent for languages; it was not much trouble. I try to be able to speak to each of the Trustees in his native language; I'm used to swotting up a new one quickly.”
”So? Nonetheless a courteous thing to do-I've felt like an animal in a zoo with no one to talk to. Those dummies”-Lazarus inclined his head at two rejuvenation technicians, dressed in isolation gear and one-way helmets, and waiting as far from the conversation as the room permitted-”don't know English; I can't talk with them. Oh, the taller one understands a little but not enough for gossip.” Lazarus whistled, pointed at the taller. ”Hey, you! A chair for the Chairman-chop chop!” His gestures made his meaning clear. The taller technician touched the controls of a chair nearby; it rolled away, wheeled around, and stopped at a comfortable tete-a-tete distance from Lazarus.
Ira Weatheral said thank you-to Lazarus, not to the tech -sat down, then sighed as the chair felt him out and cuddled him. Lazarus said, ”Comfortable?”
”Quite.”
”Anything to eat or drink? Or smoke? You may have to interpret for me.”
”Nothing, thank you. But may I order for you?”
”Not now. They keep me stuffed like a goose-once they force-fed me, d.a.m.n them. Since we're comfortable, let's get on with the powwow.” He suddenly roared, ”WHAT THE h.e.l.l AM I DOING IN THIS JAIL?”
Weatheral answered quietly, ”Not 'jail,' Lazarus. The VIP suite of the Howard Rejuvenation Clinic, New Rome.”
” 'Jail,' I said. All it lacks is c.o.c.kroaches. This window-you couldn't break it with a crowbar. That door-it opens to any voice . . except mine. If I go to the john, one of those dummies is at my elbow. Apparently afraid I'll drown myself in the pot. h.e.l.l, I don't even know whether that nurse is a man or a woman-and don't like it either way. I don't need somebody to hold my hand while I go pee-pee! I resent it.”
”I'll see what can be worked out, Lazarus. But the technicians are understandably jumpy. A person can get hurt quite easily in any bathroom-and they all know that, if you are hurt, no matter by what mischance, the technician in charge at the time will suffer cruel and unusual punishment. They are volunteers and are drawing high bonuses. But they're jumpy.”
”So I figured out. 'Jail.' If this is a rejuvenation suite . . WHERE WHERE'S MY SUICIDE SWITCH?”
”Lazarus-'Death is every man's privilege.' ”
”That's what I said! That switch belongs right there; you can see where it has been dismounted. So I'm in jail without trial, with my most basic right taken from me. Why? Why? I'm furious, man. Do you realize what danger I'm furious, man. Do you realize what danger you you are in? Never tease an old dog; he might have one bite left. Old as I am, I could break your arms before those dummies could reach us.” are in? Never tease an old dog; he might have one bite left. Old as I am, I could break your arms before those dummies could reach us.”
”You are welcome to break my arms if it pleases you.”
”Huh?” Lazarus Long looked baffled. ”No, it's not worth the sweat. They would have you patched up good as new in thirty minutes.” He suddenly grinned. ”But I could snap your neck, then crush your skull, about as fast. That's one injury beyond the power of rejuvenators.”
Weatheral did not stir, did not tense. ”I feel sure you could,” he said quietly. ”But I do not think that you would kill one of your descendants without giving him a chance to parley for his life. You are my remote grandfather, sir, by seven different tracks.”
Lazarus chewed his lip and looked unhappy. ”Son, I have so many descendants that consanguinity doesn't matter. But you're essentially right. In all my life I have never killed a man unnecessarily. I think.” Then he grinned. ”But if I don't get my suicide switch back, I could make an exception in your case.”
”Lazarus, if you wish, I will have that switch remounted at once. But-'Ten Words'?”
”Uh-” Lazarus looked ungracious. ”Okay. 'Ten Words.' Not eleven.”
Weatheral hesitated a split second, then counted on his fingers: ”I learned . your . language . to . explain . why . we . need . you.”
”Ten by the Rule,” Lazarus admitted. ”But meaning that you need fifty. Or five hundred. Or five thousand.”
”Or none,” Weatheral amended. ”You can have your switch without giving me any any chance to explain. I promised.” chance to explain. I promised.”
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