CONTENTS

The Lives of the Senior Member of the Howard Families (Woodrow Wilson Smith; Ernest Gibbons; Captain Aaron Sheffield; Lazarus Long; "Happy" Daze; His Serenity Seraphin the Younger, Supreme High Priest of the One God in All His Aspects and Arbiter Below and Above; Proscribed Prisoner No. 83M2742; Mr. Justice Lenox; Corporal Ted Bronson; Dr. Lafe Hubert; and others), Oldest Member of the Human Race. This Account is based principally on the Senior's Own Words as recorded at many times and places and especially at the Howard Rejuvenation Clinic and at the Executive Palace in New Rome on Secundus in Year 2053 After the Great Diaspora (Gregorian Year 4272 of Old Home Terra)-and supplemented by letters and by eyewitness accounts, the whole then arranged, collated, condensed, and (where possible) reconciled with official records and contemporary histories, as directed by the Howard Foundation Trustees and executed by the Howard Archivist Emeritus. The result is of unique historical importance despite the Archivist's decision to leave in blatant falsehoods, self-serving allegations, and many amoral anecdotes not suitable for young persons.

INTRODUCTION

On the Writing of History

History has the relation to truth that theology has to religion-i.e., none to speak of.

-L.L.

The Great Diaspora of the Human Race which started more than two millennia ago when the Libby-Sheffield Drive was disclosed, and which continues to this day and shows no sign of slowing, made the writing of history as a single narrative-or even many compatible narratives-impossible. By the twenty-first century (Gregorian)* (*Gregorian Terran dates are used throughout, as no other calendar, not even Standard Galactic, is certain to be known to scholars of every planet. Translators should add local dates for clarification. J.F. 45th) on Old Home Terra our Race was capable of doubling its numbers three times each century-given space and raw materials.

The Star Drive gave both. H. sapiens spread through this sector of our Galaxy at many times the speed of light and multiplied like yeast. If doubling had occurred at the twenty-first-century potential, our numbers would now be of the order of 7 x 10^9 x 2^68-a number so large as to defy emotional grasp; it is suited only to computers:

7 x 10^9 x 2^68 = 2,066,035,336,255,469,780,992,000,000,000.

--or more than two thousand million billion trillion people

--or a mass of protein twenty-five million times as great as the entire mass of our race's native planet Sol III, Old Home.

Preposterous.

Let us say that it would be preposterous had not the Great Diaspora taken place, for our race, having reached the potential to double three times each century, had also reached a crisis under which it could not double even once-that knee of the curve in the yeast-growth law in which a population can maintain a precarious stability of zero growth only by killing off its own members fast enough, lest it drown in its own poisons, commit suicide by total war, or stumble into some other form of the Malthusian Final Solution.

But the Human Race has not (we think) increased to that monstrous figure because the base figure for the Diaspora must not be thought of as seven billion but rather as a few million at the opening of the Era, plus the unnumbered, small-but-still-growing hundreds of millions since, who have migrated from Earth and from its colony planets to still more distant places over the last two millennia.

But we are no longer able to make a reasoned guess at the numbers of the Human Race, nor do we have even an approximate count of the colonized planets. The most we can say is that there must be in excess of two thousand colonized planets, in excess of five hundred billion people. The colonized planets may be twice that number, the Human Race could be four times that numerous. Or more.

So even the demographic aspects of historiography have become impossible; data are out of date when we receive them and always incomplete-yet so numerous and so varied in reliability that several hundred humans/computers on my staff keep busy trying to analyze, collate, interpolate and extrapolate, and to weigh them against other data before incorporating them into the records. We attempt to maintain standards of 95 percent in probability of corrected data, 85 percent in pessimistic reliability; our achievement is closer to 89 per cent and 81 percent-and getting worse.

Pioneers care little about sending records to the home office; they are busy staying alive, making babies, and killing off anything in their way. A colony is usually into its fourth generation before any data reach this office.

(Nor can it be otherwise. A colonist too interested in statistics becomes a statistic himself-as a corpse. I intend to migrate; once I have done so, I won't care whether this office keeps track of me or not. I have stuck to this essentially useless work for almost a century partly through inducements and partly through genetic disposition-I am a direct-and-reinforced descendant of Andrew Jackson Slipstick Libby himself. But I am descended also from the Senior and have-I think-some of his restless nature. I want to follow the wild geese and see what is happening out there-get married again; leave a dozen descendants on a fresh uncrowded planet, then-possibly-move on. Once I have the Senior's memoirs collated, the Trustees can, in the Senior's ancient idiom, take this job and shove it.)

What sort of man is our Senior, my ancestor and probably yours, and certainly the oldest living human being, the only man who has taken part in the entire pageant of the crisis of the Human Race and its surmounting of crisis through Diaspora?

For surmount it we have. Our race could now lose fifty planets, close ranks, and move on. Our gallant women could replace the casualties in a single generation. Not that it appears likely that this will happen; thus far we have encountered not one race as mean, as nasty, as deadly as our own. A conservative extrapolation indicates that we will reach in numbers that preposterous figure given earlier in a few more generations-and move on out of this Galaxy into others before we finish settling this one. Indeed, reports from farther out indicate that Human intergalactic colony ships are already headed out into the Endless Deeps. These reports are not verified-but the most virile colonies are always a long way from the most populous centers. One may hope.

At best, history is hard to grasp; at worst, it is a lifeless collection of questionable records. It is most alive through the words of eyewitnesses...and we have but one witness whose life spans the twenty-three centuries of crisis and Diaspora. The next oldest human being whose age this office has been able to verify is only a little over a thousand years old. Probability theory makes it possible that there is somewhere a person half again that age-but it is both mathematically and historically certain that there is no other human alive today who was born in the twentieth century.* (* When the Howard Families seized the Starship New Frontiers only a few were more than a century and a quarter old; all of that few-save the Senior-are dead, at times and places on record. (I except the strange and possibly mythical case of life-in-death of Elder Mary Sperling.) Despite genetic advantage and access to the longevity therapies known collectively as "the immortality option," the last died in 3003 Gregorian. By the records it would seem that most of them died through refusing further rejuvenation-that being still the second commonest cause of death today. JF.45th)

Some may question whether this "Senior" is the member of the Howard Families born in 1912 and also the "Lazarus Long" who led the Families in their escape from Old Home in 2136, etc.-pointing out that all the ancient methods of identification (fingerprints, retinal patterns, etc.) can now be beaten. True, but those methods were adequate for their time and the Howard Families Foundation had special reason to use them with care; the "Woodrow Wilson Smith" whose birth was registered with the Foundation in 1912 is certainly the "Lazarus Long" of 2136 and 2210. Before those tests ceased to be reliable, they were supplemented by modern unbeatable tests based first on clone transplants and, more lately, on absolute identification of genetic patterns. (It is interesting to note that an impostor showed up about three centuries ago, here on Secundus, and was given a new heart from a cloned pseudobody of the Senior. It killed him.) The Senior whose words are quoted herein has a genetic pattern identical with that of a bit of muscle tissue removed from "Lazarus Long" by Dr. Gordon Hardy in the Starship New Frontiers about 2145, and cultured by him for longevity research. Q.E.D

But what sort of man is he? You must judge for yourself. In condensing this memoir to manageable length I have omitted many verified historical incidents (the raw data are available to scholars at the Archives)-but I have left in lies and unlikely stories on the assumption that the lies a man tells tell more truth about him-when analyzed-than does "truth."

It is clear that this man is, by standards usual in civilized societies, a barbarian and a rogue.

But it is not for children to judge their parents. The qualities that make him what he is are precisely those needed to stay alive in a jungle-or on a raw frontier. Do not forget your debt to him both genetic and historic.

To understand our historic debt to him it is necessary to review some ancient history-part tradition or myth, and part fact as firmly established as the assassination of Julius Caesar. The Howard Families Foundation was established by the will of Ira Howard, who died in 1873. His will instructed the trustees of the foundation to use his money to "prolong human life." This is fact.

Tradition says that he willed this in anger at his own fate, for he found himself dying of old age in his forties-dead at forty-eight, a bachelor without progeny. So none of us carries his genes; his immortality lies only in a name, and in an idea-that death could be thwarted.

At that time death at forty-eight was not unusual. Believe it or not, in those days the average age at death was about thirty-five! But not from senility. Disease, starvation, accident, murder, war, childbirth, and other violences cut down most humans long before senility set in. But a human who passed all these hurdles still could expect death from old age sometime between seventy-five and one hundred. Very few reached one hundred; nevertheless every population group had its tiny minority of "centenarians." There is a legend about "Old Toni Parr" who is supposed to have died in 1635 aged one hundred and fifty-two years. Whether or not the legend is true, probability analysis of demographic data of that era shows that some individuals must have lived a century and a half. But they were few indeed.

The Foundation started its work as a prescientific breeding experiment, as nothing was then known of genetics: Adults of long-lived stock were encouraged to mate with others like them, money being the inducement.

Unsurprisingly the inducement worked. Equally unsurprisingly this experiment worked, as it was an empirical method used by stockbreeders for centuries before the science of genetics came into being: Breed to reinforce one characteristic, then eliminate the culls.

The Families' Archives do not show how the earliest culls were eliminated; they simply show that some were eliminated from the Families-root and branch, all descendants-for the unforgivable sin of dying of old age too young.

By the Crisis of 2136 all members of the Howard Families had life expectancies in excess of one hundred and fifty years, and some had exceeded that age. The cause of that crisis seems unbelievable-yet all records both from inside and from outside the Families agree on it. The Howard Families were in extreme danger from all other humans simply because they lived so "long." Why this was true is a matter for group psychologists, not for a record-keeper. But it was true.

They were seized and concentrated in a prison camp, and were about to be tortured to death in an attempt to wrest from them their "secret" of "eternal youth." Fact-not myth.

Here the Senior comes into the story. Through audacity, a talent for lying convincingly, and what would seem to most people today a childish delight in adventure and intrigue for its own sake, the Senior brought off the greatest jailbreak of all time, stealing a primitive starship and escaping right out of the Solar System with all of the Howard Families (then numbering about 100,000 men, women, and children).

If this seems impossible-so many people and just one ship-remember that the first starships were enormously bigger than the ones we now use. They were self-sustaining artificial planetoids intended to remain in space for many years at speeds below that of light; they had to be huge.

The Senior was not the only hero of that Exodus. But in all the varied and sometimes conflicting accounts that have come down to us, he was always the driving force. He was our Moses who led his people out of bondage.

He brought them home again three-quarters of a century later (2210)-but not into bondage. For that date, Year One of the Standard Galactic calendar, marks the opening of the Great Diaspora...caused by extreme population pressure on Old Home Terra, and made possible by two new factors: the Libby-Sheffield Para-Drive as it was known then (not a "drive" in any true sense, but a means of manipulating n-dimensional spaces), and the first (and simplest) of effective longevity techniques: new blood grown in vitro.

The Howard Families caused this to happen simply by escaping. The short-lived humans back on Terra, still convinced that the long-lived families possessed a "secret," set about trying to find it by wide and systematic research, and, as always, research paid off serendipitously, not with the nonexistent "secret" but with something almost as good: a therapy, and eventually a sheaf of therapies, for postponing old age, and for extending vigor, virility, and fertility.

The Great Diaspora was then both necessary and possible.

The Senior's great talent (aside from his ability to lie extemporaneously and convincingly) seems always to have been a rare gift for extrapolating the possibilities of any situation-then twisting it to suit his own purposes. (He calls it: "You have to have a feeling for what makes the frog jump." Psychometrists who have studied him say that he has an extremely high psi talent expressed as "forerunners" and "luck"-but what the Senior has to say about them is less polite. As a record-keeper, I refrain from opinion.)

The Senior saw at once that this benison of extended youth, although promised to everyone, would in fact be limited to the powerful and their nepots. The billions of helots could not be allowed to live beyond their normal pan; there was no room for them-unless they migrated to the stars, in which case there would be room for each human to live as long as he could manage. How the Senior exploited this is not always clear; he seems to have used several names and many fronts. His key corporations wound up in the hands of this Foundation, then were liquidated to move the Foundation and the Howard Families to Secundus-at his behest, he having saved "the best real estate" for his relatives and descendants. Sixty-eight percent of those then living accepted the challenge of new frontiers.

Our genetic debt to him is both indirect and direct. The indirect debt lies in the fact that migration is a sorting device, a forced Darwinian selection, under which superior stock goes to the stars while culls stay home and die. This is true even for those forcibly transported (as in the twenty-fourth and twenty-fifth centuries), save that the sorting then takes place on the new planet. In a raw frontier weaklings and misfits die; strong stock survives. Even those who migrate voluntarily still go through this second drastic special selection. The Howard Families have been culled in this fashion at least three times.

Our genetic "debt" to the Senior is even easier to prove. Part of it needs only simple arithmetic. If you live anywhere but on Old Home Terra-and you almost certainly do if you read this, in view of the present miserable state of "The Fair Green Hills of Earth"-and can claim even one member of the Howard Families among your ancestors-and most of you can-then you are most probably descended from the Senior.

By the official Families' genealogies this probability is 87.3 percent. You are descended from many other twentieth century members of the Howard Families, too, if you are descended from any of them, but I speak here only of Woodrow Wilson Smith, the Senior. By the Crisis Year 2136 nearly one-tenth of the youngest generation of the Howard Families were descended from the Senior "legitimately"-by which I mean that each linking birth was so recorded in the Families' records and ancestry confirmed by such tests as were available at the time. (Even blood typing was not known when the breeding experiment started, but the culling process made it strongly to a female's advantage not to stray, at least not outside the Families.)

By now the cumulative probability is, as I have said, 87.3 percent if you have any Howard ancestor-but if you have a Howard ancestor from a recent generation, your probability climbs toward an effective 100 percent.

But, as a statistician, I have reason to believe (backed by computer analyses of blood types, hair types, eye color, tooth count, enzyme types, and other characteristics responsive to genetic analysis)-strong reason to believe that the Senior has many descendants not recorded in genealogies, both inside and outside the Howard Families.

To put it mildly, he is a shameless old goat whose seed is scattered all through this part of our Galaxy.

Take the years of the Exodus, after he stole the New Frontiers. He was not married even once during those years, and ship's records and legends based on memoirs of that time suggest that he was, in an early idiom, a "woman hater," a misogynist.

Perhaps. Biostatistical records (rather than genealogies), when analyzed, suggest that he was not that unapproachable. The computer that analyzed it offered to bet me even money on more than one hundred offspring fathered by him during those years. (I refused the bet; that computer beats me at chess even though I insist on a one-rook advantage.)

I do not find this surprising, in view of the almost pathological emphasis placed on longevity among the Families at that time. The oldest male, if still virile-and he certainty was-would have been subjected to endless temptation, endless opportunity, by females anxious to have offspring of his demonstrated superiority-"superiority" by the only criterion the Howard Families respected. We can assume that marital status would not matter much; all Howard Families marriages were marriages of convenience-Ira Howard's will insured that-and they were rarely for life. The only surprising aspect is that so few fertile females managed to trip him when unquestionably so many thousands were willing. But he was always fast on his feet.

As may be-If today I see a man with sandy red hair, a big nose, an easy disarming grin, and a slightly feral look in his gray-green eyes, I always wonder how recently the Senior has passed through that part of the Galaxy. If such a stranger comes close to me, I put my hand on my purse: If he speaks to me, I resolve not to make wagers or promises.

But how did the Senior, himself only a third-generation member of Ira Howard's breeding experiment, manage to live and stay young his first three hundred years without artificial rejuvenation?

A mutation, of course-which simply says that we don't know. But in the course of his several rejuvenations we have learned a little about his physical makeup. He has an unusually large heart that beats very slowly. He has only twenty-eight teeth, no caries, and seems to be immune to infection. He has never had surgery other than for wounds or for rejuvenation procedures. His reflexes are extremely fast-but appear always to be reasoned, so one may question the correctness of the term "reflex." His eyes have never needed correction either for distance or close work; his hearing range is abnormally high, abnormally low, and is unusually acute throughout his range. His color vision includes indigo. He was born without prepuce, without vermiform appendix-and apparently without a conscience.

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

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

PRELUDE-I

As the door of the suite dilated, the man seated staring glumly out the window looked around. "Who the hell 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 damn busy to see me? Don't I rate even that?" He made no move to stand, nor did he invite his visitor to sit down.

"Your pardon, Sire. I am chief executive for the Families. But it has been customary for some time now-several centuries-for the chief executive to hold the title. '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 entitles 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 damned 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 Classic 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 analyzer 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 Yorkshire; 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 tête-à-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, damn them. Since we're comfortable, let's get on with the powwow." He suddenly roared, "WHAT THE HELL 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 cockroaches. 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. Hell, 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'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? I'm furious, man. Do you realize what danger 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."

"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 chance to explain. I promised."

"Humph!" said Lazarus. "Ira, you old scoundrel, you have me convinced that you really are my kin. You figured that I would not suicide without hearing what you have on your mind-once I knew you had bothered to learn a dead language just to make palaver. All right, talk. You can start by telling me what I'm doing here. I know-I know-that I didn't apply for rejuvenation. But I woke up here with the job already half over. So I screamed for the Chairman. Okay, why am I here?"

"May we start further back? You tell me what you were doing in a flophouse in the worst part of Old Town."

"What was I doing? I was dying. Quietly and decently, like a worn-out horse. That is, I was, until your busybodies grabbed me. Can you think of a better place than a flophouse for a man who doesn't want to be disturbed while he's busy with it? If his cot is paid for in advance, they leave a man be. Oh, they stole what little I had, even my shoes. But I expected that-would have done the same myself under the same circumstances. And the sort of people who live in flophouses are almost always kind to those worse off than they are-any of 'em will fetch a drink of water to a sick man. That was the most I wanted-that and to be left alone to close out my account in my own way. Until your busies showed up. Tell me, bow did they find me?'

"How we found you is not the surprising part, Lazarus, but the fact that SecFor-the cops?-Yes, 'cops'-that my cops took so long to identify you, then find you, and pick you up. A section chief lost his job over that. I don't tolerate inefficiency."

"So you busted him. Your business. But why? I reached Secundus from Out-Far, and I didn't think I had left any back trail. Different everything since the last time I was in touch with the Families...as I bought my last rejuvenation on Supreme. Are the Families swapping data with Supreme these days?"

"Heavens, no, Lazarus, we won't even give them a polite word. There is a strong minority among the Trustees who favor rubbing out Supreme, instead of simply maintaining embargo."

"Well...if a nova bomb hit Supreme, I wouldn't mourn more than thirty seconds. But I did have a reason for having the job done there, even though I had to pay high for forced cloning. But that's another story. Son, how did you pick me up?"

"Sir, for the past seventy years there has been a general order out to try to find you, not just here but on every planet where the Families maintain offices. As to how-do you recall a forced inoculation for Reiber's fever at Immigration?"

"Yes. I was annoyed, but it didn't seem worthwhile to make a fuss; I knew I was headed for that flophouse. Ira, I've known that I was dying for quite some time. That was okay; I was ready for it. But I didn't want to do it alone, out in space. Wanted human voices around me, and body odors. Childish of me. But I was pretty far gone by the time I grounded."

"Lazarus, there is no such thing as Reiber's fever. When a man grounds on Secundus and all routine identifications show null, 'Reiber's fever' or some other nonexistent plague is used as an excuse to get a little tissue from him while injecting him with sterile neutral saline. You should never have been allowed to leave the skyport until your genetic pattern was identified."

"So? What do you do when ten thousand immigrants arrive in one ship?"

"Herd them into detention barracks until we've checked them out. But that doesn't happen often today with Old Home Terra in the sorry state it's in. But you, Lazarus, arriving alone in a private yacht worth fifteen to twenty million crowns-"

"Make that 'thirty.'"

"-worth thirty million crowns. How many men in the Galaxy can do that? Of those who can afford it, how many would choose to travel alone? The pattern should have set alarm bells ringing in the minds of all of them. Instead they took your tissue and accepted your statement that you would be staying at the Romulus Hilton and let you go-and no doubt you had another identity before dark."

"No doubt at all," Lazarus agreed. "But your cops have run up the price on a good phony set of ID's. If I hadn't been too tired to bother, I would have forged my own. Safer. Was that how I was caught? Did you squeeze it out of the paper merchant?"

"No, we never found him. By the way, you might let me know who he is, so that-"

"And I might not," Lazarus said sharply. "Not ratting on him was implicit in the bargain. It's nothing to me how many of your rules he breaks. And-who knows?-I might need him again. Certainly someone will need his services, somebody just as anxious to avoid your busies as I was. Ira, no doubt you mean well but I don't like setups where IDs are necessary. I told myself centuries back to stay away from places crowded enough to require them, and mostly I've followed that rule. Should have followed it this time. But I didn't expect to need any identification very long. Confoundit, two more days and I would have been dead. I think. How did you catch me?"

"The hard way. Once I knew you were on planet I stirred things up; that section chief wasn't the only unhappy one. But you disappeared in so simple a fashion that you baffled the entire force. My security chief expressed the opinion that you had been killed and your body disposed of. I told him if that were the case, he had better start thinking about offplanet migration."

"Make it march! I want to know how I goofed."

"I would not say that you goofed. Lazarus, since you managed to stay hidden with every cop and stoolie on this globe looking for you. But I felt certain that you had not been killed. Oh, we do have murders on Secundus, especially here in New Rome. But most are the commonplace husband-wife sort: We don't have many for gain since I instituted a policy of making the punishment fit the crime and holding executions in- the Colosseum. In any case I felt certain that a man who had survived more than two millennia would not let himself be killed in some dark alley.

"So I assumed that you were alive, then asked myself, 'If I were Lazarus Long, how would I go about hiding?' I went into deep meditation and thought about it. Then I tried to retrace your steps, so far as we knew them. By the way-"

The Chairman Pro Tem threw back his shoulder cloak, took out a large sealed envelope, handed it to Lazarus. "Here is the item you left in a lockbox at Harriman Trust."

Lazarus accepted it. "It's been opened."

"By me. Prematurely, I admit-but you addressed it to me. I have read it but no one else has. And now I will forget it. Except to say this: I am unsurprised that you left your wealth to the Families but I was touched that you assigned your yacht to the personal use of the Chairman. That's a sweet craft, Lazarus; I lust after it a bit. But not so much that I am anxious to inherit so quickly. But I undertook to explain why we need you-and let myself get sidetracked.?'

"I'm in no rush, Ira. Are you?"

"Me? Sir; I have no duties more important than talking with the Senior. Besides, my staff runs this planet more efficiently if I don't supervise them too closely."

Lazarus nodded agreement. "That was always my system the times I let myself get involved. Accept the whole load, then shove the work off on other people as fast as I could pick 'em. Having any trouble with democrats these days?"

"'Democrats'? Oh-you must mean 'egalitarians.' I thought at first you meant the Church of the Holy Democrat.We leave that church alone; they don't meddle. There is an equalitarian movement every few years, certainly, under various names. The Freedom Party, the League of the Oppressed-names don't matter as they all want to turn the rascals out, starting with me; and put their own rascals in. We never bother them; we simply infiltrate, then some night we round up the ringleaders and their families, and by daylight they are headed out as involuntary migrants. Transportees. 'Living on Secundus is a privilege, not a right.'"

"You're quoting me."

"Of course. Your exact words from the contract under which you deeded Secundus to the Foundation. That there was to be no government on this planet other than such rules as the current chairman found necessary to maintain order. We've stuck to our agreement with you, Senior; I am sole boss until the Trustees see fit to replace me."

"That's what I intended," Lazarus agreed. "But Son, it's your pidgin and I'll never touch that gavel again-but I have doubts about the wisdom of getting rid of troublemakers. Every loaf needs yeast. A society that gets rid of all its troublemakers goes downhill. Sheep. Pyramid builders at best, decadent savages at worst. You may be eliminating your creative one-tenth of one percent. Your yeast."

"I'm afraid we are, Senior, and that's one reason why we need you-"

"I said I won't touch that gavel!"

"Will you hear me out, sir? You won't be asked to, even though it is yours by ancient custom if you care to pick it up. But I could use advice-"

"I don't give advice; people never take it."

"Sorry. Perhaps just a chance to talk over my problems with a person more experienced than I am. About these troublemakers- We haven't eliminated them in the old sense; they're still alive, or most of them. Ostracizing a man to another planet is more satisfactory than killing him for the technical crime of treason; it gets rid of him without making his neighbors too indignant. Nor have we wasted him-them-as we are using them to conduct an experiment: All transportees are shipped to the same planet, Felicity. Do you happen to know it?"

"Not by that name."

"I think you would have stumbled on it only by accident, sir; we have kept it out of public records in order to use it as a Botany Bay. It is not as good a planet as the name suggests, but it is a good one, roughly equivalent to Old Home Terra-Earth, I should say-before it was ruined, or much like Secundus when we settled here. It's rough enough to test a man and eliminate weaklings, gentle enough to let a man raise a family if he has the guts to dig in and sweat."

"Sounds like a good place; perhaps you should have hung onto it. Natives?"

"The proto-dominant race are quite fierce savages...if any are still alive. We don't know, we don't even maintain a liaison office there. This native race is neither intelligent enough to be civilized nor tractable enough to be enslaved. Perhaps they would have evolved and made it on their own, but they had the misfortune to encounter H. sapiens before they were ready for him. But that is not the experiment; the transportees are certain to win out over that competition, we do not send them empty-handed. But, Lazarus, these people believe that they can create ideal government by majority rule."

Lazarus snorted.

"Perhaps they can, sir," Weatheral persisted. "I don't know that they cannot. That is the experiment."

"Son, are you a fool? Oh, you can't be, the Trustees wouldn't keep you in office. But-How old did you say you are?"

Weatheral answered quietly, "I am nineteen centuries your junior, sir; I will not dispute your opinion on anything. But I do not know through my own experience that this experiment will not work; I have never seen a government of the democratic type, even in the numerous times I have been off planet. I've simply read about them. From what I have read not one has ever been formed from a population all of whom believed in the democratic theory. So I don't know."

"Hmm." Lazarus looked frustrated. "Ira, I was about to shove my own experience with such governments down your throat. But you're right, this is a brand new situation-and we don't know. Oh, I have strong opinions, but a thousand reasoned opinions are never equal to one case of diving in and finding out. Galileo proved that and it may be the only certainty we have. Mmm...all the so-called democracies I've ever seen or heard of were either forced on the majority from above or grew up slowly from the plebs discovering that they could vote themselves bread-and-circuses-for a while, until the system broke down. I'm sorry I won't see the outcome of your experiment. I suspect it will be the harshest tyranny imaginable; majority rule gives the ruthless strong man plenty of elbow room to oppress his fellows. But I don't know. What's your opinion?"

"The computers say-"

"Never mind computers. Ira, the most sophisticated machine the human mind can build has in it the limitations of the human mind. Anyone who thinks otherwise does not understand the Second Law of Thermodynamics. I asked for your opinion."

"Sir, I refuse to form an opinion; I lack sufficient data."

"Hrrumph: You're getting old, Son. To get anywhere, or even to live a long time, a man has to guess, and guess right, over and over again, without enough data for a logical answer. You were telling me how you found me."

"Yes, sir. That document, your will, made it clear that you expected to die soon. Then"-Weatheral paused and smiled wryly-"I had to 'guess right without enough data.' It took us two days to find the shop where you bought clothes to lower your apparent status-and to conform to local styles, I think. I suspect that you bought your false ID's right after that."

He paused; Lazarus made no comment;. Weatheral continued: "Another half day to find the shop where you lowered your apparent status much farther, close to bottom-too far perhaps, as the shopkeeper remembered you, both because you paid cash and because you were buying secondhand clothes that were not as good even when new as the ones you were wearing. Oh, he pretended to accept your story about a 'costume party' and kept his mouth shut; his shop is a fence for stolen goods."

"Of course," agreed Lazarus. "I made sure he was on the crook before I bought from him. But you said he stayed zipped?"

"Until we stimulated his memory. A fence is in a difficult position, Lazarus; he has to have a permanent address. This can sometimes force him to be honest."

"Oh, I wasn't blaming dear old Uncle. The fault was mine; I let myself be conspicuous. I was tired, Ira, and feeling my years and let it rush me into doing a sloppy job. Even a hundred years back I would have done a more artistic job. I've always known that it is more difficult to lower your status convincingly than to raise it."

"I don't think you need feel ashamed of the job as a work of art, Senior; you had us baffled for almost three months."

"Son, the world doesn't pay off on a 'good try.' Go ahead"

"Brute force then, Lazarus: That shop is in the worst part of the city; we put a cordon around the area and saturated it, thousands of men. But not for long; you were in the third fleabag we checked. I spotted you myself, I was with one of the raiding parties. Then your genetic pattern confirmed your identity." Ira Weatheral smiled slightly. "But we were pouring new blood into you before the genetic analyzer reported your identity; you were in bad shape, sir."

"I was like hell in bad shape; I was simply dying-and minding my own business, a practice you could emulate. Ira, do you realize what a dirty trick you have done me? A man ought not to have to die twice and I was past the bad part and ready for the finale as easy as falling asleep. Then you butted in. I've never heard of rejuvenation being forced on anyone. If I had suspected that you had changed the rules, I would never have come near this planet. Now I have to go through it again. Either with the suicide switch-and suicide is an idea I've always despised-or the natural way. Which could now take a long time. Is my old blood still around? Stored?"

"I will inquire of the Clinic's Director, sir."

"Humph. That's not an answer, so don't bother to lie. You've put me in a dilemma, Ira. Even though I haven't had the full treatment, I feel better than I've felt for forty years or more-which means either that I must again wait it out for many weary years-or use that switch when my body isn't saying, 'Time to adjourn.' You meddling scoundrel, by what authority-no, you've got the authority. By what ethical principle did you interfere with my death?"

"Because we needed you, sir."

"That's not an ethical reason, just a pragmatic one. The need was not mutual."

"Senior, I have studied your life as thoroughly as the records permit. It seems to me that you often acted pragmatically."

Lazarus grinned. "That's my boy! I was wondering if you would have the gall to try to twist it into some high moral principle, like a damned preacher. I don't trust a man who talks about ethics when he's picking my pocket. But if he's acting in his own self-interest and says so, I have usually been able to work out some way to do business with, him."

"Lazarus, if you will let us complete your rejuvenation, you'll feel like living again. I think you know that; you've been through it before."

"To what end, sir? When I've had more than two thousand years of trying everything? When I've seen so many planets that they blur in my mind? When I've had so many wives I can't remember their names? 'We pray for one last landing on the Globe that gave us birth-' I can't even do that; the lovely green planet I was born on has aged even more than I have; to return to it would be a time for tears, not a happy homecoming. No, Son, despite all rejuvenation there comes a time when the only reasonable thing to do is turn out the lights and go to sleep-and you, damn you, you took It away from me."

"I'm sorry-no, I'm not sorry. But I do ask your pardon."

"Well you might get it. But not now. What was this aching reason you needed me? You mentioned some problem other than the troublemakers you transport."

"Yes, although it is not one that would have caused me to interfere with your right to die your own way; I can handle it, one way or another. I think Secundus is becoming both too crowded and too civilized-"

"I'm sure of it, Ira."

"Therefore I think the Families should move again."

"I agree even though I am not interested. As a thumb rule, one can say that any time a planet starts developing cities of more than one million people, it is approaching critical mass. In a century or two it won't be fit to live on. Do you have a planet in mind? Do you think you can get the Trustees to go along? And will the Families follow the Trustees?"

"Yes to the first, maybe to the second, probably No to the third. I have a planet in mind as 'Tertius,' one as good or better than Secundus. I think many of the Trustees would agree with my reasoning but I'm not sure of the overwhelming support such a move would need-Secundus is too comfortable for the danger to seem imminent to most people. As for the Families themselves-no, I don't think we could persuade most of them to uproot and move but even a few hundred thousand would suffice. Gideon's Band-you follow me?"

"I'm way ahead of you. Migration always involves selection and improvement. Elementary. If they'll do it. If. Ira, I had a hell of a time selling the idea to the Families when we moved here back in the twenty-third century. Could not have sold it at all if Earth had not become a dreary place. Good luck; you'll need it."

"Lazarus, I don't expect to succeed. I will try. But if I fail, I'll resign and migrate anyhow. To Tertius if I can organize a party large enough for a viable colony. To some planet colonized but very thinly settled if not."

"Do you mean that, Ira? Or, when the time comes, will you kid yourself that it is really your duty to hang on? If a man has the temperament for power-and you have or you wouldn't be where you are-he finds it hard to abdicate."

"I mean it, Lazarus. Oh, I like to run things; I know it. I hope to lead the Families on their third Exodus. But I don't expect to. However, I think my chances of putting together a viable colony-of young people, not over a hundred years old, two hundred at most-without the aid of the Foundation, are fairly good. But if I fail in that, too"-he shrugged- "migration will be the only worthwhile course open to me; Secundus will have nothing more to offer." Weatheral added, "Perhaps I feel as you do, sir, in a minor way. I have no wish to be Chairman Pro Tem all my days. I've had almost a century of it; that's enough. If I can't put this over."

Lazarus was thoughtfully silent; Weatheral waited.

"Ira, install that suicide switch for me. But tomorrow. Not today."

"Yes, sir."

"Don't you want to know why?" Lazarus picked up the large envelope, his will. "If you convince me that you are going to migrate, come hell or high water and no matter what the Trustees do, I want to rewrite this. My investments and cash accounts here and there-if somebody hasn't stolen them while my back was turned-add up to a nice piece of change. Possibly enough to make the difference between success and failure in mounting a migration. If the Trustees won't back it with Foundation funds. And they won't."

Weatheral said nothing. Lazarus glared at him. "Didn't your mother teach you to say 'Thank you'?"

"For what, Lazarus? For giving me something after you're dead and no longer need it? If you do this, it will be to tickle your vanity-not to please me."

Lazarus grinned. "Hell, yes. I ought to stick in a condition that you name the planet 'Lazarus.' But I would have no way to enforce it. Okay, we understand each other. And I think- Do you respect good machinery?"

"Eh? Yes. As much as I despise machinery that doesn't do what it is putatively designed to do."

"We still understand each other. I think I'll leave the 'Dora'-that's my yacht-to you personally rather than to the Families' chairman...if you lead a migration."

"Uh...you tempt me to thank you."

"Don't. Just be good to her. She's a sweet craft, she's never known anything but kindness. She'll make a fine flagship for you. With simple reoutfitting-specs for it in her computer-she'll house a staff of twenty or thirty. And you can ground and reconnoiter in her, then lift off again-which your transports won't be able to do, most likely."

"Lazarus...I don't want to inherit either money or a yacht from you. Let them finish your rejuvenation-and come

with us, man! I'll step aside and you can boss. Or you can have no duties at all. But come!"

Lazarus smiled bleakly and shook his head. "I've been on six such colonizing ventures to virgin planets, not counting Secundus. All to planets I discovered. Gave it up centuries back. Anything gets boring in time. Do you think Solomon serviced all his thousand wives? If so, what sort of job did he do on the last one?-poor girl! Find me something new to do and I might never touch that suicide switch and still give you all I've got for your colony. It 'ud be a fair swap...as this halfway rejuvenation is most unsatisfactory; I don't feel well, yet I can't die. So I'm stuck between the suicide switch and giving in for the full treatment...the donkey that starved to death between two piles of hay. But it would have to be new, Ira, not something I've done over and over again. Like that old whore, I've climbed the same stairs too many times; my feet hurt."

"I'll think about the problem, Lazarus. I'll give it hard and systematic research."

"Seven to two you can't find anything I haven't done."

"I'll make a real try. You'll lay off the suicide switch while I research it?"

"No promises. Not once I get this will redrafted. Can you trust your chief legal eagle? May need some help...because this will"-he tapped the envelope- "leaving everything to the Families would stand up on Secundus no matter how many flaws are in it. But if I leave it to a private party-you, I mean-some of my descendants-quite a passel-will scream 'undue influence' and try to break it. Ira, they'll keep it tied up in court until it's dribbled away in legal fees. Let's avoid that, eh?"

"We can. I've made changes in the rules. On this planet a man can put his will through probate before his death, and if there are flaws, the court is required to help him rephrase it to accomplish his purposes. If he does it that way, no contest can be entertained by any court; it goes automatically into effect on his death. Of course if he changes his will, the new will must go through the same process-which makes changing his mind expensive. But by using preprobate, it does not take a lawyer for even the most complex will. And the lawyers can't touch it afterwards."

Lazarus' eyes widened with pleasure. "Didn't you annoy a few lawyers?"

"I've annoyed so many," Ira said dryly, "that every transport to Felicity has voluntary migrants in it-and so many lawyers have annoyed me, that some are involuntary ones." The Chairman Pro Tens looked sourly amused. "Once I said to my Chief Justice, 'Warren, I've bad to reverse too many of your decisions. You've been splitting hairs, misinterpreting the rules, and ignoring equity ever since you came into office. Go home; you're under house arrest until the 'Last Chance' lifts. You can have an escort during daylight hours to let you wind up your private affairs."

Lazarus chuckled. "Shoulda hanged him. You know what he did, don't you? Set up shop again on Felicity and went into politics. If they didn't lynch him."

"His problem and theirs, not mine. Lazarus, I never let a man be executed for being a fool-but if he's too obnoxious, I ship him out. There's no need to sweat over your new will if you want one. Just dictate it with any elaborations and explanations you see fit. Then we'll run it through a semantic analyzer to rephrase it into airtight legal language. Once it satisfies you, you can submit it to the High Court-which will come to you if you prefer-and the Court will validate it. Done that way it could then be overturned only by arbitrary act of a new Chairman Pro Tem. Which I consider most unlikely; the Trustees do not place such men in office."

Weatheral added, "But I hope you will take plenty of time, Lazarus. I want a fair chance to search for something new, something that will restore your interest in life."

"All right. But don't dally; I won't be put off with a Scheherazade gag. Have them send me a recorder-tomorrow morning, say."

Weatheral seemed about to speak, did not. Lazarus looked at him sharply. "This conversation is being recorded?"

"Yes, Lazarus. Sound and holography, everything that happens in this suite. But-your pardon, sir!-it goes only to my desk and does not become a permanent record until I have checked and okayed it. Nothing so far, that is."

Lazarus shrugged. "Forget it. Ira, I learned centuries back that there is no privacy in any society crowded enough to need ID's. A law guaranteeing privacy simply insures that bugs-microphones and lenses and so forth-are that much harder to spot. I hadn't thought about it up till now because I take it for granted that.. my privacy will be invaded any time I visit such places-then I ignore it unless I'm up to something the local law won't like. In which case I use evasive tactics."

"Lazarus, that record can be wiped. Its only purpose is to make me certain that the Senior is being properly taken care of-a responsibility I will not delegate."

"I said, 'Forget it.' But I'm surprised at your naiveté, a man in your position, in thinking that the record is piped only to your desk. I'll lay long odds, any amount you like, that it goes one, two, even three or more other places."

"If so, Lazarus, and I can find it out, Felicity will have some new colonists-after they've spent some unpleasant hours in the Colosseum."

"Ira, it doesn't matter. If any fool wants to watch an old, old man grunting on the pot or taking a bath, he's welcome. You yourself insured that it would happen by making a point of the record being secret, your eyes only. Security people always spy on their bosses; they can't help it, it's a syndrome that goes with the job. Have you had dinner? I'd be pleased to have you stay if you have time."

"I would be honored indeed to have dinner with the Senior."

"Oh, knock it off, Bud; there's no virtue in being old, it just takes a long time. I'd like you to stay because I'm enjoying human companionship. Those two over there are no company; I'm not even sure they're human. Robots, maybe. Why do they wear those diving suits and shiny helmets. I like to see a man's face."

"Lazarus, those are total isolation garments. For your protection, not theirs. Against infection."

"What? Ira, when a bug bites me, the bug dies. Even so, since they have to wear that, how is it that you come in wearing street clothes?'

"Not quite, Lazarus. For my purpose I needed a social talk, fake to face. So the last two hours before I came in I spent undergoing a most careful physical examination, followed by scalp-to-toe sterilization of skin, hair, ears, nails, teeth, nose, throat-even a gas inhalation which I can't name but did not like-while my clothes were sterilized even more thoroughly. Even that envelope I fetched to you. This suite is sterile and kept so."

"Ira, such precautions are silly. Unless my immunity has been intentionally lowered?"

"No. Or let me say, 'I think not.' No reason for it as any transplant will of course be done from your own clone."

"So it's unnecessary. If I didn't catch anything in that flophouse, why would I catch anything now? But I don't catch things. I worked as a physician during a plague-don't look surprised; medicine is just one of fifty-odd trades I've followed. Unknown plague on Ormuzd; everybody caught it, twenty-eight percent died. Save yours truly, who didn't ever have a sniffle. So tell those- No, you'll want to do it through the Director of the Clinic; bypassing your chain-of-command ruins morale-though why I should care about this organization's morale I don't know, seeing that I am an involuntary guest. Tell the Director that, if I must have nurses, I want them to dress like nurses. Or, better yet, like people. Ira, if you want cooperation out of me of any sort, you'll start by cooperating with me. Otherwise I'm going to take the joint apart with my bare hands."

"I'll speak to the Director, Lazarus."

"Good. Now let's have dinner. But a drink first-and if the Director doesn't think I should have one, tell him bluntly that he will have to go back to force-feeding and there is some question as to whose throat the tube will go down; I'm in no mood to be pushed around. Is there any real whisky on this planet? Wasn't the last time I was here."

"Not that I would drink. But the local brandy I think well of."

"Good. Brandy and bubbles for me if that is the best we can do, a brandy Manhattan if anyone knows what I mean by that."

"I do, and like them-I learned something about ancient drinks when I studied your life."

'Pine. Then please order for us, drinks and dinner-and I'll listen and see how many words I can pick up. I think my memory is coining back a bit."

Weatheral spoke to one of the technicians; Lazarus interrupted. "That should be one-third sweet vermouth, not one-half."

"So? You understood it?"

"Mostly. Indo-European roots, with a simplified syntax and grammar; I'm beginning to recall it. Damn it, when a man has had to learn as many languages as I have, it's easy for one to slip away. But it's coming back."

Service was so fast as to cause one to suspect that a crew was standing by ready to produce anything that the Senior or the Chairman Pro Tem asked for.

Weatheral raised his glass. "Long life."

"In a pig's eye," Lazarus growled and took a sip. He made a face. 'Whew! Panther sweat. But it does have alcohol in it." He took another. "Improves as your tongue gets numb. Okay, Ira, you've stalled long enough. What was your real reason for snatching me back from my well-earned rest?'

"Lazarus, we need your wisdom."

TIME ENOUGH FOR LOVE

INTRODUCTION

PREFACE TO REVISED EDITION

PRELUDE-I