His ears popped and the plane was descending, then, into flurries of northern snow. He peered out at the whiter gloom below, a long stretch of white with blobs of black on either side, resolving into snow-laden black pines, a vast expanse of frozen, snow-covered lake, the slight jolt as the skis touched down. Taxiing across a cove of the lake, engines roaring, throwing up a whirlwind of powdery snow. And ahead, on the shore above the lake, a black blot of a house, with yellow window lights glowing warm and cheerful in the middle of this frozen wilderness.
Then Dwight MacKenzie, mouse-like, peering out into the gloom, startled eyes with streaks of fear in them, widening in recognition. MacKenzie throwing open the door, smiling, pumping Dan’s hand, a too-hearty greeting. “Dan I I couldn’t imagine who was coming in this snowstorm, hardly ever see anybody up here, you knbw. Come in, come in, you must be half frozen. What’s happened? Something torn loose down in Washington?” And more talk, more questions, tumbling over each other, but something wrong in the voice, no answers wanted, just talk to cover up surprise and fear and the one real question of why Dan Fowler should be dropping down out of the winter sky right then.
A huge lodge room, open beams, blazing fire in a mammoth fireplace at the one end, moose heads, a thick black bearhide on the floor. “I like to come up here a day or two before the others arrive for hunting,” MacKenzie was saying. “Does a man good to commune with his soul once in a while, eh? You a hunter, Dan? You ought to join us. Libby and Donaldson will be up tomorrow with a couple of guides. There’s always an extra rifle around. Ought to be good hunting this year.”
One chair near the fireplace, a book hastily thrown down beside it, Sextra Special, Cartoons by Kulp. Great book for soul-searching senators. Things were a little out of focus at first after the biting cold, but now Dan was beginning to see. One book, one chair, but two half-filled cocktail glasses at the sideboard—
Dan shook his head. “No thanks, Dwight, I have to get right back to the city. Tried to catch you before you left, nothing too urgent, but I wanted to let you know that I put you to all that trouble for nothing, switching the Hearing dates around. We don’t need the Hearings next week after all.”
Wariness in MacKenzie’s eyes. “Well! It wasn’t any trouble, Dan. No trouble at all. Next week was fine with everybody, better than the February date would have been, as a matter of fact. This way the committee can collect itself before Christmas holidays, ha, ha.”
“Well, it now seems that it wouldn’t be so good for me, Dwight. I’d much prefer the dates changed back to February again.”
A long silence while MacKenzie pursed his lips. “Well, now. That’s—awkward. You know, Dan, we really have to settle these things sooner or later. Can’t just shove dates around willy-nilly. And to change back at this late date—I just don’t know.”
“Don’t know! Why not? You call the meetings and set the agenda.”
The moose-hunter licked his lips. “Yes, but it isn’t just me that makes these decisions, Dan. Other people have to be consulted. It’s a little late to catch them now, you know. It might be pretty hard to do that.”
No more smiles from Dan. “Now look, you make the calendar, and you can change it.” Face getting red, getting angry—careful, Dan, those two cocktail glasses, watch what you say—“I want it changed back. And I’ve got to know right now.”
“But you told me you’d be all ready to roll by next week.”
No more caution—he had to have time. “Look, there’s no reason you can’t do it if you want to, Dwight. I’d consider it a personal favor—I repeat, a very great personal favor—if you’d make the arrangements. Believe me, I won’t forget it” What did the swine want, an arm off at the roots?
“Sorry,” said a deep voice from the rear door of the room. Walter Rinehart walked across to the glass on the sideboard. “You don’t mind if I finish this, Dwight?”
A deep breath from MacKenzie, like a sigh of relief. “Go right ahead, Walt. Drink, Dan?”
“No, I don’t think so.” It was Walter, all right. Tall, upright, dignified Walter, fine shock of wavy hair as white as the snow outside. Young-old lines on his face. Some men looked finer after rejuvenation, much finer than before. There had been a weakness in Walter Rinehart’s eyes and face before his first Retread. Not now. A fine man, the picture of mature wisdom and social responsibility. A man you could trust to guide the committee that decided whether you were going to be the one to live or die.
But inside, the mind was the same as it was before. Inside, no changes. Author of the Rinehart Criteria, back in the days when rejuvenation first became possible. Rinehart’s supporters compared that manifesto with the Gettysburg address, with Churchill’s “blood, sweat and tears” speech, with the Markheim Doctrine that had finally brought East and West to the end of the Cold War. The criteria to be used by an impartial committee in selecting those individuals most worthy, by service to mankind, to enjoy the fruits of the new rejuvenation process until such time as it could be available to all—Rinehart’s work. Some said it was a work of genius, and it secured Walter Rinehart a perpetual seat in the Senate, and chairmanship of the Criterion Committee. But other men, less impressed and more far-seeing—men like Dan Fowler- had insisted that Rinehart’s real intent was to set up a small, self-perpetuating “immortal elite” who would ultimately use their control over rejuvenation as a weapon to control the world.
No one had fought Rinehart harder or longer than Dan Fowler. The world knew that, but the world was not present in this secluded hunting lodge tonight.
Dan turned his back on Rinehart and said to MacKenzie, “I want the date changed.”
“I—I can’t do it, Dan.” An inquiring glance at Rinehart, a faint smiling nod in return.
Suddenly it dawned on Dan how badly he had blundered. MacKenzie was afraid. MacKenzie wanted another lifetime, one of these days. He had decided that Rinehart was the one who could give it to him. But worse, fax worse: Rinehart knew now that something had happened, something was wrong. “What’s the matter, Dan?” he said smoothly. “You need more time before the Hearings? Why? You had plenty of time before, but you threw it away, made poor Dwight here shift the dates right up under our noses. Now you want them changed back, all of a sudden. What happened, Dan? Hit a snag somewhere?”