irty minutes. Well, the doctor
said he was fit for surgery. That would end this nagging pain, just as
it always had in the past.

"... If you're ready now." Lee became aware the doctor was speaking to
him.

"Oh," Lee said. He had no idea what the doctor was talking about. "I'm
sorry, I guess I didn't hear what you said--"

The doctor smiled tolerantly. "I said you can see Dr. Letzmiller this
afternoon to get the final O.K."

"Letzmiller? Who's he? I thought you said I was ready to go." Lee knew
he sounded a little petulant, but he was tired from all these
examinations, and besides, his head hurt.

The doctor, Gorss, Lee thought his name was, was rather young but
seemed used to this kind of thing. He turned on his tolerant smile
again. "Dr. Letzmiller is chief of the Familiarization and
Post-Operative Adjustment Section. He can explain himself better when
you see him."

"Is he the last one?" Lee asked. He was already following Dr. Gorss
out the door and down a corridor.

Dr. Gorss stopped before a door marked "Dr. C. L. Letzmiller," and
opened it. "The last one. You take these," he handed Lee a thick
manila folder, "and tell the girl Dr. Gorss sent you for your
interview." He waited until Lee had entered, then closed the door and
left.

* * * * *

Evidently Dr. Letzmiller had been expecting him, for very shortly Lee
found himself sitting at the doctor's desk, comfortably seated in a
brown leather armchair. He was facing a rather pudgy man, who was
leafing through the manila folder Lee had given him. Finally Dr.
Letzmiller looked up.

"Well. Well now, Mr. Lee, suppose you first tell me about yourself,
and then I'll tell you about me."

"Tell you about me?" Lee asked.

Dr. Letzmiller smiled. It was another tolerant smile, but it seemed
more sincere than Gorss'. "I suppose the best way would be for me to
review these facts on your medical history. You are Vincent Bonard
Lee?"

"Yes, sir."

"Date of birth?"

"August 11, 1934."

"That would make you four hundred nine years old."

Lee hesitated. He never really thought of his age. It had long ago
ceased to be of any importance to him. Of course he remembered his
birth date. It was one of those facts that always appears on your
records, like your social security number. He did some calculation in
his head, as rapidly as the constantly shifting blank spots in his
thinking would allow him.

"Yes, sir."

"It shows here t