nd I know you better than your
shareholders do. Oh, yes, you can put it across at a Board Meeting, this
lofty idea of self-sacrifice and the sum of human good; but it isn't
true and you know it. You're here for the same reason I'm here--because
you're afraid to die. And that goes for all of us." He looked at each of
them in turn, as if daring them to contradict him. "Yes, we've got
ability, all right, and self-confidence. But what do we do with these
fancied qualities? We use them to make money with which to buy back our
youth."

* * * * *

Delman got to his feet and hobbled over toward the vidar screen. He
stood with his back to the screen, looking down on them.

"And what do we do with our youth?" he asked. "We use _that_ to make
money for our old age. We have no choice. Not only is the price of
rejuvenation extortionate in itself, but also, by a whim of the
legislature, we are declared dead and the burden of 'death duty' falls
on our estates. When we return, we return poor. And so the cycle
continues--the endless quest for money, the means of perpetual
preservation.

"We are careers, not men and women!" the lawyer went on vehemently. "We
don't enjoy life. We have neither the time nor the courage to enjoy it.
Our children are few and we ignore them, for should they inherit this
terrible urge, they would be our competitors. No, Mr. Pellinger, there
is only one real man among us and that is John Bridge. He alone has
enjoyed life and he goes back determined to enjoy it for a second and
last time. But we, by dint of work and learning and sharp-practice, may
prolong the agony once again. Ours are the wasted lives."

"Oh, Mr. Delman! Surely, that's overstating the case?" Gillian Murray
had the reedy voice common to so many elderly spinsters. "What about all
those difficult problems you've solved? Many of them are of great
importance. Everybody says so."

"Then I don't agree with everybody, Miss Murray," Delman replied.
"Complications are the bread and butter of my trade. We make them for
money and we unravel them for more money. One day, you draft a will; the
next, you break a Trust deed--the balance remains even. It's true you
perform a function, but it's questionable whether that function is of
any real value."

John Bridge got up from his chair. His rubicund features were creased in
bewilderment.

"This is beyond me," he said. "I'm sorry if I annoyed Mr. Pellinger. I
didn't mean