[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

"You're put away. It doesn't hurt."
"You're killed?"
"It's not murder," stiffly. "It must be that way. Other worlds won't take us, and we must make room for
the children some way. The older generation must make room for the younger."
"Suppose you don't tell them you're sixty?"
"Why shouldn't you? Life after sixty is no joke. And there's a Census every ten years to catch anyone
who is foolish enough to, try to live. Besides, they have your age on record."
"Not mine." The words slipped out. Schwartz couldn't stop them. "Besides, I'm only fifty-next birthday."
"It doesn't matter. They can check by your bone structure. Don't you know that? There's no way of
masking it. They'll get me next time. . . . Say, it's your move."
Schwartz disregarded the urging. "You mean they'll-"
"Sure, I'm only fifty-five, but look at my legs. I can't work, can I? There are three of us registered in our
family, and our quota is adjusted on a basis of three workers. When I had the stroke I should have been
reported, and then the quota would have been reduced. But I would have gotten a premature Sixty, and
Arbin and Loa, wouldn't do it. They're fools, because it has meant hard work for them-till, you came
Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html
along. And they'll get me next year, anyway.... Your move."
"Is next year the Census?"
"That's right.... Your move."
"Wait!" urgently. "Is everyone put away after sixty? No exceptions at all?"
"Not for you and me. The High Minister lives a full life, and members of the Society of Ancients; certain
scientists or those performing some great service. Not many qualify. Maybe a dozen a year. . It's your
move!"
"Who decides who qualifies?"
"The High Minister, of course. Are you moving?"
But Schwartz stood up. "Never mind. It's checkmate in five moves. My Queen is going to take your
Pawn to check you; you've got to move to Knight 1; 1 bring up the Knight to check you at King 2; you
must move to Bishop 2; my Queen checks you at King 6; you must move to Knight 2; my Queen goes to
Knight 6, and when you're then forced to, Rook 1, my Queen mates you at Rook 6.
"Good game," he added automatically.
Grew stared long at the board, then, with a cry, dashed it from the table. The gleaming pieces rolled
dejectedly about on the lawn.
"You and your damned distracting chatter," yelled Grew.
But Schwartz was conscious of nothing. Nothing except the overwhelming- necessity of escaping the
Sixty. For though Browning said:
Grow old along with me!
The best is yet to be . . . that was in an Earth of teeming billions and of unlimited food. The best that was
now to be was the Sixty-and death.
Schwartz was sixty-two.
Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html
Sixty two ...
chapter 12 the mind that killed
It worked out so neatly in Schwartz's methodical mind. Since he, did not want to die, he would have to
leave the farm. If he stayed where he was, the Census would come, and with it, death.
Leave the farm, then. But where would he go?
There was the-what was it, a hospital?-in Chica. They had taken care of him before. And why? Because
he had been a medical "case." But wasn't he still a case? And he could talk now; he could give them the
symptoms, which he couldn't before. He could even tell them about the Mind Touch.
Or did everyone have the Mind Touch? Was there any way he, could tell? . . . None of the others had it.
Not Arbin or Loa or Grew. He knew that. They had no way of telling where he was unless they saw or
heard him. Why, he couldn't beat Grew in chess if Grew could
Wait, now, chess was a popular game. And it couldn't be played if people had the Mind Touch. Not
really.
So that made him a peculiarity-a psychological specimen. It might not be a particularly gay life, being a
specimen, but it would keep him alive.
And suppose one considered the new possibility that had just arisen. Suppose he were not an amnesiac
but a man who had stumbled through time. Why, then, in addition to the Mind Touch, he was a man from
the past. He was a historical specimen, an archaeological specimen; they couldn't kill him.
If they believed him.
Hmm, if they believed him.
That doctor would believe. He had needed a shave that morning Arbin took him to Chica. He
remembered that very well. After that his hair never grew, so they must have done something to, him.
That meant that the doctor knew that he-he, Schwartz-had had hair on his face. Wouldn't that be
significant? Grew and Arbin never shaved. Grew had once told him that only animals had hair on their
face.
Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html
So he had to get to the doctor.
What was his name? Shekt? ... Shekt, that was right.
But he knew so, little of this horrible world. To leave by night or cross-country would have entangled
him in mysteries, would have plunged him into radioactive danger pockets of which he knew nothing. So,
with the boldness of one with no choice, he struck out upon the highway in the early afternoon. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]