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“You don’t look well. I’d like you to come back to the hospital for a checkup—”
    â€œI’m feeling fine, I said.” Weaver’s voice lifted a little before it dropped back to a conversational tone. “We wanted to have a little talk—about cooperation.”
    Pearce looked at Jansen. “Funny—I don’t feel very talkative. I’ve had a hard day.”
    Weaver’s eyes didn’t leave Pearce’s face. “Get out, Carl,” he said calmly.
    â€œBut, Mister Weaver—” Jansen began, his gray eyes tightening.
    â€œGet out, Carl,” Weaver repeated. “Wait for me in the car.”
    After Jansen was gone, Pearce sank down in the armchair facing Weaver. He let his gaze drift around the room, lingering on the polished darkness of the music center and the slightly lighter wood of the desk in the corner. “Did you find anything?” he asked.
    â€œNot what we were looking for,” Weaver replied.
    â€œWhat was that?”
    â€œCartwright’s location.”
    â€œWhat makes you think I’d know anything about that?”
    Weaver clasped his hands lightly in his lap. “Can’t we work together?”
    â€œCertainly. What would you like to know—about your health?”
    â€œWhat did you do with those samples of blood you took from me? You must have taken back that pint I got.”
    â€œAlmost. Part of it we separated. Got the plasma. Separated the gamma globulin from it with zinc. Used it on various animals.”
    â€œAnd what did you find out?”
    â€œThe immunity is in the gamma globulin. It would be, of course. That’s the immunity factor. You should see my old rat. As frisky as the youngest rat in the lab.”
    â€œSo it’s part of me, too?” Weaver asked.
    Pearce shook his head slowly. “That’s just the original globulins diluted in your blood.”
    â€œThen to live forever I would have to have periodic transfusions?”
    â€œIf it’s possible to live forever,” Pearce said, shrugging.
    â€œIt is. You know that. There’s at least one person who’s going to live forever—Cartwright. Unless something happens to him. That would be a tragedy, wouldn’t it? In spite of all precautions, accidents happen. People get murdered. Can you imagine some careless kid spilling that golden blood into a filthy gutter? Some jealous woman putting a knife in that priceless body?”
    â€œWhat do you want, Weaver?” Pearce asked evenly. “You’ve got your reprieve from death. What more can you ask?”
    â€œAnother. And another. Without end. Why should some nobody get it by accident? What good will it do him? Or the world? He needs to be protected—and used.Properly handled, he could be worth—well, whatever men will pay for life. I’d pay a million a year—more if I had to. Other men would pay the same. We’d save the best men in the world, those who have demonstrated their ability by becoming wealthy. Oh, yes. Scientists, too—we’d select some of those. People who haven’t gone into business—leaders, statesmen . . .”
    â€œWhat about Cartwright?”
    â€œWhat about him?” Weaver blinked as if recalled from a lovely dream. “Do you think anyone who ever lived would have a better life, would be better protected, more pampered? Why, he wouldn’t have to ask for a thing! No one would dare say no to him for fear he might kill himself. He’d be the hen that lays the golden eggs.”
    â€œHe’d have everything but freedom.”
    â€œA much overrated commodity.”
    â€œThe one immortal man in the world.”
    â€œThat’s just it,” Weaver said, leaning forward. “Instead of only one, there would be many.”
    Pearce shook his head from side to side as if he had not heard. “A chance meeting of genes—a slight alteration by cosmic ray or