Robert Silverberg - Recalled to Life

“What was the name of the patient?” United Press shot out quickly.

Harker laughed. “Good try, but no score. Patients’ names will not be revealed.”

“How many unsuccessful attempts were there before the July 17 success?” Times wanted to know.

“I don’t have the exact figure,” Harker said, because Raymond had neglected to give it to him. “Mart, what would you say? About—”

He hesitated. Raymond caught the hint and said, “I’d estimate approximately thirty attempts over a period of two years.”

“And there have been seventy-one tries since then?” Transcontinental TV said.

“Right. With sixty-seven reanimations.”

“All completely successful?” the sharp Times man said.

Harker looked vague. “Varying degrees of success,” he replied ambiguously.

“Would you care to elaborate on that, Mr. Harker?”

“Not just now.”

Video cameras recorded his statement. He was used to the televised press-conference, from long experience in public office, and he maintained a perfectly guileless expression while uttering the evasion.

The Scripps-Howard-Cauldwell man said, “As you know, Senator Thurman is pressing for a detailed Senate investigation of your laboratory. Would you welcome such an investigation?”

“If it’s conducted fairly and without prejudice,” Harker said, “of course we’d welcome it. We’re not trying to fool anyone. We’ve discovered something wonderful and we want the people of the world to share in it.”

“How do you feel about the American-Conservative party stand on reanimation?” Times asked.

“I wasn’t aware there was one.”

“They issued a statement at noon today. It implies that the National-Liberal Party is going to exploit the discovery for its own personal advantage. They point to your presence as legal adviser as proof of that.”

Harker smiled, but beneath the smile was sudden bitterness.

So it would be political capital too? He said, “This comes as a big surprise to me. I don’t have any formal affiliation with the National-Liberals, though of course I generally support their program. I’m not even a member of the national committee. And we’ve received no encouragement or anything else from them.”

“But you were a former Nat-Lib governor, Mr. Harker. Doesn’t that make you a major figure in the party hierarchy?” Scripps-Howard-Cauldwell asked.

It was a loaded question. Harker mopped the sweat from his forehead, glared straight into the eye of the video camera, and said, “I still vote Nat-Lib, if that’s what you mean. But ex-governors are just ex-governors, period.”

“How about the claim of Cal Mitchison and David Klaus that there have been unethical practices in this lab?” Transcontinental TV asked slyly.

Harker said, “I hardly think that’s worth talking about. Mitchison and Klaus are former employees who didn’t perform competently and who were discharged. It’s as simple as that.”

“You were the lawyer for the late Richard Bryant,” said the Times man. “Did you make any attempts to have Mr. Bryant resuscitated?”

“I did not. The family issued a statement expressing no desire to have Mr. Bryant revivified, and at no time did anyone here suggest that he should be. The movement to revive Richard Bryant was strictly unofficial.”

Harker was starting to weary under the barrage of questions. He looked at his watch; the half-hour he allotted to these conferences had elapsed. He felt as if he were wrung dry.

“I’ll have to ask you to cut it short now,” he said. “Unless there are any other very urgent questions, we’ll stop here.”

Times said, “One question, Mr. Harker. Have any reanimations taken place since the announcement of the process yesterday morning?”

Harker shook his head. “The answer is no. Until the legal status of reanimation is settled, we’re not proceeding with further experiments on human beings”—he regretted the unfortunate word experiments as soon as it passed his lips, but by then it was too late—“although we’re continuing with other phases of our research. We’ve been bombarded with requests for reanimations, but we don’t intend to attempt any.

Obviously a legal decision on the validity of our process is needed first. The death-certificate laws, for instance; they’ll have to be considered. And a host of other things. Well, gentlemen, I think our time is just about up.”

The fearsome blaze of the video cameras died away, and the newsmen packed up their pocket recorders and left. Marker sank down wearily behind the desk and looked at Mart Raymond.

The scientist smiled admiringly. “Jim, I don’t know how you do it. Stand up to those eagles, I mean. The pressure doesn’t let up for a second.”

“I’m used to it,” Harker said with forced casualness. His stomach felt knotted, tight; his throat was dry and seemed to be covered with hundreds of small blisters. His legs, under the desk, quivered of their own volition.

Gradually, as the minutes passed, he recovered his poise. The press-conference had been a sort of purgative; he had put forth all the thoughts that had been boiling within him during the day.

The battle, he saw now, would be fought on a number of fronts—but the essential standpoint was a politico-legal one. They had to secure Congressional approval for the process. And they had to win friends and influence people in a hurry, before die various splintered opponents of reanimation, the Beller Labs, and James Harker could join forces and provide a united front.

What would happen if reanimation lost? No doubt the technique would survive, no matter what the legal verdict was. But it would become an undercover, furtive activity, as abortion had been before the permissive laws of the late twentieth century. And undercover meant dangerous, illegal equated with deadly. The tools of medicine are always deadly in unskilled hands.

No doubt about it, the fight was on. It was, thought Harker, the old, old struggle—the battle to give humanity something it craved, despite the obstacles provided by fear, greed, and ignorance. The essential fact—that of the conquest of death—could easily be clouded over by half-truths, distortions, and the well-meant fanaticism of self-righteous pressure groups.

I fought this fight once before, Harker thought. And I let myself be beaten. Em this time Ym not giving up. There’s too much at stake.

The next morning—Wednesday—Harker found a neatly typed note sitting on his desk when he reached his office in Dormitory A. It was from Raymond. It said simply, “ We got a call from Washington at 0800. Investigating committee headed by Thurman is on its way north to snoop around the lab. They’re arriving noon today.”

Methodically Harker destroyed the note and turned his attention to the morning papers. He felt tense, but not unduly so; the Senatorial investigation could be the beginning of success in their campaign, and in any event it would put an end to these days of doubt. He would know at least how the reanimation project stood in the eyes of the Senate.

On this, the third morning of the Era of Reanimation, almost the entire front page of every paper was given over to a discussion of the subject. His press conference had been given a great deal of space, and as usual the Times had printed the full text. He read the other articles with a queasy sense of expanding confusion.

MANHATTAN— The late Richard Bryant was cremated here today despite a demonstration urging his reanimation. At least fifty banner-waving demonstrators attempted to interfere with the ceremony, but police maintained order.