Rich Living Read online

"Mr. Curtis Delman and Mr.Pellinger have heard all this before, but I'm sure they'll both forgiveme for repeating it." Walter Pellinger mumbled somethinguncomplimentary. "And now for a last word about the ship. Most of youwill have come here by space liner, and very comfortable it is, too.Unfortunately, we can't look after you that well. Not only would it beuneconomical to employ a liner, it would also be impossible--there justaren't the landing facilities. And if you can't land, there's not muchpoint in going, is there?" The Vice President laughed at his littlejoke. No one else seemed to find it amusing.

  "No," he continued, "the best we can provide is a Stellano-typespaceboat--the very latest model, naturally--but, even so, I'm afraidthe men will have to share berths. Of course, there's plenty of room inthe lounge. As for the staff, Captain Ross, who is to look after you, isa man of considerable--"

  The Vice President rambled on. Curtis Delman ceased listening to him; itwas only because he had heard his name mentioned that his interest hadbeen drawn in the first place. He focused his attention on the threeremaining passengers.

  They were a strangely assorted trio. Of the two men, one wasextravagantly attired in dark-blue silk, obviously hand-woven, withlarge sapphire rings on the fingers of both hands, and a slim,eight-dial chronometer on the left wrist. Despite his advanced age, hisface remained lean and swarthy, the eyes set close above a strong hookednose, the lips taut and cruel.

  He'd been introduced as Jason Tarsh. The lawyer seemed to associate thename with a criminal case--something to do with smuggling--but thedetails eluded him.

  The other was ordinary and ill at ease, a plump, red-faced man in abadly cut tweed tunic who looked out of place in the present company.His knuckles rapped nervously on the elbow-rest of his chair. Clearly,Mr. John Bridge had none of that confidence usually acquired by themillionaire. Yet only a wealthy man could afford the trip. Curtis Delmanwas puzzled.

  And then there was the woman.

  * * * * *

  It was difficult to believe that the third and last of hisfellow-passengers was Gillian Murray. She sat by herself in the farcorner, a formless, shrunken creature in deep black. He rememberedseeing her, eighty years ago, on the stage of the Palladia. She had beenshapely and vivacious in those days. Now only a faint sparkle lingeredin her eyes. There was nothing to suggest that she had once been thetoast of the Universe. Old, withered, gray-haired--time treated beautyharshly, mercilessly. He realized how much this trip must mean to her.

  "Unlike Jupiter," the Vice President was saying, "this section of theGalaxy is composed of oxygen planets. In fact, the proportion of oxygenis rather higher than on Earth, so you needn't bother about spacesuitsand the like. I remember--"

  A green light blinked on the Vice President's desk, stemming the floodof reminiscence. It was the embarkation signal.

  The Vice President rose. "It only remains," he said, "to wish you all avery happy and successful journey."

  The handshaking over, the five passengers filed out onto the escalator.Below them, by the side of the Terminal Building, lay the spaceboat, aslim, cone-shaped vessel, gleaming in the artificial light. They alltottered on board.

  Clearance was granted almost immediately. Slowly, they passed throughthe main airlock and into the open. It was dark outside and only thechange in elevation told them that they were climbing the launchingramp. Behind them, the huge inverted bowl of the city glowed in hermeticsplendor. Movement ceased. The warning indicator flashed on: LIE BACKAND FASTEN SAFETY HARNESS. A steward checked their positions.

  They lay, tensed and motionless, waiting for the sudden thrust thatwould hurl them into space.

  * * * * *

  It was the two-hundred-and-twentieth day.

  As Curtis Delman returned to consciousness, his first feeling was ofrelief. The cumulative strain of one takeoff after another could provedisastrous. It was one of the drawbacks to a spaceboat that the effectof rapid acceleration should be so marked. In a liner, the takeoff waslittle more than an inconvenience--and, despite exhaustive tests, therewas no telling how an old heart would react to a series of blackouts.Now the danger no longer existed, for in thirty days they would arriveat Rejuvenal. As for the journey back, he would make it with the heartof a young man.

  He unclipped the safety harness and lowered his legs over the side ofthe bunk.

  He had no wish to remain in his cabin. It was too small for comfort,though, like all Stellano products, superbly designed. Not an inch hadbeen wasted. Personal luggage was stowed under the bunk, cupboards werebuilt in, tables folded back and even the basin was retractable. Everyconceivable necessity had been crammed into a few square feet.

  When he reached the lounge, he found the others already seated.

  There were two vacant chairs, one next to John Bridge, the other betweenTarsh and Pellinger. He chose the former.

  "So you survived?" said Pellinger. He sounded disappointed.

  "Yes, I survived," replied Delman. "And since we appear to be exercisingour powers of observation, I hope the same may be said of you?"

  Gillian Murray laughed. Walter Pellinger opened his mouth as if to makesome retort, then thought better of it, and turned back to the vidarscreen.

  The screen took up most of the far wall. The image in focus was thescene behind them. In the center, like a giant grapefruit, hung theplanet Algon--a world of water with a few islands dotting the surface ofan ocean--while anchored in space, some hundreds of miles above, lay asmall satellite.

  "That's a funny one," said John Bridge.

  The lawyer smiled. He'd grown to like Bridge. The mystery of his wealthhad been discovered months ago--he'd won a sweepstake fortune. That andhis own meager savings had together proved just sufficient to buy him anew lease of life. His family hadn't liked the idea; but, as he'dpointed out to them, it was his money and what use was it to him if hewas too old to enjoy it? The simplicity and good nature of the man cameas a refreshing change from the sullenness of Pellinger and the cynicismof Jason Tarsh.

  "It's a radio-platform," Delman explained.

  * * * * *

  Sometimes it seemed almost incredible that John Bridge had never leftthe Earth. He was a Londoner by birth and, before this trip, hadtraveled no farther than New York. To him, everything they saw and didwas a new adventure.

  "But we don't have radio-platforms back home," Bridge said. "Why do theyneed them here?"

  "In our own solar system," Delman told him, "there's an interplanetarylink-up--an expensive business--but we did have them four hundred yearsago. Out here, it's not worth the cost. The platform acts as ago-between. It can intercept messages and pass them down to thespacedrome on Algon, or it can transmit to a spaceship in flight. Butdirect contact between spaceship and spacedrome is impossible, becausethe ionized layer of the atmosphere deflects the radio waves."

  "I see. Is there one over Rejuvenal, then?"

  "I don't think so. At least, there wasn't when I was last there. Itdoesn't really warrant it. There's only the house and a smalllanding-ground. And a spaceboat arrives and departs every thirty days,so nothing can happen."

  "What about boots? Do we have to wear them?"

  "You mean gravity-boots?" Delman asked.

  Walter Pellinger scowled irritably and shifted his position. "Yes, Isuppose so--those heavy things we wore on Borenius and Ziar."

  Delman shook his head. "No, curiously enough, we don't. It's only atertiary planet--less than one-eighth of Earth's volume--but itsspecific gravity is enormous. Rejuvenite, the rock it's composed of, isone of the heaviest minerals ever discovered. They say--"

  "Look, Delman," Walter Pellinger interrupted, "let that blasted man wearhis boots, if he wants to. I'm sure I don't care. But for heaven's sake,stop this geological survey! It's bad enough being cooped up in this tubwithout having to listen to a lot of nursery small-talk."

  "Gosh, I'm sorry, Mr. Pellinger--" John Bridge began.

  "I wasn't talking t
o you," said Pellinger curtly, "but, since you'vechosen to butt in, I'll say this--you don't belong here. You're astupid, ignorant lout, and if you worked in any of my stores, whichcould never happen in the first place, I'd fire you on the spot and theidiot who hired you, too."

  "Aren't you being a little unjust?" Curtis Delman spoke softly, butthere was an edge of underlying menace in his voice.

  * * * * *

  This was the first time Walter Pellinger had overstepped the boundariesof acceptable behavior. That he despised John Bridge, he had made clearfrom the beginning. Now he had come into the open. They all looked athim. Tarsh, who was nearest, seemed to find it amusing.

  "I've got nothing against you, Delman." Pellinger picked his wordscarefully. "You worked your passage like the rest of us, but _that_fellow--" he pointed toward John Bridge--"has no right to be here atall. He's a nitwit and a nobody. You're a success and I'm a success.It's not luck, Delman; we both have ability. Call it natural selection,if you like.

  "Darwin did. We've fought for the chance to prolong our lives and, bydoing so, we're able to marry again and have children and pass thatability down to them. Why, our lives are _essential_ to the human race!"

  "I should have thought there were sufficient chain-store magnates," saidTarsh.

  Walter Pellinger turned on him. "Don't tempt me, Jason. Your activitieson Neptune and Arcturus won't bear close investigation."

  Jason Tarsh smiled and remained silent. There was little humor in hissmile. That last remark had done much to heighten his opinion of WalterPellinger.

  "To return to my point," Pellinger continued, "that man won asweepstake. He's here not because he's intelligent, but because he'slucky, the something-for-nothing principle. A fat lot of use that is tothe Universe. Why, his descendants will be as stupid as himself andthere's no room for the manual laborer in this Age. It's an intolerablewaste."

  "If I thought you believed any of that," said Delman, "I should be thefirst to respect your feelings. But we've been 'cooped up' together, touse your expression, for seven months and I know you better than yourshareholders do. Oh, yes, you can put it across at a Board Meeting, thislofty idea of self-sacrifice and the sum of human good; but it isn'ttrue and you know it. You're here for the same reason I'm here--becauseyou're afraid to die. And that goes for all of us." He looked at each ofthem in turn, as if daring them to contradict him. "Yes, we've gotability, all right, and self-confidence. But what do we do with thesefancied qualities? We use them to make money with which to buy back ouryouth."

  * * * * *

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

  "And what do we do with our youth?" he asked. "We use _that_ to makemoney for our old age. We have no choice. Not only is the price ofrejuvenation extortionate in itself, but also, by a whim of thelegislature, we are declared dead and the burden of 'death duty' fallson our estates. When we return, we return poor. And so the cyclecontinues--the endless quest for money, the means of perpetualpreservation.

  "We are careers, not men and women!" the lawyer went on vehemently. "Wedon'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 thisterrible urge, they would be our competitors. No, Mr. Pellinger, thereis only one real man among us and that is John Bridge. He alone hasenjoyed life and he goes back determined to enjoy it for a second andlast time. But we, by dint of work and learning and sharp-practice, mayprolong the agony once again. Ours are the wasted lives."

  "Oh, Mr. Delman! Surely, that's overstating the case?" Gillian Murrayhad the reedy voice common to so many elderly spinsters. "What about allthose difficult problems you've solved? Many of them are of greatimportance. 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 formoney and we unravel them for more money. One day, you draft a will; thenext, you break a Trust deed--the balance remains even. It's true youperform a function, but it's questionable whether that function is ofany real value."

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

  "This is beyond me," he said. "I'm sorry if I annoyed Mr. Pellinger. Ididn't mean to. I think I'll take a nap."

  He walked thoughtfully out into the corridor, a book in his left hand,his right arm stretched out to the handrail overhead.

  "There's something about Mr. Bridge," Gillian Murray said reflectively,"that reminds me of the Statue of Liberty."

  "Probably the hollow head," said Jason Tarsh.

  * * * * *

  It was ninety years since the lawyer had last seen Rejuvenal. And now,after all those decades of unremitting toil, he saw it again--a smallpurple blob on the vidar screen, a hundred thousand miles away--a blobthat would grow and grow until it filled the entire screen. Soon thedistant harmony of light and shade would break up, throwing into reliefthe jagged peaks and plunging crevices that formed the surface of theplanet.

  He watched it, fascinated, wondering whether this approach was to be hislast, or whether he would be asking himself the same questions athousand years to come. Perhaps it was this moment above all others thatmade the endless months of scraping and self-sacrifice suddenlyworthwhile.

  "It won't run away," said a voice beside him. He turned his head.Gillian Murray stood there, wrinkled and benign, her keen blue eyesregarding him with quizzical humor.

  "I'm so sorry," he said. "I didn't know you were here."

  "Oh, don't apologize, Mr. Delman. It's just that you've seen it allbefore, so I'm the one who should be excited."

  The lawyer nodded. "Yes," he admitted, "you've got something to beexcited about. Years ago, longer than either of us would want toremember, I saw you on the stage. It was one of the important moments inmy life. You see, before then, I'd always regarded 'beauty' and'perfection' as abstract qualities. I was wrong. Are you going back tothe theatre?"

  Gillian Murray paused for a moment. "No," she replied finally. "I didintend to and, after your flattery, I almost feel I should, but I'vebeen thinking over what you said a few weeks back--you know, about usbeing careers rather than flesh and blood. Mind you, I don't agreecompletely; we're not as bad as all that. No, it's more the feeling thatI've lived one sort of life and it would be stupid to repeat the samething over again. This time, I'd like to marry and have a family andsettle down--all the ordinary things. Does that sound sensible?"

  "Very sensible," said Curtis Delman.

  * * * * *

  Their eyes strayed back to the vidar screen. The planet had grownlarger. Already it was possible to make out the rippling serrulation ofcontours. Another hour and the spaceboat would rest motionless on thepurple rock.

  "Somehow it's frightening--" Gillian Murray shivered--"the idea thatNature can work back to front, reverse the aging process."

  "It's not an idea," he said. "It's a fact."

  "Yes, I know," she replied, "but it's still uncanny. I've so manydoubts. I mean will I really look the same? And my mind? Oh, they'vetold me there's no change--but there _must_ be!" She buried her head inher hands.

  Delman looked at her with compassion. "You needn't worry," he said."Nothing can go wrong. The memory remains unimpaired; it's only theability to make use of it that suffers--the knowledge is at yourdisposal. You'll be just like other young people, heedless anddisinclined to profit from experience. You see, the mind is like amachine; you press the right buttons and it draws the right conclusion.The buttons are the facts to be considered and their selection is amatter of judgment. When we're young, our judgment is often at fault.When we're very young, we can't reason at all. There's nothing tofear--only youthful exuberance."

  Before she could answer, the loudspeaker buzzed twice. There was amoment of silence, broken by the voice of Captain Ross. br />
  "Attention, please! Attention, please! Will all passengers kindly retireto their cabins. The forward jets will be fired in exactly five minutes.I repeat, will all passengers--"

  * * * * *

  It was cool on the veranda, though outside, an alien sun beat down onthe smooth expanse of runway, a narrow platform, less than a mile inlength--the only flat stretch of land on the planet. Along the far edge,mountains, bathed in sunlight, rose in barren splendor, their sharppeaks reaching for the sky, while, on each remaining side, the grounddropped sheer away, to reform itself in twisting valleys thousands offeet below.

  The house, two stories of prefabricated metal, stood perched on one ofthe outer corners. Opposite, packed tightly against the rock face, theemergency hangar rose in a gentle curve--a sheen of aluminum in contrastwith the purple background of rejuvenite. Between them, the launchingramp stretched lengthwise down the runway, inclining steeply for thefirst fifty feet, then leveling out so that the cruel blast of thetakeoff would be dispersed harmlessly over the edge of the precipice.

  A few small store sheds were the only