cryonic suspension of nerve function.”
Stoner looked at his wife. Jo never blinked an eye. The four people stood in the shabby little conference room, facing each other: Lucacs and Rozmenko on one side, Jo and Stoner on the other.
Stoner broke the stretching silence. “Then it’s me you wanted to see, not Kirill.”
Lucacs looked almost ashamed. “I came to Moscow to ask Professor Markov if he would arrange some way for me to meet you. I am very sorry it had to happen this way.”
Jo said firmly, “We’ve stopped all research on cryonics at Vanguard Industries. It just doesn’t work. As far as I know, every major corporation and university has given up on cryonics.”
“Not the University of Budapest,” said Lucacs, almost meekly. “You see, the president of Hungary is seventy-eight years old. He is still in excellent health, but—well, our biology department has been asked to investigate the matter once again.”
“So you want to examine my husband.”
“He is the only case on record of surviving cryonic freezing.”
Stoner almost smiled. They’re discussing me like some prize bull that’s up for auction. Yet he sensed a deeper motive in the Hungarian scientist, something unspoken, something hidden.
“There’s nothing you can do that hasn’t already been done,” Jo was saying. “Every test that it’s possible to conduct has been done. The subject is closed.”
“But in the interests of science…”
“It’s a blind alley,” Jo insisted.
Dr. Lucacs took a deep breath, as if she were standing on the edge of a precipice and had to work up the courage to jump.
“Dr. Stoner… Mrs. Stoner…” She hesitated, then plunged on, “I plead with you, as one human being to another. My position at the university depends on satisfying my department chief in this matter. My career—my entire life—is in your hands.”
She was telling the truth, Stoner realized, but not all of it. There was something personal, something desperate, driving her.
Jo immediately shot back, “If you’re saying that your university bosses will throw you out unless you bring my husband back to your labs, then I promise you that Vanguard Industries will offer you a job at a comparable salary or better.”
The young woman looked miserable. “But this means more than a job, to me. Don’t you understand…”
“I understand,” Stoner spoke up. “I remember how departmental politics can pressure a post-doc. That’s the situation you’re in, isn’t it?”
“It will be years before I am granted tenure,” said Lucacs. “Until then, my career hangs by a thread.”
Jo looked utterly unconvinced.
Turning to his wife, Stoner said, “I’d like to stay in Moscow for Kir’s funeral. He doesn’t have any surviving relatives that I know of. I ought to be involved in making the arrangements.”
Rozmenko started to say something, thought better of it, and lapsed back into silence. He had watched the interchange with wide staring eyes. Apparently he understood what was at stake.
Jo switched into Italian, “If I didn’t know you better, I’d be jealous of this little gypsy girl.”
He smiled at his wife and replied in the same Neapolitan dialect, “But you do know me better, and you know there’s nothing for you to be jealous of.”
“Maybe her age.”
“Not even that,” said Stoner. In Italian it sounded romantic.
“You’re going to let her examine you?”
“No. But there’s something involved here that she’s not telling us. It could be important. I’ll convince her that there’s nothing to be gained by examining me. If necessary I’ll go to Budapest to convince her superiors. And find out what’s going on.”
“The same way you convinced de Sagres to stand up to his generals?”
“The same way.”
“Then you want me to fly back to Hilo without you.”
“If you don’t mind.”
“I mind like hell!” Jo snapped.
“But will you do it?”
“If I refuse, will you ‘convince’ me
Stoner looked at his wife. Jo never blinked an eye. The four people stood in the shabby little conference room, facing each other: Lucacs and Rozmenko on one side, Jo and Stoner on the other.
Stoner broke the stretching silence. “Then it’s me you wanted to see, not Kirill.”
Lucacs looked almost ashamed. “I came to Moscow to ask Professor Markov if he would arrange some way for me to meet you. I am very sorry it had to happen this way.”
Jo said firmly, “We’ve stopped all research on cryonics at Vanguard Industries. It just doesn’t work. As far as I know, every major corporation and university has given up on cryonics.”
“Not the University of Budapest,” said Lucacs, almost meekly. “You see, the president of Hungary is seventy-eight years old. He is still in excellent health, but—well, our biology department has been asked to investigate the matter once again.”
“So you want to examine my husband.”
“He is the only case on record of surviving cryonic freezing.”
Stoner almost smiled. They’re discussing me like some prize bull that’s up for auction. Yet he sensed a deeper motive in the Hungarian scientist, something unspoken, something hidden.
“There’s nothing you can do that hasn’t already been done,” Jo was saying. “Every test that it’s possible to conduct has been done. The subject is closed.”
“But in the interests of science…”
“It’s a blind alley,” Jo insisted.
Dr. Lucacs took a deep breath, as if she were standing on the edge of a precipice and had to work up the courage to jump.
“Dr. Stoner… Mrs. Stoner…” She hesitated, then plunged on, “I plead with you, as one human being to another. My position at the university depends on satisfying my department chief in this matter. My career—my entire life—is in your hands.”
She was telling the truth, Stoner realized, but not all of it. There was something personal, something desperate, driving her.
Jo immediately shot back, “If you’re saying that your university bosses will throw you out unless you bring my husband back to your labs, then I promise you that Vanguard Industries will offer you a job at a comparable salary or better.”
The young woman looked miserable. “But this means more than a job, to me. Don’t you understand…”
“I understand,” Stoner spoke up. “I remember how departmental politics can pressure a post-doc. That’s the situation you’re in, isn’t it?”
“It will be years before I am granted tenure,” said Lucacs. “Until then, my career hangs by a thread.”
Jo looked utterly unconvinced.
Turning to his wife, Stoner said, “I’d like to stay in Moscow for Kir’s funeral. He doesn’t have any surviving relatives that I know of. I ought to be involved in making the arrangements.”
Rozmenko started to say something, thought better of it, and lapsed back into silence. He had watched the interchange with wide staring eyes. Apparently he understood what was at stake.
Jo switched into Italian, “If I didn’t know you better, I’d be jealous of this little gypsy girl.”
He smiled at his wife and replied in the same Neapolitan dialect, “But you do know me better, and you know there’s nothing for you to be jealous of.”
“Maybe her age.”
“Not even that,” said Stoner. In Italian it sounded romantic.
“You’re going to let her examine you?”
“No. But there’s something involved here that she’s not telling us. It could be important. I’ll convince her that there’s nothing to be gained by examining me. If necessary I’ll go to Budapest to convince her superiors. And find out what’s going on.”
“The same way you convinced de Sagres to stand up to his generals?”
“The same way.”
“Then you want me to fly back to Hilo without you.”
“If you don’t mind.”
“I mind like hell!” Jo snapped.
“But will you do it?”
“If I refuse, will you ‘convince’ me
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