Of all the irksome, frustrating,maddening discoveries—was thereno way of keeping it discovered?
Illustrated by DICK FRANCIS
With so much at stake,Charles Dennison shouldnot have been careless.An inventor cannot afford carelessness,particularly when his inventionis extremely valuable andobviously patentable. There aretoo many grasping hands ready toseize what belongs to someoneelse, too many men who feast uponthe creativity of the innocent.
A touch of paranoia would haveserved Dennison well; but he waslacking in that vital characteristicof inventors. And he didn't evenrealize the full extent of his carelessnessuntil a bullet, fired froma silenced weapon, chipped agranite wall not three inches fromhis head.
Then he knew. But by then itwas too late.
Charles Dennison had been lefta more than adequate income byhis father. He had gone to Harvard,served a hitch in the Navy,then continued his education atM.I.T. Since the age of thirty-two,he had been engaged inprivate research, working in hisown small laboratory in Riverdale,New York. Plant biology washis field. He published severalnoteworthy papers, and sold a newinsecticide to a development corporation.The royalties helped himto expand his facilities.
Dennison enjoyed workingalone. It suited his temperament,which was austere but not unfriendly.Two or three times ayear, he would come to New York,see some plays and movies, anddo a little serious drinking. Hewould then return gratefully to hisseclusion. He was a bachelor andseemed destined to remain thatway.
Not long after his fortieth birthday,Dennison stumbled across anintriguing clue which led him intoa different branch of biology. Hepursued his clue, developed it,extended it slowly into a hypothesis.After three more years, alucky accident put the final proofsinto his hands.
He had invented a most effectivelongevity drug. It was notproof against violence; aside fromthat, however, it could fairly becalled an immortality serum.
Now was the time for caution.But years of seclusion hadmade Dennison unwary of peopleand their motives. He was more orless heedless of the world aroundhim; it never occurred to him thatthe world was not equally heedlessof him.
He thought only about hisserum. It was valuable and patentable.But was it the sort of thingthat should be revealed? Was theworld ready for an immortalitydrug?
He had never enjoyed speculationof this sort. But since theatom bomb, many scientists hadbeen forced to look at the ethicsof their profession. Dennisonlooked at his and decided thatimmortality was inevitable.
Mankind had, throughout itsexistence, poked and probed intothe recesses of nature, trying tofigure out how things worked. Ifone man didn't discover fire, orthe use of the lever, or gunpowder,or the atom bomb, or immortality,another would. Man willed toknow all nature's secrets, and therewas no way of keeping themhidden.
Armed with this bleak butcomforting philosophy, Dennisonpacked his formulas and proofsinto a briefcase, slipped a two-ouncebottle of the product into ajacket pocket, and left his Riverdalelaboratory. It was alreadyevening. He planned to spend thenight in a good midtown hotel,see a movie, and proceed to thePatent Office in Washington thefollowing day.
On the subway, Dennison wasabsorbed in a newspaper. He wasbarely conscious of the men sittingon either side of him. He becameaware of them only when the manon