They told only half the story to Daniel Carter
Griffin when he volunteered to die. They told him
of the glories of life re-born; youth re-captured;
love re-won; of Free Agenting around the cosmos.
Of many things, they spoke about ... but never
once did they mention the lurid second death.
[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
Planet Stories May 1954.
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
It occurred to Griffin as he sat waiting in the office that he hadforgotten what day it was.
It was a silly thing, and it upset him all out of proportion to itsimportance. At first it had been no more than a disturbing flicker inthe back of his mind, an uneasy half-thought, not even consciouslyformed. He had been waiting for Cranstead for a quarter of an hour,and he hadn't been thinking very coherently about much of anything. Hisright arm was still a bit sore, but mostly he was aware of a curiousfeeling of strength and exhilaration as he eyed the cool gray walls ofthe office. But something bothered him, nibbling away deep in his mind;he crossed and uncrossed his legs, feeling a trifle impatient. Andthen, with a shiver, he realized that he didn't even know what the datewas!
He pulled out his wallet with a frown, and searched for the pocketcalendar he carried. He glanced at it, and then put it back with agrunt. It didn't help him a bit. He didn't even know what month it was,or even year, for sure. He leaned back, trying to remember what day itwas, and his mind was abruptly flooded with the implications of thestaggering thing he had done—
That they had done—
He stood up and threw open the door into the reception room. A girl sattyping at the desk. She typed on for a moment, then paused and lookedup.
"How soon will he be ready?" Griffin asked, trying hard to keep thepanic out of his voice.
The girl smiled professionally. "I'm sorry, Mr. Griffin. He won't keepyou waiting long. Can I get you something to read?"
He shook his head. "No—I'll just wait. I'll tell you what you can do,though. You can tell me what date it is." Suddenly he felt very foolish.
"Certainly. This is the seventeenth of July."
He nodded, feeling slightly numb as he returned to his seat. Theseventeenth of July! It had been December when he had come here. Orhad it been a year ago last December. Or ten years ago? He couldn'tremember. His broad forehead wrinkled into a frown as he tried tothink. They had told him that his memory would be somewhat incoherentover the period that he was there, but he hadn't realized how helplesshe would feel to have eight months of his life suddenly reduced to ajumbled series of unconnected events. And how could he straighten themout? He shook his head, the chill deepening in his chest. Maybe theynever would be straightened out—
He stared at himself in the mirror that hung on the wall, more in thespirit of appraisal than curiosity. That first shock of looking athimself was behind him now; not that he could ever forget it as longas he lived, but he was no longer jolted by the face that peered outat him from the mirror, the short dark hair without trace of gray, thebroad forehead, the heavy face—not a bad face, really, a curious,young-old face that looked like that of a twenty-year-old until oneexamined it closely, and then utterly defied age-identification with aninfuriating complacency. His face, beyond doubt, but not the face hehad seen in the mirror eight months ago. More like the face that hadlooked out at him from the mirror some thirty years before.
The office door banged open, and a tall, gray-haired m