around with X-rays, atomic energy, radioactives ... sure, safe levels, established tolerances, but what about the long-range effects? What about cumulative genetic effects? Those chickens are coming home at last."

"No use blaming our ancestors," said Radek. "Be rather pointless to go dance on their graves, wouldn't it?"

Barwell moved closer to Radek. His breath was powerful with whisky. "But are they in those graves?" he whispered.

"Huh?"

"Look. Been known for a long time, ever since first atomic energy work ... heavy but nonlethal doses of radiation shorten lifespan. You grow old faster if you get a strong dose. Why d'you think with all our medicines we're not two, three hundred years old? Background count's gone up, that's why! Radioactives in the air, in the sea, buried under the ground. Gamma rays, not entirely absorbed by shielding. Sure, sure, they tell us the level is still harmless. But it's more than the level in nature by a good big factor—two or three."

Radek sipped his beer. He'd been drinking slowly, and the beer had gotten warmer than he liked, but he needed a clear head. "That's common knowledge," he stated. "The lifespan hasn't been shortened any, either."

"Because of more medicines ... more ways to help cells patch up radiation damage. All but worst radiation sickness been curable for a long time." Barwell waved his hand expansively. "They knew, even back then," he mumbled. "If radiation shortens life, radiation sickness cures ought to prolong it. Huh? Reas'nable? Only the goddam scientists ... population problem ... social stasis if ever'body lived for centuries ... kept it secret. Easy t' do. Change y'r name and face ever' ten, twen'y years—keep to y'rself, don't make friends among the short-lived, you might see 'em grow old and die, might start feelin' sorry for 'em an' that would never do, would it—?"

Coldness tingled along Radek's spine. He lifted his mug and pretended to drink. Over the rim, his eyes stayed on Barwell.

"Tha's why they fired me. I know. I know. I got ears. I overheard things. I read ... notes not inten'ed for me. They fired me. 'S a wonder they didn' murder me." Barwell shuddered and peered at the curtains, as if trying to look through them. "Or d'y' think—maybe—"

"No," said Radek. "I don't. Let's stick to the facts. I take it you found mention of work on—shall we say—increasing the 

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