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He conjured up the face of the man again—the horror haunted eyes, the unruly shock of hair, the sharp, high cheekbones.
It was a face he knew. The face, perhaps, of empty man—a lumping together of all the faces he had ever seen.
But it was not that entirely. It was not the universal face. It was an individual face, a face that he had seen, and not too long ago.
Suddenly it came clear—the memory sharp and hard — this same face staring out at him from the front page of the morning paper.
And this, he thought, in sudden terror at his own inadequacy, was the man that he had failed—a man who had nothing left but faith, absolutely nothing in the world but the hope of faith.
The man who had come into the church and had left again, as empty when he left as when he entered, perhaps emptier, for then even hope was gone, had been Franklin Chapman.
12
Frost jerked the door open in a sudden, violent motion, his body tensed and ready for whoever might be standing there and knocking.
A woman stood there, cool and poised, the faint light of the hall bulb glinting in the blackness of her hair. "Are you Mr. Frost?" she asked.
Frost gulped in astonishment, perhaps even in relief, "Yes, I am," he said. "Will you please step in?" She stepped through the doorway.
"I do hope," she said, "that I'm not intruding. My name is A
"A
"Yes, I am," she said. "I defended Franklin Chapman." "I saw the pictures in the paper. I should have recognized you at once."
"Mr. Frost," she said, "I'll be honest with you. I sneaked up on you. I could have phoned, but you might have refused to see me, so I took the chance of coming here. I hoped you wouldn't throw me out."
"I wouldn't throw you out," said Frost. "There is no
reason that I should. Won't you take a chair?"
She sat down in the chair he had been sitting in.
She was beautiful, he thought, but there was a strength behind the beauty, and there was a hardness in her, in a polished sort of way.
"I need your help," she said.
He went to another chair, sat down, took his time to answer.
"I don't quite follow you," he said.
"I got a tip-off you were a decent sort of man, that one could talk to you. You were the man to see, they told me." "They?"
She shook her head. "It doesn't matter. Just talk around the town. Will you listen to me?"
"Yes," he said, "I'll listen. As for being any help…" "We'll see," she said. "It's about Franklin Chapman…" "You did all you could for him," said Frost. "He didn't have too much going for him."
"That's the point," she said. "Someone else might have done better, I don't know. The point is that it wasn't justice."
"It was law," said Frost.
"Yes, it was that. And I live by the law. Or I should live by it. But the legal profession is in a good position to distinguish between law and justice and the two are pot the same. There can be no justice in denying a man a second chance at lite. Certainly, due to circumstances beyond his control, Chapman arrived too late at a scene of death and, as a result, a woman lost her second chance at life. But to decree that Chapman also should be denied that second life is wrong. It's the old jungle law, again. An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth. As an intelligent race, we should be beyond all that. Is there no such a thing as mercy? Is there no compassion? Do we have to go back to tribal law?"
"We're in an interregnum," said Frost. "We're shifting from our old way of life to a new condition of life. The old rules don't apply and it's too soon to apply any new ones. We had to set up rules which would carry us over the transition period. And those rules had to assure one thing beyond all question, that the new generations take care of the old to the extent that nothing interfered with the revival plan. There had to be some sort of assurance that everyone who died would be guaranteed his chance at revival. If we fail one person, then we've violated a trust and the pledge we've made to everyone. The only way to provide that kind of assurance was to formulate a code of law which provided a penalty harsh enough to make certain the pledge being carried out."
"It might have been better," said A
"I still fail to see the point of this," said Frost. "I don't see how I can help you."
"If I could convince you," she said, "that some sort of mercy were permissible, then you'd be in a position to take it up with Forever Center. If Forever Center indicated to the court…"
"Now, just a moment," said Frost. "I'm in no position to do a thing like that. I head promotion and publicity and have no concern with policy."
"Mr. Frost," she said, "I have been quite frank about why I came to you. I understood you were the one man at Center who would give me time, who would I listen to me. So I came to you and I don't mind being j honest with you. I have a selfish purpose. I am fighting: for my client. I'll do anything that's possible to help him."; "Does he know you're here?"
She shook her head. "He wouldn't like it if he knew. He's a strange man, Mr. Frost. He has a deep and stubborn pride. He would never beg. But I'll beg if I have to."
"Would you do this for every client?" asked Frost. "I don't think you would. What's so special about this one?" "It's not the way you may be thinking." she said. "Although I won't resent your thinking it. But the man has something that you so seldom find. An i
"And there's another reason I feel so strongly. I went with him when they removed the transmitter from his chest. Have you ever…"
"But that," protested Frost, "was far beyond the call of your obligation. There was no reason that you should."
"Mr. Frost," she said, "when I accept a case I commit myself. I stand by my client all the way. I never quite quit caring."
"Like now," he said.
"Like now. I stood there with him and watched the sentence carried out. Physically, of course, it's nothing. Just beneath the skin. Just above the heart. It records the heartbeat and sends out a signal and that signal is recorded on a monitor and when the signal stops a rescue squad is sent. And they took it out and tossed it on a little metal tray that held the instruments and there it was, a little metallic thing, but it wasn't just a piece of metal; it was a man's life laying there. Now there's no indication of his heartbeat on the monitor and when he dies there'll be no rescue squad. They talk about another thousand years of life, another million years of life, they talk about forever. But there's no million years, no forever for my client. He has only forty years, maybe less than that."