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majority from above or grew up slowly from the plebs discovering that they could vote themselves bread-and-circuses—for a while, until the system broke down. I’m sorry I won’t see the outcome of your experiment. I suspect it will be the harshest tyranny imaginable; majority rule gives the ruthless strong man plenty of elbow room to oppress his fellows. But I don’t know. What’s your opinion?”
    “The computers say—”
    “Never mind computers. Ira, the most sophisticated machine the human mind can build has in it the limitations of the human mind. Anyone who thinks otherwise does not understand the Second Law of Thermodynamics. I asked for your opinion.”
    “Sir, I refuse to form an opinion; I lack sufficient data.”
    “Hrrumph: You’re getting old, Son. To get anywhere, or even to live a long time, a man has to guess, and guess right, over and over again, without enough data for a logical answer. You were telling me how you found me.”
    “Yes, sir. That document, your will, made it clear that you expected to die soon. Then”—Weatheral paused and smiled wryly—“I had to ‘guess right without enough data.’ It took us two days to find the shop where you bought clothes to lower your apparent status—and to conform to local styles, I think. I suspect that you bought your false ID’s right after that.”
    He paused; Lazarus made no comment; Weatheral continued: “Another half day to find the shop where you lowered your apparent status much farther, close to bottom—too far perhaps, as the shopkeeper remembered you, both because you paid cash and because you were buying secondhand clothes that were not as good even when new as the ones you were wearing. Oh, he pretended to accept your story about a ‘costume party’ and kept his mouth shut; his shop is a fence for stolen goods.”
    “Of course,” agreed Lazarus. “I made sure he was on the crook before I bought from him. But you said he stayed zipped?”
    “Until we stimulated his memory. A fence is in a difficult position, Lazarus; he has to have a permanent address. This can sometimes force him to be honest.”
    “Oh, I wasn’t blaming dear old Uncle. The fault was mine; I let myself be conspicuous. I was tired, Ira, and feeling my years and let it rush me into doing a sloppy job. Even a hundred years back I would have done a more artistic job—I’ve always known that it is more difficult to lower your status convincingly than to raise it.”
    “I don’t think you need feel ashamed of the job as a work of art, Senior; you had us baffled for almost three months.”
    “Son, the world doesn’t pay off on a ‘good try.’ Go ahead.”
    “Brute force then, Lazarus. That shop is in the worst part of the city; we put a cordon around the area and saturated it, thousands of men. But not for long; you were in the third fleabag we checked. I spotted you myself, I was with one of the raiding parties. Then your genetic pattern confirmed your identity.” Ira Weatheral smiled slightly. “But we were pouring new blood into you before the genetic analyzer reported your identity; you were in bad shape, sir.”
    “I was like hell in bad shape; I was simply dying—and minding my own business, a practice you could emulate. Ira, do you realize what a dirty trick you have done me? A man ought not to have to die twice…and I was past the bad part and ready for the finale as easy as falling asleep. Then you butted in. I’ve never heard of rejuvenation being forced on anyone. If I had suspected that you had changed the rules, I would never have come near this planet. Now I have to go through it again. Either with the suicide switch—and suicide is an idea I’ve always despised—or the natural way. Which could now take a long time. Is my old blood still around? Stored?”
    “I will inquire of the Clinic’s Director, sir.”
    “Humph. That’s not an answer, so don’t bother to lie. You’ve put me in a dilemma, Ira. Even though I haven’t had