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Read Ebook: Cancer World by Warner Harry
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Ebook has 131 lines and 7693 words, and 3 pages
Greg tried desperately to find an illegal method of joining his family on Mars; for the law said that no healthy man could land on a--
CANCER WORLD
"We won the Patagonian trust case," Greg Marson's jubilant tones filled the apartment--the hall in which he stood, the automatic kitchen in the rear, the living quarters, bedroom and nursery in between.
But no one replied. Greg let his bulging, expensive briefcase slip to the floor, strode through the empty hall, poked his head into the kitchen, then entered the nursery.
Dennis dashed to his father on two-year-old legs, and baby Phyllis gurgled twice in her pen. Greg wrinkled his nose in puzzlement, then punched the babyviewer.
"You can cut service," he told the girl whose blonde head appeared on the screen.
She nodded, counted on her fingers, and said: "That will be seven hours of viewing. No extras. The children behaved beautifully."
The screen darkened. Greg stared foolishly at it, then turned to Dennis.
"Where'd your mother go?"
Dennis smiled vaguely, and began to tinker with his molecule builder. Phyllis gurgled again.
Greg looked at the remains of the lunch that had hopped automatically from its can at noon, and the lowered reservoir of milk in the baby's feeder. Dora obviously hadn't been there since morning, and she didn't like to trust the babyview service so long. It was Wednesday, and bridge club was Tuesday. They'd subscribed to the telebuying service, so Dora hadn't gone shopping for months. The new baby wasn't due for five months, so a hurry-up trip to a doctor was unlikely....
The front door screeched, its bad hinge audible in the nursery, and Greg relaxed. "I'm back here, Dora," he called, and headed for the hall, closing the nursery door behind him.
Greg saw the policeman before he saw Dora. She was being lead toward the living room sofa, her face white, her coat soiled.
"What's wrong?" Greg rushed forward.
"You're Marson? Relax. Your wife just got excited for a minute. Lots of them try what she did. We won't hold it against her."
Dora pressed close to Greg, her head pushing against his chest, her body trembling. Reproachfully, the policeman was saying:
"You should have stayed home on her check day. If she could have reached you when she heard the news--" He brushed invisible specks from his spotless uniform and walked out of the apartment.
Greg led his wife to the sofa and sank down beside her. Check day. He stared at her with disbelief.
"I'm sorry," she said in a whisper, not looking at him. "You never could remember anniversaries or dates, and I didn't want to worry you." She started to quiver again.
"How bad is it?" Greg fought for words, blinking to try to drive away the haze before his eyes.
"It isn't serious at all," she said, raising her head and looking at him for the first time. "They said that the operation will take only a few minutes. They said cancer wouldn't ever be dangerous if they always found it as quickly as this time. We--I'm really very lucky, they said."
"But you should have told me that this was your check day. I was worried about the Patagonian case, and I just--"
Then Greg stared straight at his wife, trying to pierce the strangeness that covered her eyes. He realized in a flood of terror the full implications of this day.
"Dora--do they let you have the child if you're pregnant when they find cancer? I don't remember...."
She sat erect and pushed the hair away from her eyes, suddenly the stronger of the two. "Of course, I can have the child," she said. "And please don't worry about today. I was silly, and fainted when they brought in the report, and when I came to I tried to pretend that I'd suffered amnesia. It was foolish because they could have identified me from their records, but they told me that lots of women get the same idea, so maybe I'm not so terrible after all."
Dennis wailed from the nursery and Phyllis' thin cry joined his. "They're lonely," Dora said. "I'll go and see--"
"Wait. You didn't make a decision?"
"Of course I did." She smiled palely. "I reserved passage."
"But you can't go away! What would I do without you and the kids?"
"Don't shout so. You'll frighten them. And stop thinking about yourself. You know I'd be willing to undergo sterilization. But we can't inflict it on the kids when they're still too young to decide for themselves."
"I'll find some way out. There must be someone who'd be willing to be bought--"
"Don't talk that way," she tried to laugh. "After all, you've always said you'd like to have the children see another planet."
Greg sat down again and covered his face with his hands. "Don't say that, Dora. Sure, I'd like to take my family to Venus if they ever opened it up for colonization. But that's a fine planet. Mars is hell, and the law says I can't go with you or the kids."
"That's exactly right. The law says that we're breeding a cancer-free race of humans on Earth by sending to Mars all the people who prove to be susceptible."
Greg shook his head. "That plan wasn't set up just to breed out cancer prones. It was partly to keep Earth from starvation when overpopulation became an impossible problem. It isn't really a moral issue. Look, you can probably cancel your passage, and we can arrange sterilization. The kids will approve when they grow up."
Now it was Dora who held Greg close. "I don't want to leave you," she said desperately, "but there's nothing else to do. You know the Carstairs, and the Andresens. The same thing happened to both of those girls. They talked it over with their husbands and decided on sterilization, and the Andresens broke up the next year and Mrs. Carstairs is in a mental home...."
Greg was silent for a moment. Then he looked at her.
"When do you leave?"
The children wailed again. "I won't be here next Wednesday," she arose and walked unsteadily toward the nursery.
Greg drove the next morning through narrow streets and backed his car into a parking space close to his destination. He sat for a moment, frowning at the antiquated, dirty buildings, half-residential, half-business. Then he left the car and walked up the half-dozen uneven stone steps to Modern Laboratories.
Behind the small front office, Modern Laboratories contained an array of testtubes, some sluggish guinea pigs, and dusty bottles. A man who Greg knew must be Dr. Haskett stood in front of the bottles and looked dubiously at him.
"My contact told me to say that I need altitude shots," Greg said. "He also told me to say that I've heard of your success in transplantations."
"Sit down."
Greg found a stool, and looked unhappily at the grimy fingernails of Dr. Haskett which were now tapping the sink's edge. "Did your friend explain how much it will cost?"
"The check's written." Greg handed it over. "It's dated ahead. I can stop payment if you don't do what you promise. And secrecy is important. My wife doesn't know what I'm doing."
"Marta," Dr. Haskett called. A girl from the front office came into the laboratory, and in bored fashion pulled a soiled white robe over her street dress.
"Lie down here." Dr. Haskett shoved two tables together to provide a large, flat surface, and Marta shoved home the lock on the single door leading out of the room. "But sign this release, first. And undress. You prefer intravenous anaesthesia, I suppose?"
"There's not much risk?" Greg asked, his perspiring fingers slipping as he tried to unknot his tie. "Not much risk that you'll fail to make good ... a good transplantation?"
"I guarantee that part of it," Dr. Haskett said, opening a case and withdrawing instruments. "The only risk lies in the danger that it will grow too fast in six months."
"I won't give it a chance. My wife gets sent to Mars next week. I'm going to ask for a special check and get myself sent aboard the same ship with her. I know the right people."
Marta laughed openly. Dr. Haskett shot a glare in her direction, then looked calculatingly at Greg.
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