Philip Dick - Progeny

ED DOYLE hurried. He caught a surface car, waved fifty credits in the robot driver’s face, mopped his florid face with a red pocket-handkerchief, unfastened his collar, perspired and licked his lips and swallowed piteously all the way to the hospital.

The surface car slid up to a smooth halt before the great white-domed hospital building. Ed leaped out and bounded up the steps three at a time, pushing through the visitors and convalescent patients standing on the broad terrace. He threw his weight against the door and emerged in the lobby, astonishing the attendants and persons of importance moving about their tasks.

“Where?” Ed demanded, gazing around, his feet wide apart, his fists clenched, his chest rising and falling. His breath came hoarsely, like an animal’s. Silence fell over the lobby. Everyone turned toward him, pausing in their work. “Where?” Ed demanded again. “Where is she? They?”

It was fortunate Janet had been delivered of a child on this of all days! Proxima Centauri was a long way from Terra and the service was bad. Anticipating the birth of his child, Ed had left Proxima some weeks before. He had just arrived in the city. While stowing his suitcase in the luggage tread at the station the message had been handed to him by a robot courier: Los Angeles Central Hospital. At once.

Ed hurried, and fast. As he hurried he couldn’t help feeling pleased he had hit the day exactly right, almost to the hour. It was a good feeling. He had felt it before, during years of business dealings in the “colonies”, the frontier, the fringe of Terran civilization where the streets were still lit by electric lights and doors opened by hand.

That was going to be hard to get used to. Ed turned toward the door behind him, feeling suddenly foolish. He had shoved it open, ignoring the eye. The door was just now closing, sliding slowly back in place. He calmed down a little, putting his handkerchief away in his coat pocket. The hospital attendants were resuming their work, picking up their activities where they had left off. One attendant, a strapping late-model robot, coasted over to Ed and halted.

The robot balanced his note- board expertly, his photocell eyes appraising Ed’s flushed features. “May I enquire whom you are looking for, sir? Whom do you wish to find?”

“My wife.”

“Her name, sir?”

“Janet. Janet Doyle. She’s just had a child.”

The robot consulted his board. “This way, sir.” He coasted off down the passage.

Ed followed nervously. “Is she okay? Did I get here in time?” His anxiety was returning.

“She is quite well, sir.” The robot raised his metal arm and a side door slid back. “In here, sir.” Janet, in a chic blue-mesh suit, was sitting before a mahogany desk, a cigarette between her fingers, her slim legs crossed, talking rapidly. On the other side of the desk a well-dressed doctor sat listening.

“Janet!” Ed said, entering the room.

“Hi, Ed.” She glanced up at him. “You just now get in?”

“Sure. It’s—it’s all over? You— I mean, it’s happened?”

Janet laughed, her even white teeth sparkling. “Of course. Come

in and sit. This is Doctor Bish.” “Hello, Doc.” Ed sat down nervously across from them. “Then it’s all over?”

“The event has happened,” Doctor Bish said. His voice was thin and metallic. Ed realized with a sudden shock that the doctor was a robot. A top-level robot, made in humanoid form, not like the ordinary metal-limbed workers. It had fooled him—he had been away so long. Doctor Bish appeared plump and well fed, with kindly features and eyeglasses. His large fleshy hands rested on the desk, a ring on one finger. Pinstripe suit and necktie. Diamond tie clasp. Nails carefully manicured. Hair black and evenly parted.

But his voice had given him away. They never seemed to be able to get a really human sound into the voice. The compressed air and whirling disc system seemed to fall short. Otherwise, it was very convincing.

“I understand you’ve been situated near Proxima, Mr. Doyle,” Doctor Bish said pleasantly.

Ed nodded. “Yeah.”

“Quite a long way, isn’t it? I’ve never been out there. I have always wanted to go. Is it true they’re almost ready to push on to Sirius?” “Look, doc—”

“Ed, don’t be impatient.” Janet stubbed out her cigarette, glancing reprovingly up at him. She hadn’t changed in six months. Small blonde face, red mouth, cold eyes like little blue rocks. And now, her perfect figure back again. “They’re bringing him here. It takes a few minutes. They have to wash him off and put drops in his eyes and take a wave shot of his brain.”

“He? Then it’s a boy?”

“Of course. Don’t you remember? You were with me when I had the shots. We agreed at the time. You haven’t changed your mind, have you?”

“Too late to change your mind now, Mr. Doyle,” Doctor Bfsh’s toneless voice came, high-pitched and calm. “Your wife has decided to call him Peter.”

“Peter.” Ed nodded, a little dazed. “That’s right. We did decide, didn’t we? Peter.” He let the word roll around in his mind. “Yeah. That’s fine. I like it.”

The wall suddenly faded, turning from opaque to transparent. Ed spun quickly. They were looking into a brightly lit room, filled with hospital equipment and white- clad attendant robots. One of the robots was moving toward them, pushing a cart. On the cart was a container, a big metal pot.

Ed’s breathing increased. He felt a wave of dizziness. He went up to the transparent wall and stood gazing at the metal pot on the cart.

Doctor Bish rose. “Don’t you want to see, too, Mrs. Doyle?” “Of course.” Janet crossed to the wall and stood beside Ed. She watched critically, her arms folded.

Doctor Bish made a signal. The attendant reached into the pot and lifted out a wire tray, gripping the handles with his magnetic clamps. On the tray, dripping through the wire, was Peter Doyle, still wet from his bath, his eyes wide with astonishment. He was pink all over, except for a fringe of hair on the top of his head, and his great blue eyes. He was little and wrinkled and toothless, like an ancient

withered sage.

“Golly,” Ed said.

Doctor Bish made a second signal. The wall slid back. The attendant robot advanced into the room, holding his dripping tray out. Doctor Bish removed Peter from the tray and held him up for inspection. He turned him around and around, studying him from every angle.

“He looks fine,” he said at last. “What was the result of the wave photo?” Janet asked.

“Result was good. Excellent tendencies indicated. Very promising. High development of the—” The doctor broke off. “What is it, Mr. Doyle?”

Ed was holding out his hands. “Let me have him, doc. I want to hold him.” He grinned from ear to ear. “Let’s see how heavy he is. He sure looks big.”

Doctor Bish’s mouth fell open in horror. He and Janet gaped.

“Ed!” Janet exclaimed sharply. “What’s the matter with you?” “Good heavens, Mr. Doyle,” the doctor murmured.

Ed blinked. “What?”

“If I had thought you had any such thing in mind—” Doctor Bish quickly returned Peter to the attendant. The attendant rushed Peter from the room, back to the metal pot. The cart and robot and pot hurriedly vanished, and the wall banged back in place.

Janet grabbed Ed’s arm angrily. “Good Lord, Ed! Have you lost your mind? Come on. Let’s get out of here before you do something else.”