What had wakened her? Lori pushed her dark hair back out of her eyes, shaking her head. What
A spasm of pain burst loose inside her. She gasped and put her hand to her stomach. For a time she wrestled silently, jaws locked, swaying back and forth.
The pain went away. Lori sank back. She cried out, a faint, thin cry. "Steve --"
Steven stirred. He turned over a little, grunting in his sleep. The pain came again. Harder. She fell forward on her face, writhing in agony. The pain ripped at her, tearing at her belly. She screamed, a shrill wail of fear and pain.
Steve sat up. "For God's sake --" He rubbed his eyes and snapped on the lamp. "What the hell --"
Lori lay on her side, gasping and moaning, her eyes staring, knotted fists pressed into her stomach. The pain twisted and seared, devouring her, eating into her. "Lori!" Steven grated. "What is it?"
She screamed. Again and again. Until the house rocked with echoes. She slid from the bed, onto the floor, her body writhing and jerking, her face unrecognizable.
Ed came hurrying into the room, pulling his bathrobe around him. "What's going on?"
The two men stared helplessly down at the woman on the floor.
"Good God," Ed said. He closed his eyes.
The day was cold and dark. Snow fell silently over the streets and houses, over the red brick county hospital building. Doctor Blair walked slowly up the gravel path to his Ford car. He slid inside and turned the ignition key. The motor leaped alive, and he let the brake out.
"I'll call you later," Doctor Blair said. "There are certain particulars."
"I know," Steve muttered. He was still dazed. His face was gray and puffy from lack of sleep.
"I left some sedatives for you. Try to get a little rest."
"You think," Steve asked suddenly, "if we had called you earlier --"
"No." Blair glanced up at him sympathetically. "I don't. In a thing like that, there's not much chance. Not after it's burst."
"Then it was appendicitis?"
Blair nodded. "Yes."
"If we hadn't been so damn far out," Steve said bitterly. "Stuck out in the country. No hospital. Nothing. Miles from town. And we didn't realize at first --"
"Well, it's over now." The upright Ford moved forward a little. All at once a thought came to the doctor. "One more thing."
"What is it?" Steve said dully.
Blair hesitated. "Post mortems -- very unfortunate. I don't think there's any reason for one in this case. I'm certain in my own mind... But I wanted to ask --"
"What is it?"
"What is it?"
"No." Steve shook his head wearily. "I don't know."
"It was just a thought." Doctor Blair drove slowly off down the narrow tree-lined street, leaving two dark streaks, two soiled lines that marred the packed, glistening snow.
Spring came, warm and sunny. The ground turned black and rich. Overhead the sun shone, a hot white orb, full of strength.
"Stop here," Steve murmured.
Ed Patterson brought the car to a halt at the side of the street. He turned off the motor. The two men sat in silence, neither of them speaking.
At the end of the street children were playing. A high school boy was mowing a lawn, pushing the machine over wet grass. The street was dark in the shade of the great trees growing along each side.
"Nice," Ed said.
Steve nodded without answering. Moodily, he watched a young girl walking by, a shopping bag under her arm. The girl climbed the stairs of a porch and disappeared into an old-fashioned yellow house.
Steve pushed the car door open. "Come on. Let's get it over with."
Ed lifted the wreath of flowers from the back seat and put them in his son's lap. "You'll have to carry it. It's your job."
"All right." Steve grabbed the flowers and stepped out onto the pavement.
The two men walked up the street together, silent and thoughtful.
"It's been seven or eight months, now," Steve said abruptly.
"At least." Ed lit a cigar as they walked along, puffing clouds of gray smoke around them. "Maybe a little more."
"I never should have brought her up here. She lived in town all her life. She didn't know anything about the country."
"It would have happened anyhow."
"If we had been closer to a hospital --"
The doctor said it wouldn't have made any difference. Even if we'd called him right away instead of waiting until morning." They came to the corner and turned. "And as you know --"
"Forget it," Steve said, suddenly tense.
The sounds of the children had fallen behind them. The houses had thinned out. Their footsteps rang out against the pavement as they walked along.
"We're almost there," Steve said.
They came to a rise. Beyond the rise was a heavy brass fence, running the length of a small field. A green field, neat and even. With carefully placed plaques of white marble crisscrossing it.
"Here we are," Steve said tightly.
"They keep it nice."
"Can we get in from this side?"
"We can try." Ed started along the brass fence, looking for a gate.
Suddenly Steve halted, grunting. He stared across the field, his face white. "Look."
"What is it?" Ed took off his glasses to see. "What are you looking at?"
"I was right." Steve's voice was low and indistinct. "I thought there was something. Last time we were here... I saw... You see it?"
"I'm not sure. I see the tree, if that's what you mean."
In the center of the neat green field the little apple tree rose proudly. Its bright leaves sparkled in the warm sunlight. The young tree was strong and very healthy. It swayed confidently with the wind, its supple trunk moist with sweet spring sap.
"They're red," Steve said softly. "They're already red. How the hell can they be red? It's only
April. How the hell can they be red so soon?"
April. How the hell can they be red so soon?"
"Her cheeks were that color," Steve said, his voice low. "When she had been running. Remember?"
The two men gazed uneasily at the little apple tree, its shiny red fruit glistening in the spring sunlight, branches moving gently with the wind.
"I remember, all right," Ed said grimly. "Come on." He took his son's arm insistently, the wreath of flowers forgotten. "Come on, Steve. Let's get out of here."
Human Is
Jill Herrick's blue eyes filled with tears. She gazed at her husband in unspeakable horror. "You're -- you're hideous!" she wailed.
Lester Herrick continued working, arranging heaps of notes and graphs in precise piles.
"Hideous," he stated, "is a value judgment. It contains no factual information." He sent a report tape on Centauran parasitic life whizzing through the desk scanner. "Merely an opinion. An expression of emotion, nothing more."
Jill stumbled back to the kitchen. Listlessly, she waved her hand to trip the stove into activity. Conveyor belts in the wall hummed to life, hurrying the food from the underground storage lockers for the evening meal.
She turned to face her husband one last time. "Not even a little while?" she begged. "Not even --"
"Not even for a month. When he comes you can tell him. If you haven't the courage, I'll do it. I can't have a child running around here. I have too much work to do. This report on Betelgeuse XI is due in ten days." Lester dropped a spool on Fomalhautan fossil implements into the scanner. "What's the matter with your brother? Why can't he take care of his own child?"
Jill dabbed at swollen eyes. "Don't you understand? I want Gus here! I begged Frank to let him come. And now you --"
"I'll be glad when he's old enough to be turned over to the Government." Lester's thin face twisted in annoyance. "Damn it, Jill, isn't dinner ready yet? It's been ten minutes! What's wrong with that stove?"