CANCER WORLD
By
Harry Warner, Jr.
"We won the Patagonian trust case," Greg Marson's jubilant tones filledthe apartment—the hall in which he stood, the automatic kitchen in therear, the living quarters, bedroom and nursery in between.
But no one replied. Greg let his bulging, expensive briefcase slip tothe floor, strode through the empty hall, poked his head into thekitchen, then entered the nursery.
Dennis dashed to his father on two-year-old legs, and baby Phyllisgurgled twice in her pen. Greg wrinkled his nose in puzzlement, thenpunched the babyviewer.
"You can cut service," he told the girl whose blonde head appeared onthe screen.
She nodded, counted on her fingers, and said: "That will be seven hoursof 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 automaticallyfrom its can at noon, and the lowered reservoir of milk in the baby'sfeeder. Dora obviously hadn't been there since morning, and she didn'tlike to trust the babyview service so long. It was Wednesday, and bridgeclub was Tuesday. They'd subscribed to the telebuying service, so Dorahadn't gone shopping for months. The new baby wasn't due for fivemonths, so a hurry-up trip to a doctor was unlikely....
The front door screeched, its bad hinge audible in the nursery, andGreg 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 theliving 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 ofthem try what she did. We won't hold it against her."
Dora pressed close to Greg, her head pushing against his chest, her bodytrembling. Reproachfully, the policeman was saying:
"You should have stayed home on her check day. If she could have reachedyou when she heard the news—" He brushed invisible specks from hisspotless uniform and walked out of the apartment.
Greg led his wife to the sofa and sank down beside her. Check day. Hestared at her with disbelief.
"I'm sorry," she said in a whisper, not looking at him. "You never couldremember anniversaries or dates, and I didn't want to worry you." Shestarted to quiver again.
"How bad is it?" Greg fought for words, blinking to try to drive awaythe haze before his eyes.
"It isn't serious at all," she said, raising her head and looking at himfor the first time. "They said that the operation will take only a fewminutes. They said cancer wouldn't ever be dangerous if they alwaysfound 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 worriedabout the Patagonian case, and I just—"
Then Greg stared straight at his wife, trying to pierce the strangenessthat covered her eyes. He realized in a flood of terror the fullimplications of this day.
"Dora—do they let you have the child if you're pregnant when they findcancer? I don't remembe