Progeny

Progeny by Philip K. Dick - Intelligent parents readily understand why they must not try to educate and train their children. Robots do it much better; they do not confuse them with complexes or emotions or petty impulses. Even tired old Ed Doyle could tell you that much...

Ed Doyle hurried. He caught a surface car, waived 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 slip 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 the convalescent patients standing on the broad terrace. He there 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 and 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.

© 2023 Scott Miller (Hljóðbók): 9781669662884

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Hljóðbók: 12 februari 2023