A feminine voice said pleasantly, "You're a man, and your name is
Haworth. Feeling all right?"
Thousands of little relays clicked in H.D.'s brain and he sat up
quickly. This room was white and windowless, but it was not the vault
in Michigan--and that tall, clear-eyed brownette with the grave eyes
and tender lips was certainly not Dr. Stevens.
The man's voice said, "I guess so," and this time H.D. realized that
_he_ had spoken. The blood rushed to his head and pounded in his ears,
for it had been a strong, _young_ voice.
He ripped away the sheet that covered him, careless of his nakedness,
and it was true.
These limbs were firmly rounded, the smooth skin pink with the warm
blood coursing beneath. His wildest hopes were realized. He snatched
the mirror smilingly proffered him and there it was, that face of youth
once lost to faded photographs! Then a great wave swept in with a
rush, a roar, a dazzling sparkle of spray.
He emerged from his faint to find the head of his bed elevated, the
woman in white holding his wrist to count his pulse. _Well, this is
it_, H.D. thought jubilantly, _it actually panned out. I did it, I did
it!_
Now to plunge into the great adventure--millions of questions to ask,
millions of things to do--a new world to conquer. H.D. rubbed his hands
briskly together in his habitual getting-down-to-business gesture.
Loosing his hand, the brownette looked up from her watch. Her eyes were
dark blue, and....
Bells rang in the back of H.D.'s head, his skin tingled and he forgot
what he wanted to say. Her faint, sweet perfume was in his nostrils; a
long-forgotten stimulus performed its ancient function. Being a direct
man by nature and training, H.D. decided that the shortest distance
between two points was to seize this delicious creature. Without more
ado he lunged.
But she had stepped back, shaking her head and smiling reprovingly, and
H.D. almost fell out of bed. He recovered and collected himself, and
laughed to show that he was a good sport.
"Oh, well, more important things to think of now, anyway--or _are_
there more important things? Well, get me some clothes and call the
head man around here, and I'll look you up later, Miss...."
"Lorraine, _Dr._ Lorraine. I'll get you some pajamas--here they
are--and you won't see the Supervisor unless you show some pretty
unusual symptoms. He's a busy man and I'm a married woman."
H.D. sputtered.
"Now really, Mr. Haworth, I'm not just being mean. You have to stay
here under observation for three days as a final check before you're
sent to--well, and the supervisor doesn't speak English anyway. I'm the
only one here at the hospital that does, which is why I'm here. Now
there'll be some nice lunch for you in a few minutes, so relax like a
good boy and--"
H.D. exploded. "Young woman," he shouted, "_Doctor_ young woman, as you
value your job, I demand to see the person in charge!" He practically
foamed. "Boy indeed! I am Harley D. Haworth and I am ninety-four years
old--and then some," he added thoughtfully.
"Three hundred and twenty years in the vault and two years we've been
working on you," Dr. Lorraine said helpfully.
"Eh? Yes. Well, get me--"
"No," she said very firmly. "You've had enough excitement for the first
time in so long. When you've had a nice lunch and a nice nap I'll talk
to you again, although you won't really find out very much until you go
to--"
A door had opened and shut, and a huge male orderly came in pushing a
metal cabinet. The orderly and Dr. Lorraine exchanged a few words that
H.D. could identify with no language, although the sounds were easy and
musical--a little like Hawaiian, perhaps.
"What's that?" H.D. asked suspiciously. "Where are we?"
"Why, we're in Chicago. Oh, the language--Hominine, we call it. It
was adopted only about fifty years after you died, at the time of the
Union, when the U.S. sort of took over the world and a universal
language became necessary." The orderly had gone out, and she set a
dish before H.D. on a sliding bed-tray. "Here, eat your lunch while
it's hot."
H.D. let out a yelp. "Lunch! A plate of soup! Woman, I'm hungry!
Haven't had a bite for three hundred twenty-two years!"
"That's just why you must go easy for a bit. Here's your spoon. Now,
doesn't it smell good?"
It did, and H.D. grumblingly took some. It tasted good, too--beefy--and
he went at it. Between slurps he tried to get a little more
information. "You say the U.S. conquered the world fifty years after I
died?"
"Oh, no! Just absorbed it, you might say. You had something to do with
that in a way."
"Eh? How's that?"
"Well, your idea of putting yourself on ice to wait for better times
gradually got around and, after awhile, it got pretty common in the
States. The insurance companies did most of it. But they couldn't do it
in Europe, being, _you_ know, bureaucratic and half decayed and all,
and so poor from all the wars. Couldn't afford it. Guess I'm not much
of a historian."
Snort from H.D.
"Oh, eat your soup! Well, it got hard for the European leaders to
keep their people satisfied with their poverty but there were still
plenty of ugly things here they could point to. Then Farbenstein came
along with his Probe, and the Constitution was amended to adopt the
Ascension Code--and a lot of things changed."
* * * * *
By this time H.D. had finished his soup, and Dr. Lorraine took his
plate away and flipped the switch above him that lowered the head of
his bed. H.D. objected testily.
"I don't _want_ to lie down! Quit that, will you. What about this
confounded Code?"