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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/32716-h.zip b/32716-h.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..5acb5e4 --- /dev/null +++ b/32716-h.zip diff --git a/32716-h/32716-h.htm b/32716-h/32716-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..5bbba51 --- /dev/null +++ b/32716-h/32716-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,1059 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml"> + <head> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=iso-8859-1" /> + <title> + The Project Gutenberg eBook of Cancer World, by Harry Warner Jnr. + </title> + <style type="text/css"> + + p { margin-top: .75em; + text-align: justify; + margin-bottom: .75em; + } + h1,h2,h3,h4,h5,h6 { + text-align: center; /* all headings centered */ + clear: both; + } + hr { width: 33%; + margin-top: 2em; + margin-bottom: 2em; + margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; + clear: both; } + + div.trans-note {border-style: solid; + border-width: 1px; + margin: 3em 5%; + padding: 1em; + text-align: center; + background-color: #E6F0F0; + color: inherit; + font-size: 0.9em; } + + + body{margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; } + + + .figt {float: left; clear: left; margin: 15px; padding: 0; width: 150px;} + + + .blockquot{margin-left: 5%; margin-right: 10%;} + + .center {text-align: center;} + + </style> + </head> +<body> + + +<pre> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Cancer World, by Harry Warner + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Cancer World + +Author: Harry Warner + +Release Date: June 6, 2010 [EBook #32716] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK CANCER WORLD *** + + + + +Produced by Greg Weeks, Graeme Mackreth and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + +</pre> + + +<p class="center"> +<img src="images/illus03.jpg" alt="cover" /> +</p> + + + + + +<div class="blockquot" style="margin-top: 5em;"> +<b>Greg tried desperately to find an illegal method of joining his +family on Mars; for the law said that no healthy man could land on +a—</b></div> + +<h1>CANCER WORLD</h1> + +<h4><i>By</i></h4> + +<h3><i>Harry Warner, Jr.</i></h3> + +<p class="center"> +<img src="images/illus02.jpg" alt="family" /> + +</p> + + + + +<p>"We won the Patagonian trust case," Greg Marson's jubilant tones filled +the apartment—the hall in which he stood, the automatic kitchen in the +rear, the living quarters, bedroom and nursery in between.</p> + +<p>But no one replied. Greg let his bulging, expensive briefcase slip to +the floor, strode through the empty hall, poked his head into the +kitchen, then entered the nursery.</p> + +<p>Dennis dashed to his father on two-year-old legs, and baby Phyllis +gurgled twice in her pen. Greg wrinkled his nose in puzzlement, then +punched the babyviewer.</p> + +<p>"You can cut service," he told the girl whose blonde head appeared on +the screen.</p> + +<p>She nodded, counted on her fingers, and said: "That will be seven hours +of viewing. No extras. The children behaved beautifully."</p> + +<p>The screen darkened. Greg stared foolishly at it, then turned to Dennis.</p> + +<p>"Where'd your mother go?"</p> + +<p>Dennis smiled vaguely, and began to tinker with his molecule builder. +Phyllis gurgled again.</p> + +<p>Greg looked at the remains of the lunch that had hopped automatically +from its can at noon, and the lowered reservoir of milk in the baby's +feeder. Dora obviously hadn't been there since morning, and she didn't +like to trust the babyview service so long. It was Wednesday, and bridge +club was Tuesday. They'd subscribed to the telebuying service, so Dora +hadn't gone shopping for months. The new baby wasn't due for five +months, so a hurry-up trip to a doctor was unlikely....</p> + +<p>The front door screeched, its bad hinge audible in the nursery, and +Greg relaxed. "I'm back here, Dora," he called, and headed for the hall, +closing the nursery door behind him.</p> + +<p>Greg saw the policeman before he saw Dora. She was being lead toward the +living room sofa, her face white, her coat soiled.</p> + +<p>"What's wrong?" Greg rushed forward.</p> + +<p>"You're Marson? Relax. Your wife just got excited for a minute. Lots of +them try what she did. We won't hold it against her."</p> + +<p>Dora pressed close to Greg, her head pushing against his chest, her body +trembling. Reproachfully, the policeman was saying:</p> + +<p>"You should have stayed home on her check day. If she could have reached +you when she heard the news—" He brushed invisible specks from his +spotless uniform and walked out of the apartment.</p> + +<p>Greg led his wife to the sofa and sank down beside her. Check day. He +stared at her with disbelief.</p> + +<p>"I'm sorry," she said in a whisper, not looking at him. "You never could +remember anniversaries or dates, and I didn't want to worry you." She +started to quiver again.</p> + +<p>"How bad is it?" Greg fought for words, blinking to try to drive away +the haze before his eyes.</p> + +<p>"It isn't serious at all," she said, raising her head and looking at him +for the first time. "They said that the operation will take only a few +minutes. They said cancer wouldn't ever be dangerous if they always +found it as quickly as this time. We—I'm really very lucky, they said."</p> + +<p>"But you should have told me that this was your check day. I was worried +about the Patagonian case, and I just—"</p> + +<p>Then Greg stared straight at his wife, trying to pierce the strangeness +that covered her eyes. He realized in a flood of terror the full +implications of this day.</p> + +<p>"Dora—do they let you have the child if you're pregnant when they find +cancer? I don't remember...."</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>She sat erect and pushed the hair away from her eyes, suddenly the +stronger of the two. "Of course, I can have the child," she said. "And +please don't worry about today. I was silly, and fainted when they +brought in the report, and when I came to I tried to pretend that I'd +suffered amnesia. It was foolish because they could have identified me +from their records, but they told me that lots of women get the same +idea, so maybe I'm not so terrible after all."</p> + +<p>Dennis wailed from the nursery and Phyllis' thin cry joined his. +"They're lonely," Dora said. "I'll go and see—"</p> + +<p>"Wait. You didn't make a decision?"</p> + +<p>"Of course I did." She smiled palely. "I reserved passage."</p> + +<p>"But you can't go away! What would I do without you and the kids?"</p> + +<p>"Don't shout so. You'll frighten them. And stop thinking about yourself. +You know I'd be willing to undergo sterilization. But we can't inflict +it on the kids when they're still too young to decide for themselves."</p> + +<p>"I'll find some way out. There must be someone who'd be willing to be +bought—"</p> + +<p>"Don't talk that way," she tried to laugh. "After all, you've always +said you'd like to have the children see another planet."</p> + +<p>Greg sat down again and covered his face with his hands. "Don't say +that, Dora. Sure, I'd like to take my family to Venus if they ever +opened it up for colonization. But that's a fine planet. Mars is hell, +and the law says I can't go with you or the kids."</p> + +<p>"That's exactly right. The law says that we're breeding a cancer-free +race of humans on Earth by sending to Mars all the people who prove to +be susceptible."</p> + +<p>Greg shook his head. "That plan wasn't set up just to breed out cancer +prones. It was partly to keep Earth from starvation when overpopulation +became an impossible problem. It isn't really a moral issue. Look, you +can probably cancel your passage, and we can arrange sterilization. The +kids will approve when they grow up."</p> + +<p>Now it was Dora who held Greg close. "I don't want to leave you," she +said desperately, "but there's nothing else to do. You know the +Carstairs, and the Andresens. The same thing happened to both of those +girls. They talked it over with their husbands and decided on +sterilization, and the Andresens broke up the next year and Mrs. +Carstairs is in a mental home...."</p> + +<p>Greg was silent for a moment. Then he looked at her.</p> + +<p>"When do you leave?"</p> + +<p>The children wailed again. "I won't be here next Wednesday," she arose +and walked unsteadily toward the nursery.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>Greg drove the next morning through narrow streets and backed his car +into a parking space close to his destination. He sat for a moment, +frowning at the antiquated, dirty buildings, half-residential, +half-business. Then he left the car and walked up the half-dozen uneven +stone steps to Modern Laboratories.</p> + +<p>Behind the small front office, Modern Laboratories contained an array +of testtubes, some sluggish guinea pigs, and dusty bottles. A man who +Greg knew must be Dr. Haskett stood in front of the bottles and looked +dubiously at him.</p> + +<p>"My contact told me to say that I need altitude shots," Greg said. "He +also told me to say that I've heard of your success in transplantations."</p> + +<p>"Sit down."</p> + +<p>Greg found a stool, and looked unhappily at the grimy fingernails of Dr. +Haskett which were now tapping the sink's edge. "Did your friend explain +how much it will cost?"</p> + +<p>"The check's written." Greg handed it over. "It's dated ahead. I can +stop payment if you don't do what you promise. And secrecy is important. +My wife doesn't know what I'm doing."</p> + +<p>"Marta," Dr. Haskett called. A girl from the front office came into the +laboratory, and in bored fashion pulled a soiled white robe over her +street dress.</p> + +<p>"Lie down here." Dr. Haskett shoved two tables together to provide a +large, flat surface, and Marta shoved home the lock on the single door +leading out of the room. "But sign this release, first. And undress. You +prefer intravenous anaesthesia, I suppose?"</p> + +<p>"There's not much risk?" Greg asked, his perspiring fingers slipping as +he tried to unknot his tie. "Not much risk that you'll fail to make good +... a good transplantation?"</p> + +<p>"I guarantee that part of it," Dr. Haskett said, opening a case and +withdrawing instruments. "The only risk lies in the danger that it will +grow too fast in six months."</p> + +<p>"I won't give it a chance. My wife gets sent to Mars next week. I'm +going to ask for a special check and get myself sent aboard the same +ship with her. I know the right people."</p> + +<p>Marta laughed openly. Dr. Haskett shot a glare in her direction, then +looked calculatingly at Greg.</p> + +<p>"You're talking like a child," he said. "If I implant cancerous tissue +in your body, you can't submit to a check for at least six months. The +examiners would find the scars of the operation. There are laws against +what you want me to do for you."</p> + +<p>Greg stared at the tie he had finally pulled loose. "But I can't wait +six months," he said helplessly. "If Dora gets sent to Mars alone, you +know what will happen as well as I do. Deported people are automatically +divorced from their husbands and wives on Earth. They have to marry +again as soon as possible on Mars. The women need someone to support +them and their kids, the men need the women to run the houses up +there...."</p> + +<p>The woman straightened her face with an effort, took off the white robe, +and tossed it on the floor. Then she unlocked the door and returned to +her office. Dr. Haskett turned his back on Greg, saying, "I'm afraid +there's nothing I can do for you, sir."</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>Greg drove from the rundown district faster than the law allowed. Did +the ordinary man on the street submit calmly when this happened to his +wife or did he have contacts that Greg had never known?</p> + +<p>Still, it seemed unlikely that many persons could escape the law. Every +nation on Earth cooperated to send cancerous persons to Mars, not only +to breed the disease out of Earth, but to relieve the tremendous +pressure of a growing population. The effort was succeeding, even though +it was taking much of Earth's resources to send the people and supplies +to Mars, even though the project had delayed the opening of colonization +on a real paradise planet, Venus.</p> + +<p>Pulling into the apartment's parking cell, Greg rode the elevator to his +floor.</p> + +<p>The apartment was dark and silent. A single lamp glowed faintly on the +living room desk, and then he saw the note beside the viewphone.</p> + +<p>"I didn't exactly lie about the date of my passage," the note said, "but +I misled you. The children and I went at noon today. It's the best way. +We couldn't stand the torture of a week, so I asked for immediate +passage. Try to smuggle through a message to the children and me later +on, but don't try to do anything more dangerous. I pray that someday the +laws will change and we'll see each other again." There were a few more +lines of writing, but they had been carefully scratched out. Dora's +signature, barely recognizable in its shakiness, was at the bottom of +the paper....</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>The smoke in the tavern was too thick to permit easy breathing. But Greg +had been choking somewhere deep inside before he had wandered into the +place. He placed his glass carefully over the well in the counter, +pressed the stud at the edge of the counter, and watched the mixed drink +squirt up through the patent bottom of the glass. There was a slight +click as the bottom tightened automatically, the price appeared on the +inset beside the stud, and Greg drank. Then he put down the glass, aware +that the man beside him was studying him intently.</p> + +<p>"There comes a time," the man said carefully, "when the fingers refuse +to clench the glass with sufficient resistance. At that point, you begin +to pass out." The stranger raised his glass with only slight effort, and +watched Greg apply time and thought to the same procedure.</p> + +<p>"You remind me of the way some doctors talk," Greg said.</p> + +<p>"I never forget a patient," the stranger said, peering intently at Greg, +"and you aren't one of mine, even though you're not quite sober enough +to look natural. But people tell me that all doctors act somewhat alike, +even when they aren't very good doctors." He drained his glass with one +gulp.</p> + +<p>"My wife was sent to Mars," Greg blurted the words out. He turned to the +stranger.</p> + +<p>"There must be some way I can bring her back!"</p> + +<p>"Don't proposition me, fellow," the strange doctor said, blinking but +keeping his eyes boring into Greg's face. "You're talking to the wrong +person, if you want one of those little operations."</p> + +<p>Greg shook his head. "I thought of that. I went to one doctor. He told +me the scar wouldn't heal for six months.... She'll be married again by +that time."</p> + +<p>The stranger pursed his lips thoughtfully for a moment. Then he looked +away from Greg and began to speak lowly, as if he were talking to +himself.</p> + +<p>"I've run across other people in your situation. Space freighters go +close to Mars' surface and parachute equipment down. The passenger ships +stay further away and send people down in little auxiliary ships. I've +never heard of anyone smuggling himself to Mars, you understand, but if +you tried to—"</p> + +<p>"What I want is a freighter that actually will land on Mars."</p> + +<p>"You won't find any," the doctor said. "It takes too much fuel to take +off again. This way, they can carry twice as much load, by just circling +the planet close to the surface." He stopped, looked at Greg +quizzically. "Funny thing about cancer—you study it since you learned +the bad news? No? Well, the cure is something like the disease these +days. Cancer is caused by cells that are harmful to the other cells in +the body and grow too fast. So we're deporting people who might be +harmful to other people by propagating the disease. Then there's +metastasis."</p> + +<p>"What's that?"</p> + +<p>"Metastasis—the migration of cancer cells. They move from one part of +the body to the other."</p> + +<p>"Like we're moving people to Mars?" Greg laughed tiredly and started to +get up.</p> + +<p>"Take it easy, bud." A hand was on Greg's shoulder, and the doctor's +voice was in his ear. "We've all got troubles. Look up this guy, if you +really want to do something about the wife and kids." A hand slipped a +card into Greg's pocket.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>"What can you do?" The recruiting officer eyed Greg suspiciously.</p> + +<p>"Anything." Greg spoke slowly, his eyes on the officer. "A fellow gave +me this card, and told me I could get work on a freighter at this +address."</p> + +<p>The man glanced at the card and shrugged. "Sign this." He shoved a +dogeared form toward Greg. The table shook slightly as a spaceship +blasted off. Greg signed, glancing over the form.</p> + +<p>"This isn't a contract," he said, handing it back. "It's just a release +for you in case something happens to a crew member."</p> + +<p>"So we aren't running pleasure trips or slumming expeditions for rich +guys. You were born yesterday if you don't know the freighters are a +little dangerous. We don't know how much money we'll make out of a trip +until we've made it. So we can't settle on any pay now."</p> + +<p>"Get me onto the surface of the planet and you get my services free the +whole trip out," Greg said. "Isn't that fair enough?"</p> + +<p>"So you want to hop out before the return trip?" The agent's face +darkened. "Just when you've started to learn something useful +aboardship?" A man standing at the door started to move slowly toward +them.</p> + +<p>"I've changed my mind." Greg got up, turned, and suddenly an arm +encircled his throat. He twisted fiercely, uselessly, while the +recruiting officer pulled a cloth-covered tube from the desk drawer. The +word <i>shanghai</i> flashed into Greg's mind, an instant before the lead +pipe smashed down against his skull.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>Someone was shaking Greg, trying to dislodge his consciousness from the +black, cramped niche into which it was wedged. The hand at his shoulder +gripped hard, shook roughly, and a voice was bellowing into Greg's ears. +Greg moved a hand, experimentally. Instantly he was jerked upright.</p> + +<p>"Time to get to work," the voice rumbled loudly. "Let's get this show on +the road. My name's Moore. What's yours?"</p> + +<p>Greg poked with stiff fingers at his eyes. Light blinded him. He was in +a small room that might have been an overgrown closet. He sat on the +lower half of a two-tier bunk. There was a webbing of ropes at the other +side, and a couple of small lockers around the other sides. The hand +that had been shaking him belonged to a giant blond fellow who might +have been in his forties.</p> + +<p>"Feel better?" The blond giant steadied Greg in a sitting position.</p> + +<p>"What's this all about?" Greg felt for the lump on his head.</p> + +<p>"Well, they haven't told me about you," the fellow grinned, "but I can +guess. When someone starts to ask about a berth on a freighter, they +figure that he's either a potential crew member or a spy. Either way, +they figure they'd better take him aboard. I got took just the same way, +ten years ago. I'm not sorry now. It's a pretty good life."</p> + +<p>"Look, I've got some money." Greg struggled to his feet. "Who can I see +to get out of here?"</p> + +<p>"Too late," Moore said. "We've blasted off. You've been out cold for two +days. Don't you feel the ship?"</p> + +<p>Greg sat down again, and suddenly he felt better. After all wasn't he on +his way to Mars, where he had wanted to go all along? He could worry +about smuggling himself onto the planet later, when they started to toss +out the cargo....</p> + +<p>Moore introduced him to his duties in the hours that followed, and later +joined him in their tiny cabin.</p> + +<p>"You'll have to take the upper bunk as soon as you feel better," Moore +warned. "I got seniority, you know."</p> + +<p>"Maybe I won't be around long. How do you go about skipping ship at +delivery point?"</p> + +<p>"It can be done if you've got the money," Moore said. "They run these +boats to make money and they aren't particular about where the money +comes from. They never are sure what sort of a price they can get for +the refrigeration equipment and dehumidifiers and stuff."</p> + +<p>"Refrigeration—dehumidifiers?" Greg stared at Moore. "Are they crazy? +Mars is the last place in the world to dispose of stuff like that!"</p> + +<p>"Mars? Who said anything about Mars, bud?" Moore looked at him +curiously. "They need that stuff on Venus, because it gets hot and damp +there in the summer time. We're going to Venus, my friend!"</p> + +<p>The words stunned Greg's mind. "But my wife and kids were sent to Mars, +and if I'm heading for Venus it'll be too late—"</p> + +<p>"But you ought to have known that these birds only go to Venus—" Moore +began. Greg didn't give him a chance to finish, rising abruptly and +running from the cabin.</p> + +<p>All the fear, worry and despair that he had felt since Dora's check day +transmuted magically into an alloy of anger and hatred against any +authority.</p> + +<p>He searched for the officers' quarters, his feet stamping loudly against +the metal flooring, the noise thrusting new aches into his head, the +aches in his head increasing his fury.</p> + +<p>Hopelessly lost after a moment, he opened one door and caught a glimpse +of inferno and the insulation-clad men who tended the propulsion units. +Twice he blundered into the space between the outer and inner hulls on +the wrong side of the ship. One panel in the wall that looked like a +door proved to be the lid for a viewer that gave a fantastically +beautiful image of the stars and planets outside the ship. He had +wandered into a storeroom when a voice came from behind him:</p> + +<p>"Getting thirsty again?"</p> + +<p>"Where's the captain?" Greg yelled back. The man who had called to him +straightened from behind a row of boxes.</p> + +<p>"Last time I saw you, you were more interested in drinks than in the +captain."</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>Greg looked hard at muscular fingers, and the ghost image of a bar back +on Earth materialized for an instant in the stockroom around the man. It +was the doctor who had given him instructions on how to find the +freighter recruiting office!</p> + +<p>"So you're the one who had me shanghaied to Venus!" Greg sprang at the +man, fists flying.</p> + +<p>The doctor ducked. Greg sprawled clumsily at the opposite wall, thrown +off balance by the slighter gravity maintained in the ship. He started +to rise, then dropped to his knees as knife-like pain shot through his +ankle. The doctor stood over him with that strange half-smile.</p> + +<p>"You shouldn't be angry. You wanted transportation, didn't you?" He +kneeled to look at Greg's ankle and the pain conquered Greg's impulse to +smash a fist into his face.</p> + +<p>"Exactly what I wanted," Greg answered bitterly. "Of course I wanted to +get shanghaied on a freight headed for Venus while my family's on Mars!"</p> + +<p>"I think it's just a sprain, not a break," the doctor said, running a +finger over the swelling ankle. "But we'd better take a picture. Come +on." He hoisted Greg to a standing position with unexpected strength, +and walked him out of the storeroom to his cabin. Medical equipment +lined the room.</p> + +<p>"Did it ever occur to you that someday you're going to get the lawbooks +thrown at you?" Greg asked, quietly but with hatred. "They stopped +tolerating this sort of thing centuries ago."</p> + +<p>The doctor laughed. "Fine talk from a man who tried to smuggle himself +on Mars."</p> + +<p>"You don't have any proof. I don't even know your name."</p> + +<p>"It's Coleridge. You can put doctor in front of it, too. I really did +study and get a diploma. Then I decided I could have more fun out in +space than in some stuffy office back on Earth. Maybe you'd enjoy this +sort of life, too, if you haven't congealed completely." He sat Greg +before a small X-ray machine.</p> + +<p>"I've always wanted to spend the rest of my life fighting dinosaurs on +Venus while my family is on Mars and my career is on Earth." Greg said +acidly.</p> + +<p>"You know very well there aren't any dinosaurs on Venus," Coleridge +replied mildly. "It's practically perfect as a planet, with a few +gadgets to keep things dry and cool." He looked straight at Greg. "You +know it's the most desirable planet in the system but they've +discouraged emigration because they need the spaceships to handle the +cancer colonies on Mars. It's only tramp freighters like this that can +get away with trips to Venus." He pulled the film from its fixing bath +and squinted at it. "Not a sign of a fracture."</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>Greg began to wonder what Coleridge was leading up to. Everything he +said appeared to be a case of diverting attention from Greg's problem by +talking about Venus' merits. He decided to play along until he found +out.</p> + +<p>"You think I could find something to keep myself occupied on Venus?"</p> + +<p>"Sure, they need smart men, and you can tell the employment agencies +that your wife and kids are on the way."</p> + +<p>Greg stared at him, feeling the torment return.</p> + +<p>Coleridge grinned. "Haven't you ever put two and two together about the +population figures?"</p> + +<p>"You mean there's a chance for my family to get from Mars to Venus?"</p> + +<p>"Look. You remember that they started to send people from Earth to Mars +a century ago, because the population had overgrown Earth. Emigration +has gone on all that time, millions of people have been sent to Mars, +and once they get there they have children and raise families just as +they would do on Earth. Now, if you weren't a lawyer, always splitting +hairs and quibbling, you'd have guessed long ago what other intelligent +people sooner or later realize. Mars is smaller than Earth, only part of +it is warm enough for Earthmen—so Mars got overpopulated, too, a few +years back.</p> + +<p>"Remember what I told you in the bar about metastasis? I thought you'd +catch on then, when I tried to draw an analogy about migrating cancer +cells and migrating people.</p> + +<p>"They've been afraid to tell people on Earth the real situation, because +Venus has been held up for so long as the second Eden where we'll all +live as soon as the cancer problem is licked. But actually, they've had +to ship new arrivals on Mars off to Venus in recent years, because +there's no more room on Mars. I suppose they'll break the news to Earth +some of these days, formally. If you were closer to the grapevine, you +probably would have heard the rumor long ago."</p> + +<p>Greg sat there gaping at Coleridge. Finally he asked, in humbled tones: +"If Venus is such a paradise, how come you don't drop off there and stay +there yourself?"</p> + +<p>"Well," the doctor said, beginning to put away his equipment, "I've been +thinking of it, but I wanted to save up some money first, and this +seemed to be about the best way to do it. It's a little more humane than +the way some doctors do, implanting cancer conditions into people who +have to undergo operations to get themselves deported. Of course, it's a +little more uncertain.</p> + +<p>"For instance," he said, eyeing Greg sharply, "now that you have that +bum ankle, I could probably tell the captain that you'll be no good as a +crew member, and I could have you dumped overboard when we begin to +circle Venus. That way you wouldn't have done a thing illegal and you'd +have a clean slate to meet your family a few days later."</p> + +<p>Greg rubbed the lump on his head, gingerly flexed his sore ankle, +remembered the emotions of the past three or four days, and then reached +for his check book.</p> + +<p>"I think I'm beginning to understand," Greg smiled. "Got a pen?"</p> + + +<p class='center'>THE END</p> + + +<div class="trans-note"> +<p><big><b>Transcriber's Note:</b></big></p> + +<p>This etext was produced from <i>Imagination</i> May 1954. +Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. +copyright on this publication was renewed. </p></div> + + + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Cancer World, by Harry Warner + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK CANCER WORLD *** + +***** This file should be named 32716-h.htm or 32716-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/3/2/7/1/32716/ + +Produced by Greg Weeks, Graeme Mackreth and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Cancer World + +Author: Harry Warner + +Release Date: June 6, 2010 [EBook #32716] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK CANCER WORLD *** + + + + +Produced by Greg Weeks, Graeme Mackreth and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + + + Greg tried desperately to find an illegal method of joining his + family on Mars; for the law said that no healthy man could land on + a-- + + + + +CANCER WORLD + +_By_ + +_Harry Warner, Jr._ + +[Illustration] + + +"We won the Patagonian trust case," Greg Marson's jubilant tones filled +the apartment--the hall in which he stood, the automatic kitchen in the +rear, the living quarters, bedroom and nursery in between. + +But no one replied. Greg let his bulging, expensive briefcase slip to +the floor, strode through the empty hall, poked his head into the +kitchen, then entered the nursery. + +Dennis dashed to his father on two-year-old legs, and baby Phyllis +gurgled twice in her pen. Greg wrinkled his nose in puzzlement, then +punched the babyviewer. + +"You can cut service," he told the girl whose blonde head appeared on +the screen. + +She nodded, counted on her fingers, and said: "That will be seven hours +of 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 automatically +from its can at noon, and the lowered reservoir of milk in the baby's +feeder. Dora obviously hadn't been there since morning, and she didn't +like to trust the babyview service so long. It was Wednesday, and bridge +club was Tuesday. They'd subscribed to the telebuying service, so Dora +hadn't gone shopping for months. The new baby wasn't due for five +months, so a hurry-up trip to a doctor was unlikely.... + +The front door screeched, its bad hinge audible in the nursery, and +Greg 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 the +living 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 of +them try what she did. We won't hold it against her." + +Dora pressed close to Greg, her head pushing against his chest, her body +trembling. Reproachfully, the policeman was saying: + +"You should have stayed home on her check day. If she could have reached +you when she heard the news--" He brushed invisible specks from his +spotless uniform and walked out of the apartment. + +Greg led his wife to the sofa and sank down beside her. Check day. He +stared at her with disbelief. + +"I'm sorry," she said in a whisper, not looking at him. "You never could +remember anniversaries or dates, and I didn't want to worry you." She +started to quiver again. + +"How bad is it?" Greg fought for words, blinking to try to drive away +the haze before his eyes. + +"It isn't serious at all," she said, raising her head and looking at him +for the first time. "They said that the operation will take only a few +minutes. They said cancer wouldn't ever be dangerous if they always +found 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 worried +about the Patagonian case, and I just--" + +Then Greg stared straight at his wife, trying to pierce the strangeness +that covered her eyes. He realized in a flood of terror the full +implications of this day. + +"Dora--do they let you have the child if you're pregnant when they find +cancer? I don't remember...." + + * * * * * + +She sat erect and pushed the hair away from her eyes, suddenly the +stronger of the two. "Of course, I can have the child," she said. "And +please don't worry about today. I was silly, and fainted when they +brought in the report, and when I came to I tried to pretend that I'd +suffered amnesia. It was foolish because they could have identified me +from their records, but they told me that lots of women get the same +idea, so maybe I'm not so terrible after all." + +Dennis wailed from the nursery and Phyllis' thin cry joined his. +"They're lonely," Dora said. "I'll go and see--" + +"Wait. You didn't make a decision?" + +"Of course I did." She smiled palely. "I reserved passage." + +"But you can't go away! What would I do without you and the kids?" + +"Don't shout so. You'll frighten them. And stop thinking about yourself. +You know I'd be willing to undergo sterilization. But we can't inflict +it on the kids when they're still too young to decide for themselves." + +"I'll find some way out. There must be someone who'd be willing to be +bought--" + +"Don't talk that way," she tried to laugh. "After all, you've always +said you'd like to have the children see another planet." + +Greg sat down again and covered his face with his hands. "Don't say +that, Dora. Sure, I'd like to take my family to Venus if they ever +opened it up for colonization. But that's a fine planet. Mars is hell, +and the law says I can't go with you or the kids." + +"That's exactly right. The law says that we're breeding a cancer-free +race of humans on Earth by sending to Mars all the people who prove to +be susceptible." + +Greg shook his head. "That plan wasn't set up just to breed out cancer +prones. It was partly to keep Earth from starvation when overpopulation +became an impossible problem. It isn't really a moral issue. Look, you +can probably cancel your passage, and we can arrange sterilization. The +kids will approve when they grow up." + +Now it was Dora who held Greg close. "I don't want to leave you," she +said desperately, "but there's nothing else to do. You know the +Carstairs, and the Andresens. The same thing happened to both of those +girls. They talked it over with their husbands and decided on +sterilization, and the Andresens broke up the next year and Mrs. +Carstairs is in a mental home...." + +Greg was silent for a moment. Then he looked at her. + +"When do you leave?" + +The children wailed again. "I won't be here next Wednesday," she arose +and walked unsteadily toward the nursery. + + * * * * * + +Greg drove the next morning through narrow streets and backed his car +into a parking space close to his destination. He sat for a moment, +frowning at the antiquated, dirty buildings, half-residential, +half-business. Then he left the car and walked up the half-dozen uneven +stone steps to Modern Laboratories. + +Behind the small front office, Modern Laboratories contained an array +of testtubes, some sluggish guinea pigs, and dusty bottles. A man who +Greg knew must be Dr. Haskett stood in front of the bottles and looked +dubiously at him. + +"My contact told me to say that I need altitude shots," Greg said. "He +also told me to say that I've heard of your success in transplantations." + +"Sit down." + +Greg found a stool, and looked unhappily at the grimy fingernails of Dr. +Haskett which were now tapping the sink's edge. "Did your friend explain +how much it will cost?" + +"The check's written." Greg handed it over. "It's dated ahead. I can +stop payment if you don't do what you promise. And secrecy is important. +My wife doesn't know what I'm doing." + +"Marta," Dr. Haskett called. A girl from the front office came into the +laboratory, and in bored fashion pulled a soiled white robe over her +street dress. + +"Lie down here." Dr. Haskett shoved two tables together to provide a +large, flat surface, and Marta shoved home the lock on the single door +leading out of the room. "But sign this release, first. And undress. You +prefer intravenous anaesthesia, I suppose?" + +"There's not much risk?" Greg asked, his perspiring fingers slipping as +he tried to unknot his tie. "Not much risk that you'll fail to make good +... a good transplantation?" + +"I guarantee that part of it," Dr. Haskett said, opening a case and +withdrawing instruments. "The only risk lies in the danger that it will +grow too fast in six months." + +"I won't give it a chance. My wife gets sent to Mars next week. I'm +going to ask for a special check and get myself sent aboard the same +ship with her. I know the right people." + +Marta laughed openly. Dr. Haskett shot a glare in her direction, then +looked calculatingly at Greg. + +"You're talking like a child," he said. "If I implant cancerous tissue +in your body, you can't submit to a check for at least six months. The +examiners would find the scars of the operation. There are laws against +what you want me to do for you." + +Greg stared at the tie he had finally pulled loose. "But I can't wait +six months," he said helplessly. "If Dora gets sent to Mars alone, you +know what will happen as well as I do. Deported people are automatically +divorced from their husbands and wives on Earth. They have to marry +again as soon as possible on Mars. The women need someone to support +them and their kids, the men need the women to run the houses up +there...." + +The woman straightened her face with an effort, took off the white robe, +and tossed it on the floor. Then she unlocked the door and returned to +her office. Dr. Haskett turned his back on Greg, saying, "I'm afraid +there's nothing I can do for you, sir." + + * * * * * + +Greg drove from the rundown district faster than the law allowed. Did +the ordinary man on the street submit calmly when this happened to his +wife or did he have contacts that Greg had never known? + +Still, it seemed unlikely that many persons could escape the law. Every +nation on Earth cooperated to send cancerous persons to Mars, not only +to breed the disease out of Earth, but to relieve the tremendous +pressure of a growing population. The effort was succeeding, even though +it was taking much of Earth's resources to send the people and supplies +to Mars, even though the project had delayed the opening of colonization +on a real paradise planet, Venus. + +Pulling into the apartment's parking cell, Greg rode the elevator to his +floor. + +The apartment was dark and silent. A single lamp glowed faintly on the +living room desk, and then he saw the note beside the viewphone. + +"I didn't exactly lie about the date of my passage," the note said, "but +I misled you. The children and I went at noon today. It's the best way. +We couldn't stand the torture of a week, so I asked for immediate +passage. Try to smuggle through a message to the children and me later +on, but don't try to do anything more dangerous. I pray that someday the +laws will change and we'll see each other again." There were a few more +lines of writing, but they had been carefully scratched out. Dora's +signature, barely recognizable in its shakiness, was at the bottom of +the paper.... + + * * * * * + +The smoke in the tavern was too thick to permit easy breathing. But Greg +had been choking somewhere deep inside before he had wandered into the +place. He placed his glass carefully over the well in the counter, +pressed the stud at the edge of the counter, and watched the mixed drink +squirt up through the patent bottom of the glass. There was a slight +click as the bottom tightened automatically, the price appeared on the +inset beside the stud, and Greg drank. Then he put down the glass, aware +that the man beside him was studying him intently. + +"There comes a time," the man said carefully, "when the fingers refuse +to clench the glass with sufficient resistance. At that point, you begin +to pass out." The stranger raised his glass with only slight effort, and +watched Greg apply time and thought to the same procedure. + +"You remind me of the way some doctors talk," Greg said. + +"I never forget a patient," the stranger said, peering intently at Greg, +"and you aren't one of mine, even though you're not quite sober enough +to look natural. But people tell me that all doctors act somewhat alike, +even when they aren't very good doctors." He drained his glass with one +gulp. + +"My wife was sent to Mars," Greg blurted the words out. He turned to the +stranger. + +"There must be some way I can bring her back!" + +"Don't proposition me, fellow," the strange doctor said, blinking but +keeping his eyes boring into Greg's face. "You're talking to the wrong +person, if you want one of those little operations." + +Greg shook his head. "I thought of that. I went to one doctor. He told +me the scar wouldn't heal for six months.... She'll be married again by +that time." + +The stranger pursed his lips thoughtfully for a moment. Then he looked +away from Greg and began to speak lowly, as if he were talking to +himself. + +"I've run across other people in your situation. Space freighters go +close to Mars' surface and parachute equipment down. The passenger ships +stay further away and send people down in little auxiliary ships. I've +never heard of anyone smuggling himself to Mars, you understand, but if +you tried to--" + +"What I want is a freighter that actually will land on Mars." + +"You won't find any," the doctor said. "It takes too much fuel to take +off again. This way, they can carry twice as much load, by just circling +the planet close to the surface." He stopped, looked at Greg +quizzically. "Funny thing about cancer--you study it since you learned +the bad news? No? Well, the cure is something like the disease these +days. Cancer is caused by cells that are harmful to the other cells in +the body and grow too fast. So we're deporting people who might be +harmful to other people by propagating the disease. Then there's +metastasis." + +"What's that?" + +"Metastasis--the migration of cancer cells. They move from one part of +the body to the other." + +"Like we're moving people to Mars?" Greg laughed tiredly and started to +get up. + +"Take it easy, bud." A hand was on Greg's shoulder, and the doctor's +voice was in his ear. "We've all got troubles. Look up this guy, if you +really want to do something about the wife and kids." A hand slipped a +card into Greg's pocket. + + * * * * * + +"What can you do?" The recruiting officer eyed Greg suspiciously. + +"Anything." Greg spoke slowly, his eyes on the officer. "A fellow gave +me this card, and told me I could get work on a freighter at this +address." + +The man glanced at the card and shrugged. "Sign this." He shoved a +dogeared form toward Greg. The table shook slightly as a spaceship +blasted off. Greg signed, glancing over the form. + +"This isn't a contract," he said, handing it back. "It's just a release +for you in case something happens to a crew member." + +"So we aren't running pleasure trips or slumming expeditions for rich +guys. You were born yesterday if you don't know the freighters are a +little dangerous. We don't know how much money we'll make out of a trip +until we've made it. So we can't settle on any pay now." + +"Get me onto the surface of the planet and you get my services free the +whole trip out," Greg said. "Isn't that fair enough?" + +"So you want to hop out before the return trip?" The agent's face +darkened. "Just when you've started to learn something useful +aboardship?" A man standing at the door started to move slowly toward +them. + +"I've changed my mind." Greg got up, turned, and suddenly an arm +encircled his throat. He twisted fiercely, uselessly, while the +recruiting officer pulled a cloth-covered tube from the desk drawer. The +word _shanghai_ flashed into Greg's mind, an instant before the lead +pipe smashed down against his skull. + + * * * * * + +Someone was shaking Greg, trying to dislodge his consciousness from the +black, cramped niche into which it was wedged. The hand at his shoulder +gripped hard, shook roughly, and a voice was bellowing into Greg's ears. +Greg moved a hand, experimentally. Instantly he was jerked upright. + +"Time to get to work," the voice rumbled loudly. "Let's get this show on +the road. My name's Moore. What's yours?" + +Greg poked with stiff fingers at his eyes. Light blinded him. He was in +a small room that might have been an overgrown closet. He sat on the +lower half of a two-tier bunk. There was a webbing of ropes at the other +side, and a couple of small lockers around the other sides. The hand +that had been shaking him belonged to a giant blond fellow who might +have been in his forties. + +"Feel better?" The blond giant steadied Greg in a sitting position. + +"What's this all about?" Greg felt for the lump on his head. + +"Well, they haven't told me about you," the fellow grinned, "but I can +guess. When someone starts to ask about a berth on a freighter, they +figure that he's either a potential crew member or a spy. Either way, +they figure they'd better take him aboard. I got took just the same way, +ten years ago. I'm not sorry now. It's a pretty good life." + +"Look, I've got some money." Greg struggled to his feet. "Who can I see +to get out of here?" + +"Too late," Moore said. "We've blasted off. You've been out cold for two +days. Don't you feel the ship?" + +Greg sat down again, and suddenly he felt better. After all wasn't he on +his way to Mars, where he had wanted to go all along? He could worry +about smuggling himself onto the planet later, when they started to toss +out the cargo.... + +Moore introduced him to his duties in the hours that followed, and later +joined him in their tiny cabin. + +"You'll have to take the upper bunk as soon as you feel better," Moore +warned. "I got seniority, you know." + +"Maybe I won't be around long. How do you go about skipping ship at +delivery point?" + +"It can be done if you've got the money," Moore said. "They run these +boats to make money and they aren't particular about where the money +comes from. They never are sure what sort of a price they can get for +the refrigeration equipment and dehumidifiers and stuff." + +"Refrigeration--dehumidifiers?" Greg stared at Moore. "Are they crazy? +Mars is the last place in the world to dispose of stuff like that!" + +"Mars? Who said anything about Mars, bud?" Moore looked at him +curiously. "They need that stuff on Venus, because it gets hot and damp +there in the summer time. We're going to Venus, my friend!" + +The words stunned Greg's mind. "But my wife and kids were sent to Mars, +and if I'm heading for Venus it'll be too late--" + +"But you ought to have known that these birds only go to Venus--" Moore +began. Greg didn't give him a chance to finish, rising abruptly and +running from the cabin. + +All the fear, worry and despair that he had felt since Dora's check day +transmuted magically into an alloy of anger and hatred against any +authority. + +He searched for the officers' quarters, his feet stamping loudly against +the metal flooring, the noise thrusting new aches into his head, the +aches in his head increasing his fury. + +Hopelessly lost after a moment, he opened one door and caught a glimpse +of inferno and the insulation-clad men who tended the propulsion units. +Twice he blundered into the space between the outer and inner hulls on +the wrong side of the ship. One panel in the wall that looked like a +door proved to be the lid for a viewer that gave a fantastically +beautiful image of the stars and planets outside the ship. He had +wandered into a storeroom when a voice came from behind him: + +"Getting thirsty again?" + +"Where's the captain?" Greg yelled back. The man who had called to him +straightened from behind a row of boxes. + +"Last time I saw you, you were more interested in drinks than in the +captain." + + * * * * * + +Greg looked hard at muscular fingers, and the ghost image of a bar back +on Earth materialized for an instant in the stockroom around the man. It +was the doctor who had given him instructions on how to find the +freighter recruiting office! + +"So you're the one who had me shanghaied to Venus!" Greg sprang at the +man, fists flying. + +The doctor ducked. Greg sprawled clumsily at the opposite wall, thrown +off balance by the slighter gravity maintained in the ship. He started +to rise, then dropped to his knees as knife-like pain shot through his +ankle. The doctor stood over him with that strange half-smile. + +"You shouldn't be angry. You wanted transportation, didn't you?" He +kneeled to look at Greg's ankle and the pain conquered Greg's impulse to +smash a fist into his face. + +"Exactly what I wanted," Greg answered bitterly. "Of course I wanted to +get shanghaied on a freight headed for Venus while my family's on Mars!" + +"I think it's just a sprain, not a break," the doctor said, running a +finger over the swelling ankle. "But we'd better take a picture. Come +on." He hoisted Greg to a standing position with unexpected strength, +and walked him out of the storeroom to his cabin. Medical equipment +lined the room. + +"Did it ever occur to you that someday you're going to get the lawbooks +thrown at you?" Greg asked, quietly but with hatred. "They stopped +tolerating this sort of thing centuries ago." + +The doctor laughed. "Fine talk from a man who tried to smuggle himself +on Mars." + +"You don't have any proof. I don't even know your name." + +"It's Coleridge. You can put doctor in front of it, too. I really did +study and get a diploma. Then I decided I could have more fun out in +space than in some stuffy office back on Earth. Maybe you'd enjoy this +sort of life, too, if you haven't congealed completely." He sat Greg +before a small X-ray machine. + +"I've always wanted to spend the rest of my life fighting dinosaurs on +Venus while my family is on Mars and my career is on Earth." Greg said +acidly. + +"You know very well there aren't any dinosaurs on Venus," Coleridge +replied mildly. "It's practically perfect as a planet, with a few +gadgets to keep things dry and cool." He looked straight at Greg. "You +know it's the most desirable planet in the system but they've +discouraged emigration because they need the spaceships to handle the +cancer colonies on Mars. It's only tramp freighters like this that can +get away with trips to Venus." He pulled the film from its fixing bath +and squinted at it. "Not a sign of a fracture." + + * * * * * + +Greg began to wonder what Coleridge was leading up to. Everything he +said appeared to be a case of diverting attention from Greg's problem by +talking about Venus' merits. He decided to play along until he found +out. + +"You think I could find something to keep myself occupied on Venus?" + +"Sure, they need smart men, and you can tell the employment agencies +that your wife and kids are on the way." + +Greg stared at him, feeling the torment return. + +Coleridge grinned. "Haven't you ever put two and two together about the +population figures?" + +"You mean there's a chance for my family to get from Mars to Venus?" + +"Look. You remember that they started to send people from Earth to Mars +a century ago, because the population had overgrown Earth. Emigration +has gone on all that time, millions of people have been sent to Mars, +and once they get there they have children and raise families just as +they would do on Earth. Now, if you weren't a lawyer, always splitting +hairs and quibbling, you'd have guessed long ago what other intelligent +people sooner or later realize. Mars is smaller than Earth, only part of +it is warm enough for Earthmen--so Mars got overpopulated, too, a few +years back. + +"Remember what I told you in the bar about metastasis? I thought you'd +catch on then, when I tried to draw an analogy about migrating cancer +cells and migrating people. + +"They've been afraid to tell people on Earth the real situation, because +Venus has been held up for so long as the second Eden where we'll all +live as soon as the cancer problem is licked. But actually, they've had +to ship new arrivals on Mars off to Venus in recent years, because +there's no more room on Mars. I suppose they'll break the news to Earth +some of these days, formally. If you were closer to the grapevine, you +probably would have heard the rumor long ago." + +Greg sat there gaping at Coleridge. Finally he asked, in humbled tones: +"If Venus is such a paradise, how come you don't drop off there and stay +there yourself?" + +"Well," the doctor said, beginning to put away his equipment, "I've been +thinking of it, but I wanted to save up some money first, and this +seemed to be about the best way to do it. It's a little more humane than +the way some doctors do, implanting cancer conditions into people who +have to undergo operations to get themselves deported. Of course, it's a +little more uncertain. + +"For instance," he said, eyeing Greg sharply, "now that you have that +bum ankle, I could probably tell the captain that you'll be no good as a +crew member, and I could have you dumped overboard when we begin to +circle Venus. That way you wouldn't have done a thing illegal and you'd +have a clean slate to meet your family a few days later." + +Greg rubbed the lump on his head, gingerly flexed his sore ankle, +remembered the emotions of the past three or four days, and then reached +for his check book. + +"I think I'm beginning to understand," Greg smiled. "Got a pen?" + + +THE END + + * * * * * + +Transcriber's note. + +This etext was produced from Imagination May 1954. 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