Kate Wilhelm in Orbit - Volume Two by Kate Wilhelm

can pick it up at pediatrics dispensary, a month’s supply at a time, starting tomorrow. Twenty-three allergens identified in his blood. Anemic. Nothing to be alarmed about, Mr. Tillich.”
    “What does the ‘R/MD one nine four two seven’ stand for? He’s retarded, isn’t he? How much?”
    “Mr. Tillich, you’ll have to discuss that with his doctor.”
    “Tell me this, would you expect a P/S four two nine eight MC to be able to care adequately for an R/MD one nine four two seven?”
    “Of course not. But you’re not …”
    “His mother is.”
    “Why did you decide to come, after all?”
    “I don’t know. I guess because you look so miserable. Lonely, somehow.” She stopped, looking straight ahead. A young couple walked hand in hand. “You do see people like that now and then,” she said. “It gives me hope.”
    “It shouldn’t. Norma was twenty-two before she… She was as normal as anyone at that age.”
    She started to walk again.
    “What’s your name?”
    “Louisa. Yours?”
    “David,” he said. “Louisa is pretty. It’s like a soft wind in high grass.”
    “You’re a romantic.” She thought a moment. “David goes back to the beginning of names, it seems. Bible name. Do you suppose people are still making new names?”
    “Probably. Why?”
    “I used to try to make up a name. They all sounded so ridiculous. So made-up.”
    He laughed.
    “You turn off here, don’t you? Good-bye, David.”
    “Tomorrow?”
    “Yes.”
    Norma slept. The baby lay quietly; he didn’t know if it was asleep. He remembered laughing in the park. The sun shone. They walked not touching, talking fast, looking at each other often. And he had laughed out loud.
    “No one came,” Mr. Rosenfeld said. His voice rose. “No one came. They know I need a nurse. It’s on my card. I signed over my pension so they’d take care of me. They agreed.”
    “Can I do something?”
    “No!” he said shrilly. “Don’t touch it. You know how long I’d last if an infection set in? Call them. Give them the numbers on my card. It’s a mistake. A mistake.”
    Tillich copied the numbers, then went out to make the call. The first phone was out of order. He walked five blocks to the next one. Traffic was light. It was getting lighter all the time. He could remember when the streets had been packed solid, curb to curb, with automobiles, trucks, buses, motorbikes. Now there were half a dozen vehicles in sight. He waited for the call to be completed, staring toward the west. One day he’d make up a little back-pack, not much, a blanket, a cup, a pan maybe, a coat. He’d start walking westward. Across Ohio, across the prairies, across the mountains. To the sea. The Atlantic was less than five hundred miles east, but he never even considered starting in that direction.
    “Please state patient’s surname, given name, identification number and purpose of this call.”
    He did. There was a pause, then the same voice said, This data has been forwarded to the appropriate office. You will be notified. Thank you for your cooperation. This is a recording.” So no one would argue, he knew. He stood staring westward for a long time, and when he got back to his building, he went directly to his own rooms.
    “And so he died.”
    “He didn’t just die. They killed him. I killed him. They were smart. They saw to it that he had a full week’s supply of those pills. He took them all.”
    “I guess most of them had saved enough pills or capsules, same thing.”
    “So now they can claim truthfully that everyone who needs home nursing gets it” He kicked a stone hard. She walked with her head bowed.
    “If they had known about you, your daily visits to the old man, probably they would have discontinued his nursing service sooner.”
    “But I’m not trained to insert a drainage tube.”
    “You learn or you lose whoever needs that kind of care.”
    He looked at her. She sounded bitter, the first time he had heard that tone from her. “You