"Search me, Honey. Well, here we are."
Their street roller drew up silently before a huge gray building in the open country and John turned the magnetic parking control. They stepped out from the grass-lined curb, and John pushed the moving sidewalk half-speed handle, sliding them quickly up to an entrance. It opened automatically and in a moment they were standing before a large silver reception screen.
A white haired doctor, in his long surgical gown, glowed rapidly into focus before them. His eyes darted at John like the incision of a lancet. "What's the press want this morning?"
"We'd like an interview on the Universe News story."
Hilda held her raditype transmitter open toward the screen, secure in the crook of her arm, while she made private stenographic notes on the pad. Every home in the Brownville Section, which happened to be tuned in, was seeing the Doctor and he suddenly realized it enough to smile slightly. He inwardly cursed the freedom of the press in small towns, but remarked with forced graciousness, "I'll have a nurse conduct you to the surgery. We can talk while I supervise some minor operations."
"Fine!"
They walked past the Mental Case Wards in silence. It had been fifty years since the most degenerate of these poor unfortunates had been allowed to vociferate their wild discords. Hypnosis and drugs had achieved permanent quiet at last, but there was still a low percentage of actual cures.
Beyond these wards they came to the surgical division, and presently sat with Dr. Henderson in a small circular screened room, where a dozen operations were simultaneously shown. He hardly glanced at them, but kept his eyes constantly on the moving screen before him, touching buttons occasionally before making some brief comment into the transmitter.
John ignored his seeming lack of attention. "What about this story that the Central Medical Division is moving all these patients out on a space ship?"