"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?"