[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
Thrilling Wonder Stories February 1948.
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
He did not want to be the father of a small blue pyramid. Peter Hornhadn't planned it that way at all. Neither he nor his wife imaginedthat such a thing could happen to them. They had talked quietly fordays about the birth of their coming child, they had eaten normalfoods, slept a great deal, taken in a few shows, and, when it was timefor her to fly in the helicopter to the hospital, her husband, PeterHorn, laughed and kissed her.
"Honey, you'll be home in six hours," he said. "These newbirth-mechanisms do everything but father the child for you."
She remembered an old-time song. "No, no, they can't take thataway from me!" and sang it, and they laughed as the helicopter liftedthem over the green way from country to city.
The doctor, a quiet gentleman named Wolcott, was very confident.Polly Ann, the wife, was made ready for the task ahead and the fatherwas put, as usual, out in the waiting room where he could suck oncigarettes or take highballs from a convenient mixer. He was feelingpretty good. This was the first baby, but there was not a thing toworry about. Polly Ann was in good hands.
Dr. Wolcott came into the waiting room an hour later. He looked likea man who has seen death. Peter Horn, on his third highball, did notmove. His hand tightened on the glass and he whispered:
"She's dead."
"No," said Wolcott, quietly. "No, no, she's fine. It's the baby."
"The baby's dead, then."
"The baby's alive, too, but—drink the rest of that drink and comealong after me. Something's happened."
Yes, indeed, something had happened. The "something" that had happenedhad brought the entire hospital out into the corridors. People weregoing and coming from one room to another. As Peter Horn was ledthrough a hallway where attendants in white uniforms were standingaround peering into each other's faces and whispering, he became quitesick. The entire thing had the air of a carnival, as if at any momentsomeone might step up upon a platform and cry:
"Hey, looky looky! The child of Peter Horn! Incredible!"
They entered a small clean room. There was a crowd in the room, lookingdown at a low table. There was something on the table.
A small blue pyramid.
"Why've you brought me here?" said Horn, turning to the doctor.
The small blue pyramid moved. It began to cry.
Peter Horn pushed forward and looked down wildly. He was very white andhe was breathing rapidly. "You don't mean that's it?"
The doctor named Wolcott nodded.
The blue pyramid had six blue snake-like appendages, and three eyesthat blinked from the tips of projecting structures.
Horn didn't move.
"It weighs seven pounds, eight ounces," someone said.
Horn thought to himself, they're kidding me. This is some joke.Charlie Ruscoll is behind all this. He'll pop in a door any momentand cry "April Fool!" and everybody'll laugh. That's not my child. Oh,horrible! They're kidding me.
Horn stood there, and the sweat rolled down his face.
Dr. Wolcott said, quietly. "We didn't dare show your wife. The shock.She mustn't be told about it—now."
"Get me away from here." Horn turned and his hands were opening andclosing without purpose, his eyes were flickering.
Wolcott held his elbow, talking calmly. "This is your child. Understandthat, Mr. Horn."
"No. No, it's not." His mind wouldn't touch