Progeny by Philip K. Dick

Ed Doyle hurried. He caught a surface car, waived fifty credits in the robot driver’s face, mopped his florid face with a red pocket-handkerchief, unfastened his collar, perspired and licked his lips and swallowed piteously all the way to the hospital.

The surface car slip up to a smooth halt before the great white-domed hospital building. Ed leaped out and bounded up the steps three at a time, pushing through the visitors and the convalescent patients standing on the broad terrace. He there his weight against the door and emerged in the lobby, astonishing the attendants and persons of importance moving about their tasks.

“Where?” Ed demanded, gazing around, his feet wide apart, his fists clenched, his chest rising and falling. His breath came hoarsely, like and animal’s. Silence fell over the lobby. Everyone turned toward him, pausing in their work. “Where?” Ed demanded again. “Where is she? They?”

It was fortunate Janet had been delivered of a child on this of all days. Proxima Centauri was a long way from Terra and the service was bad. Anticipating the birth of his child, Ed had left Proxima some weeks before.