He dismissed it from his mind. It was a private game, a method of avoiding involvement while Docchi was present. But Docchi was gone now, and he had better come up with some answers. The right ones. He switched on the telecom. "Get me Medicouncilor Thorton," he told the robot operator. "Direct, if you can; indirect if you have to. I'll wait." With an approximate mean diameter of thirty miles, the asteroid was listed on the charts as Handicap Haven. The regular inhabitants were willing to admit the handicap part of the name, but they didn't call it haven. There were other terms, none of them suggesting sanctuary. It was a hospital, of course, but even more like a convalescent home, _the permanent kind_. A healthy and vigorous humanity had built it for those few who were less fortunate. A splendid gesture, but, like many such gestures, the reality fell somewhat short of the original intentions. The robot operator interrupted his thoughts. "Medicouncilor Thorton will speak to you." The face of an older man filled the screen. "On my way to the satellites of Jupiter. I'll be in direct range for the next half hour." At such distance, transmission and reception were practically instantaneous. "You wanted to speak to me about the Solar Committee reply?" "I do. I informed Docchi a few minutes ago." "How did he react?" "He didn't like it. As a matter of fact, he was mad all the way through." "That speaks well for his mental resiliency." "They all seem to have enough spirit, though, and nothing to use it on," said Dr. Cameron. "I confess I didn't look at him often, in spite of the fact that he was quite presentable. Handsome, even, in a startling way." Thorton nodded. "Presentable. That means he had arms." "He did. Is that important?" "I think it is. He expected a favorable reply and wanted to look his best. As nearly normal as possible." "Trouble?" "I don't see how," said the medicouncilor uncertainly. "In any event, not immediately. It will take them some time to get over the shock of refusal. They can't do anything, really. Individually they're helpless. Collectively--there aren't parts for a dozen sound bodies on the asteroid." "I've looked over the records," said Dr. Cameron. "Not one accidental has ever _liked_ being on Handicap Haven, and that covers quite a few years. But there has never been so much open discontent as there is now." "Someone is organizing them. Find out who and keep a close watch." "I know who. Docchi, Nona, Anti, and Jordan. But it doesn't do any good merely to watch them. I want your permission to break up that combination. Humanely, of course." "How do you propose to do it?"