In a way they were pathetic--the patchwork humans, the half or quarter men and women, the fractional organisms masquerading as people--an illusion which died hard for them. Medicine and surgery were partly to blame. Techniques were too good, or not good enough, depending on the viewpoint. Too good in that the most horribly injured person, if he were still alive, could be kept alive! Not good enough because a percentage of the injured couldn't be returned to society completely sound and whole. There weren't many like that; but there were some, and all of them were on the asteroid. They didn't like it. At least they didn't like being _confined_ to Handicap Haven. It wasn't that they wanted to go back to the society of the normals, for they realized how conspicuous they'd be among the multitudes of beautiful, healthy people on the planets. What the accidentals did want was ridiculous. They desired, they hoped, they petitioned to be the first to make the long, hard journey to Alpha and Proxima Centauri in rockets. Trails of glory for those that went; a vicarious share in it for those who couldn't. Nonsense. The broken people, those without a face they could call their own, those who wore their hearts not on their sleeves, but in a blood-pumping chamber, those either without limbs or organs--or too many. The categories seemed endless. The accidentals were qualified, true. In fact, of all the billions of solar citizens, _they alone could make the journey and return_. But there were other factors that ruled them out. The first point was never safe to discuss with them, especially if the second had to be explained. It would take a sadistic nature that Cameron didn't possess. * * * * * Docchi sat beside the pool. It was pleasant enough, a pastoral scene transplanted from Earth. A small tree stretched shade overhead. Waves lapped and made gurgling sounds against the sides. No plant life of any kind grew and no fish swam in the liquid. It looked like water, but it wasn't. It was acid. In it floated something that monstrously resembled a woman. [Illustration] "They turned us down, Anti," Docchi said bitterly. "Didn't you expect it?" the creature in the pool asked. "I guess I didn't." "You don't know the Medicouncil very well." "Evidently I don't." He stared sullenly at the faintly blue fluid. "Why did they turn us down?" "Don't you know?" "All right, I know," he said. "They're pretty irrational." "Of course, irrational. Let them be that way, as long as we don't follow their example." "I wish I knew what to do," he said. "Cameron suggested we wait." "Biocompensation," murmured Anti, stirring restlessly. "They've always said that. Up to now it's always worked." "What else can we do?" asked Docchi. Angrily he kicked at an anemic tuft of grass. "Draw up another request?" "Memorandum number ten? Let's not be naive about it. Things get lost so easily in the Medicouncil's filing system."