They went out to the kennels together. The cages were inside a sprawling concrete barn, which was divided into three large rooms--one for the fragile neuter humanoid creatures, and another for the lesser mutants, such as cat-Qs, dog-Fs, dwarf bears, and foot-high lambs that never matured into sheep. The third room contained a small gas chamber with a conveyor belt leading from it to a crematory-incinerator. Norris kept the third locked lest his wife see its furnishings. The doll-like neutroids began their mindless chatter as soon as their keepers entered the building. Dozens of blazing blond heads began dancing about their cages. Their bodies thwacked against the wire mesh as they leaped about their compartments with monkey grace. Their human appearance was broken by only two distinct features: short beaverlike tails decorated with fluffy curls of fur, and an erect thatch of scalp-hair that grew up into a bright candleflame. Otherwise, they appeared completely human, with baby-pink skin, quick little smiles, and cherubic faces. They were sexually neuter and never grew beyond a predetermined age-set which varied for each series. Age-sets were available from one to ten years human equivalent. Once a neutroid reached its age-set, it remained at the set's child-development level until death. "They must be getting to know you pretty well," Anne said, glancing around at the cages. Norris was wearing a slight frown as he inspected the room. "They've never gotten this excited before." He walked along a row of cages, then stopped by a K-76 to stare. "_Apple cores!_" He turned to face his wife. "How did apples get in there?" She reddened. "I felt sorry for them, eating that goo from the mechanical feeder. I drove down to Sherman III and bought six dozen cooking apples." "That was a mistake." She frowned irritably. "We can afford it." "That's not the point. There's a reason for the mechanical feeders." He paused, wondering how he could tell her the truth. He blundered on: "They get to love whoever feeds them." "I can't see--" "How would you feel about disposing of something that loved you?" Anne folded her arms and stared at him. "Planning to dispose of any soon?" she asked acidly. "Honeymoon's off again, eh?" She turned away. "I'm sorry, Terry. I'll try not to mention it again." He began unloading the truck, pulling the frightened and squirming doll-things forth one at a time with a snare-pole. They were one-man pets, always frightened of strangers. "What's the Delmont case, Terry?" Anne asked while he worked. "Huh?" "I heard you mention it on the phone. Anything to do with why you got your face scratched?" He nodded sourly. "Indirectly, yes. It's a long story." "Tell me."