They had been working with hormones when something had happened that occasioned the warning sent to Earth. Or had there been a warning? Had the warning been a fake? Was there something going on here the Solar government didn't want anyone to know? Why had they sent Stella to Earth? Why were they so pleased that she was so well received? What was it Nevin had asked ... and _the government, it does not suspect_? Why should the government suspect? What was there for it to suspect? Just a mindless creature that sang like the bells of heaven. That hormone business, now. Hormones did funny things to people. I should know, said West, talking to himself. A little faster and a little quicker. A mental shortcut here and there. And you scarcely know, yourself, that you are any different. That's how the race develops. A mutation here and another there and in a thousand years or two a certain percentage of the race is not what the race had been a thousand years before. Maybe it was a mutation back in the Old Stone Age who struck two flints together and made himself a fire. Maybe another mutant who dreamed up a wheel and took a stoneboat and changed it to a wagon. Slowly, he said, it would have to be slowly. Just a little at a time. For if it were too much, if it were noticeable, the other humans would kill off each mutation as it became apparent. For the human race cannot tolerate divergence from the norm, even though mutation is the process by which the race develops. The race doesn't kill the mutants any more. It confines them to mental institutions or it forces them into such dead-ends of expression as art or music, or it finds nice friendly exiles for them, where they will be comfortable and have a job to do and where, the normal humans hope, they'll never know what they are. It's harder to be different now, he thought, harder to be a mutant and escape detection, what with the medical boards and the psychiatrists and all the other scientific mumbo-jumbo the humans have set up to guard their peace of mind. Five hundred years ago, thought West, they would not have found me out. Five hundred years ago I might not have realized the fact myself. Controlled mutation? Now that was something different. That was the thing the government had in mind when it sent the commission here to Pluto, taking advantage of the cold conditions to develop hormones that might mutate the race. Hormones that might make a better race, that might develop latent talents or even add entirely new characteristics calculated to bring out the best that was in humanity. Controlled mutations, those were all right. It was only the wild mutations that the government would fear. What if the members of the commission had developed a hormone and tried it on themselves? His thought stopped short, pleased with the idea, with the possible solution. Upon the bedpost the little monstrosity fingered its mouth, slobbering gleefully. A knock came on the door. "Come in," called West.