“I could do with a lot of it,” Kennon admitted. “Unless the inner structure of a Lani is as similar to human as their outer.” “There are differences,” the redhead admitted. “After all, we aren’t quite alike.” “Perhaps I’d better do some reading,” Kennon said. “You need me any more?” Jordan asked. “No--I think not.” “Good. I’ll get back. Frankly, I don’t like this any better than Blalok or the boss, but I’m low man on that pole. See you later.” Kennon chuckled as Jordan left. “Now, let’s get ready for that cadaver,” he said. “Carcass, doctor,” the redhead corrected. “A cadaver is a dead human body.” She accented the “human.” Even in death there is no equality, Kennon thought. He nodded and the Lani led the way to a door which opened into a good-sized office, liberally covered with bookshelves. An old-fashioned plastic desk, some office cybernetics, a battered voicewriter, and a few chairs completed the furnishings. The redhead placed several large folio volumes in front of him and stepped back from the desk as he leafed rapidly through the color plates. It was an excellent atlas. Dr. Williamson had been a careful and competent workman. Half an hour later, well fortified with a positional knowledge of Lani viscera, Kennon looked up at the redhead. She was still standing patiently, a statue of red-gold and bronze. “Get a smock and let’s go,” he said. “No--wait a minute.” “Yes, sir?” “What’s your name? I don’t want to say ‘Hey you!’” She smiled. “It’s Copper Glow--want my pedigree too?” “No--it wouldn’t mean anything to me. Do they call you Copper or Glow? or both?” “Just Copper, sir.” “Very well, Copper--let’s get going.” * * * The body of the dead Lani lay on the steel table, waxy and yellowish in the pitiless light of the fluorescents. She had been hardly more than a child. Kennon felt a twinge of pity--so young--so young to die. And as he looked he was conscious of another feeling. It had been an open secret among his classmates that he had refused an offer to study human medicine because of his aversion to dissecting cadavers. The sarcoplastic models were all right, but when it came to flesh, Kennon didn’t have the stomach for it. And now, the sight of the dead humanoid brought back the same cold sweat and gut-wrenching nausea that had caused him to turn to veterinary medicine eight years ago. He fought the spasms back as he approached the table and made the external examination. Icterus and a swollen abdomen--the rest was essentially normal. And he knew with cold certainty that he could not lay a scalpel edge upon that cold flesh. It was too human, too like his own. “Are you ready, Doctor?” the Lani standing across the table from him asked. “Shall I expose the viscera?” Kennon’s stomach froze. Of course! He should have realized! No pathologist did his own dissection. He examined. And that he could do. It was the tactile, not the visual sensations that upset him. He nodded. “The abdominal viscera first,” he said.