That girl on the snake, that lovely girl with the sweet smell and soft eyes and golden skin, that composite of all the white, black, brown, yellow and red races of Earth would never be his. The space ships and wonderful planets would never be his. _Never_, he thought, _because I am dead._ He was wrong. He wasn't dead. He opened his eyes later and vomited and was then hauled to his feet and stripped and given fresh clothing. He was taken by two Outsiders--only he didn't think of them that way any more, only used the term because he had no others--was taken by them to a white room and pushed inside and left there alone as the port slid shut. A voice spoke from the smooth white walls. "CPCNC-Earth urges you to accept psychiatric treatment." "No," John said automatically. He didn't want his brain touched. There were stories told by the masters-- The voice spoke again. "Very well. You have used the term of utmost profanity to villify a citizen of Upper City. The Galactic Scroll calls for a penalty of death. However, because of your youth, and probable syndromic history, the sentence is reduced to ten years in Re-education House. Have you anything to say?" John fought not to cry out. Ten years! That was worse than death! Six months was enough to break a man, and ten years would drive him mad. He'd wanted to say he was ready for CYC. He'd wanted to say he was anxious for the time when he'd be eligible for Integration, when he'd be sent to another part of Earth and allowed to mingle with the golden-skinned people and so lose his hatreds, fears and tensions. But now he couldn't. Because it wasn't a matter of free choice any longer. It was an escape from terror, from ten years in hell. Later, he was told that this room would be his home for the next ten years. He didn't answer the unseen voice, nor touch the food that was given him through the minor-port. He decided he would use the only means of escape men had ever found in Re-education House. He would starve himself to death. He meant it. * * * * * In the council room not far away, the thirteen members of CPCNC-Earth were considerably more subdued. They'd had an hour of waiting, and an hour of thinking. Each was now wrestling with his conscience, wondering what portion of responsibility was his in the coming decision. Of course, everyone in the Galaxy agreed that York's eight hundred thousand residents had to be eliminated since they were incorrigible race-god fanatics. But now that the moment was almost at hand, sterilization seemed quite drastic, and euthanasia-- To a man, they looked up as Mala entered the chamber. "Most Peaceful Sir," she began, stopping before Commissioner Dobu's chair. But Dobu snatched the transcription from her hand, mumbled over the code-identification and formal introductions, and read the meat of the report in a voice that trembled only slightly.