"I thought so too but now I'm convinced they're no longer harmless. I'd
like permission to break up the group. Humanely of course."
"I always welcome new ideas."
In spite of what he'd said the medicouncilor probably did have an open
mind. "Start with those it's possible to do the most with. Docchi,
for instance. With prosthetic arms, he appears normal except for that
uncanny fluorescence. Granted that the last is repulsive to the average
person. We can't correct the condition medically but we can make it
into an asset."
"An asset? Very neat, if it can be done." The medicouncilor's
expression said it couldn't be.
"Gland opera," said Cameron, hurrying on. "The most popular program
in the solar system, telepaths, teleports, pyrotics and so forth the
heroes. Fake of course, makeup and trick camera shots.
"But Docchi can be made into a real star. The death-ray man, say. When
his face shines men fall dead or paralyzed. He'd have a tremendous
following of kids."
"Children," mused the medicouncilor. "Are you serious about exposing
them to his influence? Do you really want them to see him?"
"He'd have a chance to return to society in a way that would be
acceptable to him," said Cameron defensively. He shouldn't have
specifically mentioned kids.
"To him, perhaps," reflected the medicouncilor. "It's an ingenious
idea, doctor, one which does credit to your humanitarianism. But I'm
afraid of the public's reception. Have you gone into Docchi's medical
history?"
"I glanced at it before I called him in." The man was unusual,
even in a place that specialized in the abnormal. Docchi had been
an electrochemical engineer with a degree in cold lighting. On his
way to a brilliant career, he had been the victim of a particularly
messy accident. The details hadn't been described but Cameron could
supplement them with his imagination. He'd been badly mangled and
tossed into a tank of the basic cold lighting fluid.
There was life left in the body; it flickered but never went entirely
out. His arms were gone and his ribs were crushed into his spinal
column. Regeneration wasn't easy; a partial rib cage could be built up,
but no more than that. He had no shoulder muscles and only a minimum
in his back and now, much later, that was why he tired easily and why
the prosthetic arms with which he'd been fitted were merely ornamental,
there was nothing which could move them.
And then there was the cold lighting fluid. To begin with it was
semi-organic which, perhaps, was the reason he had remained alive so
long when he should have died. It had preserved him, had in part
replaced his blood, permeating every tissue. By the time Docchi had
been found his body had adapted to the cold lighting substance. And the
adaptation couldn't be reversed and it was self-perpetuating. Life was
hardier than most men realized but occasionally it was also perverse.
"Then you know what he's like," said the medicouncilor, shaking his
head. "Our profession can't sponsor such a freakish display of his
misfortune. No doubt he'd be successful on the program you mention. But
there's more to life than financial achievement or the rather peculiar
admiration that would be certain to follow him. As an actor he'd have a
niche. But can you imagine, doctor, the dead silence that would occur
when he walks into a social gathering of normal people?"
"I see," said Cameron, though he didn't--not eye to eye. He didn't
agree with Thorton but there wasn't much he could do to alter the
other's conviction at the moment. There was a long fight ahead of him.
"I'll forget about Docchi. But there's another way to break up the
group."