_Outcasts of a society of physically perfect people, they
couldn't stay and they couldn't go home again--yet there had
to be some escape for them. Oddly enough, there was!_
* * * * *
Cameron frowned intently at the top of the desk. It was difficult to
concentrate under the circumstances. "Your request was turned over to
the Medicouncil," he said. "After studying it, they reported back to
the Solar Committee."
Docchi edged forward, his face literally lighting up.
Dr. Cameron kept his eyes averted; the man was damnably disconcerting.
"You know what the answer is. A flat no, for the present."
Docchi leaned back. "We should have expected that," he said wearily.
"It's not entirely hopeless. Decisions like this can always be
changed."
"Sure," said Docchi. "We've got centuries." His face was
flushed--_blazing_ would be a better description.
Absently, Cameron lowered the lights in the room as much as he could.
It was still uncomfortably bright. Docchi was a nuisance.
"But why?" asked Docchi. "You know that we're capable. Why did they
refuse?"
Cameron had tried to avoid that question. Now it had to be answered
with blunt brutality. "Did you think you would be chosen? Or Nona, or
Jordan, or Anti?"
Docchi winced. "Maybe not. But we've told you that we're willing to
abide by what the experts say. Surely from a thousand of us they can
select one qualified crew."
"Perhaps so," said Cameron. He switched on the lights and resumed
staring at the top of the desk. "Most of you are biocompensators.
Ninety per cent, I believe. I concede that we ought to be able to get
together a competent crew." He sighed. "But you're wasting your time
discussing this with me. I'm not responsible for the decision. I can't
do anything about it."
Docchi stood up. His face was colorless and bright.
Dr. Cameron looked at him directly for the first time. "I suggest you
calm down. Be patient and wait; you may get your chance."
"You wait," said Docchi. "We don't intend to."
The door opened for him and closed behind him.
Cameron concentrated on the desk. Actually he was trying to look
through it. He wrote down the card sequence he expected to find. He
opened a drawer and gazed at the contents, then grimaced in
disappointment. No matter how many times he tried, he never got better
than strictly average results. Maybe there was something to telepathy,
but he hadn't found it yet.
He dismissed it from his mind. It was a private game, a method of
avoiding involvement while Docchi was present. But Docchi was gone
now, and he had better come up with some answers. The right ones.
He switched on the telecom. "Get me Medicouncilor Thorton," he told
the robot operator. "Direct, if you can; indirect if you have to. I'll
wait."
With an approximate mean diameter of thirty miles, the asteroid was
listed on the charts as Handicap Haven. The regular inhabitants were
willing to admit the handicap part of the name, but they didn't call
it haven. There were other terms, none of them suggesting sanctuary.
It was a hospital, of course, but even more like a convalescent home,
_the permanent kind_. A healthy and vigorous humanity had built it for
those few who were less fortunate. A splendid gesture, but, like many
such gestures, the reality fell somewhat short of the original
intentions.
The robot operator interrupted his thoughts. "Medicouncilor Thorton
will speak to you."
The face of an older man filled the screen. "On my way to the
satellites of Jupiter. I'll be in direct range for the next half
hour." At such distance, transmission and reception were practically
instantaneous. "You wanted to speak to me about the Solar Committee
reply?"
"I do. I informed Docchi a few minutes ago."
"How did he react?"
"He didn't like it. As a matter of fact, he was mad all the way
through."
"That speaks well for his mental resiliency."
"They all seem to have enough spirit, though, and nothing to use it
on," said Dr. Cameron. "I confess I didn't look at him often, in spite
of the fact that he was quite presentable. Handsome, even, in a
startling way."