they were all in the control compartment. "i don't want a focus exclusively on me," docchi was saying. "to a world of perfect normals i may look strange, but we have to avoid the family portrait effect."

"samples," suggested anti.

"in a sense, yes. a lot depends on whether they accept those samples."

for the first time dr. cameron began to realize what they were up to. "wait!" he exclaimed. "you've got to listen to me!"

"we're not going to wait and we've already done enough listening to you," said docchi. "jordan, see that cameron stays out of the telecom transmitting angle and doesn't interrupt. we've come too far for that."

"sure," jordan promised harshly. "if he makes a sound, i'll melt the teeth out of his mouth." he held the toaster against his side, out of line with the telecom, but aimed at cameron's face.

cameron began to shake with urgency, but he kept still.

"ready?" docchi asked.

"flip the switch and we will be, with everything we've got. if they don't read us, it'll be because they don't want to."

the rocket slipped out of the approach lanes. it spun down, the stern tubes pulsing brightly, coming toward earth in a tight trajectory.

"citizens of the solar system!" began docchi. "everyone on earth! this is an unscheduled broadcast, an unauthorized appeal. we are using the emergency bands because, for us, it is an emergency. who are we? accidentals, of course, as you can see by looking at us. i know the sight isn't pretty, but we consider other things more important than appearance. accomplishment, for example. contributing to progress in ways normals cannot do.

"shut away on handicap haven, we're denied this right. all we can do there is exist in frustration and boredom; kept alive whether we want to be or not. yet we have a gigantic contribution to make ... if we are allowed to leave the solar system for alpha centauri! you can't travel to the stars now, although eventually you will.

"you must be puzzled, knowing how slow our present rockets are. no normal person could make the round trip; he would die of old age. but we accidentals can go! we would positively not die of old age! the medicouncil knows that is true ... and still will not allow us to go!"

at the side of the control compartment, cameron opened his mouth to protest. jordan, glancing at him, imperceptibly waggled the concealed weapon. cameron swallowed his words and subsided without a sound.

"biocompensation," continued docchi evenly. "you may know about it, but in case information on it has been suppressed, let me explain: the principle of biocompensation has long been a matter of conjecture. this is the first age in which medical technology is advanced enough to explore it. every cell, every organism, tends to survive, as an individual, as a species. injure it and it strives for survival according to the seriousness of the injury. we accidentals have been maimed and mutilated almost past belief.

"our organisms had the assistance of medical science. real medical science. blood was supplied as long as we needed it, machines did all our breathing, kidneys were replaced, hearts furnished, glandular products supplied in the exact quantities necessary, nervous and muscular systems were regenerated. in the extremity of our organic struggle, because we had the proper treatment, our bodies were wiped virtually free of death."

sweat ran down his face. he longed for hands to wipe it away.

"most accidentals are nearly immortal. not quite—we'll die four or five hundred years from now. meanwhile, there is no reason why we can't leave the solar system. rockets are slow; you would die before you got back from alpha centauri. we won't. time doesn't matter to us.

"perhaps better, faster rockets will be devised after we leave. you may get to there long before we do. we won't mind. we will simply have made our contribution to progress as best we could, and that will satisfy us."

with an effort docchi smiled. the instant he did, he felt it was a mistake, one that he couldn't rectify. even to himself it felt more like a snarl.

"you know where we're kept that's a politer word than imprisoned. we don't call it handicap haven; our name for it is the junkpile. and to ourselves we're junkmen. does this give you a clue to how we feel?

"i don't know what you'll have to do to force the medicouncil to grant their permission. we appeal to you as our last resort. we have tried all other ways and failed. our future as human beings is at stake. whether we get what we want and need is something for you to settle with your conscience."

he nudged the switch and sat down.

his face was gray.

"i don't like to bother you," said jordan, "but what shall we do about them?"

docchi glanced at the telecom. "they" were uncomfortably close and considerably more numerous than the last time he had looked.

"take evasive action," he said wearily. "swing close to earth and use the planet's gravity to give us a good push. we've got to keep out of their hands until people have time to react."

"i think you ought to know—" began cameron. there was an odd tone to his voice.

"save it for later," said docchi. "i'm going to sleep." his body sagged. "jordan, wake me up if anything important happens. and remember that you don't have to listen to this fellow unless you want to."

jordan nodded and touched the controls. nona, leaning against the gravital panel, paid no attention to the scene. she seemed to be listening to something nobody else could hear. that was nothing new, but it broke docchi's heart whenever he saw it. his breath drew in almost with a sob as he left the control room.