Address: Centauri, F. L. Wallace [best ereader for pc .txt] 📗

a cosmetikit? No. They'll have to take us as we are, unpretty, even repulsive."

"That's a better idea. I hadn't thought of the sympathy angle."

"Not sympathy—reality. It means too much to us. I don't want them to approve of us as handsome unfortunates and then have them change their minds when they discover what we're really like."

Sitting in silence, Docchi watched her go. She at least would benefit. Dr. Cameron apparently hadn't noticed that the exposure to extreme cold had done more to inhibit her unceasing growth than the acid bath. She probably would never get back to her former size but some day, if the cold treatment were properly investigated, she might be able to stand at normal gravity. For her there was hope. The rest of them had to keep on pretending that there was.

He examined the telecom. They were getting closer. No longer a point of light, Earth was a perceptible disc. He could see the outline of oceans, the shapes of land and the shadows of mountains, the flat ripple where prairies and plains were; he could imagine people. This was home—once.

Jordan came in. "The radio tape is rigged up. I haven't had to use it yet. But we have a friend trailing along behind us, an official friend."

"Has he blipped at us?"

"When I left he hadn't. He keeps hanging on."

"Is he overtaking us?"

"He'd like to."

"Don't let him."

"With this bag of bolts?"

"Shake it apart if you have to," said Docchi impatiently. "How soon can you slide into a broadcast orbit?"

Jordan furrowed his forehead. "I didn't think we'd planned on that this time. It was supposed to be our last resort."

"Anti and I have talked it over. We agree that this is our last chance. Now's the time to speak up if you've got any objections."

"I've been listening to the police calls," said Jordan thoughtfully. "No, I guess I haven't got any objection. Not with a heavy cruiser behind us. None at all."

They came together in the control compartment. "I don't want a focus exclusively on me," Docchi was saving. "Nor on Nona either, though I know she's most acceptable. To a world of perfect and beautiful people we may look strange but they must see us as we are. We have to avoid the family portrait effect."

"Samples," suggested Anti.

"In a sense we are, yes. A lot depends on whether they accept those samples."

For the first time Cameron began to realize what they were attempting. "Wait," he said urgently. "You're making a mistake. You've got to listen to me."

"We've got to do this and we've got to do that," said Jordan. "I'm getting tired of it. Can't you understand we're giving orders now?"

"That's right," said Docchi. "Jordan, see that Cameron stays out of the transmitting angle and doesn't interrupt. We've come too far to let him influence us."

"Sure. If he makes a sound I'll melt the teeth out of his mouth." Jordan held the toaster against his side, away from the telecom but aimed at Cameron.

The doctor wanted to break in but the weapon, though small, was very real. And Jordan was ready to use it. That was the only justification for his silence, that and the fact they'd learn anyway.

"Ready?" said Docchi.

"Flip the switch and we will be. I've hooked everything on. They can't help themselves. They've got to listen."

The rocket slipped out of the approach lanes. It spun down, stem tubes pulsing brightly, falling toward Earth in a tight trajectory. Down, down; the familiar planet was very large.

"Citizens of the solar system, everyone on Earth," began Docchi. "This is an unscheduled broadcast. We're using the emergency bands because for us it is an emergency. I said we, and you want to know who we are. Look at us. Accidentals—that's all we can be.

"We're not pretty. We know it. But there are other things more important. Accomplishment, contribution to progress. And though it may seem unlikely to you there are contributions we can make—if we're permitted to do so.

"But shut away on a little asteroid we're denied our rights. All we can do is exist in frustration and boredom, kept alive whether we want to be or not. And yet we can help you as you've helped us—if we're allowed to. You can't go to the stars yet, but we can. And ultimately, through what we learn, you'll be able to.

"You've listened to experts who say it can't be done, that rockets are too slow and that the crew would die of old age before they got back. They're almost right, but accidentals are the exception. Ordinary people would die but we won't. The Medicouncil has all the facts—they know what we are—and still they refuse us."

At the side of the control compartment Cameron moved to protest. Jordan glanced at him, imperceptibly waggling the weapon. Cameron stopped, the words unspoken.

"Biocompensation," continued Docchi evenly as if nothing had occurred. "Let me explain what it means in case information on it has been suppressed. The principle of biocompensation has long been a matter of conjecture. This is the first age in which medical techniques are advanced enough to explore it. Every cell and organism tends to survive as an individual and a species. Injure it and it strives for survival according to the extent of damage. If it can it will heal the wound and live on in its present state. Otherwise it propagates almost immediately. You can verify this by forgetting to water the lawn and watch how soon it goes to seed.

"Humans aren't plants, you say. And yet the principle applies. Accidentals are people who have been maimed and mutilated almost past belief. And our bodies have had the assistance of medical science, real medical science. Everyone knows how, after certain illnesses, immunity to that disease can be acquired. And more than blood fractions are involved in the process. For us blood was supplied as long as we needed it, machines did our breathing, kidneys replaced, hearts furnished, glandular products in exact minute quantities, nervous and muscular systems regenerated—and our bodies responded. They had to respond or none of us would be here today. And such was the extremity of the struggle—so close did we come to it that we gained practical immunity to—death."

Sweat ran down Docchi's face. He longed for hands to wipe it away.

"Most accidentals are nearly immortal. Not quite of course; we may die four or five hundred years from now. Meanwhile there is no reason why we can't be explorers for you. Rockets are slow. You'd die before you got to Alpha Centauri and back. We won't. Time means nothing to us.

"Perhaps better faster rockets will be devised after we leave. You may get there before we do. We don't mind. We will have tried to repay you the best way we know how and that will satisfy us."

With an effort Docchi smiled. The instant he did so he felt it was a mistake, one he couldn't call back. Even to himself it seemed more like a snarl.

"You know where we're kept—that's more polite than saying imprisoned. We don't call it Handicap Haven. Our name for it is: Junkpile. And we're junkmen. Do you know how we feel?

"I don't know how you can persuade the Medicouncil to let us man an expedition to the stars. We've appealed and appealed and they've always turned us down. Now that we've let you know it's up to you. Our future as humans is at stake. Settle it with your conscience. When you go to sleep think of us out there on the junkpile."

He nudged the switch and sat down. His face was gray and his eyes were rimmed and burning.

"I don't want to bother you," said Jordan. "What'll we do about these?"

Docchi glanced at the telecom. The ships 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 fast sendoff. We can't let them take us until people have a chance to make their feelings known."

"Now that you've finished I want to discuss it with you," said Cameron. There was an odd tone to his voice.

"Later," said Docchi. "Save it. I'm going to sleep. Jordan, wake me if anything happens. And remember you don't have to listen to this fellow if you don't want to."

Jordan nodded contemptuously. "I know what he's like. He's got nothing to say to me."

Nona, leaning against the panel, paid no attention to any of them. She seemed to be listening to something nobody else could hear, she, to whom sound had no meaning. Docchi's body sagged as he went out. Her perpetual air of wondering search for something she could never have was not new but it was no more bearable because of that.

And while Docchi slept the race went on against a slowly changing backdrop of stars and planets. Only the darkness remained the same; it was immutable. The little flecks of light that edged nearer hour after hour didn't seem cheerful to Jordan. His lips were fixed in a thin hard line. His expression didn't alter. Presently, long after Earth was far behind, he heard Docchi come in again.

"I've been thinking about it," said Cameron. "Nice speech."

"Yeah." Docchi glanced at the screen. The view didn't inspire comment.

Cameron was standing at the threshold. "I may as well tell you," he said reluctantly. "I tried to stop the broadcast as soon as I found out what was going on. You wouldn't listen."

He came on into the control compartment. Nona was huddled in a seat, her face blankly incurious. Anti was absent, replenishing the acid for her robe. "Do you know why the Medicouncil refused to let you go?"

"Get to the point."

"Damn it, I am," said Cameron, sweating. "The Centauri group contains several planets, just how many we're not sure. From what we know of cosmology there's a good chance intelligent life exists there, probably not far behind us in technical development. Whoever goes there will be our representatives to an alien race. What they look like isn't important; it's their concern. But our ambassadors have to meet certain minimum standards. It's an important occasion, our future relations rest on. Damn it—don't you see our ambassadors must at least appear to be human beings?"

"You're not telling us anything new. We know how you feel." Jordan was rigid with disgust.

"You're wrong," said Cameron. "You're so wrong. I'm not speaking for myself. I'm a doctor. The medicouncilors are doctors. We graft on or regenerate legs and arms and eyes. The tools of our trade are blood and bones and intestines. We know very well what people look like from the inside. We're well aware of the thin borderline that separates normal men and women from accidentals.

"Can't you still understand what I'm saying? They're perfect, everybody's perfect. Too much so. They can't tolerate small blemishes. More money is spent for research on acne than to support the whole asteroid. They rush to us with wrinkles and dandruff. Health, or the appearance of it, has become a fetish. You may think the people you appealed to are sympathetic but what they feel is something else."

"What are you driving at?" said Docchi in a low voice.

"Just this: if it were up to the Medicouncil you'd be on your way to the Centauris. It isn't. The decision wasn't made by us. Actually it came directly from the Solar Government. And the Solar Government never acts contrary to public opinion."

Docchi turned away, his face wrinkled in distaste. "I didn't think you had the nerve to stand there and say that."

"I didn't want to. But you've got to know the truth." Cameron twisted his head uncomfortably. "You're not far from Earth. You can still pick up the reaction to your broadcast. Try it and see."

Jordan looked at Docchi who nodded imperceptibly. "We may as well," said Docchi. "It's settled now, one way or the other. Nothing we can do will change it."

Jordan searched band after band, eagerly at first. His enthusiasm died and still the reaction never varied. Private citizen or public figure, man or woman, the indignation was concealed but nevertheless firm and unmistakable. There was no doubt accidentals were unfortunate but they were well taken care of. There was no need to trade on deformity; the era of the freak show had passed and it never would return.

"Turn it off," said Docchi at last.

Numbly Jordan complied.

"Now what?" he said.

"Why fight it?" said the doctor. "Go back to the asteroid. It'll be forgotten."

"Not by us," said Docchi dully. "But there doesn't seem to be any choice. It would have been better if we had tried to work through the Medicouncil. We misjudged our allies."

"We knew you had," said Cameron. "We thought we'd let you go on thinking as you did. It gave you something to hope