iocompensation 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 t