ime 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.

* * * * *

The race went on. Backdrop: planets, stars, darkness. The little
flecks of light that edged nearer didn't seem cheerful to Jordan. His
lips were fixed in a straight, hard line. He could hear Docchi come in
behind him.

"Nice speech," said Cameron.

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

"That's the trouble, it was just a speech. It didn't do you any good.
My advice is to give up before you get hurt."

"It would be."

Cameron stood at the threshold. "I may as well tell you," he said
reluctantly. "I tried to before the broadcast, as soon as I found out
what you were going to do. But you wouldn't listen."

He came into the control compartment. Nona was huddled in a seat,
motionless, expressionless. Anti was absent.

"You know why the Medicouncil refused to let you go?"

"Sure," said Docchi.

"The general metabolism of accidentals is further from normal than
that of creatures we dredge from the bottom of the sea. Add to that an
enormously elongated life span and you ought to see the Medicouncil's
objection."

"Get to the point!"

"Look at it this way," Cameron continued almost desperately. "The
Centauri group contains quite a few planets. From what we know of
cosmology, intelligent life probably exists there to a greater or
lesser extent. You will be our representatives to them. What _they_
look like isn't important; it's their concern. But our ambassadors
have to meet certain minimum standards. They at least--damn it, don't
you see that they at least have to _look_ like human beings?"

"I know you feel that way," said Jordan, rigid with contempt.

"I'm not talking for myself," Cameron said. "I'm a doctor. The
medicouncilors are doctors. We graft on or regenerate legs and arms
and eyes. We work with blood and b