ntly until Rolf
finished talking.

"It can't be done," he said at last. "Plastic surgeons can do almost
anything, but I can't turn you into an Earther. It's not just a matter
of chopping eight or ten inches out of your legs; I'd have to alter your
entire bone structure or you'd be a hideous misproportioned monstrosity.
And it can't be done. I can't build you a whole new body from scratch,
and if I could do it you wouldn't be able to afford it."

Rolf stamped his foot impatiently. "You're the third surgeon who's given
me the same line. What is this--a conspiracy? I see what you can do. If
you can graft a third arm onto somebody, you can turn me into an
Earther."

"Please, Mr. Dekker. I've told you I can't. But I don't understand why
you want such a change. Hardly a week goes by without some Yawk boy
coming to me and asking to be turned into a Spacer, and I have to refuse
him for the same reasons I'm refusing you! That's the usual course of
events--the romantic Earther boy wanting to go to space, and not being
able to."

An idea hit Rolf. "Was one of them Kal Quinton?"

"I'm sorry, Mr. Dekker. I just can't divulge any such information."

Rolf shot his arm across the desk and grasped the surgeon by the throat.
"Answer me!"

"Yes," the surgeon gasped. "Quinton asked me for such an operation.
Almost everyone wants one."

"And you can't do it?" Rolf asked.

"Of course not. I've told you: the amount of work needed to turn Earther
into Spacer or Spacer into Earther is inconceivable. It'll never be
done."

"I guess that's definite, then," Rolf said, slumping a little in
disappointment. "But there's nothing to prevent you from giving me a new
face--from taking away this face and replacing it with something people
can look at without shuddering."

"I don't understand you, Mr. Dekker," the surgeon said.

"I know that! Can't you see it--I'm _ugly_! Why? Why should I look this
way?"

"Please calm down, Mr. Dekker. You don't seem to realize that you're a
perfectly normal-looking Spacer. _You were bred to look this way._ It's
your genetic heritage. Space is not a thing for everyone; only men with
extraordinary bone structure can withstand acceleration. The first men
were carefully selected and bred. You see the result of five centuries
of this sort of breeding. The sturdy, heavy-boned Spacers--you, Mr.
Dekker, and your friends--are the only ones who are fit to travel in
space. The others, the weaklings like myself, th