Produced by Sankar Viswanathan, Greg Weeks, and the OnlineDistributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net
Transcriber's Note:
This etext was produced from Galaxy Science Fiction April 1952. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.
Accidental Flight
By F. L. WALLACE
Illustrated by Ed Alexander
_Outcasts of a society of physically perfect people, they couldn't stay and they couldn't go home again--yet there had to be some escape for them. Oddly enough, there was!_
* * * * *
Cameron frowned intently at the top of the desk. It was difficult toconcentrate under the circumstances. "Your request was turned over tothe Medicouncil," he said. "After studying it, they reported back tothe Solar Committee."
Docchi edged forward, his face literally lighting up.
Dr. Cameron kept his eyes averted; the man was damnably disconcerting."You know what the answer is. A flat no, for the present."
Docchi leaned back. "We should have expected that," he said wearily.
"It's not entirely hopeless. Decisions like this can always bechanged."
"Sure," said Docchi. "We've got centuries." His face wasflushed--_blazing_ would be a better description.
Absently, Cameron lowered the lights in the room as much as he could.It was still uncomfortably bright. Docchi was a nuisance.
"But why?" asked Docchi. "You know that we're capable. Why did theyrefuse?"
Cameron had tried to avoid that question. Now it had to be answeredwith blunt brutality. "Did you think you would be chosen? Or Nona, orJordan, or Anti?"
Docchi winced. "Maybe not. But we've told you that we're willing toabide by what the experts say. Surely from a thousand of us they canselect one qualified crew."
"Perhaps so," said Cameron. He switched on the lights and resumedstaring at the top of the desk. "Most of you are biocompensators.Ninety per cent, I believe. I concede that we ought to be able to gettogether a competent crew." He sighed. "But you're wasting your timediscussing this with me. I'm not responsible for the decision. I can'tdo anything about it."
Docchi stood up. His face was colorless and bright.
Dr. Cameron looked at him directly for the first time. "I suggest youcalm down. Be patient and wait; you may get your chance."
"You wait," said Docchi. "We don't intend to."
The door opened for him and closed behind him.
Cameron concentrated on the desk. Actually he was trying to lookthrough it. He wrote down the card sequence he expected to find. Heopened a drawer and gazed at the contents, then grimaced indisappointment. No matter how many times he tried, he never got betterthan strictly average results. Maybe there was something to telepathy,but he hadn't found it yet.
He dismissed it from his mind. It was a private game, a method ofavoiding involvement while Docchi was present. But Docchi was gonenow, and he had better come up with some answers. The right ones.
He switched on the telecom. "Get me Medicouncilor Thorton," he toldthe robot operator. "Direct, if you can; indirect if you have to. I'llwait."
With an approximate mean diameter of thirty miles, the asteroid waslisted on the charts as Handicap Haven. The regular inhabitants werewilling to admit the handicap part of the name, but they didn't callit haven. There were other terms, none of them suggesting sanctuary.
It was a hospital, of course, but even more like a convalescent home,_the permanent kind_. A healthy and vigorous humanity had built it forthose few who were less fortunate. A splendid gesture, but, like manysuch gestures, the reality fell somewhat short of the originalintentions.
The robot operator interrupted his thoughts. "Medicouncilor Thortonwill speak to you."
The face of an older man filled the screen. "On my way to thesatellites of Jupiter. I'll be in direct range for the next halfhour." At such distance, transmission and reception were practicallyinstantaneous. "You wanted to speak to me about the Solar Committeereply?"
"I do. I informed Docchi a few minutes ago."
"How did he react?"
"He didn't like it. As a matter of fact, he was mad all the waythrough."
"That speaks well for his mental resiliency."
"They all seem to have enough spirit, though, and nothing to use iton," said Dr. Cameron. "I confess I didn't look at him often, in spiteof the fact that he was quite presentable. Handsome, even, in astartling way."
Thorton nodded. "Presentable. That means he had arms."
"He did. Is that important?"
"I think it is. He expected a favorable reply and wanted to look hisbest. As nearly normal as possible."
"Trouble?"
"I don't see how," said the medicouncilor uncertainly. "In any event,not immediately. It will take them some time to get over the shock ofrefusal. They can't do anything, really. Individually they'rehelpless. Collectively--there aren't parts for a dozen sound bodies onthe asteroid."
"I've looked over the records," said Dr. Cameron. "Not one accidentalhas ever _liked_ being on Handicap Haven, and that covers quite a fewyears. But there has never been so much open discontent as there isnow."
"Someone is organizing them. Find out who and keep a close watch."
"I know who. Docchi, Nona, Anti, and Jordan. But it doesn't do anygood merely to watch them. I want your permission to break up thatcombination. Humanely, of course."
"How do you propose to do it?"
"Docchi, for instance. With prosthetic arms he appears physicallynormal, except for that uncanny luminescence. That is repulsive to theaverage person. Medically there's nothing we can do about it, butpsychologically we might be able to make it into an asset. You'reaware that Gland Opera is the most popular program in the SolarSystem. Telepaths, teleports, pyrotics and so forth are the heroes.All fake, of course: makeup and trick camera shots. But Docchi can bemade into a real live star. The death-ray man, say. When his faceshines, men fall dead or paralyzed. He'd have a chance to return tonormal society under conditions that would be mentally acceptable tohim."
"Acceptable to him, perhaps, but not to society," reflected themedicouncilor. "An ingenious idea, one which does credit to yourhumanitarian outlook. Only it won't work. You have Docchi's medicalrecord, but you probably don't know his complete history. He was anelectrochemical engineer, specializing in cold lighting. He seemed onhis way to a brilliant career when a particularly messy accidentoccurred. The details aren't important. He was badly mangled andtossed into a tank of cold lighting fluid by automatic machinery. Itwas some time before he was discovered.
"There was a spark of life left and we managed to save him. We had toamputate his arms and ribs practically to his spinal column. Theproblem of regeneration wasn't as easy as it usually is. We were ableto build up a new rib case; that's as much as we could do. Under suchconditions, prosthetic arms are merely ornaments. They can be fastenedto him and they look all right, but he can't use them. He has no backor shoulder muscles to anchor them to.
"And add to that the adaptation his body made while he was in thetank. The basic cold lighting fluid, as you know, is semi-organic. Itpermeated every tissue in his body. By the time we got him, it wasactually a necessary part of his metabolism. A corollary, I suppose,of the fundamental biocompensation theory."
The medicouncilor paused and shook his head. "I'm afraid your idea isout, Dr. Cameron. I don't doubt that he would be successful on theprogram you mention. But there is more to life on the outside thansuccess. Can you picture the dead silence when he walks into a room ofnormal p
eople?"
"I see," said Cameron, though he didn't, at least not eye to eye. Themedicouncilor was convinced and there was nothing Cameron could do toalter that conviction. "The other one I had in mind was Nona," headded.
"I thought so." Thorton glanced at the solar chronometer. "I haven'tmuch time, but I'd better explain. You're new to the post and I don'tthink you've learned yet to evaluate the patients and their problemsproperly. In a sense, Nona is more impossible than Docchi. He was oncea normal person. She never was. Her appearance is satisfactory;perhaps she's quite pretty, though you must remember that