"It seems strange to us. Barton, that you people are male or female. Only one or the other, I mean. We are both, all of us. But not so strongly, to see. That is why we didn't understand, and spoiled Siewen and the Freak."

And Limila?

"I will show you," she said, and pulled up her garment, baring the torso. Barton didn't see anything especially noteworthy, only the flexible chitinous body shell, with the little bumps and dimples up the front.

"Look closer. Barton," Eeshta said. "See the small

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raised portions, and the indented places? How they make a pattern up the middle of me there, thus-wide?"

He nodded, thinking: "So that's what the non-skid tread is all about. .."

"It is the same on all of us," she said, "so that if any two come together, they fit, each feature." True: the pattern was symmetrical. With two Demu face to face, every bump would meet a dimple. There were about a dozen of each. Barton was too embarrassed to count carefully, it had been a long time since he'd played "... and I'll show you mine."

"In breeding season," Eeshta continued, "two adults come facing together and hold. From the concave parts which have the eggs, a substance flows that hardens and maintains the two tightly together but does not block the passages. From the convex parts then come cells to fertil- ize the eggs. The two Demu are not entirely awake but are in bliss. A day later comes the hard work of break- ing loose from each other. Then the eggs are laid, each adult's into his own breeding tank. The hatching and growth .cycles are complex, too long to explain now. Only a very few of many survive. Dr. Ling is writing a paper on it, I think."

"I'll try to get around to reading it."

"So for me," Eeshta concluded, "Hishtoo provided the egg, not the other cell."

Yeah, I think I've got it now, Barton thought. Hish- too's her mommy; at the same time Hishtoo was being some other little Demu's daddy. Or several. And Whnee, or Eeshta, wasn't a "she" at all; the concept didn't ap- ply. Nonetheless Barton continued to think of the young Demu as female.

"Well, thanks for telling me," he said finally. "I think we'd better be heading back now, don't you?" Eeshta was agreeable; they began the return walk. They had gotten well away from the building complex and were in open country; Eeshta seemed to enjoy looking around, observing the terrain. The walk back was mostly silent.

Something was nagging at Barton's mind, something about Eeshta. It wouldn't come clear. Maybe more con- versation would jog it Loose.

"What are you going to be doing next, Eeshta?"

"I want to learn more. Much more. There is a great deal to leam, I think."

"Yeah, I wouldn't be surprised. But then what?" He

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really shouldn't push the kid this way. Barton thought.

How can a prisoner make plans? But at least Eeshta was only a captive, not a zoo creature and experimental ani- mal as Barton and the others had been.

"If you ever take me back to my people," Eeshta said, "I will be a-a missionary, you call it. I will tell how you are also people and not to be treated as animals or made like Siewen or the Freak."

'That's a worthy cause," Barton said absently. Then it hit him. "Like who?"

"Like Siewen or the Freak," she said in puzzlement.

Siewen. Not "Shiewen."

Barton had become so used to the sh-zh iopped-tongue accent of Siewen and Limila that he no longer heard it consciously. So he hadn't noticed until now what had been nagging at him-that Eeshta's pronunciation was perfect.

"Say after me, Eeshta," he said. "Siewen. Shiewen."

"Siewen. Shiewen. Why, Barton?" Then Eeshta gave the Demu smile. "Ob, I see. It's the ttfmg they made for me. Look."

She opened her mouth wide and pointed to its roof.

There was a piece of acrylic plastic there, like part of a dental plate. And it made a ridge that Eesbta's short tongue could touch squarely to make the sounds of s and z.

"Every morning I must spread a paste on it so it stays in place," she said. "The man who made it showed how to do this. A dentist, he is called."

A dentist. Dental plates. Barton, you are the most stupid man in the world.

"We'd better get on back, Eeshta. There are some things I have to do."

They walked faster then, not talking. Barton was in a hurry when he left Eeshta off at her guarded home. He took time, though, to thank the guard for letting her come walking, to gravely thank Eeshta herself for the plea- sure of her company and to assure her he'd see her again soon. Eeshta gave him the Demu smile and went indoors.

Barton hotfooted it to his own quarters. As he tried to get Tarleton on the phone, he was thankful that Limila wasn't there. He didn't dare let her know what he had in mind, until he knew more. Tarleton wasn't in bis office, and Barton couldn't get through to the ship; those

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lines were hot most of the time. He flipped a mental coin and decided to stick his neck out; he punched the num- ber of Dr. Arieta Fox, and got her on the third ring. He wasted no time in idle chatter.

"This is Barton. About the medical group here on the project-how are we fixed for plastia surgeons?"

It took a little time. Dr. Fox raached the ship via a priority line. Tarleton checked back to see exactly what Barton had in mind. When Barton totd him, be didn't argue.

"I feel stupid as hell," Barton said, "for not thinking of this sooner. The only saving grace is that none of the rest of you bastards did, either." He could say that to Tarleton, because bis real respect was no secret to either of them.

"I suppose the reason we didn't-and believe me, Barton, I feel every bit as badly about it as you do-is that we have only seen your companions as they are now."

"Yeah, I guess that's so. But hell, I don't have even tha^excuse."

"You had your own worries, Barton. Nice that you're working out of them."

Two days later Barton was talking with a plastic sur- geon named Raymond Parr, a tall languid-seeming man, in an office not far from Dr. Fox's. They were look- ing at Barton's paintings of the Limila-that-had-been, alongside some unflattering closeups of Limila as she was now. "What do you think you can do. Doctor?"

Parr was in no hurry. He looked at the pictures and at the paintings. Finally he spoke. "It depends on how far you and the prospective patient are willing to go. I assume from my limited knowledge of this entire project that expense is no object. A great deal more can be done in the way of repairs, these days, than most people think. But there are limits; in some cases these depend on whether it is appearance or function that you have in mind." Dr. Parr raised his eyebrows at Barton as if he'd asked a "question; Barton shrugged the ball right back to him.

"All right; let's go down the list systematically. I could add a toe to each foot with a cartilage graft, but it wouldn't bend naturally; same thing with me fingers. I'd advise you to leave all that alone, but it's your choice; it might be worth it on the feet, at that, for better balance.

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The nails are gone; if you like, I can recess niches for cosmetic glue-on nails. For social purposes a few well- shaped daubs of nail polish would do nearly as well, and be less difficult and expensive." Barton shook his head with impatience, but he was making notes.

"Well, whatever you choose," the doctor continued.

"The navel is no problem; any of my assistants as a rou- tine chore can remodel one or delete it or punch out a new one in a better cosmetic location. As to the simula- tion of external genitals, it's a simple matter to stretch folds of skin and bond them into place, if you wish. And I assume you'll want the minor abdominal scarification removed."