"This is a little boy in a Hallowe'en mask. He is going out trick-or-treating."

He saw two grotesque entities ready to lock in mortal combat "A boy and a girl are having a picnic, out in the country." The room was air-conditioned, but he was sweating worse than he'd done outdoors in the heat. Dr.

Fox paid no apparent heed.

Barton saw a group of pseudo-lobsters who had once been human beings. "I get the impression of a family of baby rabbits. I guess my imagination is throwing in the ears; they sure aren't in the picture, are they?" He hoped it looked like a smile, what his face was doing on the outside. Because that had been too close.

Finally it was over and he could leave, smiling and bla- blaing with Arleta Fox. In another job, he felt, he could have liked her.

When he got home, Limila was fixing dinner. She ap- peared happier than he'd ever seen her, though with an undertone of anxiety.

But "Later, Barton; eat first," she said when he asked.

For a girl who had never seen Earthly foodstuffs until re- cently, he thought (not for the first time) that she was developing into one helluva good country-style cook.

Idly he noticed a row of scratches down her right arm.

Not so idly, he saw that some were red and swollen.

"What's all that?"

Testing for allergy reactions to antibiotics, it turned out. Dr. Parr had no wish to resort to full-asepsis surgery if he could help it; bacteria abound, and mutate. And he wanted to begin operations the next afternoon, if possible.

Starting with Siewen.

Barton nearly had to laugh when Limila told him of the Great Breast Controversy. Parr hadn't quite under- stood Limila's differences from Earth-human; he'd been flabbergasted when she told him where she wanted her surrogate breasts implanted. "Then he refused," she toid Barton. "He said he cannot rebuild an anatomy he doesn't know. So we decided none at all, for this time. He thinks I will change my mind ..."

But there was more. Barton could tell. And for once, he did want to hear what the problem was. He was a long time getting it out of her. Finally in bed, in the dark, holding each other like two small children afraid of the bogeyman, she said it.

"The pain. Barton. The pain again. I am afraid."

85.

"WeH, sure," be said, "these things hurt some, as they heal up. But it's not all that bad. I mean, it's sure as hell worth it, isn't it?"

"No, I mean the cutting, the stretching, the binding to- gether, all of that It was very bad before. Barton, with the Demu. Why should it be easier now?"

He sat upright, dislodging her from his embrace. "For Chrissakesi Didn't the Demu put you to sleep for all that butchering? Or even give you a shot or pill to kill the pain?**

They hadn't The sleep gun? *They never use it again on one they have decided to make Demu. With much use, effects on memory become permanent" Barton cringed, thinking what she must have endured.

"But you don't think we do surgery that way? You have surgeons on Tilara; what do they use to control pain?"

'There is a drug; pain becomes ecstasy. I think you do not have it here."

"If we have, it's probably illegal. We use anesthetics;

you go to sleep, and wake up when it's all over. Didn't Parr say anything?"

"No."

"Did you ask him?"

"About pain,' I ask. No trouble, he said; we do it with a general. I say no. Such a foolish ideal**

"Huh? I don't get you. Run that one through again."

"A general? Like the man Parkhurst? What could he do?"

Barton broke up; he couldn't help it. Grabbing Limila and hugging her fiercely, he laughed so hard that tears came. He hadn't laughed like that in over eight years. Then he explained, gently, the difference between a general officer and a general anesthetic. When she understood, Limila managed a small laugh of her own. It was tentative, tremulous, but in the right direction. "It'll be all right,"

he said. "Really, it will."

He held her close until she was asleep. For a time he had little luck getting himself to sleep. He was thinking how much respect, even more than he had accorded her, Limila deserved for what she had gone through. Or Sie- wen, for that matter. Or even Whosits.

Next morning Barton was to take Dr. Parr to the ship, as well as Limila. At the motor pool, no one hassled him for permission about anything; they assumed he had it.

66.

From Parr's office he called the dentist; might as well have impressions made for plates as soon as possible.

The height factor could be measured as soon as lip sur- gery was complete, but Parr had said the mouth would then be too tender for impression work.

At the ship, Tarleton was in a hurried mood. Com- pared to the stow beariike man Barton had first met, he was practically a streak of lightning. "Barton," he said at once, "the new ship, up at Seattle, is ready for compar- ison testing; Boeiog really pushed it to meet the contract Tomorrow we take this one up there. All right?'*

Barton shook his head, not in negation but to get his bearings. Yes; all right. "OK, Tarleton; I'm ready if you are. But I want you to meet Dr. Parr, the surgeon who is going to do the job on Limila and the rest. I hope it doesn't bust your program any, but he needs Siewen and Limila for a while, starting this afternoon."

Tarleton started to swell and possibly burst like the*

frog in the fable, but he too shook his head and con- sidered his priorities. "How long?" he asked. "Will I have access to them for questions if I need them?" Barton turned to Dr. Parr for the answers.

"Not for the first three days, Mr. Tarleton. Even with the newer drugs, it takes that long to reduce the swelling;

it used to take weeks." He paused. "Will that be satisfac- tory?"

Tarleton started to speafc. Then he looked at Limila, her mangled face hidden by the hood and veil. He looked at Siewen, too. "Hell, I guess I can spare three days. Con- sidering everything. After all, I'll be busy up north that long, before I can leave Barton on his own."

It was settled. Tarleton wanted to run Hishtoo through one last intensive grilling session before he turned Siewea and Limila over to Parr. To pass the time, waiting. Bar- ton took the latter into the ship for a guided tour and some chat with Kreugel. There wasn't much that was news to Barton, but be liked Kreuge! and didn't mind hearing again what obviously interested Parr. The only new facts were the initial results of testing the sleep gun versus the shield: as expected, given the maximum of power to both, you were safe behind the shield unless you were loo close to the gun for too long. The parameters were still being evaluated, but the limits had been determined. Bar- ton didn't ask about the effects on the test subjects. He I didn't really want to know.

87.

Toward lunchtime, he and Parr bade goodbye to Kreu- gel and went to the prefab, to pick up Limila and Siewen.

No one had asked Siewen whether he wanted to be re- modeled or not; Barton because it never entered his mind, and no one else because this was Barton's personal proj- ect. Siewen had heard the proposal discussed and hadn't said anything one way or the other, but then he never did, except to answer questions. Not any more.

In the prefab were Tarieton. Limila, Hishtoo, Siewen and two people Barton knew by sight but not by name.

Assistants of some kind. He nodded to alL

"You have it about wrapped up for now, Tarieton?"

he asked. The place was tense: Tarieton was obviously displeased, Limila stood in an apologetic stance. Siewen looked as if he weren't there'at all, and Hishtoo looked defiant