plantations."

"Sit down."

Greg found a stool, and looked unhappily at the grimy fingernails of Dr.
Haskett which were now tapping the sink's edge. "Did your friend explain
how much it will cost?"

"The check's written." Greg handed it over. "It's dated ahead. I can
stop payment if you don't do what you promise. And secrecy is important.
My wife doesn't know what I'm doing."

"Marta," Dr. Haskett called. A girl from the front office came into the
laboratory, and in bored fashion pulled a soiled white robe over her
street dress.

"Lie down here." Dr. Haskett shoved two tables together to provide a
large, flat surface, and Marta shoved home the lock on the single door
leading out of the room. "But sign this release, first. And undress. You
prefer intravenous anaesthesia, I suppose?"

"There's not much risk?" Greg asked, his perspiring fingers slipping as
he tried to unknot his tie. "Not much risk that you'll fail to make good
... a good transplantation?"

"I guarantee that part of it," Dr. Haskett said, opening a case and
withdrawing instruments. "The only risk lies in the danger that it will
grow too fast in six months."

"I won't give it a chance. My wife gets sent to Mars next week. I'm
going to ask for a special check and get myself sent aboard the same
ship with her. I know the right people."

Marta laughed openly. Dr. Haskett shot a glare in her direction, then
looked calculatingly at Greg.

"You're talking like a child," he said. "If I implant cancerous tissue
in your body, you can't submit to a check for at least six months. The
examiners would find the scars of the operation. There are laws against
what you want me to do for you."

Greg stared at the tie he had finally pulled loose. "But I can't wait
six months," he said helplessly. "If Dora gets sent to Mars alone, you
know what will happen as well as I do. Deported people are automatically
divorced from their husbands and wives on Earth. They have to marry
again as soon as possible on Mars. The women need someone to support
them and their kids, the men need the women to run the houses up
there...."

The woman straightened her face with an effort, took off the white robe,
and tossed it on the floor. Then she unlocked the door and returned to
her office. Dr. Haskett turned his back on Greg, saying, "I'm afraid
there's nothing I can do for you, sir."

* * * * *

Greg drove from the rundown district faster than the