Karl Hosten stiffened and ran a hand over his stubbled scalp. "The law is the law; genetic defects must be-"

"A clubfoOt is not a genetic defect!" Sally said with quiet deadliness. "It's a result of carriage during pregnanc/*-a spear of guilt stabbed her-"which can be, was, corrected surgically. And you didn't even tell me you were having him sterilized in the delivery room. I didn't find out until he was eleven years old!"

"Would you have been happier if you knew? Would he?"

"How happy would he be when he found out he couldn't be Chosen?"

Karl swallowed and looked very slightly away. He is my son too, he didn't say. Aloud: "There are many fine careers open to Probationers-Emeritus. Johan is an intelligent boy. The University-"

"As a Washout" Sally said, using the cruel slang term for those jvho failed the exacting Trial of Life at eighteen after being born to or selected for the training system. It was far better than Prote'ge' status, anything was, but in die Land of the Chosen…

"We've had this conversation too many times," she said.

Karl sighed. "Correct. Let us get this over with."

She looked around. "John!"

John Hosten felt prickly, as if his own skin were too tij^ht and belonged to somebody else. Everyone had been too quiet in the steamcar, after they picked him up at the school. He'd already said good-bye to his friends- he didn't have many-and packed. Vulf, his dog, was already on board the ship. / don't ttxtnt to listen to them fight, he thought, and began drifting away from his mother and father.

That put him near another boy about his own age. Johns eyes slid back to him, curiosity driving his misery away a little. The stranger was skinny and tall, red-haired and freckled. His hair was oddly cut, short at the sides and floppy on top, combed-a foreigner's style, different from both the Chosen crop and the bowl-cut of a Proti. He wore a thin fabric pullover printed in bizarre colorful patterns, baggy shorts, laced shoes with rubber soles, and a ridiculous looking billed cap.