Robert Silverberg

“ Laney said.
Rolf looked up at her. "I'm leaving space. I'm going to go to a surgeon and have him turn me into an Earther. I hate this filthy life!"
"He's drunk," Kanaday said.
"No, I'm not drunk," Rolf retorted. "I don't want to be an ape any more."
"Is that what you are? If you're an ape, what are they to you? Monkeys?" Kanaday laughed harshly.
"Are they really so wonderful?" Laney asked. "Does the life appeal to you so much that you'll give up space for it? Do you admire the Earthers so much?"
She's got me, Rolf thought. I hate Spacertown, but will I like Yawk any better? ”

“ She was dancing with one of the Conforms, a frail-looking man a few inches shorter than she, with regular, handsome features. She laughed at some sly joke, and he laughed with her.
Rolf watched the moon for a moment more, thinking of Laney's warning. They just want to make fun of you. Look at the big ape, they'll say.
He knew he had to get out of there immediately. He was a Spacer, and they were Earthers, and he scorned them for being contemptuous little dolls, and they laughed at him for being a hulking ape. He was not a member of their species; he was not part of their world. ”

“ Kanaday asked. "Haven't those Earthers pushed you around enough, so you have to go dance at one of their wild parties?"
"Leave me alone," Rolf muttered.
"You like this filth you live in? Spacertown is just a ghetto, that's all. The Earthers have pushed you right into the muck. You're not even a human being to them—just some sort of trained ape. And now you're going to go and entertain them. I thought you had brains, Rolf!" ”

“ Dekker. You don't seem to realize that you're a perfectly normal-looking Spacer. You were bred to look this way. It's your genetic heritage. Space is not a thing for everyone; only men with extraordinary bone structure can withstand acceleration. The first men were carefully selected and bred. You see the result of five centuries of this sort of breeding. The sturdy, heavy-boned Spacers—you, Mr. Dekker, and your friends—are the only ones who are fit to travel in space. The others, the weaklings like myself, the little people, resort to plastic surgery to compensate for their deficiency. ”

“ He probably weighed as much as both of them, he knew, and at six-four he was better than a foot taller. They looked like children next to him, like toys. The savage blast of acceleration would snap their flimsy bodies like toothpicks. ”

“ Kanaday appeared at the door of the shack again.
"Rolf. Hey! You turning into an Earther? Get rid of them two cuties before there's trouble."
Rolf turned and saw a little knot of Spacers standing on the other side of the street, watching him with curiosity. He glared at them.
"I'll do whatever I damn well please," he shouted across.
He turned back to the two Earthers. "Now, what is it you want?"
"I'm giving a party next week," the earless one said. "I'd like you to come. We'd like to get the Spacer slant on life."
"Party?" Rolf repeated. "You mean, dancing, and games, and stuff like that?" ”

“ He felt his powerful arm. "I'm a Spacer." Suddenly he glanced at her. "What are the suitcases for?" he said.
"I'm moving in," Laney said. "I need a place to sleep."
"What's the matter with Kanaday? Did he get tired of listening to you preaching? He's my friend, Laney; I'm not going to do him dirt."
"He's dead, Rolf. When the Earther cops came here to bring you back, and he saw what they did to you, his hatred overflowed. He always hated Earthers, and he hated them even more for the way you were being tricked into thinking they were worth anything. ”

“ Hardly a week goes by without some Yawk boy coming to me and asking to be turned into a Spacer, and I have to refuse him for the same reasons I'm refusing you! That's the usual course of events—the romantic Earther boy wanting to go to space, and not being able to."
An idea hit Rolf. "Was one of them Kal Quinton?"
"I'm sorry, Mr. Dekker. I just can't divulge any such information."
Rolf shot his arm across the desk and grasped the surgeon by the throat. "Answer me!"
"Yes," the surgeon gasped. "Quinton asked me for such an operation. Almost everyone wants one." ”

“ He tried to control his voice. "Why should we keep ourselves apart from the Earthers? Why shouldn't the two races get together?"
She put down her tray and sat next to him. "They're more than two races," she said patiently. "Earther and Spacer are two different species, Rolf. Carefully, genetically separated. They're small and weak, we're big and powerful. You've been bred for going to space; they're the castoffs, the ones who were too weak to go. The line between the two groups is too strong to break."
"And they treat us like dirt—like animals," Kanaday said. "But they're the dirt. ”

“ She was rugged, all right, and strong: a good hard worker. And she was well built. Suddenly his aches became less painful, as he looked at her and realized that she was infinitely more beautiful than the slick, glossy-looking girl he had kissed on the veranda, who had bought her teeth at a store and had gotten her figure from a surgeon. Laney, at least, was real.
"You know," he said at last, "I think I have an idea. You wait here and I'll come get you when my year's up. I'll have enough to pay passage to Venus for two. We can get a slightly smaller mansion than I planned on getting. ”

“ Dekker." The surgeon folded and unfolded his hands in impatience. "You must realize that you are what you are. Your appearance is a social norm, and for acceptance in your social environment you must continue to appear, well, perhaps, shall I say apelike?"
It was as bad a word as the surgeon could have chosen.
"Ape! Ape, am I! I'll show you who's an ape!" Rolf yelled, all the accumulated frustration of the last two days suddenly bursting loose. He leaped up and overturned the desk. Dr. Goldring hastily jumped backwards as the heavy desk crashed to the floor. ”

“ For a while the trend was to have everyone conform to a certain standard of beauty; if we couldn't be strong, we could at least be handsome. Lately a new theory of individualism has sprung up, and now we strive for original forms in our bodies. ”

“ I'll operate on myself!" He knocked Goldring against the wall, pulled down a costly solidograph from the wall and kicked it at him, and crashed through into the operating room, where he began overturning tables and heaving chairs through glass shelves. ”