"We usually do," the coordinator agreed, "but every once in a while, one slips through inspection with faulty communal-perception. The one you've got is obviously a throw-back." The coordinator coughed apologetically. "It's really not the boy's fault, of course, but I'm afraid we'll have to reclaim him."
"The sooner the better," Mr. Ames said. "This mess is upsetting my work at the lab. When can I get a replacement?"
"We'll send a new model over when we pick up the reject. Will tomorrow morning be convenient?"
"Sure. Fine. Just make sure this one is normal. You better check our physio records too. I hear the people down the circle got one that didn't look like them at all."
"Don't worry," the coordinator assured him. "You'll get a boy you can be proud of this time. Will there be anything more now?"
"No, no, I guess not." An uneasy feeling slipped into Mr. Ames's consciousness. "I just wondered," he said, suddenly. "What will happen to Don—I mean, the reject you sent us. Will he be—uh—destroyed?"
The coordinator laughed. "Heavens, no, Mr. Ames," she said, lightly. "He'll be sent to the Biological Reservation and allowed to live out his life span with other rejects. He'll be much happier there. We're not savages, you know."
"That's right," Mr. Ames said, his tone matching her brightness. "We're not savages. Well, we'll be expecting the new one tomorrow, and thanks for all your trouble."
"No trouble at all," the coordinator said, smoothly. "Feel free to call on us any time."