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+*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 59495 ***
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+                                REJECT
+
+                            BY JOHN JOHNSON
+
+                  _The officials had been napping the
+                 day Donnie passed inspection.... How
+                 else could you explain such an error
+                    in his emotional conditioning?_
+
+           [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
+              Worlds of If Science Fiction, August 1956.
+         Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
+         the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
+
+
+Donnie clenched his small fists and tried not to cry, but two
+elliptical tears ran slowly down his cheeks. The sight of them made Mr.
+Ames even madder.
+
+"Look at him," he stormed, turning to Martha. "Just look at him. Every
+damn time I try to reason with him, he starts to snivel like an animal,
+instead of acting like a normal human being." Mr. Ames flicked his
+cigar ashes toward a vacuum cup on the wall and looked down at the boy.
+"Now stop that stupid crying and tell me what this is all about."
+
+Donnie sniffled a couple of times and wiped his nose on the back of one
+of his blue uniform sleeves.
+
+"Well," Mr. Ames said, coldly.
+
+The boy took a deep breath and raised his head. "I want you to spend
+some time with me," he said. "I want you to--" he searched the elusive
+shadows of memory until he found the word he wanted--"I want you to
+_play_ with me. That's it. I want you to play with me once in a while."
+
+Mr. Ames blinked his eyes and stepped back. "Play," he repeated. "What
+do you mean _play_?"
+
+Donnie hesitated. "You know," he said, finally, "take me on long walks
+and sit down and play games and tell me stories once in a while."
+
+"But you've got all the stories you need," Mr. Ames said, waving his
+hand at the banks of audiotapes stacked neatly on the wall shelves.
+"And your audio-prompter can tell them better than I can."
+
+"Yes," Donnie said, "but that's a machine and I want--"
+
+"What's wrong with a machine," Mr. Ames said, his face getting red.
+"Some of our best things come from machines. Didn't they teach you that
+at the Incubator?"
+
+"Yes," the boy said, "but isn't there anything besides machines? I
+can't play with machines, I want to play with you!" He began to sob
+again.
+
+Mr. Ames dashed his cigar to the floor. "I give up," he said. "By the
+Red Balls of Jupiter, I give up!"
+
+"Now, Henry," his wife said. "Remember, the boy's only seven."
+
+"Don't 'Henry' me," Mr. Ames said, "And besides, what does being seven
+have to do with it. When I was his age, I was an honor student in
+physics. _He_ can't even pass algebra."
+
+Donnie stared at the toes of his boots.
+
+"I've given this kid everything," Mr. Ames went on. "He's going to
+the best pre-nuclear school in the whole hemisphere. He's got his own
+rocket kit. Why, he's even been on a study cruise to the moon! How
+many kids his age have been to the moon already? I bet no other kid in
+our project has been there. And what do I get as a reward." Mr. Ames
+didn't wait for an answer. "Trouble. That's what I get, trouble. Why in
+Galaxy he can't leave me alone like a normal child is more than I can
+understand." He stopped for breath and lit a fresh cigar.
+
+"Maybe the boy's sick," Martha said timidly.
+
+Mr. Ames ignored her. "I've tried to be a good father to him," he said,
+his voice self-righteous. "I'm giving him a chance to make something
+out of himself. All I ask is that he be of service to the world, and
+make me proud of him some day. But what does he do? Does he concentrate
+on his career, like the rest of the kids? Hell, no, he wants to hang
+around me, always underfoot, always asking stupid questions. Play!" Mr.
+Ames snorted.
+
+"It's not just play."
+
+"Heh, what's that?" Mr. Ames jumped.
+
+"I said it's not just play," Donnie repeated, bravely brushing away
+his tears. "You don't give me any--" he searched again for the right
+word--"any _companionship_. A boy needs companionship. Don't you
+understand?"
+
+"No, I don't," Mr. Ames said. "And I'm sure they didn't teach you
+that in the Incubator either. Don't you realize you should be fully
+coordinated by now. Instead, you want me to take time from my work--Why
+it's preposterous. It's, it's--unscientific!"
+
+"But, all I want--"
+
+Mr. Ames held up his hand. "Enough of this," he said. "I refuse to
+discuss it anymore. Now go to your room and get ready for your study
+period."
+
+The boy burst out crying again and ran out of the room.
+
+Mr. Ames shook his head. "Definite neurotic tendencies," he muttered to
+himself.
+
+"What dear?" his wife said.
+
+"Nothing, Martha," he answered. "Just talking to myself." He sat down
+heavily on the couch and sighed. What was wrong with Donnie, anyway?
+Where did he get those archaic ideas from? Surely he had been taught
+that the whole purpose of the incubator system was to speed up learning
+and growth processes so children wouldn't have to waste precious years
+growing up, like they did in the old days. Why their new technological
+age simply had no time to fool around with infantile desires. There
+were too many things to do, too many knotty scientific problems to
+solve. Emotions, Mr. Ames mumbled to himself, you never could trust
+your damn emotions.
+
+That night, after Donnie was in bed, Mr. Ames went to his study and
+pulled out the boy's file. It explained what he was fitted for, what
+abilities he had inherited, and what his primary training included.
+Mr. Ames noted sadly that the boy's Scientific Quotient was 142, well
+above normal, and that he would stand six feet tall and weigh close to
+195 pounds when fully developed.
+
+Mr. Ames, who was incubator-born himself, was completely sold on
+the ingenious system the Federation of World Councils had devised.
+No more hit-and-miss mass reproduction, where morons were gradually
+out-breeding intelligent beings, but instead, selective artificial
+insemination through which only the best strains were permitted to
+reproduce. Each generation, the human race got healthier and smarter.
+Insanity and inherited diseases were a thing of the past and nature's
+primitive law--only the fittest shall survive--was now a glittering
+reality. Why the Federated Incubators even took over the burden of
+educating the children for the first five years. Parents no longer
+had to be bothered caring for helpless, bawling brats. By the time
+Incubates were placed on the available list, they were completely
+self-sufficient and emotionally conditioned to fit into any family
+group. Parents simply picked what they wanted. Mr. Ames, of course, had
+selected a future nuclear-chemist.
+
+It was a beautiful system, Mr. Ames told himself, and even more
+important, it worked. But somehow, some way, there was something
+radically wrong with their child.
+
+"Definite neurotic symptoms," Mr. Ames murmured, half aloud. By
+Jupiter, there was only one thing to do. He shut the folder firmly and
+spun around to the trans-audio. A green light appeared on the panel
+almost immediately.
+
+"Your connection, please?" the automon said.
+
+"Give me the local Incubator."
+
+There was a pause, then a click. "Federated Health and Service,
+coordinator speaking. May I help you?"
+
+"Yes. This is Mr. Henry Ames, over at the Amarillo Group Project. I
+have a complaint to make."
+
+"Yes?" The coordinator, a woman, was carefully polite.
+
+"It's about the child you sent us."
+
+"Specimen please?"
+
+"What? Oh, it's a boy, Class Triple A, breed, nuclear chemistry. We got
+him about 18 months ago and--"
+
+"What is your number please?"
+
+"It's ... just a minute." Mr. Ames consulted the folder. "My number is
+34-72-oh-41. And we've got a three-year guarantee," he added pointedly.
+
+"Yes, sir. Just a minute sir." There was a whirring sound at the other
+end of the circuit. After a short wait, the coordinator's voice came
+through again.
+
+"Well, sir," she said. "You have the select model in our scientific
+line of seven-year-olds. According to our records, he checked out
+perfectly on all phases of learning and aptitude. Have you tried memory
+teaching?"
+
+"Yes, I've tried memory teaching. He learns fine." Mr. Ames stopped.
+"Look, you don't seem to understand. He's okay as far as performance
+goes. He does everything we tell him and all that, but he's
+still a real pain in the--I mean, he's developing very annoying
+characteristics."
+
+"Please go on, Mr. Ames." The coordinator's voice was warm and
+sympathetic. "How does he annoy you?"
+
+"Well, for one thing, he's getting pronounced possessive tendencies. He
+almost seems to resent being left alone. Why, just this evening he told
+me he wants us to _play_ with him!"
+
+"Did you say _play_ with him?"
+
+"That's right," Mr. Ames said, triumphantly. "And he says he needs
+companionship, or something like that."
+
+"Companionship," the coordinator repeated. "Oh, dear. This is more
+serious than I thought. I'm afraid you definitely have a reject,
+Mr. Ames. If he shows these tendencies at this early age, then the
+situation will be intolerable later on."
+
+"It's intolerable right now," Henry insisted. "Anyway, I thought you
+people were supposed to clear up all this emotional unbalance in the
+primary psych indoctrination."
+
+"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."
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Reject, by John Johnson
+
+*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 59495 ***