On the trideo screen, the Humanis Policlub leader was droning on. "We do not advocate violence." He favored the camera with a sickly smile. "Just segregation. Metahumans belong with their own kind. They’re not happy in the general society. Those of us of pure stock make them feel inferior. And we don’t want them mixing with us. Can you imagine one of those rabid, hulking orks, dating your daughter?" His mouth curled as if he’d eaten a spoonful of warm drek. "Or your son? Do you really want a goblinized grandchild?"