"Let's go," said Jordan grimly.
"Wait," advised Docchi. "I have one volunteer Nona. I need about fifty more. It doesn't matter if you're physically sound or not—we'll raid the lab for plastissue. If you think you can be made up to look like Nona, come forward."
Slowly, singly and by twos and threes, they came to him. There were few indeed who wouldn't require liberal use of camouflage.
The rest followed Jordan out.
Mass production of an individual. Not perfect in every instance. Good enough to pass in most. Docchi watched approvingly, suggesting occasional touches of makeup.
"She can't speak or hear," he reminded the volunteers. "Remember that at all times, no matter what they do. Hide in difficult places. After Jerian is taken and the search called off and then resumed, let yourselves be found one at a time. Every guard that has to take you for examination is one less to look for the real Nona. They have to find her soon or get off the asteroid."
The cosmetechs were busy; none stopped. There was one who looked up.
"Get off?" she asked. "Why?"
"The Sun is getting smaller."
"Smaller!" exclaimed the woman.