June shut the door on the voices that were growing hysterical, the women terrified and helpless, the men shouting to let the women know who they were.
"It isn't easy," said Max, looking down at his own thick muscles. "But you aren't changed and the other girls aren't. That helps."
Through the muffled noise and hysteria, a bell was ringing.
"It's the airlock," June said.
Peering in the viewplate were nine Meads from Alexandria. To all appearances, eight of them were Pat Mead at various ages, from fifteen to fifty, and the other was a handsome, leggy, red-headed girl who could have been his sister.
Regretfully, they explained through the voice tube that they had walked over from Alexandria to bring news that the plane pilot had contracted melting sickness there and had died.
They wanted to come in.
June and Max told them to wait and returned to the tank room. The men were enjoying their new height and strength, and the women were bewilderedly learning that they could tell one Pat Mead from another, by voice, by gesture of face or hand. The panic was gone. In its place was a dull acceptance of the fantastic situation.
Max called for attention. "There are nine Meads outside who want to come in. They have different names, but they're all Pat Mead."