They show her what they are holding so proud and happy in their arms. They have got three little Moklin kids, one apiece. And every one of them has red hair, just like Inspector Caldwell, and every one of them is a girl that is the spit and image of her. You would swear they are human babies, and you'd swear they are hers. But of course they ain't. They make kid noises and wave their little fists.
Inspector Caldwell is just plain paralyzed. She stares at them, and goes red as fire and white as chalk, and she is speechless. So Brooks has to do the honors. He admires the kids extravagant, and the Moklin girls giggle, and take the compliment presents Deeth brings in, and they go out happy.
When the door closes, Inspector Caldwell wilts.
"Oh-h!" she wails. "It's true! You didn't—you haven't—they can make their babies look like anybody they want!"
Brooks puts his arms around her and she begins to cry against his shoulder. He pats her and says, "They've got a queer sort of evolution on Moklin, darling. Babies here inherit desired characteristics. Not acquired characteristics, but desired ones! And what could be more desirable than you?"
I am blinking at them. He says to me, cold, "Will you kindly get the hell out of here and stay out?"
I come to. I says, "Just one precaution."
I wiggle my little finger. He crosses his fingers at me.
"Then," I says, "since there's no chance of a mistake, I'll leave you two together."
And I do.