Matt's eyes narrowed, and he ran his hand through his crisp black hair. "Go on," he said.
"Survival of the race. There are nine women. But only seven are young enough to bear children."
Lynn's eyes were enormous. She said, "What do you mean, Isaac?" in a tight voice.
"I mean," rejoined the director, "that you'll be expected to bear children—lots of children—and the sooner you get about it, the better!"
IV
Matt Magoffin kept his seat after the evening meal, as the conference was scheduled to be held in the messroom right away. He had broken out a pack of cigarettes and was smoking—a long-deferred luxury.
There had been more talking than eating at the tables. Everyone, Matt realized, must have the facts pretty well assimilated. He saw the director rising and turned to face him.
"I think everyone here," Isaac Trigg's voice plunged abruptly into the meeting, "is acquainted with the disaster that has befallen Earth. Are there any questions now?"
No one said anything.