Harker felt a sudden need for fresh air. He muscled his way through the crowded lounge and out onto the dormitory porch.
Confusion reigned everywhere. His tentative plans for making a careful survey of the situation had gone up in one puff of press-agentry; from now on, he would have to improvise, setting his course with desperate agility.
He tried to tell himself that things would quiet down before long, once the initial impact had expended itself. But he was too well schooled in the study of mass human behavior to be able to make himself believe any such naive hope.
The man in the street could only be thinking one thing now: that the power of death over humanity had ended. In future days, death would have no dominion.
But how would they react? Jubilantly, or with terror? What would they say when they learned that five times out of six, life could be restored—but the sixth time a mindless idiot was the product?
Fear and trembling lay ahead, and days of uncertainty. Harker let the warm mid-May sun beat down on him; he stared up at the sky as if looking into tomorrow.
The sky held no answers. Confusion would be tomorrow's watchword. And there was no turning back, now, not for any of them.
