Denebian draperies bound the arms and legs. They let the tail thump the floor resoundingly. The stentorian voice thundered, but the hermetically sealed room was also quite sound-proof.
The two Channings chucked their spacesuits in the ante-room and took the elevator marked FOR HUMANS ONLY—DENEBIANS MUST USE SPACESUITS. On the street, people stopped to stare at the identical twins, who even dressed alike, and at their age.
"Don't be alarmed, Ellen. Turn around."
"Go away from me, Bryan Channing. I don't want to—Bryan! Bryan! Who's Bryan?"
"I'm Bryan, of course," said the copy, advancing with a sincere smile and adding, "How's our little Stephanie?"
"Just a minute!" Channing roared. "I'm me. He's—"
"I see it now," Ellen mumbled. "I see it. I do. One of you, one is a ... a creation. One of Qui Dor's creations." Her face was drawn and white. "How long has this been going on?" She backed away from the second Channing, who was trying to oust the first from her arms. She backed away from both of them.
"So that's your plan," Channing said. "If only one of us could stay you figured it might as well be you."