ll have them," he assured her.

"Somebody will. None of us'll live that long."

Working like a sculptor with a cathode in one hand and an anode in the
other, Dr. Kalmar began reshaping the girl who stood fixedly in the
boxlike chamber. The flesh fled from the cathode and chased after the
anode as he broadened the fine nose, thickened the mobile lips, squared
the slender jaw and drew out carefully the delicately arched orbital
ridges.

"I'll leave the curl in her hair," he said. "Every woman needs at least
one feature she can be proud of."

"You're telling me," Miss Dupont replied.

"Synthetic tissue, please."

She drew out a tube with a variable nozzle and started working just
ahead of him. A spray of high-velocity cells shot through the girl's
smooth skin at the neck, shoulders, breasts, hips and legs, forming
shapeless lumps that he guided into cords and muscles. The slim figure
quickly broadened, grew brawny and competent-looking, the body of a
woman who could breed phenomenally while farming alongside her man.

Dr. Kalmar racked up the instruments and helped Miss Dupont dress the
girl in coveralls and sandals. He felt the pride of craftsmanship when
he found that the clothing supplied for her by Social Control exactly
fitted her. He injected an antidote to the hypnotic and gave her the
standard test for emotional response as her expressionless face cleared
to placidity.

"Do you know where you are, Avis?"

"Yes. Ego Alter and Rephysical."

"What have we done to you?"

"Changed me to fit my environment."

"Do you resent being changed?"

"No." She paused and looked worried. "Who's taking care of the crops
while I'm here?"

"They can wait till you and your parents get back, Avis. Let's show them
the change, shall we?"

"All right," she said. "I think they'll be proud of me. This is how they
always wanted me to be."

"And you?"

"Oh, I feel much better. As if I don't have to try so hard."

[Illustration]

"I'm glad, Avis. Miss Dupont, better have a sedative ready when her
father sees her. I think he'll need it."

"And her mother?" asked the nurse practically.

"She'll probably want a drink to celebrate. Give her one."

* * * * *

Dr. Kalmar's prognosis was correct, only it didn't go far enough. His
young assistant from Earth had come scooting out of his disquietingly
large quarters and was jittering in the office when they entered.

"Is _that_ the pretty gi