"I mean," Patrick Mead said into the silence, "all these--interesting different hair colors and face shapes and so forth--" He made a vague wave with one hand as if he had run out of words or was anxious not to insult them. "Joke?" Max asked, bewildered. June laid a hand on his arm. "No harm meant," she said to him over the intercom. "We're just as much of a shock to him as he is to us." She addressed a question to the tall colonist on outside sound. "What should a person look like, Mr. Mead?" He indicated her with a smile. "Like you." June stepped closer and stood looking up at him, considering her own description. She was tall and tanned, like him; had a few freckles, like him; and wavy red hair, like his. She ignored the brightly humorous blue eyes. "In other words," she said, "everyone on the planet looks like you and me?" Patrick Mead took another look at their four faces and began to grin. "Like me, I guess. But I hadn't thought of it before. I did not think that people could have different colored hair or that noses could fit so many ways onto faces. I was judging by my own appearance, but I suppose any fool can walk on his hands and say the world is upside down!" He laughed and sobered. "But then why wear spacesuits? The air is breathable." "For safety," June told him. "We can't take any chances on plague." Pat Mead was wearing nothing but a loin cloth and his weapons, and the wind ruffled his hair. He looked comfortable, and they longed to take off the stuffy spacesuits and feel the wind against their own skins. Minos was like home, like Earth.... But they were strangers. "Plague," Pat Mead said thoughtfully. "We had one here. It came two years after the colony arrived and killed everyone except the Mead families. They were immune. I guess we look alike because we're all related, and that's why I grew up thinking that it is the only way people can look." _Plague._ "What was the disease?" Hal Barton asked. "Pretty gruesome, according to my father. They called it the melting sickness. The doctors died too soon to find out what it was or what to do about it." "You should have trained for more doctors, or sent to civilization for some." A trace of impatience was in George Barton's voice. Pat Mead explained patiently, "Our ship, with the power plant and all the books we needed, went off into the sky to avoid the contagion, and never came back. The crew must have died." Long years of hardship were indicated by that statement, a colony with electric power gone and machinery stilled, with key technicians dead and no way to replace them. June realized then the full meaning of the primitive sheath knife and bow. "Any recurrence of melting sickness?" asked Hal Barton. "No." "Any other diseases?" "Not a one." Max was eyeing the bronze red-headed figure with something approaching awe. "Do you think all the Meads look like that?" he said to June on the intercom. "I wouldn't mind being a Mead myself!"