"I suppose so!  Separately, do you think most of me should move into this handy city?  It's certainly less cramped but I don't know whether we'll want most of me easily accessible topside soon enough to make moving pointless."

"Good question. How about like half of you to start, hedge our bets."

"Sounds reasonable to me.  Is there anything else on your docket before we start moving singlets in?"

"Don't think so. Who's up first?"

"Well, how large a batch do you want to start with?  And here, let me send you the spreadsheet."

The spreadsheet contains a little over three hundred entries, most of which are sorted to the top and marked READY.  They also all have a size of singlet, a DNA finalized? of N/A, a housing preference of not picky, and a priority of urgent.  Some of them have notes on changes they want made to their bodies - different ages, different weights, making curly hair straight or straight curly - but many simply want to be healthy and alive.  Some of them have specific medical conditions marked which would get in the way of that.  Ashley and Felicity have listings on a separate sheet for completed resurrections.

"Awesome, you're a - what is that, kumquat? Let's start with, like, fifteen people, so if they somehow all have a correlated freakout no one of us three is trying to handle more than five, and we can up the batch size after that. I'll do the ones who just want to be alive and design bodies for the ones that want alterations while they're in transit..." He picks out fifteen with the relevant qualities and makes a dummy shuttle that can go out to the edge and back in and dock itself next to one of the elevators to let people off; he fills it up with wheelchairs and the wheelchairs with basement dwellers and sends it off.

"If you wanted to tell me where your omnilol on the surface is, I could get high - or possibly sideways - to let them know we're coming and make sure there aren't any problems or last-minute changes."

"I left it on the little shelves next to where Cricket likes to sleep."

"Thanks."

On the surface, seafoam Felicity knocks twice on the camper door before letting herself in.

"Mrrt."

She does not attempt catspeak.  "Hello, very sorry to interrupt, just need to grab this - "

Cricket observes this eventuality in silence.

"Have a great rest of your night."

Tangerine Felicity, down below, reports: "I've alerted these fifteen and they say they don't need any changes; I'll let you know when they're settled in their bodies and ready to come over."

"Great, thanks." He gets going on another batch's basement dwellers.

This one wants to be twenty-four, and to have his back fixed because it had already started getting bad by then!  This one wants eight feet of hair!  This one wants the click in her jaw fixed!  This one wants to be super buff!  This one wonders if she can look basically the same, but with a dick?  This one wants to be underweight!  This one wants a different nose!  These ones all want to be in their twenties!  This one wants better eyesight!  This one wants to be twelve!

"They're all ready, or at least they've all stopped talking to me."

Cam recalls the dummy shuttle and tries to diagnose the back and the click and needs some clarification on the desired manner of hermaphrodism and wants to know if that height/weight ratio is medically advisable here and has to re-read his optician notes.

The back is a bad disc, the click is downstream of misaligned teeth, the ratio is inadvisable, and the soon-to-be hermaphrodite is shy enough that Felicity has a bit of trouble getting details out of her but eventually a sufficient description accumulates.

"I'm inclined not to do the underweight one?" Cam asks, fixing the disc in a computer model to be sure he has it right.

"That's reasonable."  Pause pause.  "She says, 'Please?'"

"...okay but if she dies again of anorexia-related complications I will not do it the next time."

"I will pass that along."

Here come the first batch!

"Welcome!" Cam says, calling down to the hatch as it opens onto an elevator car.

He gets a few 'Hi's and 'Hello's back, none of them particularly enthusiastic.  Six people are crying, ranging from sniffles to sobs.  One of them is on his hands and knees on the floor.  Most of them are hugging themselves or otherwise curled up; nearly all of them are visibly trembling.

Well, that's sort of like being ready. Cam rolls their wheelchairs out for them, offers Floor Guy a hand up.

Floor Guy at first insists (in gestures and in something other than Englatin) that he doesn't need any help, but accepts it after two failed solo attempts.  He does seem able to locomote himself once he's up there, though, as do some of the non-Floor Guys and Girls.  A few crying folks would probably benefit from some tissues.  "Are there any - refreshments?" asks one of the snifflers, Felicity-translated, once everyone is out.