Cam catches a summons while he's in the middle of Atriama. He's seen it before, it's fine.
If she responds it's too muffled to hear.
And he will go see if anything else is emergent that needs him.
Felicities are mostly handling it. She's finished two translations of the pamphlet, which she would like a stack of conjured, and is having conversations with a few people in languages she hasn't gotten to yet. Someone doesn't like the music playing in the receiving building. The members of the next groups up for resurrection are getting shuffled around in order to batch the people who do or don't want to be chamomile'd.
Resurrections make Cam wag. Pamphlets appear; music switches stations. He tells Felicity she is various fruit; she is great to have around.
"Thanks; slightly more obviously: so are you. Any details on the chamomile I should convey to stars undecided on whether they'd prefer it?"
"You know as much as I do about how people are feeling on it."
"I'll shift those ones down the queue until we have more data, then."
The next group comes in all sleepy. They're definitely less complainy and seem probably less uncomfortable; all of them are content to be wheeled into rooms rather than wanting to flop in the grass.
Can he delegate the wheeling to the longer-ago-rezzed ones yet?
No, they're still not feeling great but conveniently there are Felicities. There's enough to be done that it's still most efficient for Cam to wheel a person or two, but she can get most of them. "Should we offer to drug the ones from earlier rounds, do you think."
"Yeah, though they could just, like, drink it probably?"
"Yes, that does seem easier." She holds out a hand. "Should we make an announcement or shall I just offer it to people being publicly miserable?"
Cam hands her an insulated drink dispenser and a stack of paper cups. "Use your judgment."
"Thank you. Is there some sort of microphone with which I could make a PA PA or would I have to knock on rooms individually."
"I do not have the place wired for announcements."
"In that case I'll at least hold off until we've got everyone alive for today."
Batch batch batch batch batch. People want to be younger and stronger and healthier and prettier and more themselves in various ways. In the middle of unloading one group the wingless winters return, and the six of them pitch in with wheeling people away to individual rooms. They form a cuddlepile on the grass around the rezzed one of them between rounds.
How adorable of them. Rez rez rez the stars.
The last group is a mix of adults and actual children, not just formerly-adult stars who want to appear that way.
Are their parents... here? At least some of the parents of each child?
No, none of them died from anything that killed more than one person.
How old are these children. Do their parents know this is happening literally at all.
There's a range, six of them between the ages of five and fourteen.
"I can notify any of the parents who go on omnilol from now on, but it's still not quite waking hours. If you want to track them down sooner than that - these are kids who are close to merging; it seems likely to be bad in only relatively recoverable ways if we get them in bodies first - "
"- yeah, okay, we can stick them in a playground with a snack platter and phone all their folks in the morning." Sigh. Batch of kiddos.
"One of them doesn't want his parents to know, and died for - reasons plausibly related to that; he's not quite sure."
"How old is that one?"