“Hey, Orr.”

“Hey! Sylvie!” The giant’s teeth appeared to be ungritted, eyes a little vacant with endorphins. He raised a languid hand on the side that was still intact and knocked fists with the woman. “You doing?”

“Out for a prowl. You sure this is going to heal by the morning?”

Orr jerked a thumb. “Or I do the same to this scalpelhead before we leave. Without chemicals.”

The implant operative smiled a tight little smile and went on with what he was doing. He’d heard it all before. The giant’s eyes switched to me in the mirror. If he noticed the blood on me, it didn’t seem to bother him.

Then again, he was hardly spotless himself.

“Who’s the synth?”

“Friend,” said Sylvie. “Talk to you upstairs.”

“Be up in ten.” He glanced at the operative. “Right?”

“Half an hour,” said the operative, still working. “The tissue bond needs setting time.”

“Shit.” The giant fired a glance at the ceiling. “Whatever happened to Urushiflash. That stuff bonds in seconds.”

Still working. A tubular needle made tiny sucking sounds. “You asked for the standard tariff, sam. Military-issue biochem isn’t available at that rate.”

“Well, for fuck’s sake what’s it going to cost me to upgrade to deluxe then?”

“About fifty per cent more.”

Sylvie laughed. “Forget it, Orr. You’re almost done. You won’t even get to enjoy the ‘dorphs.”

“Fuck that, Sylvie. I’m bored rigid here.” The giant spittled his thumb and held it out. “Swipe me up, you.”

The implant operative looked up, shrugged minutely and set down his tools on the operating palette.

“Ana,” he called. “Get the Urushiflash.”

While the attendant busied herself in a footlocker with the new biochemicals, the operative took a DNA reader from amidst the clutter on the mirror shelf and rubbed the upsoak end across Orr’s thumb. The machine’s hooded display lit and shifted. The operative looked back at Orr.