“What’s going on with Island Seven?” Alex passed over coffee the way Cara liked it. “I can’t get a solid read on the genetic scanners there.”
“Oh, that’s where we let Bontempo and Gilman-Friis work on that project of theirs.”
“That… oh, you didn’t. Seriously? Bontempo?”
“He asked very nicely, and he seemed relatively sane. I mean, relatively and all, but he does seem like he knows what he’s doing, as long as Gilman-Friis keeps him in check and moderates his work.”
“Doesn’t seem fair to her.”
“No, but I promised her Island Eight if they get anything at all out of this at all.”
“And… so what do they have?”
“I’m getting bored with this.” Coren ran her hands over the super-slim form with the pale skin and the black hair. “I’m thinking about doing something more fleshy for tomorrow.”
“I know what you’re saying.” Toran pinched a nipple on his current body. “This isn’t bad, but I think the punk look is… last week.”
The two of them were wearing, in addition to their body-shapes, peacock-bright clothing that covered enough of them to be “decent” by another world’s standards. Coren’s, as usual, was mostly shades of blue; zie wore a bracelet on her wrist that had zir name picked out in rhinestones. Toran’s was black and pink and zir name was embroidered on zir collar.
“Hey, bitches, what do you think?” A third stepped up to the town center, spinning in a body-shape they had not seen before – four arms on a very muscular torso, body otherwise androgynous, clothing skin-tight and black, wet-look like oiled leather. Picked out under the pecs was a name – Anor, of course. “It’s an all-new look. Custom.”
“Have?” Cara shrugged at the footage. “They’ve developed the next level of fashion.”
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