Gina nudged me gently and directed my attention to a group of people strolling north, on the opposite side of the street. When they’d passed, she said, “Were they…?”

“What? Asex? I think so.”

“I’m never sure. There are naturals who look no different.”

“But that’s the whole point. You can never be sure – but why did we ever think we could discover anything that mattered about a stranger, at a glance?”

Asex was really nothing but an umbrella term for a broad group of philosophies, styles of dress, cosmetic-surgical changes, and deep-biological alterations. The only thing that one asex person necessarily had in common with another was the view that vis gender parameters (neural, endocrine, chromosomal and genital) were the business of no one but verself, usually (but not always) vis lovers, probably vis doctor, and sometimes a few close friends. What a person actually did in response to that attitude could range from as little as ticking the “A” box on census forms, to choosing an asex name, to breast or body-hair reduction, voice timbre adjustment, facial resculpting, empouchment (surgery to render the male genitals retractable), all the way to full physical and/or neural asexuality, hermaphroditism, or exoticism.

I said, “Why bother staring at people and guessing? En-male, en-fem, asex … who cares?”

Gina scowled. “Don’t make me out to be some kind of bigot. I’m just curious.”

I squeezed her hand. “I’m sorry. That’s not what I meant.”

She pulled free. “ You got to spend a year thinking about nothing else – being as voyeuristic and intrusive as you liked. And getting paid for it. I only saw the finished documentary. I don’t see why I should be expected to have reached some final position on gender migration – just because you’ve rolled credits on the subject.”

I bent over and kissed her on the forehead.

“What was that for?”

“For being the ideal viewer, above and beyond all your many other virtues.”

“I think I’m going to throw up.”

We turned east, toward Surry Hills, into an even quieter street. A grim young man strode by alone, heavily muscled and probably facially sculpted … but again, there was no way to be sure. Gina glanced at me, still angry, but unable to resist. “ That – assuming he was umale – I understand even less. If someone wants a build like that … fine. But why the face, as well? It’s not as if anyone would be likely to mistake him for anything but an en-male, without it.”