“Finally.” Rove’s voice behind him made him jump. There the man was, slender and immaculate in his bespoke suit, smiling slightly at Lucas’s discomfort. At a gesture, a shelf telescoped out of one wall, clothes stacked on it. Only then did Lucas register that he was naked. The air seemed uncomfortably warm and humid. Lucas decided that if his boss wanted to play weird dominance games, then that was entirely the man’s prerogative. He just stomped over and dressed without shame or modesty. The clothes were folded weirdly. It was a small detail, disproportionately upsetting. Whoever had laid them out had possessed definite ideas of economy of space without really understanding clothing. Everything was practically origamied. They weren’t his clothes, either. Someone had tried to replicate his ruined outfit, but nothing fit right. He could feel various seams strain as though perfectly normal human arcs of movement had been imperfectly understood by the tailor.

“How long’s this on for?” he asked, waving his left hand. The cast, the sheath, whatever it was, was a mottled black-grey, shiny and rubbery to the touch, as though he had a triple-thick condom on up to the elbow. When he prodded it, he could feel the sensation only dimly.

Rove was watching him keenly when he turned round.

“You have that for the duration, Lucas.”

“Sir?”

“It’s your arm. They couldn’t salvage what was left of the original after the beasties got their teeth into it. You left most of it behind.”

Lucas blinked. “Sir?” he said again.

“The medical technology here is very good, though,” Rove said. “It’s why I came. After all, sooner or later something’s going to get you, or those you care about. Cancer, injury, dementia…But you don’t need to worry about most of that, here. If you’re at the top you can have a very long and healthy life indeed. And you know the joke? A long life for them is maybe seventy years at the utmost. That’s Methuselah territory for them. I’ll probably see out my two hundredth birthday hale and hearty.”

Lucas was still staring at the arm—he couldn’t quite process it as his—and Rove tutted. “Oh, stop scowling. Your nervous system will mesh with it over the next week or so. It’ll be better than the original. Though you’ll want to invest in some gloves. I doubt it’ll look any prettier. Just be glad they were able to make something that human. Or would you rather have a stump?” His voice had become sharper. “Or would you rather we talked about your recent poor performance? I don’t usually need to hold employee assessment sessions, Lucas.”

Lucas blinked at him. “What was I expected to do?”