A chill in his chest pushed aside the warmth of the fire, of their lovemaking. Other than a few medics, none of his crewmates—no one—had ever seen him naked before, much less without his limbs. He tried to say something caustic, but his voice failed him and he scowled.

Nara shook her head.

“I didn’t mean to embarrass you.”

“It’s your house,” he said, pulling on his trousers.

When he looked at her again, she seemed puzzled by the words.

“Take your pleasure as you will,” he explained sharply.

“Have I taken advantage of your nakedness?” she said with a small smile. Zai realized that Nara was still completely unclothed. He felt foolish now in his disheveled fatigue tunic, grasped some piece of her clothing on the floor, and flung it to her.

Nara pushed it aside and sat up, reaching for his hand. It was the artificial one, which had somehow lost its glove. She pulled the metal thing toward her breast.

Zai’s anger faded abruptly. At Nara’s touch, he felt safe and whole again, as he had in her arms. Sighing, he closed his eyes and imagined the hand to be real. The returns of the false nerves were very convincing. He opened a second-sight menu and increased the hand’s sensitivity, basking in the warmth of Nara, the change in texture from dark skin to pink aureole, the slow ripple of her heartbeat. He felt a tremor like distant running water as blood rushed into the erectile tissue of her nipple.

He opened his eyes. She was smiling.

“I’m sorry I snapped at you, Nara.”

“No, Laurent. I should have realized. But you seemed so…comfortable before.”

“Eager, more likely.”

“Oh.” Was there a note of pity in her voice? A look crossed her face, and she nodded. “You don’t use…”

He shook his head. Surrogates, she would have said, but on Vada they used the old words for professionals.

The playful smile again. “In that case, Laurent, you must be famished.”

He could not disagree.

But Laurent Zai pushed her hands away. He’d felt so broken under her eyes. “Nara?” he pleaded.

“Yes,” she answered. “You can keep your limbs. Your tunic too if you want.”

He nodded, and a sound came from his chest that was like a sob. But he ignored it, hastening.

House

The missive came over the general net, looking for Laurent Zai. The lieutenant-commander’s presence here at the polar estate wasn’t registered with the comnets—the mistress had specifically requested privacy—but the search was energetic enough to ping every private domicile on Home. Not an emergency, just standard military persistence. The house quietly snatched a copy, investigating its security before passing it on to the mistress’s guest.