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the next thing I knew, I woke up in hospital with a body that looked like something from a factory that had gone out of business. I couldn’t go to any of those places again, those places where smiling waitrons kept bringing free pills and drinks, and one second of misplaced attention could end your life.
    Before the accident, I’d worked in one of the big plaza mansions that ringed the city. I was a personal hygiene coordinator for one of the residents, one of the wealthiest old men on the planet. I was entirely responsible for his daily body care, from running his bath at exactly the right temperature to choosing the flavor of toothpaste that would complement the day’s planned activities. Once I arrived at the job, I never had to leave the bathroom.
    I was good at what I did, and I was paid well. And more importantly, I enjoyed it. I liked Alfie Zoydman, my employer, and his fetish for fresh breath.
    I’d even, for a very short time, been married. Steve had never come to see me in the hospital. I’d received the notice from his lawyer during my recovery.
    Not a divorce notice. A dissolution notice, instead. He had every right, since I’d been declared legally dead, to dissolve our union. His claim that I was not the woman he’d married stood firm. I wasn’t. Several pounds of wire, batteries and artificial organs proved that. More than fifty percent of my body’s systems and/or parts had been replaced. I was mecho.
    Dissolution meant I wasn’t entitled to take with me anything we’d gained or created together during the marriage. That I might be left destitute obviously hadn’t bothered my former husband.
    I’d spoken to him only once since then. “I’m still the same person, Steve.”
    “No.” His voice sounded tinny through the speaker, and he refused to meet my eyes through the screen. “No, you’re not.”
    What Steve didn’t seem to realize, and his lawyer to care, was they hadn’t replaced all my organs. Some of them were still mine. Including my heart.

Chapter Three
    I left the office still buzzing with tension. Stim-time hadn’t relaxed me enough. I needed a workout. I hopped a pedtread and mingled elbow to elbow with the crowd.
    There’s something so sensual about the crush of humanity. I don’t mean sexual, which is something else entirely. Sensual. The sounds, smells and sensations of a crowd of humans is unlike anything I’ve ever experienced. Before my accident and the resulting phobia of going off-planet, I’d been to a dozen different systems. I’d seen alien cultures where smelling someone is considered the highest of insults. Others where speaking directly to a stranger is forbidden. Another in which eye contact could earn you a stint in traveler’s prison.
    No matter what anybody else might say about our rudeness, our crassness, our incredibly lowbrow behavior, here on Earth, being around people is a cacophony of sensations. It’s why we’re the biggest tourist destination in three galaxies, even without the clean air, sandy beaches and resorts the other planets boast. Aliens come here to rub elbows, literally, with humans.
    Just like I was doing now. For a moment, the pedtread shuddered as somewhere along the line a crowd shifted. The vibration barely rocked any of us, just jiggled us enough so an arm nudged a back here, or a leg shifted against a thigh there. I heard a dozen different snippets of conversation all around me. Someone was wearing rose perfume.
    Roses. My fingers clutched convulsively on my bag, where I’d stashed the florb. Declan had sent me roses.
    “Excuse me.” I moved around the man standing next to me and jumped off the pedtread.
    In the second it took my feet to adjust to a nonmoving floor, I cursed under my breath. A couple passing me on the platform gave me an odd look, but I just flashed my tatbadge at them and they continued on without a backward glance. I’ve never really gotten used to how Ops are easily the most visible and overlooked people