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I can tell by the glint in her left eye that the Light Blue by the bar is interested. Sensory reactions in relevant regions of my anatomy suggest that the attract-signal in my own eye has been activated too. It’s possible to short-circuit the trigger effect but I feel like some company tonight.

We find a room in a nearby encounter-block. The entry doorpad scans the bar-code on our palms and we’re in. As transitory rooms go it’s okay. The infobox shows radiation levels are low. An anti-bacterial cleanse took place only six hours ago.

The Light Blue smiles at one of the wall vodcams and slowly removes her clothes. Her languorous progress adds a beguiling old-style touch that is cosily erotic. She whispers ‘Lights low,’ but before the dimming is complete I say, ‘No. Half-light.’

It’d be a shame not to appreciate the work that’s gone into her. I’d guess that her breasts are by Cassandra Cross at Larolle; elaborate aureole patterns around perfectly symmetrical nipples. Her taut stomach is as white as crack with no tell-tale speckles of radiation damage. An exquisite accomplishment. Time to look closer...