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them?’
    It was the boy who’d fallen against her in the Ixion crossover. She recognised his freckled skin and the way his red curls corkscrewed off in different directions. Now that he was standing, she could see that he was taller than her but not nearly as big as Markes. She blushed, remembering her thoughts during the transition.
    â€˜Hey, I know you! You’ve got soft whatsies.’ He leered at her chest, unashamed. ‘I’m Rollo. Looks like you can go through the Register in pairs. Wanna do that?’
    Retra shook her head.
    His leer deflated. ‘Hey, I didn’t think girls came here to give knock-backs.’
    She turned away, offended. Maybe Cal was right about Seals. She hadn’t talked to any boys, other than Joel. Seal boys and girls were always chaperoned. Crossing her arms tight across her chest, she ignored Rollo’s fake heavy breathing down her neck.
    Jerk! A forbidden word but it felt good to say it in her mind.
    Rollo’s teasing stopped abruptly, though, when the boy who’d gone into the booth before them burst back out, moaning and crying. He threw himself to the ground near her feet, tearing at his face with his fingers, trying to gouge his own eyes out.
    Two Ripers appeared and carried him away.
    Hyper-reaction , the whisper went round.
    Dread wound around Retra’s stomach. Will that happen to me?
    She forced herself to step into the vacant booth. It was empty other than a black circle painted on the floor and an articulated metallic arm that hung from the ceiling.
    As she stepped into the circle the door closed behind her and the mechanical arm dropped down, a hand of instruments unfolding from it. A brace snapped tight around her head and probes skittered into her ears and nose. She felt pinpricks at the base of her spine and neck.
    Biological age 6387 days. Health – acceptable. Adrenal modifications successful. Psychological/neurological profile recommends faux badge. Proceed. Place your hand between the plates, said a disembodied voice.
    She complied with the voice and the plates closed together, locking her hand in position. A probe punctured the skin at the centre of her palm, making her twist in pain.
    Faux badge administered. Test orientation download … starting … now …

    After the blackness passed, she woke up on the floor in another bare room. She was alone in it, apart from Markes. He leaned against the wall, hands in his coat pockets, hair curling over his eyes, watching her.
    Her tunic had ridden high up her thighs. Embarrassed, she smoothed it down. She wanted to move closer to him, as if proximity might ease the dull throb in her thigh and the sharper, newer, sickening pain in the palm of one hand.
    She rose up onto her elbows. Better not. The last thing she wanted was to be sick on Markes.
    He came to her instead, kneeling, grasping her shoulders, giving them a little shake.
    â€˜How are you?’ he asked
    â€˜W-what happened to me?’
    â€˜The probes give some people grief.’ He shrugged his hair from his eyes long enough for her to get a shiver from their liquid warmth. Then he moved his face closer, as if he might put his cheek to hers. ‘Why do I get the feeling you’re here for a different reason than the rest of us?’
    Retra turned her head away from his. His closeness suffocated and elated her; stirred things in her.
    â€˜They put something on my hand. Th-then they tested it and … I woke up in here with you,’ she said.
    His fingers tightened, crushing her shoulder bones. His lips hovered near her earlobe, breath so light she could barely … No! She couldn’t feel it.
    He persisted with his question. ‘Why are you here?’
    â€˜I –’ Her desire to tell him the truth compelled her to speak, as if confession might absolve her of guilt and the fear, but a sliver of suspicion pierced her consciousness as she opened her mouth.
    No breath. He has no