“You were longer than I thought,” said Ondo. “Did something happen on Migdala?”
They were back in the medsuite, Ondo delicately picking at her artificial skin, peeling it from her substrate in long strips. The sensation was not unpleasant – once she"d switched off her pain responses across the affected areas of her body. He"d applied three separate acidic chemicals, their molecular composition very specific and none of them likely to be encountered naturally, in order to break down her bioplastic flesh. Then he used a needle-like high-pressure jet of water to wash away any residue. He worked with the utmost care, but it still felt like being stippled with a thousand pinpricks as he touched the edges of her natural skin.
“Lots of things happened on Migdala.”
He stopped work for a mome
