All of this takes place in a matter of moments and she regains enough composure to ask in her usual bright manner, "So what are we having today?"

"Wow. I was told on the landing dock you'd know — your reputation precedes you," he smiles at least twenty-karats worth.

Not missing a beat: "Yeah, but sometimes it's fun to check on myself — see if I can get it without me saying the order first."

"Sounds reasonable. OK then, I'll have the soy burger special with steamed rice and hot tea." And he resumes reading his Pad.

"Got it."

She pushes past the double-hinged door into the kitchen a bit stunned. "It's only a lunch order," she mutters to herself. "Soy Burger, rice, Lipton's," she tells Lucy, one of the cooks, who punches the appropriate keys on the replicator, but asks,

"What's up?"

"I don't know. Just had a weird experience out there."

"Like?"

"Like I couldn't read what the guy at the counter wanted."

"Which one?" She peers out the window overlooking the Canteen.

"The blond."

"Gee, that describes half the counter."

"The guy at the very end, reading."

"Oooo. Cute."

"Yeah. And strange."

"Like that's a newsflash here. Everyone's strange," she pulls back and gives Sylvie the once over with a wave of her hand from head to toe, "Hel-loooo, Miss Pink Hair." And both women laugh.

"OK, OK. But this is strange."

A bell chimes. "His food's ready," Lucy takes the tray from the square mouth of the replicator and hands it over, "See what happens this time."

Sylvie walks through the doors towards the end of the counter, trying to "turn up" her receptive senses, picking up tiny snippets of thought from the other customers, like bits and pieces of overheard conversation in a hovertrain or elevator, but when she gets to the end, it's as if there's a protective bubble around him. "Hope you like it. Lucy whipped it up just for you."

"Todd's the name."

"Hi."

"Hi." His smile could melt.

She's totally floored by all this, and like a blushing school girl, goes to greet other customers, some at the counter, others choosing the familiar intimacy of tables.
Lunch hour winds down, the Canteen slowly empties, but Todd remains. He's made a choice; perhaps a dangerous choice-but he makes it all the same.

"Anything else?"

"Maybe some more tea — if you join me."

"I usually don't eat with the customers."

"Against the rules?"

"No, but it seems more professional." She gives the eye contact she's avoided. Suddenly, somewhere inside her head, she hears Todd's voice. Don't be afraid.
Reflexively she jumps a bit.

"Don't worry," he says out loud. "Meet me in the Library when you take your afternoon break."

Sylvie says nothing to Lucy or anyone else in the kitchen and at 15:00 slips down to the Level C library, a circular room with steel-grey carpeted floors and walls, filled with comfortable faux-mahogany chairs and desks, many set into spacious cubicles along the wall. Holographic screens float above the desks, able to project texts, messages, films, concerts — you name it. The recessed lighting in the center and along the perimeter casts a soothing watery blue light through room, and a few plants add a final meditative touch.

At first, it seems empty, but as her eyes adjust, she sees Todd sitting in the desk cubby furthest from the door. Though his back's turned away from her, he says in a library-appropriate whisper, "Hi Jonathan."

Which stuns her.

"An old name, sorry. I could also call you Steven or Marge, couldn't I ?"

Staying by the door, "What do you want?" For the first time in years, she feels panic.

Turning, Todd gets up and approaches. "Please, don't be scared. Maybe I shouldn't have done that." Less than a meter away, stopping under the central lights, Todd looks friendly enough. "Listen, I'll take down my block."

Like a wash of ideas, colors, images, Todd's mind reveals itself to her.

She leans against the wall near the door. "Holy crap."

"What's the matter?" He winks.

She looks at him incredulously: "You're not human."

"So now you know why I put up the block." He adds with a chuckle, "Besides I couldn't let you tell Lucy to whip up some fried goat liver, orange marmalade, with a turpentine chaser, could I? Strange is OK — outright weird is creepy." Then it's his turn for surprise. "Goodness . . . And you haven't always been a woman."

Checkmate. She blushes — her secret, her genetically-altered past, is out — and to this complete stranger, this complete... alien.

A bit defensively: "Why are you here?"

"Same as you." He walks closer. "Please, read me — dive in — you'll see I'm not up to anything bad."