Martisset startled as the iris-gate to the Captains’ station opened, and the Avatar-Ashore emerged, sparkling in all her rig. A true android, run by six or seven of the Ship’s process-threads. “Yasmin Sure-Hand.”
The Avatar smiled and extended a hand. Jehen watched Martisset shake hands with the simulacrum, her eyes widening. The face and hands had been created from the holographic anatomical data taken from every Sarronny cadet on arrival at Karis, so the likeness was seventeen-year-old Yasmin Sure-Hand.
It was one thing to know the theory, but quite another to encounter the Avatar-Ashore in all its uncanniness, human face and hands perfect down to the fine gestures that one did not even notice consciously, all the rest an artist’s conception of cyborg beauty.
Before she left for Karis in the youth-draft, Jehen had danced at the outer edge of the vortex around such visions, in the yearly festival of the arrival of supplies.
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