nsparent cover of a storage cabinet, gazing sourly at
its contents.

Eleven humanoid forms were stiffly erect behind the cover, all broadly
resembling him in feature, and differing only in such minor things as
height, hair, perhaps the color of the eyes. Each bore the scars of
some past clumsiness or accident.

"Damn," Mark said again. "That was the only decent body I had to wear.
Now what do I do?"

He went into the next room and bathed himself in the tepid perfumed
mist that fell perpetually from its domed ceiling. If it were anybody
but Jennette, there would be no problem. He just would have to shoot
off a quick RT, explaining the situation and excusing himself. Nobody
would have minded, least of all himself. Particularly a no-fight
affair like this one was supposed to be.

But not Jennette. Ohhh, Jennette.

Mark grinned and rubbed the pleasant fluid over his well-cared-for
skin. Oh yes, Jennette. There was something about Jennette that he
could not quite put his finger on, but it was good. It was wonderously
good. Like the bodies she wore. No matter what it was, it was always
perfect. She just had the knack of dressing well.

Idly he wondered what her protobody was like. There must be some
resemblance, of course. That was the law. Identification was very
important, and few manufacturers would violate that, even as a simple
matter of good taste. But there still would be considerable
difference.

As he thought about it, he got a strange wistful feeling that he did
not quite understand. There was a sort of sadness about it. Jennette
seemed oddly different from other people. He liked her much too much.

Guiltily he brushed the thoughts aside. Anyway, it didn't matter, he
told himself. Due to his carelessness in that last fight, he probably
wouldn't even see her tonight, since he had nothing to wear.

He stalked out of the shower and gazed again at the bodies in the
store room. The only halfway decent one there was that six foot black
fellow with the little ears. It used to be his favorite, until he got
it smashed one night during a party at his nearest neighbor's. A half
smile tugged at Mark's lips as he recalled the incident. That had been
a no-fight party, too; but he had managed to smuggle in a small bomb,
and set it off right in the middle of the main bedroom. There were at
least ten couples there, since it was a big party, and none of them
lived. The trouble was, Mark had been pretty badly smashed up him