The capsule settled on the lot of Bovey's Bathing and Culinar-yware, one of eight macrostores that made up a small touchdown mall in the Groby district. She walked in to the store, looking round the open display rooms that lined a broad aisle with many branches. Bathrooms and kitchens alternated, promoting a big range of size, styles, and price, though the ones by the door tended to be elaborate. She looked enviously at the larger luxury units, thinking about the kind of apartment she'd develop one day in which such extravagance was a necessity.

'Can I help you?

Araminta turned round to see a man dressed in the store's blue and maroon uniform. He was quite tall with his biological age locked in around his late twenties, dark skin offset by sandy-blond hair. Nice regular features, she thought, without being too handsome. His eyes were light grey, revealing a lot of humour. If they were meeting in a club she'd definitely let him buy her a drink — she might even offer to buy him one first.

'I'm looking for a kitchen and a bathroom. Both have to look and feel high grade, yet cost practically nothing.

'Ah, now that I can understand, and provide for. I'm Mr Bovey, by the way.

She was quite flattered the owner himself would come down on the floor and single her out to help. 'Pleased to meet you. I'm Araminta.

He shook her hand politely. She thought he was debating with himself if he should try for a platonic greeting kiss. It was one of those times when she wished she had a connection to the gaiafield, which would enable her to gauge his emotions, assuming he'd broadcast them. Which as the owner of the store and therefore a professional he wouldn't. Damn. Come on girl, focus.

'What sort of dimensions can you give me to play with? he asked.

Araminta gave him a slightly cheeky grin, then stopped. Perhaps it wasn't a double-entendre. Certainly sounded like one, though. 'Here you go, she told him as her u-shadow produced the blueprint file. 'I would appreciate some help on price. This is my first renovation project, I don't want it to be my last.

'Ah. His eyes strayed to her hands, which still had lines of grime etched on the skin. 'Boss and workforce, I can relate to that.

'Depleted workforce today, I'm afraid. One of my bots blew up. I can't afford any more expensive mistakes.

'I understand. He hesitated. 'You didn't get it from Burt Renik, did you?

'Yes, she said cautiously. 'Why?

'Okay, well for future reference — and I didn't tell you this — he's not the most reliable of suppliers.

'I know he's not the gold standard, but I checked on the evaluation library for that model. It was okay.

This time he did wince. 'Next time you buy something in the trade, including anything from me, I'd recommend some research on Dave's Coding. His u-shadow handed over the address. 'The evaluation library is fine, all those «independent» reports on how the product worked — well, the library is financed and managed by corporations, that's why there's never really a bad review. Dave's Coding is truly autonomous.

'Thank you, she said meekly as she filed the address in one of her storage lacunas. 'I'll take an access sometime.

'Glad to help. In the mean time, try aisle seven for a kitchen. I think we can supply your order from there.

'Thanks. She walked off to aisle seven, more than a little disappointed he didn't accompany her. Perhaps he had a policy of not flirting with customers. Shame.

The man waiting in aisle seven had on an identical blue and maroon uniform. He was perhaps five years older than Mr Bovey, but even taller, with a slender marathon runner frame. His skin was Nordic pale with ginger hair cut short except for a slender ridge right at the crest of his skull. Strangely, his green eyes registered the same kind of general amusement at the world as Mr Bovey.

'I'd recommend these two kitchen styles, he said in greeting, and gestured at a small display area. 'They're a good fit to your dimensions, and this one is an end of the line model. I've got two left in the warehouse, so I can give you a sweet deal.

Araminta was slightly nonplussed. Mr Bovey had obviously passed on her file to this employee; but that was no reason for him to start off as if they were already on familiar terms. 'Let's take a look, she said, lowering the temperature of her voice.

It turned out the end of the line model was quite satisfactory, and it was a good deal. As well as a mid-range culinary unit with a range of multichem storage tanks she got a breakfast bar and stools, ancillaries like a fridge, food prepper, maidbot, shelving and cupboards. The style was chaste white, with black and gold trim. 'If you throw in delivery, I'll take it, she told him.

'Any time you want it, I'll get it to you.

She ignored the flirty overture, and told her u-shadow to pay the deposit.

'Bathrooms: aisle eleven, he told her with unabashed enthusiasm.

The salesman waiting for her in aisle eleven had allowed himself to age into his biological fifties, which was unusual even for Viotia. His ebony skin was just starting to crinkle, with his hair greying and thinning. 'I've got four that I think will suit your aesthetics, was his opening gambit.

'Hello, she snapped at him.

'Ah… yes?

'I'm Araminta, pleased to meet you. And I'm looking for a bathroom for my flat. Can you help me?

'What…?

'This whole relay thing you've got going here really isn't polite. You could at least say hi to me first before you access the file you're all shooting around here. I am a person, you know.

'I think… ah. His surprised expression softened. Araminta found it a lot more disconcerting than his initial smug chumminess.

'You do know what I am, don't you? he asked.

'What do you mean?

'I am Mr Bovey. We are all Mr Bovey in this store. I am a multiple human.

Araminta was certain she'd be turning bright red with embarrassment. She knew what a multiple was, of course; one personality shared between several bodies through an adaptation of the gaiafield technology. This way, its practitioners claimed, was the true evolutionary leap for humanity that everyone else was pursuing down futile dead ends. A multiple human could never die unless every body was killed, which was unlikely in the extreme. In a quiet non-evangelical way they believed that everyone would one day become multiple. Perhaps after that the personalities would start fusing, leaving one consciousness with a trillion bodies — a much better outcome than downloading into the artificial sanctity of ANA.

It was a human heresy, their detractors claimed, a long-term conspiracy to imitate the Prime aliens of Dyson Alpha. More vocal opponents accused the multiple lifestyle of being started by left-over Starflyer agents trying to continue their dead master's corrupting ideology.

I'm sorry, she said, shamefaced. 'I didn't know.

'That's okay. Partly my fault in assuming you did. Most people in the trade know.

Araminta gave a wry grin. 'I guess continuity of service is a big plus.

'I've got to be better than Burt Renik.

'Definitely!

'All right then. So are you and I good to go and look at bathrooms?

'Of course we are.

Araminta wound up buying the third suite the older Mr Bovey showed her. It wasn't out of guilt, he was genuinely offering a good deal, and the plain gold and green style was perfect for the flat. And once she'd let her awkwardness subside, he was fun to talk to. She couldn't quite throw off the weird little feeling of disconnection talking to his older body and knowing he was exactly the same person who'd greeted her, and that body was probably smiling privately at her while dealing with another customer.

'Just let us know when you want it delivered, he said when her u-shadow handed over the deposit.

'Do you… that is: some of you. Ones of you. Handle delivery as well?