Sandra No. 7 sat on the floor with her back to a wall, and so they stayed, in silence for about an hour. “So why were they after you, what ...ave you done?” The man asked her, turning to sit with his back to the window, apparently satisfied that the danger had passed. “Nothing, I just escaped.” She replied and told him her story. “So you’re one of them sex clones eh. D’you think you could, you know help me out?” His filthy leer showed blackened and missing teeth and he. What looked back was not quite familiar, and every new detail refocused her attention on the ghostly image, from the newly refined cheekbones to the deepening of her already striking eyes to something approaching International Klein Blue. That wasn't a color that had been in her vocabulary before class, but Rhea had just given one hell of an hour's crash course in 20th century art, from Klein to Klee to Macke, from Braque to Derain to Vlaminck. She'd been a pretty damned good student back at. More

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