3
Kolvin leaned back in the chair. The barber with four arms and very steady cutting tools reshaped his grown-out hair.
"Long or short?" The barber asked.
Kolvin ran his hand over his face. "I..."
Re-lee came over, "Short, I think. With his face structure. I think it would flatter him well."
The barber nodded in agreement.
Re-lee pulled out a communicator and glanced at it. "I need to take care of a few things. I trust you can make our latest clients look a little, less rough."
"We have them well in hand," the barber said. He and the others had each of the Rhimodians sitting in chairs, getting groomed, for the first time in years.
Kolvin found it both pleasant but also strange. He had not bothered to care about his appearance in the cell--why would he? Prisoners being tested on and generally manipulated would not care about whether they had a haircut or a shower.
Survival itself was more important.
He did not understand what was going on. Was this part of the peace treaty or something? Did the Rhimodians negotiate potential mating ritual? The last Kolvin had understood, the Rhimodians did not have mates. Nor could they breed with anyone. Was that what this led to? Finding agreeable females for mating? To expand the species?
Maybe his people had found a species that would breed with them and produce more Rhimodians. They were the last of their people--there were no more embryos to grow and had not been for almost twenty years. He could not imagine that his people had found a solution to their small race continuing, but he did not think they would give up trying to find a way. Perhaps that was what this dating place was--an option to find those who were compatible.
That was the problem--finding a species of humanoid who had the genetic ability to reproduce with the Rhimodians. They had been exploring possibilities since they settled in the Sol system. Disguised Serenity was a spaceport that had a great deal of traffic of all different species of humanoid. Finding a potential match should have been easy.
However, the last Kolvin knew, they had not found one yet.
The barber turned the chair he was in and faced him to the mirror, jarring him out of his thoughts.
"I think this works for you,"
Kolvin looked at himself.
Really looked.
He had not seen his face in a long time.
Much less dirty. It seemed to be similar, but it was apparent it was not the same as it had been. The barber had left some of the facial hair on his face, calling it "scruff," and said it was more desirable for females.
Whatever.
He didn't really care. Kolvin wasn't sure what to do with a mate, anyway. He knew there were physical aspects to being mated, certain things that needed to happen to breed, of course. The Craving did still exist--he was Rhimodian. But his cybernetics kept a good portion of that at bay, controlling the emotional desires. The cybernetics had not ever been able to completely squelch the Craving, and some chose to take up with other humanoid females when time allowed it to relieve the pressure.
Kolvin was no different.
Before.
Now, though...
He put his hand on his chin and touched his face.
Thinner. The bones were more defined. Even the lysteel, the metal fluid that flowed through his body that created his cybernetic parts, seemed more visible through the skin.
And that was another thing--his skin.
He was Rhimodian. The skin, typically shades of brown, usually adapted to their surroundings, so their natural color was hardly ever seen. Their skin morphed to match whatever they touched.
His, however, was not doing that. There was a distinct line between his skin and the clothing he wore.
