"Please take a seat Miss Prus."

"Thank you, Dr Cohen."

"Yes, you can put your bag there, that's fine.  In our first meeting we discussed how you might benefit from our life enhancement therapies and I'm so pleased that you've decided to take advantage of our services.  We talked, back then, in general about your personal motivations, your career, your aspirations.  Now we are here to focus on the therapies in detail, to agree a treatment plan, a time-scale… and it's an opportunity for you to ask any questions, to express any concerns.  Additionally I would like to share with you the results of the scans and x-rays.  And I will go over some rough costings."

At this point the voice paused, delicately, as if noting the brittleness of the situation.  Dr Cohen's face went a little pink.  It was not Dr Cohen in person, of course, but a high-quality holographic representation.  Most clients preferred it.  You could look through a hologram if things became tedious and he would not mind.

Miss Prus extended a foot, tapped the marble with a chelonian toe, but was silent.  She gazed around at the soft white walls, noted a small display of succulents on a low table, blinked slowly at the rays of sunlight streaming through the Venetian blinds.

"But firstly, to recap.  You are single?"

"Yes."

"No family?"

"No."

"Relatives?"

"None at all."

"Significant relationships?"

Serafina Prus inclined her head.  The ghost of Karel pummeled feebly at the lid of his coffin.   Her father's hand with its liver spots, grasping hers:  "Don't leave your Papa, Saffy."

"I have a maid."

Dr Cohen cleared his throat.  "Thank you, Miss Prus."  The corners of his mouth quivered in a professional smile, which implied - Moving swiftly on.

"And you are eighty-three?"

"Eighty-two."

Oh, I beg your pardon.

"Eighty-three on the 4th July."

"Thank you.  So, we have identified three main areas of therapeutic intervention: mobility, epidermal elasticity and integrity, and internal organ regulation and control.  And I'll go through each of these areas in detail with you."

Serafina settled back in her chair, her long neck retracted a fraction, her chin drooped and small folds of skin settled in a little ruff above the velvet collar of her gown.

"Firstly, mobility.  Looking at the x-rays, we see deterioration in the left hip joint and the right shoulder.  There are some arthritic incursions, also.  We propose a programme of joint replacement over a six-month period combined with treatment for arthritis.  This may necessitate a stay in intensive care and some physiotherapy.  We have a very nice beach resort down in Baja."  The voice became light and musical.  Dr Cohen's hologram glowed faintly at the edges.

"With regard to epidermal elasticity and integrity.  Now, we have identified some areas of damaged skin, particularly in areas that may have been exposed to prolonged solar radiation."

Serafina caught the hologram's eye.

"I must stress the importance of keeping exposure to a minimum. And that means NO SUN BATHING!  We have a range of exclusive creams which I would recommend you use on a daily basis.  I think it would be best to have a complete replacement of the facial tissues, laboratory grown to your specifications.  We can keep all the features the same or make any alterations…"

"No, no alterations."

"Of course."  Dr Cohen's voice became softer, almost a purr.  "We'll preserve your natural beauty.  And the neck will need a skin graft." 

"Will there be scars?"

"There will be some attachment seams, thin silver lines, almost indistinguishable…"

"And finally,"  Dr Cohen continued, "your internal organs.  Heart, liver, pancreas, kidneys are all functioning well.  Your digestive system…"

Serafina glanced at the succulents out of the corner of her eye.  They looked - succulent.  She reached out to caress a leaf.  A nostril twitched…

"… your diet, said the voice." 

Serafina sat up with a guilty jolt.

"We recommend a vegetarian diet, it puts less strain on the internal organs.  We are pioneering a gut relining procedure. And of course, our revolutionary gut repair nano bacteria will keep your digestive system functioning perfectly as long as you adhere to a low fat, low sugar, low sodium diet.  And we have a team of specialists to advise on diet."

"We are also in a position, with your agreement, to implement more radical modifications to your physiology.  Here at CalInc we take the prolongation of life seriously and we have been studying the longevity of certain life forms for a long time."  Here Dr Cohen's hologram glowed pink and blue, radiating positive energy. 

"We can use a new substance, which mimics the protective properties of a carapace without compromising your natural flexibility and elegance.  There will, of course, be some sense of constriction but it will not be like wearing a corset.  It will mimic your own skin but will be tougher.  You will never lose your figure.  You will never lack poise.  The plastron will be hinged.  You will be able to enjoy normal sexual intercourse.  But should danger threaten… You will be impregnable, literally."

A thin smile formed on Serafina's lips.

"You will be immune to terrorist plots and all but the most devastating natural disasters.  There will be a few other necessary physical alterations.  We will lower your metabolic rate.  And so coming back to your diet… Your diet will be vegetarian, as I said.  And there is one final physiological change for your consideration.  You may find this distasteful.  This is the point at which you need to make some choices about your, shall we say, 'ethical' stance."

The hologram paused, considered Serafina Prus carefully and continued:

"Every twenty-six years…"  Here, Cohen lowered his voice slightly.  His pink colouring took on a slight grey tinge.

*        *        *

The plane touched down on the island as the sun was setting.  A fleet of self-drive buggies awaited the passengers. 

The people attending this particular meeting had gone to great lengths to keep the location of their rendezvous a secret.  For two hundred years they'd met in this place for the "coming together".

Serafina Prus followed the faint traces of buggy wheels, visible in the sand, showing where others had passed.

As the sun rose, Serafina sheltered in a cave from the worst of the searing Arizona sun.  At dusk she emerged. 

Mountains rose in waves of fading lilac and gold.  The rocks on the trail became pointed and the path was eventually too rough for the buggy.  Abandoning the machine, Saffy ascended a steep mountain path with ponderous steps.  Her feet, used to pavements, had grown a little soft but an instinct had taken possession of her.  She slid, scrambled and clawed her way to the top of a mountain pass and descended towards a forest of thorns, clinging to rocks and vegetation.  Finally she skittered over loose pebbles and practically ran down a scree slope, faster and faster.  Driven on by an all-consuming urge…

The path led through an impenetrable thicket of kapok and acacia trees.  Impenetrable that is for beings with a soft tearable cutis.  She cast off her expensive gown, looped it over a branch and entered the thicket.  Her slim, armoured torso slid between the thorns.  No spike could penetrate her scaly exterior. 

Hours later, she emerged into a clearing where the moon was rising above the forest of thorns.

Others were there whom Saffy recognised: a beautiful occelated creature with long slender legs, a basilisk-eyed beauty whose stare could curdle the mind and freeze the heart of a man.  There were twenty or thirty of them.

An emaciated girl with huge popping eyes and skin of a vivid green approached her:
"Welcome to our meeting sister," she lisped.  "To avoid over-crowding, some of the older sisters are remaining here on the forest fringe.  I hope you'll be comfortable."

"Well, first of all," snapped Serafina Prus,  "I should like to know with whose authority you are speaking.  It's the first time in all my years that I've been ordered to keep back from proceedings!"

The girl's narrow face had flushed dark purple, violent pink spots throbbed on her temples.  Something very unpleasant might have been about to happen. 

"I'm on the organising committee this year and that was our decision," she hissed, and folded her slender fingers into tight, pointed little fists.  Saffy put her head down and prepared for battle.

"Sisters!  Sisters!  Let us not quarrel," croaked a powerfully built grand-dame with a wattled neck and huge warts.  "See, the moon is rising, soon it will be time!"
 
Saffy, still grumbling, took her position in the outer ring of women.  They joined hands and slowly began to sway as the moon rose higher, drifting through traces of cloud, over the forest of thorns.  They opened their mouths and began to sing.  Some with the voices of trained singers, like Saffy; some with shrieks and wails; others were silent except for the occasional explosive croak or stuttering cry.

Once every twenty-six years they greeted each other with this ritual.

Later they drifted apart, seeking isolation for the completion of the task for which they'd assembled.

Slowly, with infinite care, Saffy scraped a hole in the warm sand and trembling, her legs shaking with the effort, she extruded a single egg, the size and shape of a rugby ball.  Tears streamed from her eyes as she surrendered herself to her biological urges.

It had been fertilised with the sperm of a waiter she'd met on a deserted beach ten years ago in Greece.  She'd never grasped his name, though he'd uttered it in his language.  He had devoured her with his gold-flecked eyes and she had an image of his nipples, like huge barnacles, his cursing in Greek as he penetrated her.

Hiding from the sun during the day, they waited.  Some waited longer than others; gestation being variable among the old ones.

Saffy spent her time slowly consuming the iceberg lettuces Valeria had packed in her vacuum-sealed wheelie case.  She adored their crisp texture and, as she finished one, she slowly peeled the outer leaves from another and began to stuff them into her mouth.  They satisfied her violent hunger pangs.

Finally, on a morning of grey mist, her sharp eyes detected a movement in the sand where her egg had been buried.  She could hear the tiny mewling cry of an infant before it emerged from the sand blinking, scrabbling madly with both of its miniscule front claws.  It blinked the sand away from its huge liquid eyes.

She lifted it tenderly.  Examined its delicate features and noted something of the Greek mirrored in its gold-dark eyes.  She smiled and inhaled slowly as atavistic urges overwhelmed her.

*        *        *

The following evening, Serafina emerged from the forest, a little disheveled but otherwise impeccable.  She slipped into her gown, now a size too large.

Using a small powder compact mirror, she inspected her appearance. She wiped away a trace of downy hair adhering to her lip and a spattering of blood from her cheek.  She saw that she looked lovelier than ever.

She retraced her steps, moving with a placid gait, until she'd relocated her buggy.

The buggy purred into action.  Later that day a plane rose from the shelter of a hangar, hidden among the dunes. 

*        *        *

Back in her condominium, Prus waited, as she had waited many a year, watched an ant as it investigated a trace of spilt wine, soon there was a group of two or three, twitching antennae, conducting frantic semaphores.  She put out a claw, ground them into a pulp, wiped her nails on the marble tabletop and folded them in her lap.

He would come, must come.  In her mind a fantasy blossomed:  red roses, a dozen or more, Oh, you shouldn't have.  Will you have a glass of wine?  Canapés?  You naughty boy, be patient now.  Careful of my dress!  [Versace, 800 seed pearls, 200 sapphires, silver lamé]  No need to rush, you greedy boy.  Kissing, caressing, fending off, she backed into the bedroom, threw herself on the bed.  No, don't say it.  Too many men have declared their love for me.  Adore me, worship me, but don't love me.  You don't know what you're saying…

The doorbell interrupted.  She rushed to the door, heart palpitating, a vein throbbing in her neck. 

A box - red roses in cellophane.  A flashing digital message:

Mr Greeney regrets that he is unable to keep his appointment with Miss Prus in her apartment tonight … unforeseen circumstances, a family emergency…

She tore off the cellophane and tipped out the roses.  She grasped a stem, crushing the thorns in her scaly palm.  Delicately, with small snaps of her red-rimmed jaws, she stripped the leaves, chewing slowly, and dismembered the wine-dark blossoms, a dozen at least, petal by petal…