They were that, decided Jadiver, and something more. They had to be to survive so long. Burlingame was good.
A gamin's face peered through the doorway and one hand thrust his clothing into the room and waved it. "Here. They didn't try to conceal anything." She sounded disappointed.
Jadiver dressed as Burlingame relayed the clothing to him. The gamin wrinkled her nose and disappeared. By the time Jadiver was completely dressed, she came back with refreshments.
They sat down at the table. "I want faces," said Burlingame, across from him—"five faces."
Jadiver looked around. There were six. "None of my business, except in a professional way, but who do I leave out?"
"Cobber. We have other plans for him."
It wasn't a good idea to pry. He had to know the human material on which he was expected to work, but it was safer not to know what they were planning.
He tapped his glass. "What kind of faces? Soft faces, hard faces, space faces? And do you want anything else?"
"Society faces," said Burlingame. "Emily wants to wear a low-cut gown. The rest of us just need faces."
"Real low," the gamin insisted, wriggling.