"I understand." He would find her a surprisingly difficult target.

"This tablet contains the work manuals that explain your duties and company procedures. Ven feels sorry for you. Going through life relying on the sympathy of strangers is no way to live. I suggest you memorize these manuals over the weekend, so you can earn your keep with something more than your sad story." Lienne pursed her lips. "Do you have any questions?"

"Would it be a problem if I dyed my hair?"

Lienne arched her eyebrows. "Dictating the color of your hair would violate Employee Rights. I can tel you what clothes to wear, but clothes can be removed at the end of the work day. Hair cannot. You may dye it whatever shade you wish, although I would hope that it will be something tasteful. Working here is a privilege even for the most qualified applicants. You're been given a gift. Don't waste it."

*** *** ***

Claire slid into the seat of the aerial. She felt lost, as if her very being unraveled at the seams and the tatters of her psyche swirled around her, lifted by the breeze.

"Destination?" an automated male voice asked.

"Find a salon frequented by businesswomen."

"The closest location is all ure. Eighty-six percent of users provided four star or above rating. Estimated time of travel: ten minutes. Permission to book an appointment?"

"Book it."

The aerial hummed and took to the air. Claire slumped on the seat. A lost puppy. She was Venturo Escana's rescued mongrel. The handsome golden man felt sorry for her. He knew that he stunned her and he felt pity for her. Her pride didn't just sting, it twisted in contortions. She wanted to crack her shel open, show him the ful power of her mind, and scream, "Look at me!"

They would throw her off planet so fast, she wouldn't have a chance to blink.

Fatigue flowed over her in a heavy wave.

She had a job. She had an apartment. No matter how bad it was, it had to be better than the concrete box on Uley.

She tapped the tablet and pul ed up the employee manual. Bionet protocols. Basic security. Data compilation.

She could do this job in her sleep. She had done it sixteen years ago - that's how all psychers started.

She would have to make sure that she made smal insignificant mistakes to avoid cal ing attention to her sudden expertise.

"You have reached your destination," the aerial announced. They landed. She stepped out of the vehicle. In front of her, a building rose, shaped like an ancient ivory hand fan, complete with lace carved in wide panes. The sign above the rectangular doorway proclaimed all ure.

Claire walked inside. The glass doors hissed open at her approach. At the receptionist desk a man with lemony yel ow hair glanced at her.

I have an appointment," she said.

"Claire?"

"Yes." She could see her own reflection in the mirror behind him: pale brown hair of interminable shade, pul ed back from her face into a braid, generously streaked with premature gray and tinted with slight orange.

"What will it be?"

She pointed to her hair. "Fix this."

Thirty seconds later she sat in a chair. A woman approached her. "Good afternoon, my name is Belina and what will we... oh my. Horatio?"

A slight, effeminate man approached, wiping his hands with a towel. "Take the braid out."

Belina unwound the braid and her hair fell around Claire's face in a dense wave.

"Better already." Horatio leaned next to her, looking in the mirror at her reflection. "Why is it stained with orange?" he asked softly.

"Chemical deposits in the water," she said.

"I see. What will you let us do?"

"I've been hired as an admin by the Escana family," she said. "You may do anything that won't get me fired."

Two hours later Claire looked in the mirror. The woman who looked back was about five years younger. A cloud of copper red hair fell on her shoulders in artful cascade, glinting with splashes of gold and deep red, softening her features and bringing out her grey eyes. She turned her head, and the hair moved, shimmering and light. Claire studied the woman's face. It didn't belong to her.

"Gorgeous," Horatio said as she settled the bil and she smiled back at him without forcing it.

"Where do business women shop?" she asked him.

"How much money do you have?"

She squeezed the ring, checking. "Two thousand credits."

He borrowed her tablet and scribbled the address with a stylus. "Ask for Sophia. And use the shampoo I gave you. Red fades fast."

By the time the aerial final y landed in front of her apartment, the sky had grown dark. Claire ducked into the entrance and walked up the stairs to the fourth floor. She pressed her thumb to the keypad. The lock clicked open, and she stepped inside.

Walls of warm inviting yel ow greeted her. The floor was textured tile in a dozen shades of pale green, brown, and beige. Soft green couches waited to be sat on to her right. A curved coffee table carved from some reddish rock rested between them, and on it in a wide glass dish floated burgundy-red dahlia blossoms. Ahead, double doors framed by diaphanous curtains led to a balcony.

Claire dropped her bags.

The apartment was completely quiet. She walked across the floor to the door and slid it open. A smal balcony presented her with a view of the sunset: above her the cosmos was deep purple and far ahead, at the horizon, where the setting sun rol ed behind the distant mountains, the sky glowed with bright vivid red. Wind fanned her, bringing with it a scent of some flower she didn't know.

She sat down on the floor of the balcony, behind the trel ised rail, and cried.

Chapter Three

Claire opened her eyes. The ceiling above her was cream, painted with yel ow stripes from the rays of the morning sun filtering through the window.

She rol ed out of bed and walked out onto the balcony.

Outside New Delphi buzzed with life. In the sky, crisscrossing currents of aerials flowed one above the other, sliding toward the distant buildings of the business sector. Below a wide street led into the distance, framed by buildings in every color, shape, and size. People strol ed on the sidewalk. Claire watched a young woman leading two little girls walk down the street. Both children wore flowing white dresses and straw hats with smal flowers in the brim.

Their little sandals made loud slapping sounds on the sidewalk: flop, flop, flop. The woman stopped at a smal stal , offering buckets of fruit under a bright green awning.

The vendor offered the little girls a cup of some sort of round red berries.

Suddenly she was starving.

Claire rummaged through the new clothes she'd hung up in the closet, found a simple pale blue dress, slipped it on, and ran out the door.

The street vendor was old, his hair almost completely grey, his nose large with a bump, like a beak of some bird.

He squinted at her with dark eyes as she looked at the fruit.

"What's this one?" she pointed to a bulbous green fruit.

"Pears," he said.

"And this one?" She pointed at the big sphere of yel ow blushing with red on one side.

"Dahlia peaches."

Claire picked up a peach and smel ed. The delicate, sweet aroma teased her.

"You're from Uley?" he asked.

She nodded.

"I've seen a few of you in the neighborhood," he said.

"You're braver than most. Usual y it takes your people ten minutes to decide to talk to me." He pointed to boxes one by one. "This one is sweet but firm, this one is sweet and soft, this one is tart..."

"One of each," she said and held her ring to the scanner mounted on the stal 's support.

"We can do that."

The vendor took a satchel from a stack and fil ed it with fruit, sliding it careful y into the bag one by one.

A brush of a familiar mind made Claire turn. A woman approached, her dark hair pul ed back into a bun. She wore a familiar grey tunic of simple cut over the plain trousers.

Tonya Damon, Claire remembered. She lived across her mother's apartment.

Tonya saw her and halted, awkward. The look of worry in the woman's eyes stabbed at Claire. She'd seen this reaction before: she was a psycher, an officer, and a kil er and Tonya was afraid.

"Are you here for the fruit?" Claire asked, forcing a smile.

"Yes. No. I was just looking."

Claire took the satchel from the vendor's hand and pul ed out a pear. "Would you like to try one?"

Tonya looked at the pear.

"I got carried away and bought a whole bag," Claire said.

"She did," the vendor confirmed.

Tonya swal owed.

"I can't possibly eat it all by myself. It would be a waste."

She'd said the magic word. Tonya reached out for the pear and took it. "Thank you."

"You're welcome."

Tonya hesitated.

Claire waited, the smile in place.

"When did you arrive?" Tonya said final y.

"Yesterday. You?"

"A week ago." The woman blinked. "I found a job. I work for a chemical laboratory. That's what I did on Uley, so it worked out."

"That's great," Claire told her. "I found a job, too, as an admin."

"That's nice." Tonya smiled.

What was her husband's name... "How's Mark?"

"Mark died," Tonya said. "Kil ed on the front line two years ago."

"I'm so sorry."

"That's alright. It was nice to see you."

"Nice to see you as well. I live in that building over there." Claire nodded at the apartment. "Fourth floor. If you need anything..."

"I'm down the street. I better go. Thank you for talking to me."

"Thank you."

Tonya turned, took a few hurried steps, turned and came closer. She licked her lips, unsure, leaned closer and said, her voice barely above a whisper. "Your hair is too bright."

She ducked her head and hurried on, the pear in her hand.

"What was that all about?" the vendor asked.