"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 bill 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 finally 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 yellow 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 small 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 rolled 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 trellised rail, and cried.
Chapter Three
Claire opened her eyes. The ceiling above her was cream, painted with yellow stripes from the rays of the morning sun filtering through the window.
She rolled 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 strolled 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 small flowers in the brim. Their little sandals made loud slapping sounds on the sidewalk: flop, flop, flop. The woman stopped at a small stall, 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 yellow blushing with red on one side.
"Dahlia peaches."
Claire picked up a peach and smelled. 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. Usually 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 stall's support.
"We can do that."
The vendor took a satchel from a stack and filled it with fruit, sliding it carefully into the bag one by one.
A brush of a familiar mind made Claire turn. A woman approached, her dark hair pulled 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 killer 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 pulled 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 swallowed.
"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 finally.
"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. "Killed 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.
"It's a kindness," Claire said. "She was trying to save me from embarrassment, because my hair draws attention."
"Don't listen to her. I like your hair," the vendor said. "It's sunny."
"I like my hair too. Thank you for the fruit." She took the satchel and went to her apartment.
Claire washed the fruit, arranged it on a plastic cutting board she'd found in the kitchen and took it and a knife to the coffee table. She cut the fruit into slices, put it into a bowl and took it to the couch. She linked her tablet to the larger digital screen on the wall and pulled up the work manuals. The Guardian procedure differed slightly from Uley's military protocols but the basic methods were the same. She'd finished with them and looked at the screen.
She still had a lot of fruit and nothing to do.
"Net search: Venturo Escana."
"Venturo Escana," the AI announced in a pleasant male voice. "Son of Haldor Madsen and Malvina Escana. Founder and joint owner of Guardian, Inc. Personal net worth estimated at seven million credits -"
"No audio," she said. "I want to read it."
The digital screen flashed, opening various news articles. She scooted deeper into the couch and reached for a piece of some green fruit shaped like an ancient hour-glass.
She sifted through press releases, financial statements, and tabloid gossip. There wasn't much. Guardian, Inc., seemed to have a stellar reputation. In the eight years of its existence, the firm had grown from a small start-up to the third largest provider of the bionet security in the southern hemisphere. Its chief competitors, Apex and DDS, both had decades of experience and a lot of family capital backing them up.