Lienne sighed mentally. "Oh no. Ven, please don't tell me you found another lost puppy?"
Claire studied her hands. Lost puppy...
"What if the next firm she goes to reject her as well? Eventually she will be deported. Have you seen the images of that place? It's hell."
"I've read the coverage, too. Chemical warfare, casualties in thousands, and everyone with a drop of kinsmen blood turned into a killer. We have no way of verifying who she is or what she is capable of besides what the Immigration tells us. This is a terrible idea."
"No kinsman would have made it through the immigration screening. Her mind is completely inert. What harm can she do? Look at it as a good deed for the day."
In her mind Lienne smiled. "Are you sure you're hiring her because you're buying her hard luck story and not because she looks at you as if you're made of gold?"
They knew. They both realized her reaction to him. It must've been so apparent, a blind man could've seen it. How embarrassing.
"Hire her," Venturo's thought communicated. "I can make a difference in her life today and I intend to do so."
"Then let me put her as one of the junior assistants. As your admin, she would be representing the company. I mean, look at her, Venturo. She looks like a beggar. That hair... The woman obviously has never been inside a salon in her entire life..."
Deep inside her shell Claire pictured slapping Lienne's mind. The older woman was powerful, but not powerful enough. One slap and Lienne would wake up on the floor an hour or so later, unsure how she got there.
Venturo's mind focused on his aunt. It wasn't a gesture designed to intimidate; he simply "stared" at her, but the force of that mental "look" was nearly overwhelming. Like standing in the path of an avalanche.
Mentally Lienne bowed her head. "As you wish."
Venturo held his aunt in the sniper scope of his mental stare for another long second and glanced back at her. "Claire, how much do you know about extrasensory security?"
"Nothing." Everything.
"Most of the computers we use are simply a collection of mechanical parts," he said. "However, certain corporations and government systems require higher level of data processing. They run on biological networks. These networks are vulnerable to psychic attacks. We provide security for these systems. If you choose to work here, you will have to sign a confidentiality agreement. You cannot discuss the nature of your work with anyone. Will that be an issue for your family?"
"I have no family."
"You do have a place to stay?" he asked.
"Yes. The Immigration provided me with an apartment."
"Good," he said. "You're hired. Lienne will take care of the details."
"Thank you," she whispered.
"You're welcome." He rose and walked away to his desk. Lienne stood up and gave her a pointed glance. Claire followed her outside through the hallway into the outer office. Lienne tapped her tablet and held her hand to the slit in the recessed wall to their right. The wall spat a narrow ring of deep red into her palm.
"Hand," the woman ordered.
Claire held out her hand and Lienne slid the ring on her right middle finger. "Two weeks advance. It will be recouped gradually from your pay. Squeeze the sides to view the balance." The older woman examined her critically. "New wardrobe. Nothing too provocative, nothing too drab. Nothing like this." She indicated Claire's clothes with the sweep of her hand.
It wasn't an insult, but it felt like a slap. "Thank you," Claire said.
"You will be replacing Olemi, Venturo's personal admin. If it was up to me, I would place you in a position of lesser responsibility, but he insisted. He will see every mistake you will make and I have no doubt he will overlook some of them, because he is a kind man. But his patience isn't infinite." Steel laced Lienne's gaze. "Make no mistake, Claire. If you betray our family, he will kill you."
"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 tell 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 Allure. Eighty-six percent of users provided four star or above rating. Estimated time of traveclass="underline" 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 shell open, show him the full 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 pulled 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 small insignificant mistakes to avoid calling 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 Allure.
Claire walked inside. The glass doors hissed open at her approach. At the receptionist desk a man with lemony yellow 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, pulled 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?"