She was gone, drowning in pain. Her reason melted.

Her mind dissolved.

She gave herself away.

It was over.

The pain vanished, suddenly, as if sliced by a knife.

"PPP negative," the male voice announced.

"Subject cleared the security evaluation," the woman said.

She passed. Somehow she had passed.

The soldiers lowered their weapons.

The woman faced Claire. "You are being deported."

"I'm sorry?"

"We don't want your kind on our planet." The woman grimaced. "You cost us bil ions and forced us into a three-hundred-year war. If things were fair, we'd line the lot of you up and put you out of your misery, except that the Interplanetary Right to Life Act gets in the way."

That's right, flashed in Claire's mind. She was a civilian and under the protection of the Right to Life Act. Breaking it meant instant trade embargo. For a planet like Uley that imported most of its food, it would mean a slow death sentence. The Melko retainers couldn't kil her or any of the Brodwyn civilians. They couldn't load them into spaceships and kick them off planet without a definite destination either.

"Melko Corporation made arrangements with other planets to deport you," the woman said. "In your case, you're going to Rada to some kind of flower province. It's one of the merchant planets. Many kinsmen families all competing for their territories. They are cut-throat on Rada and they're only taking the duds like you, no kinsmen all owed. I don't except you'l last there long, which is just as well. Exit through that door."

Chapter Two

"PPP Negative," the computer announced.

Claire held onto the rail of the platform. She was swimming up a deep well fil ed with blinding pain. Negative.

Negative. She had passed through the screening again.

Please, please let it be for the last time.

"You may leave the platform," Rada's Immigration Officer invited.

She kept swimming. Almost there. Final y she surfaced and her vision returned in a rush. Claire stepped off the platform. The Immigration Officer took her measure. He was lean, dark-haired, and older, his skin either natural y olive or tanned by the sun.

"Come on," he said. "Let me give you your orientation."

She fol owed him to a smal office and sat in the cream-colored chair he indicated. The officer took his place behind a light glass table. A narrow crystal vase sat on the edge of his table. Inside it flowers bloomed, whirl upon whirl of bright petals, some blood red, some yel ow, some deep purple near the root of the petal and white at its end. So vivid, almost painful.

"Dahlias," the Immigration officer said.

"I'm sorry?"

"The flowers. They are cal ed dahlias. You are assigned to the city of New Delphi." Behind him the digital screen displayed the city perched at the top of a tal plateau, its sides a sheer cliff of red rock. Elegant skyscrapers of pale white stone, buildings of glass and steel, wider houses with balconies... There was no rhyme or reason to it. Trees grew here and there, bright spots of green. Claire stared.

"New Delphi is the commercial center of the south,"

the officer said, "but the city itself is located in the Province of Dahlia, hence the flowers. There are other provinces as well. Large urban centers are rare. It's mostly gardens, orchards, family estates. When you hear people speak 'of the provinces,' they are being nostalgic about a less hectic way of life."

The image of the city turned, presenting her with seven long platforms thrusting from the side of the cliff, one above the other, like mushroom ridges on a tree. Tunnels carved into the rock led to the Terraces probably from somewhere within the city.

"These are the Terraces. This is where you'l find most 'provincial' style restaurants and shops. They are pricier than places in the city but you pay extra for authentic taste.

Your apartment is right here."

The image slid down, the buildings rol ing by. The picture zoomed in , and she saw a ten-story structure of pale yel ow stone. Balconies lined its sides.

"The neighbors from your building are also being placed in this general area. You aren't housed together, because we want you to be assimilated into our culture as soon as possible. But you will see familiar faces. Your apartment is yours for the next three months. That's how long your probation period is. After three months, you must assume the mortgage payments, which means you must find employment."

The image zoomed out before she could catch any more details.

"The city is divided into territories between kinsmen families," the officer continued. "A lot of kinsmen keep private security forces, and a lot of these private soldiers have combat implants. The dominant kinsmen families have vast commercial interests and they often clash, sometimes violently, in an attempt to expand their influence.

Duels and assassination attempts are not uncommon. If you see something like that in progress, try to step to the side, out of their way."

"Your people kil each other in the streets?"

Unthinkable. How could this be all owed?

"Sometimes. Most kinsmen are so enhanced, the fights rarely last for longer than thirty seconds. Don't worry.

They almost never injure bystanders. It would be very rude."

"Rude?" This whole planet was insane.

"Of course. With all of the targeting implants and inborn abilities, they are so fast, you would have to actively work to get in their way. Kil ing a civilian would be sloppy and the height of bad manners. Our crime rate is low compared to equivalent cities from other planets, and aside from kinsmen settling their affairs, New Delphi's security force has very little tolerance for foolishness. Assaults are rare, crimes like theft and burglary are more frequent. When a criminal commits an il egal act in New Delphi, chances are he's committing it in a territory of some kinsmen family, who will deal with the matter accordingly. Which isn't to say you should go alone into dangerous areas of the city at night or leave your door unlocked."

The officer looked at the screen in front of him. "Your first priority is finding a job. You will receive job recommendations from this office. You must fol ow these recommendations. Failure to comply will result in deportation to Uley."

"So they aren't real y recommendations, are they?"

Claire asked.

"No. They are not."

"I see."

"If you fail to obtain a job after five recommendations, you will be downgraded to Class B and recommendations will no longer be provided to you. If you fail to obtain employment within your three-month probation period, you will be deported. If you engage in any criminal activity during your probation period, you will be..."

"...Deported?" Deportation would mean death. Melko Corporation would kil her if she returned. They made it abundantly clear before she boarded the spacecraft.

"We understand each other." The officer nodded again. "Your first job interview is in one hour. When you walk out of this building, you will see a row of aerials. Your aerial is number 57/78. The course is already programmed into it. It will take you to your job interview and then to your apartment. Should you obtain employment, the aerial will return for you in the morning. If you like it, you may choose to assume payments for it at the end of your probation.

Here are the particulars." The Immigration Officer slid a data card across the table.

Claire slid it into the tablet she had been issued. The tablet's screen blinked and pale words emerged from the background:

Guardian,

Inc.: Extrasensory Security

Protocols and Biocybernetic Safety.

Her hands went cold. "I'm not a psycher," she managed.

"We know. You show no psychic activity at all." The Immigration officer nodded for emphasis. "The Escana kinsmen family has all the psychers they could want. What they need is support staff with quiet brains, so they can work without interference. They have an Admin Specialist opening and you will apply for it." He peered at her. "Unless there is a problem?"

Passing PPP was one thing. PPP was simply a painful pulse generated by a computer. Walking into a building fil ed with psychers, whose job it was to find and eradicate psychically active intruders... Declining the recommendation would instantly arouse suspicion. "No problem," Claire said.

"You sure?"

"Yes." Unless one counted certain death as a problem.

"I just didn't want to fail before I started."

"Don't worry," the officer said. "You will make an excel ent drone."

*** *** ***

"May I have your name?" The dark-haired receptionist smiled from behind the counter.

"Claire Shannon," Claire said. The smiles looked odd to her. The aerial had touched down in a parking lot and she had to walk two blocks to the Guardian building. In the five minutes she spent outside, she realized that people of New Delhi spent their lives baring their teeth. They smiled when they opened the door, they smiled when they bought groceries, they smiled if you accidental y happened to meet their gaze on the street. It was deeply unnerving.

"May I ask the purpose of your visit?" the receptionist asked. Behind her on a white stone wal , elegant pale gold letters spel ed Guardian, Inc . Under it smal er letters read: Your thoughts are safe with us.

Claire made an effort to smile back. "I'm here to apply for the position of the Administrative Specialist."

A faint touch swept over Claire's mental shield. She held her smile, fighting doubts with logic. She had spent the entire two-week flight reinforcing the shel over her mind and thickening the surface layer. Her mind was well -hidden.

Too well , as the interview with the Immigration officer had proved.

"Take the elevator to the fifteenth floor, then fol ow the hal way," the receptionist said. "You will be met. Good luck!"

"Thank you."

Claire crossed the lobby to the glass elevator, her heels making quiet clicks on the pale granite floor. The presence stayed with her, hovering in the background, scanning her mind, lightly but attentively. Standard practice.