Orb-shaped inhaler in hand, Lydia lumbered out of bed. She needed the distraction, anything to keep from thinking about that jerk Joshua and the night before. Being reduced to using an inhaler wasn't ideal, however.

It was when she put it to her lips that a red light flickered on the ceiling. Lydia's eyes followed the small red dot as it crossed the room. It came back again, a beam of light running along with it. Although she wondered what it meant, she was more curious than afraid. The System was scanning her, but to what end?

The light traveled back again, blinking.

It reached her and stopped. She stared up at it. This was strange even for the System.

Why would the computer scan her?

It's probably faulty. She let out a sigh. With my luck it'll read me as a rogue E and shut this place down. That was its original design after all; finding Elementals without a master.

"System?"

"Command?"

Lydia said, "There was a red light; what was it?"

"The System."

Right eyebrow raised, Lydia tried again. "Run a self-diagnostic."

"Fully operational."

The flashing light on the ceiling zipped past, fading as it reached the wall.

Letting out a sigh, Lydia brought the orb up to study it. She turned and tapped a panel on the wall above her bed and put the inhaler inside. This was the last thing she needed.

Staring up at the ceiling, Lydia fought back the feelings of despair. It would all be all right. Somehow, it would be all right. Her mother or her father would start answering for the bills soon. It would be all right. She just needed to keep busy—keep distracted till then.

Yesterday's efforts undid her and she had to face facts about the tuition. "It's gone, Lydia. You blew it."

It couldn't offset their debt anyway—her debt soon. Worrying about that one diskette was like fretting about a loose thread in the noose. But it had been her chance of escape, too, and she'd lost it. With it, she could have pretended she had an option.

It's just twenty years. All she had to do was have a child of her own who would take her place in twenty years. Then she could be free—in twenty years....

But what else could she do? Lydia's parents had her merely to take over the estate and carry on their name. She admitted something to herself after getting dressed and heading to the kitchen—this was her duty.

The morning lights began to illuminate in Lydia's home and she wasn't all that shocked to see her mother, still dressed for bed, race down the hall and stop at the mouth of the kitchen.

"Milton?" she called out in a whisper.

Lydia was saddened by the sight of her mother's unkempt hair. She looked weak, her grip shaky and unsure as she closed her bathrobe, hiding the nightgown which didn't fit her bony shoulders well.

"No, Dizz," Lydia soothed. "It's just me."

At those words, Dizzy's body drooped. She tucked her hands under her armpits, taking on a guarded posture. "You—you haven't seen your father around, have you?"

Lydia wished her mother hadn't asked. She must have known he wasn't here. What was the point of asking such a stupid question? Shouldn't she be more concerned about the financial pit the family was circling?

"No, Dizz," Lydia began, "I ain't seen him—"

"Haven't seen him, honey. We don't say ain't in this house," Dizzy corrected her and sighed again before turning to leave. "Have a good day at school."

Even now, with them on the brink, Dizzy'd reminded her to "act her status."

Lydia heard the shaking of the pill sphere the frail woman had hidden under her arm. Sure enough when she leaned out the doorway and peered down the hall, her mother shook out a few tablets before ducking back into the bedroom. Lydia was sure Dizzy'd be in a better mood by the time she came home. Maybe she could talk to her about it then. She'd mention her mother cutting back on the pill dosage again, too. That topic never ended well. Getting her mother upset now wasn't a good idea.

Hand on the wall, Lydia commanded, "Call Milton."

It took a few seconds for a touch screen to appear on the white surface. The words 'stand by' flashed on the screen below her fingertips. A haggard face came into view; her father was just waking up.

"Hey there, little one. What's up?"

Lydia bristled at the sweet tone of voice, wondering why Milton couldn't greet his own wife that cordially.

"Are you...." Lydia found out long ago that she had to be careful how she phrased things if she wanted to nudge her father back and not send the man running. "Are...are you coming to my graduation?"

Milton's blue eyes lit up. "Of course, poppet! I wouldn't miss it for the Colony. Just go ahead and enter the date into my planner. I'll sync with it later. All right?" At Lydia's nod, the face on the screen waited. "Anything else?"

Lydia's father was in his early forties but when he spoke, the energy he gave off made it seem like he was twenty years younger. Lydia couldn't help herself, she had to ask.

"Are...you coming home soon?"

"Huh?" Milton squinted, looking at something Lydia's screen didn't to show. He focused on Lydia again. "What? Why? Your birthday and your graduation's a few months off, right?"

Months? Since when had her father found himself so bold that he could be gone for months without any notice? Especially with all their bills piling up. Why wasn't anyone paying any of them? Does Milton know? Is he ignoring it on purpose? And what if he doesn't know? He'd have Dizzy's head if he found out like this.

"I...I kinda miss having you around. You know?" Lydia said.

"Oh." Milton's blue eyes drifted downward, no doubt focused on the table of his own interface. Eventually, he said, "Maybe I can come for a few hours. You know, next Tuesday at noon or so."

This news wasn't what Lydia wanted to hear. She lost patience. "You won't be able to see Dizzy then. She'll be at the medical section, you know that."

Milton didn't give a response at first but when it came, it was cold and unapologetic. "You want me to come or not?"

Brow furrowed, Lydia chewed on her bottom lip, and nodded in defeat.

"All right then." Milton's energy level waned as he said, "I'll see you then. Okay?"

Before the man raised his hand to touch the wall on his own side of the Colony to end the transmission, Lydia called out, "Milty?" Her father paused and Lydia found herself tearing up. She couldn't remember ever having called Milton 'dad.' Dizzy had insisted on her nickname, and it just fell into place with Milton as well. Today was the first time she longed for a father who was fatherly, and not a friend. Lydia needed a parent, and she needed one now.

"You're not serious about going this time, are you? I mean...I mean, you're coming back. Right? You always come back."

Milton looked a lot like a criminal who'd almost gotten away with a smooth escape.

"Poppet, listen. Things are complicated. Grown up stuff is pretty complicated."

Grown up stuff? Have you lost your mind? I'm not twelve. The condescension made Lydia scowl. "Well, things always seem complicated when Stella's in the mix, right?"

She wasn't surprised when Milton hit the wall, causing the transmission to fade. Mentioning Stella would push her father's buttons and although Lydia rarely used it, when she thought of her mother in her room, crying herself sick, she felt compelled to strike a blow in her honor, especially if Milton wasn't going to come home anyway.

The second message flashed; it had a Colony insignia. Her throat tightened at the prospect of reading it.

If she left it till later, maybe someone else might handle it. She could simply let it stay like that—like she had been doing.

No. Might as well get it over with. Leaving it for six more months would be stupid. She tapped the flickering area, prompting the message to expand. Her stomach dropped.

"Holy imp-shit. We can't afford that."

It was another bill. Three months overdue was one thing, but four months would garner a complaint to the guards. Using both hands, she typed along the interface, desperate to find some monetary credits somewhere. The list of utility bills cascading in yellow gave her pause.

"They're all overdue? The stipend must have paid some of them."

Till now, she'd signed off on a few, every now and then, but it didn't seem to be helping. She flicked her fingers along the screen, searching for a solution. Finally, she found the only thing listed in blue that indicated a plus in funds.

"The last of my tuition." She felt cold at the very thought, but what was the alternative? Another humiliating fiasco about money but next time with the guards at four in the morning?

She allowed three other utility bills to go into their third month past due and paid the more urgent medical bill.

Now what? Three more days till another stipend arrives from the Colony. How do I make sure it doesn't get swallowed up? With a lot of luck on her part, she managed to assign the new allotment of credits to a hold that required her prompt for release. In three days' time, she had to figure out how to get it into one of her own private accounts.

The mirror and the interface faded.

There was one option left and she nearly vomited as she retrieved her private communication diskette from under the back of her jacket.

A verbal command would have worked, too, but she pushed a shaky index finger against the screen until she wrote out the name...Abraham.

Within seconds a handsome young face came into view. It wore a look of indifference at first, and then a smile.

"Lydia.... How are the eyes?"

In her haste to shut the call off, Lydia almost dropped the diskette.

This wasn't an option. Better theft or murder—Abraham wasn't an option.

"Mist." Hands at her face, she muttered, "Shut up and think, Lydia, you broke idiot."

With a wave of her hand the interface appeared and she called up the previous failed job applications. The list scrolled in yellow—all rejected.

Her face warmed when she saw that her mathematical score was too low to qualify even for a menial job. "What? But I had that right. I'm sure of it." She leaned in for a closer inspection. In the end, she had to trace the screen with her fingertips to read her mistakes. She'd gotten them wrong; now she could admit that, but who would hire someone with vision who needed to read like a blind person. "I'm not meant for technical stuff, anyway."

And she wasn't.

She was trained in the arts, but she hated the arts and the memory that went along with it.

Reluctantly, she selected the first blue application and calmed. "Dancing. Ballet, contemporary and stage work. That's...I can do that." The pay wasn't bad either. It wouldn't take care of everything, but it would help until the next allotment of credits arrived at the first of the month. "Okay, Lydia, you've got a shot." She submitted her skill set and did something she hadn't the previous time—she included her mother's name. Maybe someone would remember her former glory and have mercy.

No sooner had she pressed send, another message flashed in return. The job. It was coming back blue. Blue. And so quickly. One hurried tap on the screen brought an image to life.

A middle-aged man with a thin mustache greeted her, "Daphne! For the love of the Colony, you've come back! Darling, tell me what you need, when you want to start. A comeback is—" All fell silent and Lydia furrowed her brow curiously when the man leaned closer to the screen, looking around as if he'd intended to jump out of the interface somehow and search the room. "Da...Daphne?"

"Um...." Lydia lowered herself back into her seat again. "No. It's...my name's Lydia. I'm... Dizzy—Daphne's daughter."

Two green eyes stared at her, studying her as if she were unreal. "She...oh." The man squinted and said, "You." The once cheerful disposition turned tepid. "So what is it you want? I'm not supposed to hear from you for another two years. I've already agreed."

"Um, actually," Lydia hesitated then said, "I'm looking for a job."

"A job?" the man asked as if he'd never heard that dirty word before. "I don't need any volunteers right now."

"No. No. Not to volunteer, sir. I...I need a job."

"A job?" the man repeated, his face the very definition of confusion. "What? You're nineteen years old. What the hell are you doing wasting it with work? That just won't do. And I can't have an untattooed worker in my theater. What will everybody say? Well, this is just ridiculous." He leaned away and eyes roving the interface on his end. His mutterings meant he read her application. The scowl on his face deepened.

Each second that ticked by, left Lydia feeling smaller and there wasn't much left of her when the man finally focused on her once more.

"Whatever she's put you up to, forget it. Working one day or two days out of an entire year is simply laughable. I run a tight show, and this is a serious production and if this is how she treats our friendship then—"

"No, no." Lydia's breath hitched. After letting out a deep sigh, she shook her head. "Never mind. I'm sorry. I'm sorry I applied. Never mind."

The man on the screen shifted in his chair, cocked his head and squinted. He kept that position then scoffed. "Good day, child."

Beep went the screen, and then the interface turned black.

Lydia's body trembled. Why wasn't anything working? Milton wasn't coming, Joshua wasn't an option. No. She had to make this work. She had to.

With a wave of her hand the interface appeared and she called up one of the previous applications.

The slender green-eyed man's thin mustache shifted as he frowned. "You again. What is it now, child?"

"I," Lydia began then sucked in a deep breath. "I'm getting married. That's why I applied before. It...it's customary to seek a job in your parent's field. I only wish to follow after my mother. Can I possibly start now?"

"Married?" the man squawked. "At nineteen? It reeks of desperation. How disgraceful. To whom—?"

"Do you want the legendary Daphne's daughter at your theater or not? Because I will gladly go elsewhere."

The man stared her down then calmed. He grumbled and said, "But nineteen? A child-bride? I... I don't know."

"All right then." Lydia bowed and said, "Thank you for your time—"

"Now wait, wait. Don't be so hasty. Wait. Do you have any proof of qualifications? Any assurance that you're not marrying because you have a caustic house to pawn off? Nobody's hasty to enter into wedlock unless they've got something to hide. So I need that assurance. What was your finishing school?"

Lydia's stomach sank. She was too stunned to even argue, she just blurted out, "I studied with Abraham." The very name left Lydia nauseated but she sat up stoically. With all the trouble that name had caused, it had better be useful somehow. Sections upon sections were said to teem with his great artists. Lydia hoped it was of some use now.

The man's features soften as he nodded and said, "I'm sorry to hear that."

Lydia shrugged; she wouldn't take any more pity. "So when do I start?"

A light below the interface flashed, a clear indication that a message was coming in. Lydia dismissed it with a push of a button. It came back again with the Colony's insignia. It must have been another bill. She didn't need to see it. She only waited; she needed this job.

"When do I start?" she asked again without a hint of reservation or doubt.

Twenty minutes later, Lydia arrived at the theater, disheveled in her haste but ready for work. She stepped in, utterly in awe of the size of the room. This was Dizzy's legacy. She remembered how big everything seemed when she was five and she would come to wait on Dizzy to finish, but now, fourteen years later, it was more impressive than she'd remembered. Free from orange slime, too.

The sheer volume of people left Lydia feeling nervous and apprehensive. She needed to find the man in charge so she went toward all the yelling, surely that would be a hint.

Stomach a flutter, Lydia hurried through, careful to avoid being run over by half-dressed dancers and prop workers.

"What is this? I said I wanted an E, as in a pretty one. What is this...man child I see before me?"

Lydia came to a stop when she saw the slender man, thin mustache and all, stand with his hands on his hips. In the distance, two people approached; one middle-aged man, no hair as far as Lydia could tell but with a surprisingly good build, the other was an average height woman with dirty blond hair and a limp.

Despite the distance, and although she could not hear them, she heard the mustache man loud and clear—She checked her diskette again and read the name, "Bradly."

"Well, this won't do. I asked for Mr. Kobal. That's the E I wanted. How are we going to show the history of the arts without an E—a pretty E—?" Bradly added quickly. "I won't have it. We'll be a laughingstock. Absolutely not. Theater and art is all about 'talent' and 'looks,' physically, he'd be fine, but what'll happen when the audience sees his face. No, I won't have it. Get him out of my sight."

The fluttering in Lydia's stomach dulled, each second her once racing pulse took on the atrophy of a dying hope. She'd heard something similar before. Looks. She herself was no heart-stopper but she looked nice enough to always play the role of the 'little cute creature' in every play. It had felt like a back handed compliment then, too. Now she worried what she might hear.

Bradly, easily in his early sixties himself, waited for the two would-be workers to leave before he rubbed his blond hair from his face, exasperated, "Where do these idiots keep coming from?"

He made his way towards Lydia and was focused on several large paintings being carried to the stage. Their eyes met and Lydia held her breath.

The man gasped. "Tell me you're not Lydia." Bradly exclaimed, looking her over, "Where is the rest of you? You're short."

Lydia had no replied and for a split second, she thought to run and hide but the man did something surprising; he calmed and said, "The best I could do would be to take you on as a volunteer, little one, but you'll never earn a name."

Shocked but not surprised, Lydia nodded. Maybe it would be a foot in the door, any sort of door. She simply couldn't go back to Abraham. If this fell through, she would have to...without the eyes. She swallowed her pride for once and said, "I'd appreciate it, sir. Thank you."

Bradly took her in, his keen gaze exploring Lydia from head to toe.

Instinctively, Lydia tried to stand tall and the man sighed.

"You've got a good build, but you need to train. How's your singing voice?"

Face heated, Lydia admitted, "A bit rusty, but not terrible."

"Oh dear." Bradly nodded. "Right, well, as a former Alumni of that bastard Abraham, I can't leave you out in the cold. The gym is open to you at any time and if you don't mind working your way up—"

"Of course."

"Don't interrupt me, child. I'm old and impatient."

"Sir," Lydia started before the man could turn away. "Um, I—I was looking to take on a job, though."

"A job?" Bradly furrowed his brow, "A job? An actual job? I admit, you're not in terrible shape. You could probably do some of the plays but I had advertised for 'dancers'." He sighed. "You're five to the third if that—it won't work. You're simply too small. You're free to join the volunteer waiting list. If we have a place for you, then I can offer a small stipend if you are really being punished without an allowance but nothing big."

Waiting list.... Within a matter of minutes, Lydia'd gone from a possible job, to a possible volunteer to a possible list. It seemed as if every second that ticked by her prospects faded faster and faster.

Bradly didn't want to take a chance on her. Lydia couldn't fault the man that. And considering how her mother had left the theater behind, she wasn't surprised others might be wary. At the height of the season, Dizzy'd canceled and retired. She had boasted about the chaos time and time again. How her coms didn't stop ringing for months. A lot of good that did. Now Lydia'd have to pay for that brash decision.

Bradly looked sorry for her when he said, "That's the best I can do. Take it or leave it."

"Five to the fourth." At Bradly's raised eyebrow, Lydia swallowed hard. It was petty and irrelevant but she'd already said it, so she decided to follow through. "I'm so short, please don't begrudge me even one unit of height."

The man's face was set in stone but eventually the corners of his mouth curved up into a smile. "You are Daphne's child," he proclaimed, calming.

Bradley's laughter put Lydia at ease. Finally—something was going right. So when a woman hurried to Bradley and handed a diskette over, whatever the man found there, wiped that smile away.

A sinking feeling came with it but Lydia tried to shake it off. She couldn't lose this chance, no matter how slim. Bad enough she was being dressed down and demoted on her first day, in front of everyone, but Lydia had made a spectacle of herself by deciding punctuality was more important than presentation. Her appearance only served to strengthen the man's arguments as to why she was a disadvantageous hire.

That diskette took up Bradley's focus for so long that Lydia trembled. Those gentle eyes focused on Lydia and studied her for some time. For a moment, Bradly looked sympathetic. He even sounded gentle when he said, finally, "Lydia, darling. Does Milton know you're here?"

Surprise stole Lydia's response, but it must have been telling because Bradley nodded.

"Since your call, I've been trying to wrap my head around it, around any of it. How did you end up with Abraham? Daphne went through hell trying to get top tutors for you. Her reputation took a real hit with all the fighting—"

"I...I was given a scholarship on special grounds," Lydia began. Bradley's strange expression—a mixture of confusion and pity—cut through her. "She had them take my sight temporarily to ensure the backing."

Instead of the expected relief, Bradley's eyes held fear. "And Milton agreed?"

Lydia confessed, "There was a trip to the medical section for the entire family...some of us didn't make it back out un-pummeled."

Milton was awful in his own way, but he'd fought for Lydia. Her mother had fought for her, too, even though everybody ultimately lost.

Bradley's expression softened. "And your father does not know you are here?"

Lydia thought to respond that she didn't know where her father was either, but kept her peace. Bradley knew them well enough to form his own conclusions.

"I see. He's been raising a stink since I put Daphne's name out upon receiving your call and it won't get any better. That's without him knowing it was for you. He'll bury her. I'm very sorry. Listen, I promised Daphne I'd hire you after you'd turned twenty-one and married. Properly. But this...this right here would be the last straw. If you still want a half-decent chance at working here by twenty-one, you don't want to appear high-maintenance this early. This is how he acts without knowing you're here. I cringe at the thought of him finding out. I...I simply don't think I can take you on."

A part of Lydia was relieved to know she'd given it a shot, she'd tried to get a job, and now she had an excuse to leave everyone else's dreams of fame behind. It wasn't like she was shocked. She was short, and as looks were rather important in the arts, she'd never get a 'second' shot. Maybe not even a first. It was an unspoken fear her mother had let slip when she was less than sober.

Finally, Bradley said, "I can include a favorable recommendation for you on that list, however—"

"Authorized official for transport. In three...two...one. Stand clear," the System sounded.

Bradley gasped. "What in the Colony...? We've paid. Damn them, we've already paid."

Lydia looked up, intending to take a step back. Instead of the ceiling however, the main wall by the door, the only one colored gray rather than white, regurgitated a small army of people.

One of them was Joshua. He didn't look happy to be there. Another one was the High ELETE guard, Met—the Colony's top Enforcer—in the flesh. The man seemed like a giant but his height wasn't nearly as menacing as the stone, cold expression on his face. He was in a rage.

Lydia broke out in a sweat. I guess my day is about to get worse.

Met marched forward and a face Lydia would never forget came into view. Osbourne. His hands were cuffed in a metal cylinder which encompassed even his forearms. And then Lydia saw him again, only, it wasn't him...but it was. Another man identical to Osbourne in every way, right down to the silver cylinder which held him captive, stepped forward as well.

"E's?" Bradley gasped. One would think he'd be happy, he'd practically begged to get an E. But instead he sounded horrified. "Twin E's? In my theater?"

Met came to a stop before them, his pale blue eyes icy. He asked Lydia, "Which one of these men stole credits from you?"