climbed. This inner core sat within an outer shell of twisting steel beams forming a diagonal grid, the outer surface of the bud. Solar glass panels sheathed the diagonal spaces between the twisting beams, flooding the inside of the building with a warm golden light that set the polished granite floor of the enormous lobby aglow. The diagrid must've been enormously heavy, but bathed in the sunlight, it seemed ethereal, almost weightless. It was so beautiful, it felt magic.
Her memory served up the recollection of her home world, spare boxes of skyscrapers, canyon streets, her grey apartment, the steel and worn plastic of the spartan spaceship she'd boarded two weeks ago... She couldn't decide if those memories were a nightmare or if this airy building with its bright colors and smiling people in vivid clothes was a lovely delusional dream.
Deep inside, beneath her shields, anxiety churned. Making it to this planet had been a miracle. If her shields failed, she faced immediate deportation. She couldn't go back. Not after seeing this. Besides, if she was deported back to Uley, she'd never make it out of the spaceport. There would be a death squad waiting for her at the spacecraft's door.
Below her, people moved through the lobby. The men wore formfitting black and grey, the women chose flowing dresses and bright colors. What must it be like to come to work here every day? Did they ever become immune to this beauty?
The elevator stopped. Claire sighed, loathe to leave the view behind, turned and exited into a narrow hallway, its indigo, almost black walls reflective like a dark mirror. Above her, long ribbons of dark blue luminescent plastic, set on their edge, ran parallel to each other, curving and twisting like a three-dimensional current of a river. The transparent floor reflected it, and as she walked down the hallway, Claire had an absurd feeling she was swimming.
The hallway opened into a wide chamber, the transparent floor replaced by grey marble. Pale blue and grey couches lined the walls. Two men and three women sat on the couch cushions. Her shield didn't permit her to actively scan their minds, but it didn't prevent her from listening to their psychic emissions. She was open to any signal, like a satellite dish.
The woman on the right, with purple streaks in her black hair, had a loud mind, powerful, but untrained. All her thoughts floated around her like noise above a spaceport. An easy target. The woman on the left was more restrained, but weak. Of the three men, two were trained psychers, but both were mediocre. She had more training by the time she was fifteen. The final man showed no psychic activity at all, his mind practically invisible. On Uley, he would be a dud. Here the term was drone, apparently.
A tall middle-aged woman in an artfully draped, deep red dress stepped through the arched doorway at the end of the room. She was carrying a tablet. The woman looked her over, her gaze precise like the beam of a bio scanner. "Claire Shannon?"
"Yes."
The woman stared at her with brown eyes. Her mind sliced through Claire's surface thoughts with a laser precision and fell short of the shell. That was the beauty of mirroring surface thoughts over the shell - nobody realized the shields were there.
"Take this," the woman said, handing her the tablet. "There are three tests loaded on the tablet. Sit down and complete them. You will be called."
Inwardly, Claire exhaled.
"Rokero Grenali," the woman said.
The older of the men rose and approached her. They disappeared through the doorway.
Claire sat. The polished wall presented her with her own reflection: a severe grey skirt that clasped her narrow waist, a conservative pale blouse, dull brownish hair pulled away from her face. Of the three changes of clothes she was permitted to bring, this was the best, most feminine outfit she owned. She could count on her fingers occasions when she had worn civilian clothes in the last year.
The other two women were looking at her. One wore a slick silvery business suit, the other a vivid red and orange dress. Their minds betrayed their reactions: pity tinged with superiority. They felt prettier. They were bright dahlia blossoms, and she was a drab mouse. They dismissed her.
It hurt. It hurt and stung her pride. The emotions boiled inside and bounced off her inner shields. Her face, reflected in the polished wall, was calm. The outer surface of her mind was collected. Nothing showed except