Chapter 2

"Ace, I'm a little busy."

"Message received. Information has been acquired."

"Negative," Anya replied as her droid relayed the message through the lens currently on the table. "Not until I finish the new upload. You can provide the information later."

Another message came through, this one underlined in red. "Urgent."

"Of course it's urgent," Anya muttered. Using the pliers in her hands, she peeled open the small panel on the bottom of her droid. It was a very old model, not one that was even made these days. Her father liked that it was almost impossible to reprogram the damn things, though, so this was the one she was given.

But Anya had figured out how to reprogram it, even after the technicians continued to fiddle with the electrical panels. The poor thing was little more than legs. Sometimes she thought it looked like one of those deep sea squids. Just a bulbous head, about the size of a clementine, with a screen on the front that projected adorable blinking eyes. But the four legs were meant to wrap around someone's head.

The intended design of this model droid had been for magnification. Engineers sometimes used them, but mostly she'd heard of them being used in artisan work. Jewelers would use the screen to magnify the tiny settings, making it easier for them to complete their crafts.

Her father had her droid reprogrammed so Anya could interpret what people were saying. After the accident, it had been more helpful than any of the doctors she'd seen. At least he'd done that.

The tiny panel finally came off. Switching her pliers to a needle nose pair, she finally pulled out the little chip the technicians had installed in her droid. They always did this. For some kind of safety reason, apparently, but she knew the truth. They wanted to spy on her, and she wasn't going to have it.

Yanking out the chip, she pulled out her own from the drawer where she had about thirty all reprogrammed already. They did this every single month, and every time, she changed out their chip with her own.

Inserting it very carefully, she closed the panel back up and then slowly stood the droid back on her feet.

"How's that, Bitsy?" she asked, gently patting the top of the droid's head.

Its eyes fluttered a few times, blinking rapidly before it picked up a leg and waved at her. She could just barely see a message flash in the lens that it held in one of its legs.

"More like myself."

That's what she liked to hear. The droid was her best friend, and really only friend in this place. Anyone else she trusted, like Ace, wasn't in Alpha.

"Bitsy, send a message to—" She froze, staring into the reflection on Bitsy's glass. There was a person in her doorway. Someone standing there like they were listening in on what she had to say.

Whirling, she realized there were actually two people in her room. The first one must have just walked in, although the woman wore a surprised expression on her face. A maid, Anya thought. Or something like that. She'd only seen the woman around a few times before now, but she held a stack of clothing in her hands.

Now, looking right at them, she could make out the muffled sounds of their voices. She just hadn't heard them over the music playing because Anya liked to have background noise whenever she was alone. Otherwise, all she could hear was the ear-piercing shriek of her tinnitus acting up.

She could read the lips of the closest maid saying, "So sorry, miss—" but then the woman turned her head to the other and all the words were lost.

"Damn it," Anya muttered, reaching up to situate Bitsy on her head and dropping the lens down over her eye. She'd missed some of the words, but they flew immediately on the screen in front of her left eye.

"—said to get you dressed. These are the clothes he picked out, Miss Anya."

Taking a deep breath, she remembered that tonight she was supposed to accompany her father to a benefit supper. All the rich and famous people would be there, which she supposed she was a part of. Just look at her room.

Anya wasn't allowed anywhere near the edge of the city, so her father had given her the best room he could find that was in the interior. Golden walls carved with gods and goddesses, although they had always seemed very intimidating to her. Her bed was a massive round monolith. The headboard was poured to look like a golden seashell with an inlaid mother-of-pearl on the inside. The tiny mosaic chips were so meticulously placed, it looked like her father had actually found a seashell this large.

Of course, her floors were all carpeted with thick, plush material that had come from Above. Quite literally. She even had a record player from Above that her father had spent someone's yearly salary to get. But he wanted her to have all the nice things possible. Even the bathing room with its saltwater pool that was supposed to help with her therapy somehow.

She thought it was all trying too hard. She'd lost her hearing, not her mind.

Rubbing a hand over the free side of her face, she nodded before gesturing for the clothes. "I forgot. Let's see what he picked out for me."

What she really wanted to do was complain about how her father seemed to think she was nothing but a doll for him to dress up. He always sent her an outfit before any function. He told her exactly what to wear, how to wear it, and how long she would be wearing it for. He told her where to go, what to eat, even how to act. And all of this had come after her accident.

Gritting her teeth, she moved behind her ivory partition to slip out of her much more reasonable clothing and pour her body into what her father considered appropriate for the daughter of the General.

It was a nice dress. Nearly a perfect match for her blonde hair, a pretty yellow pattern with a sensible straight neckline. The bell skirt swirled around her waist and tucked in her shape very nicely. But it was just slightly too tight around her ribs, and every breath was a reminder that she couldn't breathe. Not in this dress, and not in this city.

"You look pretty," Bitsy said, the words flashing in front of her eyes. At least that sentence took over how she felt when she looked in the mirror.

Sighing, she pulled her hair back into a sensible twisted bun and then stepped out into her room. She had thought maybe the two women would leave, but no. Of course not. They were still standing right where she had left them, ready to accompany her.

To literally walk her to the benefit supper because no one trusted her.

With the two women on either side of her, she left her private quarters and made her way out into the madness of the street. She lived on her own, at least. It was the first and last argument she'd won with her father. And perhaps that was because he had installed so many people around her that it was almost like she was still living in his house.

The streets were busy today, though. All the stone paths were filled to the brim with men and women wandering around. Some people were shopping, and their shopping center really was beautiful. The intricate carvings made it seem like they were inside of a honeybee hive, all the windows each delicately set up with all the artwork and glass blown creations that existed in Alpha.

Everyone wore their best, but when didn't they? Flashing colors of gemstones burned through her eyes, even as Bitsy tried her best to keep up with the conversation. Words ran in streams down the lens, too fast for her to really read any of them, other than to catch singular words.

"Bitsy," she muttered, hoping she was quiet enough for the other women to not hear her, but also not sure how loud she was talking. "Can you stop that?"

The flashing words appeared in all caps, as Bitsy always typed. "You sure?"

"For now."

The words disappeared, and she was blissfully unaware of everything around her. The hum of conversation all turned into one tone, nearly impossible to tell who was saying what. It was like she was underwater, everything muffled and jumbled together.

They walked through the crowd, and she nodded and smiled whenever someone caught her eye. But eventually they made it to the banquet dinner where her father had insisted she go. It was mostly held in the front yard of a rather large estate that looked to be made entirely out of white marble. The tall pillars went up two stories and then flattened out onto the roof that she happened to know was filled with a garden.

A politician lived here. The man and his wife were usually quite busy making new laws and passing bills that all the citizens of Alpha had to follow. She was quite certain they had something better to do than entertain more rich and famous.

Instead, they were all out here. In the front yard, where there was yet another garden and a beautiful tea setup with white tables dotting the grass. Over done, really, considering all the people invited were likely in heels or their best garb. They likely sunk heel deep every time they took a step.

Her father was in the back corner, surrounded by a crowd of people. At one point, he was a handsome man. But years of stress had worn down his body. Where he used to stand tall and broad, now he was starting to curve in on himself. He refused to carry a cane, or even try to ask for help, though. He had to look the part.

One of the maids told her that her father wished to speak with her— with her face turned away so Anya wouldn't have known what the other woman had said if not for Bitsy—and then pointed at the man of the hour.

Frowning, she stalked across the grass. Thankfully, she hadn't changed her shoes this time. Neither of the maids had noticed she had on her comfortable white flats.

They were the first thing her father noticed.

His nostrils flared in anger, and she saw him excuse himself from the crowd. That stomping walk definitely meant he was mad at her. Even if she hadn't noticed the way his shoulders were much more square, or how his eyes had narrowed in that glare that he saved just for her.

"What are you wearing?" he said, his mouth warping around the sound so she could only assume he hissed the words.

"Bitsy, turn translation back on," she said, certain that she was a little too loud. "I'm sorry, Dad, what did you say?"

Again the nostril flare. Again, the pinched lips that surely meant he was about to explode. "I said, what are you wearing?"

She liked to remind him whenever she could that she'd lost her hearing. It was, after all, his fault. And the man had been exposing her to situations that made her uncomfortable ever since.

Oh, his poor baby girl was surely too fragile to do things on her own. That was the excuse he always said. But it wasn't for that reason. No, he wanted to keep her under his thumb because he didn't trust her.

The old man was far too observant.

"The clothes you sent me," she replied.

"You are wearing flat shoes!" Bitsy underlined and made the words shake in red.

Then her little droid added in blue, "Heavens forbid!"

It took everything in her to not grin. "Sorry, I won't do it again. I must have forgotten."

"Just go and talk with the Harpswells, would you? They're waffling on the deal, and I need them to sign the paperwork to build the next service center on the eastern promenade." He pinched his nose between his eyes, exhaling and pulling that mask back over his features. "Be nice."

With that last warning, he turned toward his crowd of adoring fans and opened his arms. Considering the muffled noise that then disappeared into nothing, she could only imagine they were cheering him on.

Shaking her head, she grabbed a glass of champagne from a waiter walking past, and she started toward the Harpswells. But then she was stopped by a middle-aged woman Anya thought was part of the family who ran the artist's guild. Or maybe she was just on the board. She couldn't remember.

"How are you doing, dear?" the woman said, her mouth becoming pinched. The wrinkles on her forehead deepened. Not a good look considering her pale hair had turned the color of sickly straw.

"I'm fine, thank you." She really needed to get past this barrier of a person. Obviously, everyone knew she was fine. Anya hadn't even hidden in her room recently, so no one could say she had been sick.

She side-stepped around the woman, only to have her mirror the movement. That pinched, wrinkly mouth said, "It's just that we worry about you. Since the accident."

Anya reached up to tap Bitsy's glass, only to have the droid add on the screen, "That's what she said."

"The accident that happened years ago?" she asked for clarification.

"Yes." The woman's eyes flicked to her ears and back. "Do you mind if I ask you some questions about it?"

Of course she minded. She wasn't a doll for them all to pass around. The rumors could fly about what happened ten years ago, but she'd like to leave it in her past. Especially when she had stuff to do, like go and talk to the Harpswells. Already her father was glaring at her. The Harpswells were looking at her surprised as though they couldn't guess why she wasn't right next to them. And this woman sidestepped with her again to ask more questions.

She couldn't really hear the woman. It was all just blended together, and Bitsy was making snide comments on top of what the woman was saying, which made it hard to guess what was actually being said. Most of the time Anya could match the lips to the words, but she was so overwhelmed and everyone was looking at her like they were expecting something to happen.

Suddenly, she felt like a songbird her father kept in a cage and only let out for his friends to ogle.

"Fuck this," she muttered.

"Pardon me?" the woman said. Or at least, Anya thought that was what she said. The woman had turned at the last second, making it hard for her to read her lips.

"You're pardoned," Anya replied, and then brushed past her.

She wasn't going to stand here and be the performing monkey for them all to look at. Her father could be angry at her, put her under house arrest, whatever he wanted to do. She needed to breathe and she couldn't breathe here.

Stepping into the house, she made her way to the very back of the building where no one would be. Anya ignored everyone milling around and socializing, pretending she didn't notice when someone lifted their hand that they wanted to speak with her. And then finally, blissfully, silence. No noises, no words or tones that garbled together, just nothing.

Pressing her back against the pool room's door, she blew out a long breath. This was a pretty room, at least. The pool was large enough to do laps in, and deeper than she was tall. And Anya wasn't a small woman. There were benches all around, and small areas that dipped into the stone floor that were filled with pillows. Maybe a spa area, if she squinted her eyes hard enough at it.

"That didn't go well," Bitsy remarked, the words flashing over the pool.

"I know," she replied. "Trust me, I know."

"She's going to talk."

"I know," Anya expelled a breath. "I know she's going to talk. They're always talking about me. No one in this city knows what privacy means."

Stomping over near the pool, she settled down on a bench and touched her finger to Bitsy's screen. "Make a connection with Ace, please."

"Here?" The glass glitched out a bit, showing a patchwork of squares before her droid settled again. "You're sure?"

"I'm sure Bitsy." Sighing, she frowned at a few ripples in the pool and looked around to make sure no one else was in the room with her. But she was alone, she was sure of it. "Connect with Ace."