The Sapphire Shadow

Chapter One: Compulsive

It was ugly, really.

Horrid.

She stared at herself in a small mirror, the gem around her neck barely catching her eye.

"Stunning," the salesman said. "That color is perfect for you."

She ignored him. He didn't know what he was talking about. The gem on this necklace was too big and tawdry. Not at all like the simple, elegant silver thing a few inches farther down the display, with diamonds so small and clear they looked like pinpricks of light running down the chain.

It had caught her eye the moment she'd walked in. She hadn't once looked at it since.

"I'll take it," she said, eyes still on the mirror and showing the salesman a perfectly forged smile.

"I'll get the case then." He stepped away. He didn't seem to suspect a thing.

She rested her purse on the display case, just so, her hand fast and precise. When the man returned, nothing appeared out of place.

The glass lit up, a bill and scanner appearing over the more expensive pieces locked up below.

That much? she thought. For this garbage?

She didn't shake her head or roll her eyes or betray any hint of what she was thinking. Instead she dug a card out of her bag and pushed it across the glass display case.

It was important to buy something. No one was ever suspicious of a paying customer. Most customers paid using a tiny chip in their wrist, invisible under the skin. She had a small scar instead.

"Thank you, Miss...Nadia," the salesman said. Still smiling but his eyes were hollow. Customer service eyes. Or maybe it was just the retinal implants.

With practiced nonchalance, Nadia took off the ugly necklace and let the man case it up for her. A few long, agonizing moments later, she stepped outside into the city.

Her city. Her home.

A healthy stream of people flowed down the stark pavement of the sidewalk. Nadia melded into them, just another fashionably dressed young woman shopping downtown. One of many wearing this season's latest, hers being a slim white trench coat with a sweeping scarlet "A" spiraling down one sleeve. This was the fashion district, after all.

Stretching up the glass-paneled side of a skyscraper, an ad reminded her that she was in an urban redevelopment zone owned by Auktoris Global Funds, Inc. Celebrating twenty years of their reclaimed city. The ad flickered, replaced by a cartoon cat's face with a smile full of sinister teeth, grinning over the words TWENTY YEARS OF SLAVERY LOL.

Nadia ignored it—as did everyone else—ignored it as steadily as she ignored the small drone hovering a few feet over them, clicking dozens of times a second as it collected face scans.

Her own face was calm. Nothing to see there at all, no reason for anyone to look at her tiny pleased smirk. In her bag, her fingers curled around the simple, elegant silver necklace, with tiny brilliant diamonds running down its length.

* * *

Home was among an endless row of office buildings nearby. The neighborhood had nothing to draw anyone who didn't work there. No landmarks, no common spaces, no name. Only nearly identical skyscrapers as far as the eye could see, plastered in moving advertisements.

Nadia also owned an apartment downtown, of course. But this was home.

Her beloved white scooter hovered a foot over the pavement, leaving a V-shaped wake of dust fluttering after her. It was one of the few things she owned that she actually had affection for: elegant white with clean classic curves, modeled after the old Vespas back when they had wheels. Most people didn't own one. It was too easy to rent one or call on one of the many hardware-as-a-service apps and have one arrive for you.