As Andrea stood naked, staring at Victor's forty-something face, she wondered, Does nobody age anymore?

Victor had looked the same—unchanged for the three years she'd known him. Andrea thought back to the first time she had an evaluation and how she had been flat-out refused. The memories came back of how Victor had simply laughed in Andrea's face while Marian had thanked the man for wasting his time by coming in the first place.

I could have done with a real mother then.

The way Victor scorned Andrea and refused to touch her now, even as he brought a diskette close and hovered it over Andrea's body and thighs, had Andrea thinking about her operation. Victor was the reason those awful procedures had started.

When Victor retreated back to the small desk of the narrow room, Andrea tried to push back her resentment of both Victor and her mother. She tried to excuse it, to forgive it. This year was by far the worst. All that pain, all that excruciating recovery, and Victor wouldn't even look her in the eye.

With a nod of the head, Victor gestured to Andrea's clothes on the floor. Andrea studied the man's look of scorn and stooped down to collect her things.

She could forgive Marian for demanding that the fat reduction be taken to the extreme. She had to forgive it because, other than her mother, being without a tattoo was the only thing Andrea genuinely thought of as deadly. She forgave her Colony for only exempting the rare few from the requirement of a branding tattoo from either a career or a spouse by the time one turned twenty-one. She could forgive all that, but she couldn't forgive Victor because this year, like all the years previous, Victor wore an all-too-familiar frown.

The man in question shook his head. "You gained weight again, I see."

Andrea held her breath. She needed to pass this examination, and this man was toying with her life. "I'm not overweight now, so what does it matter?"

"It matters because I can see the stretch marks." Using his right hand, Victor palmed his pale face and raked his fingers through his short black hair. He brought his hand around again to his graying temples and finally rested his fingers over his eyes. "I can't give you an A grade when it's obvious you just had someone open you up and take the fat out. You might relapse. Besides, you have no skills, no training. You can't even speak your so-called native languages. That's pretty bad."

Relapse? As if it's a sickness to be less than perfect. Andrea grumbled as she buttoned her pants. "The Colony's been cut off from the outside world for some time. We haven't even traded off-island for decades. There's no point in learning Swiss-German—"

"And French," Victor said.

"And French," Andrea echoed. "Most people speak the Common, and those that don't can get a program to assist them, so that shouldn't be a reason to turn me down for making the Gold or Silver list."

"Then why the hell don't you get a program for it? It's the lazy way of acquiring a language, so it must be right up your alley."

Andrea stared at him. She dragged her shirt on and confessed, "Something...something blocks the program whenever I try to watch it. It doesn't take."

"Meaning the data sequence won't reach your brain? Is that what you're saying?" Victor gasped. "Are you telling me that you've got some sort of brain damage now, too?"

"No." Andrea hurried to cut him off. "Mind programs just don't work on me. No one's ever been able to say why they—"

"Listen," Victor said, cutting her off. "You didn't finish school. You have no talent. You aren't even going to get this business when it's all said and done."

"I'll get it." Andrea bit back. "It was willed to me. It's my right, so that alone—"

"That is the only thing you have going for you, but...look at you. You're a part of the staff now?"

Andrea chewed her bottom lip, dreading the idea of leaving the room. "What if I got rid of the scarring, the stretch marks, got into shape...?"

"It would definitely work in getting you a spouse, but let's face it: you're shit at fighting, and the only reason you'd run is if there was a doughnut at the end of the hall."

Andrea's skin heated and she hung her head to hide her embarrassment and hurt. Due to the importance of these evaluations, Victor wielded considerable influence and meager amounts of tact, but Andrea needed this grade.

"How about what we agreed on last time?" she asked the man, finally.

Victor folded his arms as he chuckled. "You were a virgin last time. From what I hear, you've been pretty busy since. I doubt even that part of you will be all that interesting."

Andrea wanted to say something, to defend herself, but she just shrugged and drew herself up to her full height, confident.

"I am very good at coaxing men to completion."

Eyes narrowed, Victor shook his head and started to undo the button on his pants. "You'd better be."

* * *

Half an hour later, when Andrea left the room, the diskette in her hand showing her Below-Average rating, she wanted to find a hole to hide in. She was surprised with the grade because she had been praised during her "'services'" and after, again and again. Victor assured her that other than her face—and her supple hands—there was nothing that a potential spouse would want.

Deep down Andrea knew it was true. She had no formal education, and she had nothing else going for her. It was only a matter of time before Marian got the results, and when that time came, Andrea hoped she still knew how to lean into a fist to help lessen the impact.

She returned to the office and sat down. A cup of water rested on the desk beside her.

Most of the workers in the office were older or weaker, and most were alcoholics, too. So the fact that it was water, and not vodka or rum, came as a surprise. The office: the area for the old and feeble. Now when Andrea thought about the ease of the job her father had given her, she felt more shame than relief.

Am I really that useless as far as everyone's concerned?

Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted Dominic's approach. She sometimes thought of the boy as a "'what if you were skinny'" male version of herself. Other than the contrasting hair color, they had the same looks, right down to the pale blue eyes.

Her brother was slim to the point of being sickly looking. When he walked, his slight hunch gave him the air of an old man rather than the youth that he was.

While Dom closed in, Andrea kept her head down and focused on her work. It wasn't often that Dom found a reason to smile, but he had one today.

"Victor just left." His smile grew into a grin. "And man, is Mom pissed."

Andrea's face reddened, but she kept looking at the task at hand. She was caught off guard when something was put before her.

"Here. I got you some chocolate. The way I see it, it might be your last meal." With a hearty chuckle, Dominic walked away. "Enjoy your last day breathing without the benefit of a straw."

Andrea watched him go. She turned to look down at the water again. It was gone. The cup came to rest on the table again and the bald E came into view. His light brown eyes widened; he was surprised to see Andrea there. The two of them stared at each other.

An elderly man, the one in charge of their little area, came over and patted Andrea on the back.

"Tannenbaum."

"Huh?" Andrea asked, confused.

"That's his name. Don't bother trying to talk to him. He refuses to speak the Common; it's German or nothing. Leas' I think that's German. I don't know; I just use hand gestures. But luckily he's here for accounting; numbers are a universal language, so he can be of some use, I guess." Despite his own words, the supervisor turned to give the brown-eyed E a small smile and spoke in English. He raised his voice, his pace slow—surely that would break through any language barrier. "And this is Andrea. Don't bother keeping any snacks in your desk. She steals."

Jaw dropped in horror, Andrea watched the man walk away.

Her eyes settled on her new colleague once more, but the E had gone back to work without looking at her.

Andrea couldn't remember the last time she'd seen someone with arms that big. The workers had been right; the E's biceps weren't just for show. He had the body of a person who had worked and toiled. It seemed unfair that the bastard could type so fast, too.

In hopes of seeing the man's face again, Andrea decided to introduce herself.

"Hello."

The E looked at her and said, "Hallo."

The words sounded similar enough.

"I'm Andrea."

Tannenbaum nodded and bowed as he pointed to himself. "Tan." At Andrea's look of confusion, the man tried again. "Tanner."

"Tanner. Right. Well, looks like we'll be working together. So don't mind me if I'm a bit of a chatterbox. If you tell me to shut up, I will, or you know, you...you can just hit me over the head or something."

The E gave her a curious look and pointed to himself again, sterner. "Tanner."

Andrea's shaky smile withered away. She nodded and resolved to go back to work.

"Nice to meet you." She muttered to herself as she typed at a steady pace. "At least I won't get on your nerves since you can't understand me." She looked around to see if someone was playing a joke. "Why the hell would they put you in the office? Communication be damned. We have an E, so let's put him on display; is that it?"

Andrea dared not look at the man directly because each time she did, Tanner paused to regard her, confused by the scrutiny.

From the corner of her eye, Andrea studied Tanner's chiseled features, but ultimately she came to one conclusion: this E was no Kobal. He didn't look like a prince; he looked like the guy the prince would probably defeat so he could save the princess. As far as she could tell, the man wasn't just bald, he was literally hairless. No eyebrows, no eyelashes, no hair on his arms—nothing. He was simply bare.

Andrea didn't know a great deal about E's—just a tad bit more than the average Colony Dweller, courtesy of the business community—but she knew hair was a big factor. No hair, no power. That's what Marian meant by him being harmless. He's got no power to be a threat. A dud E wasn't useful to anyone, so that was as far as Andrea's interest went.

Andrea decided she would work well into the night, hoping she could do something right in the office to somehow soften the blow, or blows, that she'd no doubt encounter that night.

Queen came for Tanner at the end of the workday. The last of the older gentlemen shuffled out, and that was when Andrea saw her mother. Marian's pale face was screwed up into a scowl as she took Tanner's chair and sat down beside her daughter.

Andrea stared at the table.

Her mother's voice wasn't stern for once; it was soft and held a hint of something, almost like genuine pity.

"Below-Average? Despite your face, despite your natural beauty that would easily give you a chance at handsome offspring, you got a Below-Average grade."

She took hold of Andrea's right hand—a gesture Andrea could never remember her mother doing without any ill intent—and cupped it in hers.

"Your grandfather...." She shook her head. "He had such expectations for you, Andrea. But you've always fallen short. You know I won't put you up for much longer. I won't need the entire year to prove your lack of worth. If you cannot find a spouse to take you in, you're going to be out on your ass, and I'll have everybody looking at me like I'm the bad guy. If you stay and die alone, working here as one of the staff, cooking and cleaning, people are going to talk. If I try to make you stand on your own two feet, you'll probably starve to death or turn to prostitution. Or worse yet, live untattooed after twenty-one, get caught, and be exiled to Topside. You wouldn't last a day. It is in both my and your best interests that you start doing something right." With a heavy sigh, she put Andrea's hand on the table and patted it.

"When you were a baby, you had such potential. You were a fast walker, a fast talker, a quick study. And then...." She sighed again. "You just got useless. I don't know what to do for you—what to do with you. Putting you through a vocational training school would just be a waste of money."

Andrea nodded in agreement, her voice soft as she finally admitted defeat. Marian had her; now all she could do was hang on. "I'm trying my best."

Marian frowned. "If this is your best, darling, then you are so royally gawed."

Andrea sucked in a deep breath. Her head still down, she tried to focus on the table and the figures there. She didn't dare utter a word, knowing full well that whenever Marian spoke, everyone else was expected to listen.

"The clock is ticking. You say you don't think you want a family. Fine. But it's not unusual that a marriage is for practical reasons and nothing more. In fact that has been the common for decades. Hell, if you did want a lover eventually, there are surely some money chasers down in the Lower-levels who'd be more than happy for a woman with some wealth, even if it's you, but no one's even made the attempt. Even with those odds, even with all that, you still can't find someone."

She waited, but Andrea said nothing.

Andrea's boldness that morning had drained from her completely. They were back to square one. She thought with a sigh, I guess some things never change.

A soft cough roused them from their silence. Tanner managed a small smile when they acknowledged him. He bowed to Marian but didn't speak. Andrea assumed it was because they wouldn't understand him anyway. The E simply reached around Marian for the two sticks that lay behind a small pile of boxes on his desk.

The drumsticks made Andrea curious, but she didn't look at them for long. Instead she hung her head once more.

After Tanner was gone, Marian turned her attention back to her daughter. Something caught her eye. "Back to burying your sorrows in food, I see."

Andrea picked her head up and saw her mother eying the bar of chocolate, untouched since Dom had left it.

With a sigh of mixed disgust and smugness, she stood. "Might as well. Even when you're skinny, nobody'd want you anyway. Stay here and take comfort in your food. Chocolate's expensive, so at least it'll make you look high-class, right?"

After Marian was gone, Andrea remembered why she didn't mind when her mother'd strike her. Sometimes a backhand hurt a lot less than the woman's disappointment.

In the past Andrea'd cry, but she couldn't remember the last time she had. Now she simply looked at the chocolate bar. After some time, she picked it up and unwrapped it before eating it with a soft sigh.