Inside the house, Ada's mother, Gemina Corentin, watched a television set at ear-splitting volume. Ada was used to it. She recognized her mother's need to escape from reality.

Old dishes were strewn across the hallway table in the living room, and laundry waited to be folded on the kitchen table. In a few hours, Ada would clean up the mess herself, or at least the old Ada would have. Current Ada didn't care about the ascetics of where she lived. Other tasks demanded her time.

Gemina waited until the front door was closed before harassing her daughter. "Ada, where were you?"

She kept silent.

"Ada?" The television quieted. "You're really not going to tell me where you've been all day?"

Ada popped briefly in the archway of the living room. "I was at work. What else you wanna know?" She disappeared back into the kitchen, opening cabinet doors.

The television resumed, volume at a comfortable roar. "What am I supposed to think? You stay in your room for months, not talking, not eating. Goodness knows, I understand why you felt you had to do that, but..." A pause after Ada slammed the cabinet doors shut, then, "Suddenly, you start going out every day, all day and all night, and I can't ask you about it."

Ada heard mumbling as Gemina wondered aloud if her daughter was on drugs or in training to be a Sammie. In answer to her mother's muttered lecture, Ada rolled her eyes. If anything, she might make it to Statie training, but Sammie training was complicated. Or so she'd heard. Speculation surrounded the elite group of armed authoritarians who usually only showed to haul off Undesirables. Still, she held her tongue, not wishing to debate the difference in State authority figures.

She waited, and two minutes later, her mother's tirade was done. Ada joined her in the living room, settling next to Gemina with a tray of food in her lap.

"No drugs or Sammie training involved, I promise."

"But they took you away before." Tears glistened in Gemina's eyes.

"That was different. August had just died," her mother winced at the word died, "and they wanted to assess my loyalty."

Two Sammies had come to the apartment door one particular afternoon, smiling as they told her she needed to come with them. The oddest thing about Sammies was the...sameness. Though they came in all shapes and sizes, there was an element of repetition to them that unnerved Ada.

Mindful of her status, and wishing to keep it, she had nevertheless complied. The re-education camp wasn't as awful as the rumors promised. She took part in the group meetings, the private disclosure sessions, and the virtual re-integration scenarios. Eventually, Ada tired of the propaganda. In the end, she overrode the sensors remotely, like flipping a switch in her head, tipping her results from deviant to normal. After a couple weeks, she'd been sanctioned to leave, but with a downgraded status two notches above N.A. Mastering a hack of the intricate Prominent database was out of reach for an amateur. Her inability to prevent the loss of status resulted in the simultaneous loss of her salaried position and furnished apartment, luxuries reserved for middle-ranking Prominents.

"I'm dealing with things in my own way," Ada said.

She chewed her food, mulling over the nothing-ness status to her life. At least, she had her mom. Good ol' mom.

"I've dealt with things, but you, sweetheart, you need to—"

"What's on tonight?" Misdirection was the only weapon she could think to employ against her mother's reasoning.

Though Gemina cared for her daughter's well-being, television programs also rated high on her list. Without a beat, she described the anticipated speakers of the night. Many of them were political, religious, and sometimes both.

Gemina Corentin's eye-scroll would never have N.A. under religious affiliations. To be godless was to be poorer than poor, she often said. The neighborhood Gemina lived in was not the best, but by State standards, it was preferable to N.A. placement.

They were lucky to have a roof above their heads, and to live without the threat of daily harm. N.A. abodes were barely livable, and the poor suckers who ended up there deserved it, by Gemina's estimations. She wasn't a cruel woman, but she did enjoy a Reversal every now and again, just as Ada once had.

When her mother was through describing her nightly viewing plans, Ada stood.

"Where are you going now?" As she spoke, Gemina kept her gaze on the screen.

"I don't feel like listening to Prominents spout crap on television all night long." Ada walked to the stairs, shaking her head.

"Crap? What crap?" The absent-mindedness of the questions told Ada her mother had already forgotten them.

The television volume returned to deafening. Halfway to her bedroom, she heard one of the Prominent speakers say, "Electric cars. Pfft. A dying technology. They're unreliable machines. The people who drive them are hurting the oil companies, costing hard-working people their jobs. Prove you believe in the free-market system by buying a new car, one that runs on good ol' gasoline."

~ * ~

For Ada, morning came slowly. She stared at the cracked ceiling for most of the night, considering legitimate ways to earn money, but seeing none. She was left with one choice, and the wrong one.

How badly do you need to do this? August asked.

I'm doing it for you, she answered.

The aroma of freshly baked croissants brought her out of bed. Gemina knew this was the case, which was why she usually made them. Downstairs, she found her mother and Kressick Lyman at the breakfast table. He smiled at her, and Ada smiled back. Mornings were not her favorite time of day, and she hated to smile. Yet, she always smiled around Kressick.

"Morning," he said, his dark eyes sparkling. For an older man, Ada conceded he was well-kept: thick black hair, skin as dark as Ada's, and a solid frame encased in slacks and a polo shirt. His appearance fit that of a Prominent. In fact, he looked like he didn't belong in their neighborhood, let alone their house. Yet, most mornings, there he was, all lovey-dovey with her mother.

"Morning," Ada said.

She grabbed two warm croissants from the cooling rack and shuffled to the food modulator. Before opening the cabinet door in pursuit of a coffee mug, she rapped on the wooden surface. Then she waited. Nothing happened, and she opened the door with satisfaction. As she reached for the mug, a roach scurried from the inside, then dropped to the counter. With a soft curse, she jerked back.

In the next instant, she zapped the bug dead. It sizzled on the counter, a black pile of ash. Ada moved a cereal box in front of the carnage, hoping it went unnoticed. Kressick buried his nose in his coffee cup without comment.

Gemina cleared her throat. "Well, Kressick stopped by this morning for breakfast."

Between bites of bread, Ada said, "Mom, everyone in the room knows about sex and has sex on occasion. Let's drop the pretense."

Kressick laughed, while Gemina gaped.

"I told you it was obvious, love."

His accent was pretty cool, Ada also had to admit. He had to be the only British dude in all of Colorado.

"All right then," Gemina huffed after she had recovered. "It'd be nice if you would let me pretend since you're living under my roof and all."

Stick your head in the sand and pretend away, Ada was tempted to say.

"I won't impose on you for much longer, Mom."

She had sung the same tune for months. Yet, she really believed it each time she said it. Only now, things were different. She finally had the information she needed. All her trip required was funding. And ideas. Minor things, really.

"Where you gonna go?" Gemina's question implied there was nowhere to go.

"I'm not sure." Which was a lie. Ada knew where she wanted to go. She just didn't know how she was getting there.

"You don't know." Gemina clasped a hand over her heart and started exhaling and inhaling deeply. She called this her "breathing exercises," which she committed to whenever in distress.

"Is your heart all right, dear?" Kressick set down his coffee and stroked her back.

"It's fine. I do that out of habit." She continued inhaling and exhaling loudly, nostrils flaring.

"I'd hate to think you wasted all that time and money on Amnesty for a heart that doesn't work," Kressick said.

It sounded, though Ada wasn't sure, as though his comment held a cutting edge.

The issue of money was a great segue away from her problems and onward to her mothers. She pointed at the stack of bills on the counter.

"You caught up on your payments, Mom?"

Her mother stocked shelves at a nearby grocery store. She had managed to get Ada a job there as well, as a cashier. Between their wages, there was barely enough money each month to buy food from their own workplace. Though, Gemina managed to keep them fed and to make her payments on time, or at least, that's what she told her daughter.

Gemina glared at Ada, while Kressick looked confused. "Payments?" he murmured. "Even with three years of Amnesty, you still have to make payments?"

"Yes, they're supplemental to the Amnesty," she said in a hushed tone as though speaking to a gynecologist.

Ada had made the mistake of taking her mother to the gynecologist once. Somehow, she had been convinced to stay in the patient room with Gemina. The entire awkward affair had been full of her mother's near whispers, followed by the male doctor straining closer and squawking "What'd you say?"

Money and sex were sensitive topics, and her mother didn't like discussing either in front of guests. Gemina especially didn't like to mention their economic problems in front of Kressick. Ada found it amusing her mother hoped to suppress any and all topics about money, when their housing situation already underscored their lack of funds.

"Are you sure you're all caught up?" Ada asked again.

Evading the truth was a tactic she had learned from a pro. When things were dreary or too serious, Gemina liked to pretend they didn't exist. Ada used to wear the same hat, with a more realistic approach. The happy disposition she inherited was gone, and bitterness had sprung in its absence.

Gemina laced both hands together, her knuckles turning white. "Not entirely."

The truth about the payments set Ada back.

At that same time, she and Kressick said, "What?"

"I know, I know. It's too much, and I didn't expect that."

The sheepish look on her mother's face was similar to a child being caught playing doctor in the coat closet. Though, the situation called for a greater seriousness than a childhood dilemma. Ada could tell Gemina was unaware of the implications skipping payments on her synth could mean. She wanted to slap her mother for her stupidity.

"How much do you owe?" Ada forced herself to ask nicely.

"Not much. Five grand."

"Five grand." For any Prominent in the city, the price of a new outfit. For Ada and Gemina, it was equivalent to six months of groceries. "What are you gonna do?"

"It'll be fine. I'll ask for more Amnesty in exchange for payment."

That's not gonna work.

Quiet enveloped the room. From Ada's perspective, there was nothing really that could be said.

The quiet helped her reach a decision, one she had been wrestling with. Until this moment, she had been playing detective. It was an occupation to break up the monotony of working at the grocery store, and to help her forget about the general shit-state of life:

1. she used to wake up to the most wonderful man she'd ever met, and

2. he was gone.

3. She had been called "professor",

4. now, customers at the grocery store called her "trash".

5. Her mother, her rock, was dying.

Upon August's death, Ada had started down a path, and there was no going back. The interaction with Dorrie had cemented everything, and this latest revelation was just the nudge she needed.

Moral and legal ramifications be damned. She was left with little choice now.

A/N: If you like the story so far, fill in that empty vote star.