Page 4 of Song of the Abyss

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?”

---