Lady Geranium Petunia deForêt-Bassyngthwayghte held up her hand just as her Helot maid was about to activate the hair-styler.

'Wait,' she said.

The Helot rolled her eyes, but kept one hand over the contact.

'What do you think?' asked Geranium. 'Honestly?'

'I don't know, miss. Honestly. It's your hair.'

Geranium looked at her reflection on the screen. She moved her head slightly, felt the swish of her midnight-coloured locks across her skin, tilted her head forward so she was looking out through the fringe. So much about her appearance not to like: her boobs were too big; there was a mole on her right upper arm; her nose was just totally the wrong type of nose... Perhaps she should have it altered, take some of the little-girl pertness from it.

'Leave the hair,' she said, and stood up to continue dressing.

The Helot searched in her mistress's shoe wardrobe for something more practical than the pair Geranium planned to wear, but which would still co-ordinate. The wardrobe's AI detected the movement of shoes and activated its vision to scan the clothes laid out on the bed.

'I don't think so,' it said.

'No one asked you,' said Geranium, ignoring the fact that she was the one who'd programmed the AI to make such remarks when it thought she wasn't quite right in her choices of style or colour or what the weather might be going to do.

'The rise in humidity indicates that the possibility of rain is—' the AI began.

'Shut up,' growled the girl. The Helot glanced at the AI's camera lens and smirked; in return the AI uttered the equivalent of an electronic sigh. Neither of them liked Mondays.

'Get my raincover,' Geranium said.

The Helot had a name, Sarti, but Geranium seldom used it. She never used anyone's name unless she absolutely had to. And the problem was that there was a great possibility she would be expected to use a lot of names tonight. Not only that, there was her mother to contend with: she would make obvious remarks to other guests about how much Geranium's clothes had cost and who had designed them. In Geranium's opinion they were just clothes.

'I want a tattoo,' she said to Sarti. 'Across my forehead. A blue dragon that has a speech bubble coming out of its mouth saying You can all get fucked.'

'I doubt that would be allowed, miss,' said Sarti, hastily twisting the corners of her mouth down so as to hide her grin. 'The Chancellor's going to be there. I think she might take it the wrong way.'

'Well there's no right way to take something like that.'

She slipped into her clothes and waited while Sarti made sure everything was connected correctly and the skirt hung in such a way as to hide what needed to be hidden. Then she slipped on the shoes the Helot had chosen.

'These are...' she began, pouting.

'Practical, miss. The possibility of rain is—'

'Oh, don't you start. Now, let's go downstairs and listen to Mother criticise.'

The Marchioness Calliope Japonica deForêt-Bassyngthwayghte didn't criticise, as it turned out. She cast an eye over the gown she had selected for her daughter, who submitted quietly to the examination. Against the Marchioness's advice, Sarti had made a slight alteration to the front so as to reduce the amount of cleavage on display, and lowered the split on the left leg. It perhaps wasn't as alluring as her mother intended, but it meant that nothing suspicious showed itself.

'You look quite decent for a change,' she said.

Most of the time Geranium wore jeans and t-shirts. This outfit revealed the girl as a Marquis's daughter, floor-length blue skirt, the bodice covered in lace and embroidered in the form of the Marquis's corporate logo, picked out with miniature but real pearls.

'You can dress well when you try,' she continued.

'Really? I didn't know.'

'Don't be sarcastic. How old are you now?'

'I'll be fifteen next month.'

'And you're not married yet. Start dressing like this more often and you might be lucky there.'

It was time for this conversation to end. Every second day Mother was on about marriage. Some of her friends over fourteen were married by now, but that didn't mean she had to be. It had been time-consuming enough graduating from university without trying to find a husband as well.

'I don't like the shoes,' Geranium said, lifting the gown slightly to show them off. 'Sarti picked them out.'

'They're sensible enough. Practical but stylish.'

The Marchioness pressed a contact on her fone. A Helot appeared with a small glass of liquid which her mistress drank off. Geranium didn't react to her mother's drug-taking.

It was time to go. They left the marbled front hall of the deForêt-Bassyngthwayghte mansion and entered a limousine waiting outside. The car's AI drove them out of the gates and along the esplanade towards the University of Western Europe.

Geranium took a few sideways glances at her mother. She'd chosen a dark green wig for tonight's soiree and had held back on her usual desire to smother herself with diamonds. Ever since her kidnapping a year ago she'd become more reticent about parading her wealth in public. The security at tonight's event would be high with the Chancellor there, but perhaps she preferred to listen to her own valuable lesson. The Marchioness glared out of the window at the dark streets, ignoring, no doubt, the people who stared at the grand car as it drove past. It was necessary to drive through some of the less wealthy parts of the city, and the pedestrians were ordinary citizens, not necessarily Elite.

'I hope there's someone there I know other than the graduates,' muttered Geranium. 'I'm sick of the sight of them.' Hmm, social conversation with Mother...this is an unusual night already.

'Of course. A number of them. I believe David Marshall will be there for one. You know, the son of the Arch-Duke William Marshall.'

'The one with the gigantic Adam's apple?'

'Yes.'

Brilliant. Well, if her mother expected her to make polite conversation with someone whose throat looked like he was going to smack you on the head each time he swallowed, then the evening just died a horrible death.

'Any girls?'

'Lady Marston-Davenish is bringing her daughter Sally.'

'She's eight years old.'

'And there'll be Susannah Delft, Mark Mannarudo, the Clemenceau twins...'

She reeled off a list of names, some of which were known to Geranium, being other graduates. The rest were children of her mother's infinitely large social circle. She stared out of the window as the University Hall emerged from the other lights of the city.

Security was indeed high, since the Chancellor was also the Third Director of the Syndicate of Galactic Corporations. The Syndicate had been more cautious than usual since the assassination of the Nuncio Xu Chan six months ago. Both Geranium and her mother had to have their ID implants scanned three times before they could even approach the front doors of the Hall. Searchlights played back and forth across the building and the public square in which it stood.

Inside there must have been three thousand people, and at least a quarter of them were University staff: lecturers, professors, administration, all dressed expensively and, as was usual for the Elite, with little regard for discretion. The remainder, the graduates and their parents and others who had simply come for a glimpse of the Third Director, were some of the richest and most influential people in the galaxy. Some had flown in from other planets. There were no Helots: the waiters and other staff were all human or AI. The central Hall was a sea of ladies in gowns and men in evening wear. A few sported coronets or crowns. Just about everyone present had some title, usually self-awarded in the way of the upper Elite. Geranium fretted in her gown: none of the other young people present looked anything other than clones of their parents. Once again she wished she'd ordered Sarti to give her the dragon tattoo.

Somehow, her mother had acquired two glasses of champagne. She handed one to Geranium and half-drained her own.

'Well, here we are,' she said. 'Now, I have to go and stand in for your father, meet a few people, business stuff. You find someone to talk to until the Chancellor arrives.' And she was gone, sucked into the press of people in an instant. Geranium stood there for a forlorn moment, sipped her champagne and sneered at the flavour. A drinks-waiter AI cruised past and she commanded it to serve something else.

With a straight Bourbon in hand, she headed into the crowd, side-stepping gowns, half-listening to the conversations around her. Half her drink was gone before there was a squeal in her ear and Lady Danae LeClerc was gripping her arm, talking incessantly about nothing at all.

For twenty seconds Geranium let the girl rave on: something about being so excited to be graduating, and how it was such an honour. When there was a second-long pause Geranium stepped forward and put her finger on Danae's lips.

'You can stop now,' she said. Danae wore a burgundy off-the-shoulder evening gown and had a silver chain looped through her hair so that one end hung below her right ear. On it was suspended a small red demon pendant. Demons were the current craze with teenagers and were sported on clothes and jewellery everywhere, which was why Geranium had almost opted for a dragon. 'So they dragged you along to this, too?'

'Of course. And I just saw David Marshall and he looked at me and smiled. What do you think of that?'

Shit, thought Geranium. 'I'm jealous,' she said.

'Like my new fone?' Danae said, holding out her wrist. 'It was a graduation present.'

The device co-ordinated with the girl's gown. A light flashed to indicate she had a line-up of messages, but she was ignoring them. Geranium pretended to be interested.

'Daddy has one of those hedfones,' Danae babbled. 'When he has a call it's really spooky—he just sort of stares into space and you don't even know he's actually talking to someone. He reckons it's like someone living inside you.'

Geranium drained her Bourbon just as another drinks AI passed and secured a refill. The liquid was warm as it went down her throat. Another couple of these and she should be right for the evening. Another fatuous remark by Danae and she'd need a few more on top of that. Then she realised that was unfair—Danae was actually one of the few people Geranium regarded as a friend, even though the girl seemed bent on conforming tonight. They'd had a few adventures together in the past. Geranium was about to say something, but a bell sounded high in the ceiling and an announcement was made simultaneously over speakers and in the hedfones of those wearing them.

'We are pleased to announce the arrival of the Chancellor of the University of Western Europe, Managing Comptroller of the Integrated Planetary Commission and Third Director of the Syndicate of Galactic Corporations Her Royal Highness Prince Elsbet Batori. All graduates must proceed to the presentation line immediately.'

'That's us!' called Danae. Geranium drained her Bourbon and followed the other girl into the crowd. She wanted to push her way through the press of people, not out of dislike of them particularly. It was just being hemmed in like this gave her the creeps: far too many people in one place.

They arrived in the presence of a uniformed official who was shepherding the other teenagers and children into a line, arranged alternately boy and girl, according to a list on his fone. There was no distinction as to course or qualification; Danae had achieved a degree in quantum cybernetics, but she was shuffled off to a lower position since her father was not as high up in the Syndicate as Geranium's, who had only studied Exogeography and Inglish Literature. She found herself pushed into line between two boys she didn't know. The one of the left was sucking on something in his mouth; the other was about ten years old and fidgeting. Her anxiety increased.

A few minutes went by. She caught a glimpse of her mother in the crowd that was competing on the other side of the room for a view of the Chancellor. The Marchioness was twitching her clothes into order and talking at the same time with Baronessa Mary Kris, a severe woman who Geranium never liked. The woman was here on business no doubt, being something high up in Syndicate Combined Intelligence.

The doors opened and a line of academics came in, followed by two paranoids: squat, white domes on articulated legs that took up position on either side of the entrance. They carried visible weapons.

Then the Chancellor came in: Her Royal Highness Prince Elsbet Batori. It was the first time Geranium had seen her in the flesh.

She was shorter than Geranium had thought—only about one hundred and sixty centimetres tall, with dark hair piled high in a grandiose construction to add some stature. Born male, she'd transgendered early on, married more than once and had multiple affairs. None of that had affected her public life.

Starting at the end of the line, the Chancellor was presented to each of the young people, who shook her hand and, in some cases at least, curtsied or bowed. Geranium watched the process and remembered her mother had told her to curtsy, but watching the others stumble through the process turned her off the idea completely.

When the Chancellor was only a couple of people away, Geranium felt in her purse for the remote control there. Her breathing quickened—this was the moment. The contact on the remote felt slippery under her touch.

She pressed it. In a moment the outer layer of her clothes vanished, the gown apparently disappearing as the colour-frequency simulator she wore next to her skin came online. Light was bent around her gown to reveal what she was wearing underneath, the contours of which had been disguised by the same device until now.

No one seemed to notice, focused as they were on the Chancellor.

Then it was her turn. So far, the Chancellor had spoken no more than a greeting to each person, but she paused in front of Geranium to cast a look over her clothes: the t-shirt emblazoned with the decal of a music band that Geranium was particularly fond of, the singer's face in close-up, tongue poking out, and the washed-out jeans that had a hole in the left thigh and another one over the right knee.

'Good evening, Your Highness,' said Geranium. The Chancellor's eyes snapped back up to meet hers. The Chancellor paused as she was informed of Geranium's name through her hedfone.

'Good evening, Miss deForêt,' said the Chancellor. The voice was muted. 'You are the Marquis's daughter?'

'One of them.'

'He is an interesting man. I will have words with him.'

Geranium glanced over at her mother, who was glaring. She smiled back at her. The Marchioness pushed her way back through the crowd.

The Chancellor moved on and Geranium had to hide a tremor that passed through her body. She'd done it—actually done it! Sweat beaded on her brow. It seemed an eternity before the Chancellor finished being presented to the line and moved off to address the adults from a podium set up at one end of the room. The line of adolescents broke up and moved to join the adults. Danae shuffled over to Geranium, hand on her mouth.

'What cheek!' she cried, but there was a savage grin visible behind her fingers. 'Where did you get a simulator? I want one!'

'Never mind that.' Geranium pressed the remote contact again and the gown reappeared. She twitched it into place as it stuck to the sweat that covered her. 'I've got to get out of here.'

Danae had removed her hand from her mouth but couldn't suppress the grin. The other graduates were either gawking at her or had sidled away, deciding no doubt the house of deForêt-Bassyngthwayghte was best avoided at the moment. The ten year old boy beside her even had the gall to sneer at her as he moved off.

'I'm dead meat,' said Geranium, casting about for her mother, but the Marchioness had vanished into the crowd. There were a few giggles and comments from those who had stayed to stare. She tugged at Danae's arm and drew her through the press towards a side-door to the Hall. A guard stood there, a woman in a dark suit. She hadn't been in a position to see what had happened, and merely nodded as the two girls headed towards the toilets.

Inside, Geranium took the simulator from where it was attached to the inside of her right thigh, and the remote control from her purse, and handed them to Danae. 'There. Now you have one. Now don't tell anyone about this.'

Danae clutched the simulator and said, 'Why would I? These things are illegal.'

'Not that. This.'

She stepped over to the small window at one end of the toilets and opened it. The night was dark outside although searchlights played over the entrance. Geranium slipped her gown off and let it fall to the floor. 'You can have that too if you like. You're my size.'

She scrambled out of the window and placed her feet on the hard tarmac outside. Then she turned and waved back at Danae, whose mouth had fallen open. 'Geranium! What are you doing?'

'Saying goodbye for a while. I've got to get out until the heat dies down. I've embarrassed my family, insulted the Chancellor and given everyone something to talk about. Mother will question you, no doubt. Tell her the truth: I climbed out a toilet window and ran off into the night.'

'Geranium!'

'It was fun though, wasn't it?'

A smile came across the other girl's face. 'Yeah, it was. But you are in so much shit.'

'Bye, Danae. I'm glad someone saw me go, and I'm glad it was you.'

'Where are you going?'

'No idea. And it's best you don't know either. Mother can be pretty good at making people talk.'

She blew a kiss at the girl and ran off into the night, ducking through the shadows. It wasn't until she reached the gate that she was challenged. A guard there saw her casual clothes and frowned. She held out her wrist automatically so her ID could be read.

'What happened to your dress, my lady?' asked the guard.

She didn't answer—she didn't have to; the guard wasn't Elite. With no more than a curl at one corner of his mouth, he opened the gate and let her through.

At the end of the street she stopped at a small park. Sarti emerged from hiding behind a bush, carrying two packs. Geranium slipped hers on and smiled at the Helot.

'Right, let's go.' Sarti handed Geranium her fone and she glanced at the frantic messages starting to accumulate on it.

The slave shook her head, eyes wide. 'This idea of yours doesn't feel right, miss.'

'It's not your problem, Sarti. You're just obeying orders.'

'I don't question that, miss. But it's still not right.'

Geranium pulled a data crystal out of a small pocket. 'Father's credit is good. Now let's move before Mother comes down from her drug high and starts actually looking for me instead of sending grammatically incorrect messages.'

'Where are we going?'

A good question. A long way away, obviously. She breathed in the night air and glanced up at the sky. Mars hung like a red jewel between the tree branches.

'Mars,' she said. 'Let's start with Mars.'