Another building. Another cold, hard floor. Another temporary place to squat. Something inside me broke.

"Draw me a map." I fished in my sweatshirt pocket and pulled out the contract. I ripped off a quarter of it.

"Why?" Michael asked.

"I'll join you guys later." I handed the paper to Michael and he started drawing.

"Where're you going?" Tyler asked, his voice hoarse.

"I'm going to be gone for a day or two." I looked at Michael. "I know where to get some money."

Michael glanced up from his map. His eyes locked with mine. "Cal. You sure?"

I looked at Tyler's tired face, his sunken cheeks, his baggy eyes. The smoke had made his condition worse. If he went downhill and didn't make it, I would never forgive myself.

"No. But I'm going anyway."

By the time I entered Beverly Hills, it was 8:45 a.m. The shops were still closed. I passed a handful of Enders wearing heavy jewelry and too much makeup. Modern medicine could easily extend Enders' life spans to two hundred, but it couldn't teach them to avoid becoming fashion don'ts. The plump Enders opened the door to a restaurant, and the aroma of bacon and eggs teased my nose. My stomach growled.

Those rich Enders acted like they'd forgotten there ever was a war. I wanted to shake them and ask, Don't you remember? No one was winning the Pac Rim sea battles, so they threw their spore-head missiles at us? And we used our EMP weapon, which crashed their computers, their planes, their stock markets?

It was a war, people. Nobody won. Not us, not the Pac Rim countries. In less than a year, the face of America changed to a sprinkling of Starters like me in a sea of silver-haired Enders, well off, well fed, and oblivious.

They weren't all rich, but none of them were as poor as we were, because we weren't allowed to work or vote. That nasty little policy had been in place before the war, with the aging population, but it had become even more of an issue postwar. I shook my head. I hated thinking about the war.

I passed a pizza place. Closed. The hologram in the window looked so real, complete with bubbling cheese. The fake scent blasts taunted me. I remembered the taste, the hot, sticky mozzarella, the tangy tomato sauce. Living on the streets for the past year meant I was always hungry. But I especially missed hot food.

When I reached Prime Destinations, I hesitated. The building was five stories tall, freestanding, covered with silver-mirrored panels. I looked at my reflection in them. Tattered clothes, smudged face. Long hair hanging like tangled rope. Was I still there, somewhere, under all this?

My reflection vanished as the guard opened the door. "Welcome back." He wore a smug grin.

While I waited at the reception desk for Tinnenbaum, I noticed two men arguing in a conference room off the lobby. One of them, facing the open door, was Tinnenbaum. The other man I could see only from the back. He was taller and wore an elegant black wool coat. Only a few inches of his silver hair protruded from his fedora. He slapped his gloves in one hand several times and then hit the table with them, making Tinnenbaum flinch.

Tinnenbaum moved to the left, out of view. The tall man glared at a glass case of electronic equipment. I couldn't make out his face in the reflection, but I got the feeling he was staring at me, as if he had a clearer view than I did. The hair on the back of my neck rose with a prickle. He appeared to be sizing me up.

Why?

At that point Tinnenbaum came out of the room alone, closing the door behind him. He came over to greet me with his trademark freaky grin.

"Callie. I hoped we'd see you again." He shook my hand. "My apologies for making you wait, but that was my boss." He motioned toward the conference room with his head.

"It's okay. He must be important."

"You could say he's Mr. Prime Destinations himself." He spread one arm. "This is all his baby."

I followed him into his office and sat on the other side of his desk while he tapped at his airscreen. To my right was a framed mirror. Observation window, I imagined.

"So who did you say referred you?" he asked.

"Dennis Lynch."

"And you know him from where?"

"He was a classmate. Before the war." Tinnenbaum continued to stare at me, as if I should say more. "After the war ended, I ran into him on the street. He told me about this place."

I didn't want to admit that I'd met Dennis squatting. Tinnenbaum knew I was a squatter, but I wasn't going on record with it.

He seemed satisfied. "And what sports are you good at?"

"Archery. Fencing, swimming, riflery."

He raised one brow. "Riflery?"

"My dad knew about guns. He was in the Science Corps. He trained me."

"He's deceased, I assume."

"Yes. And my mother."

He eyed my clothing. "I assume you have no living relatives?"

Of course, dummy. Would I be living on the street if I had grandparents? "Right."

He nodded and thumped the desk. "Well then, let's see just how good you are."

I didn't move.

"Unless you have any questions?" he asked.

I had to ask. "How do I know I won't get caught? For working?"

He smiled. "Look, we're not hiring you. You're donating services, not working. You couldn't be working when you're asleep." He laughed. "So the generous payment we give is a stipend, not a salary." He pushed his chair back and stood. "Don't worry. This is a mutually beneficial situation here. We need you as much as you need us. Now let's go see what you can do."

Mr. Tinnenbaum introduced me to an Ender named Doris, who was assigned to be my personal mentor. She had the silver hair of an Ender but the body of a ballerina. She dressed in typical Ender fashion, retro clothing with modern touches. Her suit was classic 1940s, but a power belt cinched her tiny waist. Rib removal, no doubt. She took me to their gym and tested me in fencing and archery, as well as in general strength, stamina, and gymnastics exercises. They weren't going to take my word for it, in case some Ender had her heart set on winning a fencing competition.

We were left with only the target shooting. That was one thing they weren't set up for, so we had to go to a shooting range. Tinnenbaum and I got into the back of a limo and rode for twenty minutes. Trapped in the small space, he coughed and wrinkled his nose, then held his handkerchief to it. I'm sure it was from my eau de street life. We were even, because I couldn't stand the fake scent of his cologne. He didn't even look at me, but instead read his mini-airscreen the whole way.

But I got Tinnenbaum's attention once we were on the shooting range and the Range Master pushed a rifle into my hands. The motion shoved me back, back to three years ago, when I was thirteen, when my dad had done the same thing.

I had protested that the rifle was too big and heavy for me. I didn't want to admit that I was scared and would rather have spent my time with him fishing or hiking.

"Cal Girl, listen carefully," my dad had said.

Whenever he used his special nickname for me in a serious way, it got my attention.

"There's a war going on," he continued. "You must learn how to defend yourself. And Tyler."

"But the war's not here, Dad," I said.

At that time, the war was mostly being played out in the Pacific Ocean. But my father's answer made it clear he knew what was to come.

"Not yet, Cal Girl," he said. "But it will be."

Two years later, the Spore Wars would change us all.

While Tinnenbaum watched with a skeptical gaze, I straightened and brought the rifle into position. I shut one eye and used the other to line up the digital sight on the target, an outline of a man. Then I shut both eyes and quickly opened them. The sight was still dead-on. I breathed in and squeezed the trigger.

The bullet pierced the red circle in the center of the forehead. The Range Master said nothing. He nodded for me to shoot again. My next bullet went through the first hole. Tinnenbaum stood completely still, staring at the target as if it had to be some trick. Other shooters, all Enders, stopped their practice to watch me hit the same spot, every time.

We continued the testing with a variety of guns, so I also impressed them with the number of firearms I could handle. Thanks, Dad.

On the drive back, Tinnenbaum's nose wasn't so wrinkled. He angled his mini's base so I could read the airscreen. It displayed my contract.

I skipped to the important parts: three rentals and the payment. The money would be enough to pay for an apartment for a couple of years. And to bribe an adult to sign the lease for us.

"That amount. It's the same as before you tested me."

"That's right."

"Shouldn't my skill level have bumped me up to a higher stipend?" Why not go for it, I thought.

His smile faded. "You drive a hard bargain. For a minor." He sighed and typed in better numbers. "How's that?"

I remembered something my dad had taught me to ask. "What are the risks?" I said. "What can go wrong?"

"No procedure is without risks. However, we've taken every precaution to protect our valuable assets."

"Meaning me."

He nodded. "You can be assured that in twelve months of operation, we have not had a single problem."

That wasn't a long time. But I needed the money more than I needed a better answer. What would my dad have said about this? I pushed the thought out of my mind.

"The hard part is over," Tinnenbaum said. "The rest is as easy as drifting off to sleep."

My brother could be warm every night. A real home. And we'd have it after only three rentals. I touched the airscreen and my fingerprint appeared on the contract, sealing the deal. Tinnenbaum gazed out the limo window, trying to look casual. But I noticed his leg had an uncontrollable nervous twitch.

When we arrived back at the body bank, I wondered if Mr. Tinnenbaum would introduce me to the tall man from before. But we never saw him. Instead, Tinnenbaum handed me off to Doris.

"Wait till you see what Doris has in store for you." He grinned and then disappeared down the hallway.

"It's time to begin your makeover." Doris flicked her wrist like she was my fairy godmother.

"Makeover?"

Doris eyed me from toe to head. My hand instinctively touched the end of my stringy hair, as if to keep her from chopping it off.

"You don't think we're going to present you like this, do you?"

I pulled my sleeve over my hand and wiped my face. She reached for my arm.

"You're one lucky girl. We're going to give you a free makeover, top to bottom."

She examined my hand. Her nails glowed with a dazzling iridescent polish that reminded me of an abalone shell. Mine looked like I'd dug through tar at the beach.

"We have a lot of work to do." Doris put her hand on my back, guiding me toward a set of double doors. "You're not going to recognize yourself when we're done with you."

"That's what I'm afraid of."

The first station was a human car wash. I stood naked on a raised, revolving platform and held on to a bar hanging above my head. Tiny goggles protected my eyes while bitter-smelling chemicals blasted my entire body. The fish-eye goggles made everything a little more surreal than it already was, including Doris watching me through an observation window. Large foam pads taller than my head pushed out from curved panels, moving closer and closer until I thought I was going to be smothered. But I held my breath as the squishy material conformed to my body and scrubbed it top to bottom. Finally, it stopped and pulled back for the last step, a high-powered water stream that sprayed from every direction and hurt like needles.

I passed through a small chamber lit only by blue lights, and then a hot, dry one. In the last room, which looked like a doctor's exam room, two Enders wearing protective suits scanned me for any bacteria. I was judged to be a clean palette and was whisked off for a series of beauty procedures. First up, laser treatments. This Ender team said it was just to clean up my freckles and teenage skin, but it took a long time. They wouldn't let me see the results, but they assured me I would be pleased. I could see that they had completely healed the cuts on my hands from fighting.

Next up, manicure, pedicure, and, as if I weren't clean enough already, a full-body scrub. It hurt at eleven on a scale of one to ten, like they didn't want any original skin cells left. Then Doris led me to a small room to meet their in-house hairstylist. She was the first Ender I'd ever seen with hair that wasn't all white or silver. Hers had streaks of purple, and it went straight up in spikes.

I tried to pass on the haircut.

"Don't be silly." Doris leaned on a counter, drumming her nails with increasing speed. "She's not going to give you a buzz cut. You'll still have your lovely long hair. It'll just be styled better. Give you some layers."

I let the spiky Ender put a cape over me, but the fact that she refused to let me see a mirror hardly inspired confidence.

When she was done, enough hair lay on the floor to make a cat. I was dying to see the results, but no one seemed to care. The final torturer was a makeup artist named Clara, who spent over two hours brushing and rubbing color into every inch of my face. She lasered my brows and attached new eyelashes. Doris picked out some clothes for me to wear, and I changed in a small room with no mirror. Before I could even look at myself, I was rushed to another room, where I had to stand against a wall and pose for the camera.

I tried to smile like the red-haired girl in the hologram Tinnenbaum had shown me. I don't think I succeeded.

When I left the holo room, I was mush. I didn't feel made over, I felt run over.

"Are we done?" I asked Doris.

"For now."

"What time is it?"

"Late."

She looked as tired as I felt. "I'll show you to your room," she said.

"Here?"

"You can't walk home at eleven p.m. looking like that." She leaned against the wall and drummed her nails.

I put my hand to my face. Was I that different?

"Haven't you heard stories of rich men kidnapping pretty girls?" she said.

I had. "Those are true?"

"Oh, you bet they're true. You'll be safe here. And refreshed for tomorrow."