As a boy he used to draw pictures of the citadel, imagining what it was like to live there. On clear days you could see the white tips of the spires gleaming in the sun. It was rare.
As the son of a programmer it was unlikely he'd ever get his papers to live in sky, but he lived in hope. Every year at the lottery he put his palm on the reader and waited for it to turn green. The lottery promised riches and a life no one on the ground could ever imagine. However, as no one had ever come back down no one really knew.
The terminals would open in a couple of weeks, the festivals would begin and he would try again.
He returned to his father's shop in the junk district to run scripts for the robots his father programmed. The bots weren't anything exciting, mostly domestic help robots and the occasional protocol droid. He opened the door to the tiny shop and stepped inside. Before he could turn on the lights, he knew immediately he wasn't alone.
"Don't yell." The voice said. "I'm from the citadel. I just want to talk."
Thoughts whirled through his mind. "From the citadel?" He thought. "Impossible."
He turned around and sitting at his fathers programming station was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen.
Before he could say anything she continued.
"I need help to stop the lottery."