their daughter went through is their fault. She could have been educated and fed on The One's dime. Instead her parents dragged her around the country living in squalor. Double or nothing the kid doesn't have a friend in the world. Forget the physical pain, imagine the psychological damage.”
A part of the Private agreed with him. She herself had lived a terrible childhood outside The One. The difference was that Sara’s parents honestly believed they were doing the right thing.
“They're suffering,” she said, “and their intentions were good.”
“The road to hell is paved with good intentions,” The Sergeant retorted. “Seriously, Private, why are you even in SHT? Every day we deal with Norms mistreating our people. But all I hear from you is pity and justification.”
“Honestly, sir, I don't know,” Cortez replied. “I've been with The One for a while now and the whole time they had me training for OID. Then I graduated, and I'm assigned to you.”
“By order of One Special Operations,” Lieutenant Gabriel Wilson surprised them. He was standing behind them. “Any idea why?” Wilson looked at Cortez who turned to her Sergeant. “As far as I can tell, Private, you have no qualifications for SHT.”
“Sir,” Cortez started.
“You take pity on Free Flights because they’ve had a hard life, and you ignore that Norms treat us like second rate citizens. If you want to be an officer someday, you should take some pride in The One. You give the impression that you're against us.”
“No, sir,” Cortez said quickly. “The One took me in when I had nowhere else to go.”
“Well, maybe that's the problem,” Wilson said. “The comfortable life The One has given you has made you forget. OSO wants you in this department, but they didn’t say where. I think you need a transfer to the third world. There are plenty of Lost Ones out there to help remind you why we do what we do.” He turned to the Sergeant. “The OSO has also given orders that the Klaas girl is priority,” Wilson snarled. “I’ll be taking her from here.” He stormed off down the hall.
“Am I really going to be transferred?” Cortez asked her Sergeant.
“If Special Operations is involved I don’t want to know what’s going on,” he answered.
2006, India
Hot.
Very hot. That was all Private Alison Cortez could think. Flies buzzed around her trying to get a sip of sweat from her skin. She was standing in the shade of an open air market. The noise of the crowd was booming. A few of the merchants tried to call her over in an attempt to sell a variety of trinkets. Their broken English was barely understandable. She cursed the man who had her transferred here. A girl from the Illinois suburbs did not belong in India. The only blessing was the new uniform. It was an adaptation for the sweltering weather. She was wearing grey shorts with a white linen shirt. Her name and rank were pinned to the fabric, weighing it down.
Alison found it interesting how much the people here ignored her. In America, the Norms went out of their way to stay clear of The One. Worse, if they knew you were SHT. In the west they were seen more and more like gestapo, snatching up people whenever they liked. Sure it looked that way, but these people weren’t being thrown into prison cells. They were given opportunities, education and a place to live. And then there was this; jobs like looking for The Lost Ones was a good thing. Most of the kids they found were starving or abused.
A woman her age, wearing the same uniform, came pushing through the market. She had short black hair that stuck out in every direction. Her skin was, or at least used to be, porcelain white, but had now been turned pink by the sun.
“Hi,” the woman smiled and waved.
Alison waited in her shady spot.
“I'm Jessica,” the woman shook Alison's hand. “Just call me Jess.
A part of the Private agreed with him. She herself had lived a terrible childhood outside The One. The difference was that Sara’s parents honestly believed they were doing the right thing.
“They're suffering,” she said, “and their intentions were good.”
“The road to hell is paved with good intentions,” The Sergeant retorted. “Seriously, Private, why are you even in SHT? Every day we deal with Norms mistreating our people. But all I hear from you is pity and justification.”
“Honestly, sir, I don't know,” Cortez replied. “I've been with The One for a while now and the whole time they had me training for OID. Then I graduated, and I'm assigned to you.”
“By order of One Special Operations,” Lieutenant Gabriel Wilson surprised them. He was standing behind them. “Any idea why?” Wilson looked at Cortez who turned to her Sergeant. “As far as I can tell, Private, you have no qualifications for SHT.”
“Sir,” Cortez started.
“You take pity on Free Flights because they’ve had a hard life, and you ignore that Norms treat us like second rate citizens. If you want to be an officer someday, you should take some pride in The One. You give the impression that you're against us.”
“No, sir,” Cortez said quickly. “The One took me in when I had nowhere else to go.”
“Well, maybe that's the problem,” Wilson said. “The comfortable life The One has given you has made you forget. OSO wants you in this department, but they didn’t say where. I think you need a transfer to the third world. There are plenty of Lost Ones out there to help remind you why we do what we do.” He turned to the Sergeant. “The OSO has also given orders that the Klaas girl is priority,” Wilson snarled. “I’ll be taking her from here.” He stormed off down the hall.
“Am I really going to be transferred?” Cortez asked her Sergeant.
“If Special Operations is involved I don’t want to know what’s going on,” he answered.
2006, India
Hot.
Very hot. That was all Private Alison Cortez could think. Flies buzzed around her trying to get a sip of sweat from her skin. She was standing in the shade of an open air market. The noise of the crowd was booming. A few of the merchants tried to call her over in an attempt to sell a variety of trinkets. Their broken English was barely understandable. She cursed the man who had her transferred here. A girl from the Illinois suburbs did not belong in India. The only blessing was the new uniform. It was an adaptation for the sweltering weather. She was wearing grey shorts with a white linen shirt. Her name and rank were pinned to the fabric, weighing it down.
Alison found it interesting how much the people here ignored her. In America, the Norms went out of their way to stay clear of The One. Worse, if they knew you were SHT. In the west they were seen more and more like gestapo, snatching up people whenever they liked. Sure it looked that way, but these people weren’t being thrown into prison cells. They were given opportunities, education and a place to live. And then there was this; jobs like looking for The Lost Ones was a good thing. Most of the kids they found were starving or abused.
A woman her age, wearing the same uniform, came pushing through the market. She had short black hair that stuck out in every direction. Her skin was, or at least used to be, porcelain white, but had now been turned pink by the sun.
“Hi,” the woman smiled and waved.
Alison waited in her shady spot.
“I'm Jessica,” the woman shook Alison's hand. “Just call me Jess.
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