26

It's not a surprise. Since the attacks, I knew I was going to lose the job. I'll probably go back to some kind of hard labor. After all, I'm a prisoner of war.

"You're fired," she said, as soon as the door closed behind her.

"No kidding," I shot back - regretted it, immediately. She didn't want attitude. It wasn't her fault.

Then again, she's from Earth. It might as well be her fault.

"Don't get smart with me, jackass," she snapped. "You think I was a social worker before the war? You think I'm doing this because I have no other option?"

"Honestly," I said, meeting her eyes, "I didn't think about you."

"Just like this isn't about you." She crossed her arms. "I'd rather not have a riot tear down the building. There are kids in here. And, to some of the people out there, a Martian is a Martian is a Martian."

"Then how the hell did I get this job in the first place?"

She shrugged. "What Angilo wants, Angilo gets."

"Why?"

"He won the battle of Toridia, didn't he?"

In a moment, she realized what she said and tried to backtrack, but I wasn't listening.

Angilo met me, in the lobby, just a few minutes later.

{Archivist's Note: While this and the previous entry are in the correct order, chronologically, the events of the previous entry appear to have taken place before those of this entry. On a stylistic note, this is very out-of-place in an otherwise well-ordered and organized journal.}