I was sixteen Xyberian years old when I was drafted into the Federal Intergalactic Xyberforce.
My aptitude tests placed me in a role fitting of those who were strong of resolve, but less so of body. I was placed in the hall of Wyngs.
Depending on one’s scores, one might be placed in the halls of Taelons, Feathyrs, Wyngs, or Tayles. Some others still were further cataloged—arranged by extraordinary scores in strength, dexterity, agility, or speed.
My clearance level didn’t allow me to know much more than that at the time. The only thing that stands out from my evaluation was a line I’ll never forget:
“Possesses an overdeveloped sense of fairness.”
My mother would agree with that, indeed, but my father couldn’t care less. I’m not sure he ever did, if I’m honest. He always seemed to have other priorities, and I was never one of them. Not to make my mother out to be a saint—she wasn’t one. However, she was stuck with me, and so had to do the best she could. That is, of course, until the FIX decided I was needed.