The Luminosity Series (Book 1): Luminosity by J.M. Bambenek Page B

with your
illness,” she said. I glanced at her for a second before pushing my bag higher
up my shoulder, straightening my posture.
    “Trust
me, I’m the least of your problems.” I raised a brow in annoyance before
rushing out the door. The guard outside had to chase my pace, but I was too
angry to wait.
    In
the waiting area, I took an empty seat between two families with children. I
finished filling out the paperwork before the same looks of desperation arose
on the faces of those just entering the room. After that, I knew I wouldn’t be
the only one to receive devastating news that day.
     
    ♦  ♦  ♦
     
    “So
we’re applying for a citizen identification and labor duty, correct?” the man
asked. His loud, authoritative voice rang throughout his office as his rigid,
hooded eyes glanced at me in a patronizing manner from across his desk. He was
older, and had a weary impression to him, like he had already seen the darkest
of days. As he awaited my answer, I sensed he had a low tolerance for ambiguity.
    “Yes.”
I swallowed down the burning sting in my throat.
    “Okay.
Let’s see what we got here,” he muttered, squinting into focus as he scanned my
citizen report card. “Judging from your profile, Aubrey, I see you have earlier
work experience at a local old folks home here when you were seventeen, is that
right?” he asked.
    “Yes,”
I replied.
    “But
you have no other formal training or education?”
    “No.
I never had the privilege,” I explained, biting my tongue as I distinguished
the sizzle of sass originating in my voice.
    “And
your previous labor duty was serving food to civilians at the food shelf in
Grand Junction, correct?”
    “Yes.”
    “Well,
based off of this information, it only makes sense to place you in the local
hospital. They’re in dire need of caregivers to help with the increase in patients
there on the late shift. Other than that, the only other openings are at the
labor fields loading supplies, and I’m not sure you’d have the strength they’re
looking for,” he said. I tried not to take his assumption of my physical
abilities as an insult. But I swallowed in shame at the thought of my mother’s
reputation.
    “What
would I do at the hospital?” I asked dreadfully.
    “That’s
the hospital’s call. Since you’re not qualified as a Registered Nurse, I’d
imagine you’d just assist in giving the sick patients medication, serve food,
check in on them, things of that nature,” he replied.
    “And
what will my benefits be if I do that?” The man took in a deep sigh.
    “The
benefits are figured by your age, family status, and education. But since there
are gaps in your work experience, this will decrease what you are allowed.
Unfortunately, this also lowers your chances of qualifying for a spot within
the colonies.” I looked down in disappointment, unable to withstand the truth
of his analysis. “But I don’t want this to sound like a death sentence. Your
age is a main factor, and being at the prime age of twenty-three, your odds are
greater. Effort is admirable too. If we see you are going above and beyond your
line of duty, this will significantly increase your chances. So I suggest you
do the best you can. Your status in the colony qualification will fluctuate
based on your labor contribution. Is that understood?” He handed me the papers.
    “Okay,
yes, but… to be fair, I was under the care of a mental health advisor during
the time of the collapse. I was told I couldn’t work labor duties the first few
months due to PTSD,” I hesitated to say, knowing he’d judge me.
    “That
may be, but you still agreed to surrender your previous labor duties upon
moving here. There are rules in place for those who transfer outside their
original assigned cities, and sympathy isn’t one of them,” he said, looking me
over as if he was trying to decide for himself whether I was worthy of pity or
not.
    “That’s
it? So my benefits get cut because I want to be