Susan tried to ignore the alarm, but knew she should really wake up this time. She had an appointment with a client in the Zocolo at 1000 hours, and they were going to talk about contract negotiations. Incredibly boring contract negotiations. The only thing that kept them remotely interesting was that everyone always tried to lie, although even that wasn't very interesting when you could always tell they were doing it. Maybe she could let the lies slip and take money from both sides to keep their secrets. After all, they obviously didn't know who was telling the truth, or they wouldn't have to hire a telepath. But ripping off the mundanes for fun and profit was strictly against Corps guidelines. Damn the Corps.
That thought, mild and flippant though it was, sent a wave of guilt through Susan. Corps is mother, Corps is father. You couldn't damn the Corps anymore than you could damn your birth parents, assuming you were lucky enough to remember them. The Corps was your identity, your family.
Susan pulled a pair of black gloves out of her dresser drawer. She slipped one over her left hand, willing herself to focus and channel her mental energy to the task ahead of her. Corps is mother…
A scene flashed through her mind unbidden: a woman slumped over in a chair—Mommy!—people in white jackets saying, "Hush, Susan, everything will be all right" in a taut voice with an artificial twang of cheer, like a fiddle string wound too tight. "She's just sleeping; why don't you play with your dolls?" She knew it was a lie, of course. But no one would look her in the eye, much less talk to her, so she dressed Galya and Anna and invited them to share her horrible secret. Two knowing dolls watched with her as the people in white came and left like a snowstorm, leaving a chill behind them.
Tears pricked at Susan's eyelids as she drew the second glove over her right hand. Corps is father…
He had tried to stop them from taking her. But what could one grief-stricken man do against an institution backed by the full powers of Earth Gov? Maybe by now she had enough clout to visit him at the mental health facility, although she had no intention of deluding herself with false hope. He was very sick, they always told her. If you could get him to take his medication… but he's raving, delusional—any small thing might push him past the breaking point. It would be too painful—best for both of you to just move on.
The same lies year after year. But each year built more and more distance, and thus the lies became closer to the truth. What could she hope to gain by visiting him? He'd tell her to escape from the Corps and she'd humor him, making elaborate plans, knowing full well there was nowhere she could go. And in the end she'd leave, but what was left of her heart would stay. It would be too painful—it was better for both of them to move on.
Susan held on to the Psi Corps badge. The pin pricked through the black gloves, and she felt a small trickle of blood. At least she could still feel something. Her hand balled into a fist. She had to… if only… but how? Damn the Corps!
She punched a hole in her mirror, watching shards of silvered glass fly out at her. Susan stared at her fractured reflection, at the shattered bits of herself. Hell, what good did it do? In the end, the Corps was her family and she was only the petulant child, rebelling but desperately seeking approval.
She swept the glass off the dresser and into the recyc unit. A few minutes of focused meditation were enough to steady her mind. Susan pinned the Psi Corps badge to her shirt and repeated the only thing that was left for her to say: Corps is mother, Corps is father. Corps is mother….