"The President for Life, um, misspoke, sir," Chief of Staff Rick Santorum looked uncomfortable. "The Selection applies to offspring of GuestJobbers, sir.. Not Goodjobbers. The media has already been alerted, and the correction is out now. If I may, sir," and without waiting for an answer touched a switch on Boykin's desk.
The screenbank came to life. Every screen had the correction in its crawl line.
Boykin sat back, relieved. "Ah, Mexican kids."
"And only in support positions sir. Kitchen and whatnot."
"Well that makes sense," Boykin grinned. "In their blood, isn't it?"
"Not that I object on the basis, but the logistics, you know, there are advantages to small troops in operations, but you can go too far in that direction, and what have you got? A C-130's worth of Honorable Unusables every couple of hours, and DOV will raise a stink unless you bring back actual remains for a Christian burial."
Although Boykin was a Man of Faith, his relationship with Secretary of Values The Reverend Jerry Falwell was not without friction. Both men attributed it to wartime tension.
Santorum, sensing his audience was over, collected his papers. Neither noticed the man with the cleaning cart outside the open door.
Roger pushed his cart down the hall and into the next office. Unlike Boykin's, it was empty. In this administration, it was only the bigwigs - and Roger - who were still around at 4 AM.
Roger had avoided GoodJob status by virtue of his long-time Federal employment. He was grandfathered in as a Federal Protected, and even assigned a Preferred card, which carried with it the privilege of living off-compound. It did not, however, carry with it the privilege of an Approval Exemption for MariLuz, and he had had to throw himself on the mercy of his boss and a long chain of higher-ups to get an exemption for Chuchito. "Jesus Rogelio," MariLuz had whispered to him, when their son was only a few minutes old. It seemed like another lifetime, but it was barely seven years ago. And barely three when they came for MariLuz.
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