Now, to my story.I was born in the world generally called Earth, into a middle-status family, in a land called America. Our people were called Spanish... though my family itself was of mixed origins, with my mother being three fourths of a people called Berbers, these not too different from the peoples of the Tahari. My family, which included an older brother, emigrated to this land before I was born, from their home country. My father used to be what we call a gymnast, an athletic performer,. "We, uh, I, uh, we have something important to talk to you about." Dad couldn't decide how to assign blame, or responsibility, or whatever. Definitely not a good sign."I, well, uh, I lost my job." What?" Traci exclaimed."How could that happen?" I demanded. "They need you."To be honest, I wasn't all that sure what dad did. He was some kind of strategic planner for the state. I didn't understand it, but I had the impression that he was good at it. At least his boss, Bill Miller, always said he. More

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