Technocracy: Freshman Year, Part 1

Soft and gently came the green light shining, peering through the darkness. The green light, green digits, glowed gently, faintly, in the midst of the darkened room. Suddenly, like lightning from the sky, they brightened, and began to pulse. They flashed, and as they flashed, a chime, soft but insistent, issued through the air. It was calculated, precisely programmed, to drive a human mind from slumber.

Saera’s eyes came open. She breathed out, a sigh, which filtered through the air of her dark and dim-lit room. A yawn came gently from her open mouth, and she twitched her slender arms in the cool air.

She slipped from bed, padding to her bathroom. The motion sensors tracked her, glinting green just like her clock, and as she entered the bathroom the lights bloomed above her head. She glanced at the mirror, moving closer to the floss dispenser. She habitually flossed in the mornings—and she was certainly going to do it today, on the very first day of high school. The digital displays on her mirror were already telling her the day’s weather forecast.

As she flossed, she regarded herself in the mirror. Her hair was a bright, platinum blonde, very pale. It matched the paleness of her skin: she was naturally pale, and did not much like going out in the sun when she could help it. She was more of an indoor person. She liked to keep this blonde hair short, and she had just gotten it cut in the last week; it hung about her chin, a careful bob.

“Saera!”

“Yes, Mama?”

“I have your breakfast ready. Come on, I need to take you to school before I can get to work.”

Saera hastily finished flossing, then brushed her teeth. She scampered, light as air, into the kitchen. She sat down at the table, plucking a waffle from her plate.

Her mother, Aemilia, stood hovering nearby, glancing in the digital mirror on the refrigerator so she could do her make-up. She wore a soft pink pantsuit; her skin was pale, like her daughter’s, but her hair was dark.

“You’re going to wear that nice white blouse, right? I know you wanted to wear it, so I had it cleaned.”

“Yes, Mama.”

Aemilia Alhimov finished her make-up. She turned, and regarded her daughter, sitting there, eating waffles with the lightest drizzle of syrup. Saera seemed to feel the stare, for she glanced towards her mother, and Aemilia could see the twist-glimmer of her daughter’s careful, considered look.

Saera’s eyes were silver. They were not ‘gray,’ and they were not the silvery light blue that was most commonly seen by people with lighter eyes. No, they were properly silver: the pale, white color of moonlight. They seemed to shimmer and glint as Saera’s gaze moved to meet her mother’s and then moved away. Aemilia’s own eyes were dark brown, like her hair. She supposed Saera must have gotten those strange eyes from her father. She did not remember the father.

“Mama?”

“Oh, sweetie, shall we go? Go ahead and get dressed and brush your hair.”

“Yes, I shall be ready,” said Saera, scooting from her seat and leaving her empty plate behind. She hurried back to her room, and Aemilia put the syrup-drizzled plate with a faint clatter into the automated dishwasher.

Saera emerged a few moments later, hair well-coiffed and clad in the nice white short-sleeved blouse, accompanied by a dark green skirt and some flat white tennis shoes. Aemilia thought she looked rather lovely. Saera wasn’t so sure, but she knew her mother had been expecting her to wear the blouse, so she had structured her outfit accordingly. She had known, or had guessed, that her mother had bought the blouse, about a month ago, with the intention of Saera wearing it on the first day of school. Saera had a habit of guessing accurately.

They walked through the automatic door and into the garage, where their sleek black car waited. It looked like a wedge, or so Saera had always thought. Its wheels were buried in sconces beneath its frame, and its doors slid backwards, opening for them as they approached.

“You have all that you need on your phone, right?” asked Aemelia.

“Yes,” said Saera. “I have everything, Mama. My ID, my class schedule, my money for lunch—it is all on my phone.”

“Are you sure? Did you double check?”

“Yes.”

Aemilia smiled demurely at her as the car began to pull itself out of their garage. “It’s your first day of high school, sweetie, you don’t have to be quiet.”

“I’m sorry,” said Saera, silver eyes drifting to the side.

The car went swiftly, its electric motors silently piloting the two of them down the avenue in the gray and tranquil morning. Saera glanced, and saw out her window the great green canopy of trees. She wondered at them, swaying as they did in the breeze of the dregs of summer. The wind whipped, and she thought of something. Something that came and went before she could process it properly. So she was left, staring with silver eyes at the trees that blew.

They wended slowly through streets and avenues filled with cars like theirs, sleek machines that drove themselves. Aemilia said, “Hopefully you and Marin will be in some classes together.”

“Hopefully.”

Saera then drew in a breath. It was somehow painful, though she was not in any obvious discomfort. Something about this ride, this car, this day, unsettled her. Another thing she could not see. She looked at her mother, who smiled at her with her pale, brown-eyed gaze, and Saera drew some comfort from it. Not enough, but some.

Through twists and turns, after twenty minutes, the car slid silently into a line of cars much like itself, that were wrapped around a low, swooping building replete with windows and white walls. The day was still gray, no bright sunshine in sight even as the nine o’clock hour approached. So the school, and its surrounding buildings, were a mingling of peace and unease.

Saera felt this, somehow, someway, and she was unsure. She was not quite certain the world was as it should be—she looked out the window, and could see the students, milling round.

“See anyone you know, honey?”

Saera was startled by her mother’s voice—but she shouldn’t have been, it should not have been so strange. She gathered up the things inside her heart that were hanging out, the innards that threatened to ooze into her throat. She shuddered, and shook her head, silver eyes suddenly sharp and frightened. Something bothered her. But what?

“Are you okay, Saera?”

She turned. Aemilia smiled sweetly and tenderly at her, and Saera felt the love that seeped from her, through the air like a miasma, but a good one. It calmed her. She smiled, a real smile, a smile born from how happy the sight of her mother made her. She breathed, and it was a silent, comfortable breath. “Yes, Mama, I am.”

Aemilia bent forwards, swiveling the seat as she did. She kissed Saera on her forehead, where her bangs parted and revealed her white-pale skin. “Then go out there, and don’t be afraid.”

“Yes, Mama.”

Aemilia tapped a panel and the doors slid open, and Saera felt the swirl of air about her in the morning of the late Summer. It put goosebumps upon her skin and stiffened up her spine.

Round her spun the Summer winds, in softness and in strength.

“Saera!”

Saera’s silver eyes bulged wide. At once she was at ease, at once her fears and discomforts were set aside. She turned, and smiled, and waved, as a swell of dark hair parted the crowd around itself. Aemilia, doors still open, smiled as well, and waved. “Hello, Marin!”

“Oh, hey, Ms. Alhimov!” An arm snaked around Saera and pressed her up against a chest. “Don’t worry, I’ll take it from here.” An eye—a blue eye—winked.

“I’m sure you will, sweetie. You’re welcome for dinner at our place some time this week.”

“I’ll ask my mom. See you!”

“Goodbye, Saera, sweetie. I’ll pick you up this afternoon.”

Saera smiled, and nodded. “Goodbye.” With that, the doors to her mother’s car slid closed, and the car itself glided from the curbside out to join the growing line in the exit lane. Saera twisted in the grip and smiled gently. “Hello, Marin.”

Marin made a face at her. “Hello to you too, new high schooler! You’d better straighten up, they can smell your fear.”

“Who?”

“Upperclassmen! Even sophomores! They can sniff the scent of fresh meat. You don’t want to look like dinner in their sight.” Marin bulged her big round eyes and gnashed her teeth for emphasis.

Saera laughed softly. “What about you? You’re a freshman just like me.”

Marin flicked her head and fluttered back her long and silky hair. “Yeah, but I don’t act like it.” Saera rolled her eyes.

Marin was a striking, vibrant girl. She was shorter than Saera, because Saera was tall for her age. She was also thicker than Saera; Marin was an early bloomer. Her skin was somewhat sallow, and she had a great, marvelous head of black hair, shiny and silky and hanging all the way to her elbows. Marin wore a bright orange dress that stopped just at her knees; she liked wearing dresses in general, and she wanted to go all-out for her first day of high school. Saera saw the whisper of a bra strap amid the dress’ rather wide neck. It was entirely too deliberate, and Saera resisted the urge to roll her eyes again.

“So, I’ve already looked at my schedule,” said Marin.

“Here’s mine,” said Saera, holding up her phone. The two girls held their phones up, and each one scanned the other’s screen. Saera’s pale blonde brows rose. “We’ve got Homeroom together.”

“Uh huh! And Lunch, too! And English!”

“I think we even have Algebra together.”

“Four classes! That’s more than last year.”

“We always seem to have at least one together.”

“Well we have been running into each other since pre-K,” said Marin, smirking. “I guess some higher power just knows I like having you around.” Saera smiled. Marin saw the smile and grinned. “That’s my girl.” Her eyes sparkled. Marin had blue eyes—great, incredible blue eyes, bright and vibrant, deep and resonant. They were the sapphire blue of deep water, like gemstones on either side of her nose.

Saera laughed softly. “Come on, class starts in ten minutes.” Indeed, the huge bulk of students, the great mass, was filtering into the wide and open doors of the high school, like water funneling into a drain. Saera started forward--“Oof!” she exclaimed as another girl bumped into her, knocking her briefly off her feet.

“Hey!” snapped Marin, making the other girl turn. Though she was clearly an upperclassman, Saera saw the flicker of uncertainty in her eyes as Marin bored into them with her own blue gaze. “Watch where you’re going, okay?”

“I didn’t mean it.”

“Well, apologize to my friend, all right?” Marin put the shimmer of steel in her voice as she spoke, and crossed her arms over her chest, pushing up her breasts as she did.

The older girl seemed put off by this assertiveness. She glanced at Saera, and her gaze broke subtly. Saera could see it. The older girl turned her eyes to the ground. “Sorry.”

“It’s no big deal,” said Saera. “You did not mean it.”

“All right, come on, we’re done here,” said Marin. The older girl walked off, and Saera and Marin did also, side by side.

They followed the throng into the school, weaving around the automated floor sweepers. The school was white and airy on the inside, its lines swooping in low curves that wrapped around its ceilings, its stairways, its banks of lockers and the screens built into its walls. It was like being inside a cloud, Saera thought, and she smiled.

“My locker’s down this hallway, that’s what the map says,” said Marin, holding up her phone and showing the school’s app running on the screen.

“I am over here,” said Saera, pointing off to the right. “We need to sync our phones to the locks.”

“Yep!” Marin said. “See you in Homeroom in five!” She merrily waved at Saera, and then parted, a beaming smile on her face. Marin was in a very good mood. The confrontation with the upperclassman had left her feeling chipper. She’d barely gotten to this school and she was already letting everyone know who was in charge. Yes, this was a very auspicious start.

The map in the school app led her dutifully to her locker, and it was a simple matter to synchronize the electronic signals. This was her ‘key,’ how she would open her locker for the rest of the year.

“I love your dress,” said a blonde girl with green eyes at the locker next to her.

“You do? You’re so kind,” said Marin, flashing her a brilliant smile.

“I’m Krista, I guess we’re going to be next to each other the entire year.”

“Yes, I suppose so,” said Marin, face still gazing kindly, imperiously, upon Krista. Krista’s own face began to betray signs of discomfort; despite Marin’s friendly behavior, there was a hint of a threat in the way she looked and moved.

“Is that digisilk?” asked Krista, glancing at Marin’s dress. “It sparkles like it.”

“It sure is,” said Marin. “I thought I’d do something special for the first day of school.”

“I’ve never seen digisilk in orange before. But it works really well, the fabric and the color.” Krista looked at Marin with increasing admiration. “You have pretty good taste.”

“I am the best,” said Marin, flicking her hair over her shoulder. “That’s one thing you’re going to learn very quickly, using the locker next to mine.”

“Oh, I… guess so,” said Krista. She had a certain uncertainty, a kind of off-balance, and Marin saw it. She smiled, and flicked her hair again.

Light played on her hair like it was water in the sea.

Krista was clearly intimidated. Marin arched her black eyebrows. “Where you headed next?”

“Oh, um,” stammered Krista, “I have Homeroom in 306.”

“My Homeroom’s 144,” said Marin. “Shame we won’t be seeing more of each other.”

“Uh...”

“See you,” said Marin, with a swirl of her skirt and yet another flip of her hair. As she went away, her blue eyes sparkled and a smile curled her lips. Yes, so far high school was going great.

As she wended and wove her way through the swirling mass of the students, Marin’s eyes flickered from face to face. She liked to look at faces, liked to organize them and catalog them and file them away. She had begun to learn, in the last few years, that much could be told about a person from an initial, random glance at their neutral faces as you passed them by—and more could be told by their initial reaction when they first noticed you looking. Marin had grown adept at reading people. And, of course, she liked to use this to her advantage. She’d done so the last two years of middle school, and she planned to continue it now that she was a high-schooler.

Thus, it was a simple matter, by now, for her to see who was afraid and who wasn’t, who was hiding things and who was too stupid to hide things, who already had friends at school and who was here utterly alone. She could read it on their faces, and she had learned to keep track of such details, and file them away behind her deep blue eyes. Now she swept a wider net, seeking here and there as she approached more closely her Homeroom. Because any of these people, even the juniors and the seniors, were likely to be useful in one way or another.

She turned and--

And collided with someone coming from the opposite direction. “Ungh,” grunted Marin, pulling back. “Watch where you’re going.”

“Me? You were looking the other way! Why don’t you watch where you’re going, fatass?”

The insult tacked on at the end immediately raised Marin’s hackles. She looked, and peered up, and met a pair of eyes as red as rubies. They glinted and flickered with malice as they stared down at her.

Marin curled her lip. “Don’t be clumsy and this won’t happen again.”

“Maybe you shouldn’t be a jerk,” said the red eyes. They were attached to a boy standing in front of her, fists clenched. He was taller than her, and his limbs were long and lean. His skin was brown, and his hair, which fell to his shoulders, was black. He wore a black polo shirt and brown pants. He continued to clench his fists, and his lip was curled in a snarl. Marin was actually put off by his ferocity. He wasn’t prepared to fight her… was he?

Well, she wouldn’t back down, and her blue eyes gleamed with a sparkle of sapphire. “You ran into me! Apologize.”

“I’m not apologizing for shit.”

“Well in that case,” snarled Marin, flaring her skirt and flashing her hair, “I’ll just go to my seat. Dumb asshole,” she tossed this insult over her shoulder, sounding more powerful than she felt.

“Tch,” said the black-haired, brown-skinned boy, swinging his shoulders about him as he walked into the classroom, red eyes glinting.

It was a clean, white, simple classroom, with soft desks of light brown in which were set glimmering touchscreens. It was a small classroom, with only about room for fifteen students, and ten of them were already present as Marin and the red-eyed boy filtered through the door. She glared over her shoulder at him one more time; then she looked out, and saw Saera sitting quietly by the window. Smiling, Marin dashed to her friend, sitting down next to her and saying, “Heya!”

“Hi.”

“Find your locker okay?”

“Yes,” said Saera. “It is only a few halls down from here.”

“Good,” said Marin, who then turned to her touchscreen. Using her phone to unlock it, she immediately began to alter the background and theme colors of the operating system to fit her preferences—particularly to make them orange, her favorite color.

The bell rang.

“All right, all right,” said a deeper voice, and they all looked up. An older man with dark skin came through the door, shutting it behind him as the last few students squeezed in ahead of him. He stood behind the desk at the front, waiting until every one of them had taken their seats. “Okay,” he said, “I’m Mr. Simeon, and this will be your Homeroom for the semester. This is where we’ll take roll and distribute your electronic assignments for the rest of the day.” He tapped the screen embedded in his own desk, and a list could be seen flaring to life upon it. “All right, I’m going to go down the list alphabetically. If you’re present, state that you’re here. If there’s a nickname or shortened name you prefer to go by, please state that, as well.”

The class nodded as one, sitting gently in their seats. Mr. Simeon scrolled through the list until he got to its beginning.

“Saera Luka Alhimov?”

“Here,” said Saera, rising from her seat. Her white blouse gleamed starkly in the bright lighting of the room. Marin glanced her way, and smiled, especially as she sat back down and bent her silver eyes in Marin’s direction.

“Walter Isaiah Baines?”

“Here,” said a boy with dark skin and dark hair, rising from his seat, his red shirt swishing about him. “I go by ‘Walt’, sir.”

“All right,” said Mr. Simeon. He continued on the list. “Amy King Everton?”

“Here!” said a bright girl with dark skin and black hair.

“George Samuel Finster?”

“Here,” said a boy with pale skin and red hair.

“Janette Esther Jameson?”

“Here!” said a girl with olive-hued skin and red hair.

Marin grinned brightly. She knew her name was next.

“Mariana Matthia Meni?”

“Yes, here!” said Marin, rising from her seat, her hair billowing around her. “Ah, I go by ‘Marin,’ sir.”

“All right, that’s fine,” said Mr. Simeon, marking off her name on the electronic list. He went down another tick. “Bernardo Marco Ortiz?”

“Here!” said the sharp voice, and Marin whipped around. It was him, that boy with the red eyes, and he’d shouted so loud the entire class had turned to him. He rose from his seat. “I’m called ‘Ardo.’”

“Very good, Mr. Ortiz.”

Ardo sat down. He saw Marin looking back at him. He flashed her a toothy grin. “Ugh!” growled Marin, turning back to the front.

“Ryan Joshua Patterson?”

“Here,” said a boy with black hair and blue eyes.

“Terrance Jonathan Philips?” No answer. The class fidgeted in the silence. Mr. Simeon sighed. “Terrance Jonathan Phi-”

“Oh! Sorry!” said a nervous voice, deep, but soft for a boy’s. Marin turned to see a tall, thin boy rise from his seat. His clothes were a bit shabby. He was pale, but not as pale as Saera. He had brown hair cut somewhat short, though with some volume in the front. His eyes were brown as well, but there was something about them that caught her attention, something in the way they caught the light of the classroom. He seemed to shrink at the sudden attention. “I… I go by ‘Terry.’”

“That’s fine. Please pay attention next time.”

“Sorry,” murmured Terry, quietly resuming his seat. Some of the class snickered in the silence. Marin did not feel like laughing, though.

“Marcus Daniel Pullman?” said Mr. Simeon, continuing.

“Here.”

“John Joel Richards?”

“Here, sir. I go by ‘Johnny.’”

“That’s fine,” said Mr. Simeon. “Tasha Micah Robertson?”

“Here, sir.”

“Giovanni Ezra Smith?”

“Present, sir. Please just call me ‘Gio.’”

“Okay. Jean Judith Sorrelson?”

“Can you call me ‘Jeanie’?”

“Yes. And finally, Roger Tobias Talbot?”

“Present.”

And with that, the roll was done.