Page 29 of Light Leech

“I–uh–will have to message the head to see if our resident rep–”

“Great! While we await their response, we can finish the tour.” She gestured to the classroom door. “Shall we?”

“After you,” Naoma said with an enthusiastic yet dominating smile. These two were playing for power like competing salesmen. Being away from Naoma at work–the true Naoma not owned by Reef Records–was a pleasant surprise. I didn’t know how much autonomy she had under Nichley, but if she was anything like she was now, she had fought for what she wanted. I recalled her brilliance in sending me the cuttlefish documentary. None of our success could have been accomplished without her.

Seeing her step into the room after Sanna with Kuni’s hand in hers, I recalled the pseudo-life her therapist had forced me to experience. Seeing that imagery cast now into a somewhat positive reflection, despite our circumstances, I wondered if I could ever see it come to fruition. If that was my future, I saw now that my child would be in good hands. I saw that this woman was sharper than those who claimed to be educational paragons. She knew how to work others. Perhaps her people skills were a remnant of her time at Reef. Others might have been taken aback by her subtle manipulation. I would have been alarmed if I hadn’t known her. Seeing her use it for the benefit of a child, regardless of the fictitious situation, I saw that she had what it took to be a parent in a world that tried to teach children to follow its ways rather than their parents.

Boyband elbowed me as he passed. “You good?” he asked over his shoulder, trying not to talk over Sanna.

I smiled. This was one of those genuine ones in a sea of feigned optimism. “Yeah.”

I stepped up to stand by Naoma, opposite Kuni. She looked at me, smiling and reaching for my hand. I took it and felt warmth blossom in my chest. All of this was an act, but this gesture felt genuine. She stroked the back of my hand with her thumb. Maybe she had seen my trepidation. Maybe she saw the nervous signs of fix withdrawal. The cause didn’t matter. I knew that she cared, and that was enough.

“The micro-neurosets we use are the latest model,” Sanna said, gesturing to the children. “And we replace them with each quarterly upgrade.”

Every child sat at their desk with hands on half-sized neurosets. Their eyes flashed, some occasionally exiting their daze to write something on their tablets.

An and dressed like Sanna patrolled the classroom, weaving in and out of the aisles. Looking up, I could see that the and’s glances at the students were a show. A variety of ceiling camera domes looked down on them, likely recording their movements and tapping into their neurosets for monitoring.

“Forgive me,” Naoma whispered, “but I don’t see why I need a classroom like this when I can just neglect–I mean, give my son his own neuroset for learning.”

“No need to keep quiet, the children have auditory blocks to anyone but the teacher. It keeps them focused, preventing unnecessary interactions, and so forth. This is condensed learning. One year here is as good as three elsewhere. If you want to let your child attempt work at home on his own, sure, see how that goes. He can fall behind and join the corporate chain in a sub-blue company or end up with a dead-end job in the Yellow District.”

Naoma scoffed. “You think awfully highly of your school don’t you?”

“Well, it isn’t mine. I am a mere component, allowing me to see its labors without the forced biases of ownership. Yes, I have seen other schools and none of them have impressed me like Water Hills. These classroom facilitating ands offer the feeling of traditional classroom teachers when necessary and keep the students in line while using their neurospace programs. Surveillance in and out of the system. No wages to be paid. No biases to compromise the paths we want our students to follow.”

“And what might those paths be?” I asked.

Her face was less tense as she faced me. “No graduate of Waters Hills should find themselves anywhere lower than the top of the Blue District. Most will end up affluent Indigo residents, though we aim for Violet.”

“But these are just kids,” I said. “How can you guarantee that much now?”

“Water Hills follows children until age seventeen, some until eighteen. Immediately following graduation they are granted a position with one of our partnered corporations, established in an Indigo District though most new employees live in the neighboring blue.”

“So it’s a factory for making corporate employees?” Naoma smiled. “Forgive me for playing devil’s advocate.”

“It’s an institution for success. Most of Zingang’s highest paid Violet influencers, stars, athletes, and anyone of societal import graduated from a Water Hills campus. Our success stories are not limited to this city. Onward with the tour then?”

She left the room before more questions were raised. I didn’t need to ask what happened to those who thought they deserved to be Zingang’s Violet stars but failed. Those failures filled every corporation they each fought to own. They might offer a high Blue guarantee, I knew that their proud graduates aimed for stardom like any other media-crazed child–speaking from personal appearance–while most fed into corporations. Following Sanna down the hall lined with plaques of corporate sponsorships, I realized that we were heading down the wrong path.

The Luxists had directed us here out of hope that Boyband had attended a high-end institution. It was high end for celebrities and the one percent. The monks might have seemed perfect in their knowledge, but they were as lost as we were. Dokkaebi might be the head of education, but this wasn’t education. Sure, it was a school that followed the requisite curriculum, but that just made it another sheep. This institution didn’t aim for scholarship. It relied on gambling parents. A few every few years would succeed, but most would become another piece in their sponsors’ corporate conglomerates.

The more I contemplated, the more I missed Sanna’s tour of the gymnasium. The more I felt the tragedy of these hopeful children and their deceived parents. I didn’t need to go down the track of athletes set up for failure.

Seeing Boyband’s persistent joy, I wondered if he knew. This was not the school to set your child up to inherit a SocStan empire. Did they hope that he might have some chance at success? Finding a life of success without having to hold the burden of a business up? Was this a hope that he might have freedom, yet not resort back to the life of the lower districts? I didn’t know. Maybe there was something at this school that I was missing. I didn’t want to see his parents as another rich and naive couple that thought this school entailed success, but it was hard to see otherwise. Wanting to criticize it from the start had removed the jaded lens hopeful parents would use to view the school. Even if it didn’t promise success for all, every parent thought their child would succeed. Love can distort wisdom. Perhaps that was a good thing. Regardless, I knew that even the wisest were victims to falsehoods.

Zeg, there was so much to unpack.

Who ran this school? Was this board part of some conglomerate that not only fed employees to companies, but selected new celebrities? There had to be plenty of talented kids here and there was an abundance of untalented celebrities in the world.

Who selected them?

“Alyosha?” Naoma squeezed my hand.

Was she selected to be the Neon Idol?

“Mister Ershov?” Sanna asked.