Anthony Pacheco: Hack Writer

A future cop’s worst assignment: go undercover. Back to school. High School.

Chapter 28

Prospective students should check-in at the central office, says the words in my contact lenses HUD.

Ugh. Contact lenses. I don’t like them, but then again, I gave up my NI watch so it is time to face the music. My NI watch directly interfaced with my optic nerves, so I did not need to wear contact lenses like a normal person.

But still, the last time I wore contact lenses, I almost died. A perp fried them in an EMP blast and took advantage of my vertigo by trying to gut me with a knife.

I put aside my discomfort. A little sparkling trail appears before me and I follow it. The school is not crowded, as start times are staggered.

Rosehill is a very modern school—there is nothing institutional about it. Graduates come out ready for advanced learning in specialized fields or ready for direct integration into the workforce. As a pre-vocational school, students learn advanced self-teaching and group-teaching techniques. As a premier pre-voc, the rich send their kids here to finish turning them into productive members of society. It is one of the best schools on the West Coast.

And there is the distinct possibility someone in here, a student or a facility member, is a murderer.

***

“You must be Nancy,” says a warm, older gentleman, who reminds me of Papa. He even has a vaguely Asian look.

“I am,” I stick out my hand and smile. “Please to meet you Mr.…”

He has a firm handshake but he doesn’t crush my fingers. “Berkshire. Please, just call me Berk, or Mr. Berk. I am the Chief Principal of Rosehill Analytics and Learning.”

“Very pleased to meet you, Sir.”

He motions me to sit in a chair.

“I must say your home school qualifications were pretty extraordinary, I can see why your guardians would want you to spend a year or two at Rosehill. Shame we didn’t get to you earlier.”

“Actually, they discouraged me from applying.”

He looks surprised. “Uh, they did?”

“Yes. They felt because of my isolation for my prior learning, that a home school co-op with gradual increased social interaction would be more conductive to learning.”

Damn that sounded swanky. Memo to self: dial it down a notch.

“I guess you persuaded them.”

I sigh like a good teenage girl. “Kinda. I’m actually paying for the tuition and expenses myself. Out of my inheritance. They told me up front, success or failure, either way, would be a good lesson for becoming an Adult.”

He smiles. “Well! Your guardians are old school hard-core. I like it. In a way, Mr. Scott and Ms. Gina are correct—this social and learning style is a dramatic departure. Now that you’re here, are you having second thoughts?”

“Oh, no. I am so excited to learn with other people, make new friends and just experience something new, I could just pee myself!”

Well, at least that much is true.

He laughs. Then he looks very serious.

Uh-oh.

“Nancy, do you mind if I ask you a personal question?”

“Only if you don’t mind if I tell you to stuff it if I don’t like it.”

He chuckles. “Oh, you’re feisty!” He looks at me. “You were lonely, weren’t you? I don’t know your whole story, but I can guess home schooled in the ass-end of the Northern Territories was lonely.”

I frown and look down. “Yes, yes I was.”

He nods. “I like you, Nancy. You remind me of my son when he was your age before he got all serious. So let me give you a bit of advice.”

He leans back in his hair. “Rosehill attracts learners and leaders. And the leaders can spot people who have ulterior motives a mile away. You can’t just want to get in here to make friends and have a teen life amongst the wealthy and well-connected. You have to want to learn. You have to want it bad. And if you don’t want it bad enough, then you’ll not get on a squad. As long as your desire to learn and facilitate peer learning is stronger than your desire to be a social butterfly, you’ll get in. But if it’s not, your day is going to suck and perhaps your guardians were right.”

I nod.

Shit.

***

This is my third and last interview for today. I’m fairly certain I’ve blown the prior two, and this is my last shot.

I’m fairly certain because I’ve bugged the rooms, and can hear their discussion.

Squad number one didn’t like me at all. They didn’t like my tattoo, didn’t like that I was home schooled and didn’t like that my guardians were a CEO and an Investigator.

Squad number two was a bit better. However, they didn’t like me because I wasn’t a math whiz. They completely pooh-poohed my areas of expertise, and this hurt because I’m over three times their age and have taken more advanced courses then all three of them put together.

Plus, I used my math to kill the enemy, you little snots. Not good with math, my tattooed ass.

Bah.

Failure here means we have to wave more credits around and I have to form my own squad of student partners. Forming my own squad would suck. I would have to go out and find new students. Not only would time be short for that, I don’t want to integrate myself with new students. I want to find why a murder victim had a current Rosehill squad ring. This is why I’m applying as a transfer.

My instincts tell me I need to stick to the ICDA persona. But man, does it rub some people the wrong way.

I look around the room of rich, beautiful teens and try to hide my nervousness. This six-person squad is down a member. The prior student, a girl, left when her family moved to Argentina. So at least I have that going for me.

I’m dressed in a black and gold silk skirt and matching blouse, with stockings and black boots with heels. At least with my sense of fashion and sculpted, teen looks I fit right in. I’m sitting on a comfortable chair in a study room.

The squad leader is a girl from India, and she is something else. She is tall, almost six feet, and curvy. She looks like she can squish me. Her name is Nikhita, and her mocha skin with her dark brown eyes make for an enticing look. She fills the room with her presence.

The second girl—and I believe she is the Squad Second—is so California Blonde Blue-Eyed Bimbo she actually scares me. It has to be an act. She is also tall and beautiful with breasts I would seriously consider, if they were on me, of having them surgically reduced. Her name is Beth. She looks perfect, minus the boob part.

Then we have the boys.

The first boy introduced himself as Jay. Jay is also tall and looks like a football player, complete with the no neck, blonde guy thing. He has an easy smile and his blue-gray eyes are bright and inquisitive, so I suspect he is far, far, from the quintessential jock. Jay is an alpha boy. Looking at him makes me feel funny.

I bet he is fucking Beth. They would make the beautiful couple, complete with beautiful children.

The next boy, Quinn, is as tall as Jay and dressed impeccably sharp. His brown hair is styled perfectly, and his eyes are green, like mine, although I suspect he is wearing tint. He is also painfully handsome, and while doesn’t have a quick smile as the rest, looks alert. He is the observant sort, and must work out. He seems to have muscles on top of muscles.

The last young man is Lee. Lee is tall and lanky, and gifted with that magical boy long-eyelashes thing, with mousy brown hair and big, big brown eyes. He has a swimmer’s body, and is ruggedly handsome.

Lee also makes me feel funny. The primordial part of my brain wants to nibble on him. He has a warm smile and he is very engaging. Lee is a man’s man, I’m certain.

My gay-dar doesn’t go off, so I’m betting Lee is making some girl very happy right now.

They have just finished with pleasantries, like where I’m from and why Rosehill and blah blah blah. Now begins the grilling.

“How is your day going so far?” asks Beth.

“Well enough, I think. This is a really good school and I hope my nervousness isn’t giving me bad marks in the interviews.”

“You’re doing fine,” says Nikhita. “At least with us, so far. The squads don’t share feedback.”

She has a Bangalore accent. She’s a big city girl. Portland must have been quite the culture shock.

“Ah, is this a competition thing for when you get a superior candidate?”

Nikhita nods. “Yes. I can’t go into it, but certainly, that happens.”

“Cool.” I smile. “I would like nothing better than to have people fighting for me, but I think I’ll force myself to be humble and stuff.”

Lee laughs aloud but quickly tries to look serious.

“So,” says Jay, “you’re wearing a S&W Slim-line 16. Pink.”  He says the word ‘pink’ like it is a dirty word. Ha. “What type of training have you had with it?”

“I hold an Instructors Level Four Cert through S&W Training. I am quite accurate with it and can train others in their entire pistol line, which includes basic marksmanship and advanced self-defense.”

“Whoa,” says Beth.

Jay looks impressed. “Could I see your cert?”

“Certainly.” I get out my pod and send him the cert, provided by Bambi. I never qualified through S&W, but if I did, I would probably obtain their highest certificate.

This is going well. Anytime a conversation turns to guns, I have an advantage.

“How would you describe your interest in history?” asks Quinn.

“I’ve given serious consideration to becoming a historian, much to my guardians’ dismay. My emphasis is pre-war and war history, and have tested well in other eras.

“What would you consider is your weak area?” asks Beth.

“For this squad? I have this fear I don’t meet the height requirement.”

Lee again laughs but the others look non-pulsed.

Okay, maybe this is not going so well.

“Academically,” says Beth.

“I’ve haven’t put a big focus on math. Not because I don’t like it, but simply because there are so many hours of the day.”

“Don’t you think your home schooling in the Northern Territories gives you a disadvantage when it comes to peer-based learning?” asks Nikhita.

Oh boy.

“Yes, certainly. Some people are just born to relate to other people, though—I feel in my heart that I’m suited to peer-based learning. A learning squad is everything I have ever dreamed of, and I really want to give as well as receive. I feel I have so much bottled inside, sometimes I could just burst!”

The room is silent.

“Or, maybe, I just like to talk.”

This time I get a smile from Beth.

“Let’s go back to your history assertions,” asks Quinn. “What type of impact did the Collapse have on the formation of the Federation?”

“Which collapse? There were three.”

“There were?” asks Beth.

“Yes. The first collapse was the degradation of civilization via economic Armageddon caused by incompetent centralization, coupled with the spread of a nasty influenza that seemed perversely to prey on healthy adults, and then mutated to attacking children and old people. While this is what is commonly referred to as “the Collapse” with a capital ‘C’, the sneaky fact is those events were predicted and the people who picked up the pieces were well prepared to do so.”

I look around the room. “The second collapse happened soon after the first, so soon that many historians gloss over or miss the significance. Those people now in power were replaced, often violently, in a coups d’état of those who not only predicted the prior collapse, but also the first group would come to power. Those revolutionaries were the forerunners to the Federation, and unfortunately, the beginning of the Union.

“But neither of those events had the most impact of the third collapse.”

Quinn frowns. Oh well.

“The Cyber War was the true collapse. Nobody predicted it, nobody prepared for it, and it destroyed the prior, pre-Federation and pre-Union civilization by erasing everything and destroying networked computers. Afterwards, chaos, true chaos, reigned. Civilization for a short time was a bad blend of steam-punk coupled with feudalism. Only the war with the Union was more malignant, more evil. The only reason the Federation came back on top was we reverted to anarcho-capitalism, and even that was due more to who was the better shot. Free of centralization, the Fed economy prospered with unstoppable growth, which was a good thing, otherwise we humans would be extinct and the child-raping Union would be sitting here having a grand old time with their total lack of free will.”

The room is silent. Again.

I suddenly realize I have totally overstated my undercover persona. The looks I get back are blank and guarded. Crap. Crap. Crap, crap, crap!

Oh man, I suck. Why did they have to ask me about history? That and Investigations always gets me going. Only sex is more fun. I have two fucking masters in history, for fuck sake.

They ask me a few more basic questions, I hand them my card, and leave.

Fuck.

***

Scott picks me up and I motion to him that I’m busy listening.

The card I gave them, while traditional, is also a clever listening device. The paper isn’t paper at all, but a wonderful bug. It’s not nano technology, but nanos certainly manufactured it. It’s a vastly superior form of miniaturization, a technique only known to Investigators and perhaps the Military.

My pod sorts the conversation and pipes a running transcription to my contacts, along with putting the audio in my ear. I rewind it to the point I left the room.

***

Nikhita: Well, at least she wasn’t boring. Let’s go around the room. Lee.

Lee: She’s a Princess groupie! That tattoo, it’s awesome. I so want to talk to her about the Princess.

Beth: Oh my God, Princess groupies. Is there anything more pathetic?

Jay: I can’t believe we found someone who can out groupie the groupie.

Nikhita: Please, let Lee finish.

Lee: She’s very passionate about history and I don’t give a damn if she’s a hick from way-way-way-way up north.

Beth: How many ways is that?

Jay: A lot.

Lee: Quiet. Anyway, I approve. Plus, I want to do her.

Beth: Lee!

Lee: Hey, let’s be honest. She’s unreal. Did you see the muscles ripple under her blouse when she stretched? She’s like hard-soft. Or soft-hard. She’s like a gypsy from a skinsim, all curvy mysterious. And her accent is like melted chocolate butter over a warm pastry.

Beth: Lee! You can’t talk that way with your girlfriend in the room!

Nikhita: Just for that commentary, Lee, I will not be kissing you this evening. Jay?

Jay: Oh hell yes. Fuck, I can finally talk to someone about guns. You guys suck with that and our shooting scores are the worst in the school. Maybe she can teach you wankers something and I can stop banging my head tried to get blood from a bunch of rocks. I’m also impressed with her very broad academic background, her certs, and her passion for when she talks about things that interest her. Plus, I want to do her.

Beth: Jason Manuel! I am sitting right here, you Neanderthal! No kissing for you either!

Nikhita: <sighs>

Nikhita: Beth?

Beth: Well, she certainly is plucky. I like the fact that she is assertive but is mature enough not to get into any squad leadership pissing matches. Unlike you boob-centric penises, I am not terribly impressed with her academics. However, when she talks about subjects she knows, Jay’s right. She gets animated. I think she has a big capacity to teach history, and we need that, especially since Meg moved away and broke Quinn’s heart. Plus, uh, I want to do her.

Jay: Fuck yeah! Can I watch?

Beth: Not a chance in hell, turd-brain. I’m mad at you—remember?

Jay: Oh, so I can’t lust after gypsy girl but you can?

Beth: That’s because I use romance and you just wave your penis around thinking that’s foreplay.

Jay: You know it.

Nikhita: <sighs>

Nikhita: Quinn? You sounded like you had the most reservations.

Quinn: Are you kidding me? She’s fucking brilliant. If we could get out half of what she knows about history, we’re golden.

Lee: Whoa. I thought Quinn was impressed with nothing.

Quinn: Plus, I want to do her. Her lecture actually gave me a boner.

Beth: Oh. Em. Gee.

Quinn: Want to see it?

All: No!

Quinn: Anyway, Nikhita, she’s a fit. She’s quirky and her record clearly indicates she is a dedicated, unconventional learner. My only beef is I had to think seriously about unpleasant topics, because my mind kept going back to wanting to nibble on her tattoos.

Lee: Heh.

Jay: Heh.

Beth: Boys!

Jay: You said you wanted to do her!

Beth: Yes, but I plan to give her flowers, take her to dinner, get her drunk, and then do her.

Nikhita: <sighs>

Nikhita: Okay then. I have reservations along Beth’s thinking. I think her isolation has skewed her motives for applying. To me it seemed she was more interested in the school and the people rather than the true benefits from peer-based instruction. But I can’t deny she knows what she is talking about. We’re down a squad mate, she doesn’t smell and she’s a tad sarcastic, which will make her fit in just fine with you spoiled-brat malcontents.

Lee: And?

Nikhita: And what?

Jay: And?

Nikhita: <sighs>

Beth: And?

Nikhita: Fine. I want to do her.

Quinn: God, I love this squad. Thank you, Jesus.

***

We’re across the river, heading to Gina’s. I nod to Scott, indicating I’m done with my surveillance.

“Well?” Scott asks.

“Let’s see: Lee is going out with Nikhita. Beth is dating Jay. Quinn is single and pinning away after Meg, the squad mate who moved, but I think they all might be swappers. Hard to say.”

Scott reaches over and smacks me on the back of the head.

“Ow!”

“Can you give me a professional rundown of your day? Set the teen girl aside before I puke.” He shudders.

I squirt him the recording and transcript. He puts the car on auto and listens.

“Nancy, I think you are in trouble. You can’t fuck a Child.”

“Major Scott! I am not a pervert! Of course I can’t! That’s just teen banter. Tacking sex on the end of everything makes them feel empowered.”

“Yeah, they want to empower up your pookie.”

“Leave my pookie out of this!”

“Poor Priss. She’s going to be walking funny as you channel their flirting into sex-bot relief.”

“You suck.”

“Ha!”