Nico (vilakins) wrote,

Drabbles: Education

Last week's b7friday topic was schooldays. I wrote a drabble for each of the first season crew except for Gan, whom hafren did so beautifully here.


"When I'm big," said Roj, "I want to be a transporter driver." All that power, all those people in his hands.

"Don't be silly," his teacher said, "Only Deltas do that."

Roj pushed his lower lip out. That wasn't very fair. Why should they have all the fun?

When they got to vectors and forces and Newtonian mechanics, he announced, "I want to be an engineer."

His teacher looked down his nose. "That's a job for Betas, Blake."

What was left for Alphas then? Management? Command? Roj thought about it. Perhaps society's building blocks could be almost as much fun.


They were waiting for him. "Top of the class again, Restal?" Bren punched her fist into her open hand. "Who d'you think you are?"

They always used kids' last names when they wanted to be nasty. Vila quailed, then had an idea. "Best thief in the place, actually." He held up a small probe. "Want anything from the snack machine? Form an orderly queue."

Bren's companions crowded eagerly around Vila. Bren scowled, then joined them. "Chocolate bar for me, Restal."

"It's Vila." As he worked though, Vila decided to forgo the pleasure of academic success in future. It was safer.


They weren't supposed to have any of the things Jenna thought made boarding school life bearable, but she managed. Coloured lip gloss and mascara, hair-lightener and spray, some good juicy tunic-rippers--all of these things were hidden in an extra compartment of her suitcase under her bed. All well and good, but when other girls offered to pay her to smuggle in things for them too during her exeats, that was another matter.

You see, well-brought-up Alphas weren't meant to go in for commerce. But it turned out to be more fun than anything else in her life so far.


It was not logical. Why should great beefy rugby-players with negligible intellect be admired, but not members of the chess club? No-one was impressed by his success in class. Even his humour, used to such devastating effect against other schools' debating teams, did not win friends. "Sarcasm is the lowest form of wit," they all said when he tried. It was easier to ignore them all and study. You knew where you were with computers and numbers.

At least so he thought until that statistics class which the lecturer called "Lies and Damned Lies." Well now. That was an eye-opener.


Zelda always sat next to Cally in class. She was the closest of Cally's clone-sisters--they had been hatched together twelve years ago--but even then there were differences. Zelda was content with life the way it was and wanted to work in the nursery labs. Cally couldn't imagine anything worse.

"Our isolation policy is simple, really," the teacher said. "If we don't bother anyone else, they won’t bother us."

That was not true. Cally compressed her lips and Zelda pinched her. She no longer needed to though; Cally had learned to say nothing.

They couldn't stop her thinking though.

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