And so began yet another day at the Fed’s Munich, PS District 5: Fairview High, The Heliotropes.

“UNAFIX, wants you to see what you are made of...” whispered a deep male voice relayed at an NMR-Frequency that only females could hear. The girls did generally enter buildings slower than males, as the Declassified Overseer data always came back with.
Rachael knew the drill. She tore and cleaved her way to the front of the left-most part of the crowd of mainly girls, and joined the heel clicking lines to then go on to the school’s early morning Detectors. Of the twenty-six doors lining this side of the snaking edifice, Rachael was aiming for #16.

There must be a fountain downstairs mass-producing kids.

She thought this virtually every morning, looking at the tops of heads bob up and down on the other side of the dusty square windows of the watery line of doors.
She barely got through the massive spouting millipedes of kids. Every morning was a charade of squirmy struggle, and when finally she got inside, it was sure she had seen every brand and style fashion and Switch-Light swarm by. Couldn’t forget em if she tried.
The soft but somehow, loud voice of Janus ascended and descended, coming from every angle, much less like an echo and much more like she were somehow right there talking in your ear.
“Remember to be smart, not scared. There are many things these days that might frighten a youngster. The incident last month will not be repeated with the right attitude.”
“Neaus include not leaving baggage unaccompanied and always traveling to and from your next class period with another student of the same sex.”
“Remember that you are here to get an education and that fooling around, though okay to some degree is not tolerated beyond an unreasonable point.”

After getting through the Paraphernalia-Detector, she past by the gender specific snack and press stands lined with the usual suspects: fruit drinks, drugs, sodas, candy and printed magazines of all kinds. No newsprint. Other Fetish and Tranny-Sensitive Hypnopaedia accompanied lines of both genders.

The left was for girls...
A floating View went around making sure everybody was In the Neau...

The All-New issue of the best Teen Girl of 2086, rated high on the Mag-Hag-Rag, ran...
“Finally Fourteen’ magazine says: ‘Get a Guy: Six Can’t-Fail Ways.”
“Fear the ‘Can We Just Be Friends’ Speech? 4 Surefire Ways You Can Wind Up Keeping Him.”
“Find Your Boyfriend Today, Your Husband Tomorrow!”
“How to Manage His Feelings When He Will Not.”
“Dasa’s Will-Get-You-Your-Soulmate - 30 Sex Positions He’ll Never Forget” …

On the right side of the entrance was where guys would pass:
“How to Shape up With Your Crew—Win a Workout Machine that Will Get You Laid and Win Better Friends!” or
“5 Ways You ARE the Man! And Can Stay That Way!” “Stay Hard Longer!” and “10 No-Fail Things to Say to Her on Prom Night!”
On every other of the textureless surrounding walls of huge skylit lobby, was some kind of digital sign with a ‘Don’t-Do’ or a red cross-out icon to tell you what not to bring to school. Most of them portrayed handguns and illegal cigarettes. Some of them displayed certain kinds of books.

The Monday Products Pitch was being featured near the Football Trophy stand. Today it was “Bitzeri NeauMaquillage, Secret Bridal Networks Links by Voca’s, and of course, FED ‘Omni-Condoms.’ ”

‘GET SOME,’ the huge Ad for condoms read, floating near the ceiling, a glossy View-Banner. It depicted a large glass bowl of milk sitting on the drab tiles of a kitchen floor, without a spoon as if ready for a dog to come lap up.

She caught a glimpse of the before-Session Marine and Army Recruiters that always stood near the Assembly Room. Beside them was a Technical Military Recruiter. They had the typical weapons display case. Today’s specials included (unarmed) P-44’s and OmniGlocks. Guns were without question prohibited to wear or have on you at school, so obviously, this was purely to spike Networks Consumer Traffic, which was fine, no one was excluded from anything, ever at Fairview.

Rachael, finally, at long last--found her usual spot under the gym staircase where ‘The Crew’ always met up.

“Dave!”
“Hey Biatch--what up Slut!” yelled out a warm, benevolent voice from beneath the hall of kids, still pumping students from its walls. Rachael chuckled slightly as she turned around to gaze back at the crowd she’d overcome.
She nearly laughed when the blood curdling scream of some tiny E-Pacific girl went off like a pistol being fired. She was hurdled through the crowd like a giant gust of wind had caught her and swept her up into partial crowd surfing above a particularly dense conversational gaggle of students. The little GookGee was then pulled into an under-toe, and nearly shot into the air from a sudden geyser of released pressure spitting out a belch from the inner workings of the undulating mass of people.

The ChinkyGirl ended up on her face. Her books and flying papers were trampled under the hooves of heavy-Calvary-lobby masses.

Rachael, in that instant, meditated on a log contemplative pause devoid of content...
...She’d be so good for Dave’s Asian humiliation FetDom parties. Asian girls are so sweet too...!

“Fuckin’ COLD ou-der eh?!” Cried Dave.
It irritated her often, as Rachael had an affinity for RealAnglais, the King’s English, (Camille made sure not to choose a woman to run a country--for Christ’s Sake!) But she nevertheless could accept people talking in other respective tongues. Maybe it was her geeky infatuation with linguistics. In any case, the bottom line was that she didn’t really have a choice, all her friends spoke in some kind of a broken mixed up NeauSpeak, or tried to, to be cool anyhow... So, on some level at least, she had to, too.

The kind of NeauSpeak Dave was uttering, was again the SS Langue: ‘Common,’ akin to Ebonics if there was any sizable quantity of Niggs up in Fairview.
There wasn’t. Thank Goodness!
There were indeed a few colored kids, but they were mostly brainiac GeekBoys, or even some Live RubberKids mixed in there. Very few of them were ever NiggGirls, who pretty much tended to keep to themselves anyway. Niggs generally left the school fairly quickly too. No one asked why.

Dave was also a Grinder, a kid that’s the closest thing to Thug or Monkey-Grinder’s as they were called on ‘the street Off-Line.’ Though, no one here really knew what ‘the street’ had come to mean anymore, let alone off Networks. Only that it meant you were ‘hard’ or ‘straight’ or ‘Mikin’ ’.
This knowledge however, would be dampened in considering that nearly 100% of the Fairview High student body had never been outside of Fairview for any length of time past a few months and those were mostly the real exceptional foreign kids, and, well, the Blacks, if you could find one that wasn’t a Geekboy. “Nothing against Blacks, but they’re just so...Black!” ran a local Ad for lemonade sold to preteens on the streets of Rachael’s neighborhood.

Fairview wasn’t like a central CAMBIAN school really. Even though it had long ago been legislated as The news kept repeating: ‘A mandate that each and every one of the private schools in the United States of CAMBIAN, the USC,’ must pick up a certain, most often small percentage of all the public schools, depending on its ‘complex discretionary demographic needs.’ The other schools of the MM-PS5D was of course, far lower in quality by comparison and the school Principle at Fairview was the discretionary filter for ‘Dirties’ as they were often secretly referred to. Of course, outside all respective company, entirely. Such was the nature of the new Section-8 Law.

Dave had on his fishnets under his farmer trousers, and had many, many watches on both his wrists. He was a gaunt kid, with a sunken jaw that seemed to drop off his face when he yawned. He had very large dark blue eyes with long shiny black hair done up in cornrows. Tattoos of swirling dragon-pigeons and pagan gods, were spiraling up his back, off his shoulder and twisted like a vine onto his neck and cranium.
Rachael was strangely attracted to this boy. Damnnit.

“Yeah, no fucking shit moron.”
“God, you goe’geous Camille.”
Rachael wasn’t kidding with her mom, that was the name Dave and most of her friends had always called her, Camille. Pronounced the French way, like Linda and her family, or: ‘Chez Laurence,’ as they called it when they visited Linda. That was the name of her family’s estate.