Chapter 11

My observations were getting more acute and it surprised me. I was sure my sense-sharing was off, yet taking note of, and interpreting, tiny motions or mannerisms was getting easier. Then I noticed a ... person ... walking alone. They looked wrong, which is an odd way to describe it, and it was disturbing - as though a complete nullity were before me. I couldn’t figure out at first where the issue lay, but we passed in the corridor and I had it: that person was simply collecting data, as much as they could, on everyone - while trying not to release any themself. It reminded me of stories about submariners where they’d find places in the ocean that were too quiet, and many times that would represent another submarine blocking the background sounds.

At homeroom I had no incidents though I was unsettled. Mr. Mesrobian strode in and took his place at the lectern.

“Good morning, gentlefolk.

“You perceive the societal re-organization going on now. The society we have inhabited within the Collective - this school society - is readying itself for its disbandment, to be subsumed as it must be within the greater Collective society.

“In one way, a contrived environment is ending; in another, its sustaining environment is asserting itself. An example is that of dress codes. The school year dress code exists to, among other things, obscure one’s lifestyle choices and the purchasing power that leads to them. It is a tenet of Collective society that the wealth of a person’s antecedents should have no bearing on that person’s ability to compete.

“For there are rules. Collective society makes demands on all its members, and is firm about retaining them. The first demand is that one not tell another what to do, or interfere in what another is doing: to leave one another to pursue their goals up to and until their interference with what someone else wishes. At that point, Collective society adjudicates the collision based on harm. If A wishes to do something that harms B, A will demonstrate that the harms to B are none, or A will be sanctioned in their pursuit of the desire. B will always be heard in their enumerations of harm. This, gentlefolk, is why we have courts.

“I urge you to observe, gentlefolk, the results at every turn: since this is what makes us Collective.”

“Anything for the record, comments or questions?”

Not a sound.

“Geev’um!”

Bang-ja caught up with me briefly. “I hope you ate your Wheaties this morning and that you will have an excellent lunch WITH ME AND BECK.” “Yes, Bang-ja.” She smiled her radiant smile, turned and walked off.

English lit: ‘Tristram Shandy’ had been discussed sufficiently in my view. Mr. Moss requested - but did not assign - Erskine Childers’ ‘The Riddle of the Sands’. “Examination material ends at this moment; the request is that you give Childers’ only novel a look.”

Class conversation was about some details of ‘Tristram Shandy’ that I thought a little contrived, we’d covered plenty and I now had a physical copy.

Bang-ja and I arrived at Dr. Green’s class only to be met by scrolling text on the annunciator:

“Dr. Green’s class has ended. Examination will be held by proctor on Ostara 3/27 at the normal class time. San Hipolíto School Board per S.H. Stitt.”

“Well, that’s wack,” she said. “I challenged him, he failed to respond. I suspect he has moved.” “Really?” “I did. Remember the solution I showed you to one of the questions on homework I said he wouldn’t like?” She nodded. “After much thought, I believe he couldn’t follow it, and his house of arrogance and misdirection collapsed.” We thought a few seconds. “If he hadn’t been such an utter gasbag he might have survived, but he is a reason why there’s a Dunning-Krueger hypothesis.”

Bang-ja and I went out to the glades, reminding ourselves we could get to the cafeteria early. She put her head in my lap and we spoke about tomorrow. “First, people will be hauling things, I want to be there. Second, you, Beck, and I should be seen looking ... very sassy, what are you wearing?” “Open-tip halter if we even bother with tops, booty shorts, sandals.” “Good. So are we. We want to go around and make people hard and wet.” “I have been finding out how much fun that is.” She swatted my arm. “You’re supposed to be with us.”

“Bang-ja, how long have you been doing sex play?” She thought. “About a year and a half, and if you don’t count giggly middle school attempts.” “And I?”

She said nothing. “Eight. Days. Anything here seem out of whack?” I asked.

“But ... but...” “Um, look, things among you, me and Beck are beyond what I’ve ever even heard of. It would be easy for me to wallow there. I need experiences you and Beck have had, too.” “We know. ‘Data’ is a weird concept when we’re melded or assembled or whatever.” “And?” “And we miss you. And in a way we feel spoiled by that. You ... might be right, too easy to wallow.”

“The more, er, encounters I have the more I treasure all of them. I know, things happened when they happened and maybe it’s karma and maybe it’s random, but I feel like eating everything at the feast all at once.” “Slut!”, she said.

I nodded. “I wonder whether that’s even a bad thing. It has, er, connotations of being indiscriminate, and I’m not sure that’s accurate.”

Bang-ja took my hand. “Well, if you are a slut you’re a good one.” “Thanks, Bang-ja.”

We were on School property so we couldn’t continue our non-PDA-safe behavior, even though the glades were not much used at this time, but I gave Bang-ja a little kiss on the cheek. “Oh, please, tonight?” “It’s on my schedule, remember?”

Beck found us as we entered the cafeteria. She grabbed my ass, briefly, and kissed me. I braced for a monitor to butt in, but somehow Beck got away with stuff like that all the time. We ate chicken diavolo, fusilli in a cream sauce, and a wilted collard salad quietly, before we put the trays away and went out into the glades. Beck took my hand, transferring into it a small box which I quietly slipped into my bag.

We sat, Bang-ja’s favorite dappled meadow. “Let’s talk details for tomorrow.”

“Ash and I have already conspired to wear open-tip tops.” “I’m in”, said Beck quickly. “And...?” Booty shorts, waist chains, chokers ... oh, if they’re really small booty shorts, wide belts, ok?” “Why?” “It looks like you’re just wearing the belt, at least as first.” Beck and I - we were a little surprised at Bang-ja but after two seconds’ thought realized she might have a point. “OK.” “So ... in the morning...?” I said “got yoga, then I will help Serge with some different food items. Picnic begins at noon, we’ll start hauling from my place about 1140.” “How many friends?” “Auntie thinks about 200, but it could be half that, or double, knowing her.” Beck asked what identifier we’d be under and I said “Blue balloon, vaguely diamond shaped.”

“Are you both coming to hear the quintet?” “We are bringing people, girl, don’t worry.”

“What other planning are we missing?”

“Where we end up after the picnic’s over?”

Beck said “The Vikings are out Saturday night. My place, particularly - at least at first - the play room.” “Do we need a pantry run?” We thought a minute. “What shall we make for dinner?” “Um. Pasta primavera?” “Still need bread, a primi and some gelato, we have the vegies, cream and cheese.” I ordered from my tablet, including shrimp, cocktail sauce, a couple bottles of sparkles and one of a Riesling.

I was imagining running around with Danni, Beck and Bang-ja, nearly naked, and my nipples rose. “Ash, why are your lights on?” asked Beck. “Thinking about the three of us and Danni Glass, looking hot, being together, having fun, and then having much more fun.” They nodded and then started looking the tiniest bit squirmy. I smiled. “I sure like spreading those thoughts around.” I got a smack on each shoulder. “Slut!” said Beck. “Thanks, Beck.”

We packed up and Beck whispered “put ‘em on before school’s over.” I just looked at her. “Think about it.” We walked back, Beck branching off, probably to a music class; Bang-ja and I went on to comp. geom.

I’ve never liked the class much, but now and then he’d come up with something I thought I could solve closed-form and this one was an odd-looking barge hull shape. I ran out of time but kept my notes.

When we left I ducked into a bathroom and opened the box Beck had given me. Earrings. I took the old ones out and put these in. Interesting shape, gold cylinders with an oblique flat on the end with the chain, and I wondered where I’d seen that shape before. I put my other earrings in there and found a tiny note: “Make friends. <3 Beck-oo”.

It wasn’t to be in Drama, things went reasonably except this session was assigned improv, the performer would have to react with some kind of routine 30 sec after we heard the topic. I had ever been frustrated by this but my topic was birds that want your lunch and I didn’t do too badly, what with the periodic quarrels on the Square among terns, mockingbirds, jays and people at picnics.

I got a CVA to Yong’s studio. On the way:

>Hi, Danni, so what happened? Is it serious? Do you need / want anything? <3 <3 -Achille

I alighted from the CVA and Yong opened the door to her little office. “Hi, Ash.” “Hi, Yong.” And two seconds later I was looking at pupillary dilation. Poor Yong, whatever it was that had her excited, she should never, ever play poker. She took a shuddering breath.

“After that little mess I - I checked things and worked out a way to verify data before I integrate it - it won’t take any more time, this time, and I will be verifying as we go.”

I put on the floppy garments, and Yong called out the sequence she wanted. It was ten minutes, again, and after another couple minutes: “OK, those will merge.”

“What happened to the first data set?” “It looked as though there was RF interference, but none was detected by the radiometers I’ve always had.” “Then what could explain it?”

“The only thing I can imagine is slowly shifting magnetic fields. A few tens of Hertz, not enough to tickle the radiometers, because a shifting magnetic field will generate an EM wave.” “And the radiometers?” “About 50 Hz to practically daylight.”

Weird, all right, and I had something to chew on. Slowly shifting magnetic fields.

“Um, Ash?” “Yes...?” “I am sure you know I am a major; I believe you are a minor; is that correct?” I nodded. “I would like to find myself knowing you better.” “I understand. I would be delighted.” Her face brightened and at her left temple a repetitive twitch began. Yes, Yong. She attracted me. “May I have you to dinner during the dead week?” “It would be my pleasure. Would you prefer us to learn a kitchen dance together?” “That would be delightful! I’ll get with you in the next couple days so we can talk about what to make.” “Thank you, Yong.”

I left her place, surprised - but I’d been finding there were majors who wanted to ‘know me better’ until Mabon 1/3 and then play all night. I saw the charm in the idea, especially with Yong.

I was still determined to make a statement for my fam tomorrow, and got to the reweavers’ place. That machine un-braided my hair, then the staff washed it and the machine braided it up again - this time, with a gold filament in each of the hundred or so braids. And they had not one, but four nailers so I could get my nails done too.

The nail tech said their name was Jenny. “I’m Achille, or Ash for short.” We talked about color and decided on a jade green, less saturated than my eyes.

“Will you be flagging?” “I don’t know it.” “You’re wearing pony earrings. You’re in the scene, so how wouldn’t you be able to read mine?” they asked, displaying their left hand. “Newby.” My nipples and cock hardened. “You didn’t even know those are pony earrings?” I must have looked abashed.

“I haven’t seen you before and you haven’t had color on your nails for a long time. If you have a few minutes, let me explain. You have to be doing a lot right and those earrings prove it.” “OK, if you’ll let me send a message to my partner. I’ll ask them to help.”

>Beck,

Many ... excitements today. The nailer asked whether I’d be flagging. What should I do? They said they identified my earrings as pony ones and said they were not common, so they want to help. What colors? <3 <3 <3 -Achille

“Jenny, I am attending.”

“In short, color codes were for non-cis-het people to help communicate their interests. It was easy, when they came into being, for what were then called LGBTQ people...” “I have heard of it.” “Well, one couldn’t rely on the social codes operating at the time so people generated a list of how to, um, subtly show off. At first it was handkerchiefs and bandanas and so it was called ‘the hanky code’. Search for that and you’ll find it, but I’m a nail tech so I have one.” They showed me a card. I learned something: the now-and-then-odd color schemes I had seen but dismissed as individual quirks were nothing of the kind, they were communication.