Image: Fairville Secondary School and Sixth Form

"And proclaim the blessings of your Lord." [Qur'an, 93:11]

Chris continued beaming at the group, and the group beamed back. Pictures were taken, opulent food was shared, and overall it was a great publicity event for the school.

Fairville Secondary School and Sixth Form wasn't a struggling school; it was a rather middle class establishment. Not horrendous, and not bad at all actually. But neither an elite private school. As government schools go, it actually enjoyed a fairly high ranking of 75th out of 6,512 in the national school league tables.

Syeda, of course, had seen it as a huge drop from Angel Isling College, her previous Science and Technology Academy.

But it couldn't be helped.

"So today's the society's inception. What do you think of it all?" Some boy near her asked. Syeda turned. 

Well if it wasn't the only boy (or human really, apart from Elyka) who wasn't scared to casually talk to her. Frank.

The young man standing next to her had always been eccentric, firstly, by looking like he was from Switzerland or something. He didn't know it, but the girls whispered that he could be Christian Braille's secret son. With slim almond shaped light eyes and Roman features, he looked distinguished, born to stand out. His features were such that said he could make it to the top of the school's popular crowds if he wished, but he had the bearings of an average Joe, and chose to be mostly introverted instead. 

It was also no secret that he was one of the few students in school whose family received low-income benefits, so he got free school meals. One of the only ones who got to pay half whenever there was a trip, who wore his uniform until it practically fell apart, whose shoes typically looked like they'd seen better days.

Francis. He wasn't looking at her though. His gaze was fixed ahead of him at the golden boy of the moment, their beneficent visitor.

Syeda was silent for a moment. She knew earlier she had told Frank (and the whole school really, indirectly) not to talk to her.

But... Without thinking, for the first time, she chose to reply (her forced, gritted replies to Elyka's pestering didn't count).

"Something's off about that guy." She whispered.

Frank looked at her sideways, mildly surprised that she'd actually responded. Well. So miracles did happen.

But he was pleased he could relate to her words. "My thoughts exactly! What does he have to gain by helping us? Have you heard what he just announced?"

Syeda looked at him curiously.

"Apparently Elyka's little club's getting £1000 a month from now on. The hell?" He whispered

Syeda was silent. An idea occurred to her, and she mulled it over in her mind for a bit. Her companion was also companionably silent, both the only quiet ones in the whole gaggle of chattering students and teachers.

"Well, Francis-"

"Frank." His eyes were still leisurely on the crowd.

"Frank. I have a proposal."

"I do."

Syeda didn't bother looking at him, though her expression was unimpressed.

"Would you...say yes to a job opportunity?"

Arms still crossed, only Frank's face turned to look at her. His classic The Rock-eyebrow was raised high, as he observed her pensively. And a little piquantly. "So even you know how broke I am? Great. I'd have thought that I could've kept it from your unobtrusive eyes at least. Should I remind you now to keep out of my affairs? Not to raise your voice to meet my eardrums again?" His last two sentences was said in a stereotypical posh British accent that imitated the King's.

Syeda appeared unmoved, still looking at the spectacle of a crowd before her. Chris was still continuing his speech, that they had both tuned out. After a long silence, she looked at Frank through the corners of her eyes. "I'm sorry."

Frank's eyes widened, and he looked as if he'd been slapped. By a ghost. "What did you say?!" He gaped at her as he asked breathlessly, voice raising in pitch, expression and tone bordering on the incredulous. His eyebrows had risen to meet his hairline, and his mouth was open in shock.

"I said I'm sorry!" Syeda repeated impatiently, annoyed. Was her voice having a problem meeting his eardrums now, hmm?

"Pardon me, that didn't quite reach my eardrums." He cupped his ear, and his voice took a playful tone. "Repeat that again?"

"Don't push it." She growled.

He tut-tuted, but nonetheless looked like the cat that got the cream, smiling widely, white teeth visible. Syeda had never met anyone who could smile so much with someone they barely knew.

He turned to look at her properly. "So, what is it that you need? Don't tell me, Daddy owns a mansion like Call-me-Chris there? Need an errand boy or something? For your information, I'll inform you that my hourly rate is-" 

"Speaking of daddies," Syeda interrupted, before pausing. What she was about to share was deep, and personal. What she was about to do, for one of the first times, was completely unplanned. But strangely, she felt at ease.

When looking into Frank's eyes, she had felt more than seen a nature that was different to that of other students. Syeda didn't believe in auras, but she had to admit that if Frank had one, it would be totally different to everyone else's; a varied shape and colour that no one could fathom.

Francis didn't behave, speak, nor seem to think like everyone else. He was curious when everyone laughed, and laughed when everyone remained curious. He understood things the common man didn't, and found flippant the things that they did. Throughout the last few years, she had quietly been beginning to notice him. Sure, it helped that he was in a lot of her top set classes with her.

He was a singularity all of his own, a black hole among stars, a white dwarf among supernovas.

He was sui generis.

'And perfect for my aims.' Syeda smiled to herself.

"My father," She looked sideways at him, "He went missing a few years ago."

For moments, nothing stirred. The group of students and teachers as well their guests had gone on to the school now, and had begun to enter.

They both were still glued to their spots. In silence.

Then it was broken. "I'm sorry." Then he turned to face her, eyes friendly but keen and sharp simultaneously. 

His eyes bored into hers for a few moments.

Then he finally spoke. Reading into her silence, as if it were a book.

"You have a plan?"

Her gaze had long returned to the school building ahead of them. "Yes." She paused, then continued.

"You could help me find him."

The long silence persevered again, until-

" 'Kay." He smiled. They were quiet once more, until Frank broke in, humorously: "So you've got an hourly rate for that?"

"There's more like a reward once he's found. But I can transfer an initial deposit. Here's my email."

Syeda told him and he promised he'd remember it (Apparently he had a great memory; Syeda made a note to test that assertion sometime). She took his email down too, and they exchanged numbers.

"Just send me an email with your bank details in an encrypted attachment."

"7-zip? WinRAR?"

"7-zip, AES-256 bit encryption should be fine."

He grinned. "Sure thing." Then he chuckled. "Didn't think you'd be a techy."

Syeda raised an eyebrow but dismissed it.

"So, when does the job start?" His hands were in his pockets as he looked out at the horizon.

"Whenever I alert you, by text."

"Sure thing."

And with that, they parted. Frank followed the path of others and entered the school building. Syeda waited a while, gathering her thoughts together, planning her next move in this whole mystery she'd gotten entangled in but was determined to solve.

There was the matter of Jack. She'd let him know she wouldn't be free today. Possibly for a few days. She went through the possible effect-scenarios of telling him in her head, measuring her response to each resulting situation, all the factors and contingencies that could let her down which she'd have to fix, and then, shoulders back, head high and deep breath breathed, she followed the rest too.

"So you're actually Eduardo?" Someone gaped as Syeda entered, unnoticed.

"Yup!" An all too familiar voice nodded. "Eduardo is my middle name; I have quite the interest in theoretical physics! Entering the science essay competition may have one of the most enjoyable things I've ever done! You guys can borrow any of my books at any time." Chris smiled at his adoring fans, blue braces glinting, as Syeda walked past.

The teens all collectively chattered away to their idol (with him perhaps hearing the odd word of their speech at best). Syeda by this time had gone up the stairs and was just reaching the first floor when something stopped her.

"So, what do you all think of the government?" Chris asked his reverent audience.

That seemed to break a few out of the spell. Elyka especially.

The small curly-black haired girl was quick to remember what it was she had wanted to ask. "Oh yes! I had been meaning to question you about your father's policies. More precisely, what do YOU think of them?"

There was some uncomfortable muttering among the students now.

Chris's looked understanding. "I know my father hasn't put himself across in the way that would cause our young people to be particularly inclined towards him, but the important fact is, he is doing this because he loves this country. He loves En-"

"So people like me don't belong here?" Elyka was furious.

"No, absolutely not! It is just that our resources are already strained-"

"Cause it's all in politicians pockets!" Someone shouted out.

"We pay taxes and you don't spend a penny on us!" Someone else hollered.

Truthfully, a lot of the students ages 16-18 did do part-time, nationally taxed work. But in the last few years, student grants and bursaries had ended, and loans had taken their place. Every election politicians promised more, but after election, not a tenth of their promises came true.

Sure, a politician himself, Nye Bevan had started the National Health Service, free health and medical care for all in the UK, and coming close to 200 years later, everyone still profited. But when there were talks to sell that in a US-UK trade deal on which negotiations had started around sixty years ago (and were coming to be finalised), what could anyone do? The old had lived their time using the free healthcare available, the middle aged had their savings if worst came to worst, but what would the young have? After paying £20 for each doctor's appointment, and more for treatment and medication, what would young people, especially the deprived and the sick, have left?

All these questions, in some form, were on the students minds as they listened, disgruntled, to the young Lord in front of them.

Who himself had quite different thoughts in mind.

As politicians viewed it, the UK was the promised land of all immigrants. Housing – free from the council ('specially if you earned under an almightily high threshold of thirty grand a year and were classed as 'in need'); healthcare – free from the government (unless your medicine cost five hundred grand per pop, and even then, someone would crowd-fund you – where else in the world did that?); education – schools and university were free (uni was paid by a loan, slowly paid back by you when you started working, or written off after thirty years if you decided you didn't feel like paying it anymore). If you earned under the almightily high threshold, your bank account was filled with more money than you'd ever need via the benefits system, one share for each adult in the house (Elyka guiltily knew someone in her distant family who had happily, unlawfully lived off financial benefits their whole life). Visa – free after you claim to be a 'student' (of debauchery), a 'married partner' (in a sham wedding of your choice), or just creep into the country and pop up after ten years claiming you've been resident long enough, and you receive your red passport with King Gilead's royal coat of arms on the front. Bingo.

What's not to love? More free stuff and a better life than effectively the rest of the world. A bit obvious now why other developed countries like the US and Australia saw the UB as 'too hospitable'. 

And all this inviting more people to the tiniest of islands, that was a mere speck of dirt on the world map. On which the demand for housing had become so high that an ordinary, absolute basic two-three bedroom house, aimed at the lower class (in the south, where all the jobs were) now cost three million pounds - these people only earned around £25,000 a year. But the great thing was that along with the general free cash, the government would pay for this too if you said you needed it.

In the year 2080, mankind was still tackling the same problems from near 100 years ago.

'And that has to change. We have to finally move forward. And it has to be now.' thought Chris determinedly, repeating his father's words. For his father's law to be passed through Parliament, people had to agree. If the discord and animosity the law held with the public currently continued, it wouldn't.

"My father, His Grace Iago De Courcy, is doing this because he cares about you all! He doesn't care whether you're brown or white,"

A few teens, including Frank and Elyka, rolled their eyes.

"How many times do these people have to draw the race-blind card?" Frank groaned. "It's f***ing ridiculous. With some cases, the more you highlight an old solution, the more you make people remember and sympathise with the problem. Our country's already divided enough, now's not the time for a 'them-and-us' (racial) divide to rekindle." A part of him wanted to walk off and hold his future lawyer's head in his hands. He was, of course, still going to become one, if only to protect people from the current anarchy of words.

A dark-haired boy with Louboutin trainers stood in the back, watching with an unreadable expression on his face.

"-it doesn't matter who you are or where you come from! My father, and myself too, want the best for you all! For the housing prices to freeze, for us not to have to put more stress on our NHS, for you all to have shorter waiting times in clinics and hospitals! For all this to happen, something has to give! And it has to be our immigration numbers!"

Members of the schools' senior leadership team were having a heated conversation with the headteacher, and some of them went and spoke to the new visitor's guards, who whispered in Chris's ear. Chris seemed surprised, but accepting.

"And to conclude, that's it for my visit today! It was lovely to meet you all, and what is it they say, "These lovely delights have lovely ends" right? Please keep in touch, my contact details are on my family website, and at that, adieu!" He was slowly escorted away by his guards, a befuddled crowd slowly following.

"Elyka's such a b***h, why'd she have to bring that up? Ruined his whole visit." One girl whispered to the other.

"I know right, always sticks her nose and questions in where they're not wanted. My poor Chris deserved better. How dare she force him to justify himself?"

"To be honest, dude shouldn't have brought up politics." One school council student told another. "He should know that, though this school is decent, it's not in a well-off area. People here hate politicians, and especially rich people telling them what to do."

Frank could only think one thing. "He misquoted." He said to himself, depressed, standing alone from where everyone had left. "These violent delights have violent ends. Act two, scene six. You can trash-talk socialism, political correctness, but have mercy on Romeo and Juliet." he almost whined quietly to himself.

But out of everyone, Syeda was nowhere to be seen. She had left before the fatal political question.

All because of one text she had received, out of the blue.

"He is with me." 

A/S:

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Anyway, see y'all next chapter! Our teens get together to talk about what on earth the author is playing at (plot wise hehe)...