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Much of the way that Extremusians do things was adopted from Earthan
convention. After all, they’re all descended from Earthans, albeit after
thousands of years developing a divergent culture. Ansutahans never forgot
who they were, or where they came from. Living on a world with monsters,
their traditions were all the tools they had to hold on to their humanity.
Many things were lost, but they were surprisingly good at continuity. One
thing that changed over time was the education system. Scholars are still
trying to find an explanation for the shift, but there seems to be no reason
for it. For better or worse, nothing about their situation on the Maramon
homeworld would suggest that the original system of preschool, elementary
school, middle school, high school, then college couldn’t have worked. They
still don’t know why it happened, but it makes sense to their descendants
today, so they keep doing it. They are not too dissimilar, but there are
some differences.
For the first three years of a child’s life, they receive no formal
education, and experience something called rudimentary care. This is where
they learn the absolute most basic of skills of eating, drinking, peeing,
pooping, crawling, standing, and walking. Guardians are expected to teach
them this stuff. An optional two-year preliminary school plan comes after
that, where kids learn to socialize with each other, and maybe some initial
studies of colors, shapes, and even numbers and letters. Primary school
begins at age five, and goes for five years. Then it’s four years of
secondary school, three years of tertiary school, and two years of college.
This is followed by a one year licensure program, and six months of
apprenticeship, though that all depends on what field the student has
chosen. Some choose to seek even higher degrees in law, medicine, education,
or field expertise.
The main difference is that, unlike Earthan systems, Extremusians don’t
spend their entire childhoods all learning the same things. Not everyone is
expected to know everything. The entire point of dividing the timeline into
these distinct blocks is to gradually narrow a student’s focus into what
they should be doing with their lives. They start general, and move towards
the specific, little by little. Back on Earth, college is a four-year
program where some fully grown adults don’t even know what they want to do
with their lives until halfway through. Extremusians are typically shocked
to hear this, if not horrified, as they will have known their own strengths
for years by that age. It’s meant to happen in tertiary school, which is
also referred to as general specialization. The last year of
secondary school is wildly important, because it’s when kids take a whole
bunch of tests to determine which program they’ll transition into next year.
To qualify for anything in particular, a child must show both interest and
aptitude; not only one, or the other. Everyone is good at something.
That’s the assumption, anyway.
While little Silveon only started primary school this year—which is where
everyone is still at about the same place—much older Waldemar Kristiansen is
nearing the end of his secondary school era. He should be finding his
purpose by now, but there’s a problem. For the last few years, his mother’s
ability to parent has only lessened. Tinaya, Arqut, and Niobe blame
themselves a bit for this by enabling her incompetence each time they step
up to take care of things. On official school records, Calla is the key
contact for all of Waldemar’s needs, but the educators are aware that the
Captain and her family have taken a significant personal interest in his
needs, and will usually reach out to one of them instead. Today, it’s about
his tests. He’s not doing well, and it’s throwing up a huge question mark
about where his life is headed.
Tinaya tries to take a deep breath to center herself, but slips into an
accidental yawn. She has the day off from her captainly duties, and the
school knows this, which is why they’ve reached out. She never
really gets a day off, even though her own child is an adult on a
mental level, and only ever needs help reaching the high cupboards. “Can I
see them?”
Ine Dittmarr works as the Placement Coordinator for the whole of secondary
school. She taps on her tablet, and slides the data over to drop into
Tinaya’s.
Harshad Narang is Waldemar’s Placement Advisor, and he’s here too. “I’ve
been working quite closely with him for weeks, at the expense of my other
students. We can’t figure it out.”
Tinaya stays silent as she’s looking over the results of Waldemar’s tests.
“How rare is this?”
“I’ve never heard of it,” Ine replies.
“Neither have I,” Harshad agrees.
Tinaya shakes her head, shifting her gaze from one test to another, to
another. “They’re the same. The exact same score on every test. How is that
possible?”
“I don’t know how it could be,” Harshad replies. “Unless he cheated.”
“That’s impossible,” Ine argues. “My tests are perfect, and our
security impenetrable. He did it on purpose.”
Tinaya looks up. “How could someone intelligent enough to match his own
scores on completely unrelated tests that were administered across several
months score so low on all of them?” She points. “This one here. This tests
strategy and tactical improvisation. That’s the kind of thing that someone
who could pull this off would be expected to excel at, but it’s just as
low.”
“As I said,” Ine begins, “he did it on purpose. He’s messing with us.”
“I wouldn’t frame it like that,” Harshad reasons. “It’s a protest.
That I’ve seen before. Kids intentionally fail tests to express their
disapproval of the process, or reject their own destiny. It usually occurs
when the student favors one subject, but struggles greatly with it, and
outperforms in something totally different.”
Tinaya tosses her tablet on the desk, and leans back in her chair. “What are
the next steps? Could you test him again?”
“We could, it’s not unprecedented,” Ine confirms. “That’s why we spend all
year doing these, so kids can understand where they need improvement if they
want to get into the right program. I just don’t think it’s going to help.
There’s no reason to think he won’t just do it again. Perhaps next time
he’ll get a hundred percent on everything, which would be just as unhelpful
to determining placement. There’s one test that we’re not talking about,
which the counselor gave him years ago, and has been unable to readminister
periodically.”
“I wasn’t a part of that decision. His mother’s simultaneously depressed by
it, and in denial.” What they’re talking about is the Antisocial Spectrum
Assessment. He did very poorly on it, or very well, depending on how you
look at it. He would have been diagnosed with Antisocial Personality
Disorder had Calla allowed the assessment to be logged into the ship’s
Mental Health Department, which would have triggered a counseling program to
help him overcome his obstacles. That’s why he’s struggling so much. That’s
why Silveon’s interventions have been paramount. Because it’s all he has.
Once he comes of age, he’ll be able to seek his own therapeutic or
neurological treatments, but he would have to want to do that, which is why
it’s so important for guardians to catch it early, before they lose the
legal power to help. “Give it to him again. We’ve been working on it. We’ve
been helping him.”
Ine shakes her head. “Studies have suggested that no treatment for
psychopathy has been significantly successful in helping patients correct
their antisocial behavior.”
“We don’t call it psychopathy,” Tinaya says in a warning tone, “and
I’m sure you know that. Besides, you’re wrong. Behavior has indeed been
corrected, and that may be all we can hope for. It’s the improvement of the
patient’s true thoughts and feelings—or lack thereof—that psychology hasn’t
been able to crack.” She’s been reading up on this stuff so she can help her
son help this boy. “Test. Him. Again. If he’s improved even a little, then
it will tell us how to move forward with fixing the placement issue.”
“We don’t have the authority to administer a new ASA, and neither do you,”
Harshad reminds her. “You would have to get Mrs. Kristiansen to sign off,
and I’m not holding out hope that she’s changed either.”
Tinaya nods. “I’ll go talk to her right now. Don’t move.” She teleports
away.
“What are you doing here?” Calla questions when Tinaya shows up unannounced.
Tinaya pulls up the consent form for a new ASA. “Sign this.”
“What is it?”
“Sign it.”
“I’m not going to sign something without knowing what it is.”
“Yes, you are. It’s for your son, so he can get the help that he needs.”
“Oh, this is that psycho-bullshit again? Yeah, no. I’m not putting him
through that a second time. It will only make things worse.”
“If you don’t do this, he’s gonna end up in the fields.” This is an
offensive remark that Tinaya should not have said. The ship doesn’t have
fields, so this really just means that a person will end up with an absurdly
low contribution score. They live with only the most essential amenities,
like water and bland food. It’s one step up from hock. Yeah, they can
technically leave their cabin, though only to walk the corridors, as they’re
banned from pretty much everywhere those corridors lead.
“Take him.”
“What?”
“I’ll never sign that paper,” Calla goes on, “but I’ll sign one that says I
lose all my parenting rights, and they go to you. Show me that one instead.”
“Mrs. Kristiansen, I’m an old woman. I can’t take custody of your child,
even if I thought that’s what would be the best thing for him.”
“Then find someone who can. I’m sick of dealing with him. I’m sick of it
being my responsibility. Give him a new parent, and you can do whatever the
fuck you want.”
“You’re a horrible person. I can’t believe you’re saying this.”
Calla winces. “I think I’m kinda proving my own point here.”
“If you don’t have someone to live for, you’re going to drink yourself to
death. You’re halfway there already.”
Calla takes a sip of her whatever. “Sounds like a me problem. Why do
you care?”
“Your death will impact your child’s life whether you’re legally responsible
for him, or not. He will not understand the nuances of custody. His heart
won’t, at least.”
She chuckles. “Since when does that little shit have heart?”
“I will ask you to stop talking about your son like that.”
“And I will ask you to stop him being my son!” she shouts back.
Tinaya takes a breath before she loses it, and matches this woman’s energy.
“He needs help. You can help him, not by teaching him your poor choices, but
by teaching him how to avoid them.”
Calla finishes her drink. “Seems to me...I die...he’ll learn not to do
that.”
“Unfortunately, that’s not always how it works. Some grow up to spite their
parents, and some turn into them. Some find a way to end up doing both. The
only way to show him right from wrong is to show him right. Showing him only
wrong doesn’t help him understand which is which.”
“I’m wrong,” Calla decided, “and you’re right. Sounds like his bases are
covered.”
“That’s not my job. My family and I have only stepped up because you refuse
to do so yourself. But hope is not lost. He’s young, still impressionable,
and you’re not dead yet! Do the right thing for once in your pathetic life.”
Calla pours herself another, and doesn’t say anything.
“I’ve let that slide, but I can get you arrested for drinking alcohol.”
“Then do it. What do you think happens to the kid then?”
“Has that been your plan your whole time, to get me to put you in hock, so
he has to be placed with a new family?”
Calla shrugs her shoulders and eyebrows as she’s drinking.
Tinaya doesn’t know what she should do here. She could wait until Calla is
more drunk, then trick her into signing. She could just forge her signature.
No one would question the captain. She could do what Calla wants, and find
Waldemar new guardians, or even become that for him. She would have to speak
with Arqut, Niobe, and Silveon about that. But really, she needs to speak
with Silveon regardless. That’s the best next step to take, as he will know
what decision will lead to the best outcome. Without another word, she jumps
away, and returns to the stateroom.
Perfect timing. Arqut is just bringing Silveon in after picking him up from
primary school. “I thought you had that meeting with Waldo’s school.” He’s
the only one who calls him that.
“I need to speak with the boss man.” Her eyes drift down to her child.
“Okay, I’ll go work on my memoirs,” Arqut says.
“You can be here, but I think he’s the one who will understand what to do
here.”
Tinaya goes over the problem, with the tests and the test. She
reminds them of how terrible of a mother Calla is, but also how irregular it
is to separate a child from their blood relatives. Arqut then reminds
her that alcohol is illegal, and that’s really the only reason she’s
ever needed to call family services. That’s all well and good, but they
really do need to hear the wisdom of the man from the future.
Silveon listens patiently until they have finished their thoughts.
“Waldemar, like others with his condition, requires structure, and
consistency. I’m afraid that removing him from the household now wouldn’t
help, because it’s too big of a change. He’s learned some coping mechanisms,
and making him live somewhere new will likely make him regress, so he’ll
have to relearn everything. Again, I came back here too late. If we could
have transitioned him while he was my age, it probably would have been okay.
But now he’s stuck, and a bad situation is better than a loss of everything
he’s ever known.”
“So, what do you suggest?” Tinaya asks.
Silveon waits a moment to respond. “Forge the damn signature. Get it done.”
