St. Lycurgus’ National Service School for Young Adults was huge. Holly reckoned that a least a few million pounds worth of funding had been used to just build the perimeter defences. Defences wasn’t really the word for them, as they weren’t there to protect the inhabitants within from the outside but to keep the inhabitants from ever seeing the outside. She glanced around quickly, taking in all the details just like she did when she was studying. She might not have read as much books and remembered as much musty leftist quotations as Hector, but she was observant and that gave her an edge over the book worm where it mattered. He was probably moping and feeling sorry for himself. First, she noticed the Guards. Same uniform as the ones sitting up front, must be from the same company. There military bearing told her they weren’t mere ‘security’ guards either. That means the Arms Industries probably involved here, and mercenaries aren’t easy to come by in Europe even after the collapse. That means Americans. She smiled, American Corporations trying to buy up and control Britain’s education system. Tell that to the Press and the Government would be going down. The walls were thick and covered in barbed wire. Clique, but quite a barrier to escaping. This told her that whatever went on in here it was one 1) terrible enough that students needed barb wire to keep them inside 2) not for the general public to see. This was even worse than American Corporations, most of whom only wanted to stick McDonalds Logos on School Computers anyway. It was also brilliant propaganda against the governments policy. She knew that this meant A) she would have to escape or B) she would have to wait it out and make sure by the time four years was up she still had the gumption to expose the goings on here or C) get a message to someone on the outside, who would duly send copies of it to the Guardian, BBC, Daily Mail and Green Party HQ. That or wait until something else exposed it. She settled on C.
The possibility that she would be the slightest bit changed after four years did cross her mind, but was so surrounded by so many other far more interesting thoughts she did not dwell on it far as long as she should have. Most of them focused on how the campaign for her own realise would shape up. She was President of a Student Union cell and had a seat in the Youth Parliament (not that anyone cared about that) and head of countless other campaigns and groups, after all. She wasn’t some vandalist or shop lifter sent off to learn citizenship from the wonder wizards of National Service Education, she was a political prisoner and only seventeen years old. She had over a two thousand Friends on Facebook. She was headline material.
The general colour scheme was white. Shinning, clinical white you’d expect in a Hospital. As the gates rumbled open to let the couch, Holly noted the number and shape of the buildings. Almost all of them had the same glaring white apart from a charming Mansion sitting in the center of the complex. There was about ten different buildings, all the seize of football stadiums and linked together by kris-crossing glass walk ways. In the shadow of the central Mansion, a regimented group of female students marched about perfectly in step as a older girl in a elaborate uniform snapped orders at them.
Too young to be a teacher, the girl seemed to be some kind of head-girl or class rep. Holly raised her eyes at her appearance. While the other girls were dressed in short tartan skirts that bounced up and down as they moved, crisp white shirts that closely clung to the shape of their bodies and smart black ties hanging down like discarded dog leads, the head-girl was dressed in what appeared to be a parody of a military uniform. None of them seemed to be wearing bras underneath. While the other girls wore only blue and white, she was dressed all in black and with gold buttons, and a ornamental braided cord hanging from her military like shoulder pads. Holly could hardly believe her eyes when she saw that the head girls waist was exposed and her collar was cut down almost to her cleavage, and that she wore nothing around her thighs but a tightly hugging black mini-skirt bound unnecessarily tight by a black belt. A black armband on her shoulder bore a symbol Holly couldn’t make out.
“Cor, look at the tits on them!” remarked the oaf seated next to her. She didn’t know him, and was glad she didn’t. But she did concede (inwardly) that the girls parading about like North Koreans were all rather attractive, in a huge breasts large ass little waist kind of way, which she knew from experience was the furthest extent of most boys’ idea of feminine beauty. However, even she had to recognise the head-girl had a strange kind of magnificence to her, she seemed to project authority and her body seemed so naturally shaped and perfect even Holly could see the attraction of her. All this while the couch had been drawing closer to the field where this parade of tits and ass was taking place. The Head-Girl snapped a few more orders, and the girls wheeled about to face the approaching couch and stop stock still with bright smiles covering their faces, beaming their welcome to the newcomers. Holly shook her head in disbelief as the Guards began to unlock the bonds that held the new students of St. Lycurgus’ National Service School for Young Adults into their seats.
She hadn’t been expected this.