The school bus chugged the last stretch of road before swerving up the tree-lined driveway of Finnesburg Research Facility. It's contents - an assortment of bad-tempered teachers and impatient teenagers - were all reaching the end of their tether and when the building sailed into view, it's name declared on a neat sign besides it, there was a collective sigh of relief.
Finnesburg Research Facility was not an eye-catching building. The expanse of grey-brick blocks stretched over roughly the size of a football pitch and was surrounded by a thick fringe of oak trees that left a shadow over the whole institute. A limp ivy plant clung to one wall but it was exactly what it seemed; a lone, half-hearted attempt to soften the angular exterior - albeit, a not very successful one. There was no singing birds nor wildlife - the only sign of life was the occasional flash of a white lab coat through the small, darkened windows.
The day was hot. Understatement, Pen mused as she attempted to rub the layer of sweat from her forehead. She had been stuck on this damned bus for nearly two hours and she felt as though she wanted to murder someone. She drained the last drop from her water bottle that she was holding and tossed the empty container into her rucksack. She nodded as she realised her bus seat partner - Erica, a chatty kid who was mildly annoying but not girly enough to repulse Pen - was slowing in her conversation speel and would soon need reassurance she was being listened to.
"Look; we're here!" Erica suddenly announced, the first thing to grab Pen's attention in quite a while. Her eyes widened and she strained a glimpse at the boring, grey building - some kind of rock research place - as the bus rumbled to a jerky halt. Pen was on her feet before it had even stopped. She dashed to the front as Mrs Fliss, a middle-aged woman with purple glasses, short, dark hair and sharp, blue eyes, tried to control her students.
"Wait!" Mrs Fliss cried shrilly, as Pen launched herself off the bus, followed by a steady flow of other various students. The other teachers had abandoned Mrs Fliss, leaving her the impossible task of discipline.
"I need to read out the groups!"
Pen groaned loudly, which earned a reproachful glare from Mrs Fliss. Rather than relent, Pen merely scowled, crossing her arms as she leant against the side of the bus. When the driver barked her a warning, she rolled her eyes and pushed herself away.
Mrs Fliss fished a piece of paper from the bus seat besides her and cleared her throat, plodding out onto the tarmac the bus had parked up on. She grinned, relishing in the pain that she was about to inflict on her students. She reeled off the first set of names, most of them the cutesy, popular cheerleaders that sucked up to the teachers. To their faces, at least. A round of giggles signalled their delight at being grouped together.
"And he second group is...Penelope Galloway" Pen cringed at the use of her full name. Just urg." Saxon Evert, Alvira Haiblud, Ula Lupita, Terraline Gray, Whitney Nylund, Dante Delacoste, David Vedman, Jesse Silk and Sam Blake. Stand over there, group two, please.”
Pen made a face. Not a single one of her friends – most of them she didn’t really know, but she was fairly certain that they were not the type of people she usually got on with.
“But Miss…” Pen whined, however Mrs Fliss was already shushing her, bustling around as she read out the third group. Pen slapped her hand on her face as she slunk over to the small patch of grass at the back of the tarmac, where Mrs Fliss had insisted her group collect. Instead of politely waiting for further instruction, she threw herself down on the grass and shoved her hands behind her head, whistling to herself, wishing that this fieldtrip would hurry up and be over, already.
The Head of Finnesburg Research Facility, Peter Goode – that’s Dr Goode, to you – watched the bus, full of snotty teenage and their shepherds, pull up on the drive outside the facility, their scruffy vehicle marring the pristine grounds. From his window, he could them file off the bus and his lips curled in disgust. Children.
He shuddered.
He made a last minute call to reception, checking that any remnants of project C had been removed from immediate view. They had to ship in a load of lousy fossils just to accommodate for this lot; the authorities had been making calls. Asking what the institute proposed, to fufil it’s purpose of benefitting the public.
The cheek! Just because their research wasn’t short term or didn’t involve saving the pandas or any environmental rubbish like that. But they couldn’t reveal their research to the public yet. They wouldn’t understand. Most of them are uneducated – if they found out, their narrow, little minds would brand their research as ‘cruel’ and ‘unethical’. But it’s merely collateral damage. Towards a greater good. If only people could understand that. But they couldn’t.
It was Pilot’s examination today. The first prototype – and, my, the result was better than anyone could have ever anticipated. Used in warfare, the effects would be devastating…for the opposition. Sometimes, Dr Goode had to take a moment to reflect on the monumental achievement that he had single-handedly directed and simply marvel at his own genius. As soon as a conclusion for all their efforts reached and fully tested, he will be rich. A millionaire. A qudadrillionaire. A Septillionaire…
But they needed some evidence that their research was worthwhile for the public, now. So – using every scrap of his extensive geology knowledge – he had blagged Finnesburg as a mineral examination center. The authorities had lapped the whole thing up and all they needed to stay under the radar was host something for the public. A school trip seemed ideal. Full of dumb kids who wouldn’t even read the leaflets.
He took a sip from the teacup on his desk.
The sooner this day was over – and those ignorant kids were back on that bus and back to where they came from – the better.
Finnesburg Research Facility was not an eye-catching building. The expanse of grey-brick blocks stretched over roughly the size of a football pitch and was surrounded by a thick fringe of oak trees that left a shadow over the whole institute. A limp ivy plant clung to one wall but it was exactly what it seemed; a lone, half-hearted attempt to soften the angular exterior - albeit, a not very successful one. There was no singing birds nor wildlife - the only sign of life was the occasional flash of a white lab coat through the small, darkened windows.
The day was hot. Understatement, Pen mused as she attempted to rub the layer of sweat from her forehead. She had been stuck on this damned bus for nearly two hours and she felt as though she wanted to murder someone. She drained the last drop from her water bottle that she was holding and tossed the empty container into her rucksack. She nodded as she realised her bus seat partner - Erica, a chatty kid who was mildly annoying but not girly enough to repulse Pen - was slowing in her conversation speel and would soon need reassurance she was being listened to.
"Look; we're here!" Erica suddenly announced, the first thing to grab Pen's attention in quite a while. Her eyes widened and she strained a glimpse at the boring, grey building - some kind of rock research place - as the bus rumbled to a jerky halt. Pen was on her feet before it had even stopped. She dashed to the front as Mrs Fliss, a middle-aged woman with purple glasses, short, dark hair and sharp, blue eyes, tried to control her students.
"Wait!" Mrs Fliss cried shrilly, as Pen launched herself off the bus, followed by a steady flow of other various students. The other teachers had abandoned Mrs Fliss, leaving her the impossible task of discipline.
"I need to read out the groups!"
Pen groaned loudly, which earned a reproachful glare from Mrs Fliss. Rather than relent, Pen merely scowled, crossing her arms as she leant against the side of the bus. When the driver barked her a warning, she rolled her eyes and pushed herself away.
Mrs Fliss fished a piece of paper from the bus seat besides her and cleared her throat, plodding out onto the tarmac the bus had parked up on. She grinned, relishing in the pain that she was about to inflict on her students. She reeled off the first set of names, most of them the cutesy, popular cheerleaders that sucked up to the teachers. To their faces, at least. A round of giggles signalled their delight at being grouped together.
"And he second group is...Penelope Galloway" Pen cringed at the use of her full name. Just urg." Saxon Evert, Alvira Haiblud, Ula Lupita, Terraline Gray, Whitney Nylund, Dante Delacoste, David Vedman, Jesse Silk and Sam Blake. Stand over there, group two, please.”
Pen made a face. Not a single one of her friends – most of them she didn’t really know, but she was fairly certain that they were not the type of people she usually got on with.
“But Miss…” Pen whined, however Mrs Fliss was already shushing her, bustling around as she read out the third group. Pen slapped her hand on her face as she slunk over to the small patch of grass at the back of the tarmac, where Mrs Fliss had insisted her group collect. Instead of politely waiting for further instruction, she threw herself down on the grass and shoved her hands behind her head, whistling to herself, wishing that this fieldtrip would hurry up and be over, already.
The Head of Finnesburg Research Facility, Peter Goode – that’s Dr Goode, to you – watched the bus, full of snotty teenage and their shepherds, pull up on the drive outside the facility, their scruffy vehicle marring the pristine grounds. From his window, he could them file off the bus and his lips curled in disgust. Children.
He shuddered.
He made a last minute call to reception, checking that any remnants of project C had been removed from immediate view. They had to ship in a load of lousy fossils just to accommodate for this lot; the authorities had been making calls. Asking what the institute proposed, to fufil it’s purpose of benefitting the public.
The cheek! Just because their research wasn’t short term or didn’t involve saving the pandas or any environmental rubbish like that. But they couldn’t reveal their research to the public yet. They wouldn’t understand. Most of them are uneducated – if they found out, their narrow, little minds would brand their research as ‘cruel’ and ‘unethical’. But it’s merely collateral damage. Towards a greater good. If only people could understand that. But they couldn’t.
It was Pilot’s examination today. The first prototype – and, my, the result was better than anyone could have ever anticipated. Used in warfare, the effects would be devastating…for the opposition. Sometimes, Dr Goode had to take a moment to reflect on the monumental achievement that he had single-handedly directed and simply marvel at his own genius. As soon as a conclusion for all their efforts reached and fully tested, he will be rich. A millionaire. A qudadrillionaire. A Septillionaire…
But they needed some evidence that their research was worthwhile for the public, now. So – using every scrap of his extensive geology knowledge – he had blagged Finnesburg as a mineral examination center. The authorities had lapped the whole thing up and all they needed to stay under the radar was host something for the public. A school trip seemed ideal. Full of dumb kids who wouldn’t even read the leaflets.
He took a sip from the teacup on his desk.
The sooner this day was over – and those ignorant kids were back on that bus and back to where they came from – the better.
