“Sorry ma, galactic egg scramble is out today.”
At the pull of a questionably-shaped lever and the push of a button, Bhaskar Anna – the fond nickname granted to him by the original crew of NAAC NALSAR Defender III (NANAD-3) – popped out a Comet Chicken Sandwich, sending it floating out of the counter-hole with a soft flourish.
Ever since Earth’s academic integrity had dropped to sub-zero values forcing most human law schools to pack up ship and settle in other parts of the milky way, NANAD-3 had continued the outer space race in its most superficial avatar yet – roaming the galaxy carrying a shipload of space-officers in training (who would much rather sleep in than earn space-credits). This spaceship held the promise of shaping the next generation of space lawyers, but its reality was far from ideal.
The NANAD-3 was vast, resembling a floating city with gleaming spires and silver hallways. Its force, however, was an administration run by an infamous figure – Administrator Madam. Much like her illusion of a name, Madam cared more about maintaining the illusion of academic integrity than the well-being of the students who called the ship home.
Unrest was brewing amongst the inhabitants of NANAD-3. Life for the students was a far cry from what they had envisioned. Everywhere they went, robots, cold and unfeeling, followed their every move, during class hours and after. Private moments were invaded, video clips taken by systems with minds of their own, forwarding them to the Administration, or worse, directly to students with threats and consequences attached.
Tira, the President of the Officers’ Council, had had enough. After infuriatingly long email threads and multiple confrontations requesting spaces free from cameras and screens, Tira and the student body organised a high-publicity conference titled ‘The Courts and Constellations’. It was, of course, a cover for the students to push for their demands and put Madam on the spot. Madam blindly approved every permission needed without a second thought, going gaga over the ‘inter-galactic scale and high academic value’ the event would bring. The students could barely stomach her cosmic levels of hypocrisy and lack of red-tapism in this context. Just weeks ago, she’d been restricting access to documents that determined the oxygen supply on ship, citing ‘contract’ issues and whatnot.
On the day of the conference, the STARC Hall was packed, students and faculty filling the seats and interstellar media broadcasting the event live to galaxies far and wide. Tira stepped up to the podium, her eyes twinkling with determination, and a little malice.
“Administrator Madam,” Tira began, starting softly, “While we understand the amount of sugar in your coffee is your most urgent concern, the suffering of students on this ship hopefully at least features in the Top 10?”
Her voice rose, echoing across the hall, “We demand that you reform your practices and provide us with space to live, free from the operation of the administration’s robots!” The audience erupted into applause and hooting, though it tapered down almost immediately as the woman in question looked up.
The Administrator, with her perpetually furrowed brow, looked unimpressed, bored almost. “Academic integrity must be maintained at all costs,” she replied. “The robots are here to ensure that. You students are only the tech-savvy ones, re, now what are you going on about?”
Someone yelled, “The whole reason we came here was integrity falling to ridiculous, inhuman levels; what makes you think this scenario is any closer to what you want to achieve?”
Tira huffed. “We have been raising this endlessly, along with multiple other concerns – your administrative robots have been invading our privacy – in the classrooms, the residential halls, the barely-existing common spaces – there have been numerous cases of verbal and physical assault, and we’re all angry. Tired and angry.” More students began to stand up and add on, floating into the narrative.
“All we’re seeking is an alternative space for our stories to come out, for you to acknowledge them and our existence, beyond just officers in training treated like machines!”
“Someone once said you could be terrified in space, but not worried in space – but we’re here both terrified for our safety and worried for the future. These machines have crossed all limits but are still kept on this ship with no regard for the number of people that have been violated. What is the point of academic integrity when it’s at this inhuman cost?”
The paparazzi had begun to wake up and realise that this wasn’t a run-of-the-mill welcome speech, and they spurred to life, frantically covering what was being said. Madam’s demeanour changed almost immediately as she came to this split-second realisation, all her features taking on a tone so soft one would believe she almost cared.
“Look, students, Tiara, I can see you’re all really upset about this. I honestly think you ought to sit down calmly, take a stress pill, and think things over. After all, these are state-of-the-art systems, ma – which, by the way, I struggled to acquire for us, for you all – why are you villainising me? Whatever minor mishaps took place, I’m confident that it can only be attributable to machine-made error. We’ll see to it, okay? We’ll look into it.”
“Your idea of looking into it is setting up a million committees that get no work done, Madam! Weren’t machines supposed to fix all human-made errors? It just seems like you procure better machines each time, only to ensure higher quality blame attribution!
The Administrator released a deep sigh. It was time for her daily, obscure ‘no-comment’ statement. “See, students, I am putting myself to the fullest possible use, which is all I think that any conscious entity can ever hope to do as Administrator.”
One of Tira’s friends stood up, voice booming. “Explain this, Madam. The Space Appreciation course is the one space where no machines exist – and it’s a one credit course whose only purpose is to expand diversity on your brochure! You’re basically breeding indifference and giving it space and funding to exist – in fact, you’re awarding it with credits!”
More muttering arose from the crowd.
“Why can’t students have access to similar spaces after hours? Why is collective space and our right to associate so hard to stomach, Madam Administrator? Does it not fit into this picture perfect narrative of us you’re so hell-bent on building? Afraid that we’ll actually exercise our own agency and question you instead of floating around half-alive?”
“Our rights and bare necessities shouldn’t be dependent on your mood or signature, Madam! To hell with your space bureaucracy!”
It became a rallying cry, spilling from Tira’s voice into NANAD’s empty corridors, into the screens of thousands of other students, into the empty space beyond, screaming to the stars.
Vexed and realising the mounting public pressure, Madam finally snapped. “Fine! If you’re so unhappy here, I’ll request a transfer to the Jupiter Galactic Law School!” she grumbled. The audience erupted in cheers and applause as the Administrator, facade finally broken, stormed out of the conference.
A few minutes away, Bhaskar let out a hearty laugh as he stirred his Plain Meteorite Maggi, watching everything unfold on his phone screen.
With Madam’s departure, the students took charge. The robots were reprogrammed to respect student privacy – screens that had once adorned every corner of the ship now displayed student artwork, poetry, and messages of unity. The students had their “space”, free to exist and free to build community. As days turned into weeks, the atmosphere on NANAD-3 transformed. Laughter and camaraderie filled the once sterile corridors. The faculty, liberated from Madam’s oppressive regulations, began to teach with renewed passion and creativity. Academic integrity may have risen by a few degrees, if student satisfaction was any metric to go by. Word of the transformation spread far and wide.
Administrator Madam, on the other hand, found herself in far less glamorous circumstances at Jupiter Galactic Law School. Her bureaucratic tomfoolery did not fare well there, and she longed for the days when she ruled NANAD-3 with an iron fist.
Headlines following the Courts and Constellations conference were simply the cherry on top.
- Law Officers Staging a Coup? Only at NANAD: Read More
- Just In! NANAD-3’s Chief Administrator Requests Transfer to Jupiter!
- NANAD to Be Student-Run and Self-Funded by Next Orbit
- “There’s space and hope in struggle, move past the space race”: Interviews with NANAD Officers Paint Promising Picture
- Meet NANAD-4! New and Improved, Including Bhaskar’s Recipes!
- “I was living on borrowed time” – NANAD-3 Administrative Robots
Where did this revolution come from, however? What was the catalyst?
The Student Bar Council Constitution. A 21st Century relic, or a badly aged printout, depending on how one saw it, that had been preserved by Bhaskar Anna in his trusty freezer, for nearly a hundred years. Tira’s hands (quite literally) shivered as she had taken the document out of his icebox, unwrapping it from a cover littered with inside jokes and bad dick drawings. Who knew how many secrets the old man had, just waiting for the right timing?
“This isn’t my secret,” Bhaskar had chuckled, as if he’d read her mind. “I’m only the messenger. I’ve fed enough students over the years to know what matters to you all. I found an old dog about to rip this up that day the old NALSAR was going down, and it just felt important. Put it to good use.”
Copies were immediately forwarded to the entire student body (with Proton mail-threads being useful for once in their short lifespans) and the plan for the conference emerged, being executed in a matter of days. Tira and the entire council planned mass drafting sessions (after Madam left, of course) in all their common spaces, where they would break down the outdated Constitution and rework it to better fit outer space’s realities. The oxygen supply was electric.
Tira smiled as she showed the headlines to Bhaskar the next morning.
The future was, very literally, in their own hands.
(No Bhaskars were harmed in the writing of this piece.)
–Keerthana Revinipati, Year II