The calculus exam was a breeze. With their Internet Usage Numbers, Janine and her two math wiz friends were able to easily connect their HoloKeys computers to view, interact, and control a singular, seamless interface of flashcards and practice problems without even being in the same neighborhood. Plus, if one member got a text, they all got it, so it encouraged them to mute their notifications for a disturbance free session. Holding each other accountable was a daily luxury that Janine and her classmates didn’t realize was never this easy.
After school, Janine sifted through the dusty mailbox in search of a certain letter. Snailmail was pretty rare, but for what she was looking for, it was the only option. Creaking open the rusty hinges and swiping away the cobwebs, she found her treasure: a letter from the Clarity Committee of the United States. Janine had wanted to be a Knower ever since she was awarded kindergarten valedictorian. Knowers had the privilege of the off switch; they could completely hide their history, searches, interactions, everything with the click of their red ring. The red ring was to be worn on their right pinky, and it was only given to Knowers. Because Knowers had no oversight, they had free reign to look up whatever they wished in wholehearted privacy. Typically, these figures tended to be philosophers, scholars, government hackers in training, or government spies. Janine thought it would be a disservice not to use her intelligence to expand her knowledge of risky information and skill. So, she had been applying for an internship under a Knower for months. If she got it, she might one day be the Knower she’s dreamed of and keep society as safe as she’s always known. Peeling the envelope open as if an artifact from her favorite museum, her hands shook as she skimmed through the paragraphs. Final interview. Today.