Chapter 20: 4?

The next day is brutal. I am at the university, taking one test after another. Some were timed, but there is no need for the timer. I finish each test in less than half the time given. Between exams, I take a break and go to the cafeteria. I know the locals consider it to be cold, but I am a northerner and find the weather quite pleasant, so I take a seat outside to enjoy my snack. I am almost done when a little Indian co-ed walks up to me and asks, “Shouldn’t you be in school?”

I smile at her, “I am.”

She fakes a puzzled expression and responds, “You can’t be going here. You are too young.”

“You are right, but at the same time, you are not.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

I know she is just playing a game.

“I think you know who I am, and so you have me at a disadvantage.”

She smiles, replying, “So, you are Mr. triple thesis himself.”

“And you are?”

She hesitates before telling me as though it were some grand secret.

“Nishika, but my friends call me Nisha.”

“I think you will find I am one who likes to get to the point.”

“I’m a journalism student, and I work for the school paper. I was just hoping to get an interview with you for an article I want to write.”

“Did the school put you up to this?”

“No, but who wouldn’t want to know all about the boy wonder, how he came here and why he is never in class?”

“I’ll tell you what, I am fairly busy and can’t just take time off for the whim of a reporter. Come by my place Saturday afternoon. You can see my businesses, and you can interview me as I supervise and train my employees.”

“Sounds like a plan.”

“Since I believe in honesty, I will admit to you that this is a test. I need somebody of your background. If you write a full and honest article, I will hire you to write a few articles. If it works out, it could turn into a full-time gig that I think you will enjoy.”

“And just what would a 15-year-old boy need of a journalism major?”

“Show up Saturday for lunch and find out.”

She writes down my address, we say goodby, and I head to my tests.

Doctors Stevens and Stewart are waiting for me when I come back from lunch. It takes them a while beating around the bush before they come out with why they are there.

Stevens states, “Trent, we want to start a nuclear engineering program here at UVic. No western Canadian university has a nuclear department, and with your help, we could be the best in the country.”

“What about all the tree huggers? They will not care that fusion is perfectly safe. They will hear the word nuclear and protest until you are forced to shut down the program. Just look at the decommissioned destroyer Nimpkish. How many times have they tried to sink it as an artificial reef, but every time they try to, it is kiboshed? The lobbyists keep claiming it is contaminated because it was used in nuclear attack drills even though no nukes were used. American carriers aren’t allowed in Esquimalt harbour even though the harbour is built to accommodate them. Why? Because they have a reactor onboard. What makes you think UVic will receive a better reception?”

Stewart replies, “You have a good point, which is why I hesitate even suggesting the program. The thing is, any school that has your research would be so far ahead of anybody else, it would be worth it.”

“How about an alternative? I get free access to labs, equipment and understudies, no questions asked. In exchange, I give you my notes. You publish enough to get people’s attention, but not enough to give away all the formulae, just enough to get people knocking down your door and pressuring our government. Publicly state the reason you hesitate to start a fusion program is because of all the uneducated protesters that have ruined things for the Nimpkish and our logging industry. Tell the government you only want transparency. All lobbyists should have to declare where their monies come from, and anybody donating to a lobbyist has to make their financial records open to the public. Leverage your power for security, then when the stage is set, start your nuclear program.”

In my first life, lobbyists weren’t subject to public scrutiny until after they destroyed our once-great nation. They left it corrupt and unable to recover. By the time the laws were passed to force lobbyists to be honest, it was too late. I intend to use the flawed equations to force the government to hold lobbyists accountable and to help bankrupt the most expensive military in the world. Why does one country need to spend half the world’s military budget when 18 of the next 20 most expensive militaries are their allies? Given the size of their arms merchants, after the cold war ends, they are forced to perpetuate war on every continent for the next 100 years or risk tanking their economy.

I intend to cause the major players to dump ridiculous amounts of money into researching cold fusion. That is money earmarked for military expenditures that I hope will be spent chasing their tails. Cold fusion is a pipe dream, and fusion never gets to the point where reactors are small enough for anything other than stationary land-based reactors, even then, in 2035, there was only one operational.

I’m relieved that the Dean is finally trying to push me for the cold fusion equations. I was beginning to fear he wasn’t going to fall for the bait.

Stevens agrees to have the university’s lawyer draw up a contract. I know it isn’t going to be to my liking, but it will be a start.

Tuesday morning, Carol and I tease Dahlia on the way into school. She doesn’t have her new bike yet, so she is much slower than Carol and me. When we get to school, Moira and Kim are waiting for us, out in the cold by the bike racks. I ask, “What’s up?”

Moira says, “Nothing.”

Dahlia smiles. I’m sure she knows what is going on. I ask, “Why are you waiting for us?”

Kim states, “We just felt like it.”

I reply, “You better be careful. You are starting to sound like a girlfriend.”

For some reason, my saying that pleases Kim. It is hard to tell what Moira thinks of the comment. She had a big shit-eating grin on her face since before we got here. I’m inclined to believe it is the same ridiculous smile she had on her face Sunday night.

Something is up with the girls, but they are giving no hint as to what it may be. Dahlia and Carol try to mould into my body as we walk to the school entrance. I manage to fend them off and just hold their hands. Kim holds Dahlia’s other hand, and Moira has Carol’s. All the girls have goofy grins on their faces.

We walk around the halls like this. People stare. The girls deflect any question I have about what they are doing. The bell rings, telling us to go to class, and all four girls walk me to my locker. One by one, they kiss me on the cheek to say goodby before they head off to their own lockers.

I get to gym class, and I am pleased that Carol and I are teammates today. We are playing indoor soccer. I hope to no avail that she would at least drop a hint for me. Unfortunately, she keeps her lips sealed.

She ends up trading places with one of our teammates, so we end up playing on the same wing. It works in our team’s favour since we know each other so well. I feed her assist after assist. Every time she scores, she is sure to thank me with a sloppy kiss. Eventually, the teacher has to step in and chastise us. The kids tease saying things like, “It is soccer, not tongue wrestling,” or, “Get a room.”

At lunch, the girls all meet at my locker. I figure the girls wouldn’t like to be outside in the cold, so I suggest, “Let’s find a quiet classroom instead of going outside.”

Dahlia states, “It doesn’t matter. This will not take long.”

“If it doesn’t matter, then nobody will be upset if we lock ourselves in a classroom.”

It is a little unsettling since nobody is saying anything. Unless there is a reason to be quiet, such as watching a movie, our group is usually fairly talkative. The girls appear to be nervous, and there is no sign of anger or depression. They follow me, and I take them to the far end of the school, where hardly anybody goes during lunch.

I was expecting to be the one to start things off, but as soon as we get in the door, it is Carol that starts. She doesn’t wait for us to all sit-down or unpack our lunches. She says, “We talked about it yesterday, and we all agreed. It isn’t right that you should only date one of us. Leaving anybody out would just make us all unhappy.”

Stalling for time to think, I sit down and start unpacking my lunch. I suggest, “Sit, eat. We can eat and talk.” I give them a moment to arrange the desks into a makeshift lunch table and start unpacking their food. Once they are all seated, I reply, “That is sounding dangerously close to an ultimatum. I do not do well with ultimatums, even if the choice is a good one.”

Kim remarks, “It isn’t an ultimatum. It is a statement about how we feel. I know I would feel bad seeing you with anybody else, and I would feel bad if you were with me and not them. The only solution left is for you to date us all.”

I complain, “Dahlia and Carol are already getting a reputation because they both act like my girlfriends. I do not want people going around saying how you are a slut because you are dating a guy that is seeing three other girls.”

Moira argues, “That is our problem, not yours.”

“If people talk smack about somebody I care about, then it is my problem.”

Kim responds, “We all understand the consequences. We want it anyway. We all agree. The costs are far less than the benefits.”

“This sets a very bad precedent. I told you girls we would talk about this in good faith. Instead you talk among yourselves and ambush me with a demand. No matter how much I want to, I can’t give in to your demands. You backed me into a corner.”