His father was a heavy drinker, and had a lot of trouble holding jobs in the past. He finally settled in working as a roofer. He'd done that for the last five years and now had his own company. That choice of profession made Logan cringe when he thought about it. It was a wonder his dad hadn't rolled off a roof and been killed already. Sometimes Logan thought it would be only a matter of 'when', not 'if'.
Logan's grandfather's trust was worth millions, but only a trickle of money was released for his college expenses. The trustee had full discretion over the amount Logan was to be allowed and he forced Logan to justify every penny.
dad had never received any of the funds and that was a good thing. He'd simply go on a terminal drunken spree if he had the money. Logan's grandfather had never forgiven his father for the divorce and subsequent death of his daughter. He'd set the trust up so that Logan's dad couldn't access any of the money. Logan's
He answered Berensten's question. “I can get there, no problem. How did... Uh, I mean, what happened to open a slot, if there are so many people wanting in?”
She replied, “One of the senior students got injured somehow. I understand that he won't be at school this summer, so it must have been fairly serious. There are plenty of other students who'd like the chance I'm giving you. I want you to take it seriously. If you do well, it will make your chances of graduating next year more likely. Understand?”
Logan answered, “Yes. I'll do my best.”
Berensten said, “Better make it better than that. Your best so far hasn't been very good.”
She waved him out of the room, with instructions to get the forms back to her by noon the next day. She also instructed him to go to student health-services and get both a tetanus booster and a typhoid shot. He headed towards the clinic, his steps light. Maybe this was the break he needed.
An hour later, shoulder hurting from the injections, he arrived back at his apartment. The three guys hadn't moved from their positions on the couch, other than to possibly go to the bathroom. The pizza boxes were on the floor and a few beer cans were crumpled nearby. Steve always crushed his cans after emptying them.
They ignored him when he entered and headed for his room. When he came back, Randy asked if he would take over playing for him.
“Good thing you're back, Walker,” he said. “I've got a date with Lisa. We're going for a flick and a beer, then who knows?” He had a slightly lecherous grin on his boyish face.
Of the four, he was the only one with a girl friend. The others were socially backwards. Their sole outlet was gaming. The closest any of them had ever been to intimacy with the opposite sex was when they played Grand Theft Auto. Logan thought to himself, “Somehow, virtual women don't really count.”
He glanced enviously at Randy's back, thinking, He stopped that thought in embarrassment. Sliding into the warm spot on the beat-down sofa, he took the controller and was soon involved in an all-out virtual-battle. Some time later, they broke to go out for burgers and beer. “If only I could meet a girl, or even get the courage to talk to one. If Mandi – ”
When they returned, the other two wanted to start the game again, but Logan had a sudden fit of conscientiousness and begged off to fill out the dig application. Once that was done, he actually opened his textbook, and read a chapter or so. That led him to work on a couple of other courses that seemed to have more material than he felt he could ever get through. Before he knew it, it was late. Randy was back and there was a lot of teasing banter coming from the living room.
Randy had apparently gotten lucky, though Logan didn't really believe his bragging. Steve and Eddie had quit playing and the three were roughhousing, shoving each other around the room playfully.
The shoving ceased when Randy fell over the coffee table, and tipped the TV over. It flickered and went out, alarming all of them. How would they survive through the weekend without the large video display? Game playing would be almost impossible and they might even have to go to an arcade or something equally distasteful. No one thought about suggesting studying.
Once they'd cleaned up the mess and righted the TV screen, it became obvious that it had just come unplugged from the game unit. Eddie took full credit for reconnecting it and bringing it back to life.
“Hey, without me, you guys would be reduced to trying to play on your tablets,” he said and then bowed.
They clapped, mockingly.
After a little more conversation, Logan retired to his room to sleep. He'd turn in the completed dig forms the next day.
Chapter 2: TO DIG OR NOT TO DIG
Logan paused in the hall just outside of Berensten's office. The door wasn't quite shut and he could hear raised voices coming through the crack. It sounded like she was arguing with a man, but he didn't recognize the voice.
He glanced around. There were only a few late students hurrying to their classes. He slouched closer to the slightly open door, trying to hear. Then he recognized the voice as Professor Dameron.
“ he thought. He didn't like Dameron at all. He was a boring lecturer and it had been all Logan could do to stick through his class. He'd thought about dropping it several times. He stayed, but it hadn't been worth the effort. He'd almost failed, just passing by a few points. Ugh,”
Dameron's voice was higher-pitched than usual as he said, “What the heck do you think I'm going to do with Walker? I need people on the dig that can be taught and are willing to work. Walker doesn't study. He's an unmotivated slacker.”
Logan's heart fell. Dameron was the dig supervisor. That was awful. He knew the man didn't like him. He'd made the mistake of critically questioning the Professor about one of the books they were supposed to read, not realizing that Dameron was one of the junior authors. Dameron hadn't taken it well.
Berensten replied in a quieter voice, “I think you should give him a chance.”
Dameron interrupted her, “A chance? I had him in my class and that's all the chance he's going to get from me. Not only is he a slacker, but he's rude, too. I've got plenty of other students on the waiting list. I'm not taking him.”
Berensten paused, then her voice changed slightly. It wasn't as warm as it had been, instead a hint of iron came through in her tone.
“Professor Dameron, I want Walker to go. You'll have to adjust your thinking about him,” she said.
Dameron angrily replied, “No. That's final. I'm not taking him.”
Berensten sighed, then answered. “Look, George, you're coming up for a decision on tenure. I don't think I need to mention that I'm on that committee, do I?”
Dameron made some sputtering noises, and then composed himself enough to say, “No. I understand. Walker is on the dig, but I want to make it clear that it's against my better judgment. If he screws up, I reserve the right to kick him off.”
Berensten said, “Thanks, I knew you'd listen to reason. Don't worry, he won't screw up. I think he understands that he needs to apply himself now.”
Logan suddenly realized that Dameron was going to come out of the office. He sprinted down the hall and ducked around a corner before the door opened. He immediately turned and walked slowly back around the corner as if he were just arriving. Fortunately, Dameron had gone the other way and was now heading downstairs.
The office door was open and Professor Berensten looked up and smiled at him, “Hi, Logan. You got your shots and the application?”
He answered, “Yes, Professor. Here's the paperwork.”
She scanned it and then said, “I had a little difficulty with Dameron about your participating. He wanted to take someone else. You have to promise me that you'll do your best. Don't foul up this chance. You might not get another one.”
“No, no, Professor. I'm ready to go. I need the credits and this is a great opportunity for me. I'll work hard, you'll see,” he assured her.
“Good. See that you do. Now, go and report to Professor Dameron's office. His assistant will give you a packet of information about where and when you'll report. I understa
nd that the staff will be staying at the dig in tents. There are hotels nearby, but there isn't enough funding for this project to afford rooms. Be sure and pack comfortable clothes and plenty of sunscreen. You'll be out in the sun every day for four weeks or so,” she said.
“Okay, I'll get sunscreen,” he said. “Thanks for the great opportunity. I really appreciate it.”
He hesitated before going into Dameron's office. There was a small room with a desk nearby that was used by Dameron's graduate assistant. Logan turned in there.
The graduate student glanced at him over her heavy glasses and asked, “Yes? What do you want?”
“Uh, hi,” he said, “I'm going on Professor Dameron's dig. Are there some instructions or papers about what's expected?”
She looked down her nose at him, rummaged around in a desk drawer for a moment, and pulled out a manila envelope. She picked several sheets of paper from slots in the drawer, and stuffed them in the envelope before handing it to him.
“Here it is. Read it carefully and pay special attention to the clothing and personal supplies you'll need. Driving directions are in there. The formal opening is Monday after finals, but you should be there by Sunday at the latest. The Professor doesn't like any of his help to be late.”
The way she said it, it sounded like a threat.
Logan browsed through the papers as he walked back to his apartment. It looked like he had pretty much everything he'd need. He didn't have work boots, but he had some cowboy boots that he thought would be almost as good. He thought boots would probably be overkill. His sneakers would suffice just as well. As for clothes, he'd take some jeans and tee-shirts. He could probably wash them somewhere. Food would be provided, so that was good.
All of his roommates were heading home for the summer and wouldn't be around until fall. The lease was up this month, and he thought he could get them to move their stuff into storage until he had a chance to arrange a rental for the fall semester. Better yet, maybe they could locate a new apartment, saving him the work. Either way, he'd leave it up to them.
When he got home, all three of the guys were gone. They'd been kind enough to leave him a note stating that they were heading to a local bar and he could catch up if he wanted. It was tempting.
Maybe he'd skip out on the meeting he'd scheduled with the lawyer who was the trust administrator. Schmitzke was hard to see. His schedule was always full. For some reason, Logan didn't think the man really wanted to meet with him. He thought it over and finally decided he'd better head over to the law office.
He took his old motorcycle and cruised slowly through the heavy traffic, heading downtown. He parked on the street and entered the lobby of the law firm. As usual, he was forced to wait for nearly thirty minutes.
Logan was resentful. He'd been right on time. Somehow Schmitzke always managed to find something to do to show him how unimportant he was.
He settled into the conference room chair across from the lawyer, who was studying some papers. At last the man glanced up and said, “Hello, Mr. Walker. This is the trust agreement. I've just re-familiarized myself with it. Now, what question did you have for me?”
Logan wasn't quite ready to begin. He'd been feeling antagonistic and the sudden change threw him off stride. “Uh, uh. Well, I was, um, wondering if there's some way I could get an extension on the graduating thingy. I was sick a lot last semester and that made me unable to study, so that course I dropped? I mean the math one. I don't think it's really fair to me. I passed the other courses, but now I'm short on hours. I think I'm going to need more time. You know?”
Schmitzke made a facial expression that was somewhere between a condescending smile and a sneer, then shook his head negatively. “No, I thought that this was about something like that. No, there's no way the deadline can be extended. The language is really quite clear and precisely binding. You must graduate in four years. No exception.” He sat back and pompously folded his hands, wearing a satisfied expression.
Logan's face fell. “Well, what will happen if I don't make it? Is there any provision for me then?”
Now Schmitzke smiled, a toothy, shark-like grin. “Should you fail to graduate on time, the money is to be given to a charity chosen by the trust administrator, me. You may be interested to know that I've already chosen a worthy charity, one that would benefit greatly from your grandfather's money. It would help a lot of people jump-start their lives.”
Logan thought about that. It seemed to him that his own life could benefit greatly from a couple of hundred million. It didn't seem fair that he would take second place to a bunch of unknowns. He'd had a great relationship with his grandfather. He'd lived with his grandparents part of the time after his mother had died. Finally, he asked, “What's the charity? Maybe I'd better apply to it for some money.”
Schmitzke laughed dryly. “Ha-ha. That's a good one. No, I'm afraid that you wouldn't qualify for any assistance. The Student's Democratic Assistance Fund only helps minority students who have shown exceptional promise. You're not a minority and, so far, you haven't shown much promise either.”
He made a show of checking his watch, then said, “I'm afraid that's all of the time I can afford to spare you. I've got another appointment.”
Schmitzke pushed his chair back and stood up. When Logan rose, the man walked around the table and opened the door, ushering him out.
“It was a pleasure to speak to you, Logan. Don't hesitate to call me with any other questions. Oh, and, uh, good luck with your courses,” he said.
Logan slumped as he walked to the reception area. He thought he could hear Schmitzke snicker as he walked away.
The motorcycle took several tries to get started. The ride home seemed even longer than the one downtown. Logan had plenty of time to think as he rode.
It seemed like the deck was stacked against him. He'd never worried about encountering difficulty graduating. Now that he was in trouble, it almost seemed like Schmitzke had planned on him failing a class. The guy certainly didn't appear to be worried about Logan's situation.
Maybe the SDAF charity didn't offer anything for students like him, but he decided that he'd investigate it a little anyway. It would be interesting to find out where the money would go, if he couldn't graduate. Schmitzke seemed to relish the chance to donate the money to them.
On the Sunday after finals, he was riding the old Honda down the highway with an overstuffed backpack flapping in the wind that curled over his shoulders. The day was sunny and things were looking positive. He had chosen smaller roads, staying off the Interstate. He didn't like the traffic and the mostly empty roads made for a pleasant ride.
The under powered motorcycle wasn't very fast. It was difficult to force the old beast to roll at much over the speed limit. That restriction didn't apply to the few cars. They passed him as if he were standing still. The constant worry about obstructing traffic flow made it more attractive for him to take back roads, even if it did mean that he had to drive farther.
About four o'clock, Logan bounced down the sand road in a cloud of dust and into the campsite. The over-all impression was that of a bunch of semi-organized weekend campers. All of the vehicles were parked in a makeshift parking lot. Beyond that, a group of wall-tents clustered randomly about a central cooking area.
It was obvious that this was intended to be a self-sustaining site. There were a couple of canvas flies strung up. One appeared to be the kitchen and the other, an eating area judging from the picnic tables under and around it.
As far as Logan was concerned, he'd prefer to ride a few miles to the nearest fast-food place. The others could cook for themselves. If someone told him it was permissible, he would instantly have checked into the motel that was just a few miles down the highway. At least there, he'd have air-conditioning and a soft bed.
He swung his leg off the motorcycle with a resigned sigh. No doubt Dameron would require everyone to stay at the site. That would fit his impression of the man.
He walked over to
the dining area. There were a number of people sitting at some folding picnic tables, enjoying the shade, and talking. Not one even glanced as he came up.
He stood there uncomfortably, finally getting a guy's attention. The guy looked familiar. He felt like he recognized him, then remembered that they'd had a class together last semester. The student acknowledged him with a raised eyebrow, and Logan took that as a cue to ask, “Who do I see to check in?”
The others stopped talking and looked at him. One of the guys nudged the girl next to him and said, “Fresh meat.”
She laughed and then stared boldly at Logan with a smirk.
The student he recognized raised his arm lazily pointing out a larger tent that was somewhat away from the main cluster. “That's Dameron's tent. Check in there with the student supervisor.”
Paradox: On the Sharp Edge of the Blade Page 2
