Copyright material from the first chapter of Quandary.

By James Peter Hadzess

It was one of those wonderful days in early summer when the kiss of spring still wetted the lips of the world and everywhere the promise of love seemed about to be fulfilled. The city was hushed, paused between the morning and evening commutes. Within myriad corporate structures, the deadline for eating lunch and submitting crucial reports was hours away. At the major university, in the basement of the student union, between the housing authority and a subsidized food bank, a solitary figure loomed over a high contrast computer screen. The operator was so ordinary as to merit no attention from any casual passerby. And except for the vivid paint blotches on his jeans, thick spectacles, and determined air, he could be mistaken for a migrant, one of those refugees from the juggernaut of war who collect their pitiful salaries at the end of each mournful day.

Although in the prime of life, Nick felt unsettled lacking what other young men possessed, female companionship and a disposable income. He knew the two facts were not unrelated.

The harsh city environment without meadows or close relatives was disorientating. Often, he regretted college, scholarship or not. He perused the help wanted ads trying to forget his unease at the flurry of new cultures encountered and the unknown faces ignoring him in the great metropolis.

 Let’s see. Dishwasher: Must speak three languages fluently, facile in configuring spread sheets, and willing to work a split shift.  Security Guard: Blackbelt in any of the martial arts plus national ranking in pistol competition required. This might fit; I’m a good jumper. Test dummy for autonomous vehicle software configuration: health insurance not provided. Damn, and I have rent to pay.

“Hi, find anything good?” asked Don, “I used a search engine yesterday but still came up empty!”

“Zero hits old buddy,” said Nick. “All computerized, need advanced degrees, or minimum wage. Hardship scholarships don’t pay for housing.”

“And athletic scholarships don’t lead to anything,” said Don. “My advisor suspects I’m illiterate since I’m black and play ball. Directed me to take an introduction to critical thinking but without the lab. Told me only a C+ was necessary for eligibility and wanted to assign a grad student to help me cram. I took a targeted history course on medieval Latin and spent the entire semester reading primary documents while warming the bench.”

“But you were a straight A student besides captain of the town football team!” said Nick. “Not a loafer who plays with paint while dreaming of critical recognition.”

“This is the big time,” said Don. “These kids are groomed. All the perks that money can buy. They go to private camps with professional coaches in the off season.”

“Same in the art department,” said Nick. “It’s packed with graduates of exclusive prep schools, squandering the best of materials. Every summer they tour collections in Europe or Asia, using private jets courtesy of daddy’s expense account.”

“Maria was the brightest star in our graduating class,” said Don. “But here she’s in the middle of the pack.”

“Give the woman time. I only wish she had a twin,” said Nick.

“I’ll relay the message. Still between girlfriends?” asked Don.

“Tell me about it,” said Nick. “At fancy clubs during dinner, they sympathize with the great artist, order an expensive wine, and ask for a second steak to take home in a doggie bag. We go our separate ways after the live concert or premium movie. I find my follow-up inquiry shunted to the blocked call’s list.”

“Get used to it. This is the big city. Everyone here is on the make. Like this ad for beta testers in a new virtual reality game,” said Don.

Nick scrutinized the poster carefully. Double V wanted experienced subjects for an immersive experience, remuneration commensurate with duration and distance. The last line stated: At Virtual-Virtual we go beyond the lunatic fringe. Our contracts are pending with multiple military establishments worldwide. As sole supplier of recreational hardware to the Mar’s colony, the outer Jovian moons are under negotiation.

“It’s that guy at the little card table by the cafeteria door. The one sane students ignore,” said Don.

“Can’t hurt to check it out for vibes and pay rate,” said Nick.