Nike: Part four of Rancor. Dai finally starts trying to solve the mystery instead of just talking about it. Fantasy elements still absent though. Once again, terms such as Randian Hero are not owned by me. Besides that, going to the trouble of suing me would be a waste of money; I'm worth nothing.

Rancor Part 4:

Mad Hatter's Birthday

Thanks to my almost predictable outburst, I freed up the last 45 minutes of the period, plus the greatly welcomed cancellation of my P.E. class. With approximately 2 hours to spare, I decided to first head towards the science building; I craved some straight answers, and what better place then the sanctuary of reason?

I entered the anatomy room, trusting that Ms. Hann would let me in. However, when I opened the door, I found her room virtually empty of organisms, except for her, her aide Andy, and their computers.

Dagny Hann was my biology teacher last year, and everyone in her class aced and made it onto the highest chemistry class available. Everyone could tell Ms. Hann did well in her job by those results, but she preferred her anatomy and technology classes, where her students went on to graduate to Institutes of the greatest honors. I was a special case though, apparently, ‘cause even though I set out to fail, I managed to get one of the highest grades in my class. Ms. Hann continued to help me with my journalism and other extracurricular activities. What more could a kid ask for from an adult?

She looked up at me and smiled while continuing to type on her computer, “Need to use E.R.I.S?”

Andy also turned towards me, glaring; we never exactly were on the best terms, “But Ms. Hann! You shouldn’t let this technological newbie get near such a delicate piece of equipment!!!”

I smirked at his obvious distaste of my capabilities, “Oh, be quiet, my dear Randy…”

“It’s Andy.”

“Whatever. Anyway, I have the skills to at least get minimum wage, which will pay the bills. So can I, Ms. Hann?” I winced at my horrible choice of words.

“Sure, just don’t choose the extreme variables, or it may blow up on you.”

I nodded, and headed towards her back room, eager to get started. The back room was windowless, and besides the one door, virtually hole-less. After I entered, I beheld the gleaming plasma screen hung on the opposite wall. I grabbed the computer notepad that hung magnetically next to it, pushed the power button, and got started.

Ms. Hann, bored with her job, decided to use her abilities and funding to make something really special. Since her scientific specialty was life sciences, she decided to make a simulator. Not just any old simulator though. It could simulate everything from sexual intercourse to a virus invading a population. Everything was powered by a supercomputer installed in the 40-foot thick wall behind the screen, and the note pad was like the remote control. Click on the selected settings, and voila, you have yourself a movie involving terrorist groups and a romance worth a million dollars.

At first she was reluctant to name the beast that she had created, but after a while and millions of suggestions from SERAPH to EMOTE, a student finally suggested something worthwhile. Ecological Remembrance In Simulation, or E.R.I.S. for short. The joke was that, if anybody revealed to the school or anybody else that such a handy tool existed, there would be mass chaos in the form of copyrights or lawsuits.

E.R.I.S. was never revealed to her new students, in order to keep it a secret, but all the old students were welcomed to test out the parameters of the machine. No one but me, Andy, and a handful of others ever took advantage of it. The first time I used it was to do some investigating on a sample murder case for Biology, and I was hooked ever since. The ability to act out scenarios thrilled me beyond belief. The graphics were never much to behold, but that was besides the point; it wasn’t used for cheap art. I was more of an information man anyway.

I sat down on the loveseat installed by Ms. Hann for more comfort while playing the game that was life, and started inputting specifics from the scene I wanted to act out again and again. The setting was a grassy insert in the middle of a field of concrete, with a ledge making the grass an inch or so above the concrete. The actors were a male with average body mass and another male, approximately three times the body mass, plus pumped up with muscle. The giant (TG, as he’ll know be known) was located near the edge of the grassy patch, and the average Joe (or AJ) was placed a few feet away from him on the grass. The play was then to start.

No matter how much push AJ put into a punch or a shove, there was no way he could push TG down onto the ground. Even after adding muscle mass to AJ, it still wouldn’t work; TG was simply too massive to move that way. I tried kicking after that, and tackling after that, but even both of those could not work. The only times any thing succeeded was if AJ had a running start to his blow, and even so, the pose I saw him have in real world could not happen with a full blown run; he would have stumbled after that big of hit.

I tried every scenario I could think of in my possibilities: TG leaning on the ledge, AJ having 100 muscle mass, and more; everything ended the same. I sighed, defeated, as the bell triumphed, signaling my empty period. Even though I would rather spend more time at E.R.I.S., Ms. Hann had a class that period, so it would be best for me to leave. I did so after printing out my schematics, waving goodbye to my old teacher, and all seemed at peace. This was until I realized I was being followed by some perverted 40-year old man…or…

“Shit, Dandy, I didn’t know you swung that way!” I shouted as I shifted around to meet his gaze.

“The name’s Andy, and I want to know what you were doing on E.R.I.S.” He held up a one of my schematics, with AJ and TG colliding together. There was no humor on his face; then again, he was always a few bolts too tight.

Finally getting my cover was blown, I answered his indirect inquiry, “Heh…same thing as you’re doing right now, trying to figure out unsolvable questions…riddles that cause us to become more insane than the Mad Hatter on his Birthday.”

He laughed at this, almost bitterly, “God, Dai, that is so like you, overanalyzing a situation and trying to make it as poetic and justifiable as possible. Just tell me what the hell is going on that causes you to test fight scenarios.”

“Fine, but only if you help me out with a riddle of mine…”

I explained the situation to him in the library during 6th period. Every bit of it…well, not the parts directly about Sigmund, or about the two arguments I had today, but I still got the point across.

After I had finished, and explained what I got out of E.R.I.S., he took a lot at the figures, and finally stated, as if I was the most dull person on the planet, “Almost none of these work. You said he was just standing there after TG was knocked down to the ground. He wouldn’t have time to recover from falling down if he ran, and any martial arts would end up with him in some significant stance.”

“I know that already. But he certainly couldn’t have just pushed the guy off the ledge. AG was too grounded to be able to fall that easily…”

“Yeah, I honestly can’t figure this out that well either. As a man of science, I cannot find the solution to this just by a glance. But as a man of faith…”

“Don’t go spouting that crap on me, Andy. You know I don’t believe in anything outside the reality we perceive.”

“A true Randian…”

“No, not quite. I’m not distant from others, and I haven’t raped anybod. Can you look at these schematics some more this weekend?”

“Sure, and if you can, interview witnesses. They’re probably more detailed than your scatter-brained self.”

“Hah! I don’t need witnesses.”

“Why?”

“I got an interview with the Gladiator himself.”

He sat stunned, “An interview with subject AJ?!!” His hands were held tight around the schematics.

“No…his title is Sigmund Walther.”

“I know that, but…”

“But…? Out with it, Candy!”

“He…was in my English class last year.”

“So?” Andy was wasting my time with his bat nuts attitude. I got up to leave as the bell rang, but he continued on…

“…Utopia…” I had no clue what he meant by that, but I could care less, and so I trudged on. I had a date with the knight, and I could not miss it for the world, or a Utopia.

It was mad havoc as people scrambled outside of windows and doors, trying to reach their cars and school buses and bicycles. My role in it was meager, as I sat on the sidelines and watched the traffic jam in the middle of the now soggy school, which was caused by the shower earlier. The sky was still covered in milky gray clouds, but after about 5 minutes of students clearing out, it was quiet, and I felt peaceful.

There once was a story about a girl, disguised as a man, who moved to a land filled almost completely with bodies of water. There she made friends with a man who loved the sea as if it was his existence. The two soon fell in love, as most stories like that turn out to be. For some reason, the girl despised the water though, and no matter how much her lover tried to convince her, she couldn’t stand it. The lover didn’t know she was a girl, for there relationship, in his eyes, and been a taboo. One day he found out that she was a girl. He was angered greatly by this façade; if the girl was a girl why didn’t she dress like one? He thought that how could a single drop of water resist what it was, a part of a larger body of water? She replied that she didn’t want to be a part of something, she wanted to be apart from it as much as she could, by being herself. He didn’t understand the comment, and wondered about it for a great time, until he finally decided to accept what she was, he saw her jump into the ocean. He saw a girl that looked like her once, but it wasn’t her. She was dressed in the most dolled-up clothes, and she painted her face like a clown. And so the man who loved the ocean never saw the girl who detested it ever again.

Sad story, right? I always thought about it when I was alone. Why did the girl give up her ideals? What was so precious about that man that made her reject who she was at the end and made her rebirth herself as a clown with no sense of purpose?

I made my way to my locker, and after collecting all my necessities for the weekend, I phoned home.

I could hear my mother’s exasperated voice rant as soon as I connected, “What is it, David?”

“Ma, I’m gonna be home a little late tonight. I’m hanging out with a friend after school. I’ll be home before bedtime.”

Her tone changed. Good old mom, hoping to get rid of my slightly distant demeanor, “That’s good. Anybody I know, one of those emotional girls, or maybe…Paris?”

I ignored her reference to my friends, and said with as much sincerity as I could, “Oh, he’s a good Christian boy. Loves the good book, and donates to a variety of charities.”

She scoffed at this, “Yeah, right. I know my David. Well don’t do drugs, sex, or alcohol, and be back before 9, Cinderella.”

“I don’t think it’ll take that long, mother dearest.”

“Oh, we’ll see…” The phone-line went dead. I closed the cell, and made my way to the parking lot.

As I stepped up the stairs to the parking lot, Sigmund came into view. He was standing by a gas-guzzler most jocks and meatheads drove to school and back. While my knowledge of global warming was shoddy at best, I knew that those kinds of cars couldn’t be the saviors of the ozone.

I walked up to him and admired the paint coat of the monster, “Well, so this is the hero’s noble steed.”

I could hear him smiling at this, and his voice followed suit, “Yeah, well, where I live, four-wheel drive is necessary where I live.”

“Four? More like eight-wheel drive. So are you ready to get your 15 minutes of fame over with?” I looked up at him; he was looking directly at me.

“15? Has to be more than that. This loser came up to me during my Governments class asking for an interview for the school newspaper. Would you happen to have something to do with this?”

“Scout’s honor I had nothing to do with that.” I laughed to myself that I predicted the shortcoming’s of Georgie Porgie’s abilities.

“For a second I thought you were too afraid to interview a hero. Anyway, since you said you wanted to get to know me better, I’d thought we go out and eat some dinner. Pizza Shop sound good to you?”

“Pizza Shop? Well…I don’t know, I do have a curfew, but…I think I can squeeze in a 16-inch pizza or two.”

“Good, now get in the car, oh so honorable guest.” I felt my arm reach for the handle of the passenger door, and get in the car. I had my backpack, a laptop, and my dignity, but I debated how long it would last in Sigmund Walther’s presence. Ah, well, at least the clouds were milky.