Chapter 35: THE FOOLISH QUESTION
The department meeting convened at 2 PM in the main conference room.
Dr. Marsh presided from the head of the table, surrounded by faculty at various stages of their careers. Senior professors who'd been here for decades. Mid-career researchers jockeying for recognition. Junior faculty fresh from postdocs, hungry and competitive.
I took my usual seat near the middle—visible but not prominent. The agenda covered upcoming grant review cycles, departmental budget allocations, and the standard administrative tedium that kept academic institutions functioning.
My planned moment approached during the discussion of standardized protocols for the new grant applications.
"The NSF has updated their requirements again," Dr. Marsh was saying. "All proposals now need explicit methodological justification sections. I'd like everyone to review the new templates before submitting."
This was my opening.
I raised my hand.
"Dr. Cole?"
"I apologize if this is basic, but could you clarify the difference between the Type A and Type B justification formats? I want to make sure I'm using the correct one for my protein synthesis work."
The question was deliberately pedestrian. Anyone who'd written a grant in the past five years knew the answer. I'd practiced the uncertain tone, the slight hesitation that suggested genuine confusion rather than performance.
Dr. Marsh's expression flickered—surprise, perhaps, that I needed to ask something so fundamental. But she answered patiently, professionally. "Type A is for established methodologies with existing literature support. Type B is for novel approaches requiring additional validation. Given your work's foundation in proven techniques, you'd likely use Type A."
"Thank you. That clarifies things."
Mission accomplished. Look humble. Look limited. Lower the threat profile.
[DELIBERATE FAILURE EXECUTED. NOTORIETY IMPACT PENDING. MONITORING AUDIENCE REACTIONS.]
But I'd miscalculated.
"Dr. Cole." A voice from across the table—sharp, satisfied. "Perhaps you should review the fundamentals before advising on research direction. The Type A and Type B distinction is covered in the basic grant writing workshop that all faculty are expected to complete."
Dr. Kevin Price. Junior researcher, ambitious, territorial. I'd barely interacted with him before, but I knew the type—someone who'd clawed their way through academia and saw every colleague as competition.
He smelled blood. My deliberate weakness had attracted exactly the wrong kind of attention.
The room tensed. Several faculty members looked uncomfortable. Dr. Marsh's expression hardened slightly.
"I'm sure Dr. Cole is simply being thorough," she said, the diplomatic intervention of someone who didn't want her meeting derailed by territorial disputes.
"Of course." Price smiled—the kind of smile that didn't reach his eyes. "Just maintaining standards."
I had a choice. I could crush him intellectually—pivot to a complex question that would expose his own limitations, demonstrate capabilities that would end the humiliation instantly.
Instead, I nodded.
"You're right, Kevin. I should be more careful. Thank you for the reminder."
Price looked triumphant. Several colleagues looked surprised—they'd expected me to fight back, apparently. Dr. Marsh's thoughtful expression had deepened. She knew my recent research results. This question didn't match that performance level.
She's noticed something doesn't add up.
The meeting continued. I contributed nothing else, maintaining the humble facade even as frustration simmered beneath the surface.
I found refuge in a bathroom stall after the meeting ended.
The small space felt safe—no witnesses, no judgment, no need to perform. I sat on the closed toilet lid and pulled out my phone.
Text to Leslie: Department meeting went weird. Tell you later.
Her response came in thirty seconds: Dessert and venting tonight. I'll bring the ice cream.
Something in my chest unclenched. Whatever else happened, I had that. Someone who'd listen without judgment.
[EMOTIONAL STATE: STABILIZING. SUPPORT NETWORK ENGAGED. RECOMMEND CONTINUED RELATIONSHIP INVESTMENT.]
I stayed in the stall for another five minutes, composing myself. The plan had worked—sort of. My notoriety should decrease. But I'd also painted a target on myself for someone like Price, who saw humility as weakness rather than strategy.
New enemy. Fantastic.
A knock on the stall door made me jump.
"Occupied," I called.
"It's Marcus." His voice was quiet through the door. "I saw what happened in the meeting. You okay?"
"Fine. Just needed a minute."
"Price is an asshole. Everyone knows it. Don't let him get to you."
"I won't."
A pause. "That question you asked... you know the answer to that, Nathan. I've seen your grant proposals."
Shit.
"Just having an off day," I said. "Holidays threw off my rhythm."
Marcus didn't respond for a moment. Then: "Okay. See you at lunch?"
"Yeah. See you."
His footsteps retreated.
I pressed my palms against my eyes. Too many people were paying attention. Too many smart minds starting to notice patterns that didn't quite fit.
[ADVISORY: COVER INTEGRITY DEGRADING. MULTIPLE PARTIES NOW POSSESS CONTRADICTORY OBSERVATIONS ABOUT HOST CAPABILITIES. RECOMMEND CAREFUL MANAGEMENT OF ALL FUTURE PUBLIC INTERACTIONS.]
The game was getting harder.
Walking to my car that evening, footsteps approached from behind.
"Cole."
I turned. Price had followed me to the parking lot.
"No hard feelings about the meeting," he said, his tone casual in a way that felt rehearsed. "Just maintaining standards. This department has a reputation to uphold."
"Of course." I kept my expression neutral. "We all want what's best for the research."
"Exactly." His smile was thin. "I've been reviewing some of your recent publications, actually. Impressive efficiency improvements in your protein synthesis work. Very impressive."
The emphasis on "very" held something—suspicion, perhaps. Or a threat being laid.
"I had good foundation work to build on."
"Mmm." Price nodded slowly. "Well. Welcome back from the holidays. I'm sure we'll have more opportunities to collaborate."
He walked away, leaving me standing in the darkening lot.
[THREAT ASSESSMENT: DR. KEVIN PRICE NOW CLASSIFIED AS ACTIVE ANTAGONIST. HIS INTEREST IN HOST'S RESEARCH SUGGESTS POTENTIAL INVESTIGATION. RECOMMEND MONITORING.]
I got in my car and sat there for a long moment.
Price would overreach eventually. His type always did. The ambitious, the territorial, the ones who saw enemies everywhere—they made mistakes. I just had to be patient.
Patience. Strategic humiliation today for advantage tomorrow.
The System agreed: Price will overreach. Recommend patience.
I started the engine.
The ice cream with Leslie was calling.
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