The Tree of Knowledge by Daniel Miller (room on the broom read aloud .txt) 📕

Albert swallowed deeply and looked at Ying.

“What’s in the bag?” asked Ying, pointing to the big canvas bag slung over Turner’s shoulder.

Turner nodded. “These are your ‘weapons.’ Forgive the randomness of these items, but obviously, Sergeant Travis and I didn’t have much time to prepare, and we had to work with the odds and ends from his personal collection.”

Turner poured out the contents of the bag. On the ground were one small paint pistol, a paint shotgun, a bulletproof vest, and a clear, polycarbonate riot shield.

“What’s the story on the bulletproof vest? If a paint pellet hits me there, does that not count?” asked Albert. He thought he saw a twinkle in the professor’s eyes.

“That’s correct. Also, if you are able to hit Salazar or Travis with the paint pellets, then they are out of the game and can no longer fire at you or prevent you from climbing their wall.”

“And what’s that thing?” asked Ying, pointing to the shield.

Turner grabbed the shield. “This is a bulletproof shield that you can use to protect yourself from the paint pellets. It’s similar to what police use in riots.”

“I like this; it’s like an episode of American Gladiators,” said Ying as she grabbed the paint shotgun.

“It always comes back to television with you, doesn’t it?” replied Albert, trying to disguise his nervousness. He could see that Ying had goose bumps as well.

Ying pumped the shotgun. “Yes, yes, it does. You ready to do this?”

“That’s what you’re going with? The paint shotgun? Shouldn’t we think this through a little bit?”

“I have thought it through. Quite logically, I might add. I am not a very good shot . . . yet . . . and so I took the weapon that requires the least accuracy. This sucker will hit anything.”

Albert looked wholly unconvinced by Ying’s logic but decided not to argue. “OK, I’m going to go with the shield because all I need to do is get over that hay wall without being shot, and the shield will provide me with the best chance of doing that.”

“Whatever. That’s what the hay bales on the field are for. You’ll be thanking me when I’m covering your ass with shotgun fire.” Ying proceeded to fire paint in the air like an honorary member of the A-Team.

Albert simply shrugged.

“It appears that the two of you have made your choices,” said Turner, walking out into the middle of the range. “Let the games begin,” he shouted and blew on his whistle.

Albert’s voice cracked. “Wait, we’re starting now?”

At the sound of the whistle, Ying hurled herself over the hay barrier and into the shooting range all the while unleashing a tribal yell and indiscriminately firing her paintball shotgun in the direction of Sergeant Travis and Captain Salazar, who were carefully crouched behind their barrier, showing little more than rifles and well-trained eyes.

Before Albert could even move his body over the barrier, paint pellets rained down on Ying’s chest, legs, and body.

“Nooooooooo,” she cried out as yellow and blue pellets exploded over her person, creating a seamless collage of color.

While Ying fell to the ground looking like a Jackson Pollock painting, Albert rolled over the hay bale. Holding his shield in front of him, he crept toward a couple of stacked hay bales and crouched low. Paint pellets popped and crackled on his shield and around the hay bales, but Albert looked down at his clothes and noticed that he was clean. He smiled.

These bozos won’t be so hard to handle, thought Albert. All I have to do is stay low, keep my shield in front of me, and I’ll be set. He peered out from behind the hay bale, expecting that the thunder of paint pellets against his shield would resume, but instead he was surprised to see Brick Travis simply walking toward him.

What is he doing? thought Albert. Giving up already? He covered himself with the shield and crouched behind the hay bale to collect his thoughts. But before he realized what was happening, Sergeant Travis walked up behind the hay bale and shot Albert three times in the shin.

“You’re not much of a threat when you don’t have a gun,” said Brick and jogged back to his side of the range.

Albert and Ying returned to their end of the course to find Turner scowling with his arms crossed. The professor shook his head, handed them a paper and pencil, and uttered two sentences. “Think like a logician. Use the Tree.”

Albert took the paper and pulled Ying over to a hay bale. He began sketching a game tree and walked Ying through his logical process.

“OK, that wasn’t our best work. Let’s think this through . . . we have one objective: to cross over their hay wall. Our obstacles to achieving that objective are Brick and Raphael. To overcome these obstacles, we must do one of two things: one, fully protect ourselves so that we can’t be hit by pellets, or two, prevent them from being able to fire pellets.”

“Roger that, but neither of us is a good enough shot to do that, and they hit me about ten times before I hit the ground. Other than that, I love the plan,” interjected Ying.

Turner broke up the conversation. “Time’s up. Go again.”

“What? We’re not done. Can we have a few more minutes?” begged Albert.

“No. Using the Tree effectively is just as much about speed as accuracy. In the real world, you won’t be able to sit around and draw game trees. You must be able to envision the Tree instantly. This is speed chess, not traditional chess. Go again.”

Turner raised a hand, and Albert and Ying’s hay bales began to be pelted by paintballs.

“Grab your shotgun, Ying, I’ve got an idea.” He grabbed his shield and whispered his plan into Ying’s ear as paint pellets rained down on them.

Albert was the first over the wall with shield in hand. As Brick and Salazar looked on and tried to find a gap in the shield, they gradually noticed that