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

determines what stance your opponent is in and then sends back the data regarding what their next offensive move is most likely to be, as well as what areas of the opponent are most vulnerable at any given moment in time.”

“Isn’t that a lot to look at while you’re fighting someone?” asked Ying. “I mean, I feel like I would be looking at what I was supposed to be doing and then get slapped in the face.”

Gabe laughed. “Yes, that is a problem. Keep in mind that Professor Turner has been my lone test subject up to this point, but what we’ve found is that, at first, it is a distraction, but over time, your brain adapts and you start to absorb the probabilities on an almost subconscious level. Your body just reacts almost as though you were playing a video game. In addition, we’ve color-coded the probabilities such that so-called safe areas are coded in blue and danger areas are coded in red. Pretty quickly, your brain will learn that if a man’s fist is red in the glasses, then you should watch out for it. The main challenge is that the action of fighting is so quick that it takes incredibly quick reflexes.”

“Shall we give it a try?” posed Turner, clearly getting bored with the question-and-answer session. “Ms. Koh, why don’t you put on the glasses and grab a helmet and some gloves. Albert, you can be her sparring partner.”

After some light protest from Albert about the ethical issues associated with punching a woman, the two of them donned their protective gear and stepped onto the mat. Albert couldn’t help but laugh at Ying. Her gloves were about two sizes too big, and the small girl looked like a Rock ’Em Sock ’Em Robot.

“OK, Albert, I want you to assume a fighting position just like Sergeant Travis instructed you.”

Albert raised his arms, pivoted his legs, and assumed the position.

Immediately, the screen over Ying’s eyes lit up. It was transparent so that Ying could see Albert and her surroundings clearly. Standing in front of her was Albert, knees bent, with his left foot and left hand forward. Just as Gabe had predicted, his right glove glowed red with “85%” pulsing on top of it. A soft blue shade surrounded his left fist and both feet.

Just as Ying glanced at Albert’s feet to assess the likelihood of a kick, his bright-red right fist snapped at her head, knocking her to the ground.

“Oh my God! Ying, I’m so sorry,” cried Albert, dropping to his knees to aid her. “I thought the glasses would tell you what to do. Gabe, what the hell—”

“No, no,” Ying interrupted Albert as she jumped to her feet. “The glasses worked fine. I was just looking at your glowing blue feet when you swung at me. Lesson learned. Let’s go again.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah, you hit like a girl,” said Ying, resuming her stance.

Albert grimaced and took the same stance as earlier. Once again, Ying could see his right fist glowing red, but the number had changed: “86%.”

Ying bobbed her head back and forth, preparing for Albert’s first punch. “Hey, Gabe, how come it says ‘86%’ this time?”

Gabe turned from his computer monitor. “The computer updates the probabilities in real time based on the past actions of your competitor. Because every fighter has a different style, it’s critical to—”

Albert’s glowing right hand snapped forward at Ying again, but this time, she easily bobbed her head to avoid the punch. As she did, she noticed that Albert’s stomach glowed green as he was throwing the blow.

Ying goaded Albert, “Is that all you got, Professor? I knew you were getting old, but I didn’t think you were that old.”

Albert’s patience evaporated, and he took the bait, taking a full windup and throwing a roundhouse hook with his glowing red fist. But before his fist could even reach its intended target, Ying had ducked and sprung to the left. She then gathered her weight just as Brick had taught her and delivered a hook to Albert’s exposed stomach.

Albert felt the air pop out of his lungs for the second time in two days and immediately crumpled to the ground. Ying danced around with gloves in the air mimicking Muhammad Ali. “I am the greatest.”

He pulled himself to his feet. He could see Gabe and Turner congratulating Ying with a loud round of applause like proud parents at a sporting event. The small woman was beaming, her round cheeks cherubic red.

Albert ripped his headgear off, tossed his gloves to the ground, and stormed out of the room.

Chapter 17

Albert jogged and then ran out into the broad green expanse of the farm. He wanted to run forever, past the hay bales and out into the forest where he could hide from Turner, Brick, and Ying, from his embarrassment, from his vulnerability. But he couldn’t. His body had nothing left. Travis and Turner had taken every ounce of energy from him.

After a minute of running, Albert collapsed onto the trunk of a fallen tree. There was not a person in sight, and the only sound that could be heard was the steady chirp of birds that occasionally swooped across the range. He looked back at the hay bales standing like soldiers under the fading fall sun. The crisp, fresh air invaded the chinks in his clothing, riffled his hair, and blew into his ears. The sun glared against his warm, salty face.

In this open yet stifling expanse, Albert Puddles cried.

As the tears streamed down his face, he intellectually understood the absurdity of his weeping. He knew that crying served little functional purpose and would do even less to solve his problems. He disdained his weakness. Ever since the days of being teased by the neighborhood boys, Albert had worked with single-minded purpose to build an impenetrable edifice of rationality that would give order and security to his life. He enjoyed the sturdy protection that scoffing at the emotions of