The next morning Carson opened the mysterious email he had received earlier and reviewed the riddle.
Congratulations, my computer friend
You have managed to overcome the trend
One could only speculate as to why
None until now even bothered to try
But before you get keys to the castle
You must tolerate a bit more hassle
Prove your dedication and desire
To get past the stigma of ‘new hire'
Go to the mess, the one they call Alpha
Follow the line, and locate the Buddha
Order the bovine, a question, he'll ask
An overcooked answer earns your next task
With all the excitement caused by planting the detection device on Chandra, he had almost forgotten about the email, but now it gnawed at his brain like a starving termite that had just stumbled into a lumber yard.
He tried to read the Configure Fusion Manuals, but his mind kept drifting back to the riddle. The first riddle was bad enough, but it seemed like a piece of cake compared to this one.
Why does it have to be a stupid riddle? Carson closed his eyes and grimaced. He recalled a time in the sixth grade during a riddle competition in English class. It was the final round and it had come down to Suzie Bennigan and him. His brain froze when it was his turn and his eyes had swelled with tears when he could not think of the answer. Suzie guessed the riddle easily. Carson could see her mocking face as if it were yesterday, a huge yellow ribbon sticking out from the back of her head like a TV antenna.
"What has big ears, no brain, and can't live up to their name?" she had asked. "Carbaby Lucky!" The whole class had erupted in laughter. Even the teacher Miss Swanson got a chuckle out of it. It didn't seem like such a big deal now, but ever since then, his brain shut down any time he heard the word "riddle".
The morning dragged on and the last paragraph in the poem made him think of lunch. He looked over at his meager sustenance in its pathetic brown paper enclosure and his stomach growled. That's when it hit him.
Mess must be mess hall! Mess hall alpha must be cafeteria A! Carson bolted out of his seat and headed straight to cafeteria A. When he arrived he found an inconspicuous spot where he could observe the entire room. He needed to find a line, one that would lead to the Buddha.
Carson looked around the room. A white line was painted on the wall separating two disgusting institutional colors, but it didn't seem to lead anywhere. He read the posters on the wall. There was an ad for Zanthrax displaying an older couple running on the beach holding hands. "Zanthrax makes you free!" was the only text printed on the sign, but there certainly was no Buddha anywhere in the picture. There was a placard with a diagram illustrating the Heimlich maneuver and another sign that read "Poison Control Center" in bold red letters with a phone number.
Carson watched the cafeteria fill with people as the noon lunch hour approached. A line formed at the entrée station and began to snake its way back into the dining room. A line of people... Maybe that's the line? Bovine could mean beef, but where's the Buddha? Carson saw that the daily special was pork chops, the other white meat, but that had nothing to do with beef. This is hopeless, he thought, and joined the line of people. He figured he might as well get something to eat while he was here. Besides, he thought he might see something from the food line, something small that wasn't obvious from his previous vantage point.
As he approached the hot food station, he observed the worker behind the counter prepare people's plates. He had a round face that mirrored a larger but equally round pot belly. The man was dressed completely in white; a white hat, white T shirt, and white pants, which Carson always thought was an odd choice for serving food. Stains spread across the man's shirt making his giant stomach look like a globe of some foreign planet. Carson watched as the man scooped some mashed potatoes onto a plate, and that's when he saw it. The word "Buddha" was tattooed on the man's forearm.
Carson's brain froze as he realized he had located the Buddha. He wasn't sure what to do next. His mind felt like it was spinning in mud as he tried to recall the poem. Dang! He thought. I should have written it down! He decided to duck out of the line and return to the end for more time to think, but it was too late; his turn was next.
"What'll it be?" asked Buddha as he chewed on a toothpick.
"Ah..." Carson closed his eyes, searching his memory.
Buddha rested his fists on the counter. "Haven't got all day here, son," he said.
"I'll have the beef," replied Carson.
Buddha squinted at Carson and shifted the toothpick to the other side of this mouth. "And how would you like that done?" he asked.
"Well... I would like it done well, please," answered Carson, with a slight waver in his voice.
"Wait here a second," said Buddha, then walked over to another kitchen worker and whispered in the man's ear. Buddha disappeared into the back room and the coworker came over to help the next person in line while Carson waited.
A few minutes later Buddha returned holding a plate with a small cut of meat.
"Would you like potatoes and string beans with that?" asked Buddha. Carson nodded and Buddha slapped the food onto the plate and handed it to him. Carson stared down at the food, wondering what to do.
"Next," said Buddha.
Carson walked to the checkout in a daze. It had been so anticlimactic. Was this whole thing just some stupid joke? Carson's heart sank as he considered the possibility that he had been setup. Of course, he thought. This was just the type of thing someone like Jason and Al would pull on a new guy.
"What's wrong with your pork chop, honey?"
The voice broke Carson out of his thoughts. "Excuse me?"
"Your pork chop... it's dark brown and looks kinda funny. Do you want a different one?" asked the cashier.
"No, that's fine."
Carson paid for the food and found a seat in a secluded corner where he could be alone. He stared down at the plate. He didn't feel much like eating, but he wasn't one to waste food, so he picked up his knife and fork and cut a piece of the meat. As soon as it entered his mouth, he spit it back out. It was cold and tasted like a processed microwave dinner that had been left in the freezer too long. He poked at the food in disgust. It slid across the plate and Carson heard a metallic scraping noise.
"What the..." he said, as he lifted the piece of meat with the knife, being careful not to touch it. Underneath it laid a small key. He picked it up and wiped it off with his napkin, then held it up to the light. It looked like he hadn't been setup after all.
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