The Kukulkan Manuscript by James Steimle Page B

University. Masterson’s cordiality confused her. Never before had he treated her with so much respect. She had come to the office hoping to discuss her proposal for her dissertation, which she’d been working on since last semester. She had plenty of time to change it, so she wasn’t pressured with that.
    But Alred had learned that Masterson, who served as her supervising professor, was a difficult man to sway from his own stubborn opinions. He had plenty of ideas and was sick of being kicked around by other professors who thought they had more efficient or effective plans. Bitterness had swallowed him long ago and kept him boiling in a stomach of acidic antagonism. As he had told her many times, he hadn’t climbed his way to the top, he’d fought his way. He didn’t expect others to follow his example and rather hoped they didn’t.
    Alred looked forward to working in a university back east, if at all possible, when her studies ended at Stratford. Masterson said he’d made up his mind to mold her into a killer in the field. She could go far in Mesoamerican scholarship, if she knew what she was doing.
    Alred never worried much about her future. Having been raised by a fine instructor of mathematics, Alred found there was a logical side to everything. The anxieties of most people were unnecessary. Those who worried about relationships, for example, usually caused more problems fretting over negative possibilities than would have occurred naturally. Stress leads to self-fulfilling prophecies, Alred told her friends. Most people didn’t realize that. General ignorance and self-promoted apathy was the greatest problem in the world, she believed. Thus, Alred didn’t cope well with those who were always coming up with excuses. She just shook her head and wondered why people didn’t take control of their lives instead of letting others boss them around. Pro-activity led Alred to higher levels of success than most others would be able to enjoy.
    Masterson turned quickly to the other men in the tight room. Indicating each with a relaxed hand, he said, “Ms. Alred, this is Dr. Goldstien, Dr. Arnott, Dr. Wilkinson, and Dr. Kinnard.”
    “Pleased to meet you,” she said, maintaining the odd cordiality, and throwing out the idea that she would discuss her dissertation at all today. While pushing back a lock of red hair over her right ear with her fingers, she grumbled inside, but let the feeling pass.
    Goldstien smiled—probably at how well Alred’s neatly kept fingernail polish, her lipstick, and the red hair blended in a singular color. It wasn’t a perfectly red shade, but rather a light auburn. She sensed he was one of those who were amused at how women were able to play with make-up to enhance what was already there; a typical low-class man who couldn’t get married or had been, but quite unhappily so. He liked her, and didn’t hide it well. But she figured Goldstien didn’t care if she knew it. He projected himself as one who found the rule prohibiting professors dating students a little juvenile and old-fashioned.
    Alred avoided further eye contact with Goldstien. She could feel his gaze easily enough, and sat with determination on her face. But again, she wasn’t worried. Her passive guardian—her Uncle Alan—had enrolled her in a martial arts class at an early age. She’d grown up with the reputation of beating up the boys in her Junior High school. Alred had the peace of mind of knowing she could break a man twice her size, were he to try something, no matter how dark it was and no matter what alley they were in.
    With his big smile, Masterson sat down, slapped his hands on the ends of the armrests, and sighed. He looked happy, and Alred knew it was all a front. She suspected everyone else saw the same picture, but couldn’t be sure. She scanned her eyes over the other three men.
    Dr. Arnott smiled with his thin lips, but it really did look fake. His eyes sagged and looked too much at the table. The