Nathan poked idly at the glowing embers of the small campfire burning just before his feet. This was an interesting place, like nowhere he had seen in the mid-west. He had heard that the Rockies were a place where one could still find seclusion in this modern world of over 10 billion people, but the sheer degree of it-- he couldn't even see a glow on the horizon from any neighboring towns, let alone artificial lights that gave any indication that this was indeed the 21st century and not the 14th. The only sign that he hadn't gone through some sort of time-warp was the under-used path that lead to the lake that passed as a road in these parts of the country. This lake, or pond rather, since bodies of water never got that big this high up in the mountains, was obviously the sole destination of the road, as the track stopped abruptly as it approached the water's edge. His hosts-- he knew them only as Mr. Flowers and Ms. Faulkner --had practically dumped him here just a few hours before, telling him that this was to be the last part of his interview, and that if he did well enough this night he would most certainly be offered the position. It was obviously some kind of survival exercise: They hadn't even left him a blanket. So here he was, keeping himself warm by the small fire he'd been able to build using some dry sticks and the book of matches he'd been (Thank God!) carrying in his pocket. It was the end of May, and he knew that it would probably get cold enough to jeopardize his health before the dawning sun would herald in the heat of the day. Nathan got up to stretch his legs and get a better view of the area around him. It was well past sunset, but the full moon that had already risen high into the sky illuminated the area enough for him to see well enough to walk without stumbling through the brush and weeds. He could clearly see that he was in a small valley surrounded on three sides by steep, pine-covered ridges. As he stopped walking at the edge of the pond, he could see fish occasionally rising to snap a the mosquitos and other insects hovering above the surface of the clear water. It was really a beautiful place to which they'd brought him, clearly deep within the heart of the Preserve, he only wished he really knew what they expected of him. The whole circumstances behind him being here were hardly what one could call ordinary: It was the last semester of his senior year of college, and like most soon-to-be graduates, he had been very active soliciting himself to prospective employers. He had attended all the career fairs he could, and had probably given out well over a hundred copies of his resume. But as the end of the semester approached without hearing back about anything relating to his field of study, it was becoming obvious that a career in Wildlife Resources was perhaps thing of the past: There simply wasn't enough wildlife left for new people to become employed in the field. This morning, the Friday of the second-to-last week of school, he'd slept unusually late only to be awakened by his ringing telephone. Realizing how late for class he was, Nathan was almost out the door, zipping up his Levis, before he realized the phone was still ringing. He picked up the receiver and was about to tell the lady on the other end that he didn't have time to talk right now when he heard her say something about 'Foxley Wildlife Preserve.' There was a long pause. "Y-yes? What did you say?" Nathan stammered. "This is Ms. Faulkner from the Foxley Wildlife Preserve, may I please speak with Nathan Weaver?" "Oh! Um... I mean he's... er... That is, I'm right here." "Mr. Weaver, we've reviewed your candidacy and would like to schedule an interview with you regarding a position at the Preserve." Nathan could hardly believe his ears! Yet at the same time he struggled to recall when he'd heard of this organization, let alone given them a resume. "Really? Oh that's great! When would be a good time for us to..." Ms. Faulkner cut him off, "We can have a car at your door in five minutes." Again, Nathan was stunned. He looked at the clock, just realizing at that moment that he was missing a test in his Wetland Resource Management class. He looked down and saw his food-stained shirt and zipper still open. "Now!? But now's not really a good..." "Mr. Weaver, we are very pressed to fill the open position as soon as possible. I'm afraid if you can't meet now, we will have to look for another candidate." Nathan paused. This was certainly odd, but an opportunity like this? The way his job search was going, he'd be lucky to get a janitorial position at a city park. Whatever this position was, it had to be important, if they were so desperate. He looked at the clock again: Ah-- he was too late to make it to that test, anyway. "Ok. Five minutes. I'll be at the door." "Excellent, Mr. Weaver. Do not be late." And with that, she hung up. Nathan stood, still holding the phone to his ear, trying to decide whether he was awake or still dreaming. The phone conversation had taken less than a minute, perhaps he was so groggy that he had imagined it all? He pulled the phone away from his ear and stared at it contemplatively. His reverie was broken by the ringing of his doorbell. It had been less than thirty seconds since his conversation with Ms. Faulkner had ended, but that was far from his mind as he rushed-- stopping only to finish zipping up his Levis --to answer the door. It turned out that it was only a cab driver that knew as little about the 'Foxley Wildlife Preserve' as did Nathan. She said she'd been called by the city taxi dispatcher, and was to pick up one Nathan Weaver from such-and-such address, give him a small package, and drive him to the airport ASAP. The package turned out to be a round-trip plane ticket to some town Nathan had never heard about in Idaho. He arrived at the airport in just enough time to catch the plane. During the three-hour flight, Nathan was able to collect his thoughts and calm his nerves regarding the affair. He decided that he had, indeed, never heard of this Preserve before, but also that he wouldn't let that hinder him from seriously considering the position to which Ms. Faulkner had alluded. He wished he knew what the details of the position were, but figured that that would probably be discussed in the interview. It also occurred to him that he hadn't had a chance to inform his room-mate that he was going to an interview. He tried to use the air-phone to call, but for some reason it wouldn't accept his credit-card. Upon arriving, he self-consciously stepped off the plane to be immediately greeted by two individuals donning suits. She introduced herself as Ms. Faulkner, and her partner as Mr. Flowers. He hardly had a chance to say, "Hello, pleased to meet you," before the pair briskly escorted him off to a sport utility vehicle in the parking lot and began driving him to some unspecified location. In the car, he tried to strike up conversation with the two, asking questions about their backgrounds and the Preserve. Each took turns answering the questions, but all the answers were short and vague: It was clear they weren't interested in talking. "Look, I appreciate your hospitality and don't mean to be rude, but where exactly are we going?" "We're driving to the the main headquarters on the Preserve." "And this is where we're going to have this interview?" "Yes." "Oh-kay... Um... Is there any reason this interview couldn't have been conducted over the phone?" "Yes." "And that would be?" "Mr. Foxley prefers all interviews regarding positions at the Preserve be conducted on-site." "Mr. Foxley? Is that where the Preserve gets its name?" "Yes." "So he founded the Preserve?" "I'm not at liberty to say." Nathan was growing more and more frustrated with how difficult it was to pry anything useful from his hosts. He took a deep breath to calm himself, then carefully considered the wording of his next question: "I feel like you don't want to share much information with me. If this is the case, can you at least tell me why?" Ms. Faulkner raised an eyebrow as she peered at Nathan through the rear-view mirror. "Actually, we would like to-- and will --share a lot of information with you. But please understand that we have been directed to tell you as little as possible until we arrive at the headquarters and conduct the interview. Unfortunately, I can't tell you the reason for this secrecy yet, but I can tell you that most, if not all of your questions will be answered by either Mr. Foxley, Mr. Flowers or I after or during the interview." Nathan digested this. "Ok. Well, then is there anything you want to know about me?" At this, Ms. Faulkner smiled (Nathan had begun to wonder if she ever would!) "That will also be handled in the interview." Nathan nodded. That figured, as well. Instead of trying to pursue any further conversation, he resorted to watching the scenery rushing by outside the window. Gradually, lulled by the steady hum of the car's engine and gentle rocking as they wound their way along the narrow highway, Nathan fell asleep. He awoke as he was gently shaken by Mr. Flowers. They had arrived at what appeared to be little more than a quaint log cabin built on the side of small hill. There were two other vehicles parked in front of the building, both of which were large 4x4's equipped to handle the most forbidding of roads (and indeed looked as if they had). Upon entering the structure and passing through the door behind the security guard, it became immediately obvious that the 'cabin' was little more than a front to hide the real immensity of the building. It was at this point that Nathan began to seriously wonder what he'd gotten himself into. He also remembered that he still hadn't had a chance to inform any of his friends or relatives about this 'interview.' His hosts led him down a hallway to an elevator. Nathan could see at least ten floors on the button-panel before they went down a few floors and got off. They walked to the fifth unmarked door on the left side of the hallway and entered. Inside were already assembled a circular table with three chairs about it, two manila-folders in front of two of the chairs, and what appeared to be an intercom in the center of the table. Along the left side of the room was the obvious obligatory one-way mirror. The room was lit by soft fluorescent lighting. Mr. Flowers and Ms. Faulkner each took a seat at the chairs with the manila envelopes. After Nathan sat down, closing the door behind him, there were a few minutes' silence, save the shuffling of papers as Nathan's hosts examined the papers in the envelope. To Nathan's surprise, the interview began and proceeded as any normal job interview would: Among the papers that his interviewers had in their envelopes were his college transcripts and his resume. Mr. Flowers and Ms. Faulkner took each of these documents and went through them, asking Nathan about various points or classes he'd taken, allowing him to explain his understanding of Wildlife Resource Management as best he could. Thankfully, as this went on, Nathan felt himself relax. This was a welcome change from the robots he'd had to deal with earlier! His hosts seemed genuinely interested in what he had to say. Perhaps his fears about them had been misplaced... After a half-hour or so of going over the resume and transcripts, the questions began to grow more personal. They asked about his family and friends and what relationships he had had. They seemed particularly interested in his actions in a group, be it at a party with friends, or in professional situations with co-workers. At last, as the interviewers' papers began to run out, the conversation began to die down. Mr. Flowers asked, "Nathan, I feel like we've certainly gotten to know you and your strengths better. What would you say is your biggest weakness that could prevent you from fulfilling the position, should we offer it to you, here at the Preserve?" Nathan smiled and opened his mouth to speak.... And then he remembered where he was. Closing his mouth, he looked at the mirror. Then he looked at the sound-proof walls. Then at the intercom. Then at his hosts, who had both assumed unreadable stern expressions. "You know," he began, soberly, "I was about to say my biggest weakness is my lack of experience-- being a student fresh out of college, that usually is. But in this case, I think my biggest weakness is much different: With this position, I think my biggest weakness is not knowing what the position is." This elicited no response from either Mr. Flowers or Ms. Faulkner. "I mean, I somehow managed to sleep through both of my alarms before the test I should have attended this morning. I was woken up by your phone call, in which you tell me that you want to interview me for some secret 'position' I know I never applied for. Five minutes later, I'm on a cab to the airport. Fifteen minutes after that I'm on a plane flying half-way across the country without even a change of underwear, and I have no idea why or for what." Still, neither of them acknowledged any of Nathan's words. "And when I get here, you still won't tell me anything. Then you drive me across half of Idaho to the cabin that God forgot. Hell! I almost forgot that we're in the 4th basement level of some secret facility with who knows how many people watching and busily taking notes on the other side of that glass! You want to know what my weaknesses are? Apparently I'm very good at getting myself into very bad situations! I should have my head examined for even getting in that cab!" Mr. Flowers and Ms. Faulkner continued to stare. Nathan looked down for a moment, considering carefully what he would say next. "Ms. Faulkner, Mr. Flowers, I'm afraid I'm going to have to cut this interview short. Based on what I've seen and how I've been treated, I am not interested in the position you are offering, whatever it may be. I would appreciate it if you would drive me back to the airport as soon as possible." This was followed by nearly twenty seconds of tense staring. At last, it was the intercom that broke the silence. A rough voice said, "Congratulations, Mr. Weaver. It took you 43 minutes to uncover our ruse. Had you taken much longer, I'm afraid I would have been completely wrong about you." Copyright © 2000 by SR Foxley. All rights reserved. Please contact the author if you have questions regarding the publication of this document.
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