``Self-Betrayal" (no self-deception; conscious version)

Dave Striver loved the university -- at least most of the time. Every now and then, without warning, a wave of $\ldots$ well, it was true: a wave of hatred rose up and flowed like molten blood through every cell in his body. This hatred would be directed at the ghostly gatekeepers. But most of the time Striver loved -- the ivy-covered clocktowers, the ancient and sturdy brick, and the sun-splashed verdant greens and eager youth who learned alongside him. He also loved the fact that the university is free of the stark unforgiving trials of the business world -- only this isn't a fact: academia has its own tests, and some are as merciless as any in the marketplace. A prime example is the dissertation defense: to earn the PhD, to become a doctor, one must pass an oral examination on one's dissertation.

Dave wanted desperately to be a doctor. He had been working toward this end through six years of graduate school. In the end, he needed the signatures of three people on the first page of his dissertation, the priceless inscriptions which, together, would certify that he had passed his defense. One of the signatures had to come from Professor Hart.

Well before the defense, Striver gave Hart a penultimate copy of his thesis. Hart read it and told Striver that it was absolutely first-rate, and that he would gladly sign it at the defense. They shook hands in Hart's book-lined office. Hart's's eyes were bright and trustful, and his bearing paternal.

``See you at 3 p.m. on the tenth, then, Dave!" Hart said.

At the defense, Dave eloquently summarized Chapter 3 of his dissertation. His plan had been to do the same for Chapter 4, and then wrap things up, but now he wasn't sure. The pallid faces before him seemed suddenly nauseating. What was he doing?

One of these pallid automata had an arm raised.

``What?" Striver snapped.

Striver watched ghosts look at each other. A pause.

Then Professor Teer spoke: ``I'm puzzled as to why you prefer not to use the well-known alpha-beta minimax algorithm for your search?"

Why had he thought so earnestly about inane questions like this in the past? Stiver said nothing. His nausea grew. Contempt, fiery and uncontrollable, rose up.

``Dave?" Professor Hart prodded, softly.

God, they were pitiful. Pitiful, pallid, and puny.

``Dave, did you hear the question?"

Later, Striver sat alone in his appartment. What in God's name had he done?