The Program tr-2

by Gregg Hurwitz

  "I vote him," Charlena called out. She covered her mouth comically when she remembered she was supposed to be drowned, but the others were already chorusing their approval.

  "He's a strong leader. He tells it like it is."

  "I want him on the lifeboat."

  A plastic smile spread itself across Sean's face, but it did not touch his eyes. "Very good, Tim. You made it aboard."

  Tim eased himself back down to the carpet, favoring his right leg. The others pounded his back and congratulated him.

  The roaming Pro whom Sean had signaled finally extricated himself from Dray's group and ran over, huffy and red-faced. "Group Five needs an extra person. I need to switch you -"

  "No thanks," Tim said. "I experience this group as growth-oriented, so I'm staying here."

  Sean cleared his throat. "I think maybe you could benefit from -"

  "Please, Sean. No negativity." Tim smiled inanely. "We're all happy with me staying, right guys?"

  Rousing applause overpowered Sean's objections. He finally nodded curtly at the other Pro, who shrugged and moved on.

  The chanting monks blared, and they all scrambled for their seats in the darkness. Dray was breathing hard, exhilarated. "I'm taking that blond bitch apart."

  The trumpets sang, and then TD glowed into sight onstage like a Vegas performer.

  "My name is Terrance Donald Betters, and I'm here to talk to you about your life."

  The Pros shouted, "Hi, TD!"

  "Our world, our society, is filled with victims. This is America. Nothing bad's supposed to happen to us. Someone else is always responsible. Someone else. Granny dies of old age? Sue the hospital. Twist your ankle in a pothole? Sue the city. Get hurt fucking off on the job? Worker's Comp. Economy tanking? Go to war. Get pregnant? Have an abortion. Decide to carry it to term? Give it up for adoption or, hey, just go on welfare. Last year a burglar fell through a skylight on a building that wasn't to code, sued the company he was robbing, and won!"

  Neos began picking up the Pros' cues, nodding and shouting agreement.

  "Unemployed? Blame affirmative action. Poor and black? The man's holding you down. We can't possibly handle our own messes. We can't possibly forge our own solutions. People have no accountability, and it's sickening."

  "Excuse me!" Reggie was standing on his chair, waving his arms.

  TD stopped, jaw sagging.

  "Why are you changing the temperature in the room?"

  TD's eyes burned with a cold rage. He signaled for the lights to come up. "Okay. You've just stopped the entire colloquium." He folded his arms. "Are you happy with yourself? You agreed to no interruptions."

  "Can you answer my question, please?"

  "Hey, everybody, does it sound like this guy is Off Program? How do you feel about his ruining your -"

  "Answer the fucking question!" Dray shouted.

  TD's head pulled back. "Of course we're not altering the temperature."

  "I brought a thermometer!" Reggie shouted, withdrawing it from his jacket pocket. "The temperature in this room has gone from seventy-four degrees to ninety-one degrees to -"

  TD shaded his eyes, glaring at Reggie. "I know you. You're one of The Program's few rejects." One of the Protectors by the stage caught TD's eye. TD gave a tiny head shake and turned back to the crowd. "Now and then, people can't Get with The Program. They come apart the minute they're held accountable for -"

  "I'd like to point out that rapidly altering the temperature is an unethical mind-control tactic!" Reggie shouted.

  "He's a loser!" one of the Pros shouted.

  And another – "Sit down and shut up! We want to get back to Growth."

  "I think you've heard your answer, my disgruntled friend," TD said. "People are here to grow, not to complain. Keep your negativity to yourself so we can move on. What do you say, folks? What do you say?"

  The Pros picked up TD's clapping, and some Neos joined in.

  The lights faded again. TD adjusted his head mike, walking across the front of the dais, his profile cut from the rising footlights. "You think in the old days people had Claritin for allergies, antibiotics for infections, Band-Aids for scrapes? Hell no. In the old days, you got an infected tooth, you knocked it out with a rock. We've medicated ourselves into fragility."

  Tim shouted out, "Why don't you disclose to everyone that you've had three felony convictions?"

  Pros from all around the horseshoe shushed Tim severely. TD paused, glaring out at the darkness, then chose to continue. It took him a few moments to find his cadence again. "You are all extremely privileged to be attending the original Next Generation Colloquium. Today is the template for The Program's future, the launching pad for the biggest movement society has ever seen. From here we reach out to other states, to thousands of new people. And you should all be proud that you're part of this. You stepped up to the plate. You decided to seize control of your reality."

  "So why are you altering our reality by putting relaxation supplements and manufactured hormones in the punch and cookies?" Dray yelled.

  About twenty blue-shirts screamed at her to shut up.

  Near the back someone shouted out, "What'd you put in our food?"

  TD's face had taken on a bit of a shine in the lights. A single bead of sweat emerged from one of his sideburns. "Listen" – a pronounced swallow – "you can follow The Program and maximize…or you can stay mired in your Old Programming and be victimized." He strolled to stage right, his step resuming its bounce. "I can see that this group is all knotted up with control. You've got to let go if you want to grow. Now I'd like everybody to lie on the floor. That's it." On cue the heat began to blow. "We're going to do a guided meditation that will help us visualize our -"

  Bederman rose abruptly. "Are you licensed to administer hypnosis in the state of California?"

  Bederman's group leader crawled over and tugged at his pants to get him to lie down, but he slapped away her hand.

  TD's jaw flexed. "We're not practicing hypnosis here. We're simply meditating."

  Bederman cupped his hands around his mouth, projecting his voice. "Guided meditation is a form of hypnosis. Everyone in this room should know that."

  TD's mike-enhanced voice overpowered Bederman's protests. "Your scare tactics aren't working on anyone here. All these people came for a reason. They've chosen growth. They can make their own decisions without your interference." The applause was scarcer this time around. "Now we're going to focus on our breathing and take a visit to our childhood."

  "I've already been to my childhood!" the old guy in Tim's group shouted out, and a handful of people laughed.

  TD's voice grew strained. "Clear your mind. This is your time."

  "I'm not comfortable doing this," Tim shouted. "I'd like to refrain from this portion of The Program. Anyone who's not comfortable should know -"

  "Lights up!" TD screamed. "Him. Out. He's obstructing all progress."

  The muscle-bound thug whom Tim had brushed aside by the service elevator appeared at Tim's side. He gripped Tim's arms and hoisted him up, but Tim yanked himself free. The Protector who'd shot TD the inquisitive look earlier jogged over from the stage.

  The others in Tim's group clamored around them. "Leave him alone."

  The guy grabbed Tim again, and a group mobbed around them, moving with a sluggish, rhythmic energy.

  "Get that victim out of here, Deano!" Sean yelled.

  The air was damp and palpable, tinged with the smell of sweat and activated deodorant. Others were shouting from all around the horseshoe.

  "This is bullshit! He's the only one telling the truth around here."

  "He's Off Program. He's interrupting my process!"

  TD's voice boomed through the speakers. "Sorry, my friend, but this is a victim-free zone. You'll have to take your negativity elsewhere."

  Deano seized Tim, and Tim struck him once, hard, a right cross on the jaw. Deano staggered back and sat down on the floor.

  Silence fell across Hearspace.
The other Protector shook Dray's hands off his arm. Deano rubbed his jaw in disbelief.

  Tim turned around to face TD across the crowd. "Rule Number Two: No leaving. No matter what."

  TD seemed to weigh the costs of a physical display, his eyes taking note of the Protectors at their various posts. He fluttered a hand, and the lights went out. A brilliant flare lit him angelically onstage; a second, smaller spotlight fell over Tim. The lighting seemed more mechanical – Leah had plenty of reasons to be distracted right now.

  "Since it's so important that your needs and fears are addressed, even to the detriment of all these people, I'm gonna give you the attention you crave." TD snapped his fingers, and, after a brief delay, a fall of light illuminated the row of empty chairs on the dais behind him. "I have a seat reserved for you right here on Victim Row. And guess what, Mr. Negativity? You get to be the only one up here. You can have all my attention so these people can see what a victim is truly made of, and then maybe, just maybe, we can move ahead with The Program. How does that sound? What's the matter? More objections?"

  Tim squinted from his cylinder of light, absorbing the glowing chairs onstage, the silent rage emanating from dozens of unseen lackeys, the breath-held anticipation of the crowd.

  "Do yourself a favor and sit back down." TD snickered and turned away. "Let's get on with The Program."

  Tim's footsteps echoed off the ceiling. The spotlight followed him to the dais. The air breezing around him grew so cold his breath misted.

  TD swiveled, watching Tim's approach over a shoulder.

  Tim took the dais, his spotlight dissolving in the brightness, and sat in the middle chair. TD circled him appraisingly, mouth brushing the mike, not yet taking in Tim's face.

  "Okay, so here's the guy who has it all figured out. Let's hear why you don't want to change."

  "I'm not comfortable with -"

  "You're not comfortable, huh? No one ever grew by being comfortable. The aim of The Program isn't to make you feel comfortable. It's to make you grow. It's to make you -" TD touched his fingertips to his ear.

  "Get with The Program." It seemed mostly the Pros responded.

  "What's he got to do?"

  A more hearty chorus this time. "Get with The Program."

  "Can I finish speaking, please?"

  "No one's stopping you, champ, despite your whining and complaining that you're being interrupted." Still facing the crowd, TD exaggerated a pout, his lower lip pushing out, curling the soul patch. "Maybe it's hard for you to speak because everyone around you is tired of your having all the answers. Maybe you need to shut up and learn something for once instead of complaining. Instead of having things your way."

  "I'm not comfortable with how you're treating everyone in this room. We've been lied to, we've been abused -"

  Again the mike overpowered Tim's voice. "If you don't want to change, go back to your miserable life. We made that clear to everyone at the outset. We were right up front with it. No small type. If you think you have everything figured out, obviously you've got nothing left to learn. The Program works for those who commit to it. Go on. If your life is perfect, walk on out of here."

  "So I have to be perfect to object to how I'm being treated?" Tim's voice was growing hoarse competing with the mike.

  "No. You just have to keep your word. Sean, where's his Program? I'd like to see his Program."

  In the shadows Sean was waving his arms before his chest, trying to warn TD off.

  "What do you say, folks?" TD boomed. "Should we find out what kind of know-it-all we have here on Victim Row?"

  Sean's objections were lost in the roar of the crowd.

  "I said bring me his Program. Now."

  Sean trudged forward, bearing the form. TD hurried to the edge of the dais and snatched it from Sean's reluctant hand. "So" – a glance to the sheet – "Tim. Is this how you live your life? Making promises and breaking them? Going back on your word? No wonder you're unhappy. It says right here…"

  TD raised the paper, tapping it knowingly with a bent finger. The Pros clamored happily. He read, " 'My Program is: I participate in activities that give me…' "

  His lips moved soundlessly as he scanned ahead, his face reddening.

  His eyes flicked up, cold with fury.

  Reggie's voice from the darkness. "What's it say?"

  Then Dray's – "Read it!"

  Discordant shouts broke from the audience, voices Tim didn't recognize. The crowd was divided, threatening to slip entirely from TD's grasp.

  TD seemed to cast about for his next aphorism, and then a smile slid across his face, covering the uncertainty. "You have a problem with authority. Especially when it's right."

  "No, you have a problem with authority because you're abusing yours."

  "I bet people hate being around you." TD drew near to Tim, looking him squarely in the face for the first time, noting the bruises. "You look beat up. I bet you piss people off. I bet the people in your world get so frustrated with you that they have to resort to physical -"

  TD's pupils contracted, sharp with sudden recognition. A gasp jerked his chest.

  Tim rose and twisted the mike from TD's head. TD was too stunned to react.

  The Protectors bridled uncomfortably, waiting for a signal from

  TD.

  Tim held the black bud before his mouth. "I'm here because I believe that this is a dangerous, unethical group that utilizes methods of mind control. I was told by my group leader that The Program was honest, forthcoming, and nonabusive. Well, they went Off Program with me, so I'm going Off Program with them and walking away."

  A few people shouted out, then a few more, the noise growing rapidly until the ballroom seemed to vibrate with protests.

  "What'd they put in our food?"

  "Will someone please tell me why we have to be here for twenty-three hours?"

  "Turn the lights on! Turn the goddamned lights on right now!"

  Tim's voice boomed through the mike. "Turn on the lights, please."

  Neos and Pros alike squinted in the sudden brightness like cavemen emerging into daylight. Most of the Pros looked rattled, even worse than the Neos.

  All hell had broken loose in the auditorium.

  "I want my money back."

  "It's fucking hot in here!"

  "What the hell kind of scam is this anyway?"

  Tim dropped the mike at TD's feet.

  TD gathered his arrogance about him like armor. "You think you've won something here?" He gestured at the pandemonium below. "A hiccup. I can replenish my human resources with two weeks and a soapbox. And when I do, you'll be sorry you ever tangled with me."

  Tim leaned in until he could see the light freckles scattered across TD's face. "We're not done yet."

  The audience had swept away the thugs guarding the exits. The Protectors by the stage were engaged in crowd control, but two at the Prospace entrance stood firm, though they looked eager to join the fray.

  Tim rode a rush of people away from the stage. Dray and Janie were up in each other's faces, yelling like a baseball coach and an umpire squaring off over a bad call. Dray spotted Tim coming and peeled out toward Prospace.

  She reached the Protectors before Tim, feigning panic. "A big fight just broke out on the landing!" she shouted over the din.

  Both guys looked for TD, but he'd vanished into a mob of blue-shirts at the foot of the stage.

  Bederman arrived, winded. "The Pros at the check-in desk sent me to get help. A brawl just broke out."

  The Protectors forged off through the scattering crowd.

  Tim shoved through the curtain into Prospace. Six blue-shirts were furiously packing up. Facing away, Leah was bent over the sound board, desperately working the dials, her hand covering her earpiece to try to hear what was going on. Tim called out once, his voice lost in the commotion, then he grabbed her shoulder and spun her, her hair flying and settling around the wrong face.

  Shanna.

  "Where's -" He caught himse
lf in time, then peered around.

  No sign of Leah – that explained the bad lighting during the theatrics. Had she been caught searching for evidence? Was she dead? Had she changed her mind?

  Shanna looked at him, squinting to see through the disguise. "Tom?"

  Dray and Reggie fanned out, shoving off approaching Pros and checking behind the crates and wardrobes. Bederman shot out the emergency exit but came back shaking his head.

  Dray said loudly, "TD's not back here."

  Tim picked up the protective charade. "We'll get him in the lobby."

  They stormed out. Sweat trickled down Tim's sides as they crossed the ballroom, stepping out onto the landing. Demanding their money back, furious participants mobbed the five frazzled blue-shirts working the cash boxes.

  Janie was dressing down one of the Protectors for manhandling a Neo. "We can't afford that kind of behavior, especially now."

  Lorraine and a cluster of group leaders sat shocked by the elevators, weeping as if someone had pulled into their hamlet on a Harley and told them God was dead.

  "It's not possible," she murmured. "It's not possible."

  Tim and Dray spilled down the stairs with the stream of deserters. Outside, Pros milled around, lost but seeking contact, the bizarre scene like the parking-lot prelude to an AA meeting. Blue polos rained down like graduation caps. Wendy tugged hers off and flung it, hopping up and down in her undershirt with a few other Pros.

  Bederman and Reggie caught up to Tim and Dray, and they circled to the rear lot and climbed into the Blazer. Janie, Sean, and a few diehards were shouting for the Pros to get ready to leave, but the two Program buses remained largely empty.

  Tim fumbled Dray's phone out of the glove box – she'd wisely left it behind – and dialed Will's number.

  "Where the hell have you been?" Will greeted him. "I left you twenty fucking messages."