Gregg Hurwitz - The Program

TD leaned back, laughing, his knees bending. "Rape? That's a good response." Again he began his hypnotic pacing, the steady, powerful movement of a caged tiger. "But take away societal issues around sexuality. Rape involves coercion – like lots of things in life. Getting pulled over and being given a ticket for an expired registration, for example. Paying our taxes. Submitting to having our shoes examined by idiots at airport security checkpoints. And yet we don't believe that those coercions are inherently evil. If you believe that rape involves some sort of objective, universal evil, you've been brainwashed. Society taught you rape was essentially evil. Society made you feel guilty if you entertained a rape fantasy. Society made rape fundamentally traumatic. And we bought it. Now, I'm not an uncaring guy. Nor a rapist. I'm not saying we don't experience negative emotions. After all, who among us hasn't felt sad? Who among us hasn't felt depressed? Beat up? Kicked around? Put down? Violated? We all have, haven't we?"

Shouts and exclamations. The lights dimmed until just TD remained illuminated. The heat was blowing again, mixing with the breath and perspiration of three hundred close-quarter adults to create a soupy humidity. Tim wiped the sweat fog from his fake glasses.

TD spread his arms. "You. Don't. Have. To. Feel. That. Anymore."

Somewhere in the darkness, a woman actually sobbed.

"A human being is the most sophisticated thinking machine ever devised. You work like a computer, but you know what? You're a lot better than a computer. You're the only computer able to run itself. Able to unplug itself and move itself around. The question is: Are you going to run yourself, or are you going to let others run you? The Program's not about how you feel. It's about how you think. Your Old Programming unconsciously controls how you think. Your Old Programming is everything your family and society downloaded into you that you've never considered critically. Your Old Programming is the part of your past that's holding you back. We're gonna take that, trash it, and teach you something that sets you free. You don't have to empty the trash. You can always recover lines of Old Programming code and use them again – they're always there. But we're gonna overwrite your Old Programming with The Program. And that, folks, is gonna set you free."

The second and third commandments.

Beside Tim, Joanne fumbled out an inhaler and sucked twice on it. Her eyes glimmered with unshed tears. Tim glanced down the row -blank, neutral expressions, slack jaws, retarded blink and swallow reflexes.

"The Program works for everyone who's ever committed to it. Every single person. So unless you think you know better than everyone in this entire room, you'd better commit like you've never committed before. If it feels like it isn't working, it's only because you're not working hard enough. If you start having doubts, that's just your Old Programming talking. Maximize your growth by minimizing your negativity."

The Program Code was up to four tenets.

"The world around us has changed. Terrorists fly airplanes full of people into buildings. The news informs us daily as to what our level of terror should be. We march into war constantly. Al Qaeda, Afghanistan. Iraq. Pension funds suddenly evaporate. Everywhere we turn there's a new problem. SARS. Global warming. Anthrax. We're scared. We're confused. Well, no more. Say it with me."

"No more!" The chant filled the ballroom. Tim's eyeballs felt as though they were vibrating in his skull.

"Will we allow ourselves to feel shitty? No way!"

"No way!"

"Forget common sense. Do you know what common sense is? An excuse for not thinking. This is the new way to think. We're doing it right here in this room. The more you follow The Program, the more you are free."

People were nodding along as if the doors to life's deepest meaning were flying open.

"It's time for our next activity. It's Going to a Party, and it lasts ten minutes. Your job is simply to get up and talk to one another. Do you think you can manage that?"

Happy-go-lucky smiles plastered on their faces, the Pros bounced up and began introducing themselves to Neos from other groups. Slowly the Neos joined in, mimicking the shiny smiles.

Onstage, TD let out a little laugh. "Who says The Program's all hard work? We have fun here, too." He pulled off his mike and hopped down from the dais, conferring with Stanley John and Janie, then laying the word on a couple of awed Neos. The others milled around, talking and laughing as cold air blew down on them. Tim passed unnoticed by Julie, who perkily badgered a shy girl, "Everyone else is having fun."

He sneaked a glance at his watch, timing the event. A guy with narrow features and a ponytail approached, sticking out his hand and jutting out his chest so Tim could read his name tag. "Hey there. I'm Jason Struthers of Struthers Auto Mall."

"Tom Altman. Unemployed entrepreneur."

"Huh? Isn't that an oxymoron?"

Tim sidled toward Prospace. "My company was bought out in January."

Jason fidgeted with his wedding band. "What kind of stuff did you do?"

"I can't really talk about it. Defense work. Nondisclosure agreements, classified projects. You know."

The guy nodded as if he enountered similar security protocol on the auto-mall circuit.

A redhead with bulging eyes and an excited smile stole Jason's attention, and Tim took advantage of the distraction to get away. Turning an occasional eye to Skate and Randall, he moved toward the partition gap through bunches of people chattering idiotically.

He peered through the curtain into Prospace. A computer monitor threw enough light to reveal five workers, Leah not among them.

He turned, and she was standing right beside him. "Hi." She extended her hand with mock formality. "I'm Leah."

Up close it was all the more clear that none of Will's hefty genes were in the mix. She'd yet to grow into her shoulders. Her tank top revealed the edge of a hidden rash. Her angled front tooth barely split her closed lips, lending them the faintest suggestion of a pout.

Her hand felt soft and fragile. She wore her hair pulled back in a clip, but it spilled from the sides, arcing forward in brown strokes around a slender neck. Her eyes dipped to his name tag. "You having a good time, Tom?"

She seemed kind and engaging; Tim had to remind himself that these were the traits she'd been conditioned to exhibit. "It's pretty fun. A little out there, though."

The sincerity vanished from her eyes and with it her allure. "I was put off, too, at first, but I learned to keep an open mind. Constant questioning will only take you out of your process. Don't be afraid to let go."

"I'm doing my best."

The life came back into her face. "I noticed you earlier."

"I noticed you, too. You deal with the equipment back there, huh?" Tim used the question as an excuse to brush aside the curtain for a protracted look. In the far back corner, he detected a faint green EMERGENCY EXIT sign – the iron staircase that led to the rear parking lot. Five Pros were positioned between them and it; TD had clearly set up the colloquium to guard against the abduction of Pros. "Pretty mechanically savvy to run a show like this."

She blushed a little, her head dipping. "Oh, I don't run the whole thing. I just handle lights and sound."

"Still, I'd bet that takes some skill. Last time I touched a lighting panel was at a high-school buddy's garage concert. I electrocuted his cat."

A giggle escaped her. "Oh, this is nothing. I used to -" She stopped, her features going blank.

"What's wrong?"

"Okay," TD boomed. "Our ten minutes are up. Now we're playing Going to a Zombie Party. You can talk all you want, but you can't use intonation. And you can't make any gestures with your hands, arms, or bodies. This activity will last ten minutes, too."