Gregg Hurwitz - The Program

Janie laughed and ruffled Leah's hair. "Not at all, babe. You don't feed a newborn baby hunks of steak, do you? You feed them formula – something they can digest. The Neos are new to true growth. The last thing we want to do – for their own protection – is give them more than they can chew. Get it?"

"I guess." Janie's embrace felt warm and comforting. "Thanks, Janie."

"You should always come to me with your doubts. That's my job."

The doorknob squeaked as it turned, then Randall was inside. "TD wants you."

"Well, let me just throw on a sweater," Janie said.

"No, you."

Janie's smile hardened on her face. "I'll get her ready."

As Janie picked out her sweater, Leah palmed the spoon she'd hidden in the back of the drawer and slid it into her waistband. "I have to go to the bathroom."

"Hurry," Randall said.

She scurried down the hall. After brushing her teeth, she smoothed water into her hair but couldn't make her cowlick lie down. It wasn't until she sat shivering on the cold toilet with the stall door closed that she withdrew the spoon. She stared at her blurred, forbidden reflection in the curved metal, the first time she'd encountered it in weeks save for the fugitive peek she'd stolen from a mirrored wall at the Radisson. The poorness of the image helped her justify her right to it.

Her mind returned to Tom Altman. His handshake – cool and assured. What lies his attractiveness had concealed. His betrayal. Producer Henning at work behind the scenes.

But another thought loitered at the edge of her perception: That a man like Tom would come after her meant – possibly – that she'd done something to warrant concern. He seemed to have integrity. And yet how could he be so misguided about The Program as to want to kidnap her from it?

That she carried the secret of him through a place where even thoughts were prohibited felt like intimacy.

She jumped when the door banged open, and then Randall's wide boots appeared in the space beneath the stall. "What's taking so long?"

She set the spoon on the tile behind the pipes and flushed the toilet. "I'm ready."

Randall watched her closely when she exited, his eyes dropping to her nipples, visible beneath her thin cotton T-shirt. He pushed her sweater against her roughly. "Let's go."

"What about breakfast?"

"You're not eating breakfast today."

Outside, Cottage Circle sat dormant. A red-tailed hawk circled lazily overhead. As usual, Randall walked ahead of her down the trail. Flecks of lint from her sweater clung to his forearm hair.

TD was crouching near one of the wagon wheels lining his walk. He rose and stood motionless and alert, awaiting her, one hand turned inward as if cupping a drink. "My, you do like your sleep, don't you? Lorraine has been up for nearly two hours already. She cleaned the entire cottage."

Leah's rash felt dry and cracked in the cool air. "I'm sorry. I'm…"

"You're what? Tired?" He wore one of his hand-tailored oxfords, a midnight blue, the yellow stitching of his initials visible on a cuff. The unbuttoned shirt rippled in the breeze, revealing the slender plates of muscle that formed the oval of his stomach.

She nodded, face reddening. It occurred to her that she'd never seen TD so much as yawn.

The edge of something dark and shiny poked up above TD's hand, then withdrew. His eyes stayed on her. "You approach life from weakness, Leah. The Program can only do so much for you if you're not willing to work."

"I'm trying so hard. It seems like I go to bed late and get up early, but I'm not making headway. My body still feels weak."

Randall tapped a hand against his bald dome, and it made a faint slapping noise.

"This chronic-fatigue routine" – TD gestured with his cupped hand – "sounds like something you might have picked up in your Pepperdine days. Limitations you observed in others and took on unconsciously as your own." A scorpion scuttled into view, cresting the wall of his fingers. TD extended his hand as if presenting a ladybug, and Leah skipped back, startled.

TD's laughter assailed her. "The perceived world is just an illusion. Phenomena filtered through your five weak senses. The true world couldn't be perceived even if you had twenty senses. Or fifty. If you think you know how your body feels, if you think you know whether you're tired, if you think you know anything, that's just your ego succumbing to society's deceptions. You can't know anything. There's no such thing as anything. You are what you think. You fear what you decide to fear."

He twisted his hand sharply and clenched. His expression didn't alter. Not a trace of concern flickered through his eyes.

She finally averted her gaze. She struggled to make sense of what he'd been saying. "I guess I still don't have the control I want."

"This constant thinking about yourself, it must get exhausting. Maybe if you focused less on narcissistic you and more on your tasks, you'd find your Old Programming dissipating at a faster rate. It seems to work for other people."

Her face burned with shame. She'd been working protracted shifts every day for the Luddites in Expansion, troubleshooting the IBM relics that had been left behind in the adolescent facility's computer lab. She kept the network up and running so the team could continue cranking out business plans, white papers, valuation models. That she couldn't handle more was a sure sign of her glaring inadequacies.

"I'm going to give you an opportunity to help you out of your rut," TD continued. "Now that Chris is no longer with us, you'll take over the job of Webmaster. You'll work on my computer."

She almost couldn't believe it. "In the mod?"

"I expect the site to be ready to launch by the Next Generation Colloquium." She started to respond, but he held up his hand. "No excuses, just get it done. And remember, the mod is TD's own private space. You're a visitor there. Behave like a courteous one."

"Of course." But TD had already disappeared, the cottage door clanging behind him.

Randall and Leah crossed the small clearing. As they passed the shed, she heard the scrabbling of claws on wood, then Skate's voice soothing his dogs. The door, skewed on its hinges, swayed with the breeze, revealing a sliver of interior. Skate sat naked on a sagging cot, both dogs bellied down before him, their tongues working across the tops of his toes.

Randall busied himself with the myriad locks securing the modular. Finally he swung the door open, holding it for Leah. She entered the dusty room and let out a yelp. Wearing a sharp suit, TD stood inside, his arms crossed. She'd just realized that the figure was a life-size cardboard stand when the door closed swiftly behind her. She heard the scraping of keys as Randall locked her inside.

She surveyed her surroundings, noting the tiny kitchen and bathroom door. Six file cabinets lined the far wall, each housing five drawers and sporting shiny locks. A Post-it affixed to a knee-high stack of papers read Randall, File by Monday. Pushpins dotted a wall-mounted map.

A broad desk facing the window supported the computer system. A QuickCam was mounted atop the glowing monitor for video feed. Beside the mouse pad, files rose from a tray labeled To Be Scanned and Shredded. The unvented air smelled musky, like dried tea bags and standing water. A skylight brightened the room considerably.

Lidless boxes of paraphernalia and workshop materials littered the floor: Get with The Program guidebooks, Living in the Now pamphlets, colloquium registration forms, stencil-labeled binders proclaiming THE AMBASSADOR'S USER MANUAL. Some of the materials she'd seen being generated in rough form up in the computer lab, but she was stunned by how slick and professional they'd returned from the printer.

She sat in the desk chair. The entry password had already been typed, appearing as*****. She clicked "accept," and a note popped up on the screen, providing a list of the new features to be added. Take photos of all materials to be offered for purchase. Import photos into online shop. Set up Web site colloquium registration. Name database should include Social Security numbers. Add hyperlinks for each new city.