Gregg Hurwitz - The Program

"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

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 himself 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.