Several others chimed in. "She's Off Program."
"I think she's afraid to stand up for herself like she said!"
Her flushed cheeks quivered. She opened her mouth and emitted a tentative yelp.
"You call that a yell?" Stanley John was standing over her now, screaming. "Get out of your Old Programming. Let's hear you yell. Let's hear you stand up for yourself."
She was shaking, eyes welling. The noise level rocketed around them as people in the other groups shouted and screamed.
"Look at you. A grown woman, you can't even open your mouth and make a noise. How weak. You're useless."
The ploy – boot camp gone self-help – might have been offensive were it not so transparent.
Joanne tried to scream, but it came out a hoarse gasp.
"We're all sitting around waiting for Joanne to scream so we can progress with our growth. Everyone waits for Joanne; is that how it is in your world? Everyone waits -"
Joanne leaned forward and screamed with all her might, arms shoved stiffly behind her. She sucked in air and bellowed again, screaming until she nearly hyperventilated. Stanley John was clapping, and the others joined in. Following his example, they administered the quaking woman full body hugs. Her top, now drenched with panic sweat, felt clammy beneath Tim's arms.
Her shoulders sagged with relief. "I've never done anything like this before. This is amazing. I feel all tingly."
"This is lame," Ben said.
Shelly turned a smiling plea in his direction. "Don't be so negative."
Stanley John chimed in with his beloved standby: "You're interfering with Joanne's experience. And everyone else's."
Ben looked away uncomfortably, no doubt weighing the costs of initiating his Old Programming. "I'm just saying this ain't my cup of tea. Especially not for five hundred bucks."
Janie, who'd been prowling the group perimeters, stepped in. "Group Seven is one man short. Anyone here who can go?"
"Seven's a great group, Ben," Stanley John said. "Why don't you join them?"
Before Ben could answer, Janie whisked him off, threading herself around his arm like an adoring date. Tim watched them make their way back to Skate's province near the door, where Janie introduced Ben to a cluster of other seemingly displeased customers – a dissenters quarantine. Skate nodded into the radio pressed to his ear, as if it picked up motion.
Becoming a behavior problem clearly wouldn't buy Tim a backstage pass and get him near Leah; for the time being, acquiescence was the only option.
Now that Joanne had broken the ice, Shelly carried out the exercise with a minimum of resistance, and Ray followed suit. When his turn came, Tim allowed Tom Altman to be briefly berated for holding back. Stanley John poked a flat hand into his chest where it met the shoulder. "You don't have your money to hide behind now, Tom. You have to yell just like everyone else."
The others chimed in with impressive vigor, Joanne the most aggressive in her exhortation. "Reject your Old Programming. You're being weak."
When Tom was finally able to let loose a satisfying yell, the praise was effusive. After being smashed in a sweaty group hug, Tim realized that the temperature had suddenly plummeted. The oscillation made him light-headed, and he felt his first flash of alarm – two hours' sleep and an empty stomach might not have been the wisest preparation for what was proving to be a marathon.
The lights suddenly dimmed, Enya pouring through the speakers. At once everyone sprang into action, people scrambling back to Hearspace and finding their seats. With the synthetic arpeggios and blasts of refrigeration, the space had taken on a certain unreality.
Tim noticed Group Seven being ushered out during the distraction – so much for the "no leaving" rule. He detoured by the waitstaff entrance and picked up Janie's calling the bald door guard "Randall."
The Pros stalked the center of the horseshoe, physically steering stragglers to their seats and yelling for silence. The people in the group adjacent to Tim's were talking and laughing. Stanley John pulled the leader aside. "If you keep choosing incompetence, you might need a visit to Victim Row."
The Pro blanched, then turned and chastised her charges with renewed energy.
The lights went out completely. Pants and gasps filled the perfect darkness. Despite his weariness, Tim debated making a run for Prospace, but he knew that his chair would be glaringly empty when the lights came up. Even if he could locate Leah, he was no longer sure what to do with her.
Three trumpet blasts scaled octaves to form the opening bars of Thus Spake Zarathustra, signaling the next leg of the space odyssey. Diffuse yellow light bathed the dais. A slender man stood in the center, head bowed. A voice boomed through the speakers. "In The Program there are no victims." He raised his head, the floating black egg of the mike visible just off his left cheek. A tiny rectangle of hair glistened high on his chin – his face was youthful and smooth, his age indeterminable. "There are no excuses. You create your own reality, and you live inside it. You can follow The Program and maximize…or you can stay mired in your Old Programming and be victimized. Those are the choices – the only choices."
The chandeliers eased up a notch, the room taking on the dimmest edge of dusk. Tim peered at the digital watch face he'd hidden in his pocket – 8:03. Reggie's advice to mind the time had been crucial; with all the environmental manipulation in the ballroom, Tim needed to root himself in an external reality.
The participants gazed at the Teacher with adoration, all focus and veneration. Looking around, Tim couldn't help but feel as though he'd stepped into a dream. The Teacher began pacing the stage, and the white ovals of the faces pivoted back and forth, radar dishes keying to the same frequency.
"My name is Terrance Donald Betters."
The voices of the sixty or so Pros rose together. "Hi, TD."
"I've spent years and years and literally hundreds of thousands of dollars developing The Program. I do not exaggerate when I tell you it's going to change the world. It's a revolution. And guess what? You're ahead of the curve. You're joining in already, gaining access to The Program's Source Code. You're here to change your lives. And that change begins now." He stopped, breathing hard, looking out at the horseshoe's embrace. "Take sole responsibility for your life. You alone cause all outcomes."
Program Precept One was greeted by murmurs of wonderment.
"Your experience is your reality. You control everything. If you feel hurt, it's because you decided to feel hurt. If you feel violated, it's because of how you chose to interpret an event. The world is up to you. Make of it what you will. No experience is bad in its own right. I dare any person in this room to name an experience that is objectively bad. Well?" He scanned the masses before him, Moses considering the Red Sea. "Come on, now. I won't bite."
"Rape," a courageous effeminate male voice called from the back.
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?"