Bad little gnome.

Much as he’d like to hang around the Hive and socialize, Shane skips lunch and hurries back to his domicile unit, intent on checking in with Maggie Drew.

Housekeeping has made a visit, leaving fresh towels on the rack. No sign that any prints have been lifted-fingerprint powder is messy stuff-but he’s assuming his water glass has been bagged as part of the security routine, because if he’d been in charge, that’s what he’d do. Just as he assumes they’ve copied the files off his laptop, strictly as a precaution. In fact, he hopes so, as it will confirm that Ron Gouda is just another ambitious contractor looking to get ahead. More numbers to crunch for the Ruler database, and no indication-not yet-that his impersonation has been detected.

With cell phones not functioning, Shane has no choice but to use the landline thoughtfully provided by his hosts. In full confidence that will he be recorded, if not actually monitored, he punches in the agreed-upon number, which begins with the area code for Dayton, Ohio.

“RG Paving, how may I direct your call?”

“You’re talking to the big cheese, honey babe.”

“Mr. Gouda! How are you, sir? Is the skiing good?”

“Ha! Nobody believes me when I tell ’em this ain’t a skiing vacation. Like nobody seems to believe old Ronnie’s interested in improving his mind. Why is that? Never mind. Thing is, I only got a short interval before I got to get back. But I really need to cross a few t’s on the bid for the I-75 grade-and-pave. Hate to lose that one just because I didn’t give it the hairy eyeball one last time. Can you send the PDF to my e-mail? Thanks a mil, honey babe.”

He disconnects, opens the laptop, and waits for the link to activate on the encrypted messenger software. His old pal Charley Newman calls it ‘Instant Messenger For Spooks,’ which pretty much sums it up, but you don’t have to be a spy to want your personal e-mails to remain private, and that goes triple for federal employees. It does mean that Maggie will have to use her personal computer, not the office terminal, but that’s probably for the best, too. Her message pops up on the screen.

Honey babe?

That’s what the big cheese calls his Gal Friday.

So, how goes it, Mr. Cheese?

Weird but interesting. Very slick operation. Security level extremely high, verging on paranoid. Cells don’t work. My guess is, all communication filtered through security. Plus, I think I was drugged last night.

WHAT?

Can’t be sure, but other guests report falling deeply asleep at exactly the same time. Possible airborne sedative. Fentanyl or something equally effective.

FENTANYL HIGHLY DANGEROUS!!!

Anything on our friend Missy?

ACKNOWLEDGE FENTANYL DANGEROUS!!!

Okay, acknowledge. Don’t worry, I won’t be in my room tonight when they pump the stuff in, if that’s what they’re doing. Now what about the mysterious Missy? Any luck?

Yes, indeed! Mysterious M. identified as Melissa G. Barlow, spouse of Eldon Donald Barlow, gameware designer. A Level Five member and a big-time contributor to Ruler coffers, associated with the Weems faction. Eldon owns many, many toys, including a Gulfstream G-450.

You are my sunshine! Address?

Sorry. Barlow residence not specified as to street address, just listed as ‘ski lodge, Conklin.’

That’ll get me started. Anything else?

Leave while you can. RIGHT NOW.

Soon, honey babe, soon.

If the morning session was impressive, based on the sheer persuasive charisma of Arthur Conklin, the afternoon session is, for Shane, more than a little strange. This time they’re seated in regular auditorium seats, not the individualized cubicles, and yet they’ve been instructed to don the same wireless headphones from the earlier session.

Despite the oddity of wearing individual headphones while in a group-what’s next, 3-D glasses?-the session at first seems straightforward, and very old school. The instructor, a trim, slightly nerdy fellow equipped with a headset, uses a pointer and a series of charts as he explains each of the Ten Reasons to Rule Yourself, taken from the first chapter of the founder’s famous book. It all feels eerily reminiscent of the Bible classes Shane attended as a child, which he supposes makes sense, since The Rule of One is, for this group, a kind of scripture guiding them along the one true path to self-improvement.

“Rule One,” the instructor intones. “‘There is only the one of you.’ Okay, so what does it really mean? Your first reaction may be to think the answer is obvious, that we are all individuals, unique to ourselves. But as with everything Arthur Conklin writes, there’s more to it than that. Much, much more. What he’s referring to is-and you’ll find this in the glossary-a concept known as the singularity of mind. It is the idea, fundamental to The Rule of One, that you are your mind. Does that sound obvious? It’s not. It bears repeating-you are your mind. You are not your heart. You are not your soul. You are not a bag of skin filled with bones and organs. You, the distinctness of you, exists entirely within the electrical field generated by the human brain. So before we can take a step along the path laid out by Arthur Conklin, we must first accept that there is a difference between the mind and the brain. The brain is just another organ, albeit a rather amazing one, containing billions of distinct cells, each cell linked to billions of other cells by synaptic connections. For purposes of this lesson, try thinking of the brain as a radio set and the mind as the electrical field that comes into existence when the radio is turned on. We accept that the mind cannot exist without the brain, just as blood cannot circulate without the heart. But the mind is not the brain, just as blood is not the heart.”

Listening to the warm, strangely familiar voice in his headphones, Shane experiences an unsettling disconnect. Word for word it sounds like a typical self-improvement narrative-unlocking the power of the human mind to overcome life obstacles-but the nerdy, earnest dude on stage just doesn’t seem to fit the powerfully persuasive voice.

And then he realizes why the voice doesn’t fit. He slips off the headphones and confirms his suspicion: the speaker has a thin, reedy voice with a slight lisp, whereas the voice in the headphones belongs to none other than Arthur Conklin himself.

So how is it possible that Nerdy Dude is so perfectly limning what must be a recording? Right down to the timing, the pauses, the rhetorical flourishes? It can’t be a variation on lip-synching, the execution is too perfect for that. The only explanation Shane can come up with is some sort of software that runs the speaker’s voice through an Arthur Conklin filter.

Shane is put in mind of that nostalgic magazine ad, with a dog listening to an old phonograph recording of His Master’s Voice. The Rulers had taken it several steps further, by finding a way to make the institute lecturers speak in their master’s voice.

Bizarre, but actually very effective-why mess with success? If Conklin himself is no longer available, keep his image alive in updated videos, let his voice be replicated and repeated, endlessly and intimately, through the mouths of his acolytes.