The Annihilation of Foreverland

much, Director. But we are powerful men and we do not take risks without contingency. We will replace you if changes are not made.”
    The Director rumbled with laugher.
    “Mr. Black, with all due respect to you and your gang,” he cleared his throat, “I AM THE PROGRAM! You can’t replace me, gentlemen, I am every reason you are here today. I brought you here because I have proved, over and over, this program works. You didn’t risk everything because I made a promise, you did it because I deliver. I am the way, gentlemen. I am the Alpha and the Omega. Without me,” he tapped his forehead, “there is no program, I suggest you understand that.”
    The men did not stir.
    “Be that as it may,” Mr. Black said, “there are reasons for concern. Eric Zinder has fully recovered from his progress with his memories intact. At the same time, Sidney Hayward has become completely unresponsive. And now we are hearing reports that Danny Forrester has circumvented security.”
    “Where’d you hear that?”
    “We are not ignorant, nor will we sit back and be taken advantage of, Director. You are taking unnecessary risks that could impact all of us.”
    “You’re not qualified to judge the program.” He fingered the hilt of the machete. “None of you know what it takes to run this island, to do what I do. It cannot be done, it cannot be understood by anyone else but me, gentlemen. You should not speak where matters do not concern you.”
    “On the contrary, they do concern us. And, despite what you believe, we are the program, Director. We fund this operation. Without us, you are nothing. You are playing a game that you won’t win. I suggest you listen.”
    The Director nodded along with the accusations. He let go of the chair, meandered around the Investors and leaned against the railing. The ocean breeze was warm but cooled his face as it filtered through his beard that was becoming itchy with perspiration.
    “Director, please come back to the chair. Some of the Investors cannot see you.”
    “And what game would that be, Mr. Black?”
    Chairs scuffled.
    “Director, please.”
    “What game, Mr. Black? What game am I playing? The game that extends your lives another 80 years, is that the one you’re referring to?”
    “We are not barbarians, Director. You are torturing one of the boys. We did not agree to the inhumane treatment of them, that was in the contract. Perhaps you should review it, yourself.”
    “I see.” The Director didn’t want to leave the edge of the balcony, took his time doing so. He returned to the chair that was on trial and sat this time. Mr. Smith was sitting on the far left side of the semi-circle, arms crossed and tight-lipped.
    “Gentlemen,” the Director said, loudly and slowly, “you bought these boys. You arranged for them to be delivered to the island. You’re not barbarians? What is it do you think we’re doing to them that is not barbaric?”
    “We agreed to discomfort, not torture.”
    “We have to make adjustments for abnormality. Mr. Smith has invested as much as the rest of you, I believe he has every right to collect on that investment. As would the rest of you.”
    “The boy is in agony.”
    “He won’t be for long.”
    “You’re not being honest, Director. These are more than minor incidents.”
    “Every science has its wrinkles, Mr. Black. We have to adjust. I assure you, the program is well. We are analyzing the current state of these abnormalities and will act accordingly.”
    Quiet settled, interrupted by the hiss of an oxygen tank.
    “Now, if we’re finished—”
    “We want to suspend Daniel Forrester, Reed Johnston, and Eric Zinder,” Mr. Black stated.
    Mr. Smith stood up. “That was not what we discussed!”
    In-fighting broke out.
    The Director sat back, twirling the curly whiskers on his chin. Let them tear each other apart. They had no alternative, they knew it. They were all accustomed to having control and that rarely made for good teamwork. Especially when you add the desperation of impending death. They were all dying and that would tend to make anyone impatient, especially power-hungry old men.
    THUD!
    The front door cracked loud enough that almost all of them heard it on the veranda. The Director turned to listen while the argument began to lose steam. When the second one hit—
    THUD!
    —he was the first one to the door. He opened it, saw the fist-sized dents about eye level. Carefully, he looked outside.

49
    Danny was halfway to