“Mitch!” I jumped off the bed, already dressed, teeth brushed, shoes on. “Where have you been?”

“First half of the Program needs to be done in solitude.”

“I’m halfway done?”

“It wouldn’t normally be this fast.” He looked over his shoulder before continuing. “But I got word that they’re amping things up. Time’s of the essence, apparently.”

“Why?”

“Not sure,” He shrugged. “They don’t tell me everything.” He continued on to save his pride. “That’s standard—they don’t tell any one person more than they need to know. It’s safer for us that way.”

“Sure, sure.” I crossed the few paces between us and put an arm around his shoulder. He stiffened at my touch. “Listen, do you think they’ll let me do a mission on my own, so I can really prove myself?”

He patted my back awkwardly. “Well, we don’t get a say in how missions are set up until we have experience out in the field. That’s the goal, to get out there and do the real work of saving civilization.”

He made it so hard to stay in character, this character who wanted to pitch in, to be a good soldier, this character who had forgotten who he used to be.

“Hmm. I should really ask Mellin about it,” I said.

“Hold on there, Francis. You have to take this one step at a time. You’re just starting the next stage.”

“And what’s that?”

“Integration.”

“Integration? Into what?” Lord, how could this get any worse?

“Into life at the institute, of course.” He pulled away and sat on the bed, patting the space beside him to indicate I should do the same.

I was confused. “I haven’t been integrated yet? I’ve been here for weeks.”

“No, no, not as an occupant.” He pulled a slim folder out from under his right arm and opened it across his lap. “As a helper.”

The room suddenly seemed smaller than ever before. I had trouble finding air.

“And what does that mean, exactly?” I looked down at the pages in the folder. One on side was a schedule, color coded and laid out in blocks of twenty-four hours. On the other side was a map of the building, not too detailed—no security, and nothing below the second floor, but each room was labeled with a number.

“Just what it sounds like,” Mitch answered. “You have to prove that you can take on a leadership role with the residents and a helper role with the doctors and administrators.”

He walked me through potential daily duties: cleaning the common areas, serving lunch, assisting in the “health zone,” which I assumed meant the infirmary I had visited twice now.

“Do we get to interact with the others?”

“Other Program participants?”

“Well…” I considered. “I was thinking more about the other inmates, but yeah, are we like a group, the Program participants?”

“First of all, we never speak to the residents.” He tapped his paper with a finger as he said each word, a soft emphasis from his place of non-power. “Secondly, we do carry out some duties as a larger group, but it is not a time to socialize.”