“Almost done,” he said.

She had the message written. A list of needed replacements in cells, where the people had worn down. The one where the boy had rubbed his arm to the point of creating an open wound. The fourteen-year-old girl who had been contentedly brainwashed and happy to work up until the thirteenth hour of her shift, when she suddenly began crying.

What broke could be replaced.

There was a line of twelve people waiting to be assigned positions. They would watch for a while, then pick up their duties, if they weren’t outright granted the knowledge of schedule and how to perform them.

“This requires commitment,” Teacher addressed the twelve. “You can walk away at any time, but we will take your memories of what you saw. I’m sure you understand. If you do agree to work, I can guarantee that it will be difficult. Twelve hours of work, eight hours of sleep, four hours of recreation, every day. There will be times there are more than twelve hours of work.”

“Every day?” a woman in the group asked. “From what I was told, I imagined it was twelve hours a day for five days a week.”

“It is not easy. Hours may relax if we continue to grow and recruit more. For this, for one year of work, you’ll earn five times what your average citizen in the city would. You get room, board, pay, healthcare, and you’re safer here than anywhere.”

“What about the zombies?” the woman asked.

“Zombies?”

“I keep seeing people that… they don’t look well.”

“A status reserved for those who fail in their duties and who break our rules. Do good work, you will not need to worry. Stick to the rules, no need for concern. Do good work while obeying the rules, and you will be amply rewarded.”

A boy spoke up, “And if we don’t, we become, uh—”

“Mindless,” the woman finished.

“The exact opposite of mindless, miss—”

“Therese.”

“Miss Therese. The exact opposite of mindless,” Teacher said. He smiled, then addressed the group. “Decide now. I have places to be.”

There was some hesitation. To see the engine at work was daunting.

Ten agreed. The woman who had spoken up didn’t.

“Limited precognition, short range, cell thirteen,” Teacher said, touching one man’s shoulder. He moved on to the boy beside him. “Mind map of personalities, relationships, Cell Five.”

He went down the list. Each time he finished, the people were intercepted by William, who touched them on the shoulder before letting them go on their way.

“Writing analysis,” Teacher said. “Pattern analysis. Computer skill.”

Until only the two remained. Some of the new workers cast backward glances.

“Elijah? Will you see them out?”

“Of course.” The skinny blond boy smiled, and the smile had an uncanny edge. The fix to his jaw had been too perfect. He blinked, eyes closing over tinker-made spheres. With the faintest of machine sounds, metal whisking against metal, only audible to the Overseer because she had an ear right next to his eye, the irises switched colors from blue to yellow.