We applauded.
A man on the other side of the circle stood up and he began to thank people too. And after him, another man. And then another woman. There was no order to it it wasn't necessary. You spoke when you were ready. We'd trained ourselves to function this way, with respect for each other's communications. Nobody interrupted anybody. We listened to each person and applauded, and even though it seemed to go on for a terribly long time, we stayed in our seats until everybody had had a chance to say what they had to say.
The process was called completing your communications. Foreman had told us, "Most of you go through life saying, 'Here's what I should have said.' You walk around with a bag load of unfinished conversations and you wonder why you hear voices in your head. Worse-the first chance you get to complete one of those conversations, you go for the throat. You unload all that anger or grief or fear on the first poor dumb schmuck who gets in the way instead of delivering it to the person it's really intended for. And then you wonder why your relationships are so screwed up. You're walking around delivering all your communications to the wrong people. Try it sometime. Try saying what you have to say to the person who needs to hear it. Like, 'Thank you' and 'I'm sorry' and 'I love you' and see what happens-"
I hadn't expected to speak. I didn't think I had anything to say to these people. But there was a lull and people were looking at me and I guess it must have showed on my face, because I stood up and looked around and flushed embarrassedly.
"Thank you," I said. "I'm sorry," I added. "I love you."
But-we had all said this, and after a while it was all just words. It was silly to pile more words on top of words.
There was something deeper that I was feeling; an emotion of such kinship and joy and connectedness that the word for it hadn't been invented yet. The sensation was extraordinary. I didn't know how to say it to these people-so I began to applaud them.
I turned around slowly, looking from one to the next, meeting their eyes and applauding them for being so human; such a silly thing, such a pitiful thing, such a proud and courageous thingpoor little naked pink monkeys challenging the universe.
We're not worm food! We're gods!
They began to applaud with me. We all applauded. The room swelled with applause. They stood up with me. We cheered and yelled and applauded together.
The Training was over! We had won! We were taking responsibility for the destiny of our whole species-and whoever didn't want to join us in this task could stay behind and get eaten by the worms. The rest of us were going to kick some hairy purple asses! I felt terrific.
But when the applause finally died away, we were still alone in the room.
We sat down and waited.
Clearly, whoever was watching us should have recognized that we were complete. The Training was over.
Whatever we were waiting for could happen now. We waited.
After a bit, it began to sink in.
Okay, we had the spirit, but the process wasn't complete. There was something else that had to happen.
We looked around at each other. We were pleased with ourselves; we had done all the right things. We had cleaned up the room, taken out the chairs, created our own Training, completed all the incomplete communications, celebrated ourselves--
-what wasn't complete?
I remembered what Foreman had told me so many years before; at least it seemed like years: "The Training is a game, Jim, but you don't play it to win. You play it to play. And you use what you learn in this game-where there are no penalties for losing-to support you in the games you play where you can't afford to lose. The trick is, in any game, to find out what the point of the game is; then you can play for that result."
The point of this game . . .
. . . was to reinvent the future of humanity. And I realized what was incomplete.
So far, everything we'd done in here had been about ourselves. Even the way we'd set up the chairs.
We were all facing inward, facing each other, shutting out the outside world.
But this thing, this Training, was about breaking paradigms, about letting go of what was so we could invent what wasn't; it was about preparing us to meet the rest of the universe.
That was what was wrong. We were pointed in the wrong direction.
I stood up and turned my chair around. I pointed it outward. Instead of having my back to the outside world, I could turn my face to it. I could face the entire universe because I trusted the people behind me to guard my backside.
Behind me, I heard a gasp. Somebody else got it. It was the woman who'd had the worried expression. She looked delighted with herself. She stood up and turned her chair around too.
Then I began to hear the sounds of other chairs scraping and being moved. And pretty soon everybody was turning their chairs around, grinning and laughing and giggling as they did so. It was all a joke now.
We sat this way for a while, all facing outward, all ready to meet the universe.
And still nothing happened.
It still wasn't complete.
Damn! What was I missing?
Oh, my God.
Oh, shit!
Jason Delandro.
He'd said it.
This was his revenge.
At the moment I most needed to figure something out, it was his words that were the trigger.
Before I could complete The Mode Training, I would have to acknowledge that Jason Delandro had been right about something.
How much had he been right about?
I'd have a lot of time to think about that. I'd have to sort it out. I'd have to take it apart, piece by piece, and see what had really happened.
I stood up.
I said, "I know what has to happen next."
They all looked at me.
I said, "Listen. When we start out life; we're in one mode: we're waiting for Santa Claus. We're waiting for the next wonderful thing to happen. But one day, we realize there ain't no Santa Claus. Most of us are smart enough to figure that out before we get out of high school. He ain't coming. So we stop waiting for him, and that's when we shift into the second mode: waiting for rigor mortis."
A few people laughed.
"There's a third place to be," I said, ignoring the chuckles. "But to get there, we have to give up waiting."
They started to applaud-I held up my hand. "No. The time for applause is over." I was very sure of myself and I could hear the clarity in my voice. "The Training is over." They looked at each other, they looked at me-and they burst into grins! We all started cheering! We pounded each other on the back. We hugged and we kissed-and we headed for the doors, pushing them open with a bang
Foreman and all the assistants were waiting for us on the other side.
And that's when the party really started.
We roared and hollered and stamped and whistled and cheered, all of us together.
We challenged the universe.
The meek may inherit the earth, but the rest of us are going to the stars!
We could have gone on like that forever, but in the middle of it, Lizard slipped up behind me and tapped me on the shoulder. I turned to grab her and kiss her, but instead she handed me my orders.
I fumbled them open and started to read. I looked up, halfway through, and stared at her, confused and questioning.
She was unhappy about it too, but all she said was, "The chopper's waiting in the parking lot. Come on, it's time to go." It took me only a moment. I let go of the past. I let go of the confusion. This was the job now.
I understood exactly. The universe was roaring back. "Right," I said. "Let's go to work."