Free Confabulation by Ronald Thomas

where anyone would claim that Jack possessed any sentiment at all.
    He kept the desk, and the walls, clear at all times, except for the item that held his attention at any given time. The papers he looked at that day were transcripts of recent surveillance of subjects in a study that Jackson had initiated. A project he kept close. A project that only a handful of others knew about. One that would probably get someone killed. It’d be him if wasn’t careful.
    He placed the papers down when he heard the knock at his door. "Yes."
    His door opened. His assistant looked in. "It’s Mr. Donaldson."
    "Send him in."
    Jackson sorted the papers. Put the key information on each subject in front of him. He kept his eyes on the papers as Donaldson entered the room. The footsteps paused. Jackson continued to read the transcripts. Once he heard the chair move he addressed the company agent without raising his eyes. "So, Donaldson, what did your men find?"
    "Nothing, sir. They scoured both addresses and found no evidence that they had been contacted, or that they had obtained any knowledge that threatened the mission. Our assessment is that the study is progressing without interference."
    Jackson read the passages again which outlined the times that contact was lost and out of character movement. A visit to a store connected to the company. A happenstance reading of an old book. Not the kinds of things Jackson normally accepted. Coincidences of that magnitude were not something to be ignored. But he’d been on edge, lately. And accidents did happen. But, when Simon, a man they had relegated to his home, suddenly ventured to a restaurant that was a common location for information transfer, any benefit of doubt was destroyed.
    Someone had contacted the subjects. He knew that meant someone from the company had probably reviewed his recommendations. Compliance would be on them. He looked up, finally, from the papers and stared into the agent’s eyes. "So, your men found nothing. Nothing even suspicious?"
    The agent wasn’t a rookie. He’d been working as a sniffer, someone tracking down mental signatures and residue, for a few years. Jackson had placed him in the program himself. Some others wanted to turn him into fuel. Jackson stood up for him. He’d been an asset.
    Jackson also made sure Donaldson knew the history of his candidacy. Helped him gain loyalty when it was needed. Donaldson was good, but his shaky posture, and pale complexion made him look like a first timer who was waiting to get dressed down by his superior. "That’s correct, sir. After reviewing the information gathered in reconnaissance, I’m recommending continuation of the operation, without reservation."
    "Very well. Proceed with the operation. Keep me informed if your men find anything suspicious. And remember, we’re not to engage these subjects directly."
    "Of course, sir."
    Jackson dismissed the man, and returned to his study of the papers. Someone knew. But they shouldn’t. He was careful. Laid it out to avoid detection. Someone screwed up. He gathered the files and slipped them into a messenger bag. Slung it over his shoulder and headed out of the office.
    Outside his door was a drab office setting. Not typical, but exaggerated. The people at the cubes did nothing. They felt they were working, but the work was useless. Just pushing numbers. They were there for treatment. And fuel. A field of low level psychic ability being siphoned off to fuel to the greater work.
    Jackson used to believe in the goal. Finding those who were dangerous to themselves and society. Training them, or blocking their random ability. Seemed the right thing to do. He didn’t expect to end up qualifying people for subjugation.
    Every day, Jackson would evaluate candidates. They’d be brought in under a variety of excuses, but the tests were designed to determine ability. There were three categories. Trainable, where they were either made agents, or had their ability blocked if they