Christmas returned to her work, and, for a change, her computer didn't freeze up every half-hour or so. She started skimming through the huge stack of reports. With all nuclear warheads accounted for and disarmed according to Start II, she'd been relegated to report analysis, when not in the field handling reactor "incidents" as the industry called them -- "stupid fuckups" as they were known in the IAEC. The international organization didn't share the US' stance towards putting women in harm's way, so she had yet to break through their "silk panty ceiling" and get back to the field as a first response supervisor. She opened another folder, and clicked the 'search' button to find the corresponding facility's report, which seemed to be out of order with the alphabetical pile she'd arranged the previous afternoon. Click. <You are feeling sexually excited> The search screen came up, and she started scrolling down the list of reactor facilities in the U.S. Click. <You are feeling horny> Click. <You are feeling lonely> Click. <Jarrod looks cute> Click. <You trust Dr. Merither> There were over one hundred entries to scroll through before she got to the one she needed to file -- and a subliminal for each mouse click.

She shifted in her chair, feeling an unaccustomed heat rising from her core, and distractedly looked at the screen, which continued flashing the messages. When she looked down for a few minutes to read a printed report, the screen saver came on, augmented with Jarrod's programmed messages to relax, watch the screen, read the messages, watch the moving logo. Focus. Relax. Relax.

An hour later Jarrod poked his head above his stack of reports and spoke up: "Hey, want to get something from the cafeteria? It's getting close to the lunchtime rush on the counter."

Christmas tore her eyes away from the monitor, realizing she'd been staring at the same report for the last... 20 minutes!? "Oh, shit! No, I've been woolgathering here; I can't take the time off. Get a salad for me, would you?" She smiled fetchingly at Jarrod.

He coolly smiled back; the old Christmas would have ignored him or told him to troll somewhere else; the subliminals built into the software that controlled the screen were starting to wear down her alertness, her defensiveness. "Okay, Christmas, just a green salad with honey mustard, right?"

Christmas shuddered at the thought. "Oh, god, no," she exclaimed. "Sounds gross." It had been her favorite dressing. "I'd like a vinaigrette, please."

A change in her favorite foods was something Jarrod had programmed into the subliminals, to check on her progress. 'So far, so good,' he thought. Jarrod surreptitiously popped open a dialog box, entered a timer setting. "Okay, sit tight. I'll be back in a few. Say," he continued, "if you're behind, maybe I can pick up one of the countries from you after lunch. I seem to be catching up," he said, waving at his much-diminished pile of pending reports before him.

"Sure," Christmas said, her million-candlepower smile briefly lighting up the room, "I'd love that; it's sweet of you."

Jarrod nodded and opened their office door. "Oh, Jarrod, can you get me a double espresso there too? I'm feeling really zoned."

"Sure, be back in about fifteen minutes." He stepped out, and made his way to the cafeteria.

Christmas returned to the report, quickly marking it off and trying not to look at the screen, which seemed to have an unnatural attraction to her today. She picked up the next file, and started reading through it, when the computer started making a very low buzzing sound, almost a modulated white noise. The weird thing was, it was in stereo, first coming from the left speaker, then moving to the right, then back again. After a minute of this she lifted her eyes to see what was going on with her wretched computer now, and saw that her database client screen had disappeared, to be replaced by a spaghetti of colored strings that seemed to strobe and oscillate in time to the noise. The movements seemed coordinated somehow. It was almost as if she could see the pattern. She leaned forward. A pattern, she needed to see the pattern. It was almost there, along with the noise. She knew she could see the pattern if she could just see deep enough into the screen. Deeper. Deeper...