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Ben knocked on the door of his father's office. He knew he wasn't supposed to, but he had fallen climbing the wall and he didn't know what to do to stop the pain.

It was Phadin's fault. He'd goaded Ben into it, insisted he was too afraid to explore the wild jungle just beyond.

There was no response from inside the office. "Father," Ben said tentatively as he opened the door a little.

"What is it, Ben? I am very busy." His father didn't even look up from his computer.

"I know, Father, but I fell from the wall." Ben indicated the arm he cradled in his right hand. "I think I broke something. It hurts really bad. And I can't move it like I'm supposed to."

This warranted a glance from his father, but he didn't leave his desk. "Well, I suppose that will teach you not to play on the wall. It's there to keep the wild out. It is not a toy."

"But what should I do?"

"Ask the nanny to patch you up. That's her job."

"But…" Ben began. He didn't like the nanny. She didn't seem to know or care about anything. At least his parents knew and cared about things, important things. He decided he would try his mother next.

"Look, Bennie," Father set down his stylus. "Don't be such a baby. You are nearly grown. Ask the nanny to set the bone, then learn your lesson. Stay off the wall. I don't have time to coddle you. I am very close to the breakthrough that will change everything. I can't afford to be distracted by childish things."

Ben shuffled his feet. "I know, Father. Maybe I'll see what Mother is doing."

"Don't bother your mother with this triviality either. She is in a vid meeting with the elders of Lakta Council; she is not to be disturbed. Do you hear me? Have the nanny help you. That is what she is paid for. Where is she anyway?"

"She is watching vids with Lil."

"There, she is looking after your sister, she can look after you. Go on, then."

"I will. Sorry to bother you." Ben waited a moment but his father had already turned back to his work and was tapping furiously on the screen. Ben went into the living room to ask the nanny for help.

As usual, Freda was watching vids while rocking Lil's cradle absentmindedly. Ben wondered when the last time was that Freda had actually looked at Lil.

"Freda, could you help me? I think I broke my arm."

Freda's expression was just as annoyed as Father's had been.

"What have you been up to?"

"I fell playing on the wall."

"Why were you…? Never mind. I suppose you've learned not to do that again."

"Father says you should set the bone and…well, do something, I don't know."

"Do I look like a doctor? I don't get paid like a doctor, I can tell you that for sure." She looked at the arm and poked at it in a few places. "You know I don't have the training for this, right?"

"I, well...I don't know. Father sent me to you. Maybe you should take me to a doctor."

Freda looked up, surprised. "Did your father say I should take you to the doctor?"

"No."

"Of course not, doctors are for contributing members of society. What have you contributed lately that would warrant the expense of a doctor?"

Ben thought for a moment. "I taught Phadin how to tie his shoes. He still hadn't figured out how."

Freda raised her eyebrows. "Really? Well, aren't you the big thinker? I'm afraid that little bit of productivity you're so proud of won't cut it." Freda placed hands on both sides of Ben's arms and pressed the bone back into place. Ben responded with a yelp of pain. It woke Lil, who began to cry.

"Now, look what you've done," Freda scolded. "Come on, we can splint it with a couple rulers and tie it with some cloth. You'll have to be careful not to move it until it heals."

"I'll be careful, I promise."

#

Ben paused in his calculations to rub his left arm. Years later, it still hurt. Not as bad, of course. Now it was a dull, constant ache. Ben found it hard to concentrate sometimes because of the pain, but he knew he couldn't afford to be distracted.

All measures pointed to the fact that Ben was falling behind. His life was shabby by Priorian standards. His income was well below the accepted line. His lack of productivity had caused his workers medical care to be downgraded to the lowest, most basic level when he received an unsatisfactory rating at his last performance review. If he didn't contribute something important soon, he would lose even his tiny apartment.

"How's it going, Ben?"

Ben looked up to see his boss, Mr. Maxton, standing at the cubicle's edge.

"Is your model working yet?"

"Not yet, sir

"Better get to it then, don't you think?"

"Yes, sir."

Ben watched Maxton walk away. He couldn’t help but notice the glossy shine on the man's shoes. He moved his own scuffed and frayed loafers further under the desk and willed himself to stare at the figures on his computer.

#

An uncontrollable cough shook Ben's form. The doctor stepped back —if not to a safe distance then at least to a safer distance. Dr. Vaught curled his lip and waited for Ben to speak again.

"Sorry," Ben sniffled, rubbing at his nose with a wadded tissue. "Like I said it's been this way for weeks. I just can't seem to shake it. What do you think it is?"

"Clearly a respiratory infection of some kind."

"But which one?"

The doctor glanced at his clipboard. "I can't tell without more tests."

"Well, then..."

"According to our records your health coverage has been downgraded. Tests are not covered."

"So what would you suggest?"

"Get plenty of rest and drink a lot of fluids, especially anything with vitamin C. It will help your immune system combat the infection."

"Can't you give me anything?"

"Also not covered."

Ben wanted the doctor to at least seem sorry about it, but Vaught appeared unwilling to oblige.

"That's all I can do for you, Mr. Larson. Please check with the nurse on your way out."

#

Ben stared down at his second performance review. The "unsatisfactory" stamp taunted him with its big, red letters. He coughed, then reached for the bottle of juice on his desk. Sipping it, he scanned the rest of the document. There at the end he found the words he was most dreading: "In light of your continued unsatisfactory performance, your medical coverage has been discontinued."

Further on, it warned that Ben would be fired if he didn't produce something of value within the next two months, but Ben couldn't convince himself to worry about that yet. He had more immediate problems: his persistent cough had grown new symptoms, among them a rising fever and a rash on his chest and back.

#

Ben arrived at the hospital delirious from four days of fever, and too weak to stand without the aid of a cane.

"You've got bundee sickness," the young doctor said.

"Can you fix it?"

"Yes, but you will need a two week course of antibiotics to clear up the infection. Possibly more, if it spreads to your stomach and intestines. Do you have insurance?"

Ben swallowed hard. "No, but I can pay."

"Can you? It's nearly a thousand dollars for the initial course of treatment."

Ben shifted uneasily as he considered his resources. He had some nice furniture that his parents had given him when he graduated from school with moderately high marks. Maybe he could sell that to help cover the cost.

"Can I pay part now, then part next week, or something like that?"

"Yes, but you can only take whatever amount of medication you can pay for now. You'll have to come back and get the rest when you have the money."

"Agreed."

When all was said and done, the bundee sickness cost Ben the bedroom suit his parents had given him, some antique coins he had bought back when he could afford to collect such things, and the melted down gold of the one trophy from his brief stint as a runner for his college's track team.

But at least he was healthy again by the end of two weeks and could finally go back to work.

#

"You're lucky I've been too busy to search for someone to fill your position," Mr. Maxton told him when he returned.

"I know. Thank you, sir. I'm going to make it up to you. I promise."

Ben stayed late for weeks afterward, trying to catch up on the work he had missed and to make himself valuable to his employer.

#

The search program still wasn't working. Ben had checked and re-checked his calculations but couldn't find where he had gone wrong. He looked up from his desk to see Mr. Maxton standing over him.

"Working late again, huh?"

It was then that Ben noticed everyone else had left for the day, and the sky outside had turned dark. "Yes, sir. I'm still trying to develop a system that works the way we want it to."

"I can't give you much more time on this, Ben. I've already extended you two grace periods. If you can't get solve the problem by the end of the month, then I am going to have to hire someone else."

"I'll get it, sir. I know I will. I'm close. I can feel it. I'm just missing something, something important. I just haven't been able to see what it is."

"Sounds like what you need is some fresh insight, a new perspective. You won't get that by staring at the same set of numbers and figures over and over. Why don't you call it a day, and go out and do something out of the ordinary?"

"But, sir."

"Trust me." His boss reached into a jacket pocket and pulled out two small, rectangular cards. "Here, take these and go see some art."

Ben took the cards, while trying to protest. "But I can't afford to go to an art gallery."

"Oh, I know. They're already paid for. I bought them at a charity auction. I was planning to go, but now my wife wants to see that new musical downtown. So, take them as a gift. Or, more like, an investment. I hope it will pay off, that you will see something there that will cause inspiration to strike, allowing you to complete the project on time for once. Because if you don't..."

"Yes, sir. I know. I understand."

"Now, get moving. I still expect to see you here bright and early tomorrow morning."

"Yes, sir."

#

The gallery was packed with people. They were well dressed and attractive, probably very rich. Ben felt horribly out of place.

He walked the halls and rooms looking for inspiration, hoping for the miracle he so desperately needed. But nothing appealed to him. He didn't know much about art; it all felt so foreign and inaccessible. He didn't even know how to talk about what he was seeing.

Some paintings had small groups of people clustered nearby, discussing the work, sharing their insight. Ben stopped to listen, but not much of it made sense to him.

He continued on. Most paintings had at least a couple people gathered around, but Ben saw one painting that no one seemed to give a second glance to. The artist stood forlornly next to her snubbed painting.

"I think it's lovely," Ben said to her.

She smiled weakly back at him and pushed her brownish hair away from her face. "Well, you seem to be the only one." She glanced across the room where a crowd had gathered around another painter's work and a bidding war had broken out between two well-dressed men who each were determined to possess this newest "masterpiece."

"How much are you selling it for?"

The woman's attention snapped back to Ben. "Selling it?"

"Aren't you selling it? I thought all the works in this show were for sale. Isn't that the point?"

"You want to buy it?"

"Want to, yes. Can... Well, that is still to be decided. I can't afford much. I fear I will offend you with my meager offer."

"Perhaps it will help to know that no one else has expressed the slightest interest in the piece, let alone offer to purchase it. For any sum."

"My means are somewhat limited right now." Ben knew even as he was saying it that admitting the sorry state of his life was not the way to begin a negotiation.

"A temporary state, I assure you," he was quick to add. "But if you would consider selling it to me for so small a sum as the forty dollars cash I have in my wallet, then I promise to take every opportunity to show the work to my friends—" He stumbled a bit as he remembered that he didn't exactly have any friends, certainly not any that would be advantageous to an aspiring artist. "And, well to promote you and your work however I can. I am a fan, after all. Perhaps you would be willing to consider this offer since everyone else here tonight seems to be blind to your talent."

The woman sighed, then a tentative smile tugged at her lips. "Forty dollars, then. Thank you." She extended a hand toward him. "By the way, I'm Marcel."

#

Flashing pink and orange light poured through the window in Ben's small apartment. It was after midnight but Ben was still sitting at his kitchen table working on the search program.

He tapped the portable computer and brought up the latest test figures. Ben glanced at the window and wished he had blinds to block out the neon from the neighboring all-night diner. Finally he got the blanket off the bed and nailed it over the window.

If his new program was to work, it required his full attention. And it had to work. This was his last chance to be relevant, to be important. He had failed so much that his father wouldn't even speak to him anymore, and his mother barely would. He had failed so much that he had been unable to attract mate. Even Marcel, the forlorn artist, wouldn’t continue speaking to him if he didn't turn his life around soon.

While the computer processed his latest attempt, Ben scanned his small apartment. It was barely larger than his nanny's room had been. Marcel's painting hung over the place that used to house the couch. Ben told himself that the lack of furniture kept the focus on the artwork.

He stared at the painting. Ben still wasn't sure what the abstract form was supposed to be. He had been too embarrassed to ask Marcel, too afraid that the answer would be obvious to anyone who knew even the littlest bit about art.

The colors swirled one unto another, forming a vortex. Wide orange rings gave way to smaller pink ones, then to still smaller circles of deep red until at the center there was a pinpoint of intense white. Ben followed the vortex's track again and again from the outer, larger rings through the interim ones, circling closer and closer until it landed at the designated target: the white-hot center.

That was it! Ben bolted upright in his chair. He had been trying to get straight to the specific, to get the program to find the target by approaching it directly, but it never returned the desired results. But if the program scanned the full database and eliminated wrong answers a little bit at a time by submitting them to a series of tests, then at each cycle more and more options would be eliminated until there was only one remaining, and that one would be the correct answer.

Ben tapped frantically at his keyboard.

Hours later, the phone rang.

"Hello?"

"Ben, where are you?" his boss said through the receiver.

Ben glanced up at the clock. It was half past nine. "Oh, I'm sorry, sir. I've been working at home and lost track of time." Ben thought he could hear disappointment in his boss's sigh. "I'll be right there, I promise."

"Ben, I've just about had it with your promises. I told you that this was your last chance. I told you that I expected you to be on time this morning."

"I know, sir. But it worked. Your suggestion worked. I fixed the problem. That's what I've been working on. I got it to work."

"You better be telling the truth."

"I am. I'll be right there. I'll show you. It works, I promise."

"Alright, we'll have a look. Be in my office with your program in one hour."

"Will do, sir."

"And Ben...don't mess up."

"I won't, sir."

#

Ben touched the letter several times as if to make sure it was real. "Your workers medical coverage has been re-instated in full," it said in bold at the top.

"Good work, Ben," his boss said from the hallway. "I knew you had it in you."

Ben pulled up his account online, just to verify that his bonus had arrived as promised. It had. With that much money he could buy new furniture and start living like a Priorian should. He closed the window so he could see the picture he had placed on his desktop. It was an electronic copy of Marcel's painting.

No, he decided, furniture could wait. Instead he would ask Marcel out and offer her further payment for her inspirational painting. Forty dollars was a paltry sum, and Ben couldn’t let that stand. Besides, he liked the way her brown hair curled around her shoulders, and he had put off finding a mate for far too long.