Far beyond the trees it sat, where scrub brush held fast to the scrabbled earth against howling west winds that scoured the plains: the little town of Crawford-on-Stoplight. And beyond even that, beyond the limits of the little town, sat the modest structure that served as both residence and laboratory for the eminent Dr. Georg Frankenbush.
On the night in question (as on most nights), the good Dr. Frankenbush was ably assisted by the mysterious pollback, Karl. Karl, bent nearly double now from the weight of his own confidence, had joined the doctor’s household many years ago, his finely honed powers of persuasion and stratagem affording him an influence widely – if dismissively – noted in proper scientific circles. A man is what a man is, the scientists sniffed. No other man can remake him.
This is the way scientists think – of impediments, of limits. This is not the way dreamers think. And those who dream the biggest dreams? These the world can only watch in wonderment. The assistant was just such a person, with dreams even larger than they suspected.
“What’s cookin’, Karlo?”
Dr. Georg Frankenbush was the most affable of men, the fun-loving son of a prominent and respected family. His friendly visage and easy-going manner had long drawn people to his side; with the crafty pollback counseling him, he had already begun to demonstrate his abilities in the political arena. Yet to advance further, to seize the greatest of all prizes, more would be needed. And so it was on the night in question – a stormy night, the midnight sky ablaze with heat lightning – that the Great Experiment was begun.
Into the body of a Main Street banker was placed the brain of an advertising executive, the smile of a Cadillac salesman, then – ever so carefully – the heart of a Bible-thumping preacher.
They worked through the night as the storm grew nearer, and stronger. The electrodes crackled. Suddenly, a giant flash so powerful it filled the room with smoke, while the mirrors on every wall rattled in surrender. Then silence.
“Dr. Frankenbush,” said Karl at last, with a flourish, “I give you a new Body Politic! It will do our bidding.”
And so it was, just as the assistant had predicted. The new creature was eager to please, and ready to work. Its labors soon bore fruit for the doctor and the man who stood all-knowing at his side; before long, Dr. Frankenbush had staked a claim, and then another, to a large white house in Potomacville, set back among the shade trees.
Their new creation had been an essential part of it all. When there was excitement to convey, the creature was there to convey it, in all its shadings, from murmur to rapture. When there were problems to overcome, the creature was there to run them down, to stomp on them until the last troublesome sparks had been extinguished.
In fact, the more the new creature was asked to do, the more it appeared to enjoy itself, and the more it wanted to do. It was all Dr. Frankenbush could do to keep the creature busy, and happy, and fed, which is how the doctor came to make his creature available to others, including Georg’s own flesh and blood, a brother known to one and all as Djeb.
When Djeb Frankenbush first borrowed the creature, he was well pleased with it, for it did just what it was told. But as the weeks and months passed, he noticed a change; instead of waiting for his instructions, the creature would sometimes begin working on its own. To be sure, what the creature did was exactly what Djeb himself would have wanted done had he thought about it, but there was the rub: He hadn’t thought about it, yet the creature was acting anyway.
As more time passed, the changes became even more troubling: Not only was the creature acting without his instructions, but it had begun telling him what to do! At first, there were simple notes – “pick up groceries,” “interfere with courts.” He was only too happy to oblige. It was worth the inconvenience if it kept the creature happy; somewhere down the road, he might need the creature’s help for something really important.
Then the notes became more frequent, and ever more assertive. The creature was giving orders. But there was no satisfying it; the more Djeb Frankenbush did, the more the creature wanted him to do. And were these threats if he failed to obey? They certainly sounded like threats.
Finally, in desperation, brother called brother: “The creature is out of control!” he cried. “I thought I was running it, but it’s running me! How do you – “
Then nothing more was heard. Nothing but the sound of a howling west wind.
Rick Horowitz is a nationally syndicated columnist. Contact him by writing to rickhoro@execpc.com.
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