Green Bay Run

Chapter Sixteen

“Once you see my accomplishment with your own eyes, you won’t be so skeptical,” Quinton Darmobray stated proudly.

“I wouldn’t count on it,” Blade responded.

They were following a cement walk toward a long, low building situated in the center of the campus. The sun hung above the western horizon and a cool breeze blew in off Green Bay. Trailing behind them came an armed escort consisting of six Technic troopers.

“I should think that you, of all people, should have learned by now not to underestimate our technological accomplish-ments,” the Director commented. “You’ve seen Technic City. You know what we’re capable of.”

“You’re accomplished marvels with science and technology,” Blade admitted, “but you’ve lost sight of fundamental spiritual values in the process.”

“Spiritual?” Darmobray repeated, and uttered a snorting noise. “Oh, yes. I must remind myself that the Family still clings to outdated concepts of truth, goodness, and spirituality. Your people even believe in a supreme Spirit Being, don’t they?”

Blade nodded.

“Fascinating. Perhaps, after we have subjugated the Home, I’ll prepare a dissertation on the superstitious beliefs of your primitive band of do-gooders,” Darmobray said sarcastically.

The Warrior glanced at the Director, who stood six and a half feet in height and weighed a muscularly proportioned 250 pounds at least. “You should live so long.”

“Is that a threat?”

“A prediction. Any society that denies the reality of the Spirit is doomed to extinction.”

Darmobray snickered. “Is that another sophist tidbit taught by your vaunted Elders?”

“It’s the truth.”

“Of course it is. And there’s a jolly old fat man who lives at the North Pole with his wife, eight reindeer, and one hundred and ten elves.”

“What?”

“Santa Claus.”

“Who?”

The Director almost broke his stride. “Your Family doesn’t believe in Santa Claus, that demented fart who travels around the world in a sleigh once a year scattering reindeer droppings all over the place and delivering shabby gifts to selfish brats?”

“Oh. Him. We read about him during out schooling years, but our Founder didn’t perpetuate the practice,” Blade disclosed.

“And what about the Easter Bunny?”

“Rabbits don’t lay eggs.”

“Maybe there’s hope for your Family, after all,” Darmobray joked. He stared at the structure ahead, his visage sobering. “The Technics don’t believe in any of that garbage either. Ever since the war we’ve discarded all such juvenile notions.”

Blade took advantage of the opportunity to glean more information on the Technics’ background. “The Technic society first came into being right after World War Three, right?”

“Wrong. During the war. A few dozen scientists at the Chicago Institute of Advanced Technology refused to evacuate when the U.S. government gave the order. They held on, using their superior knowledge to forge a new type of society out of the shambles of the old. Instead of exalting the profit motive as the fundamental drive of existence, they exalted the glories of logic and technology. New laws were formulated, designed to promote their philosophy. Those people remaining in Chicago were encouraged to step into line with the new order of things.”

“Encouraged? You mean they became Technics or they died.”

“If they were too stupid to see the light, then they deserved to die,” the Director stated.

“How convenient.”

“I wouldn’t expect you to understand our motives and policies. They’re as alien to you as the planet Mars, but they have produced a city and a culture that surpasses any known on earth.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Blade said. “I’ve seen a few in my travels that would rival Technic City.”

“I don’t believe it.”

“Why am I not surprised?” Blade asked.

“Our factories and homes are futuristic in the extreme. Our machines and appliances are all computerized and miniaturized. Our people enjoy a standard of living that is the envy of the Russians and the Civilized Zone.”

“Your people are industrial drones who can’t escape because Technic City is ringed with mines, wire, and machine guns.”

Darmobray grinned. “Our elaborate security precautions prevent scavengers and mutations from infiltrating our fair city.”

“You can joke all you want to, but sooner or later the millions of people who have had their minds and souls enslaved by the Technic system will rise up in rebellion. There’s an old adage. What goes around, comes around. Eventually, the populace you have oppressed will turn on their masters,” Blade forecasted.

The Director unexpectedly halted and scrutinized the Warrior’s features. “So you heard, eh?”

“Heard what?”

“Don’t play innocent with me.”

“I haven’t the slightest idea what you’re talking about,” Blade said.

Darmobray appeared surprised. “Then you really don’t know about the Resistance Movement?”

Insight dawned and Blade smiled. “Another ten years or so and the Technic society will be history.”

“Actually, our computer projections indicate seventeen-point-two years, to be precise.”

“What else did you expect? Your system has taken basic human drives and warped them out of all perspective,” Blade remarked.

“Give me an example?”

Blade thought back to his previous experiences in Technic City, to the one revelation that had disturbed him the most. “How about your surrogate parenting program?”

“You know about that?”

“All about the perverted system you’ve established. Technics believe that the government knows what’s best for children, not the parents, so all children are taken from their natural parents at birth and dispensed to surrogate parents to be raised according to the dictates of the Technic doctrine,” Blade said.

“Biological bonding inhibits the effective functioning of our devoted citizens. They can’t be totally devoted to our Technic order if they’re devotion is vitiated by loyalty to their natural parents.”

“So the children are yanked from the arms of their parents and given to strangers. They begin compulsory day-care at the age of six months. By twelve years of age they’re holding down full-time jobs,” Blade related.

“The system is disgusting. You deprive your children of the joy of being children.”

“An interesting perspective, but I doubt it fully explains the problems which have arisen,” Darmobray stated. “A few mal-contents have started to stir up the more gullible, ignorant strata of our society against the rulers, against the Technic system itself.”

Blade smirked. “And in seventeen-point-two years those malcontents will bring your system tumbling down.”

“So our computers assert,” the Director said solemnly. “But there is another old adage I’m rather fond of. To be forewarned is to be forearmed.

Now that we know the lid is about to be blown off the kettle, so to speak, we can take the necessary steps to ensure the kettle never explodes.”

The implications of those words bothered Blade. He glanced at the building they were approaching and felt apprehension gnaw at his nerves.

“Is that why you’re here in Green Bay?”

Darmobray chuckled. “Excellent. Your powers of deduction rival my own.”

“But why come to Green Bay to do whatever you’re doing? There are excellent scientific facilities in Technic City.”

“The best. Unfortunately, given the nature of the top-secret project in which I’m involved, the Minister and I were afraid there might be a leak. If our citizenry were to learn of my operation, they might rebel en masse before I can complete my studies and implement our plan,” Darmobray said.

“So you came here to avoid a security leak?”

“Partly. Green Bay is far enough away from Technic City that I can do my work in private, and it’s close enough for the supplies I require to be sent on a moment’s notice. This university once included several outstanding labs, and it was a simple task for us to move in and renovate the buildings.”

“What is this plan you mentioned?” Blade asked.

“A project so unique, so expansive in scope, and potentially rewarding that we have poured millions of dollars into this operation. My research has received the highest priority from the Minister.”

“Which tells me nothing.”

The Director grinned and nodded at a green door they were only several yards from reaching. “Why tell you when I can show you?”

“Why bother showing me when you know I’m your inveterate enemy?”

“I’ll save that as my final surprise,” Darmobray said smugly. He opened the door and motioned for the Warrior to precede him. “After you.”

Blade strode into a brightly illuminated corridor. Incandescent lights were suspended overhead. Both the walls and the ceiling had been painted white, and the floor consisted of white tiles. There were a half-dozen doors along each side.

“This is quite a treat for me,” Darmobray mentioned. “The only other person to whom I gave the grand tour was the Minister.”

“Lucky me.”

The Director ignored the crack. “Follow me,” he said, and moved to the first door on the right, which was closed. “Now try not to let your preconceptions distort your judgment.” He nodded at the six soldiers, who were standing mere feet away. “If you permit your emotions to get the better of you, they’ll shoot.”

“Is that a threat?” Blade inquired, mimicking the Director’s earlier tone.

“Yes,” Darmobray stated. He turned the knob and stepped within.

Bracing himself—or at least believing he was braced for the worst—Blade entered, then stopped, stunned to his core, his mind reeling at the grisly sight he beheld. “Dear Spirit!” he breathed.

“Now don’t start with that religious nonsense,” Darmobray said, and smiled. “What do you think of my experimental subjects?”

“If I had my Bowies, I’d castrate you,” Blade responded harshly.

“Then I’m in no danger, because Colonel Hufford took your weapons to his office in the dorm the troopers are using as a barracks.”

Blade registered the news for later use, gaping at the hapless men and women strapped onto tables covered with rubber mats or sheets. There were ten unfortunates, arranged in two rows of five apiece. All ten were unconscious and attached to life-support systems. They wore white hospital gowns. And every one had been subjected to the same surgical procedure. The tops of their heads had been shaved and sliced into, then peeled back much like an orange peel from an orange, exposing their brains. Oblong black boxes rested on metal stands alongside each table, and a series of multicolored wires connected to the boxes had been inserted into the brain of each victim.

“This sort of reminds me of high school biology class,” Darmobray mentioned.

“You’re sick, do yo know that?” Blade snapped.

“This is where my research started. This is where I first began conducting my elaborate tests on the human brain, where Project Automaton was launched.”

“Project what?”

“Automaton. The term describes my operation precisely. An automaton is someone who acts in a routine or monotonous manner and lacks active intellect. An automaton is also a machine designed to act under its own power, such as a robot.”

Blade’s mouth slackened and his skin tingled as he realized the ulterior motive behind Project Automaton. “You’re making human robots?”

“Close, but not quite,” Darmobray said. He walked to the nearest table and placed his left hand on the chest of the supine woman in the detached manner of someone who had no regard for human life whatsoever. “Allow me to elaborate. You see, once we realized that discontent was spreading among our populace, we decided to nip the rebellion in the bud.”

“We?”

“The Minister and the directors of the different divisions. As head of the Science Division, the project was put in my hands. Given our computer projections, we knew we had to act quickly. The more dissatisfaction spreads, the harder it will be to stop. So we’ll stop it now.”

“How?” Blade inquired, his gaze riveted on the woman’s brain.

“We realized that our educational system had failed if we couldn’t guarantee our citizens were properly indoctrinated in Technic teachings.

But we were bewildered because we knew our system was the best it could possibly be. Why then, we asked ourselves, was our system breeding individuals who were able to resist indoctrination and reject the concept of loyalty to the Technic state?” Darmobray talked in a clinical fashion, as if he were instructing a novice Technic. “We came to the conclusion that the fault didn’t rest in our system—the fault lay in our citizens. There would always be those who were incapable of assimilating our indoctrination. There would always be those who naturally inclined towards rebellion.”

“So instead of changing your system, you decided to change your populace,” Blade deduced.

“Improve them would be more apt,” Darmobray said. “I hit on the idea about eight years ago, but I wasn’t able to implement my experiments until I came to Green Bay.”

“What idea?”

Darmobray glanced at the oblong black box to which the woman had been attached. “Where do I begin?” he asked, and paused. “What do you know about the human brain?”

“It’s the center of thought and understanding.”

“Crudely put, but adequate. Actually, I was referring to the physiological aspects. As you may know, the brain continually gives off waves of electricity which can be measured by means of an electroencephalogram. By tracing this electrical activity, the lines of communication within the brain itself can be traced. Follow me so far?”

“No problem.”

“Okay. To be more specific, these brain waves have a frequency of about three to one hundred per second, and a magnitude of only five or five hundred millionths of a volt.”

“And all this relates to your Research Facility?”

“Bear with me. Studies have shown normal brains function within a given range of frequencies and voltage. Once the parameters are exceeded, all kinds of problems can result. Grand mal epilepsy, for instance, is associated with beta waves that attain a voltage of one hundred millionths of a volt,” Darmobray detailed. “Other studies have demonstrated that different drugs affect the generation of brain waves differently. If strychnine is put directly on an exposed brain, it will increase the frequency and the voltage. Dilantin can eliminate abnormal waves. Even more important, from my point of view, was research that proved that the frequency of brain waves can be increased or decreased by temperatures.”

Blade stared at the woman, wondering who she might be and whether she was aware of the wires inserted in her brain.

“I became fascinated by the correlation between brain waves and human behavior,” the Director mentioned. “It occurred to me that controlling the frequency and voltage might be the key to controlling conduct.”

“And if you can control human conduct, you can eliminate the Resistance Movement,” Blade interrupted.

“If I can perfect my technique, not only will all of our citizens become models of loyalty, devoted to our Technic doctrines, but they’ll also do whatever we want without hesitation. Imagine that. Millions of men and women at the Minister’s beck and call. His slightest wish will be their command.”

“Not to mention the slightest wishes of the directors of the various divisions,” Blade noted facetiously.

“Well, us also,” Darmobray admitted.

“If you can accomplish your goal, you’ll be the envy of every dictator on the planet.”

“Won’t we, though?” Darmobray said, smiling.

The Warrior pointed at the nearest oblong box. “Is this the technique you’re so proud of? You stick wires into someone’s brain?”

“Not quite,” Darmobray replied. “These are my research subjects. Let me demonstrate.” He moved to the woman’s oblong box and flicked a switch, activating the device. A row of meters and dials lit up and the box buzzed loudly. “Now watch what happens when I adjust that dial.”

Blade saw the Director turn a green dial, and the next instant the womans’ arms flapped uncontrollably. The dial was rotated to another setting and her legs quivered. Another turn, and her eyes unexpectedly opened and stared blankly at the ceiling. “Is she alive?” he inquired.

“Technically, she’s a vegetable. If I disconnected the life-support system, she’d die,” the Director said. He touched the wires attached to her exposed brain. “By inserting the needles attached to the ends of these wires into specific areas of her brain, then regulating the frequency using the black box, I can control her bodily functions.”

“How can a person live with their brain exposed?”

“With the proper equipment, they can be kept alive indefinitely. This one has lasted almost a month.”

“And I suppose she volunteered to be your guinea pig?”

Darmobray laughed. “She was a farmer’s wife, I believe. Her daughter was brought in at the same time, but the girl only lasted a week, as I recall.”

A farmer’s wife? A mother and daughter who had been brought to the Research Facility together? “Were their names Sandra and Nadine Wolski?”

“Wolski?” Darmobray said, his brow knitting, gazing at the Warrior in surprise. “Why yes, I believe they were. How did you know?”

“A lucky guess.”

The Director’s eyes narrowed. “In any event, the experiments I conducted in this room were the first step in proving my theory on how to control human behavior.” He walked to the doorway. “Come with me.”

Blade exited the revolting chamber of horrors on Darmobray’s heels, bearing to the right. “What was the second step?”

“Implants.”

“More needles in the brain?”

“No. By implanting a unique tetrode transistor into the brain stem, then using a modified broadcast transmitter to emit the proper signal, I can control the behavior of the recipients.”

“I don’t follow you.”

“Okay. Let me explain in greater detail. We have manufactured hundreds of revolutionary transistors, which are tiny electronic devices, mere wafers constructed of silicon. Through a simple surgical procedure, one of these transistors is implanted in the brain stem. They impair normal brain functioning by impeding the brain’s electrical activity, in the process transforming the recipient of the implant into an Automaton. To put it simply, they can’t think for themselves.”

“But how do you control them? How do you get the Automatons to do what you want?”

“That’s where the transmitter enters the picture. The implanted transistors are attuned to the specific frequency emitted by our one-hundred-thousand-watt transmitter. When the implants receive the signal, they activate the brains of the Automatons,” Darmobray elaborated. “At least, that’s the general idea. Unfortunately, the system hasn’t been perfected yet. I haven’t achieved total control over the Automatons. Most obey the electronic commands incorporated into the transistors. A few renegades don’t.”

“What sort of commands?”

“Oh, basis instructions,” Darmobray said evasively. “It will be another six months to a year before I can successfully, consistently program the Automatons to the point where they almost resemble normal human beings and can perform even routine everyday tasks.” He sighed. “I’m still in the experimental stage, but on a grander scale.”

“I saw one of your Automatons try to kill a trooper,” Blade mentioned.

The Director frowned and nodded. “I’m not surprised. Eighty percent of the implant recipients obey the commands, but the other twenty percent seem to experience some sort of short circuit resulting in aberrant, violent behavior.”

“Like the woman I saw.”

“Yes. The renegades will kill anyone and everyone they encounter. And they won’t respond to the command to return to the Research Facility. They wander aimlessly, in mindless packs, possibly linked in some manner by a subliminal affinity.”

“What about all the people who have disappeared? Have you turned them into Automatons?” Blade inquired.

“They were abducted by the Automatons. And the majority have received the implants. Dozens have been used on my experimental tables.”

Blade pondered for a moment. “There’s something I don’t quite understand. Can the Automatons function if the transmitter isn’t on?”

“They’re not supposed to, but the renegades do.”

“Let me see if I’ve got this straight. You transformed some of the residents of Green Bay into Automatons, then used them to abduct more and more people. But about twenty percent of the Automatons developed malfunctions, becoming deranged killing machines.”

“That’s it in a nutshell. The Automatons have been programmed not to harm anyone unless they receive a specific command from me,” Darmobray said.

“And where’s this transmitter of yours located?” Blade queried.

“On the east side of the campus. We erected the special two-hundred-foot-tall tower next to the transmitter. The effective radius is approximately fifty miles, but we plan to increase the range once our system is perfected.”

“Amazing,” was the only comment Blade could think of to adequately sum up his reaction to the scheme.

Darmobray grinned. “I knew you’d be impressed.”

“Do you really intend to insert implants into every citizen of Technic City?”

“Once all the kinks are ironed out, of course. The Minister will pass a law requiring every citizen to visit a hospital so they can receive a shot, an inoculation against a fictitious strain of virulent flu. In reality, the shot will knock them out. While they’re unconscious, my staff will insert the implants. We should be able to transform ninety-eight percent of the population into Automatons within a two-month span.”

“But the people who haven’t been transformed are bound to catch on,” Blade noted.

“Not at all, because by then my Automatons will be almost normal in every respect.”

Blade stared ahead at a wide door blocking the corridor. “So where are you taking me now? To see where you house your Automatons?”

The Director came to the door and halted, his lips creased by a smirk.

“No. The obedient Automatons are housed in several buildings in the vicinity of the transmitter. I have something special planned for you.”

“Like what?” Blade asked, disturbed by the man’s sardonic tone.

“I’m going to implant a transistor in your brain stem and transform you into an Automaton.”