Warren came up with the idea for
the psy manipulator. I helped
him build it. I made a modest contribution. Warren
was brilliant, a
super genius. I was his best friend, and merely
brilliant. When we
were in junior high, Warren was the smartest kid
in the whole school,
and I was his best friend. His only friend.
Well, he was my only
friend too. It wasn't that we didn't try to make
friends, I know I
tried, but the other kids just didn't like us. They
equated book
brilliance with weirdness. Girls seemed to hate
us the worst. They
made cruel jokes, called us boring nerds. Warren
and I liked girls.
Between taking academically advanced classes, attending
the science
and the math clubs, and, of course, the computer
club, we did our
share of girl watching, but at a discrete distance,
enjoying the way
their skirts and dresses, short pants, moved as
their hips went up
and down and their bottoms kind of rolled. We became
experts at
watching girls's bottoms, and with the right
government grants, we
probably would have become professionals at
it, instead of physicists.
Well, Warren didn't want to go
to high school. He said we would
be teased worse by the kids in high school than
we were teased by
the kids in junior high. He said, "Girls at our
age are too immature
to appreciate the male with brains."
Warren got our parents to enrolled
us in a program that allowed
us to skip high school. We studied and took exams
and were accepted
at college at age 14. At 16, we were in graduate
school and at 19,
we both had our Ph.D's.
We were 19, room mates, still
virgins, neither of us had copped
more than a feel. It certainly wasn't because we
didn't have the
will!
Warren and I were research scientists
at a very high tech
corporation, in well paying, senior scientist jobs,
working for a
company that had plenty of highly paid, mature,
young honeys of ages
20, 22, 24, and a few 19 year olds too, in the clerical
trainee pool.
But whenever we would try to talk to them, these
girls would walk
away from us. Sometimes they would run.
One girl, Celeste, blond, blue
eyes, fair skin, 22, a research
graduate intern in a different department, a girl
who had a delicious-
looking pair of hooters and who wore shirts that
accented the fine,
twin, half melon shape of her bottom, told me,
she wanted a man
who was at least five feet six and who wasn't half
blind. "For my
future children," she laughed.
I said: "I'm five ten!"
Yeah, I was only five ten. I wore corrected
lens. I had a 560 IQ.
She laughed. "Osky, you're cute."
Well, when Warren told me of his
idea for the psy manipulator, I
argued with him.
"We don't want to make something like that."
"Why not? It will be for us, exclusively," Warren smiled.
"Tech owns our work," I said.
"Tech owns what we create at work, on their time. We will make
the
manipulator here, on our time."
"If it falls in the hands of the government --"
"No one will know."
The psy manipulator was made to help us to get girls. Warren was
the leader. I only half- argued with him. When he
told me we would
only use the manipulator on one girl for him and
one girl for me, and
the girls must sort of already like us, I quit resisting.
The
manipulator was only to help the girls get over
their doubts.
In our spare time, Warren and I
worked on the manipulator. We sweated
our lonely, horny tails off, stayed up all night,
several nights in a
row, took stimulants to make it to work the following
mornings. It took
us six weeks to complete the prototype for the psy
manipulator. Warren
chose a girl in reception, as his targeted heart.
She was eighteen and
was attending community college. I told him I wanted
Celeste.
"But--"
"What buts?" he asked.
"Suppose something goes wrong?"
"We'll test it."
"How?"
"Well, we can't use laboratory
mice."
"No, they can't tell us what they're
thinking, can they?"
"I don't think so."
"So what?"
"We'll use guineas pigs. Girls
who don't interest us."
"Yeah, " I agreed, said. "Girls
who have been acting like pigs
towards us."
Well, just in case there were serious
side effects, we decided not
to test the manipulator on any of the girls at work,
and to use it
sparingly on only a few girls.
We chose three test subjects at random: One was
a big bosom blond
cutie who we saw on the subway, and the other two
were redheads who we
saw at a party, that we crashed. We learned that
while the manipulator
was in use on a girl, we had to control our thoughts.
The girls at the
party did come up to us and tell us whether or not
they were wearing
underwear. The girl on the subway did asked me,
"Do you want me to
remove my bra?" Luckily, the girls whispered these
things in our ears
and did not make a scene.
It was never our intention to
take physical advantage of any girl.
We were able to exit the party and the subway without
creating a
public incident or a lasting negative effect upon
the girls. We left
the girls with smiles and with pleasant thoughts
of the innate goodness
of men everywhere, who wore eyeglasses and were
shorter than six
feet.
Later, however, there was a public
incident. Warren blamed me. I
blamed him. We were in Warren's car our way home
from work. We both
were fooling around, talking and thinking trash
about girls, the usual
19 year old male thing. Warren had turned
off the manipulator and
placed it on the car seat.
Warren said, "We are kings of
the world!"
"Yeah! " I said. "We can have
any of the honeys."
"Deirdre!" Warren said.
"She's the one?"
"Yeah, but on the side I will
have Sharon Stone, Demi Moore and
what's-her-name."
"Who is what's-her-name?"
"Who ever I want her to be."
Well, we were kicking it. We laughed.
I guess, we were jumping some
in our seats, and kind of kicking our legs too.
Somehow, the manipulator
kicked on. Actually, I may have bumped against its
control buttons.
Warren and I continued to verbalize our sexual fantasies.
The car was standing at the traffic light, when the woman driving
the car in the next lane jumped out of her car,
raced over to us and
loudly, like a nightmare out of Hell, demanded "a
before work, morning
quickie."
This woman was Mrs. Hawthorne!
Our seventh grade homeroom teacher
from junior high school! She was forty! Maybe even
fifty! She always
reminded us of our grandmothers!
"Take the next turn-off, there
is a motel. It's discrete and no one
goes there," she said in a hoarse, throaty voice.
"Ma'aaam," Warren stuttered. His
face was red as a tomato!
"It'll be a thrill to do two young
studs like you. Don't worry, no
one will catch us."
Warren was dumb-struck. I put
my foot on the gas and moved the
stick. We went through a red light. I had to steer.
Before Warren's
could react, the car had gone a block, and the woman
had gotten into
her car and was right behind us. Warren took the
wheel, and we booted
down the highway, jetting.
"Is she still following!" Warren
shouted.
I looked back. "Yeah!"
"What in the hell is her problem?"
Warren shouted.
Instantly, we both knew the answer,
"the manipulator!"
I picked the manipulator from
the seat. checked it. "It's on!"
"Turn it off!" Warren put the
gas peddle to the floor.
The woman was right behind us,
jetting too. We scooted further
ahead. Warren's car had a little something extra,
courtesy of Tech
Labs. Soon, Warren was zooming, scooting from lane
to lane to zip
away. We got about fifteen miles before we ran into
a highway patrol
car.
The patrolman had us leaning against
the hood of Warren's car and he
was asking us about drugs, when the Mrs. Hawthrone
pulled up, and
seven other cars and a van, all with all-women drivers
and passengers
pulled up. These women had all been in the vicinity
of the traffic
stop, when the manipulator was on, and Warren and
I were talking
out our fantasies. Several of these other women
were past fifty too,
and one was sixty, at least!
Nearly thirty women got out of
the vehicles and cornered the cop,
demanded that he let us go, insulted him. They scared
us. Warren and I
scooted into the cop car's back seat and locked
the door.
I asked Warren, "Why don't we
run?"
He said, "Run where? That cop
has our IDs. We must wait here."
Warren reached over the front
seat, got the police radio and called
for help. "Officer down!" he said. "Two, young adult
male innocent
youths, civilians, are trapped in this police car
by an unruly mob."
The women over-powered the policeman,
punched him, muscled him
down, spat on him, called him a "weenie". He struggled
with them,
wrestled, but he didn't pull his gun. His brother
and sister officers
showed up before things got too far out of hand,
before he got
plummeted to a pulp, or something. The cop reinforcements
came riding
in like gang busters. They manhandled those women,
roughed them up,
tossed them into paddy wagons. When it was all over,
the cop thanked
us for calling the calvary and even apologized for
stopping us.
"I can see why you were running
from those broads, " he said. "What
are you two? Rock stars?"
One of the police women told Warren
that he looked cute, and told me
that I looked "pretty darn cute."
When we got into his car, Warren
disconnected the manipulator's power
pack.
After that incident, we never took the manipulator out of the
apartment. We put it in a drawer where it stayed
until that psycho
broke in, overpowered me, and tied me to a chair.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------
"Hey, ma'am!"
The crazy lady --Yeah! Her! Rolled
an eye at me. She continued to
search in Warren's room. She'd searched mine. She'd gone
through our
computers and our desks, drawers, closets. She even searched
under
our beds.
"What is this about, ma'am?"
She lit a cigarette, then tossed
the match at my head. I ducked. The
rope that held me tight to a chair cut into my arm.
Yeah, she had me
tied up. She like it. She grinned, then casually
blew a ball of black smoke
into my face.
After I caught my breath, after coughing,
I shouted, "Are you a federal
agent? You will have some heavy explaining to do to my
lawyer. My mom
is an ACLU attorney!"
She sneered, "Don't you want this
to end?" She spoke like she was bored
shit, and like she answered to no one. My head had
been buzzing all
along, now it throbbed. I think she drugged me.
My eyes blurred. I could
not focus or think. I just knew she was a
psycho and I would probably
be murdered; if I was lucky, I wouldn't be tortured
first. I decided for a
moment to be cool --to calm first and look for a
way out.
"Where is your room mate?"
"I don't know."
"Don't lie."
"I am telling you the truth, ma'am."
"You can't catch? I'm pitching
to you your life, but you won't catch."
I was through trying to stay cool.
I yelled: "I'm telling you the truth!"
"You won't catch. Do you prefer
termination?"
"Okay, okay! Fine! Kill me! You
are crazy! I'm not going quietly."
I screamed, hoping my neighbors would hear. "Help!
I'm being murdered!"
The apartment walls were sort of
thin. The lady who lived next door
was forever complaining that Warren and I played
our music too loud.
"This is real! Call the cops!"
I yelled louder.
The crazy, insane woman shrugged. "As
long as you don't care, it's your life."
"Help! She's got me tied up to a chair!
Help! Me! Please! Please!"
The insane, crazy woman tossed the cigarette
butt into my screaming mouth.
I almost choked on the butt, luckily, I was able to spit
it out.
"Calm down," she muttered.
I screamed, "Help!"
She slugged me. "I should have busted
your mouth already."
My lip bled. I asked her quietly, "Who do you work for?"
She replied, "The way I work it is,
I ask the questions."
"What do you want?"
"I'm not
here passing time, little human boy? You, quit pissing time."
"You want
to steal our invention? I can see that."
"Your ass-i-tude
is begging to be bruised."
"Can't we negotiate?"
I didn't know the name of the lady
who lived next door. All I knew
of her was that she didn't make any noise and, whenever
Warren or I
played our music an octave higher than a whisper
she came banging on
our door. I'd screamed for help and shouted, and
hadn't heard a peep
from her. I feared she wasn't home. But she was,
and she had called
the police.
Warren and I lived in a quiet
part of town that was pretty much,
nearly free from serious crime. Two police officers
came strolling
up to the apartment door to check out my neighbor's
complaint of
noise, -- casual like.
The lead officer knocked, "Police."
He was pretty polite.
The psycho got hot. "A brief annoyance," she glared
at me and pulled a gun.
I hadn't seen a gun like hers before, but it wasn't
so fanastic-looking
that it looked unreal. It looked advanced. I figured
she was either
working for some government or for a large corporation.
I yelled, "Officer! She's got
a gun!"
The insane woman turned, fired
a shot over my head. Ducking, I fell over in
the chair. The rope cut into my arm. The psycho
started firing
through the door at the police. She
fired fifty rounds from a gun
that I would have sworn couldn't hold more than
fifteen. Now I have
to tell you, I nearly freaked. Warren and I had
been warned about
industrial spies and assassins employed by criminal
syndicates to steal
ideas and inventions, and to murder inventors!
I thought this psycho
was a high tech assassin, equipped with advanced
tech and secret
weaponry. I was certain now that her mission was
to steal the manipulator
and its design plans, and to silence the inventors.
I tried not to let
her see how scared I was, but I wasn't sure if I
pulled it off, or if
she was paying much attention to me at that point.
The crazy woman marched
to the door, blasting away. Her gun tore so many
holes into the door that the door collapsed. She
marched right through
the door, into the hallway, blasting. After hundreds
of rounds, she
stopped.
She yelled, "I warn you people,
stay put in your apartments or
you'll get shot! Two of your armed law enforcement
officers have been
terminated, do you want what they just got?"
I could just feel my neighbors
cowering behind their doors. The long
gunfire had alarmed the neighborhood. People in
neighboring buildings,
and in the street, were squealing and cursing, in
the relative safety
of cover.
The assassin returned. She stood
over me. She seemed to have cooled.
She didn't now look like a maniac. Her tone was freakingly
reasonable, but
what she said wasn't. "We weren't communicating, so I figured,
what the funk, if
I shot a couple of your people --"
"Ma'am, what do you want me to
tell you!?"
"I see, I'm pretty good at sizing
you people up, nothing convinces you
like a little extreme violence."
A man came to the doorway. The
minute I realized that the psycho bitch wasn't
going to shoot him, I figured they were working
together. The man rushed
over to the psycho and spoke in a language that
I didn't understand. He
sounded angry. The psycho screamed in the man's
face, then hauled me up
by my shoulder and cut my hands free from the chair.
She held me up on
my feet, refused to let me rub the rope burns and
bruises on my hands
and arms. She was a strong bitch. She grabbed my
sore arms, yanked them
up behind my back, handcuffed me and steered me
out of the apartment,
through the doorway.
Everywhere I glanced, I saw bullet
holes and destruction. No one
was in the hallway, except the two officers' bodies,
still bleeding.
I smelled lingering gun smoke in the hall, and sweat,
coming from the
closed apartment doors. I was led down the stairs
to the ground floor
and out the side door. The psycho's partner
went ahead of us,
stopped at a parked black van, opened the
back door, and leaving this
door open, went to the front, opened the driver's
door and got in. The
psychotic crow lifted me up, threw me into the back
of the van, then slammed
shut the door.
Inside the van, it was so dark
that I couldn't see. I fell face down. I lay
on the van's cold steel floor.
"Oscar, it is you?" Warren's voice
called out, but I couldn't
tell if he was in front of, or behind me. "Don't
answer," he said
quickly. "Just listen."
"Warren?"
"Stow it, Oscar."
"They've got you too?" I mumbled.
"These two are serious. Just listen."
"How did they get you?"
"I was coming back to the apartment
to warn you. I sensed some
danger. Now listen, please?"
I did. I turned around to see
if I could see him in the dark. I
couldn't see my hand, or my legs. I couldn't see
anything. I said,
"I am not afraid of these scum."
I heard the psychotic one's voice.
She was a few -- some feet away. I
figured she was in the front --She cracked, "I admire your defiant
attitude,
but I wonder if you have the intelligence ..."
"Don't say anything else, " I
heard Warren warned me. "Listen."
I was puzzled by the tone of Warren's
voice.
"Why? They're going to kill us.
But they won't get to jerk off
thinking we're punks or something."
"Hey, man. Just stay cool, okay?"
"Okay."
"Talking to yourself; the other
one doesn't talk," the psychotic
thuggish bitch said. I could just see a smirk. I
'heard' one forming on her lips.
I could even feel the twitch at the corners of her mouth.
"What!" I said.
"Oscar!" Warren hushed me.
"Whatever you say, scum," I replied
to the psycho.
"Will you keep quiet for a minute
and listen, " Warren scolded.
"For what?"
"Listen, don't answer back. I
am talking directly to your mind."
"My mind?"
"They can't hear me. I can understand
them."
"You say you're talking to my
mind? How?"
"My mind has shifted out of sync."
"Huh?"
"It is a side effect of the manipulator."
"Warren --"
"I can understand their thoughts."
"Warren --"
"Listen, and answer me with your
thoughts, not with your --"
"Warren --"
"Think your answers, don't speak
them!"
I asked Warren in my thoughts,
"Where are you?"
"Here, in this van."
"Where?" I moved my arms in all
directions, trying to locate him. "Warren?"
"I can't move, Oscar."
"What?"
"I -- They've shackled me with
what they call an inhibitor."
"Warren."
"I --"
"Warren --"
"Oscar?"
"We really stepped into it, didn't
we?"
"Yes."
"You're not brain damaged -- and
these scum!"
"Relax, pal. I used it more than
you."
"Craps!"
"Are you having headaches?"
"No."
"You might, probably."
"Craps, Warren!"
"We're not cooked yet, pal."
"Who are they? Federal agents?"
"Worst. Alien agents."
"What!"
"Space aliens."
The lights came on and we weren't
in the van, but on a floor in a
room! I saw Warren. He lay on the floor, just out
of the range of the
tips of my fingers. He looked as though he'd been
punched in the nose.
A piece of dried blood hung just inside of his nose,
and there was a
cut on the outside that needed to be bandaged.
I screamed, mentally, "The scum!"
Warren answered, "Stay cool, Oscar."
"Your face!" I said.
"I lost my glasses in the scuffle,"
he said. "The glasses frame cut my nose."
The scum who kidnapped us entered.
The one who seemed to be the
lesser psychotic of the two spoke. "Young men?"
I glared up at this creep and
at the other one, the bitch, standing over us.
Warren told me to "Be cool."
I had rope burns on my hands, my lip
hurt, though the bleeding had stopped,
I was too angry to be cool.
"Scum!" I spat up at them.
Warren urged me to -- "Calm down, so
we can think clearly about what to do."
"We need some information," the lesser
psychotic creep said.
"I won't answer any of your questions.
You are aliens!" I shouted.
"No! Don't tell them that!" Warren's
mind said.
The lesser psychotic one smirked,
"Aliens, boy?"
"Oscar ..." Warren warned.
"I know you are! Her --" I pointed
to the very psychotic piece of scum,
she was no woman, "--- has a handgun that shoots five hundred rounds
without
reloading!"
"Ho! Ho!" laughed the lesser psychotic
dirt bag.
"You addressed her in a totally
alien language that has no roots to
any earth bound tongue."
"You know all the thousands of
languages and dialects?"
"I know cricket speech when I
hear it. You are two bugs, like in bug-eyed monsters!"
"Oscar!" Warren's mind screamed
at me to shut up.
I was too ticked to stop, I kept
tocking. I stared at the two creepy monsters, said,
"I looked into your hateful eyes, and do you know something?
" I pointed at the
psycho alien broad, "Your left eye has no eye lids! What
happened? Your eye piece
slipped, when you were getting off on mowing down police officers!"
"You are a smart little monkey,"
the very psychotic psycho nut-bitch replied.
"And you are crap," I said.
"Why we take this from you, I
don't know," said the very psychotic, creepy alien bitch.
"Ann, doesn't understand," the
other creep said. "To you we are alien invaders."
"Invaders?" the psychotic bitch
laughed.
"Get off our planet!" I shouted
at her.
"We are invaders invading part
of our own territory?" the psychotic scum ball
smirked.
"Let's make this short," said
the lesser psychotic creep. "You must give us
everything you know of the Yles Device."
"What?"
"The mind machine," the psychotic
slime bucket said.
"What mind machine!" I screamed
at her.
"This mind machine." The psychotic
hard ass had taken the manipulator
from the apartment. She held it in our faces.
"What do you want with that?"
Warren asked, spoke.
Hard ass said to Warren, "You're
talking now?"
"It's a novelty toy," Warren said.
"Some toy," psychotic Hard ass
said.
"We used it to get girls!" I blurted
out.
"You will tell us who else has
this," Hard ass said.
Hard ass's partner, the other hard
ass, the lesser psychotic creep told
Warren and me to be reasonable. He explained who
he was: "the special
agent-in- charge of the sector, a restricted weapons
law enforcement officer."
The other creep was a special agent too.
The lesser hard ass said, "Boys,
your lives, as you have known them,
are forfeit. If you will cooperate, you may spare
your planet a full scale
police action."
"Our lives are forfeit! We are
only nineteen! Our lives are forfeit, and you are
telling us to be reasonable, you spawn of a termite!"
"What did you call us?" The psycho
crow stood over me, yelled, "We are
not --"
"Ann!" the lesser creep cut-off
the totally psychotic creep. "I want these boys to
think of the consequences of noncooperation."
"You people disappear," the psychotic
one said. "We made a whole bunch
of stubborn British scientists disappear a few years back. But
some we just let
die one-by-one, like ten stubborn little Indians." She
smiled.
Warren said, "Honest, Oscar and
I made the gismo to get girls."
The psycho cursed.
Warren said, "Why did you come to us?"
"We had you under surveillance," the
psycho answered.
"Why?"
"We detected the --"
"Yes! But anywhere else? Did you detect
the --"
"The Yles device is a restricted weapon."
"We tinkered like kids do, and we made
a gismo."
The lesser psychotic creep lost his
patience and shouted, "Perhaps you
would prefer seeing a fleet of policing troops running
around in full combat gear,
seeking and eradicating all traces of the Yles device from your
planet and, not too
gently pacifying your people? Or would you prefer witnessing
what a company of
military droids stationed in your population centers can do?"
"Nah, they would prefer that I fry their
butts," Hard ass said.
"We scare you, don't we?" I smiled,
showing that I wasn't scared of them. Not
for real!
"You seem to be two intelligent, young
men," the lesser psychotic tried the pseudo reasonableness for the
final time. "Listen. We are duly appointed officers --"
"Of what?" I interrupted. "Up there
you can draw your charts, but it won't
change the reality here. Sure, you can call Earth part of your territory
as long
as the people here don't know that you exist, but if you declare it
on the Mall in
Washington, D.C., the people of this planet will disagree, and
you will need a lot
of you guys and crazy, psycho gals."
"We are authorized to take --"
Hard ass interrupted the lesser psychotic
one. "You can't be trusted with advance
weaponry," she snarled.
I retorted, "But you can?"
I expect you're still under the delusion
that you are special," Hard ass said.
"Warren? Why can't I move?"
"The regulator."
Then I noticed I was at a police
station. Officers with gun drawn surrounded
us. A police sergeant said, "A cult, I can understand.
We have dead people.
What's your explanation? A manipulator?"
I answered, "The psy manipulator.
I won't tell you how it worked. I will tell
you what it could do."
I asked Warren if I could tell
them that much. He was on the floor
beside me. He shook his head as if he was
drunk. I noticed then that I was
now seeing double. The psychos gismo
was breaking down our brains. I
must have been speaking gibberish. I
held my head.
"Are you on drugs? On medication?
Are you diabetic? Do you you
have a medical condition I should know about?"
I was being questioned now by
a room full of officers. No guns were
drawn. I was seated in a chair.
"I am suffering from the side effects
of the manipulator." I said.
A detective in long shirt sleeves and
red suspenders looked at me
quizzically, then shrugged. "Listen
to this, right?" he said. "All I've got
are two dead police officers. Nothing
from you, nothing. Just nothing."
I answered, "Space aliens."
He nodded, with his arms folded
across his chest.
"And you want me and these detectives
to believe that?"
"Yes, sir."
"Okay, I'm cool. My lieutenant
is on his way. He is one guy pretty
regular, all he wants me to do is to lock
up bad men until
kingdom comes. I've never seen his bad side."
"Where is Warren?"
I saw Warren. He was shaking as though
he was having convulsions.
Warren collapsed onto a brown chair. Warren
staggered to his feet.
White foam streaked his face, seeped down
his chin. Warren was
suddenly hyperventilating beside me. I looked at
him, his eyes were
glazed and he was shaking his legs ferociously.
Warren's breathing sped
He had spasms and great dollops of white froth
dripped from his mouth
"Where is Warren?"
Warren lay collapsed on the
floor, his body still. I was obliviously
to this. My body was exhausted.
"Your room mate died
two days ago, " the detective replied, as if he'd
answered this question a dozen times.
"God! No! God! No!"
"Oscar? Oscar?" the detective
spoke softly. "Two policemen dead, your
apartment shot up, and you said you were pursed
by --"
"Aliens!" I shouted. "Freaking
aliens!"
"Who looked, dressed and
sounded Jamaican?"
"Did I say that?"
"Yes."
"They were freaking space
aliens not ordinary Jamaican aliens."
"Yes, describe how they
looked."
"I have!"
"Again, please?"
Date: 7/30/86
To: Captain Harold Wright, Chief, Homicide Division
From: Dr Karl Kapper, Chief Psychologist
Re: Oscar Clarke
... Subject maybe delusional. His answers to questions evasive. He could be a psychotic... Recommend keeping him here for observation.
{END}
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