"You know, Janice," Doctor Phillip Boyce said as he adjusted a tiny lens with an equally tiny screwdriver, "I've always been somewhat offended by the term 'mad scientist'." He had a smooth, mellifluous speaking voice, and it was undoubtedly this that helped to attract students to his classes. Certainly, his appearance helped as well; at least, he attracted more female students than one would imagine to his esoteric classes on neurobiology. However, very few of them did well...and it was this same lamentable lack of understanding that had brought up the current conversation. In a sense.
He continued to speak as he set down the screwdriver and picked up a soldering iron. "I mean, take Frankenstein. The idea of reanimating the dead bodies is a fundamentally sound one, with numerous positive applications for humankind." The scent of ozone filled the air as he began to solder a connection on a circuit board. "But one little mishap--and who among us hasn't had a mishap in the lab?--and suddenly everyone's out with the torches and the pitchforks, ready to go back into the Dark Ages. It's downright barbaric! Wouldn't you agree?"
Janice did not respond, so Phillip continued. "As for myself, I've been called 'mad' before. It's actually a very hurtful term--especially for one who has prided myself on my capacity for reason." He finished with the soldering iron, and snapped the casing onto what looked like an antique camera. "I happen to think of myself as a stable, well-adjusted individual with a good sense of humor... why, just the idea of putting those who mocked me in their place has a healthy cheer to it!" He chuckled. Then laughed. Then laughed some more, long and hard, in a manner some might have described as 'maniacal'.
"But of course, Janice," he finally said, when he calmed down, "I'm not doing this to put people in their place. That would be an act of egotism--small, and petty, and entirely unworthy of me. I'm doing this to make the world a better place. In the end, humanity will thank me. You understand, don't you, Janice?"
There was a small, muffled sound. "I'm sorry," he said, as he removed the gag from the young and very pretty blonde who was tied to a rolling office chair. "I didn't quite catch that. You were saying?"
"Why...what are...I..." Janice's voice was choked with fear and worry, and the rhythms of her speech were panicked and disoriented.
"Please, Janice," Dr. Boyce said as he attached a small pad to her throat, just over the carotid artery. "Clarity. Simplicity. If you'll remember, when I made you my assistant, I did tell you that I was not interested in anyone who couldn't keep calm under trying circumstances. This is a serious business, not work for some frivolous little girl who wants to sleep with her professor."
Janice took a few deep breaths. "Why did you do this to me," she said in a tone of consciously forced calm, "and what are you going to do with that?"
"Well," Phillip said, "to answer those questions in reverse order, this is a Neural-Optical Stimulator and Amplifier of Induced Conditioning, or a NOSAIC for short. Between you and me, I'm planning on working on that acronym. It'd work much better if I could find a synonym for 'Neural' that started with the letter 'M'. But that can come later, after I've tested it out. On you, of course...that's why I knocked you out and tied you to the chair. I didn't really think you'd agree you having your brain chemistry altered to make you my obedient slave."
"Slave?"
"Well, I'd really prefer to find a different word. 'Slave' sounds so...gauche. Perhaps 'student', or 'adjusted individual.' But yes, that's the sum of it. The device produces radiation on frequencies that the optic nerve picks up and transmits to the brain, stimulating the production of very specific neurochemicals; within moments of the formation of those chemicals, the brain accepts a source of prominent visual stimuli--specifically, the person who activates the device--and 'imprints' on them as a source of unquestionable wisdom, total command, complete domination, et cetera. It's based on the work done on ducklings by the behaviorist--but I see I'm rambling. We should probably just get to the test."
"But...but I don't want to become your slave!"
"Well, that's what makes it such a good test! You're in an environment that can't help but produce negative feelings towards me, you haven't liked me ever since I accused you of stealing my work, and you're panicky and unwilling! Obviously, if you wind up crawling to me and licking my feet, it's a certain sign that the machine is working to full effect!"
"But...does...does it wear off?"
"I don't know. I don't think so--it'll be interesting to see if it does, though." He picked up the NOSAIC. "Now, hold still, and this shouldn't hurt a bit." He furrowed his brow in thought. "At least, I don't think it will. Again, I'm not sure."
Just as he was about to press down the activator button, he was interrupted by a knock on the door. He rolled his eyes, set down the NOSAIC, and replaced Janice's gag. "Now who in the world could that be?" he asked himself as he rolled her office chair into a closet and closed the door.
The knocking continued as he crossed the lab to the outer door, opening it to reveal a slim brunette with a pageboy style haircut and a camera around her neck. "Yes?" he said, trying to enhance his disdain.
"Hi," the young woman said with a smile. "I'm Joanna Bright, from 'Campus Voices'; I'm sure that Dean Magnusson told you I was coming."
