‘Sleeper.’ The word had been spoken to him by his old college colleague, Dr. Jarrod Rogue, and it circled through the mind of Victor Logan, governor of the California territory. Never a quiet man and always a formidable figure within a room known for being large and boisterous, Logan’s voice could stir echoes within the fullest of halls. Contemplating the word on this occasion, however, he remained quiet in the dark of his office, the word repeating over and over within his mind as he twirled the machine’s blueprint around in his hand. Returning the paper to the top of his desk, he was done with his pondering. “I don’t give a damn what you call it, Jarrod. It sounds like a perverse machine, but get to the point. What do I get from funding it? That’s why you’re here, is it not?”
Jarrod Rogue twisted his awkward bulbous torso in the small armchair facing the governor’s desk. Logan always remembered him to be a frumpy man with an overt tendency to paint his avaricious nature upon his smile for the world to see. He was known to be a deceitful person when they schooled together, holding a reputation amongst the student body for hosting a conniving nature, doing whatever it took to be the individual that reigned at the top of his game. Such traits were perhaps the reason why a young Logan tolerated him, not as a good friend, but someone to be snuggly tucked in a back pocket for future favors. “Victor,” the doctor replied. “My mothers work into the science of cataloguing the responses of a person through the scanning of synaptic impulses; mapping colors to emotions. I have taken that work to a new level through the sleeper device.” Rogue leaned forward to point towards the blueprint, though Logan was clearly not spying the piece of paper any longer. “This here attached into the cerebral cortex of a psych taps into their power. By applying the base principals of my mother’s mechanics, I believe I can not only discern the thoughts of the individual, but also command their power.”
“Wonderful,” Victor exclaimed slyly. “A new toy to read the thoughts of the peutrid psychs of the world.” After releasing a stout laugh that danced upon a sarcastic tone, the governor continued. “I have toys already that rip the brains of the monsters apart. Every day we are discovering more about what mutation is causing citizens to sprout psychic power. We’re already close to an answer.”
“And your butchers are wasting the power that could be ours to command!” The doctor fired back with a raised voice, leaning back in the tight chair.
Victor stood, the anger that always bubbled near to the surface of a man with little patience tweaked by the doctor’s rant. “Doctor Rogue! Do not come in here and raise that tone with me or I will unleash my butchers upon you. See how you tick.”
Rogue sat forward again, his jowl just beginning to sag from his weight and age suddenly trembling with regret for wrong words spoken. “Think of what we could do commanding the power instead of snuffing it,” he said in a softened tone, clearly quickly attempting to rectify the damage of his reaction. “Apologies Victor, but you must hear me out.” As Logan slowly sat once more, the doctor’s tone dropped even lower, almost to a whisper. “I already have one.”
Logan’s eyes locked upon the pale blue of his old college colleague’s eyes. “You know experimenting without approval is not lawful and never healthy.”
“Which is why I’m here, convincing you instead of one of your commissions. And I needed proof that it worked before bringing it to you.”
Logan leaned back into the overstuffed plush of his chair, contemplating. Perhaps it was worth more of a listen than he had thought moments ago. “And what was your psych able to do?”
“Once rendered unconscious and placed within the tank, I was able to take control of his ability to sense other’s thoughts. You see, Norman came to me as a troubled individual, unable to silence the thoughts of those around him.” Rogue began to ramble, his obsession with his profession taking hold of the conversation. “He reached a point where he was unable to stand in a crowded room without breaking down from the onslaught of voices around him; others thoughts.”
“On with it,” Victor commanded, issuing a boisterous reminder of his small level of patience.
Rogue stopped in mid-sentence, looking up into the eyes of his governor once more. “Yes, of course. Once he became a component of the machine, I was able to direct the wave of his power, you see it travels. I directed it towards my secretary who was in the waiting room. Random words began to dance across the monitor. Her own contemplations.”
Logan began to see possibilities, opportunities for the collection of data with such a machine. “And she had no idea you were sifting through her brain?”
“She was uncomfortable. I didn’t share what I had done with her, but she clearly did not feel right afterwards.”
“So your proposing that we use this machine to extract truths out of our prisoners. An elaborate lie detector?”
Rogue shook his head quickly “Not at all, Victor. I’m proposing that we use the machine on those that are asleep and unaware. People you suspect of wrong-doings. Enemies of the territory.” Rogue raised a hand, pride suddenly displayed in the wave of the appendage, the sly expression that he was known for back upon his face.
“How far can it reach?” Victor returned. He could clearly see that his old colleague was suddenly immersed back into the greed that he was known for, seeing riches in his creation. ‘Perhaps,’ Victor thought. “I’m assuming of course that your sleeper has already been active at night?”
“It has,” the doctor confirmed with a smile. “And the range has been greater than I expected in the initial tests. There’s still more work to do. Controlling the wave, directing it; that ability is still in its infancy. I need money to continue the pursuit of this valuable device”
Logan pushed his chair back as he stood. His mind was a flurry of thoughts, potential uses of a device such as was being proposed. With a short walk to the side of his desk, he approached his fireplace ablaze with the orange glow of crackling embers. Though fire was illegal in the underworld due to its ability to rapidly consume oxygen, it was a luxury that the wealthy and the important could still enjoy. Victor relished his fire, and a gaze into the sway of the flames was always a good aid in helping him to ponder his actions. “I approve of your experiment, Doctor,” he said softly after eyeing the blaze for a moment. “But from this day forward, that machine belongs to me. After all, its price tag is high.”
The doctor smiled widely, his yellowed teeth glistening in the orange glow of the dimly lit room. “Then you will fund my work to its fullest?”
Victor turned back away from the wide hearth of his fireplace, a smile upon his cheeks as well, though his was simply the canvas for the cool sarcasm he was also known for. “I have no doubt doctor that you will inflate your price so as to ensure your own status, doctor. But let’s take just one step at a time. I will fund the first phase. Show me results and we’ll discuss the possibility of further funding.”
An awkward silence fell upon the room, the sound of the crackling flames the only thing breaking the hush. Rogue nodded and then reached down to the briefcase he had placed on the floor beside the desk. Grasping the blueprint, he shoved the paper within the case, clearly unconcerned with neatness or the organization of the case’s contents. “Thank you, Victor,” he said as he stood. Slinging the strap of his briefcase over his shoulder, he stepped towards the governor and reached a hand forward for a handshake. “You shall see those results.”
Victor took the Rogue’s hand in his own, though the doctor’s hand was much smaller than the girth of the tall man that Victor Logan was. “I look forward to it, Jarrod,” he responded. As he glanced at the pink of the doctor’s rounded face, he was satisfied that he had tucked the treacherous fool into his back pocket those many years before when they were young. He was a pathetic old man, but suddenly useful. “You’re looking well.” Logan smiled once, completing the hand shake with a wave towards the door, bidding the doctor’s exit.