Mind control has been practiced by both individuals and group entities from time immemorial.
Sometimes it is open, shotgunned out among the masses via holofeed propaganda or your garden variety charismatic leaders. Sometimes it is subtle, what we Earthlings euphemistically term mere “advertising campaigns”. And sometimes–the most dangerous, insidious, evil times of all–it is applied by direct, forceful intervention.
Before man had the written word, witch doctors and medicine men of various stripes (both religous and secular) managed their victims’ thoughts and feelings by the use of hypnotic chants, using aromatic smokes as triggers. Psychedelic plants and chemicals broke down resistance within the human brain, allowing the Controllers free access to the Controlled.
Examples were and are ubiquitous; they were and are ignored at the People’s risk. What we neither recognize nor understand, we cannot avoid.
Sometimes victims do begin to realize their mental enslavement. They cry alarm. In more cases than not, these criers are derided publicly–after all, it is not in the interest of the Controllers to have either their methods or their results exposed to public scrutiny. From the young man who heard voices telling him to kill the Living Eck Master, Paul Twitchell, in the 20th century…to another young man who wrote frequently about governmental mind control for years before exploding in a shooting rampage in Arizona in 2011…to notorious collaborator Henrik J. Kitard, the 19 year old Dutchman who betrayed his country to the Jupiterians during the War–all showed signs of being mentally forced to perform incomprehensible, inhuman actions.
Was this true? Twitchell’s attacker was ruled insane. The Arizona wild man (history has forgotten his name; I could find it nowhere in the annals) was executed by the state for mass murder. Kitard was caught by his countrymen and did not survive to face trial. None of these young men are alive today–and why, pray tell, are they all young men? Whether or not they were mind controlled, whether or not the shadowy hand of the Guild might have somehow been involved, none can know.
But one wonders.
____Gyunta Spreezak, The Mind Control Conspiracy Theory
Life’s a bitch and then you die, but God is not up in the sky
You go to court and there within, Lords of Karma sit and grin
Watching as you sit and spin, then send you back to try again
The vacuum cleaner hummed happily along with Kate as she repeated her little song, running through the lyrics endlessly, cleaning the apartment endlessly, thinking about their predicament…endlessly.
It was two days after Christmas, and Nina was in jail.
The calendar date didn’t matter; as Zarists with no particular interest in Christianity, neither she nor Sven cared a bony rat’s ass about the holiday one way or the other. What she did care about was survival for the Sandfire crew which had come to mean quite a few people, Sven and Kate included.
They had seen this coming for a while. Kate was a reformed alcoholic, meaning way beyond merely “recovering” or even “recovered”. With the zeal characteristic of the reformed, she had come to passionately hate booze and all things associated with booze. Nina, on the other hand, was nothing but an old street skank whose pleasure palace would have accommodated Jeremy Boulder’s massive head. Even the Sicilian slave girl’s well traveled chocolate highway could have taken a Little League aluminum baseball bat without undue discomfort. She’d once claimed to be a master (mistress?) of oral sex and had probably worn out three or four tongues before pulling hard time and becoming Garrett Di Marco’s pen pal, back when Di Marco existed as Di Marco.
So ran Kate’s thinking, along with pondering how she could kill the bitch.
Kate did not a good enemy make.
They’d been close for a time, true enough, slave sisters who’d done their best to treat each other and their Master right. Yet in the end, as the Jensens had privately feared might happen, her true master was made disastrously clear. Hundred proof Jammin’ Jack. Oh, they’d kept her dry for a long time, eons in drunk years, but somewhere in October, the whore had begun showing increasing danger signs. Bright red flags. Irritability escalating to a rage no amount of discipline, counseling, and/or loving could mitigate, let alone eliminate.
Everyone in Sandfire’s inner circle knew it could end only one way, and it did.
Pete Boulder and Sven Jensen were right now attending Nina’s hearing. Back a hundred years or more, people said it had been done differently. First there would be an arrest, then you got a phone call, maybe you got out on bail. There was an arraignment later, then–finally–a trial. Appeals, too, whatever those were.
Not so since the Jovian War. People had gotten tired of their taxes going to support a judicial system that was sucking them dry. First in the state of Wyoming, later country-wide, a simpler system was instituted.
If you were arrested tonight, you’d be in court tomorrow. By the end of tomorrow, you’d be either free or sentenced.
Sure, plenty of innocent parties got railroaded, but Wyoming pointed out that their revised system provided for that: Anybody with a hot lawyer and a few million bucks in his pocket could still do the appeal thing. That could take years, and a lot of people did seem to die of mysterious diseases while “on appeal” in prison–but so what? They shouldn’t have been dumb enough to get arrested in the first place.
The voting public put up with it because the Jupie War was on. Once the first hundred thousand protesters were flamed to cinders under martial law, the message was clear: There was no such thing as justice anyway, so the injustice might as well be swift. A prison sentence might be unfair, but it was definitely better than having your body temperature raised to 2400 degrees in a matter of 1.2377 milliseconds.
Yes, of course. Plenty of controversy. But Sven had pointed out that the present system actually gave Sandfire an edge. Nina would be sentenced today, but even if she had already blown the whistle, authorities would be still be gathering their forces, hesitant to attempt such a momentous and dangerous bust without first amassing overwhelming firepower on their side.
Cops, like all bullies, were pretty cautious when it came to capping people who capped back.
“Hey,” Sven had explained in a Sandfire meeting that morning, “If you were pretty much anybody, from the local cops to the Feds to the Guild, and Nina told you everything she knew about us, would you make a move before setting things up right? I wouldn’t, and that’s a fact. I figure we’ve got at least 24 hours. Maybe weeks, but 24 hours for sure.”
They might be just fine, of course. In early November, by Sandfire inner circle consensus, the Seeder had taken countermeasures to protect against Nina’s eventual fall from the wagon. Without her knowledge, he’d used The Box to go inside, into her inner worlds, where he set a number of safeguards in various key locations.
This was clearly and unequivocally against Spiritual Law; he knew there would be a price to pay.
But then, popping a cap on Won Ton Sampson while the man was bound hand and foot would hardly get him elected Saint of the Year by the spiritual hierarchy. It was a matter of survival. War was still war.
At a later company meeting, after they’d learned of Nina’s arrest, Jensen addressed the group in a tone of apology.
“I know this brings up the question: Could I ever be tempted to cross that line with anyone else in our group? The answer is not only no but Hell no. Still, how do you know that to be true? I can run my mouth all I want, and–the thing is, Nina was my slave. She was the weak link, and if I didn’t do something, we could all be done for…and it would all be my fault. Because I knew she was an alcoholic from the start. By the time she joined us, back in EC when I was still a Senior Seeder in good standing and dumb as a bag of hammers about what I was really doing to myself every day, Kate had already whipped her addiction. I–”
“Sven,” Jeremy Boulder interrupted in his gravelly growl, “Shut the f*** up. You don’t mess with anybody unless you you have to. We all know that. So quit worrying about us worrying about you, and git on with it, wouldja?”
This was more than the Seeder had dared to hope for. However, Boulder wasn’t quite finished.
“But Pete will go, too.”
“To the hearing? Why? It only puts more of us out in the open at risk.”
“Simple.” The burly inventor bit off the end of a fresh cigar and spat it out on the floor–missing the spittoon–then explained. “Pete is young, tall, good looking, and light chocolate or not, he’s obviously not exactly Caucasian. That stands out in a town mostly whiter than snow on the Sierra Madre peaks, plus the folks in Tonopah all know he’s with Sandfire. Anyone inclined to git curious will have all eyes on him, especially if he sits up near the front. You slip in a couple of minutes later and nobody will even notice you’re there.”
It did make sense. By now, Kate knew, both men should be in the courtroom, evaluating the situation. She ran her little song and ran her little vacuum, trying not to think about how close she had come to being murdered in her bed. In November, when Sven had checked out Nina’s inner worlds, he’d implanted some etheric programming.
If that had been triggered–which should have happened the moment Nina felt the handcuffs–certain of her memories should be gone now, utterly destroyed and replaced by others created out of whole cloth by the Seeder himself.
Trouble was, Jensen hadn’t ever before tried using The Box in precisely that fashion.
“It should work,” he’d told them, “But only the bottom line will tell for sure. From what Sampson told us, the Guild has an entire training program for this sort of thing. I had to by guess and by gosh.”
While he was mucking about in the etheric and causal areas, however, he’d happened to take a shortcut through a rather ugly patch of blue-green jungle in Nina’s mental realm…and got the second great shock of his life. It had required three secretive jumps inside over a three-day period to confirm his horrible findings, but in the end there could be no doubt: Nina Gohn planned to violently exterminate her slave sister.
Kate had done the girl nothing but good…and was hated for it. No good deed goes unpunished.
Nina was green-eyed jealous of the slimmer, younger slave who held First Girl position in the Seeder’s home and in his heart. Deep rage churned beneath the surface, generating the sort of devious, deadly intent only a Sicilian Scorpio with an addictive personality could ever produce.