A short story by Elwood Herring
"But that's just it - if I let you into my confidence, you become susceptible to the effect. You become, as it were, part of the problem," explained the second man apologetically.
"In case you hadn't noticed, we're in a situation which I could sum up in two words: Not Good. We're losing this war, and I don't want to go down in history as the man who lost it," countered the first man. "I've just about had it up to here with your games." He gestured violently at his own radical military haircut. "So why don't you just cut the crap and tell me your Big Idea. If you weren't such a well respected egghead I'd bounce your ass right down into the deepest of those craters out there. Preferably that one that's still burning." He gazed abjectly at the massive viewscreen in silence for half a minute before turning back to the second man abruptly. "So spill it, Einstein."
The second man shifted in his seat. Despite the verbal assault he appeared completely in control of himself. "Two words - interesting phrase you chose there. I could sum up my thesis in just two words, if necessary."
"I would prefer a few more than two, if you can spare the time, your eminence." The words were spat out with loathing. "How about telling me what sort of Magic Wand you've invented that can enable me to regain some control of this little argument that's going on in the world? What's your Big Secret? Some new kind of weapon? I've seen 'em all - and used 'em. I'll give you precisely two minutes to tell me what your Great Invention is that you claim can put an end to this Hell, then I'm having you thrown out. I've got a war to win." The first man was an expert at speaking with capital letters.
"I really wouldn't do that if I were you." The second man was so cool it was unnerving, which made the first man shout even more.
"Don't tell me you've got it on you - you were thoroughly searched before you got here. If you're carrying anything bigger than a pinhead you wouldn't have got within ten miles of this place." He glanced at the wall clock. "One minute 45 seconds."
The speaker was half as wide as he was tall, and half as tall again as his frail guest, who sat nonchalantly in a utilitarian chair gazing up at him from behind bifocal lenses. The army General and the wizened professor. Two standard stereotypes, but both with tremendous power. The first with an colossal army and every kind of military technology at his fingertips, and an ego to match. The second with - a secret. A secret that made him (despite the General) possibly the most dangerous individual on the planet. And he knew it.
"I can't even start to explain my ideas to you in under two minutes, but I can certainly engage your attention sufficiently enough in that short space of time to make you understand that you can't afford to dismiss me as casually as you obviously would like to." His slow and verbose response was deliberately calculated to provoke more anger by using up practically all the time he had been allotted. "And what's more, I am not an inventor, as you well know. I am a psychologist, and having given up false modesty some years ago, I stake my claim to being the best psychologist who ever lived. I…"
"Thirty seconds" snapped the General, not listening to a word, but gesticulating to the guards at the door to be ready to take the necessary action.
"I have devised a verbal synaptic code that can have devastating consequences to any recipient to said code, depending upon the embedded verbal payload."
"English, Doc. Twenty seconds." The guards were now flanking the seated figure.
"If I go any further with my explanation you will yourself be susceptible to its effects. To understand the weapon is to fall victim to it. You may coax it out of me, but don't say I didn't warn you."
This made the General glance briefly at his seated guest with astonishment.
"So how come you're ok? Why haven't you dropped dead if you know it?"
"I invented the concept, therefore I am immune. I am the only person who understands exactly how it works, indeed I am the only person who can understand it completely."
"Hypnotism?" The General was intrigued, but still watching the clock. The two minutes were almost up.
"Not as such, although it does involve the lower brain functions. The only way I can explain it safely is to say it's a simple concept; it can be described, as I said, in two words, but it can have a massive impact on the human mind. Once heard and understood, of course. I suppose idiots and unintelligent people would be immune to some extent, since they simply wouldn't understand. I am no admirer of the military mind-set, but I can safely assume that you yourself are of sufficient intelligence to be at risk."
The General was unsure whether he had been complimented or insulted by that remark, so he chose to ignore it. "You mean, you TALK to people and they drop dead? I can believe that - you talk too much, anyway. They probably keel over out of boredom."
"I didn't say it was fatal. But it can affect the mind to such an extent that it would make an army unwilling to fight. And, being verbal, it has contagious properties. My research is complete and irrefutable. You see why I can't explain in any more detail, I might already have said too much."
The General was now staring silently at the older man. He gestured to the guards to move back, then snapped out two words."Prove it."
"I can't prove it here, the effects are cumulative and take time to reach their full effect. But I can show you some volunteers who have been - er, "exposed". They were once violent criminals, now they're as weak as kittens. Of course they have to be kept in quarantine, specifically to have no communication with anybody not infected. They only have to repeat what they heard, and the effect will spread as quickly as gossip."
The General looked tired. He didn't speak for a whole minute, but stared blankly at the viewscreen. On the surface, the old man's words were laughable, but something nagged at him. What exactly had he said? His military mind efficiently scanned the recent dialogue and registered points of possible concern; sin... tactic... devastating... payload? Presently he snapped back to attention and swung around. "Okay, you've earned yourself a reprieve - for now. God knows, anything that can stop this never-ending violence has to be a good thing." He slumped in his chair, exhausted by all the radical new thoughts that were filling his head. Verbal weapons indeed. He'll be telling us to point at the enemy and say "Bang, you're dead" next. He pulled himself together. "I've got to think about this. You can go - for now. But I want to see proof tomorrow, and a demonstration before I'll be totally convinced. I don't trust you. I don't trust anyone, it's my job."
"Fine. I'll set up a demo for you first thing tomorrow. I think you'll be impressed." The old man rose slowly and carefully to his feet, and made for the door. He glanced back briefly at the troubled General slouched in his chair, smiled inwardly then left.
Words? How can words turn a violent man into a vegetable? Ridiculous. Why on earth did I let him talk to me like that? If that dumbass is trying to pull a fast one, I'll make him wish…
The General fell into a deep, troubled sleep. Weird dreams filled his head. Innocent words, becoming peculiar phrases, creating sinister sentences, then ultimately fusing into mind-shaking concepts that snaked through his subconscious synapses. The human mind is similar to a computer, some say. Most of the computing goes on at the deepest levels; connections are made between seemingly disparate specks of information, producing results that the ego is never aware of, but ultimately depends upon to make sense of the real world. But computers have their weaknesses too.
The psychologist walked away from the military command centre with a casual gait. He had no intention of returning here, or of accommodating the General with unnecessary explanations or demonstrations. His work had been done. The war will be over in a few months, he knew it would take that long to spread; even to the opposing army. It didn't matter where it started, but striking at the top was the most efficient method; he had calculated everything down to the minutest detail, and it had worked like a magic spell on the General.
Two words! Two words that don't even need to be said, but just implied; the id fills in the blanks. Everybody needs to sleep, and that's when the payload does its work. Eventually it would infect every rational thinking person, changing their violent attitudes and replacing them with feelings of confusion and subservience, and then the world would finally be peaceful. And there would only be one man uninfected; the individual who devised the Dream Virus.
It's a good job I'm not a younger man, he thought to himself, being the Emperor of a world full of confused obedient servants would probably be one hell of a bore after a while.
© Elwood Herring May 2002