[b]Bambari, Ethiopian Equatoria[/b] Dr. Sisi wore a lab coat covered in blood. It was the norm for his profession, though once he left the operating room the blood always started to feel like filth. He strolled comfortably through the halls of the Bambari Walinzi complex. Enclosed walkways connected the simple buildings together into one continuous structure, allowing for patients to be transported from one building to the next without ever going outside. Most of the buildings had the same clay tile floors, and open windows to let light in from the outside world. This was an abandoned Belgian diamond mine that Hassan had claimed during the Civil War of 1974. Now it was the undocumented home of the Walinzi's Psychological Research unit; an operation centered around Dr. Sisi and his experiments. Though Dr. Sisi was a private citizen, his work for Hassan and the Walinzi allowed him plenty of extravagant privileges. The patients were his, and he was allowed to do whatever he wanted so long as he threw the occasional bone to his employers. He had built a career here. His achievements in neurology made him the toast of Vienna and Madrid. He was the new Freud; a master who connected the shadows of human psychology explored by Freud to physical properties in the brain. He 'laundered' his achievements of course - performing public experiments based on what he already knew from his considerably unethical Walinzi work to produce what seemed like miraculously concise results. And if that didn't pay well enough, he sold excess psychoactive drugs on the side. Sisi stopped at the door to his office and peeled the blood-spattered gloves from his hands, tossing them in a canvas bin. Outside he could see white figures distorted by humidity. Those were some of his mindless patients. They moved like zombies, and mined for nothing at the bottom of the pit. He went in his office and felt the vague-coolness supplied by the desk-fan he kept constantly running. His desk was neat and organized, with stacks of case-files placed alphabetically in bins, each according to its type. A single case-file remained open in the center of the desk under a porcelain phrenology bust. The rest of the room reflected the same organization - a cot with folded sheets, a rack graced with his best hats and coats, and a massive Persian rug that he personally vacuumed every morning. He took off his lab coat and folded it neatly on top of a filing cabinet, slipped on a velvet smoker's jacket, and sat down to write. [i]"The brutish sort of leader will always secretly wish that each and every man under his command were an Automaton. This is true for all in this circumstance, whether they are world leaders, the owners of extensive plantations, or fathers. Perhaps, with the perfection of machinery, this will become a reality, though who can say what will happen to the peasant once he has become outmoded. For now, however, the only method which can bring about the creation of mindless drones is psychiatry. The question of whether or not this will be possible isn't a question at all; in science, if it is foreseeable, there is certainly a way to achieve it. The true question is whether or not it will happen, or if our species will in every nation uphold the ethical standards of our science..."[/i] He dipped his pen in a crystal inkwell and continued. [i]"But this is not my question to resolve. What I am curious about is not whether or not such an act would be acceptable, but rather what methods might be used to affect it."[/i] There was a knock. Sisi looked up from his work and stared at the door as if he were judging it for allowing itself to be knocked upon. "May I inquire who it is?" Sisi asked, just loud enough to be heard on the other side. "Mossadeq. Ras Hassan sent me." Sisi took a deep breath. He did not like being babysitted, but he could't say no. Hassan was his patron, and for all intents and purposes, Mossadeq was his boss. "The door is unlocked." Sisi said. He placed his pen back in its well and began to reread his work to, if nothing else, look busy. The door opened and Mossadeq entered. Commander Mossadeq was one of the many Hassan-made men in the African government. He had been a military radio attendant during the Yohannes years, where he stumbled upon a career-making discovery that Dr. Sisi barely understood. Something had happened in the Sahara back in '71, and whatever it was had left the door open for young Mossadeq to vault up the ranks. Now barely forty, he was in charge of the entire Walinzi. Mossadeq was of Arab origin - a Tuareg perhaps, or a Bedouin, though Sisi did not quite understand their differences. He wore black fatigues and had a square face topped with greasy black hair. Under his arm, he held a long, thin square package. "This came up the hill with me." he explained, leaning it against a filing cabinet. "Ah yes." Sisi jumped out of his chair with delight and began to unwrap the package. "I hope this parcel didn't convoluted your journey." "I rode with it in the back of a truck." Mossadeq chuckled. "I miss real transportation." "I believe it was your office that chose to restrict methods of conveyance to this specific locale." Sisi answered uncaringly. Now that the paper wrapping had been ripped away, he was holding a painting in his arms. "What is that?" Mossadeq asked. "[i]Butcher Shop of the Anziques[/i]" Sisi answered with a satisfied sigh. He looked over it with all the gloating pride of a dedicated materialist. It was an old wood-cut print, depicting a nearly naked man quartering human bodies in a jungle hut. "This is apt, is it not? Our European brethren once looked at us Africans like this." "It's vile." Mossadeq said disapproving. "Precisely." Sisi exulted. "It is the symbol of an ancient sort of Africa, perhaps once that never was. But it is apt because I have chose as my profession the betterment of our species through these exact methods. Of course..." he walked across the room and hung it carefully in the place he had chosen. "Of course, I have never partaken in the consumption of human flesh..." "I am relieved." Mossadeq interrupted. Sisi payed him no mind and continued to ramble. "But my methods are surgical, and the craft of the surgeon is to make sense out of the practice of the butcher. I flay, peel, inject..." "That is fine." Mossadeq interrupted again. "But I was sent here for other reasons. How is security here?" "Security is your affair." Sisi answered coldly. "No patients have escaped if that is what you imply. And there are no implications that snooping eyes of the Hispanic persuasion ever haunt our gates." "So nobody comes, and nobody leaves?" Sisi smiled. "Well, you most certainly arrived. Do you want me to detain you, commander?" "I heard a story in the village." Mossadeq said, ignoring Sisi's jibe. "They say that the government is here to build an army of from the ghosts of their ancestors. Why would they think ghosts?" Sisi shrugged. "Sometimes my students hunt hogs in the forest. Perhaps lab-coats are too otherwordly for the simple people of Equatoria?" Mossadeq nodded. "Do [i]you[/i] ever worry about what might happen if the Spanish discover your work, Doctor? I am sure you understand the implications." "My good name would be wrenched through the mud I am sure." Sisi replied. "But I cannot be paranoid about such things." "It is my job to be paranoid." Mossadeq replied. "I want a plan in place to make this entire complex and all of the... experimentation here disappear in a moments notice." "Do what you did in Ta'if if you must." Sisi waved his hands. "There is a pit there, it can be done before tea. Just wait [i]until[/i] you have to." "If it can be done, I will order it done." Mossadeq said stubbornly, ignoring Sisi's facetiousness. "Then it is most assuredly resolved." Sisi smiled. "Now tell me, how is your war?" "I am in the Congo for more than you, Doctor. I have came to inspect our defenses. Hassan is retreating in Ethiopia..." "Disappointing." Sisi interjected. "Yes. But there has been little action on our western border." "Just raiding and pilfering by the tribes." Sisi nodded. "I knew all of this though." Mossadeq looked at the good Doctor suspiciously. "Yes. Well, I cannot tell you more. I am here for another reason. Hassan wants to see how his project is turning out." "Right." Sisi answered. He had an inkling at why Mossadeq had traveled to the west. There were armies here sitting on the borders of the Spanish Empire, and they were not moving. Hassan would not abide an inactive front. "Of course. Let me show you." -- Sisi gathered a handful of students and they walked with Mossadeq down the switchbacks that led into the mine. One of the students, a young Ethiopian wearing a gabi wrapped around his suit, held a frilled parasol above Sisi's head. The Doctor watched Mossadeq's face twist uncertainly as he studied the drone-like miners down below. "You appear uncertain, Commander." Mossadeq frowned. "The mine is spent. Why do you have men working it? And why are we going down here?" "This is my experimentation. Or rather, this is the experimentation that enthuses Ras Hassan." "Does mining have an effect on their psychology?" "Perhaps." Sisi shrugged. "But that is not pertinent here. The human brain is a machine which, at birth, is designed by evolutionary processes to thrive and reproduce. Of course, these commands become entwined in the vagaries of nature and social interaction, and so the human brain is also designed to compensate. And that is what I have done here." "You have trained them is what you are saying?" "Precisely." Sisi replied with a singular enthusiasm. "Or near enough to precise. They are more than just trained. In training, you are affecting the outer crust of the soul. It is all muscle memory and enforced routine. What I have done here is something else. Those men and women you see down in this pit, they are not trained to mine. They [i]yearn[/i] for it. Only once they place a shovel in the ground do they feel like completed human beings. Think of it like sex..." "You've trained them to sexually lust for mining?" Mossadeq butted in. Sisi could tell that the commander had become suddenly quite uncomfortable. "Well, no. Sex is a neural command placed in our possession by Darwinian processes. We lust for for reproduction because father time and mother necessity made our species to do so." "And you have made these people to lust for digging, just not sexually?" "I can assure you commander." Sisi grinned. "These particular patients will not use their shovels for anything other than uncovering the earth. The purpose of your visit, I assume, is to answer Hassan's question. Can your government use this? The answer is yes. And, fortuitously, I have made strides with the specific case that Hassan wishes to complete." "The Walinzi?" Mossadeq asked. "Could we make our move before Addis Ababa falls?" "I fear not, Commander Mossadeq. But I assure you that it will be finished in time to be useful." Mossadeq looked at the men around them. "And them? Who knows?" "The main experiment?" Sisi responded. "Only I. Only I." -- Mossadeq left Sisi to his thoughts. The Doctor's mind was on politics now, which was not an area that he liked to consider unless he had too. Still, Mossadeq was not completely incorrect. Poking his nose into things he couldn't pretend to understand... well, that was his job, he was the director of the Walinzi. But in voicing his concerns, he had planted a seed of doubt. Dr. Sisi had been a smuggler for many years; he was used to slipping in and out of places without causing any long-lasting trouble for himself, but this time [i]was[/i] different. He was beholden to an Empire and a General who's futures were no longer assured, and he had no way of escaping without completing his task. It was only then that he would be a free agent again. He wondered if the science he had bought with this awkward alliance was worth it. He delicately dipped his pen in the crystalline inkwell and waited a moment. He imagined the distance between Bambari and the Spanish Empire. The border was far away, but he could not say how far it was, and he wondered how quickly the enemy could advance. In thinking about it, he realized how little he understood when it came to military matters. They would face resistance from the Ethiopian military, but how long would that take them? And then there was occupation, and logistics... Sisi could only know so much. If he was going to complete his work, he had to keep his mind focused on the Scientific. He put pen to paper. [i] It occurs to me, in discussing the minutiae of my work, that every man who exercises some sort of power considers themselves layman psychologists. The easiest miscalculation for a powerful man to make is to assume that the management and manipulation of so many human beings can be quantified, and in so doing they damn themselves to perpetual delusion. Think of the lengths the physicists of the orient had to make in order to propel their equipment into space. One incorrect calculation or misunderstanding and their rocket apparatus would have exploded into a fine dust. It is easy for the physical scientist to see his failure because their work is so simple - it functions or it does not. But for a social scientist, our practice is foggy and peculiar, and for a leader who mistakes himself for a practicing social engineer, these peculiarities ruin their carefully laid plans. Humanity is infinitely more complex than a rocket, and when a leader presumes to understand the intricacies of the entire species, there is rarely a grandiose explosion to punctuate his error. This, of course, kills the relevance of the rigid philosophy. Oh woe to the Comrade Chairman, or to [i]El Primer Ministro[/i]. Everything they believe must be wrong, because they assume they can describe their respective societies with a single lonely one word. There are no Communes, There are no Democracies. Only facsimiles of these things exist. [/i]