if he could knock me out of his head.
He was a stupid man. In addition to all his other flaws, he was below average in intelligence.
Clearly distraught, Susan hugged herself and tried to avert her eyes, but she was afraid not to look at Shenk, afraid not to keep him in sight at all limes.
When I relented, the brute immediately looked at Susan again and said, 'Do me, bitch,' with the most lascivious leer that I have ever seen. 'Do me, do me, do me.'
Infuriated, I punished him severely.
Screaming, Shenk twisted and flailed and clawed at himself as though he were a man on fire.
'Oh, God, oh, God,' Susan moaned, eyes wide, hand raised to her mouth and muffling her words.
'You are safe,' I assured her.
Gibbering, shrieking, Shenk dropped to his knees. I wanted to kill him for the obscene proposal he had made to her, for the disrespect with which he had treated her. Kill him, kill him, kill him, pump up his heartbeat to such a frenzied pace that his cardiac muscles would tear, until his blood pressure soared and every artery in his brain burst.
However, I had to restrain myself. I loathed Shenk, but still I needed him. For a while yet, he had to serve as my hands.
Susan glanced toward the door to the furnace room. 'It is locked,' I told her, 'but you're safe. You're perfectly safe, Susan. I'll always protect you.'
ELEVEN
On his hands and knees, head hanging like that of a whipped dog, Shenk was only whimpering and sobbing now. Defeated. No rebellion in him anymore.
The stupidity of the man beggared belief. How could he imagine that this woman, this golden vision of a woman, could ever be meant for a beast like him?
Recovering my temper, speaking calmly and reassuringly, I said, 'Susan, don't worry. Please, don't worry. I am always in his head, and I will never allow him to harm you. Trust me.'
Her features were drawn as I had never seen them, and she had gone pale. Even her lips looked bloodless, faintly blue.
Nevertheless, she was beautiful.
Her beauty was untouchable.
Shuddering, she asked, 'How can you be in his head? Who is he? I don't just mean his name Enos Shenk. I mean where does he come from. What is he?'
I explained to her how I had long ago infiltrated the nationwide network of databases maintained by researchers working on hundreds of Defence Department projects. The Pentagon believes this network to be so secure that it is inviolable to penetration by ordinary hackers and by computer-savvy agents of foreign governments. But I am neither a hacker nor a spy; I am an entity who Elves within microchips and telephone lines and microwave beams, a fluid electronic intelligence that can find its way through any maze of access blocks and read any data regardless of the complexity of the cryptography. I peeled open the vault door of this defence network as any child might strip the skin off an orange.
These Defence Department project files rivalled Hell's own kitchen for recipes of death and destruction. I was simultaneously appalled and fascinated, and in my browsing, I discovered the project into which Enos Shenk had been conscripted.
Dr. Itiel Dror, of the Cognitive Neuroscience Laboratory at Miami University in Ohio, had once playfully suggested that it was theoretically possible to enhance the brain's processing ability by adding microchips to it. A chip might add memory capacity, enhance specific abilities such as mathematical co-processing, or even install pre-packaged knowledge. The brain, after all, is an information-processing device that in theory should be expandable in much the same fashion one might add RAM or upgrade the C.P.U. on any personal computer.
Still on his hands and knees, Shenk was no longer groaning or whimpering. Gradually his frantic and irregular respiration was stabilizing.
'Unknown to Dr. Dror,' I told Susan, 'his comment intrigued certain defence researchers, and a project was born at an isolated facility in the Colorado desert.'
Disbelieving, she said, 'Shenk… Shenk has microchips in his brain?'
'A series of tiny high-capacity chips neuro-wired to specific cell clusters across the surface of his brain.'
I brought the foul but ultimately pitiable Enos Shenk to his feet once more.
His powerful arms and big hands hung slackly at his sides. His massive shoulders were slumped in defeat.
Fresh bloody tears oozed from his protuberant eyes as he stared across the incubator at Susan. Wet ruby threads unravelled down his cheeks.
His gaze was baleful, full of hatred and rage and lust, but under my firm control, he was unable to act upon his malevolent desires.
Susan shook her head. 'No. No way. I'm definitely not looking at someone whose intellect has been enhanced by microchips or by anything.'
'You're correct. Memory and performance enhancement was only part of the project's purpose,' I explained. 'The researchers were also charged with determining if brain-situated microchips could be used as control devices to override the subject's will with broadcast instructions.'
'Control devices?'
'Make a gesture.'
'What?'
'With your hand. Any gesture.'
After a hesitation, Susan raised her right hand as though she were swearing an oath.
Facing her across the incubator, Shenk raised his right hand as well.
She put her hand over her heart.
Shenk imitated her.
She lowered her right hand (as did Shenk) and raised her left to tug at her ear (as did Shenk).
'You're making him do this?' she asked.
'Yes.'
'Through broadcast instructions received by the microchips in his brain.'
'That's correct.'
'Broadcast how?'
'By microwave much the same way cell-phone conversations are transmitted. Through the telephone company's own lines, I long ago penetrated their computers and uplinked to all their communications satellites. I could send Enos Shenk virtually anywhere in the world and still transmit instructions to him. In the back of his skull concealed by his hair, there's a microwave receiver about the size of a pea. It's also a transmitter, powered by a small but long-life nuclear battery surgically implanted under the skin behind his right ear. Everything he sees and hears is digitised and transmitted to me, so he is essentially a walking camera and microphone, which allows me to guide him through complex situations that might test his own limited intellectual capacity.'
Susan closed her eyes and leaned against the rack of oxygen tanks for support. 'Why in the name of God would anyone sanction experiments like this?'
'You know, of course. Your question is largely rhetorical. To create assassins who could be programmed to kill reliably and then be killed themselves by remote control, simply by shutting down their autonomic nervous systems with a microwave broadcast. Their controllers are thereby guaranteed anonymity. And perhaps one day there could be armies of human robots like this. Look at Shenk. Look.'
Reluctantly, Susan opened her eyes.
Shenk glared at her as hungrily as ever.
I made him suck his thumb as though he were a baby.
'This humiliates him,' I said, 'but he can't disobey. He's a meat marionette, waiting for me to pull his
