If there was any doubt that life is unfair and that merit is doomed to be overlooked, one need look no further than the case of Dr. Jonathan Septimus, head of the Fanaka Clinic, Sudan. In a fair world, Dr. Septimus would be a millionaire, feted in every scientific community in Europe, with a beautiful lover on each arm and another stashed away. He would be the first to tell you this. He would also have much to say on the subject of a bright light such as his being hidden under the bushel that is Fanaka if anyone would ask him. Of course, no one ever does ask. Septimus often goes days without having an actual conversation. The people he sees every day are his nurses and orderlies, and they are too afraid of his temper to say an unnecessary word. Even the patients are strangely afraid of the little doctor with the sharp tongue. Septimus doesn't mind his isolation. The company of his own mind is enough, whether he's making plans for revenge or musing on the miracle that is the Mega Wave, his master work.. Besides, who else could possible understand what goes on in Septimus's head? As far as Septimus is concerned, the true tragedy of his life is that he has no real peers.
Today, Dr. Septimus has received an urgent request from Commissioner Drummond, head of the district. Drummond is not a friend by any means. Septimus considers the administrator a strapping young fool concerned only with sport and the petty responsibilities of his tiny corner of the world. Still, Septimus makes an effort to be polite to the man; not only is he one of the few Europeans around, but he provides the occasional scrap of useful information English-made goods from time to time.
When Septimus arrives at the outpost, he is surprised to find that Drummond has something truly interesting to report. It seems that some men on patrol have come across a stray madman wandering about the desert. Here, it seems is a mystery, perhaps even a challenge. Septimus's mouth tightens when he realizes that the idiots have locked the patient in an empty hut, as if that would help anything. None of them are capable of training a dog, let alone dealing with a delicate psychiatric case.
The man in the hut is ragged, unshaven, and bound with heavy ropes. He screams incoherently as if trapped in a waking nightmare. Oddly, he screams in several languages. An interesting specimen indeed!
"Caution, doctor! Be careful!" Drummond warns, quite unnecessarily. The man is too thick to realize that the madman is acting out of terror. Properly handled, he should not be a threat to anyone.
"Leave me, Drummond. I know what to do." Drummond exits, but stays within a few feet of the hut's entrance. As Septimus approaches, the madman becomes visibly agitated. "Don't touch me! Don't touch me!" The lunatic desperately struggles against the heavy ropes.
Rallying all his strength of personality, Septimus makes a few hypnotic passes and firmly orders the man to calm himself. Within seconds, the patient has stopped struggling. He lapses into a kind of depressed torpor. He doesn't move, even when Septimus unties the ropes and lets them drop. Questioning proves useless, as the man can't even provide his own name. In fact, he seems to be under the delusion that his name was stolen by some sheik, or chief. A sublimated fear, or was the man a victim of a real theft? He'll have to check for head injuries.
Septimus watches the man for a moment, contemplating the best course of action. His silence rouses the man to panic. "For pity's sake, don't leave me! Don't leave me in the darkness, in the tomb!" It's a curious choice of words. Is the man obsessed with the grave, or has he confused this darkened hut with an actual tomb? This patient is very different from his usual fare. It could be interesting.
And then, Septimus has the beginning of a brilliant idea, one that could make his reputation, mortify his enemies, and tear into the frontiers of science. He slowly kneels and places his hands on the patient's shoulders.
"It will be all right. Do you understand? I will come back for you and look after you. Say it."
"You will come back for me and look after me."
"That's good. Don't move."
Drummond raises only token objections to Septimus's plan. In fact, this madman is an inconvenience; he takes up valuable storage space and interferes with the smooth operation of the outpost and Drummond is glad to get rid of him. Of course, he offers assistance, but is glad when Septimus turns down the offer. He watches as the madman follows at Septimus's heels like a nervous dog. Once the pair disappears down the road, Drummond exhales in relief and whistles as he walks back to his office.
The madman doesn't say a word on the way back to the clinic, although halfway there, he places his hand on Septimus's shoulder as if he expects the doctor to abandon him in a moving car. Septimus allows the liberty. This pathetic scrap of humanity represents his future hopes, and he will be treated with great care, at least for now. When they get to the clinic, Septimus leads his new creature to the main office and explains the situation of "Patient X" to his least useless nurse and orderly. He orders the pair to see that the patient is bathed and dressed in a hospital gown to await examination. They are to put the ragged clothes in a sealed bag for later analysis. Of course, the man carries no identification, but perhaps there's a unique label or monogram. The madman is afraid to leave with the nurse, but responds to Septimus's direct order.
The results of the examination are baffling. The madman has no obvious injuries beyond a few scrapes and bruises, probably the result of stumbling around the desert. His coordination and reflexes are fine and his muscle tone is amazingly good considering the circumstances. In fact, except for sunburn, dehydration and the effects of short-term starvation, the patient seems to have no health problems at all. He speaks English, French, German, and what Septimus takes to be Russian. Interesting. The man's English is perfect, but there is something that convinces Septimus that the man is not English, an intuition perhaps. When the native staff members speak, he listens intently, but does not ask questions or, indeed, speak at all. It's as if someone took a psychic knife and cut the man's memories away. Septimus gives his new patient a mild sedative and directs the nurse to install an IV drip to replenish his fluids.
Septimus can hardly believe his luck. He couldn't have ordered a better specimen. The man is young, but not immature, and is obviously physically strong and resilient while being mentally weak and suggestible. He will be able to withstand a great deal of experimentation and won't complain.
As expected, Patient X makes a rapid progress, although he remains nervous and watchful and refuses to obey anyone except Septimus himself. Not even Septimus can get any useful information out of the madman. He is docile and well-mannered, but he never initiates conversation and seems incapable of answering any questions that don't concern the present. If Septimus asks, Patient X will report being too hot, or too cold, or hungry, or thirsty but anything more probing prompts a blank stare. He does not complain, nor does he make requests. He seems perfectly content with communal meals with the other patients and clothes from the clinic's donation box. Luckily, the patient only requires being given an order once. Septimus tells the man to look after his own physical needs, and Patient X does so with no trouble to anyone.
Clever man that he is, Septimus manages to make a few deductions concerning his favorite lunatic. The man must have had money at one time and was likely engaged in some sort of outdoor enterprise. His boots are beautiful examples of Lobb's work, made to last a lifetime. Septimus's assistant has no trouble finding a buyer for them once they are cleaned and polished. The labels on the ragged clothes are faded, but Septimus can discern that they were ready-made garments of fine quality, typical of those worn by explorers, hunters, and archeologists. When shaving equipment is placed before the patient, he smoothes his face clean except for a narrow, neat mustache, carefully washes the razor, and puts everything away with precise neatness. Patient X is similarly tidy with the few clothes and other personal items Septimus has allowed him. From this, Septimus supposes that the man has a military background. This is the key to the patient's weakness, in Septimus's opinion. Like Drummond, Patient X is a physical person, an athlete and adventurer who, like all such fools, has neglected to cultivate his mind. Strong in body, weak in brain: it is a motto that has always comforted the good doctor. Septimus checks the local news to see if any white men have gone missing and when there are no reports, he continues grooming Patient X for future use.
As his patient recovers, Septimus nurtures his plan for research and revenge. To start with, he needs to get away from this close-knit community. Patient X is starting to respond to other staff members, which will not do at all. When the patient actually smiles at an orderly who hands him a plate of oranges, Septimus decides to isolate the madman before he can recover mentally as well as physically. To facilitate a return to England, Septimus concocts a story about returning the man to his family. As far as anyone in Fanaka is concerned, Patient X is William Hammond, a young archeologist with traumatic brain injury whose family wants him home as soon as possible. Drummond finds a young doctor to take over Septimus's positions and within a few weeks, doctor and patient are on a boat to England. As the boat leaves the harbor, the Patient X ceases to be a patient. From now on, he is merely a servant.
Between the war and his outside project, Septimus has little time to spare but he manages to make the acquaintance of his unwitting enemies, Vernay, Macomber, and Calvin, and discovers that he has a talent for diverting government funds. Septimus doesn't give a second thought to the intended purpose of this money. His own project is more important than any mere political affair between nations. Patient X, since renamed Guinea Pig, does most of the physical work, and soon Septimus has a laboratory that any corporate researcher would envy. When not hard at work, Guinea Pig lives in a small, padded room in the underground fortress. Septimus finds controlling the man more difficult since the return to England. He's had to use hypnotism several times and has even resorted to drugs. Sometimes Guinea Pig screams and pounds the wall of his cell. Sometimes he sits in a corner rocking back and forth. He no longer turns to Septimus for comfort and he's started to ask questions. "Where am I? What is my name? Why are you doing this? Why won't you let me go?" One day, when the miserable slave manages to get as far as the front door of the main house, Septimus realizes that it is high time to bring the creature back into check. He snatches his Malacca cane and savagely attacks the larger man. Guinea Pig shouts in pain and panic but makes no attempt to defend himself. As Guinea Pig cowers against the door, Septimus swishes the cane angrily. This situation will not stand. It's time to bring out the serious machinery.
Normally the first application of technology as radical as the telecephaloscope would be on a small lab animal – a real guinea pig. Septimus doesn't have the luxury of doing proper lab trials. Besides, he no longer cares if Guinea Pig lives or dies. The man is becoming troublesome and if the new technology shatters what is left of his brain, the streets are full of forgotten men and shellshock victims whom nobody will miss. Septimus brusquely order Guinea Pig into the chair below the massive brass sphere and adjusts the crash helmet and restraints. Guinea Pig attempts to twist around to face Septimus, but the doctor pushes him back.
"Stay where you're put! Do you want to be vaporized?"
Back at the control panel, Septimus puts on his protective goggles and earplugs, holds his breath and pushes the red button. There is a tremendous crash and flash as if a lightning had struck inside the lab. When the ringing in his ears finally stops, Septimus finds himself on the floor, despite the protective equipment. Cautiously, he rights himself and walks to the chair, fully expecting to find a corpse.
Instead Guinea Pig is not only alive, he is apparently completely well and calm. His face is relaxed and his wide blue eyes are as blank as they were the first time Septimus hypnotized him. Septimus rapidly loosens the restraints and pulls off the crash helmet.
"Stand, Guinea Pig!"
Guinea Pig obeys without hesitation. Septimus hands the man a solid iron poker.
"Bend this in half!"
Again, total obedience, and no apparent difficulty with the task. Septimus is almost dancing with excitement.
"Guinea Pig! Run around the room as quickly as you can!"
Septimus laughs as he watches his creature race. He would easily take the gold in any Olympic event.
"Stop. Now, jump over the chair." Guinea Pig does so flatfooted, sending Septimus into another burst of laughter. It's incredible! His technology has given the man the strength of a tank and the agility of a cat!
"Guinea Pig, return to me." Perhaps it is time for a true test of obedience. After all, the man won't be much use if he fails to do exactly as he is told.
"Guinea Pig, kneel before me." No hesitation, no whining. Success at last! After all the work, scheming and training, he's finally created the perfect slave. Septimus's head swims a bit at the thought of so much absolute power. It's like champagne on New Year's Eve. It's like a shot of pure adrenaline. It's as if he brain has become a hive of brilliant, buzzing ideas.
Septimus takes a deep break and returns to his control panel. Guinea Pig remains on his knees on the concrete floor, completely still. With an evil smirk, Septimus picks up his well-used Malacca cane and walks back to his human automaton.
"Take off your shirt." Blank-faced, the kneeling man removes the coarse work shirt and holds it in his hands. Septimus raises and cane and beats the slave with all his strength. After twenty blows, the little doctor is panting, but the slave remains unmoved. He hasn't so much as gasped under the rough treatment. Septimus puts his hand on the man's chest. The heartbeat is only slightly elevated.
"Did that hurt, Guinea Pig?"
"Yes."
"Yes, master!" Septimus snarls and delivers five more blows to the man's chest.
"Yes, master." The man's voice is low and emotionless; only his eyes register any distress. There is still a person hiding inside there, far, far away.
Septimus shrugs. The slave's suffering is nothing compared to the scientific breakthroughs made tonight. He directs Guinea Pig to put his shirt back on and return to his cell. Septimus locks the creature in, more out of habit than anything, and returns to his own modest but comfortable home. Septimus pours himself a glass of whiskey and notes the dust on the table and the pile of newspapers beside his favorite chair. Tomorrow, he'll order Guinea Pig to clean the place top to bottom and make a few repairs. Septimus has no idea if Guinea Pig knows how to fix a broken step or a dripping faucet, but no doubt the slave will kill himself trying. It will be fun to watch.
Of course, Septimus has no intention of wasting such a tool on household matters. No, he will use the creature to get rich, make his mark on the world and, best of all, make the fools who drove him from England grovel. They will be sorry their paths ever crossed the Great Doctor Septimus! Septimus chuckles and downs his whiskey. His mark on the world! What a wonderful idea. Septimus sketches a simple symbol on a piece of paper and holds it up to the light. It's perfect. He will be famous, feared, and adored. His mark will be everywhere. Dr. Septimus will finally get what he deserves.
The End