THE THIRD CHAPTER

Doctor Rayther sat in the dark. The shades were drawn to keep out the horrible sunlight and let him focus and think clearly. The room’s light came from a freestanding candelabra that created a luminescent aura within the room, helping to calm the doctor’s nerves. The candelabra held five long white candles on a tall pewter stand and resided in a corner close to his desk. The wax on them was caked onto the base of each holder and had not been cleaned in so long that much of it had dripped to the floor and created a sizeable pile. The doctor didn’t always sit in the dark; only when the sun was shining brightly and he needed to concentrate. He sat in an old rickety wooden chair that was in desperate need of a few new screws to stop it from squeaking whenever he shifted his weight. He was staring at a laptop computer on his desk. It was a very old and sturdy brown wooden desk. The desk looked as though it had been hand-crafted many decades earlier. The sides held ornate carvings of flowers and stars that were intermingled. The desktop was worn out and scratched, as was the base. It held two loosely stacked piles of paper full of mathematic equations and scientific terminology that would mean nothing to a layman. The rest of the desk was loaded with what most people would consider junk; metal pieces and gizmos that no one but the doctor would understand. He was an older man with a small hunch in his upper back. He was not a very tall man, and was slightly overweight. He had a round face that was accentuated by a closely trimmed black beard

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and mustache. The black hair on his head was also kept short and formed a widow’s peak in the front, accenting his black eyebrows and giving him a look of constant anger. He was well dressed, wearing a sharp looking black pinstriped suit with a vest and matching black silk tie. The years of animosity and torment over becoming a laughingstock within his profession, coupled with the general dislike of the human race showed on his face with every wrinkle. His hands appeared more like claws due to the odd way he would manicure his nails. He let them grow long and then filed each to a very fine point. A squirrel sat on his desk looking at him. It was a grey squirrel named Pickles. Pickles had only one eye; his left one was gone. The eyelid was closed over it and it looked like he was always winking. He kept Doctor Rayther company while in his office, and would often sit on the doctor’s shoulder while he worked. Pickles’ claws would make tiny holes and scratch marks in the fabric of the doctor’s suits, but he didn’t mind. Pickles was his one true friend in the world. He spoke slowly, with a low pitch and a thick Hungarian accent as he read the day’s news on his computer and ridiculed the world. “Look at this, Pickles! This man killed five people. He had a gun and needed some money, so he went out and robbed them. Then he shot them to death. Now he will be in prison for the rest of his life. Someone decided one day that it was unjust to kill a human being who had killed another human being. Instead, we lock him away and let him rot somewhere while we pay for him to eat and keep warm. The prisons are too full. The prisons will not exist at all when I am in charge, Pickles. If someone commits a crime, they will pay for it as I see fit. If the person runs away and cannot be found, their family will pay for the crime,” he said. “And look at this one. People protesting, marching in the streets because they want their civil rights upheld. They do not see that their civil rights have been gone for decades. It does not matter what country you look at, the government is in control of the people. The difference is in the way the people are handled. The third world countries take control with a stronger and more brutal force than the so-called modern countries. The richer countries take control by offering electronics to the people, and

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then they are able to track their every move. “The people in this picture are complaining because their personal information has been taken by the government, in the interest, as the government says, of the security of the nation. These people are stupid, Pickles. This is not new. Their information has been taken for years and years. They have just not known about it, or have chosen to ignore it.” The doctor continued to scroll and read. The more he read, the more agitated and depressed he became. “These people, Pickles; they do not see anything. They walk around passing judgment on others whom they have never met and cannot hope to understand. They all live in glass houses and throw stones at every turn. They talk about loving and caring for one another, but they do not know how. They are only accepting of another’s view if that view concurs with their own belief, or serves a purpose to help meet their own agenda. At the same time, they preach about how to be tolerant of one another. If one person or group claims to be offended by the action or statement of another, the offender is pressured to stop whatever it is they are doing, even though stopping what they are doing will offend more people than the original group that is offended! Do you know what I am trying to say, Pickles?” he asked and then muttered, “One man puts up a Christmas tree in his office in December to celebrate his faith, and is told he must remove it because he is offending another person who is not Christian. No one is truly tolerant.” He took a deep breath and let out a sigh. He let his left arm come down to rest on the desk and Pickles came over and climbed on it, still watching the doctor as he spoke. “Morals are gone, Pickles. Morals are gone. Parents do not teach children right from wrong. The children go to school and the parents expect them to come home knowing how to be a good person. In the end it is the parents whom the children will emulate. It is not the teachers or the firefighters or the police, unless maybe their parents do those things for a living, but that is beside the point, Pickles. It is beside the point. Do not make me lose track of my thoughts. “All of the mainstream media in the world are run by only a few powerful people. They can make events in the world look any way they want them to, and in doing so, control the minds and attitudes

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of all those who watch and believe it. The populous in so many countries believe they run their government and that they are in a free society. They are wrong. They are fools! Governments train their citizens how to behave. They let them believe they are choosing their leader, but the leadership is just acting as a giant puppeteer pulling the strings of a blinded society. If they knew they were being oppressed, it would be one thing, but they have no idea what is going on. “They are constantly taking medicines they think are making them well, but in reality those medicines keep them sick by causing other problems. They take a pill to lower their blood pressure. That pill has a side effect of thinning out the blood so they take another pill to combat that. It is a cycle that does not end until the person is dead from taking an entire box of pills each day just to stay alive. People take medications because they are depressed, yet one of the side effects of the medication is to have suicidal thoughts. The people do not question these things, Pickles. “When they pass through scanners at the airports, their DNA is getting scrambled every time. After only a few more generations, people will be completely mindless drones and will do whatever they are told without question. They are sheep. Of course there are some exceptions, but in general people are like cattle,” he said. Pickles scurried up to the doctor’s shoulder as the doctor pulled a pack of cigarettes from his shirt pocket. He held the pack on an angle and pulled one out. He put it in his mouth, put the pack back in his pocket, and then held the end of the cigarette briefly against his thumb and index finger until a tiny spark and smoke appeared. He released the cigarette and took a deep drag, giving the end of the cigarette an orange glow, then exhaled the smoke through his nose. “They willingly eat foods that they know are bad for them, and then get mad at the fast food companies that sold them the food and made them fat and sickly. They claim they have no time to eat healthy. They have time, they just choose not to do what is healthy. Then, after years of abusing their bodies with a poor diet and no exercise, when one of them does wake up and lose weight, they are regarded as a hero by some. That person is not a hero, Pickles. It is good for that person to take care of himself, but he

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should not have let himself get that way to begin with,” he said, flicking his ashes on the floor and taking another deep breath. Pickles climbed down from his shoulder and onto the desk, then turned around and continued to watch him as he took another slow drag of his cigarette. “Drugs, Pickles. The people of the world believe the governments are fighting against illegal drugs on their behalf. If they were, the drugs would be gone by now, instead of flourishing all over the globe. Those same drugs keep hospitals, doctors, pharmaceutical companies, gun makers and bullet makers thriving. It is the negative side of the precious global economy the so-called world leaders tout as such a miraculous thing. It is a farce. The human race is a farce, Pickles.” Doctor Rayther got up from his chair and walked to the window and peered through the blinds. The day was becoming cloudy. A storm looked to be forming along the long flat horizon. “Soon my plan will be in place to correct all of these things and make the world a happier place for all. The streets will be quiet. No one will ever be in need of anything. There will be no more murders, no more prisons. Drugs and alcohol will cease to exist. Cigarettes will become a thing of the past for the masses. There will be no more commercials telling you how bad smoking is, even though the governments are freely allowing the companies that make them to keep producing them, killing their loyal customers, and making billions of dollars in the process. There will be no division by social classes. Everyone will be equal, except for me. I will take care of them, Pickles.” He stood quietly, thinking and slowly moving his eyes around the room. The monitor on his laptop went dark from non-use as he continued his discussion. “I tried, Pickles. I tried to give the world all the energy they wanted, free of charge. They would have had all the energy they needed, and would have been able to use it as they wished. Instead of embracing the idea, they scoffed at it! They laughed at me when it was not even my fault that my machine did not work! They shouldn’t have laughed at me. They should have seen the sabotage for what it was; a clear and blatant attempt by the government to keep control of the people by denying them free energy and making them continue to pay for it with high taxes on every volt! Instead, my own colleagues shunned me.”

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Pickles jumped to the floor, darting over to the doctor and climbing up his pant leg, digging his small claws into the fabric, hanging on by the knee, sniffing him and looking around the room with his one eye. “Oh Pickles, I was trying to make the world better for everyone, but they saw it differently,” he said. He thought for a few more moments and continued. “My actions are just; they are heroic. You always want me to re-consider. Yes, I know I will create enemies, but I already have enemies. None of it can be helped. My enemies will fall. They will be targeted once my invention is perfected. The debts I am owed will be re-paid in full. No debt remains unpaid, Pickles. If the father does not pay for his own sins, then those sins will be paid for by the son. “Very soon the world will get the chance to start over. The contradictory rules of society will be eradicated. History will start new on day one of my leadership. The almighty dollar will not dictate the world’s laws anymore, and people will always be held accountable for both their actions and their crimes. Once my opposition has been put down, my first order of business will be to destroy all the world’s prisons along with everyone in them. No one in a prison can be realistically viewed in society as someone who has the capacity for rehabilitation. “The people in prisons would not have a place in my society anyway, Pickles. Prisons are a waste of resources. My utopia will have no prisons. There will be no need for them. Letting someone rot away in a jail cell is not a punishment. Chopping off an arm or a leg is a punishment. Simply putting an end to their miserable lives would be both a punishment and a blessing. But I will be a fair and popular leader. Today’s governments have actually taught me a lot about how to lead the world moving forward. In many ways I can emulate what they have done by disseminating information through my media that show how happy people are in my utopia. They will be in a state of constant contentment,” he said, rubbing his beard with his forefinger and thumb. “I wonder where my children are. They must arrive soon. My plans must keep moving forward as efficiently as possible.” Pickles jumped off the doctor to the floor and moved away from him, then jumped back onto the desk. The doctor opened the blinds, letting light into the room.

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“Do not be that way, Pickles. The children are not innocent. Just because they are young, that does not free them of guilt. They will arrive soon and things will be corrected,” he said. A small knock was heard at the door. “Enter,” he said softly. A wooden door on the opposite wall opened slowly and three men walked in. All three wore suits. The two on the outside appeared to be escorting the one in the middle. They all came through the door and stood silently, waiting to be recognized. Doctor Rayther crossed his arms and looked at the man on his left for answers. “Why do you disturb me?” he asked the man. “Forgive us, sir. Today at lunch, Agent Briggs here was seen taking more green beans than regulations allow. Per protocol, we are here to advise you of the situation so you may pass judgment,” the man said awkwardly. The doctor kept his arms folded and turned to the side looking disappointed in Briggs. “Mr. Briggs, do I not pay you enough here?” he asked without looking at him. “Yes, you do, sir,” Briggs answered. “Do we not feed you enough food each day then?” he asked. “Yes sir, you do. I wasn’t paying attention when I took the green beans, and instead of taking a level scoop, it was just a bit rounded on top. I meant no harm,” he said. “Of course it was rounded on top. How could it be rounded on the bottom?” Rayther asked rhetorically. Briggs just stood there, not sure how to respond. They all grew anxious as Doctor Rayther stood with his arms folded, staring out the window. “You have eaten more than was allocated to you. You have broken a rule. This was a rule that you were fully aware of, was it not?” he asked. The man stood silently. Sweat became evident on his forehead and his hands began to shake. “A simple yes or no is the answer I require, and the punishment for a lie is always death,” the doctor advised. “Yes,” he answered quietly. Doctor Rayther did not look away from the window. He did not even move as he spoke. “Fortyeight hours,” the doctor said softly. He then paused before continuing, as the men listened intently. “You shall not eat for the next forty-eight hours. You shall continue your duties and may eat again forty-eight hours from now. I feel this punishment is just, given the circumstances. Understand that I have a very limited

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number of soldiers here, and I need all of you intact. Had this happened a year or two from now, you would have lost one of your hands for your thievery. Do not underestimate my generosity in this matter. Go now,” he said in a tone of disgust. The men began to back out of the room as the doctor spoke again. “Also know that if you steal food again, no matter how small the amount, it will not be tolerated and your life will end. Hail Tesla.” The man’s eyes widened in fear, but he dared not to speak, afraid of possibly saying the wrong thing and angering the doctor. “Hail Tesla,” the other two men said as they all continued to back out of the room. “Hail Tesla,” Briggs said softly as the door closed. “Well Pickles, time to eat and then it is back to work. There is much to be done in only a short amount of time. Saving the world from itself is no easy task. We must locate the children and be ready for their arrival. After all, the sins of the father must be paid for by the son,” he said.