Man's mind is so formed that it is
far more susceptible to falsehood than to truth.
Desiderius Erasmus
Angela opened her eyes reluctantly. She knew it was going to be a lousy day because her jaws were sore. She had started gritting her teeth in her sleep again. Gorgon's house, red colonial brick with black shutters, had been built in a secluded wooded area about thirty miles from Parallax headquarters.
She woke up hating the house, hating this room, hating Lyman Gorgon, and hating herself. Not necessarily in that order, she thought, as she stumbled into the tiled red and black bathroom, which she also hated. Everything in this goddamned house is red and black. Once she had hung up a pretty picture of green leaves in her bedroom, and Gorgon had yanked it off the wall, slammed his fist into her arm and said, "Don't do that again." She'd asked him why he'd punched her and the bastard answered, "For emphasis."
Angela was breathtakingly beautiful. She was thirty-one, but had the body of an eighteen year old model. The ends of her long blonde tresses brushed against the nipples of her exposed breasts. Underneath her left breast, hardly visible, was a tattoo of a rose. She wore only black lace panties. Her long, sensuous legs strode across the bedroom as she brought Gorgon his breakfast, placing his tray on the table over the bed. He had had the table made specially so it fit over the bed just above his lap as he sat with his back resting on several pillows. On the table was his laptop computer. Next to this were his books and papers. He was completing a presentation for a client, using voice dictation which the computer translated into a multimedia program.
Angela took the top to her lacy negligee from the chair next to the bed and started to put it on.
"Keep your goddamned breasts exposed when you're around me!" he shouted at her.
She looked at him through the watery haze of her tears. Why did she stay with him? What was this hold he had over her? She wanted to run from the room, out of his house and out of his life. But she needed him desperately and he knew it.
Angela had been his patient--his guinea pig as he put it--for the last several years at the Parallax Clinic. Now she was living with him.
Gorgon glanced at her, noticing the tears in her eyes. "You enjoy being a victim and feeling miserable--just like your father made you feel." She had told him about her father abusing her--verbally, physically, and sexually--as she was growing up.
But she wanted to be free from all this!
"And don't turn your back to me!" Gorgon shouted at her. "I want to see your tits." He spoke to her in the coarsest language imaginable. He told her it was for her own good--to give her mental toughness, he said.
Gorgon had begun to build a profile of her in his computer as she revealed her past and present experiences. He'd probed every area of her life--family, sexual relations, fears, hopes, everything. And it was this profile he used--he said--to help her. He certainly used it to control her.
He'd told her she was going to be his sex slave--that it was part of her therapy. When she questioned his approach he had screamed at her, "Then get the fuck out and find someone else who'll put up with your pathetic weakness!"
Angela had stayed, in spite of the humiliation and abuse. Of course there were times when he seemed to be genuinely interested in her--especially just after she made love to him. But most of the time there was a large, bitter lump in her throat that she had to choke down.
She helped him dress. He was somewhat late and he told her harshly to hurry up with the clothes he'd selected the night before. He bent over to touch her left breast with his tongue as he finished tying his tie.
By the time she entered the breakfast room downstairs, she had teased and sprayed her unruly blond hair into submission, covered the dark circles under her eyes with heavy makeup, and zipped herself into a black jersey sweater that fit like a second skin.
Seated at the breakfast table, a large black and red marble chessboard mounted on a pedestal, Lyman Gorgon observed the digital messages flashing on a wall-mounted monitor while he ate his soft-boiled egg from a porcelain egg-cup.
She stood hesitantly before him, uncertain, as always, about his mood.
"You're fortunate in your physique, my dear. Some addicts begin to look blowzy in their thirties, while you've kept that lean and hungry look. Tell me, what do you plan on doing today?"
"I-- I think I'll go to see my ex, Ben."
"You think right." Gorgon stared at her for a moment before continuing, "And what will you do during your visit?"
"See-- see if he still cares about me."
"Excellent. You're to play on his sympathy for all it's worth. You understand that, don't you?"
"Yes."
"You're to remind him that he was good to you."
"He was good to me," Angela blurted out.
"That's right, my little numbskull. And I'm bad to you. Don't forget to tell him that."
Angela stood with her knees bent and one hand clasping her nape.
Gorgon laughed. "That's right. You're afraid of me. Tell Ben that. Appeal to his gallantry, then seduce him."
Angela's eyes widened and her chest heaved. "How?"
Gorgon's expression softened, except for his fixed stare, which intensified. "You know how." His voice dropped into a lower register, and he spoke each word slowly and distinctly. "You're a lovely, desirable woman, and you know this because men find you irresistible, and your features are exquisite, and your body is voluptuous, and you know this because men find you irresistible because you are a lovely, desirable woman, confident of your powers to charm because men find you irresistible, and you're feeling lovely, voluptuous and confident." He repeated this litany three times, then paused and examined his well-manicured hands for a moment. "Ask me any question."
With a child-like earnestness, she said, "Do you think I'm a lovely, desirable woman?"
"You're ravishingly beautiful and irresistible. Now go use your wiles on Ben and find out what the hell he knows about me. Don't dawdle. Go now," he shouted as he quickly exited the house and bent to enter the limousine as the driver held the door open.
*****
Angela rapped on the door of Ben's apartment, feeling slightly disoriented for a moment when she heard his voice calling out from his study, "Come in, Joan." He was expecting someone named Joan it was evident.
For several months, Ben and Joan had been seeing other--and developing a deepening relationship.
Without replying, Angela slipped into the living room . She went to the center of the room and turned around slowly to see if it was still the same. The table lamps she had hauled to the pawn shop--she tried to remember how many years ago--those had been replaced with some solid-looking brass lamps. The Mission style furniture, in heavy, unadorned mahogany, was just as it had been when she left, as was the wine-colored Afghanistan carpet Ben's mother had inherited from her grandmother. Angela smiled. Even the sounds coming from the study, the whirs and clicks of Ben's computer, were the same.
"I'll be right with you as soon as I save this work, Joan."
Angela's eyes narrowed. Who was this Joan, anyway? You couldn't tell from the way he talked if she was his girlfriend because Ben was that way with everybody, nice and polite. Frank, the first time he met Ben, had said, "He's a real fine guy, Sis, a regular Sir Galahad--Eagle Scout--Straight Arrow, but he doesn't seem like your type."
Maybe she wasn't exactly Ben's type, but was it her fault, really, if men found her irresistible?
She was startled when Ben's long, lanky figure appeared in the doorway.
Frowning, he looked at her in disbelief. "Angela? What the hell are you doing here? I was expecting -- a friend."
She moved towards him with outstretched arms, which she slowly lowered when he backed away from her.
"What's wrong, Benjy? Aren't you glad to see me? I've been thinking about you a lot lately. Do you think about me?"
"Angela, I thought we agreed not to do this to each other."
"Do what?" she asked, approaching him with a rolling movement of her pelvis.
He exhaled a long, audible sigh. "We agreed that we were taking separate paths, that we wouldn't see each other again."
He couldn't retreat any farther because he was backed against the wall, but he raised his palms defensively.
Angela grabbed his wrists and exclaimed, "You've got to help me, Ben. You're the only person in the world I can turn to. Gorgon's got control over me--I can't get away from him. Nobody understands. He's cruel, Ben. He hurts me. He hurts me physically."
Ben sighed again and averted his eyes, staring fixedly beyond Angela's face. "I can't be responsible for you, Angela, I tried. I'm very sorry you're unhappy, but I can't help you."
"Look at me, Ben. Look at me and tell me you don't care."
He raised his eyes and blinked. Angela's jersey and bra were lying at her feet. She was standing before him bare-breasted.
"He's bad, Ben. You see these bruises?" She stroked both arms with her hands.
"You never hit me. You were always good to me, Ben. Help me, please."
Ben lowered his head and shook it slowly. "No, Angela. Please leave." Stooping and picking up her discarded clothing, he was startled to hear the door open.
"Sorry I'm late, I . . . " Joan broke off and stared at Ben, who, with a foolish expression, glanced first at Angela, then at the garment he held in each hand. Joan turned on her heel and stomped toward the door.
"Joan, don't go! I can explain."
"What makes you think I'm interested?" Joan flung back at him, slamming the door behind her.
Ben dropped the garments at Angela's feet, stalked to his back-room study, and locked the door. Angela, sprinted behind him, tugged at the doorknob, pounded on the door, and sobbed for five minutes, all to no avail. Putting her clothes on again, she soberly considered how she was going to relate her misadventure to Lyman Gorgon.
*****
Eliza enjoyed the aura of celebrities. When she read the delivery log and realized that her potted plants and wreaths and bouquets were destined to share the air of a celebrity, even of someone whose renown barely extended to the beltway, she felt a warm glow. This week Dr. Emerson had been sending bouquets of white roses to Joan Kendall, and that being a fairly common name, Eliza had not been certain that this was the Joan Kendall on TV. But seeing the celebrity in person in the lobby one day, Eliza had put two and two together. That nice Dr. Emerson was showering his attentions on the famous talk show hostess, and Eliza congratulated herself on almost knowing both of them. And now here she was helping Dr. Emerson play a practical joke on the lady. She got the giggles just thinking about it.
Dr. Emerson had bought one of those big potted silk trees from her rather than the usual bouquet of white roses, borrowed one of her deliveryman's caps and a green canvas jacket with "Eliza's Floral Shop" embroidered on it, and said he was going to deliver his order in person. Eliza wished she could see the expression on Joan Kendall's face when Dr. Emerson came to the door. But, Eliza reflected, celebrities didn't answer their own doors, did they? So perhaps he was planning to walk right past the servant and carry the plant to his friend. Eliza rather hoped the lady was more than a friend, Dr. Emerson being so nice and all.
Joan's study was different in every respect from Ben's sparsely furnished cocoon. French doors opened onto a patio, and a bay window full of potted tulips was next to her rolltop desk. Joan's face, always expressive, went through several changes when Ben walked into her library hoisting the ridiculous plant on high like a crusader's shield. Finally she broke into laughter and told her housekeeper that Ben was a friend, not the demented deliveryman he appeared to be.
Ben sheepishly explained that he was desperate, that all excuses he had made in the notes accompanying the roses, all messages he had left on her answering machine, all remonstrances he had faxed her, in short, every attempt to communicate with her had apparently failed.
"So I've come to tell you again for the last time," he said. "If you refuse to believe that Angela was uninvited, crept into my apartment through the door I had left open for you . . ."
"Yes, yes." Joan exclaimed impatiently. "And why was she half-dressed?"
"She wanted me to see the bruises Gorgon inflicted on her. I was trying to send her away when you came on the scene."
"Gorgon?" This time her face registered only astonishment.
Ben nodded. "Lyman Gorgon. I seem to be getting him for breakfast, lunch and dinner these days. You know Angela's been living with him. Frank tells me Gorgon keeps her dazed and doped, and there's nothing Frank can do about it."
"Why haven't you told me about Gorgon abusing Angela?" Joan asked on a rising note of exasperation.
"I tried, but you wouldn't . . ."
"I mean about Frank and Angela and Gorgon and her being doped and all the rest of it. You're so secretive. What do you take me for--some kind of sleazy tabloid journalist?"
Ben folded his arms and walked back and forth. "Don't say things like that, Joan. I'm not being secretive, I'm reticent, that's all."
Joan's tone was incredulous. "Reticent!"
"I don't know how to put it. I thought it would be a violation . . . I mean, all of us are entitled to privacy--of our persons, of our inner feelings. And you knew about my marriage to Angela--all the problems. The rest of it--Angela's behavior, mine--I'd like to forget."
"You seem to feel guilty about Angela. Why?"
Ben shook his head slowly. "Maybe I didn't do enough. Perhaps I failed her in some way."
"So you think you should be able to control people for their own good."
"Control, no. Help, yes. She needed help."
"You helped her, didn't you, Ben?"
"Not enough"
"But the Angelas of the world can't possibly get enough help. They're going to hell in a handbasket and they're looking for somebody to carry the basket."
Ben smiled. "I used to call her 'the Wistful Waif.'" The smile faded. "That was unkind. I shouldn't . . ."
"Why not? You resent the lump she took out of your life, don't you?"
"She didn't take it. I gave it to her."
"So now you're regretting you didn't give her a bigger chunk, is that it?"
"No," Ben said. He realized their conversation was deteriorating. "Look, Joan, I came to ask you to forgive me. I really need you."
Joan realized that Ben's story about Angela was true. But Joan wanted Ben to face his own weakness--and overcome it. "Ben, I want you to understand that this would never have happened if you'd been more forceful with Angela. She knew she could compromise you--in her inimitable way--and you wouldn't put up a fight. It's what I've been telling you. You've got to use force when it's necessary."
"Well, I forced my way in here pretty well," he joked.
Joan smiled. "Yes, you did. Probably scared my housekeeper out of her wits." Joan stood up and held out her arms. "Come here you big lug."
Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to this first session of the course, Political Campaigning: Controlling Human Behavior."
Lyman Gorgon was wearing a black turtle-neck sweater, black trousers, and a grey tweed sports jacket. He had grown his goatee again. The small Georgetown University lecture hall was packed. About an equal number of men and women students sat in the hall, from age twenty to age sixty. Gorgon spoke from behind the lectern, without any sign of notes.
"First, something about this subject called political campaigning. It's part of a larger field called propaganda. And all propaganda is for the purpose of controlling people. Controlling them to vote for candidate X, controlling them to buy product Y, and controlling them to live life-style Z. In the United States there are 1,220 television stations, 9,871 radio stations, 1,763 daily newspapers, and 11, 328 magazines. All spewing forth propaganda.
"Each year the average American watches 1,550 hours of TV, listens to 1,160 hours of radio on 530 million radio sets, and spends 180 hours reading newspapers and 110 hours reading magazines. Mr. or Mrs. Average American watches 30 hours of TV per week, which means that they are subjected to roughly 37,822 commercials per year--about 100 TV ads per day.
"America has only 6% of the world's population, but it consumes 57% of the world's advertising. To sell their products, American manufacturers spend more than $45 billion a year on advertising and more than $60 billion a year on product promotions--coupons, free samples, rebates, premiums, and such.
"The U.S. government is no slouch when it comes to propaganda; it spends more than $400 million per year to employ more than 8,000 workers to create propaganda making America look good. These workers create ninety films per year, twelve magazines in 22 different languages, and 800 hours of Voice of America programming in 37 languages with an estimated audience of 75 million listeners--all extolling the virtues of the American way of life.
"To return to the private sector, more than 300 companies, billing $130 million per year, provide 'image consulting'--expensive advice on how to enhance your personal image. More than 500 marketing research and opinion polling firms query more than 72 million Americans each year, billing their customers more than $1 billion per annum.
"Now, with all this money being spent you'd think that these propagandists would know what they're doing. But they don't have a clue. Take the field we're going to explore: political campaigning. Beginning in the 1940s, a study of voting was done at Columbia University. In the 1950s, voting studies centered in the University of Michigan's Survey Research Center. Since then, various schools and independent scholars have put American voting under the microscope.
"What have all these learned studies discovered? Really earth-shaking stuff, such as: American voters tend to vote on party lines, voters don't know much about the people they vote for, and Americans vote based on images and slogans.
"Of course their findings are written up to sound very profound, such as: 'A campaign can affect the salience of an issue by increasing its perceived importance to voters.' In other words, these so-called experts are stumbling around in the dark. Some new gee-whiz techniques come out every few years, usually based on some kind of computer data-gathering gimmick. But nobody could really say how a candidate could be sold to the voters with any degree of proven predictability--until I developed my techniques of behavior control." Gorgon spoke the words forcefully and paused to make sure the impact was felt by all.
"Some of my techniques--not all--I'll discuss with you in this class. And you'll have a chance to practice them. Others are so revolutionary--and so essential to my own corporation's success--that I don't even reveal them to our multi-million-dollar clients. So consider yourself lucky if you get to be a part of this class and learn some of these billion-dollar secrets.
"While interviewing some sixty students in a group setting earlier, I told you that I only want certain kinds of people in this class. From that group of sixty I've narrowed down the field to you thirty-two students in the room this evening."
"You remember that while interviewing you thirty-two people I made it clear that this first session is merely a probationary experience. That is, I did not say that any of you would be allowed to continue beyond this evening's session.
"But the interview at least indicated that you were of a certain frame of mind and that you understood clearly, as far as I was able to determine, exactly what I want to accomplish in the course. I told you in that interview that I'm looking for people who aren't squeamish, who aren't afraid to do unusual and rather out-of-the-ordinary kinds of things, actions which many people would call foolish, manipulative, perhaps even immoral. People use all kinds of negative terms to describe the behavior you'll be performing in this class. I'm only interested in people who are intent on learning about political campaigns, developing campaigns and managing them. If that isn't your primary interest, then there's certainly no reason to take this course.
"When this class was first announced by the university over two hundred people signed up for it. I limit the class to eighteen. The necessary kind of interchange in a workshop like this requires sufficient time and psychological space for each participant. Once you go beyond eighteen, there isn't time within a three hour class session to accomplish what I want to.
"As I mentioned in the interview, each of you will be constantly tested in the sense that I will give you individual assignments and if you can't, for any reason, perform the assignment, then I'll ask you to drop out of the class. You've all agreed to that. And I've indicated to you in the interview that this is not to say that you're a horrible person or that there's something wrong with you. It's simply that the kinds of things I'm going to assign you to do are not a matter of negotiation or question. As I get to know who you are I will discern immediately what you need to learn. And I'll give you certain kinds of assignments based on what you need. If you don't want to perform the behavior I assign you, then you should feel okay about dropping the course. Your life doesn't depend on taking this course. So if you're asked to leave, please do so quickly, without any fuss. There will be stand-by's to take your place in the class."
Gorgon suddenly moved forward to the front of the lectern and stared at a young woman in the fourth row. She was a tall, beautiful blonde, wearing a short skirt and a blue blouse which showed off her ample breasts to perfection. In a loud voice, Gorgon said, "You're the same person I kicked out last year, aren't you?" He glared at her, menacingly. "I don't want this to get unpleasant, so get out now and don't cause any trouble like you did before!" He stared at her.
The young woman stood up slowly, picked up her books and began leaving. "You're an asshole!" she said loudly but unemotionally. The other students didn't know what to make of the exchange.
On an overhead screen, Gorgon displayed the topic for discussion.
"I want to begin by explaining my conception of the essence of political campaigning. It is simply this: controlling a person's behavior. You control a registered voter to vote for a specific candidate, your candidate. You've controlled their behavior, just as I controlled the behavior of that young lady just now to leave--and controlled you to feel certain things about me through my behavior." Gorgon looked at the class members intently. "In this class, I am cutting away all the superficial nonsense about political campaigning and getting to the essence.
"You will learn in this course, if you remain, how to control other people's behavior. I use the word 'control' instead of "influence" because I want to make it clear that this is a matter of power, of force. If you only influence voters you may or may not control their behavior to vote for your candidate. We're after behavior control, not mere behavior influence.
"Carl von Clausewitz, a brilliant military strategic thinker, defined war as the use of force to impose one's will on an adversary. Force is the capacity for affecting, influencing, or persuading the mind or behavior of another. So in some sense, we'll be engaged in a non-lethal kind of war.
"What you will do in this course is to select a particular person whom we will call your target, the person you'll learn to control. You'll control their behavior to perform a particular act or series of acts. We're going to use the term 'target' to avoid the use of any seemingly neutral term such as 'subject.' Because that's what this person's going to be: the target whose behavior you're going to control.
"Part of what you'll learn in the class is to avoid any kind of unnecessary moralizing. Controlling other people's behavior is, in itself, neither good nor bad. You can control a person's behavior for all sorts of reasons--unethical reasons or so-called good reasons, let's say to get them to overcome an addiction to a drug.
"You'll be using your target to learn how to control people's behavior in general and you'll have to feel okay about doing that. If you think that it's somehow intrinsically immoral to manipulate another person's behavior, then you wouldn't feel comfortable in this class.
"Yes, some people are leaving already, that's fine." Gorgon watched as three students left the room. "Because as we make the course's objectives clear, some of you will, for whatever reasons of your own, not feel comfortable continuing during even this first session. So please feel free to get up and leave at any time when it appears that the workshop would not be to your liking.
"You'll select your target. You will, in consultation with me, determine what behavior you're going to have your target perform. Then you'll do whatever it takes to create that behavior in them. For many of you your best choice of a target will be a friend, someone you already know and have some control over. And if you don't feel good about controlling a friend then this course would be uncomfortable for you." Gorgon spoke with greater emphasis. "You're here to learn how to manipulate voters--who are human being, just like your friends!"
"Thank you, two other people are leaving." Gorgon paused to allow the students to leave the hall. "It's getting clearer to some just what this is all about. Feel free to leave at any time that you find something in what we're talking about to be unacceptable to you."
He continued. "So, first, you'll have a target that will probably be a friend of yours. Secondly, you're going to control them to perform a particular act. And, third, you will not tell this person that you are controlling them. You will deliberately not tell them, you will keep that from them. Okay, some of you don't feel good with that, some other people leaving, that's good.
"You're going to deliberately keep your target from knowing that you're controlling his or her behavior because that is the most effective way to control them, by their not being aware of it. Later in the course, part of your assignment will be to control a person's behavior and at the same time let them know that you're controlling them. Controlling their behavior in spite of their awareness--or in some instances even with the assistance of their awareness."
Gorgon continued. "I'm going to give you an example of the kind of assignments you'll be given, then we'll stop to
see what questions you have. One of you will be given the assignment of pretending to become a member of a small religious congregation and gaining control over the clergyman who leads the congregation."
Gorgon looked around the classroom. "Yes, what's your question?" A young woman in her early twenties stood up.
"Well, I would imagine that the best target for me would be my male friend who is my fiance and I feel I probably could control his behavior to some extent. But the fact that he is my fiance, I wouldn't feel good about doing that to him."
"You're absolutely right. You say you wouldn't feel good about that, so you'd be uncomfortable with this course. It's good that you see that."
The young woman left.
An older woman stood up. "Yes ma'am."
"Well, probably the best target for me would be my girlfriend. But she doesn't seem to be controllable. In fact, we sometimes laugh about her being totally uncontrollable. She doesn't even control herself. She doesn't know from moment to moment what she's going to do the next hour or the next day. And it doesn't seem like I'd be able to control her even though she might be the best target, as you call it."
"If everything else works out for you to remain in the course, don't worry about being able to control your target. Any person is controllable, no matter what their characteristics. Part of what you'll learn in this course is to study a person so carefully, in such minute detail, that you'll be able to create what we call a personality profile. You will know everything important about that person: what she likes, what she dislikes, who controls her, what ideas and images control her. You will study your target to the point that you will understand exactly what control mechanisms work--and don't work--with her.
"Even if she seems to you to be erratic, uncontrollable, you'll find that in fact she is controllable. You'll just have to take my word for that at the moment, because it probably does seem rather mysterious. But even the fact that she seems erratic now is something you can use to control her. I don't know if that makes sense yet, but it's true. Her image of herself as uncontrollable may make it easier for you to control her--by assuring her that we're not controlling her while feeding her what will seem to be her own ideas which will then control her."
A middle aged man raised his arm to ask a question. "I suppose that the best 'target' for me would be my lady friend." He looked around the room rather sheepishly. "I control her behavior somewhat now, but I do it in ways that I wouldn't particularly want to talk about."
Gorgon replied immediately. "Feeling as you do, it would be best if you didn't try to take this course. But, let's pursue it a bit further; give me an example if you can, just something that wouldn't be too unpleasant for you."
The man was embarrassed but managed to say, "Well, uh, for example, she doesn't particularly want to have sexual relations now before we're married--if we ever get married." He tried to make it sound humorous, but it was lost on the others. "But I feel like I've controlled her to go ahead and do that."
"All right," Gorgon said, "that's a good example. Here's this lady that you care for and you already, as you acknowledge, control her behavior. But you're doing it in ways which seem inappropriate, or you're embarrassed to talk about them. So that's a very good issue you've brought up. To be allowed to continue in the course, you would have to get over that feeling of embarrassment, you'd have to completely eradicate it from your feeling and your mind.
"Your job is to control someone's behavior, whatever that takes. You'll have to avoid judging yourself as being right or wrong. There will have to be a complete abandonment of any kind of moral judgment of yourself or any member of the class. Or even of a target, judging them as being weak, for example, for allowing themselves to be manipulated. So, you'll learn in this semester to eradicate from your minds, from your feelings, any sense of unnecessary or arbitrary moral judgment like that.
"Now, that doesn't mean that you're not going to continue having standards--I recommend you have the highest possible standards for yourself and others. But in so far as this course is concerned, we will not take the time to try to dissuade any of you that what you're doing is right when in fact you feel it is wrong. If you feel that there is anything that you would be asked to do--short of such absurd things as murder--that might seem intrinsically wrong to you, then you should not try to take this course.
"I know that seems harsh now, but that's simply the way this course operates."
"I've got a friend who might make a good target," a young man commented, not bothering to be recognized by Gorgon. "But she's got very few weaknesses . . ."
"I didn't say the target had to have weaknesses!" Gorgon spoke harshly to the young man. He didn't like his looks or his behavior. "You'll find that everyone has weaknesses when you do a thorough analysis . But you can just as easily use their strengths."
Gorgon mused for a moment. Yes, he enjoyed dangling his course in front of these students and allowing only his hand-picked few to remain. He only wished that there was someone who could give him some competition. It was so easy to overpower such fools as these students--even the rude and undisciplined ones, such as this young man.
"In one of my most successful cases of behavior control I used almost nothing but the positive characteristics of the target. The target was a woman who had a classical New England background. She'd been programmed to be respectful of authority, to be loyal and trustworthy, to work hard, and never blame others for her mistakes. Every one of those is what you might call a positive personality trait. Yet I was able to use those very traits to control her behavior in just the way I wanted. She was a highly placed government official . . ." Gorgon suddenly realized that he probably should not be telling tales out of school, but what the hell, these stupid people didn't know who was who or what was what. He continued, relishing the memory of one of his most successful cases of destroying a human personality.
"This woman was made to feel that she had acted beyond her authority, that she had committed a mistake which had international ramifications. Her own sense of decency, of never overstepping her boundaries was what finally resulted in the behavior we desired."
If these idiots knew that Mrs. American Ambassador to Luxembourg finally ended up a simpering lunatic, they'd really see what this course is all about! Gorgon thought to himself.
At that point three other people left the lecture hall. After they had gone, Gorgon looked around and counted the number of people remaining. "Ah! We're already down to twenty-one which is pleasantly close to eighteen, so let's proceed with your assignment for next week. On a single sheet of paper you're going to turn in at the beginning of the next session, I want each of you to type:
- your name
- your current occupation or major if you're a student
- your target
- the behavior you will have your target perform
- what is wrong with this assignment I've just given you
Gorgon waited for the students to write down the assignment, repeating it several times. As they were writing the assignment, the young woman whom Gorgon had kicked out of the class made a grand re-entrance, with everyone turning to stare at her. Gorgon gazed at her as she strode toward the front of the hall. As she came near him he suddenly walked forward, smoothly took her in his arms and kissed her passionately. They walked out of the lecture hall with their arms around each other.
