Whom The Gods Destroy

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A tiny black tube was the force behind Kirkland's evil powers. But he forgot that machines can have no loyalty--and today's master can be tomorrow's slave.

Excerpt

The brunette receptionist--looked up from her switchboard. "Mr. Trelawny will not be able to see anyone else today. He asked me to thank you for your patience, and to forgive him for not being able to fit you all into his schedule."

Kirkland got wearily to his feet. Another day wasted. Another day of not even being able to talk to Trelawny, to show him his plans for new developments in plastics.

He walked to the elevators with the rest of the men, but keeping apart from them. They were trusting, hopeful fools, all destined for failure; but he was different. He needed only one break, one bit of luck, and his natural superiority would quickly assert itself, quickly send him ahead of the miserable people who now stood in his way.

In the street he found Dr. Rilke at his side. "Perhaps you would have a cup of coffee with me?" the doctor said.

Kirkland had precious little money. If he could stick the doctor for an order of toast with the coffee it would do for supper.

"Very well," he said, glancing at his watch. "But I don't have much time."

They found stools at a luncheonette and Kirkland ordered toast and coffee, and then, overcome by the smells of cooking, he asked for bacon and eggs. Dr. Rilke had coffee, black. Kirkland ate ravenously. His body required considerable nourishment, but frequently he was forced to go without food, decent food, for days at a stretch. That was what angered him so terribly; that he, whose appetites were so keen, whose enjoyment of fine things was so superior to that of most other men, should be denied even the elementals of pleasant living. And burning in him even more hotly, was his indignation at not being listened to, and submitted to, by the fools and dolts he met every day of his life. He had the brains, the energy, the ambition, to mould empires; but no one would let him.

But now, as he finished the last of his food, he was in a somewhat better mood than usual. To repay the doctor for his meal, he decided to treat him as an equal.

"What sort of work are you interested in?" he said.

Dr. Rilke shrugged. "I have worked most of my life to determine the nature of the mind and its operations, but it seems now that my experimentation will be fruitless. I cannot get anyone even to listen to what I have discovered."

"Well, what have you discovered?"

"I have an instrument that is capable of destroying a person's will," Dr. Rilke said, and smiled at Kirkland as if afraid of being taken too seriously.

"Are you being humorous?" Kirkland said. He had a fear of being made a laughingstock; and Rilke's nervous smile irritated him, made him uneasy.

"No, of course not," Dr. Rilke said hastily. "I think my developments would be of great value to surgeons and psychiatrists; but I cannot raise the necessary capital to perfect my machine."

"This machine of yours can destroy a person's will?"

"Yes, that is correct."