Dr. Juergen Rausch and I arrived at the windmill at the same time, and parked on the gravel where the road widened next to the cornfield. His black BMW was recently waxed, and reflected the rows of drying stalks in curved perfection. We both got out, walked to the metal door, and shook hands. It had been several months since I had last seen the professor; I had interviewed him and written a press release publicizing his breakthroughs in human biophysics, something the scientific community was well aware of, but which the Popular Science and Discovery Channel crowd had yet to learn about. He had taken a liking to me; trusted me, and we had struck up a friendship. A few days ago, he had called me to say he wanted to share something very unique with me, on guarantee that I would not send anything I saw to print until he was ready. I agreed, and the appointment was set.
“Do you have an agreement with the power company to use these?” I asked, as he keyed in the code on the door lock.
“No, I own them.” He followed his statement with a Mona Lisa smile, and it took several seconds before I became aware of how surprised I must have looked. I quickly regained my composure.
“That's a sizable investment. I had no idea...”
He interrupted me. “I've been involved with the development of alternative energy sources for over 20 years. It's finally beginning to pay off. I use what I need for my work, and sell the rest. Come, I'll show you.” The lock buzzed, clicked, and the door opened. “You're going to love this.”
He stepped into the cylindrical structure, and I followed. We were standing in a cage, much like the ones used in mining shafts. He closed the gate, and pushed a button. We began to descend, slowly. The air grew cooler. I was wearing a jacket, but I shivered.
“This will be a few minutes. The lab is 200 meters underground.”
I wondered why someone would build a laboratory so deep. Not quite as deep as a particle detector, but still deep enough to indicate there was something that needed to be protected. I would keep my questions to myself; Dr. Rausch was very thorough in his explanations, so I usually had them answered in the course of our discussions.
We were jarred slightly as the cage touched bottom. Dr. Rausch opened the door, and we stepped into a room the size of a three-car garage. I was expecting something larger. He glanced at me, saying, “There are more hallways, some living areas, a kitchen, and sanitary facilities. This is the power facility. Do you see that door over there? That's the laboratory.” He pointed at a simple door in the corner, walked over to it, and opened it. I followed him inside.
The room was the same size as the first one, but filled with computers and equipment I didn't recognize. There was a large LCD on one wall, with a console on a wide desk in front of it; this is where the professor now stood. Images of maps, graphs, and tables glowed, shifted, and rotated in an ongoing sequence of scientific interpretation. I had no idea what any of it meant.
“There, on the right, are bars representing power and frequency. On the left, are maps representing areas of the globe in a variety of scales. The one on the top is our immediate area.”
In the darkened room, the images flew and flickered with a logic only Dr. Rausch fully understood. I was beginning to follow what was going on, when I noticed music coming out of the walls from around me.
“That sounds like orchestral music.”
“It is. Beethoven's 3rd Symphony, the Eroica. Now, look at this diagram here. The red bar indicates amplitude of the carrier wave I'm directing at you now.”
“At me? You're not experimenting on me, are you?” Despite my trust of Dr. Rausch, I found this unnerving. “What is it you're radiating me with, doctor?”
“Right now, the wave is not modulated, but what I have developed is a technology that is capable of altering your behavior at a very basic level.”
“OK. I understand that from your prior research. You were working with the effects of an array of radio frequencies on the human mind, targeted at specific lobes and functions in a way that results in predictable responses from the subject. During our last interview, you were making significant progress into the pleasure centers of the brain, if I remember correctly.”
“You're correct. I was working on what you just described, and you are about to experience the first major implementation of my theories. If, that is, you don't mind.” The professor had a sly grin on his face, one that I had seen before, but had never really tied into his personality.
“Please, just tell me exactly what is going on here.”
“If you insist. Within the tower of this windmill is a powerful transmitter and antenna. It is presently beaming a carrier wave to a satellite, which in turn is precisely targeting you.”
“Should I be nervous?” (I was.)
He laughed, loudly, with a look in his eyes that reminded me of a small child receiving an ice cream cone. “No, not at all. You'll love it! You see, what I've done, is isolated and amplified a frequency that stimulates human orgasm. When I modulate the wave, you'll experience all of the pleasures of sex, except without human contact! Here, just see....” He started fiddling with a knob.
“W-Wait a minute, Juergen (I used his familiar name, as if we had already had several drinks together), I'm not sure I want to do this. It sounds a lot like masturbation.”
“I guess that depends on your definition of masturbation. If you were attracted to a beautiful woman, asked her out for dinner, and stimulated her intellectually in every way you knew, would you consider that masturbation?”
“If she came home with you, took off her clothes, and made love to you, would that be masturbation?”
“Uh, well, no, bu....”
“Nevertheless, you encouraged her, stimulated her, and allowed her to bring you to orgasm, but you did not do it yourself, so it it is not masturbation, correct?”
“Uh...right....yes, I see what you're saying.”
“This is even more straightforward. You're not involved in the process at all. It is totally being done to you.” Dr. Rausch began turning the knob up, and a quiet synthetic hum began to fill the room. I began to feel warm.
“Doctor, what do you intend to do with this technology? I ....I .... think it feels, like a good idea, but....”
“For world peace, my friend. Man can now be free of the urges that have driven him to conquest, murder, and envy since our race began! We will be able to selectively pacify individuals, armies, nations, the entire world!” His laughter swelled with the music, and the electronic hum continued to fill my ears. I wanted to argue with him, to explain my doubts, discuss the social impact of such a device, but......the heat and the surge of blood began to fill my thighs, and my mind was clouded with a bright, swirling ecstasy. All fear and reason left me, and with the final up-welling, there was only a fragment of vision left to hold on to, that of a new, unimaginable world.
Sister Marlene Langen sat with her back to the sun on the convent's south porch, praying for an end to the suffering of non-believers, that they would find their way to Christ and a life of hope. Having ended her prayer, she looked up and across the worn tiles to the windows on the other side of the room, opened to the sunlit cornfields of north central Iowa. Our Lady of the Holy Blood chapel had been established 83 years ago, built on a hill near the farming community of Froyd, Iowa, at the bequest of a deceased railroad magnate. It seemed an ideal location for peaceful meditation and devotion of one's life to God, situated as it was in a sparsely populated area, one of open vistas having little in the way of distractions.
Sister Marlene especially enjoyed the northeast view, where scores of gigantic windmills spun, providing power for the cloister, the surrounding communities, and entire cities. She recalled when Dr. Rausch had approached them with a request to lease sites on the neighboring ridge of low hills, to which Mother Superior had readily consented, as it had expanded the funds available for education and mission work. She had also agreed to letting the professor install an array of monitoring equipment throughout their facilities, in order to ensure that his experiments with alternate power generation were not affecting those living in the immediate vicinity. He seemed like a kind man, and the sisters had always had a good relationship with him. Most of them even found the windmills to be quite attractive, standing on the ridge like tall fellow nuns waving their slender arms in praise of heaven.
Several others sat nearby, absorbed in various states of holy reverence. This was a time, immediately following mass, of quiet reflection and prayer, when no one spoke, not according to regulation, but as an unwritten rule. This was Sister Marlene's favorite time of day, and she put it to good use, taking scripture ever further into her heart. Today, she silently regarded 1 Corinthians, Chapter 7:1;
Now concerning the things about which you wrote to me: it is good for a man not to touch a woman.
But, because of sexual immoralities, let each man have his own wife, and let each woman have her own husband.
As she considered these words, a feeling of great comfort came over her, which she believed to be the manifestation of the Holy Spirit, soft and warm, the seed of God's love entering her soul. The demons of her distant past surfaced and sank in the current of spirituality flowing through her; as always, until the Word took hold, framing her life in a light of forgiveness, for now and for eternity. She was filled with a peace absent of flesh, apart from the world, existing only in spirit.
She began to feel warm, as an almost negligible hum began to fill her ears. It was a beautiful early Autumn day, and there were insects about, Boxelders and Asian Beetles breathing their last gasp before the onset of winter. Marlene's legs began to tighten, followed by her hips and her upper body. She found it quite pleasant, as her skin grew warmer, changing from pale to pink, shifting and flowing across her abdomen, her neck, and her cheeks. She grew warmer, almost hot, and very moist; her vagina became wet, pulsing within her as if it had a life of its own. The sensations began to come in waves, centering on her sex organs; they would rappel from her breasts to her ass in successive bursts of pleasure, returning to the epicenter, where they would briefly relax for a few moments until the next sequence. Marlene was enjoying every moment, but occasionally was able to collect herself enough to doubt the sanctity of her perceived religious experience. While she pondered the morality, or the reality, or what she was experiencing, the wave would grow stronger, incapacitating her ability to question what was now happening to her body.
As the eleventh wave enveloped her, she slowly turned her head to view the nuns sitting on the benches under the window next to her. Sister Yvonne, the one sitting closest to her, sat quivering, staring at an invisible point on the floor. When she, too, looked over, slack-jawed and glassy-eyed, Sister Marlene quickly turned her head forward, towards the windmills. This was not something she wanted to share with anyone, except perhaps with Mother Superior, or maybe not....the thought was precluded by an uncontrollable surge of intoxicating satisfaction, straining to release the tension that now held muscles taut, prepared to spring, swallowing their own nervous energy for something to come, to come very soon....
Marlene gasped, conscious of the sound, a strangled cry, being careful that the others did not hear; and welcomed the white light and explosive spasm that seemed to cleanse her being. She shuddered, and her vagina relaxed, floating in the flood of its product. It was over. She turned her head again, to the side, and glanced at Sister Yvonne, who sat there slumped, gazing at heaven, and smiling.