Part 9 of our exclusive ongoing saga. Enjoy! -G
"Do you have to tie me in so tight?" I asked. They had shoved me into this straight-backed, wooden chair that was very uncomfortable, and tied leather straps around my wrists and ankles very tightly.
The listening room had the walls covered with speakers. The floor was done in an ugly green and purple tile. The volume control was on the outside of the solid titanium door. My chair was the only furniture to speak of in that soundproofed room.
Jones was watching his cronies tie me in. "Be prepared to face the worst torture that has ever been invented in the whole universe!"
"Who's Richard Gordon?" I asked.
"He was the worst motivational speaker in the history of the Solar System."
The cronies stood up and wiped his hands on his shirt. "This dude is as stuck as a mule in mud."
"Good. Let's go." He and his cronies left the room. Before Jones
closed the door, he said, "You will be begging for my mercy in a couple minutes. But I will never give it to you!"
At least his stupid laugh was cut off with the door slamming shut. The speakers came alive with the sound of a distorted man's voice. "This is the tenth year of the Rawless Deal for the poor and the middle class, except for the rich, who are dead, with too many days left to go until we can get rid of Carter. Unfortunately, we will probably be dead by that point anyway."
From the history books, I would have to agree with this guy.
"In today's news, Carter has screwed up again. He wants to invade Guatemala. Why? All we're gonna do is lose some of our boys trying to put a Communist Pinko in power of that country so we can help the Socialists take over the world."
"Oh, I forgot. We are a Communist country already. What happened to the Constitution? What happened to free speech? What happened..." Static broke him off in midsentence.
A new voice filled the room. "Due to technical difficulties, the Richard Gordon show will never be heard again. We are not sorry for your inconvience."
Jones walked back in, amazed. "You haven't tried to yank yourself free from that terrible noise? We must then try something different." He turned and shouted to one of his cronies, "Load up that Alan King Fikus tape!" He turned back to me. "Since you like that piece of scum, then we will torture you with this! HA! HAHAHA!"
This time he stayed in the room as some music played over the speakers. This annoying, nasally voice sounded over the speakers. "Welcome, welcome, welcome to the Alan King Fikus show, enjoyed by more people than anyone..."
"Moron!" I shouted. Jones slapped me hard across the face.
The irritating voice continued. "We will now go to our first guest, from the moronic radical religous right--"
I just wanted that voice to SHUT UP! I started straining at my straps. Jones just looked at me with an amused look on his face. He then turned to face the door, and drew his finger across his neck. That horrible voice finally stopped.
"These transmissions are the originals," Jones informed me, "we found the radio waves just outside of Pluto a few years ago, and we boosted them here, into this room."
"Isn't that kind of, stupid?"
"Not when they're used for torture devices. But, back to business. we're still not finished with you." He called the guards, and they picked me up, chair and all, and took me out of the room.
They bustled me along the corridor toward who-knows-where, and after a few moments, I noticed that the bonds on my feet were loosening.
Now here, I bet your thinking, sure, how convienient. If I was in your place, I would be thinking the same thing. But, with all that hustle and bustle and jarring and yanking and pulling and grabbing, my bonds were starting to loosen. If you want a scientific reason for this, go down to your local university, and have them conduct useless experiments that cost the taxpayers money, OK!!!