How I Conquered Your Planet (6 page)

“
Yeah. Stinks.”

All three men looked stunned and hurt.

“
Hello, Mr. Burly.”

“
Am I brainwashed yet?”

“
No, we haven’t even gotten your coat off yet. And I’ve only
just now said hello.”

“
Because I’m hungry.”

“
There will be food breaks.”

I thought about this. “Is this a food break?”

The brain specialist’s smile was beginning to look a little
forced. “No...”

“
Because… okay, look, here’s my problem… my metabolism is
delicately balanced, like a racing car. And, like a racing car, if I don’t get
a sandwich…”

“
Get him something to eat.”

It was my first day at the hospital. They said they didn’t know
how long I was in for. They said it depended on how cooperative my brain was. I
said my brain was very cooperative. It always cooperated. Because it wanted to
get out of here. They said good.

While I was eating my sandwich, and explaining why I might need
another (sometimes my body is like one racing car, sometimes two), I was
introduced to the brainwashing team that had been assigned to my case. It was
composed of Dr. Xpct, a doctor so experienced – who had washed so many brains –
he just didn’t care anymore. Because of this experience and attitude, he was
chosen to head up the team. I told him that this was how we did things on Earth
too and was glad to meet him and he told me to be silent.

The second member of the team was a young doctor who had never
washed a brain before and was all youthful enthusiasm, always jumping around
excitedly, yelling things like: “Let me wash his brain first! Is that his
brain? Let me wash it!” He was valuable for the energy he brought to the team,
and because he made everybody else feel smart.

The third and final member of the team was a tough looking
doctor who just leaned against the wall in his bulging lab coat all day,
staring at me with half-closed eyes, and flipping a small brain up in the air
and catching it in his hand. He usually played the part of the “bad
brainwasher” when they started in on their “good brainwasher/bad brainwasher”
routine.

Now that I knew who they were, they sat me down and told me who
I was. Who I was really.

“
You’re not an Earthman.”

“
I’m not.”

“
No, you’re a Martian.”

“
Ah. Am I brainwashed now? That didn’t take long. You guys are
GOOD.”

“
We’ll tell you when you’re brainwashed,” Dr. Xpct said. “Just
relax and let us do our job.” He turned to an assistant. “Open up his head.”

It took them awhile to get into my head because I’ve got a lot
of bone there. Nature didn’t skimp when it came to my skull. Of course I’m
tough all over. You’ve got to be when you piss people off all the time.

Once they had gotten the top of my head off, they found that
instead of having two hemispheres, my brain was just one big block. And there
was evidence that people had been there before them.

“
Did you know you’ve been brainwashed before?”

“
How would I know that?”

“
Looks like it’s been done dozens of times over the years. Looks
like everybody’s been doing it.”

Several assistant brainwashers crowded around to look. “I can
actually see my face in your brain,” said one of them, impressed. “Hey, look
Bob! See how funny I look in this guy’s brain?”

His associate took a look. “You always look like that.”

“
I do not! Quit kidding.”

The youngest member of the brainwashing team ran up past the
two doctors who were now shoving each other playfully. “Hey let me see my
face!”

They were all amazed at how highly my brain had been polished
by the repeated washings. “It’s amazing there’s any brain left at all,” one of
them said admiringly.

I felt the area of my head where my brain was. (Or ‘wasn’t’ to
hear them tell it). I’d heard people say things like that before, but I thought
they were just insulting me. I didn’t know they were doctors.

Since we were discussing my medical condition, I took the
opportunity to point out my rear end. “Sometimes I find it hard to take a crap
too. Maybe you can look into my butt when you’re done with my head.”

“
No, we’re strictly brain men. You’ll have to see a butt doctor
for that.”

I wasn’t happy about this. “Great. Now I’ve got to see two
doctors.”

I had to sign papers before the treatments began saying that I
agreed to submit myself voluntarily to whatever treatments might pop into their
heads, insisted that no precautions be taken, and actually wanted them to kill
me. These releases protected them, they said, from any future legal problems
arising from my case, or any feeling of responsibility or need to be careful. I
tried to get them to sign something like that for me – so I’d be in the clear
too – but they wouldn’t do it.

Over the next few weeks, holding the releases I had signed in
one hand and their scalpels in the other, they really let my brain have it.
They hacked pieces off of it, flushed it with experimental serums, yelled
information into it, and wrote facts on it with a felt tip pen.

They even took my brain out at one point and washed it with
soap and water to see if that would do any good. I could have told them it
wouldn’t work, if I had had a brain.

I got plenty of good old fashioned electroshock therapy too.
They surgically implanted a power cord into the back of my head and then
plugged me into the wall, sometimes leaving me that way for hours when they
were busy doing something else.

“
What kind of lamp is that?” visitors to the facility would ask.

“
Oh, that’s not a lamp,” the scientists would say, winking to
each other.

“
It’s giving off a lot of light.”

“
Yes. But it’s also thrashing around and pleading for somebody
to help it. How many lamps do that?”

“
Not many, I guess.”

“
Not many is right.”

My treatment also included long chats with Dr. Xpct. He would
tell me the real truth about myself – the things I should be remembering. And I
would try my best to remember them. I wanted to help the process along as much
as I could because I wanted to get this thing over with. I had to go to the
bathroom for one thing. But it was hard for me to believe all of the things Dr.
Xpct was saying. I found myself resisting.

“
I am not a Martian! I am a human being!”

“
Then where did you get those feelers?”

“
Oh, yeah, I see what you mean. I get the point you’re making.
Forget what I said about… hey, these feelers come off.”

“
Please leave the feelers alone, Mr. Burly.”

“
Yeah, but…”

“
Leave them ALONE.”

As my treatment progressed, I began to learn more and more
about the wonderful life I had here on Mars, and how foolish I would be to
throw it all away by remembering something different. They taught me about my
family, my friends, and my many personal accomplishments. I had gotten straight
A’s in school, they told me. I was proud of that and wondered why I didn’t
remember it? And when I was nine they said I had won a small prize. At my
insistence, they showed me this prize, which turned out to be a comb Dr. Xpct
kept in his back pocket. I started liking this life I had up here. I had been
kind of a loser on Earth. I could admit that now that it wasn’t true.

Then I said, wait a minute, if I was a Martian and my life had
been one success after another, why were they brainwashing me? Isn’t
brainwashing something you do to some kind of enemy? Maybe one from another
planet? They said they’d get back to me on that. Well, you can’t expect to learn
everything in a day.

When I wasn’t being brainwashed they kept me in a nice room on
the first floor of the building and let me roam free on the grounds “wherever I
wanted”. I put that in quotes because if I tried to go outside the grounds,
even an inch, the hospital dog would get me.

Despite my apparent confinement, Dr. Xpct said I wasn’t a
prisoner. In fact, I was an important member of the research community here. I
was officially designated as “Number Six”. Doctor Xpct, I noticed, was “Number
Eight”. “Get me some coffee, asshole,” I said. He frowned, thought for a
moment, then went to the closet and got himself a new number tag. Now he was
“Number Four”. I looked at our numbers, then asked him if he wanted some
coffee. He said not right now.

They measured my progress each day on a large diagnostic
machine which doubled as a punishment machine when I wasn’t progressing fast
enough, or when I mouthed off. It was less expensive and took up less space
than having two machines, they told me. “Okay, I’ll buy one,” I said, starting
to reach into my smock. But they said they weren’t trying to sell me the
machine, they were just telling me about it. I was glad to be corrected.

Finally they decided my brainwashing was complete enough. I was
mostly brainwashed. This was good news. I wagged my vestigial tail when I heard
this. But I was concerned about the “mostly” part. Let’s finish this job, guys.
Let’s do it right. They said the government had other things to do. They
couldn’t just spend all their time brainwashing me. There was more to public
service than that. They wouldn’t get re-elected if all they did for the public
was just brainwash me all day. That made sense to me. Anyway, “mostly” was
pretty good. I was pretty sure I was a Martian now and that seemed to be as
close as they could get. If they tried to get the last little bit, they told
me, they started losing ground.

“
The problem is, your brain doesn’t retain much information.”

“
Tell me about it. That’s the understatement of the year.”

They looked pleased. They had come up with the understatement
of the year! One of them confided to me later that this was the second year in
a row they had won it.

Now that I was officially cured, I was free to go. They
returned my clothes to me and sent me on my way, remembering at the last moment
to give me back the top of my head.

As I walked out of the clinic, a peaceful and contented smile
was on my face. It stayed on my face until the tape finally worked itself loose
halfway home.

On the way home I passed the good old Grxxpxyx Brothers
Theater. I remembered sneaking in there when I was a young Martian to see
Gloria Tentacle pictures. Then I remembered not being sure I remembered that.
Then I remembered being shocked and shocked and shocked. Then I remembered
remembering again.

I turned into the driveway of my typical suburban Martian home.
On the way up the walk I waved at my neighbor, Norton. He looked at me like
he’d never seen me before. This turned out to be a running joke with him over
the next few months. That Norton, always good for a laugh.

I noticed the backyard had a swing-set, which made me think I
must have kids. I looked at the pictures in my wallet. Sure enough, kids all
right. And I loved them deeply. I hoped these weren’t the best pictures you
could take of them, because they looked kind of like alligators to me.

I walked up to my house, opened the screen door and entered.
“Honey!” I called. “I’m home!”

I was DoublePlusGlad to be home again at last. It had been so
long, I’d almost forgotten what it was like.

My wife met me as I came through the door.

“
Fix the sink!” she demanded.

“
Yes…er…dearest,” I said. Then I looked a little embarrassed.
“I’ve forgotten your name, if I ever knew it.”

“
Is that all I mean to you?”

“
Apparently.”

She frowned.

“
I mean, that’s what it’s beginning to look like,” I said
hastily.

She frowned more.

I fumbled to come up with an explanation for why I couldn’t
remember her name. “You must not be much of a wife.”

Boy was that the wrong thing to say! Me and my big Martian
mouth.

I tried to fix things by giving her a big kiss. She stiffened.

“
What is the meaning of this gesture?”

“
It’s a kiss.”

“
No, I mean why are you kissing me on the back of the head?”

“
Oh, is that the back of your head?”

“
Yes.”

“
Sorry. Is this the front? Gosh you’re beautiful.”

Our relationship was getting off to a rocky start this time
around, but I was confident we would be great pals again soon.

The kids didn’t take to me right away either. I guess I’d been
away too long.

“
You’re not my father!” said the shorter of my two boys, the one
who looked most like an alligator.

“
Well I wouldn’t have thought so either,” I said, patting what I
hoped to God was his head. “I’m just going by what the cops said.”