Summary: By Robert T. Jeschonek Read by Josh Roseman Discuss on our forums. First appeared in PS Showcase #3: Mad Scientist Meets Cannibal All stories by Robert T. Jeschonek All stories read by Josh Roseman Playing Doctor By Robert T. Jeschonek The problem with having a crush on your mad scientist boss is, every day she doesn’t see how wonderful you really are seems like the end of the world. “This is all wrong!” says Dr. Hildegarde Medici, hurling the tray across her cavernous secret laboratory. ”You’re a complete imbecile, Glue!” Her words sting, but at least she’s paying attention to me. I’ll take what I can get from the woman I love. ”I’m sorry, Dr. M. Please let me try again.” “Everything is ruined.” With one arm, Dr. Medici sweeps notebooks and glass beakers from the table in front of her. ”Now I’ll never finish the doomsday weapon today!” As Dr. Medici throws her head down onto her folded arms on the table, I cross the lab and pick up the silver tray that she threw. I see myself reflected in its surface–thick glasses, big nose, bald head, pure geek…not her type. ”I thought you liked the crinkle-cut ones,” I say as I pluck chicken fingers and french fries from the floor and drop them onto the tray. “Steak fries,” says Dr. Medici without raising her head. ”How many times do I have to tell you, Glue?” She is such a drama queen, but what do you expect? Her line of work attracts a certain type of personality–passionate, temperamental, creative, flamboyant. To tell you the truth, it’s one of the things I love most about her. “I could run to the store,” I say, dumping the chicken and fries into a waste basket. ”By the time you’re done building your doomsday weapon, I could have hot fries ready for you.” Dr. Medici rolls her eyes like a disgusted teenager. ”I can’t concentrate on building a doomsday weapon on an empty stomach.” I know the feeling…the not being able to concentrate part, that is. Most days, I can barely focus on my work instead of Dr. Medici’s long black hair and bright green eyes. Once, I was so distracted by Dr. M that I cross-wired the brain of a giant robot, which proceeded to rampage at a garbage dump instead of an army base. If only I could tell her I love her. If only I could close that final mile that has always stood between us. If only I could finally set free the words that I’ve longed to speak, and she would turn to me and say the words I’ve longed to hear. “Don’t just stand there, you putz!” She spins away from me on her work-stool. ”Get me a TV dinner out of the freezer or something!” I don’t take it personally. I know it’s just the stress talking. She’s been having a rough time lately, just like the rest of the mad scientist community. Thanks a lot, terrorists. # In the good old days, mad scientists weren’t considered public enemies like they are now. They were tolerated, in fact, because the government loved getting its hands on their way-out inventions after their crazy schemes were thwarted. But not anymore. Not since the terrorists. What difference is there between a politically motivated insane genius and one who is motivated by greed? How can the government go after one group of people threatening to blow things up and not the other? It can’t. As a result, business has dropped off considerably. No one will negotiate in good faith with a mad scientist anymore. Instead of musclebound private citizen thrill-seekers coming after us, we get black ops Special Forces and heat-seeking bunker-buster missiles courtesy of Homeland Security. It’s a tough time to be a mad scientist. Lots of them have quit already and become street people or college professors. But not my Hildegarde. She won[...]
