Dean Koontz - Night Chills

0060 00 VISUAL — WOMAN’S FACE EXPRESSING ECSTASY

0061 00 THIS LEGEND — OBEDIENCE TO THE KEY — SATISFACTION

0061 05 VISUAL — PENIS EJACULATING

0062 00 VISUAL — WOMAN’S FACE EXPRESSING ECSTASY

0062 05 THIS LEGEND — OBEDIENCE TO THE KEY — SATISFACTION

0063 00 VISUAL — WOMAN WEEPING

0063 03 VISUAL — MAN WEEPING

0063 06 VISUAL — WOLF’S FACE, SNARLING

0063 09 VISUAL — SCORPION STINGING A MOUSE

0064 02 VISUAL–COFFIN

0064 05 THIS LEGEND — REFUSAL TO OBEY THE KEY — DEATH

0065 00 VISUAL — WOMAN KISSING PENIS

0065 05 VISUAL — PENIS SLIDING BETWEEN WOMAN’S BREASTS

0065 08 VISUAL — PENIS ENTERING VAGINA

0066 00 THIS LEGEND — SUBMISSION TO THE KEY — FREEDOM FROM FAILURE

0066 05 VISUAL — SEVERED, BLOODY HUMAN ARM

0066 08 VISUAL — ROTTING CORPSE

Farther on, both the tempo and the emotional impact of the images increased drastically:

0800 00 VISUAL — HUMAN HEAD WITH GUNSHOT WOUND

0800 02 VISUAL — DEAD VIETNAMESE BABY

0800 04 VISUAL — MAGGOTS IN PIECE OF BEEF

0800 06 VISUAL — RAT’S FACE, SNARLING

0800 07 VISUAL — WOLF’S FACE, SNARLING

0800 08 VISUAL–COFFIN

0600 09 VISUAL — MAGGOTS IN PIECE OF BEEF

0801 00 THIS LEGEND — REFUSAL TO OBEY THE KEY — DEATH

0801 02 VISUAL — ERECT PENIS

0801 04 VISUAL — WOMAN’S FACE EXPRESSING ECSTASY

0801 06 VISUAL — TONGUE ON CLITORIS

0801 08 VISUAL — WOMAN KISSING PENIS

0801 09 VISUAL — PENIS IN VAGINA

0802 00 VISUAL — EJACULATION ON WOMAN’S PUBIC HAIR

0802 01 THIS LEGEND — SUBMISSION TO THE KEY — YOUR GREATEST DESIRE

Much farther on, faster and faster:

2400 00 VISUAL — DEAD BABY’S FACE, CLOSE — UP

2400 01 VISUAL — MAGGOTS IN HORSE MANURE

2400 02 THIS LEGEND — REFUSE THE KEY: DEATH

2400 03 VISUAL — MAN FINGERING CLITORIS

2400 04 VISUAL — WOMAN LICKING PENIS

2400 05 THIS LEGEND — SUBMIT TO THE KEY: HAPPINESS

2400 06 VISUAL — STEAMING ENTRAILS OF COW

2400 07 THIS LEGEND — REFUSAL: PAlN

2400 08 THIS LEGEND-REFUSAL: DEATH

2400 09 VISUAL — EJACULATION INTO WOMAN’S MOUTH

2401 00 VISUAL — WOMAN’S FACE EXPRESSING ECSTASY

2401 01 THIS LEGEND_ — SUBMISSION: HAPPINESS

2401 02 THIS LEGEND — SUBMISSION: BLISS

Eventually, there was less time given to the motivating images and more to the direct commands:

3600 00 VISUAL — MAGGOTS IN PIECE OF BEEF

3600 01 THIS LEGEND — REFUSAL: DEATH

3600 02 VISUAL — DEAD CAT

3600 03 THIS LEGEND-OBEY THE KEY

3600 04 THIS LEGEND — OBEY, OBEY, OBEY

3600 05 VISUAL — WOMAN LICKING PENIS

3600 06 THIS LEGEND — SUBMISSION: LIFE

3600 0? THIS LEGEND — OBEY THE KEY

3600 08 VISUAL — EJACULATION ON WOMAN’S THIGH

3600 09 THIS LEGEND — OBEY THE KEY

3600 10 THIS LEGEND — LIFE, LIFE, LIFE

“That pace is maintained straight through to the end of the film,” Salsbury said. “During the last fifteen minutes, while all of this sex and death input continues, the concept of the key-lock code phrases is also introduced and implanted permanently in the viewer’s deep subconscious mind.”

“That’s all there is to it?”

“Thanks to the drug that primes them for the subliminals— yes, that’s all there is to it.”

“And they don’t realize they’ve seen any of it.”

“If they did know, the program would have no effect on them. It has to speak solely to the subconscious in order to pass the natural reasoning ability of the conscious mind.”

Klinger pulled the command chair away from the console and sat down. His left hand was curled in his lap. It was so matted with black hair that it reminded Salsbury of a sewer rat. The general petted it with his other hand while he considered the print-outs he had just seen. At last he said, “Our three mercenaries. When did they complete the third stage of the program?”

“Thirty days ago. I’ve been observing them and testing their submissiveness for the past few weeks.”

“Any of them react at all as Kingman did?”

“They all had bad dreams,” Saisbury said. “Probably about what they had seen on the rheostatic screen. None of them could recall. Furthermore, they all had severe night chills and mild nausea. But they lived.”

“Encountered any other problems?”

“None.”

“No weak spots in the program? No moments when they refused to obey you?”

“None at all, so far. In a few minutes, after we’ve put them to the ultimate test, we’ll know whether or not we have absolute control of them. If not, I’ll start over. If we do — champagne.”

Klinger sighed. “I suppose this is something we have to know. I suppose this last test is entirely necessary.”

“Entirely.”

“I don’t like it.”

“Weren’t you an officer in Vietnam?”

“What’s that got to do with this?”

“You’ve sent men to die before.”

Grimacing, Klinger said, “But always with honor. Always with honor. And there’s sure as hell no honor in what’s going to happen here.”

Honor, Salsbury thought acidly. You’re as big an idiot as Leonard. There isn’t any heaven, and there’s no such thing as honor. All that counts is getting what you want. You know that and I know that and even Leonard, when he’s humbled Over his fruit cup at a White House prayer breakfast with Billy Graham and the President, knows that — but I’m the only one of us who will admit it to himself.

Getting to his feet, Klinger said, “Okay. Let’s finish this. Where are they?”

“In the next room. Waiting.”

“They know what they’re going to do?”

“No.” Salsbury went to his desk, thumbed a button on the

intercom, and spoke into the wire grid. “Rossner, Holbrook, and Picard. Come in now. We’re ready for you.”

A few seconds later the door opened, and three men filed inside.

“Co to the center of the room,” Salsbury said.

They did as he directed.

“You’ve already opened them with the code phrase?” Klinger asked.

“Before you came.”

The first of them, in spite of the fact that he was in his late thirties or early forties, looked like a dangerous street-corner punk. Slim but hard and wiry. Five feet ten. Dark complexion. Dark brown hair combed straight back and graying at the temples. A way of standing with his feet apart and most of his weight on his toes so that he was always prepared to move and move quickly. His face was pinched, his eyes a bit too close together, his lips thin and grayish-pink above a pointed chin.

“This is Rossner,” Salsbury told Klinger. “Glenn Rossner. American. He’s been a free-lance soldier for sixteen years.”

“Hello,” Rossner said.

“None of you is to speak unless spoken to,” Salsbury said. “Is that understood?”

Three voices: “Yes.”

The second man was approximately the same age as the first; otherwise, he could not have been less like Rossner. Six feet two. Husky. Fair complexion. Reddish-blond hair cropped close to his head. A broad face. Heavy jowls. His stem expression had been held for so many years that it seemed graven in his flesh. He looked like the sort of father who made arbitrary rules, used corporal punishment with a child at least twice a week, talked tough, acted bullheaded, and turned sons like Glenn Rossner into street-corner punks.

Salsbury said, “This is Peter Holbrook. He’s British. He’s been a mercenary for twenty years, ever since he was twenty-two.”

The last man was no older than thirty, and he was the only one of the three who could be called handsome. Six feet. Lean

and muscular. Thick brown hair. A broad brow. Peculiar green-gray eyes with long lashes that any woman would have been proud to have for her own. Very rectangular features and an especially strong jaw line and chin. He somewhat resembled the young Rex Harrison.