Short Fiction · An Artist’s Life (3/3)

“Di Costa spent his childhood on his home planet, living in an ‘alien’ environment. These first impressions drive deep into the subconscious, you know. His new personality has no awareness of them⁠—but they are there, nonetheless. When he is painting, these same impressions bypass his conscious mind and operate directly on his thalamus. It takes a keen eye to detect their effect on the final work. May I congratulate you, Mr. Dalgreen?”

Brent smiled ruefully, “I’m a little sorry now that I did. What are your plans for me? I imagine they don’t include a return to my earthly ‘asylum’?”

The girl folded her hands in her lap. She looked down at them as if not wanting to look Brent in the eye when she made her next statement. However, he wasn’t waiting for it. If he could overpower the girl, he might find the elevator control⁠—any chance was worth taking. He tensed his muscles and jumped.

A wave of pain swept through his body. Another mind⁠—strong beyond comparison⁠—was controlling his body!

Every muscle jerked with spasmodic activity, halting his plunge in midair. Crashing to the desk he lay unmoving; every muscle ached with the fierce alien control. The redhead looked up⁠—eyes blazing with the strength she had so suddenly revealed.

“Never underestimate your opponent, Brent Dalgreen. I adopted the earthly form of a woman for just this reason. I find your people much easier to handle. They never suspect that I am⁠ ⁠… more than what they see. I will release your mind from my control, but please don’t force me to resume it.”

Brent sank to the floor, his heart pumping wildly, his body vibrating from the unnatural spasm.

“I am the director of this⁠ ⁠… sanitarium, so you see I have no desire to have our work exposed to the prying eyes of your government. I shall have to have you disposed of.”

Brent controlled his breathing enough to allow him to speak. “You⁠ ⁠… intend to⁠ ⁠… kill me then?”

“Not at all Mr. Dalgreen, our philosophy forbids killing except for the most humane reasons. Your physical body will be changed to conform to the environment of another of our sanitarium planets. We will of course remove all the radiation damage. You can look forward to a long and interesting life. If you agree to cooperate you will be allowed to keep your present personality.”

“What kind of a planet is it?” Brent asked hurriedly. He realized from the girl’s tones that the interview was almost at an end.

“Quite different from this one. It is a very dense planet with a chlorine atmosphere.” She pressed a stud on her desk and turned back to her typewriter.

Brent had a last, ragged thought as unconsciousness overcame him. He was going to live⁠ ⁠… and work⁠ ⁠… and there must be some fine greens to paint on a chlorine planet.⁠ ⁠…