A patient of his own

“Dear Boss man,

I hope you don’t mind but I let all the people out.  We have to rebuild a lot of the upper levels thanks to those wonderful raptors.  We’ll be using that new technique that’s become available…think it’s called making a meeeeeeeeess!

Besides they seemed alright enough to me!  Also, I have to go skin a cat or something…would you like it placed outside your door as a welcome mat?

Signed, Beatrixe Rouse”

The old Master looked at one of his few still living friends, Baldas, who had read the letter to him in their underground home.  When it was done he asked, “Making a mess?”

Baldas nodded emotionlessly, “With nine E’s, which she apparently was willing to pay for,”  Canergaks heavy set colleague reached to the table in front of him collecting the needles, fluids, and apple sauce to care for their own patient.  “You would be justified in releasing all of them from service and ceasing to fund their nonsense.”

“I have often considered it, but I have rarely worked well with individuals of the same mind as myself.  Even you and Murgam have argued with me often forcing me to improve my methods and techniques.  I find I excel when working with those who openly challenge me.  I would have been justified in booting Beauchamp forty years ago, but now I am glad I did not.”

Baldas wasn’t convinced, “While I admit there are a few similarities it is insufficient reason to think she will prove adequate in the future.  Furthermore, we have other facilities working towards the same common goal.  We do not necessarily require an asylum, though it does fit with our needs.” Baldas evaluated his friend while they stood next to the patients bed, and saw his argument was not convincing  his audience. “In any occasion I was referring to the rat, not the psychiatrist.”

He waved his hand unconcerned, “That is similar to the previous argument with one addition.  Discretion is important, but I’ve found that those who are not intelligent enough to realize they should ask questions are incapable of truly betraying my secrets.”

Baldas applied the needle into the arm of their other living friend, Murgam, who stared at the ceiling unblinking. She had been trapped in this catatonic state for twenty years.

“For this purpose I could watch that facility and all the others collapse a thousand times, lose every inmate to escapes, plagues, and doctors with questionable methods and motives a thousand more.  I can live with the minor inconveniences of suspicion, wickedness, or foolishness.  If we get the result we want then the means and the price are moot.”