Francis LaPorte and the Association of Good Fellows

Diagnosis

Thursday, 25 Adar, 5693

Karl LaPorte felt his heart pounding as he stepped out of the room and pulled the door closed carefully behind him. One of the prison guards came running quickly to lock it.

"Excuse me, Doctor," he said as he brushed by him hastily with his keys jingling.

He felt the growing tension in his body. This was not a job which he would have chosen. He would much rather have stayed out of politics and the delicate case of the boy, but his reputation as a psychiatrist had made him Herr Freitag's personal choice for the job. It didn't help the family much that Martin had been called as an observer, either. They were all quite deep into this mess on many levels.

Karl blinked, looking at the man who had led him down the eerie corridors of the prison to the place where the young man was being held until the next phase of his trial. Although, rising tensions in Bevel meant that they may have to move the trial of the boy elsewhere, likely to Litzgard, which would not be particularly convenient for anyone.

The click from the lock of the metal door signaled to Karl that it was time to go, and the guard began to lead him back again to the splendors and light of society above ground.

"The boy going on hunger strike doesn't make him crazy, you know," Karl mentioned passingly. He knew that the prison guards liked talking, though he had never been much of one for small talk of any kind. If words were to be spoken, they should never be without purpose.

"If you say so," the man in the uniform chuckled. "There are a great many people waiting anxiously for your report."

"I'm afraid my report won't be quite what they're hoping," Karl replied; "I am a doctor, a man of science and learning. I offer medical opinions, not politics."

The guard turned down an adjoining corridor and up a familiar stairwell, guiding his visitor back towards the exit. "A wise man," he said; "You might consider speaking to your family about sharing in your wisdom. Politics is a precarious thing... especially now."

Karl looked at him nervously, desperately trying to mask his concern with a sympathetic smile. "My family?" the visiting psychologist repeated with a slight catch of his voice.

"Yes," replied the dark eyed man with the crinkled face. "Word is getting around that Counselor Dennihy isn't fond of Herr Freitag's treatment of the Altis, and your boy Francis has done a fine job of making himself at odds with the Association. Now, that's not a very smart thing, is it, Doctor?"

"Each is entitled to his opinion," Karl replied, using his professional airs as best he could to present himself as calm. "But Francis speaks only of the Kingsmen concerning their lot and practice in their own religion. He would never subvert the state."

Again, there was a laugh from the guard. "Whatever you say, Doctor," the younger man passively agreed. "You are the psychologist, after all, not me. Still, I would suggest you watch yourselves. Not everyone is as well meaning as Francis, and not everyone is as understanding as I am."

Karl swallowed. The light from the windows above them streamed in the beautiful golden light of day, but there was a strangeness to its warmth in that moment as a chill ran through him. Politics was one thing, theology another, but science? That was something else entirely.

Science had always been pure to him. There was no politics involved in science, no societal, religious, or outside concerns. There was very little opinion in science, only knowing. Ethics and morals he knew, but these only after knowing those facts of understanding which would pose the question for them. Science was sacrosanct, but now, somehow, in that moment, he knew that it really wasn't. The Good Fellows had some very different ideas about things than he did, (than anyone did, really,) and he knew that science was one of them. It wasn't so pure and innocent to them. It was something very different — a tool, and a tool in the wrong hands makes for a very dangerous weapon.

They had come to the top of the stairs, a smaller entry way with a clerk's desk and plenty of windows compared to the rest of the prison complex. Karl hardly touched the heel of his polished black dress shoe to the clean tile floor of the upper landing before being addressed by a group of five sharply dressed men in suits, none of them colorful, each having its own variance of grey.

"Doctor LaPorte, I presume," said the man in the middle, and Karl recognized him as being Chase Girdle, whom the papers had called the second most powerful man in Garma, subservient only to Freitag himself.

"Yes," replied the hesitant man who wore the white lab coat over his carefully tailored suit.

Girdle was a bull-faced man with ice blue eyes and cold. His hair was as dark as his menacing pupils. He gave a soulless look, hollow and void of any natural human compassion or feeling for any other creature, and he smiled smugly, leaving Karl with a terribly uncomfortable impression. With him stood Densik, Truett, and other ranking members of the Good Fellows Association who weren't so easily recognizable.

"What a pleasure to meet the imminent psychiatrist!" remarked Freitag's ministerial underling of dubious responsibility as he grew on his face a strange grin and the other men smiled just as crookedly as he had. "Now, Doctor, I'm sure you're aware of all that this case means to the National Association, Chancellor Freitag, and the nation of Garma. A man simply cannot be allowed to set fire to our National Assembly! Justice must be done, Doctor, and it must be swift and moving. We intend to pursue the death penalty against young Mr. Luppe, and Herr Freitag expects that your report will be in support of our plans. Do you understand me, Doctor?" Girdle asked, having made his true message undoubtably clear to anyone listening, but especially Karl.

"Perfectly," the older man replied, staring into his eyes with his scientific mind working on a quick diagnosis. It was likely psychosis, but he could hardly expect anything less from any of Herr Freitag's associates.

They were all crazy. There was a glint in their eyes which told him so. It was certainly a unique privilege to meet some of the top Associates of the Good Fellows organization, but it was by no means a pleasure, and Karl would have preferred to have bypassed the encounter entirely. There were those who would have contented for the opportunity with zealous vigor, but to him it was wholly undesirable to see any of them.