by Judyth Baker
Well, he knew his rights. He’d report the Guard for emotional and physical abuse, as soon as he reached humanoids again on Free Ship 2. He’d already read the brochures. It was the law: all prisoners had to know their rights, and what to expect.
Within himself, he tried to prepare himself for what might happen next. Perhaps they would subject him to a dose of Fast Rehab. For the high class convict, the methods used in Fast Rehab included creating false memories. The average convict got a great life after Fast Rehab: implanted memories of a happy childhood with real parents and siblings, a heartfelt conversion to a Religion of his choice, a 100% Cyborg guard and protector who would provide companionship for life, and after passing all tests, ownership of a private, personal Luxury Capsule in the country of his choice, furnished to taste.
MacHeath28 now detested the mere thought of ever wanting a Bobbing Head collection. Everybody loved him and almost everybody had willingly voted for him instead of for a Virtual Alternative. Aware that Slow Rehab could do a lot of damage to his desired personality, MacHeath28 had prepared himself for such an eventuality by smuggling in some secret micro-plastic-covered programming chips, undetectable because they were on the nano-level. These microchips seemed no different from the billions of micro-plastic globules that infested the bodies of all fish, birds and mammals alive, due to pollution. A few weeks from now, when the plastic coating deteriorated, the chips would come into action and restore everything. It was expensive, but Macheath28 would have all his memories back, and whoever it was who had gotten him arrested would pay. This was nothing less than a Coup d’etat, and he would purge his Corporate Cabinet, every last one of them, if necessary. He was too popular to vanish: wait and see what he could do, with all the people on his side!
“The Mack” within was ready to draw blood.
Slow Rehab, which took three days of intensive therapy, would not overcome him. He tossed the brochures from his lap with a sneer of contempt. And then, the drugs finally overwhelming him, he fell asleep…
He was dreaming.… Smug, confident and ready for anything,
MacHeath settled back in his chair. He was President of the whole world, but as he stroked his chin, he thought he’d start to grow a luxurious beard … a thick, red one … his favorite concubine loved beards … he’d have to get follicles implanted, but she could do that for him as soon as he was released. Such an operation only took an hour. Recently, some men were getting hair implants all over their bodies: a few had become Wolf Men. It was the current fad … with a sudden start, MacHeath28 awoke, dazed and confused. Where had those crazy thoughts come from? As he looked up into the hazy blue light which enveloped him, he could hear a faint buzzing noise. He caught a glimpse of a large, circular metal wheel filled with complicated, dangling wires. They resembled electrodes. The wheel was rising, but the electrode elements were waving back and forth, almost like the writhing of snakes. As they did so, a drop of blood fell from one of the electrodes, landing on his fettered hand. For the first time, he began to realize that somebody – or something – was fooling with his brain…
When the plane landed, some robots, who refused to speak at all, removed his fetters and shoved him into a waiting car. It was good to have the weight off: Macheath28 could now move his arms and legs freely. Maybe things would get better.
One robot bowed obsequiously before him and then handed him a menu.
“You have the right to order whatever pleasures you wish, for the next seventy-two hours,” it told him. “We wish to grant your choices, and we promise you that no matter what you order, we will attempt to fulfill every detail.”
It seemed strange not to be addressed as “Mr. President,” but Macheath28 consoled himself with the thought that they had to know who he was, or such amenities would not have been offered.
“I wish to communicate with One World Corporation’s Board of Directors,” MacHeath28 told the robot.
“Of course,” it said, handing him a primitive communication console. “If that is your desire.”
“It is!” MacHeath28 replied, punching in his personal codes. Several odd beeps reverberated into the air, and then he saw them: there was the entire Board, in a hologram, seated in their hemisphere of massage chairs.
“Greetings, Mr. President!” John Adams920 called out. “How is your inspection tour of the prison ships going?”
“Not well at all, Adams,” Macheath28 replied, with a scowl. “They’ve arrested me. Can you imagine such a thing?”
“We’re so glad that you’re having a good tour, Mr. President,” John Aams920 replied.
The entire Board of Directors smiled and waved.
“Didn’t you hear what I said?” MacHeath28 snapped. “I said, I’ve been arrested, damn it!”
“We all think you could stay an extra day, if that’s what you wish, Sir. Is Shanna, your favorite concubine, with you?”
“No, she’s not. I have no idea where she is. And I repeat – I have been arrested. On the most ludicrous of charges – for not having a female felon Bobbing Head in my collection – “
“We understand, Mr. President,” Adams920 said, nodding. “We’ll send her right over.”
“No, I don’t want her here!”
“We’ll tell your wife that you’re going to be a day late. Do you have any other messages? By the way, the Security Division changes you recommended yesterday have been approved and implemented.”
“I didn’t approve anything yesterday,” Macheath28 declared. “I’ve been held incommunicado since yesterday!”
“That’s good news, we will let the press know about your new facelift. And we think the red beard is an excellent idea. After all, we have that Wolfman fad going on…”
“We see that you have a wonderful view of the open sea from Free Ship 2,” another Counselor said. “We can understand why you have chosen to stay an extra day.”
Grimly, MacHeath28 realized that no matter what he said, they were hearing something else. Somebody was allowing him to see just how deeply he was enmeshed in the prison ship. As he was led away to his luxury apartment, he was followed by several Cyborgs. “We are at your command, sir!” they kept repeating. As he entered the apartment, which was fitted out to resemble his own Presidential quarters (minus the Official Seal of Office), MacHeath28 allowed his hands to move slowly through his thick, red hair. He was afraid of what he would find. Sure enough, he could feel the tiny swellings that meant he’d been implanted with an innumerable number of tiny electrodes. As he withdrew his hands from his thick shock of hair, he was not surprised to see that his fingertips were stained with his blood. A deep sense of helplessness began to rise within him. Too tired to think, he crawled onto the huge platform bed that seemed to beckon as a familiar friend, with its genuine silk sheets and satin pillows. As he closed his eyes, he wondered how much of himself would remain when next he woke. What dreams might come, he did not know, but as he waved to the Cyborgs to leave him alone, he closed his ocean-blue eyes. They were the adored eyes of an entire planet. And they were filled with tears.
When he awoke, a whole menu of nice things were awaiting him, thanks to bribes. He had a lot of credit: he’d have terrific food. He’d have a 100% Cyborg sex companion for the three days he was told he must spend here. All treatment chairs would be lined with fleece. He would have contact every day with his favorite concubine by closed circuit view-screens. As usual, when he was escorted into Reception, they took a blood sample, looking for microchips and drugs. The smiling nurse was 50% human and flirted with him. He gave her a wink as he changed into his prison garb, making sure that she got a good look at his impressive, manly self.
“You’re welcome to visit me, you beautiful pair of breasts, you beautiful pair of eyes!” he told her, looking back at her for a long moment as they led him through the first of several sets of glass doors.
As he settled into his cabin (a concession to the fact that Free Ship was a marine vessel), MacHeath28 noticed that everything he’d specified
had been supplied. There was a plate of sliced Kobi beef, with Beluga caviar and cucumbers stuffed with pearls (Macheath28 loved the concept of being an Oriental Sultan). For tonight, he wanted to be a Caliph from the pages of The Arabian Nights.). “Bolero” was playing when he arrived: as he relaxed, sinking into oriental cushions, he noted with pleasure that the two palm trees inside the cabin were real, not artificial. As “Bolero” merged to “Scheherazade” he drew his Free Ship 2 brochure from his personal bag and touched the screen: it unfolded to ten times its size, presenting more music selections, an a la carte menu, and a list of women he could order for the night. After looking over the choices, he ordered champagne and dinner for two, plus a black hermaphroditic slave bred in Niger. She was supposedly 75% human. Indeed, a rarity.
Everything about prison life was just as promised. He had as much freedom as his confinement to this big room would allow. Rehab, they told him, would start in the morning. Big deal. So what?
He was ready.
* * *
At dawn, Macheath28 sent away Girl Number Three and took a relaxing shower. Breakfast was splendid, compete with poached quail eggs and cloudberry jam on real wheat toast. After dressing, there was a quiet knock on his door: it was this section’s Warden, a 51% Cyborg who had preferred to look like Jesus Christ.
“May I come in?” the Warden asked. MacHeath28 shrugged. “It’s fine with me.” He waved the warden to the only chair in the room, keeping his circular harem bed for himself. “Jesus” settled himself into the chair and leaned forward, his hands on his knees, looking intently at his prisoner.
“Did you find everything as you wished?” the Warden asked
“It was satisfactory,” Macheath28 replied. “Especially Madonna2310!”
They both laughed.
Macheath28 offered the Warden a bottle. “Want some wine? It’s vintage 2050.”
“I don’t drink,” the Cyborg told him. “But I hope you found it a good year.”
“It was a very good year,” MacHeath28 agreed, putting the bottle back into its receptacle in the wall.
“We found the nano-chips,” the Warden said. “You know we can’t get them all out, don’t you?”
MacHeath28 was surprised. “How in hell–?”
“All the rich ones do it,” the Warden replied. “You were no exception. You realize how serious that is…don’t you?”
“It means Rehab probably won’t work,” MacHeath28 admitted.
“I don’t think you understand,” the Warden said frowning. “Didn’t you look at the small print in the punishment section of your prison order?”
“Of course I did,” MacHeath28 said. “It says I can come back again, if this doesn’t ‘take.’”
“Specifically, it says that MacHeath28 can come back.”
“But there is only one Macheath28 in the world,” MacHeath28 reminded him. “MacHeath27 , MacHeath26…they were great successes. And I was a President. The greatest success of them all.” He didn’t want to add that all MacHeaths prior to #26 and #25 had been genetic failures, and put down, and that the Law now forbade any more Super Personality MacHeaths to be created. “In fact,” MacHeath28 reminded him, “I’m the best of the best. That’s why I’m so rich. You think my friends are going to let all that be thrown away in a Rehab joint like this? After all, I am Mr. President.” MacHeath28 laughed, and scratched at the spots where the newest electrode wires had been inserted, for they were itchy.
“You are aware of the concept of Last Wishes, correct?” Jesus asked, standing. “I see that there’s no recourse now.”
“What do you mean, ‘Last Wishes’?” MacHeath28 snapped, standing to his feet. He was suddenly, instinctively aware that something wasn’t quite right … this was no Bollywood Production like “Save the Tiger” where the hero – a teacher – had fooled a Cyborg into granting a Last Wish – a final meal – that saved 600 kids from extermination at a Zoo. “We’re talking Reality here!” Macheath28 said. “It is guaranteed – also in small print, that I will walk in here with everything genetically intact and that I will walk out of here with everything genetically intact. And that you can’t destroy my inherited personality. Though,” he added, “God knows, you’ve distorted it quite a bit in the three days I’ve been here.”
“I indeed admire you, Mr. President,” the Warden blurted out. “You have retained a remarkable portion of your original personality, despite all our efforts at Slow Rehab.”
“Then, no more nonsense about Last Wishes,” MacHeath28 declared. “To destroy me would be an Act of Treason. I’m the most popular President the world has ever seen. The people would utterly revolt if you got rid of me.”
“That’s all true,” the Warden said. “We would never dare to destroy the man you are, and we have no intention of doing so. But of course, we also wanted to make certain that all your Last Wishes were nevertheless honored. Unfortunately, you see, you’re about to die.”
“What do you mean, ‘die’?” MacHeath28 looked wildly around him as his heart began beating, fast. Just then, the heavy door opened and two Golden Cyborg Prison Guards appeared. Instantly, MacHeath28 felt the weights of mind-fetters, complete with an orange strait-jacket, as they snapped upon his arms and legs. He was a powerful man, but the weight was so great he could barely move.
“You don’t dare!” Macheath28 cried out, struggling to move. “You can’t get away with this!”
“Due to our removing so many of your memories,” the Warden said, “you are no longer the most eloquent and convincing speaker on the planet, but I’m still surprised to see how much inner strength you still have. Therefore, I’ve decided to take you to see something.”
MacHeath28 was placed on a hover-platform as the Warden added, soothingly, “I have compassion.”
“Don’t give me that movie stuff!” MacHeath28 snarled. “Compassion? I’ll show you ‘compassion’ – when I get out of here. I have monitors all over my body. They guarantee you can’t mishandle me! I know my rights! You must release me! Intact! Not one gene messed up. No injuries. As for all these fake memories you’ve saddled me with, I can still remember who I am, damn you!”
“All of that is true,” the Warden said, almost wistfully. “We wouldn’t dare touch a single one of your genes. But there is an escape clause for us…”
MacHeath28 fell silent. His mind was working fast. Maybe he could use bribery…
“I can make you unbelievably wealthy–“
“My personality doesn’t care about wealth. You can’t bribe me.”
“Oh, yeah, that ‘Jesus Christ’ thingie…”
They had now reached a corridor suffused with green light.
MacHeath28’s small platform was turned 90 degrees to the left so he could see what was inside a small room there, through a porthole window. In that round window of another world, he saw a replica of himself, making love to his favorite concubine. The replica even had a red beard.
“He’s magnificent, isn’t he?” the Warden said approvingly. “An accomplished lover. In every other way, as well, he is identical to you. He will continue to be the most popular man on the planet. We calculate that it will take him at least four years before he might realize that he can make do without the Corporation. If that time comes, he, too, will be replaced…”
Suddenly, the porthole window closed, like a diaphragm. At the same time, a Cyborg bent near him and gave him a sudden injection in the chest. Almost immediately, MacHeath28 felt a cold chill come over him.
“You’re getting the Socrates Treatment now. Please don’t be afraid,” the Warden told him as they continued down the white, sterile hall with its eerily-green lighting. “It will make your final moments almost painless … or so they say.… Now, think of me as your comforting friend in this last journey you’re taking. I’m the Jesus you have learned about. Or–” the Cyborg shifted his face to a serene, beaming oriental visage. “Or, if you wish, call me Chairman Mao, the atheist you admired most when you were being trained. You could
also choose Vladimir Putin, your favorite classic politician.”
“I don’t care what you look like!” MacHeath28 managed to spit out, as saliva began drooling from his mouth.
“Then I will resume my former persona,” Mao said, transforming himself once more into Jesus. “Now, take a look to your right,” he said, moving Macheath28’s stiffening head to the right with his own hands. “Note the ocean view we have out here. How green is the sea! How blue is the sky! And how artificial it all happens to be! Did you know that the oceans are half empty, now? That they are covered with energy plants? And that actual blue skies no longer exist, outside the domes?”
As the Golden Cyborgs guided him along, MacHeath28 began to feel almost disembodied, as if he were piece of random seaweed, afloat on a green sea…
“What’s ‘the Socrates Treatment’?” Macheath28 mumbled, feeling colder and colder. He was losing all sensations…
“You’ve been given the equivalent of the hemlock that was used to kill Socrates,” Jesus replied. “He was an ancient Greek philosopher–”
Macheath28 tried to say, “I know!” but instead, all he could do was to gurgle.
“Socrates was adjudged as having corrupted the youth and of believing in false gods. You placed yourself in a similar situation.”
“Help!” MacHeath28 managed to call out, from numb lips. “Somebody – help!” His cries were almost a whimper because of the power of the drug…
“You’re turning blue,” Jesus told him. “I have to admit, your crimes against the State did not include believing in false gods. I just threw that in for effect. Prepare yourself, now, to die.”
“Im-impossible!” MacHeath28 choked out, as two large doors opened automatically, revealing a huge room filled with throbbing, pounding machinery. “I’m MacHeath28! The – President – of the – World–”
As they entered the machine-filled room, one of the engines began to pulse, like a heartbeat, and a fervent heat began emanating from a large, metal door that was the centerpiece of its black, vibrating mass. They had entered a section of the Energy Conversion Plant where the ship’s garbage for that deck was processed by a thorium reactor connected to a large furnace. MacHeath28 had seen a photo of it in the brochure that showed the layout of Free Ship 2.