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Final
Procedure
By
R. G. Larsen
Gershon fidgeted despite his comfortable leather chair while the State’s Counselor shuffled some papers. Dr. Quislind asked him some preliminary questions. State Counselor thought Gershon, more like the State Reprogrammer, but he answered truthfully. The office’s subtle gray and brown hues lent gravity to the questions; the examining doctor’s demeanor was similarly solemn while thick carpet and fabric-covered walls sucked each syllable into nothingness soon after it was uttered. Gershon recalled having fallen into trouble early in life by tearing off the “Do Not Remove” tags from his mattress and pillows. His parents agonized for days before calling the Ministry of Home Affairs to report the infraction. Although he had received chastisement from his parents, neither he nor they were punished. Contrarily, special commendations for good citizenship were placed in each of their files. Gershon had spent two hours with a counselor, whom he liked a lot, and was told he would additionally receive 100 career points. These were points that were cumulative and could be applied toward better quality jobs after he graduated from his twelfth school level. He was told he could earn more points by reporting any future violations of friends and relatives, no matter how trivial.
All of that was now worlds away as he sat before Dr. Quislind. Seven years earlier, when he was still in fifth level, it had seemed relevant and important; now, he was once again in the hot seat where his career points, never many, seemed likely to have reached their apogee. At least they can’t be taken away. That was the rule. Everyone knew rules are never altered nor exceptions made. He relaxed as the interviewer plodded. “I see that you had a little trouble at age ten with removal of tags?” the doctor asked.
“That was a long time ago. I hardly remember, Doctor Quisland,” he answered.
“Surely that’s not true, young man, as on each subsequent violation your file must have been reviewed with you?” asked Quislind.
“Yes, I suppose,” Gershon answered.
“May I take that as a yes?”
“Yes, Sir.”
“I see that you were not punished but received instead 100 career points,” said the doctor. “Is that correct?”
“I believe that was the number, yes,” he answered.
“Let’s see, your parents had changed the ceiling lights from the required 50 watts to 75 watts, so you reported that and received another 100 career points? That was about one year later,” he continued. This didn’t seem to require a response so Gershon sat quietly, looking at the doctor’s elongated face with its strange pallor, so unlike his own brown skin. The man had black hair that was graying evenly and care-worn eyes, but it was his lack of definition that made the face so unusual. Gershon could not see any smile lines or frown lines usually associated with aging, just a bland appearance except for the eyes. Despite Quisland’s placidity, his eyes were clear and alive and watched him carefully. “I see that your parents were rewarded with permission to use a single 100 watt bulb in their kitchen, correct?”
“I don’t know; we really didn’t talk about it. In fact we don’t talk a lot,” answered Gershon.
“You don’t talk with your father or mother?”
“No, Sir, not much anymore. They don’t even talk to each other much.”
“When did that start?” asked the doctor. “Or more properly when did they stop talking to each other?”
“I think it was about five or six years ago. I’m not too sure.”
“That was about the time you and your father refused to wear surgical masks in public as was required?”
“I guess so. I couldn’t see the point. I couldn’t tell who my friends were. It was difficult to recognize anyone. Dad said it was just plain silly.”
“The State felt that was an important measure at the time for disease prevention, and I concur. We had a serious outbreak of virus 216C. Surely you understand the reasoning and rightness of that decision?”
“I understand that my own mom reported us even though we were only at a picnic with our relatives.”
“That picnic was in a public park, was it not?”
“Yes. She reported both of us. I suppose that is when they stopped talking. It wasn’t all at once, just gradual, so I didn’t notice it right off. Why is this important?” asked Gershon.
“Are you the one asking questions here? Seems that you have been impudent for as long as we have records.” Quislind’s face tightened.
“No, Sir, I apologize. I’m sorry. I was just curious,” he offered, secretly delighted to see the man’s face show some expression.
“Curious,” said Quislind, “That’s another of your problems, perhaps the root of your troubles. What happened when your mother reported the two of you?”
“Well, nothing bad. I got tested and so did my father. They said we were disease free and not able to be carriers. We got a badge to wear certifying our immunity, and we were allowed to go out in public without masks. But wasn’t 216C just a common cold virus?”
“Not the point, I’m afraid. You agree that we were fair and equitable with you and that the penalty was appropriate?”
“Sure, it wasn’t a bad thing.”
“So what happened to your mother as a result of this?”
“She got some time off work or extra vacation days, if I remember correctly,” remarked Gershon.
“You do,” replied the doctor. “I see there have been a host of other infractions on a regular basis. I’m going to just mention a few of them since there are so many: you were accused of spraying some paint at school without wearing proper eye protection; you went to a music concert without ear protection; you continually rode a bicycle without wearing a helmet; and you attempted to drive a motor vehicle without corrected vision. Are these true?” They were all correct, and the last one bothered him a lot. His vision was 20/20 for one eye and 20/30 for the other. Not what you’d call deficient. Yet, the State required laser corrected vision for all drivers to 20/20 level in both eyes. Since everyone was having this done, the sheer numbers increased to where everyone knew of someone who had lost all or part of their vision. He wanted to drive very much since most of his friends drove.
“Yes, Sir, they are true as reported. Do you want to know why I drove without corrected vision?”
“No, I already know why. I am concerned with when and with accuracy at this point,” Quislind responded. “This brings us to the more serious part of our interview. You were reported to have engaged in self-abuse at the age of fifteen. Is that correct?”
“That was at least a couple of years ago. I was, maybe, fifteen. I didn’t do it again,” pleaded Gershon.
“Self abuse wastes half of what could become, under proper circumstances, a fertilized egg, a human being, if you will. Apparently you found another outlet for your hormonal imbalance, and that is what led you to this office today.”
Gershon sank back into the leather chair even farther. He had known he was in trouble, but he was always in trouble in some way. Now he thought he knew where the doctor’s questions were leading. In his mind he feared that about which he had only heard rumors. He had heard of people being sent to the Ministry of Health and returning changed. Reprogramming they called it, and for the first time he was truly frightened.
“So what are we to do with you?”
“What do you mean?” asked Gershon.
“Abortion is not tolerated, just as self-abuse is not tolerated. Life is precious in our society; we seek to preserve it at all costs. You took a young girl, a pregnant girl no less, to a person known as an abortionist. Are you the baby’s father?”
“No, I’m her chum. Lynda is my closest friend. I just wanted to help her.”
“I see. At every point of your life when you reported an illegal activity, you have received a reward. At no time were you or the other person punished. In fact, each time both parties were rewarded. Is that not true?”
“Yes, I can’t argue that,” mumbled Gershon.
“Very well then, why did you break the law this time and not report that which you knew was illegal? More to the point, why did you conspire to become part of the crime by making the arrangements?”
“How do you know that?” Gershon was scared but also angry at the confrontation in which he now found himself.
“That’s what you told the man, is it not? He works for us you know. He doesn’t actually do abortions. He isn’t even trained medically. Girls come to him and he sends them directly to us,” explained Dr. Quislind. “You freely admit your part in this then?”
“Yes, I admit it, but I only wanted to help.” Gershon stopped, although there was much about which he wanted to argue. He felt his resolve quickly ebbing, felt tired, wanted this terrible interview to end. He worried about Lynda and the final outcome of this investigation. After the reporting came a period of uneasy quietness, then less talk, finally no communication at all. He had seen it with friends, teachers, relatives, everywhere he went. Once the trust was gone everything changed between people.
“Once more, are you the baby’s father?” demanded Quislind.
“I care very much for Lynda. I’d be proud if that was my child but it isn’t. Surely you can test for that?” he offered.
“We will I assure you,” said Quislind.
“So what happens to me because I helped her?
“Abortion is a crime. Seeking an abortion is a crime,” said Quislind.
“But it never actually happened, did it? Besides, you said he wasn’t even really a doctor,” he asked.
“That doesn’t matter one iota. Before the baby is born, we will insert a needle into the fetus to remove some DNA. We will compare that DNA with your DNA and everyone else’s, since we have everyone's DNA on our database. We will know who the father is with absolute certainty.”
“What happens to Lynda and me?” Gershon leaned forward in his eagerness to get to the point of this interview.
“You haven’t learned much after all these years we spent with you, all the hours of counseling, the rewards, the fatherly talks, have you? What happens is the same as what always happens. You and Lynda will be treated fairly under the law.”
“It was really my fault, Doctor, not hers. I should bear the penalty.”
“Unfortunately, abortion or seeking an abortion is a capital crime. Under our rules, you’ll both be executed.”
Gershon fell back in shock from the statement. My God, the man said executed. It couldn’t have come to this. He caught his breath after a moment and could feel the anger rising in him. “You said life is precious. You said that just a moment ago. Now you are going to kill us. That is criminal. What kind of people are you? You are criminals, all of you,” he fairly shouted. The nurse who had taken his name at the reception desk just outside entered suddenly.
“I heard shouting, is everything okay?” she asked, her face showed concern and alertness.
“Everything is under control, Amber, please close the door while Gershon gets himself together. Sit down young man, please.”
For his part, Gershon began to sob quietly into his hands, now spread across his face. The tears were real. He wished the brown leather of the chair would just enfold him and that everything would be okay again, but he knew it would not. “You can’t do this to Lynda, please, please, he sobbed. You can’t kill her and my baby. I love her. Please Doctor Quislind?”
“As I suspected,” noted the doctor as he jotted down that fact in Gershon’s file. He stared at the young man only half-hearing the pleas that emanated from his weak, trembling mouth. Gershon cried then asked to see her one more time. “No, you cannot say goodbye to her. That is simply not allowed. Do you have anything else to say?”
“I don’t want to die. I’m only seventeen. I don’t want to die. Please can’t I do something to make it right? Isn’t there something I can do?” he pleaded.
“You know of others who break the law? You know others who have sex outside of marriage?” asked Quislind.
There was no other route open for him, and he leaped at this opportunity that he sensed was about to be presented, “Yes, I do.”
“You’d be willing to report them?”
“Yes, anything.”
“No, just this thing. Can you do that?”
“Yes,” said Gershon.
“You’d be willing to collect information, even solicit other young women to have sex with you or go with you to an abortionist?”
“But that is illegal. That’s what I did that got me here.”
“It isn’t illegal if you work for us,” Quislind’s voice was careful, steely, each syllable fell like the slow peal of a large bell then vanished into the acoustically cushioned office. “We will intervene at the appropriate time, tell them that they are about to commit a capital crime, and divert them from catastrophe. You’d be doing them a service.”
“But what about Lynda and our baby?”
“Everything will be put on hold. As I understand, the baby isn’t due for seven months?”
“Yes, I think so.”
“If you are diligent and successful in your work, you may both receive a pardon. There are no babies outside of marriage, and marriage must precede conception under the law. Your baby will be put up for adoption. You will never get to see the child. That is a rule even I cannot get around.”
“I’ll do it. I’ll work harder than anyone you have ever seen. I promise,” announced Gershon eagerly.
“I’m not so sure you can keep your word. I’m not sure I can trust you. My reputation is at stake here, too. You have lied before. How do I know you are being truthful? First you tell me that you wanted to have this precious life aborted, then you say save my baby. I don’t know when to believe you.”
“It was the only thing we could think of. We were desperate. We both wanted to have the baby, but we were scared. I promise you I’ll do anything, please give us a chance?”
“I don’t feel good about this given your past history. You’ll have to give me some names immediately and also take some tests to determine your reliability, including a lie detector test and truth serum test. You’ll do that?”
“Yes, of course, anything.” He could think only of Lynda’s beautiful face, her pale, white skin, and her beautiful green eyes. Since she had become pregnant she was even more stunning, and he had grown to lover her more as he tried to find a solution to their predicament. He wrote quickly the names of all he knew that had likewise transgressed.
Quislind looked sternly at the young man before him. “If I do this then find you have lied to me or are not following through on your commitment, I will have your execution and hers displayed on public viewing screens on every newscast for a week. Do you understand?” Gershon nodded vigorously. “Very well.” He pushed the communicator button on his desk and said, “Amber, please bring me the kit with the truth serum.” Then turning to Gershon, “This will sting a little but then you’ll just feel a little drowsy. I am going ask you to count from ten backwards, and then I will ask you some questions that you must, I reiterate must, answer honestly. Do you understand?”
“I do, I mean I will,” said Gershon as the nurse entered, left the kit on Quislind’s desk, and quietly closed the door on her way out. “I’m telling the truth,” he said, “you’ll see.”
“Just start counting when you feel the needle sting a little, please.” A few minutes later the door opened and the nurse entered and closed the door behind her.
“I have the girl Lynda in the waiting room for you, doctor. How did it go?”
“Pretty well, they usually buy my truth serum story. Would you call a couple of orderlies to get the body out of here and wipe the chair down, please?”
“Certainly, doctor. You know you promised me that I could do one of these. I am a registered nurse, you know.”
“I guess I did promise you, didn’t I. All right, you do the girl, Lynda, after we get him out of here. I’ll explain that we need to get the very best prenatal care for her, and then I’ll call you to give her a shot to protect her and the baby from something or other. One other thing, call the lab and tell them these are healthy young people and that we want to harvest them for stem cells and organs. We’ll need that fetus, too.”
“Yes, doctor, I’ll get right on that. I’ll get Lynda out of the waiting room and in here, quickly.” she said, eager to at last have a chance to perform her first Final Procedure.
Copyright © 2005 R. G. Larsen
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