Bill for the use of a body.

Bill for the use of a body.

By Len Morgan

   The case was cut and dried; he was caught with the loot in his possession.   He was tracked all the way by surveillance camera’s as he entered and left the Hartington estate.   He was a professional thief.   Jason had just completed a two-year sentence, for a similar offence.  Unfortunately for him, a lot had changed in two years.  He’d spent three months following his release casing and planning this job but, none on checking technical advances.

 “Jason Ruffus Gadding you have been convicted of burglary, an archaic crime.  This is your third conviction and you show no inclination of mending your ways.   We are actively seeking to keep habitual criminals, like yourself, off the streets indefinitely; you are therefore sentenced to ten years without remission,” Said the judge.

“Ten years?   No remission?” said Jason aghast.  “Why that’s inhuman… I’ll be 35 by the time I get out!”

“Be silent!”  The judge commanded.   “There is an alternative; you could take part in a trial rehabilitation program.  We can offer you 6 months on the CRAAM re-education program; the choice is yours, six months or ten years!   Take him down…”

“I wanna see my brief!   Ten years is crazy.” 

“Calm down Mr Gadding, you know what they say; If you can’t do the time don’t do the crime.”

“But, ten years?   Nobody got hurt, nobody is destitute, the insurance company would pay—“

“Mr Gadding it has long been known that crime is a compulsion, like gambling, it’s an illness.   It can be curbed, modified, eradicated even.   But, you have to be willing to cooperate.   You must get on the CRAAM program!” 

“I don’t even know what that stands for...”

“A CRAAM is a memory cube it stands for “Cryo-Random-Auto-Active-Memory” it will be a temporary home for your mind during re-education…”

“Stuff that!  I’ll pass…”

.-…-.

  “Prisoner JG10967438 you have been here for two months.   Had you joined the CRAAM program upon sentencing you would now have served a third of your sentence,” said the warden.   “But, you currently still have nine years ten months to serve.

“My name is Jason Gadding, I do not answer to a number it is a violation of my human rights to steal my identity, you can’t change my mind against my will.   I refuse to be a guinea pig if the CRAAM program would cause me to act against my nature!"

“Is it your nature to live outside these walls free and unencumbered by your prior history?  To leave with a clean sheet?  If so, you should embrace the program.   Your refusal tells me that you have no intention of reforming.   You have all the literature, the statistics, and you have met people who have completed the program successfully.   Did they behave normally or are they now automatons?”

“I’m sorry but I cannot allow my mind to be polluted with indoctrination.   I’m afraid of what might happen to my body at that time.  Will it be taken care of?   I am a fit active man; I will not allow it to be misused!” 

“Take him back to the cells—“

.-…-.

“Mr Gadding you have now been incarcerated for four months.  You complain about the lack of exercise, because of the overcrowding.   You complain of inadequate stimulation for your mind.   We are duty-bound to point out to you that all of this could be remedied any time you choose.   Just agree to joint the CRAAM program.  Had you subscribed from the start you would now be two-thirds of the way through your sentence.   You would have just two months to go.   Your deteriorating body would still be in tip-top condition and your mind would be actively engaged in some collaborative manner to help improve this overcrowded world of ours.”

“I-I'm sorry, I cannot bring myself to trust people I don’t know, to act in my best interests, I just can’t!”   The answer is No!”

“Mr Gadding…”

“I’m Jason, my name is Jason!” he yelled.

“I’m sorry.  Jason, calm down now.  My client, Mr James Hartington, was your last potential victim.   He is concerned that you are wasting your life needlessly with this ridiculous fear of intrusion.   The young man sat apart from the committee.   “Jason, my name is Arthur Stanley; I am a lawyer representing the interests of the Hartington Estate.   I have been instructed to make you a most generous humanitarian offer.   If you will agree to take part in this program James Hartington will personally find safe active employment for your body.”   He turned to the committee, “might I have ten minutes alone with Mr Gadding please?”

The chairman nodded and a guard opened a side door into a small interview room.

.-…-.

“Now we are alone I am instructed to offer you the sum of fifty thousand euro's and assured employment with the Hartington Organisation upon your release..."
   "A hundred thousand!"
   "OK!"
   "Two hundred."
   "I will have to take advice on that figure; it's more than I have been authorized to pay."
  “Mmm, what would James expect of me for such a sum?”

“He is concerned, no; he is obsessed with security and the workings of the criminal mind.   He wants somebody on his team who can think like a criminal, who will be capable of unearthing scams in his organisation.   In his view the criminal has a totally alien mindset to normal law abiding citizens; it is akin to that of the entrepreneur,” said Arthur.

“But, if I enter this program all those tendencies will be eradicated completely so wouldn’t his theory become academic?   I don’t think I would be the man I am today, that’s for sure!” said Jason.

“Don’t you be so sure about that said Arthur with just the faintest closing of his left eye?   James has fingers in many pies.   Re-education can take many forms.   You could leave here with advance IT skills and a business degree, six months is a lifetime as a ‘CM’, it’s a unique opportunity, what do you say?”

“Two fifty,” said Jason.

Arthur smiled, “I think I can persuade James to pay that.”

.-…-.

  Even as cube JG10967438 was being connected to the correction system, the mindless body was in transit to a private facility; about to become the ward of James Hartington.

.-…-.

Three years pass and cube JG10967438 is released into an ageing body, with a different name and ID.   Once outside the facility, he looks into the mirror at the gates, their closing still ringing in his ears.   His eyes slowly focus.   A stranger is gazing back at him through sad watery eyes.

“My God!   What have they done to me?”   He hammered and rang at the gates but nobody answered.   A horn sounded nearby and he turned to see a limo pulled into the kerb.   The horn sounded, more insistent this time and somebody waved at him from the open rear window.   He headed towards it and the door opened.

“Get in Jason,” said the familiar voice of Arthur Stanley.

“Mr Stanley.  What have you done with my body?”

“Relax, all will be explained,” Arthur said smoothly.   And they drove on in silence for half an hour into the country. 

“Well?” said Jason, as the car pulled off the main road into a wilder overgrown lane.

“There is a perfectly simple explanation, but James would prefer to tell you himself.”   They pulled up at a set of wrought iron gates set in ten-foot high granite walls.   After a few moments, the gates opened.  

“Is it a prison?”  He asked a half-hearted attempt at humour, he got no reply.

As the car pulled into the drive of an impressive converted seventeenth-century house, Jason saw a familiar figure standing at the top of the steps leading to the heavy timber front doors.

“Well don’t just sit there, come on up he called,” waiting patiently as they climbed a dozen stone steps

“This is James Hartington,” said the lawyer introducing them.

“I know who you are, but why are you still in my body?” Jason challenged.

“There were some technical problems that caused your stay in prison to be longer than expected.   You were found to be resistant to the programming.   Come inside and we will explain,” said Arthur, taking his arm.

They sat in sumptuous brown leather club chairs in an artificially lit room soaking up the heat from an illegal fossil-fuelled coal fire.   They chatted over coffee, cheese, and biscuits.

“You were held for three years Jason, four times your legal sentence.   Arthur has already sued for false imprisonment.”

“You will receive compensation for the period of illegal detention, have no fear of that,” said the lawyer.

“Unfortunately, when you came up for release, by a three to two majority, I was out of the country.  So, Arthur decided to seize the opportunity and get you released before they could rescind the decision.   You are currently in the body of my valued head gardener.   I need him back as soon as possible, the gardens are already missing his magic,” said Hartington.

“Well, if you are both ready we can go to the lab now and effect the final transfer,” said Arthur.

They travelled through a series of corridors deeper into the building, down below ground level, walking with only the sound of echoing footsteps.

Then they stopped and entered a white antiseptic room.   Jason was led to a chair, by two orderlies in white coats.

“Ah!   I nearly forgot,” said James Hartington handing Jason an old fashioned paper cheque for Eur250,000.  He held out his hand and they shook.   Nice to meet our newest recruit he said as they strapped Jason into the chair.   “I must leave you now I have other matters to attend too.”

.-…-.

 By mid-day his mind was once more inside a CM cube, on his way to becoming the controller of a Fish Farm Submersible referred to affectionately as ‘fishdogs’ by the land staff at Hartington North Sea Fisheries.

 James Hartington gazed into the mirror and smiled, “250,000 Euro, worth every penny,” he said as he shredded the cheque.

Copyright Len Morgan