Alternate Incarceration

The campus police arrived moments later. They quickly freed Mardina's hands and feet and checked to see that she was "unharmed." As they began to drape a blanket over her naked body, the screen suddenly went black and she awoke screaming.

I stood where I was until she had finally calmed herself and it was safe to approach her. "Let's get you out of that suit," I said softly.

"You saw?" she asked.

I removed the headpiece before answering, "I saw."

"They never caught him," she said flatly. "That's probably why I have the nightmares. I'm afraid he's coming back for me."

After I helped her peel the suit off her legs, she sat cross-legged on the bed. "I couldn't really describe him," she said softly. "It happened so fast... and the drug he used to knock me out evidently affected my memory. By the time they talked to me at the hospital, I couldn't remember any details. My memory had been wiped clean."

"If the drug had truly wiped your memory," I replied, "you wouldn't have nightmares. I'm not sure what it was, but I think it just inhibited your ability to remember-- to get to those memories. It didn't remove the memories themselves."

I paused while I used a warm cloth to wipe the sweat from her body.

"You saw him," I said quietly.

She looked up at me with wide open mouth and eyes.

"You saw him," I repeated, "and I have an image of his face."

I shared the final portion of the video with the authorities. They didn't really believe me, but they still ran the facial recognition algorithms. There was a positive match, and DNA tests confirmed that James Folley was, in fact, the notorious campus rapist who had for so long eluded them.

He had been able to avoid capture by the simple fact that he was a government DNA file clerk. His job gave him access to the DNA database, and he had altered his own file so that no DNA matches could be made from his DNA.

There were a lot of other things which should have pointed to him, but I guess our police have become so dependent upon being able to know who everyone is by DNA traces left at a crime scene, that they didn't follow up on other leads.

The trial was hailed as "The Trial of the Century," not so much because of who James Folley was or what he had done, but rather because for the first time in history, a video record of a person's memory was entered as evidence.

It was not the last time. I had to create a whole new division to keep up with the world-wide demand for the suits - or at least specialized head pieces. Eyewitness testimony in video form is now standard evidence for trials. It took the juries a little while to get used to the fact that three different witnesses actually did see three different versions of the same events. But those different versions were still aligned closer than verbal testimony because the recording was often-times made very shortly after the events. In the recordings, the person's memories were not influenced by memory loss or changed by the person analyzing what they thought they should have seen.

Then someone in the government actually checked out the original versions of the suits and realized that not only could the full suits read thoughts and memories, they could allow-- or force-- someone else to experience those memories. That was when some "expert" decided that the perfect punishment for a criminal would be to force the perpetrator of a crime to experience that crime from the viewpoint of his or her victims.

There were three different schools of thought on this. The first said such an approach was bullshit. The second said that just by experiencing the crime as a victim, the criminal would be forever cured of his or her criminal tendencies. The third point of view emphasized that it would be much more economical to subject a criminal to several days, weeks or months of experiencing his or her crime rather than years of incarceration. This alternate incarceration would save the government money and would return a useful citizen to society. Or at least that was the plan.

I agreed with the first point of view. Most liberal therapists favored the second. Most politicians and government bureaucrats, meanwhile, agreed with the third. So, it was decided to implement an alternate incarceration program to reform criminals, and more importantly, to save monunits.

Like any other proposed government action, they had to talk it to death first. As the inventor of the suits, I was called to one of the hearings. They didn't like what I had to say. I guess pointing out that until they came up with a way of pulling memories out of a dead brain, they wouldn't really have the true viewpoint of all victims.

Primarily what they objected too, however, was my insistence that living out the crime from the victim's point of view didn't necessarily equal punishment-- especially with psychopaths or in the case of sexual crimes.

"A true psychopath," I testified, "would not have a normal person's emotional and psychological response. They would externalize the event and observe it like it were happening to others even if it was happening to them."

Senator Madison, the main backer of the idea on the panel huffed his disapproval at me so I explained further, "In other words, the experience would become just one more victim for them to enjoy. You would be much better off sticking to something that you know is punishment for that person rather than trying to make them see the world from another person's point of view."

I glared at the committee. I figured I might as well tell the whole truth since they were going to disregard me anyway. "Beyond that," I attempted to explain, "you have been clear that you are going to start with sexual crimes. It is my professional experience that what one person experiences as painful, another may find pleasurable. That means that the victim's pain may be the criminal's pleasure. You would be better off computer-generating a totally new memory-- like being pursued and eaten by a tiger-- than using a victim's memory of the crime."

I could see several of the Senators shaking their heads and making side comments to their aides. The head of the committee thanked me for my input, but it was obvious that they were going to dismiss anything I had to say. My suspicion was confirmed when Senator Madison said with a chuckle, "Luckily for us, our first prisoner is definitely not a psychopath."

What he said next filled me with dread. "And thanks to you," he said lightly, "we already have seven recorded victim experiences."

He was talking about Mardina's rapist.

She came to me for advice. They wanted the agreement of all of the victims to proceed. The other six had given their approval and Mardina wanted to know what I thought. My advice to her was simple. "Don't be the first on anything that could really go sour or turn out the opposite of what you want."

I reminded her of a saying I often used, "The early bird gets the worm, but the second mouse gets the cheese."

I wish she had listened to me. The news yesterday included a story that the first "alternate incarceration" was going to be performed in two weeks. As I waited for her to arrive, I pulled that story back up on my vidfeed and reviewed the details. James Folley's sentence had been "modified to three months of alternate incarceration."

I had just finished reading when Mardina rang my door bell. She was dressed in a relatively conservative dress. "I'm interning at an architect's office downtown," she said. She shrugged her shoulders and added, "It fits their dress code. I don't think it would fit the company image if I ran around the office naked."

She gave me a big grin before saying, "But their dress code doesn't say anything about underwear." She lifted up the front of the dress to show me her carefully trimmed bush.

"Is that going to be your design style?" I asked. "Stately on the outside, but slutty on the inside?"

She laughed and answered, "I'll have to consider that. It would be a unique signature design concept."

Then she became very serious and said, "But that isn't why I came to see you."

"It's about the alternate incarceration, isn't it?" I asked.

She nodded her head silently.

"Let's sit in the fooprep," I said. "I did some custom programming to the fooport since you lived here and now it can spit out a really great cup of coffee."

She looked at me quizzically, so I explained, "The government-mandated maximum for caffeine content is relatively easy override if you have the right hackbots."

She gave me a big smile as I handed her a steaming cup of what my grandfather used to call "high octane coffee." I think it was a reference to the fuel once used in transport vehicles.

"Having second thoughts?" I asked.

"Yes... No... A little... " she replied. "But that's not why I'm here. They have invited all of the victims to the incarceration. They say it will bring us closure. We are supposed to bring our families for support."

She looked down at the floor before continuing. "I don't have any family," she said softly. "If I had, maybe I wouldn't have screwed up my life so badly after this happened to me." Looking up, she said plaintively, "You are the closest thing I have to family. Would you come with me?"

"If they allow it," I answered. "And if they don't, I think I can apply enough political pressure to change their minds."

She threw herself at me and gave me an almost spine-crushing hug. "Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!" she said. "Someday I am going to name a city after you!"

Standing back a little, she smoothed her dress and said, "But right now, this intern has to get to work on time." She smiled and said, "Bosses and owners can be late. Us lowly peons have to be on time."

"It's nice to be the boss," I answered back with a smile.

***

Two weeks later Mardina and I were being led down a long hallway at the detention center by a uniformed guard. "This used to be an execution chamber in the old days," she explained as she opened the door.

The room looked like the historical images in the museums except rather than having rows of chairs set up on risers where people could sit to witness the executions, the area was divided into seven small cubicles. The front wall of the cubicle was a half wall while the walls separating the squares went all the way to the ceiling. They were open in the back with a small hallway allowing access. We were escorted to the third cubicle, which, I assume, corresponded to Mardina being the third campus rapist victim.

All the cubicles had a clear view of the "incarceration chamber." James Folley was already in a specially-modified suit and was strapped to a striker bed that could be rotated to any angle to prevent bed sores.

My company hadn't done the modifications to the suit, but the government engineers had checked with us to see how badly it would degrade performance to add systems for the removal of liquid and solid wastes. Liquid waste was taken care of with a simple sleeve catheter that slipped over the penis like a heavy condom. The solid waste was flushed out daily before a special nutritional slurry was pumped back in. He was, after all, going to be on that table for three months.

After everyone was seated in the appropriate cubicle, Senator Madison walked to the front of the room and stood in front of the window. "What is happening here today," he began, "is history making. You will witness a criminal actually having to experience the trauma which he inflicted on his victims."

A gray-haired man in a white lab coat entered the room and stood beside him. "This is Doctor Harold Winkerson," he said. He will explain what is about to happen.

"Thank you, Senator," the doctor replied. He then turned to face the victims and their families.

"The crimes will be inserted in Mr Folley's memories in the same order in which they occurred. You may witness just your incident, or all seven. A light will come on in front of you indicating that your episode is next in the rotation. The large blue button turns the monitor on and off. It also activates and deactivates the headphones. There will be a short pause after the seventh episode before it all begins again."

He paused to look individually at the seven victims. "If this becomes to difficult for you," he continued, "just press the blue button next to your monitor to shut everything down in your cubicle. The cubicles are designed so that you cannot see or hear what is happening in the other areas. You are free to stay as long as you want and leave whenever you desire. If you wish to return at any time during the 90-day incarceration, just make arrangements with the warden's office."

As Doctor Winkerson walked away, Senator Madison smiled happily and said, "The first cycle will begin in three minutes."

Mardina looked up and me and said softly, "I want to see the others."

"Are you sure?" I asked, but she had already pressed the blue button to activate the monitor so I just sat next to her and put on one of the wireless headphones.

As I watched, something didn't seem quite right, so I opened my own vidcomp and connected to the data channel for the suit controller. I wasn't worried about passwords since my personal unit was backdoored into any piece of equipment I produced. I was hoping, however, that they hadn't changed the access protocols themselves. They hadn't, and soon I was streaming the raw data to my screen. Except for a several-second delay, the images seemed to be the same, but the additional data on my screen indicated, "Combined Data Stream."

"Shit," I said quietly to myself. Then I said a little more loudly, "Mardina, I have to talk to Doctor Winkerson. I'll be right back."

I slipped out of the cubicle and spoke to the guard at the door. She said something into her radio and a moment later the doctor stepped into the room.

"What is your concern?" he asked.

"You are showing the reflected activity from his brain rather than the injected feed," I said. "Since he already has memories of these events, that will be a combination of both his and the victim's memories."

"We are aware of that," he said looking down at me. The tone of his voice and his body language told me he was thinking of me as a bewildered child that he could pat on the head and send back to play in my room. "But it should make no difference," he said smugly.

"Maybe the victims won't think the same way," I said firmly.

"The Senator and I thought it would be best this way," he said flippantly and turned and left the room.

"Asshole," I said quietly.

The guard shook her head slowly and said even more quietly, "You have no idea."

I went back to the third cubicle. As I sat back down, someone was walking down one of the paths through a different park near the campus. I noticed that two of the streetlights on the path seemed to be out. That was part of his technique. He would choose a seldom-used area and disable the lighting. Then he would wait for a victim to walk through his trap.

Whoever it was slowed down and began looking from side to side. It was obvious that she was wary of something. Suddenly the viewpoint changed and we were looking at a petite blond in shorts and a halter top. This was evidently James coming up the path.

He was moving rapidly and swaying slightly from side to side. The blond stepped to the side of the trail as he approached. As he passed by there was a skidding noise and he looked down at bicycle handlebars.

"Did I hit you?" he asked. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to. I was just going too fast."

"No. you missed me," the blond said. She started to say something else, but his arm came up and a sudden cloud erupted from the canister in his hand. The view switched back to her for just an instant as the liquid and vapor struck her face. Then everything went black.

The blackness flickered once or twice and then we were again looking out through James' eyes. He had quickly stripped the blond and positioned her on the ground more or less on her knees and elbows. Short lengths of rope tied her elbows to her knees while another piece of rope bound her wrists and upper arms together.

The result looked very uncomfortable and forced her ass high in the air. He pushed a tube against her crack and squeezed out some lube. Then he slapped the top of her ass a couple of times while saying, "Wakey, wakey, or you'll miss the party." He slapped her ass again and said, "It's a pity you won't be able to remember any of this." After a short laugh, he finished with "But I will,"and pushed himself into her ass and began thrusting.

The viewpoint went back to the blonde looking down at the dirty, asphalt path. She was screaming and trying to break free of her bonds. The force of his thrusts was causing her face to nearly hit the asphalt of the path. Finally he gave a loud grunt and pushed her hard enough to force her face against the ground. There was a flash as he captured an image or something a moment later and then the bicycle rode past and disappeared down the path.

The blond was crying and sobbing and trying to scream for help. Finally another coed came down the path and screamed very loudly. The police arrived shortly after that and the scene slowly faded into darkness.

"Did she orgasm?" Mardina asked.

It took me a moment to understand her question. "The flash on the screen..." she clarified, "did that mean that she had an orgasm?"

"Probably not," I answered, "but he did. You are seeing a mixture of both their memories."

"Oh," she answered. It looked like she was going to ask another question, but the screen was now showing a sidewalk in front of one of the older buildings near campus. Again it was night, but all of the streetlights were on. As whoever it was passed a very narrow walkway between two buildings, the sound of a dog whimpering could be heard.

The dog wasn't barking, but instead sounded like it was yelping in pain-- as if it was trapped in something. She looked down the walkway, and near the back of the building there was a small dog-- it looked like a beagle-- whose leash was trapped under a dumpster's wheels. It was pulled tight against the ground and seemed to be choking.

The walkway got progressively darker as she walked back to see if she could free the dog from its misery. Shortly before she got to the dumpster, the dog suddenly gave a big yelp and pulled itself free. She watched as it ran barking out the other end of the walkway, trailing a length of rope behind it.

"I guess its owner will find it eventually," she said to herself as she turned to go back to the main sidewalk. She gasped suddenly as a black glove appeared in front of her face and a rag was pressed against her mouth.

We watched through James' eyes as he stripped her and bound her over a length of pipe railing which protected some gas meters. Her feet were tied to the upright posts while her hands were stretched down and tied to the large gas pipes themselves.

He evidently stepped back for a moment and then reached forward with his tube of lube. He positioned himself against her asshole and then reached forward with a small spray can of some sort in his hand. He squirted it toward her face and suddenly we were again seeing things through her eyes.

She could see nothing but the gas meters as he drove into her ass. Like the others, she screamed loudly as he pushed his way into her bowels. He began to grunt and we were looking down at her naked back. There was a bright flash and for just an instant we could see her face. The image was distorted slightly, but it looked as if she were, indeed, having an orgasm.

I looked over at Mardina, but said nothing. A little while later, things faded as the police arrived on the scene. Evidently the good doctor was using that as the end of each memory.

Mardina was now very tense. She had seen her own memory before several times, but each time it had been an emotional experience. Now she was watching it knowing that others in the room were also seeing her ordeal.