TF (dehydration)

“Thanks for backing us, senator,” Governor Sanchez said, hitching up her pants. “We know privatising this prison was controversial, so you going in to bat for us in the state house was very helpful. GL Security really appreciates it.”

“Not at all,” boomed Senator Lackberg. “As you know, I believe the best government is the one that doesn’t do anything, just gets the hell out of the way and lets business do business, at the lowest cost to the taxpayer.”

Christ, this woman could stand to lose a few pounds, he thought.

“Well, that’s what we wanted to talk to you about,” Sanchez said, swivelling in her chair behind her desk. “GL Security has come up with something we thought you really ought to see.”

“Sure, I’m always interested in saving my constituents money.”

“Well, if you’ll just follow me down to the lab …”

“The lab?”

“It’s something our science boys have developed.”

*

It was a booth, with a conveyor belt mechanism on the side. Strange apparatus were nestled in its ceiling.

Lackberg circled it curiously. “What is it?” he said.

“What it is, is the next step in modern prisons,” Sanchez said with a smile.

“How’s that again?”

“Think of it, senator. The US leads the world in prison populations, as you know. We sentence more people to prison for longer than anyone else.”

“Of course. Especially in this state. We’re tough on crime and we make no apology about that.”

“Sure. But what’s the consequence? The state needs to house those prisoners, and to feed them, and to even try to rehabilitate them. All that costs money.”

“Well, that’s why we’ve outsourced our prisons,” Lackberg said. “To save money. Private companies such as yours don’t have the red tape the government has to struggle with and can run things more efficiently.”

“And we do,” Sanchez parried. “But what if we could reduce costs even more? What if we could house, say, a hundred prisoners in each cell? And never feed them?”

Lackberg chuckled. “Well, I’d say that would be a miracle.”

“That’s right,” Sanchez nodded. “And that’s what this is. A miracle machine.”

“How?”

“Well, we should probably have a small demonstration,” Sanchez said. She went to the door and spoke to the guard there. “Hey, is Jones ready?”

“Ready and waiting, governor.”

“Great. Send her in.” Sanchez turned back to the senator. “Now, what you’re about to see may seem incredible, but let me assure you, it’s real. You’re the first to see it.”

A knock at the door, and a pinched-looking woman who could have been anything from 30 to 60 poked her head in. “Governor?”

“Jonesy! Come on in. Senator, this is Clemence C. Jones, spending time with us here thanks to a taste for mail fraud.”

“That was a long time ago, governor,” the prisoner protested.

“Yeah, Jonesy’s been keeping her nose clean. She’s happy to help us out today, aren’t you, Jones?”

“You said it.”

“Well, if you’ll just step into the box …” Sanchez pulled out a little instrument that resembled a hotwired TV remote. “Okay, senator, you might want to shield your eyes when I tell you. The glare can be a bit much. You comfortable in there, Jones?”

“I’m fine.”

“Great! We’ll begin. Now, senator, what we’re going to do here is to dehydrate Jones.”

There was a moment of silence. “Excuse me, governor, did you say … dehydrate?”

“That’s right. We’re gonna temporarily remove every drop of moisture from her body, and then repurpose the remains. Now, I emphasise that this is temporary, and it’s also completely painless. Jones has done this several times before, and she can back me up. Right, Jones?”

“Just tickles a bit, is all.”

“So let’s do it!” Sanchez flicked a few buttons on her remote. “Shield your eyes, sir. One … two … three!”

There was a sudden burst of brilliant yellow light.

Lackberg removed his hand from his eyes. The booth was now empty.

Or, no, not empty. Something came trundling down the conveyor belt. Sanchez walked over and picked it up.

“As you can see, Jones is now a small carbon cube, about six inches by six inches. She doesn’t need to eat, can’t feel pain, and can be stored safely until her release date … although we’ll be turning her back in a few minutes. Imagine, no more prisons, just warehouses, where we keep dehydrated prisoners.” She thrust the cube at Lackberg. “Here, wanna hold her?”

“What?! No!” Lackberg jumped back. “This … this is sick! You can’t treat a human being like this! Just … just turn them into a block! It’s crazy! It’s inhumane! It’s …”

“Cheap.” Sanchez waved. “We think that if this state adopted a policy of dehydrating prisoners, we could cut the prison budget by … oh, $45 million in the first year.”

Lackberg blinked.

“Which would allow, even with GL Security’s increased fee for warehousing services, a lot of cash to … I don’t know … shower on constituents at election time?”

The politician was silent for a minute. “You say they don’t feel pain?”

“None. And they don’t age either. As a block, they’re pretty much indestructible too.”

Lackberg stroked his chin. “Forty-five million?”

“In the first year.” Sanchez nodded. “We project more savings every year.”

“Well,” Lackberg said thoughtfully. “I appreciate GL Security’s idea has much merit and we’ll certainly be backers of anything that saves the taxpayer money. So, let’s discuss this further.”

“Thanks, senator, I knew you’d be interested after the demonstration.” Sanchez cheerfully threw the block up in the air and caught it. “Even if it was a little … dry.”