Most people sat quietly on their chairs in the cavernous meeting room; it was what they had been told to do. Others stood in groups, having animated conversations. A few chose to move from person to person, harassing and threatening them; no one stood up to them, but several exchanged uncomfortable glances.
Without warning, a klaxon sounded, followed by a voice blaring from a loudspeaker: “Please take your seats. The forum will begin shortly.” Most people ended their conversations and returned to where they should be, but a small number retorted angrily and made rude gestures to the loudspeakers before resuming their bullying. Thirty seconds later, the klaxon sounded twice; the voice on the loudspeaker became more strident. “Return to your seats now.” More defiant shouts and obnoxious laughter.
The faint buzzing sound was mostly drowned out by the collective murmuring; no one noticed the small doors opening in the ceiling. The sharp sound made by the projectile as it sliced through the air was much more noticeable. One of the bullies screamed as the dart discharged its electricity, causing him to shake uncontrollably and then collapse. The victim he had been holding suffered the same fate indirectly, but his inert body cushioned her fall. With wide eyes, the remaining stragglers quickly found their seats. The ceiling-mounted taser gun stayed where it was, mounted between the two small open doors to its cavity. The murmuring quickly died down; the sound of breathing was not much louder than the room tone created by the bustling city traffic outside.
With a nearly simultaneous crack, all four entrance doors opened; in walked some burly guards and a few people in suits. The crowd watched them uneasily as they strode to the front of the room and onto the elevated stage. The projection screen behind them showed the company’s name and logo; both were all too familiar to the city dwellers these days. After switching on the microphone, one of the suits, a striking middle-aged woman with platinum hair, began speaking.
“Good afternoon, everyone…my name is Linda Carlyle, and I’m a human-resources director for Unlimited Partners, the corporation that now owns and runs this city.” She paused briefly; there was no response. “Well…I know you’ve all been shuffled around quite a bit in the last few days, and you’re probably wondering what’s going on and where you’re headed.”
“You’re damn right!” came a shout from the crowd. It was one of the bullies; he was standing now. “I don’t have time for this! I got places to be!”
A few of the suits glared at him; Linda was unmoved. “Please sit down. All is about to be explained.”
He continued being defiant. “I’ll sit when I damn well want to! You can’t—” Another whooshing sound cut through the still air. The sickening sound of electricity moving through flesh filled the room for a brief interval that seemed like an eternity; he dropped to the floor. Linda quickly interrupted their gasping. “If you refuse to control yourself, you will find yourself controlled by others. Do I make myself perfectly clear?” The room responded with stunned silence.
“That’s better. Now…we have reviewed every one of your cases in detail, and have determined that the correct handling for the problems each of you cause…is deportation.” Scattered gasps erupted from the crowd.
A woman in the audience raised her hand. Linda smiled. “Now that’s a good example of proper behavior. Yes? You have a question?”
She appeared to be middle-aged, somewhat older than Linda, wearing a garish multicolored dress. “How can you do this to us?”
“It was not an easy decision,” Linda replied. “If the company had its way, it would find a place in the new system for all current citizens.” After capturing the petitioner’s image on her phone, she began tapping on the screen. “But unfortunately, every single person sitting here has repeatedly demonstrated that they can’t contribute to the common good. You’re all a drain on valuable resources. And although the decision to expel you from the city is a last resort…it’s one we feel we must make.” Her screen lit up. “For instance, Gladys Frampton…you’ve had four sons; one died in gang violence, two are in jail, and your youngest is already in second-chance education.”
Gladys hung her head. “I…I’ve tried my best…but they’re such a handful…”
“That’s putting it mildly,” Linda retorted. “You’re not raising productive, law-abiding citizens; your mothering is not a value-added activity.” Gladys stared at the ground, embarrassed; Linda continued. “You’ve never been married to any of their fathers, and receive no financial support for any of them.” One of the other suits showed Linda something on his phone; she nodded.
Gladys looked up, indignant. “Those flaky bastards! Bunch of lowlifes!”
Linda fixed Gladys with a steely gaze. “And yet you chose to bear their children?”
“I—” Gladys began. Her lips curled into a surly expression. “I wish I could find those deadbeats.”
Linda pointed to someone in the room. “We’ve been able to find one of them.” Gladys whirled around to look, her eyes burning with venom. Linda sneered. “Well, Terry? What do you have to say to Gladys?”
Terry froze, unable to make eye contact with Gladys. “Baby,” he stammered. “…I always meant to come back.”
“It’s a little late now!” Gladys screeched.
“Not necessarily,” Linda glowered. “You can always make good on your promise…when you end up where you’re going.”
Terry swallowed. “Where are we going?”
“To a different city,” Linda explained. “One still run by the government. We asked if they would take you, and they readily accepted; they seemed to exult in some sort of perceived moral superiority.” She smirked. “So we didn’t ask too many questions after that.”
Linda called on another raised hand. “I demand to see the evidence you have against me!” Another woman’s voice called from the crowd: “Leroy? Is that you? You worthless bum!” Linda smiled. “Well, there’s some of the evidence! But if you’re brave, why don’t you come up here on stage, so we can go over your record?” After a hesitant start, he slowly began walking to the front of the room.
By the time he got there, the projection screen showed his name and age, along with his most recent mug shot. His pleasant expression in the photos belied the seriousness of the charge he had been arrested for at the time. Linda glared icily at him. “Is this how you normally look after gunning down two people?”
“But…it was in self-defense!” Leroy stuttered. “I didn’t want to do it!”
Linda sighed as the projection screen switched to a surveillance video. It showed Leroy in an alleyway, with two unknown males; it was clear they were buying drugs from him. “Turns out the old city government had an incredible amount of recorded security-camera footage; they just didn’t have the resources to do much with it.” Her eyes twinkled. “But we do.” The screen showed a heated argument between Leroy and his customers; without warning, he drew a firearm and shot them both in the torso. Both uselessly raised their arms for protection, but fell to the ground, clutching their wounded bellies.
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Leroy vanished from the frame a second afterwards; stitched-together video showed him running down the street for about two blocks, before looking around, relaxing, and pumping his fist in the air. The crowd murmured with astonishment. Linda shook her head. “You seem awfully happy about something you didn’t want to do. Just be grateful they both lived.” Leroy just stood there, gaping uselessly. Linda waved him away. “Sit down, Leroy.” He glumly left the stage, looking around with some alarm as a woman approached him.
Linda leaned into the microphone. “Dwayne Smith? Why don’t you come up here, too. I think your story would also be instructive.” After a moment’s hesitation, a tall, thickly-built man trudged up to the stage. As he arrived, the projection screen filled with his head shot, as well as his name and age. Linda beheld him. “You also deal drugs for a living, but unlike Leroy, we have no evidence of you shooting anyone.”
“Can I ask something?” Dwayne pleaded. “Your new rules allow these drugs to be sold legitimately. Why don’t I qualify to work for you doing that?”
“Well, several reasons,” Linda chimed. “First of all, you did beat several people to within an inch of their lives. Granted, they were all lower-level street hustlers; we can almost forgive that. But our evidence shows you supplied many of them. In doing so, you engaged the authorities in several dangerous high-speed chases, often reaching speeds that, all by themselves, were felonies.” Dwayne frowned sourly.
“But here’s the really unforgivable part,” Linda added. “Not once did you pay tax on any of this income!”
“Because I didn’t want to get caught!” Dwayne shot back, incredulous. “Are you saying that would have helped?”
“In our eyes, yes, it would have,” Linda offered. “Some of your peers have been laundering their income, so even though their business was illicit, at least they weren’t a drain on public resources. Some of them now run legitimate drug-dealing businesses. Do you remember a Jamal Cooper?”
Dwayne hung his head. “Yeah. He was my competition.” He sighed. “Jamal always did more business. It really irked me.”
Linda shrugged. “Well, at least he paid his taxes. And he doesn’t have your history of violence. That’s why we gave him a chance. He now runs a series of dispensaries in the central-west district, near the park.”
“But that was my territory!” Dwayne protested.
“Not any longer,” Linda interrupted. “But there’s more to his story. Were you aware of his sideline?”
Dwayne raised one eyebrow. “That sucker had another hustle?”
“Indeed,” Linda smiled. “Are you familiar with the New Beginnings Recovery Center on 116th Street?”
“Yeah, but…” Dwayne’s eyes shot open. “You mean that…?!”
“That’s right!” Linda gushed. “He has them coming and going! Truly a visionary entrepreneur!”
Dwayne’s mouth hung open. “He…wow. I had no idea.”
Linda gave Dwayne a reproving look. “And that’s why he’s working for us, and why you’re being sent away.”
Dwayne’s shoulders slumped. “I see.” He faltered a moment. “I’d like to go back to my seat.”
“Knock yourself out.” Linda waved him off the stage.
She returned to the microphone. “But not all of you are out-and-out criminals. Some of you are just indolent.” She looked at her phone. “Darrell Criek? Would you like to join us up here?”
A few seconds passed. Then a quiet voice floated through the air. “I…I can’t rightly do that. I’ll need some help.”
Linda looked in the direction the voice had come from. There sat a morbidly obese man, so large that he had to sit across two of the seats. Somehow, he had managed to sequester himself in the center of a row.
Linda winced. “Then you can just stay there. So tell me, Darrell…you’ve been on welfare your entire life, fifteen of those years as an adult. What do you have to show for it?”
Darrell demurred a moment. “I can’t get a job.”
Linda stood, arms akimbo. “What skills do you have to offer?”
A long pause followed. “I can’t think of any.”
Linda looked exasperated. “What do you do with your time?”
Darrell looked pensive. “I watch TV, and play the lotto.”
“Haven’t you tried to do anything else?!”
Darrell looked sad. “I…I have a disability.”
Linda looked at her phone. “According to our records, your disability is completely voluntary. You eat junk food, you never exercise, and you drink a lot of hard spirits.” She looked at him uncertainly for a moment, then glared fiercely. “Are you drunk right now?”
“Yes’m.” There was no trace of guile in his voice.
“You’ve been locked up for two days. Where did you even get alcohol?”
Darrell smiled wanly. “The others help me.”
Linda pinched the bridge of her nose. “With all the time on your hands…how come you’ve never tried to learn a skill? Something you can do to support yourself?”
Darrell looked cross. “’Cause I don’t want to! And you can’t make me!”
Linda threw up her hands. “And that confirms you’re a willing drain on resources. You’re exactly the sort of person we can’t abide anymore. And that’s why you’re being deported.”
Darrell didn’t say a word.
Linda leveled her gaze. “Would anyone else like to argue their case?” She swept her eyes over the room. “Anyone at all?” No one stirred.
A low rumbling outside could be heard. Linda narrowed her eyes. “Fine. You’ll all get on the buses immediately. You’re being taken in by Sioux Ridge, a few dozen miles south of the state border. You’re their responsibility now.” The guards opened the exit doors; the noise of the buses was much louder now. The guards moved to herd them outside, but the people simply stood up and walked onto their waiting transportation, to take them to grayer pastures. Darrell managed to waddle there by himself. A few of the deportees carried the unconscious bullies and the one victim.
Rico and Stuart, two of the guards, stood near Linda as the buses drove away. Rico looked sanguine. “There, but for the grace of God, go us, eh Stuart?”
Linda waved dismissively. “Not even close. You two had your issues, but I knew you were recoverable.”
Stuart let out a small laugh. “If I’d known guard duty paid better than street hustling, I’d have gone legit a long time ago!”
“But who would have taken you?” Rico pointed out. “With your record?”
Stuart let out a long breath. “Yeah. I’m surprised Unlimited Partners gave me a chance at all…gave either of us a chance.” He turned to Linda. “Why did you? Why did you think we were recoverable?”
“Simple,” Linda said with a smile. “I saw your prison records! You two took advantage of that time to improve yourselves! Both of you finished high school, neither of you had any disciplinary issues, and you even qualified for early release! That convinced me you were worth the effort.”
Rico grinned. “Well, we’re both grateful! Every day!”
Linda shook her head. “No need for that. It’s just good business to make full use of available resources.”
She stared off into the distance, as the buses crested a hill and dropped out of sight. “The old system’s answer to lawbreaking was jail time. It was like sending people to crime college; amateur criminals would learn from expert criminals. They came out far more dangerous than they went in. It’s much cheaper to rehabilitate than to throw someone away. And if they can’t be rehabilitated…it’s best to just get rid of them.”
Stuart shrugged. “Harsh, but true.” He tapped Rico on the shoulder. “Come on, man, we got other work to do.” Rico followed Stuart as he walked away. “Have a good evening, Mrs. Carlyle.”
“You too, guys.” She watched them walk out of earshot, then muttered to herself. “And if no one will take them off our hands…there are other fates.”