by D. A. Maddox
“Which would be more embarrassing to you?” Nurse Reyes-Garcia asked. “Being nude before women…”
—who emerged from the very walls at that exact moment, young women and old; thin and sturdy and portly and athletic; fair and brunette and ginger; white and black and Asian and American Indian… They circled him, giggled at him, knelt in front of him and studied him.
“… or homosexual men?”
The women dissolved in a blast of pixels, and an eager parade of men rushed into the room through the door. He could feel the hands pull his arms to a T-stretch, more hands at his ankles. Pointing fingers, blown kisses. Appreciation. Derision. Whispered conversation he could not hear as they discussed his qualities and faults, their eyes never leaving him, exploring…
But—
“In front of women,” he answered. To be helpless before a woman he liked, or cared for, or loved—God, he’d never thought of it this way before, but… It would be the greatest terror—and fantasy—of his young life. It would be so awful, so difficult, so … hard.
“Very good, Buddy,” said Nurse Reyes-Garcia. “Next question…”
****
Emma Jo straightened herself, refused to freak out under the blinders, under the lie. She knew she had to save up for later. She had to play along and not complain. If she couldn’t handle this, she wouldn’t be able to handle any of it.
Officer Garcia sat before her in a chair, crossed his legs. Seemed to consider the young, digitally unclothed woman before him.
“Are you ready for trickier questions, Emma Jo?” he asked, as if there was more than one right answer.
“Yes, sir,” she said, trying to sound clear, collected. Maybe make up for the residual embarrassment of her recent more or less public meltdown. But this was just as bad, maybe even worse, although she knew that this was a sim. With effort, she said, “I’m ready, Officer Garcia.”
“You are a good student,” he said. “Which would be the greater humiliation? Being presented in this way before classmates…”
Here, the digital likenesses of no fewer than twelve fellow members of the senior class from Madison Prep materialized out of nowhere: Sally, Harlan, Bishop, Trinity, Deuce, Brad… Phones came out of back pockets. Flashes in her face. Delighted texting. George running a bit of facetime with someone who, perhaps, couldn’t make it?
Not real. Not real. Not real.
“—or teachers?”
And when they appeared—Mr. Jameson, Ms. Hillendale, even the younger student-teacher Andy Hadley—she couldn’t help but feel her whole body suffuse with hot blood. Their disposition was clinical, critical, academic, and damn it, they were fake, but…
But there was a reason behind these questions, Emma Jo knew, and it couldn’t be good, could it?
“Teachers,” Emma Jo managed at last, furious with herself as her emotions again began to get the better of her. “Please don’t do that.”
Officer Garcia continued, undaunted: “Which would be harder for you, performing on your knees naked with a horn in your mouth like an aquarium seal—or having your modesty auctioned to our audience so winners could swim with you, just as you have swum with dolphins?”
This bit of imagery, Emma Jo saw projected on the walls of glass.
She answered honestly.
****
“Come in front of the table, Peter,” said Nurse Reyes-Garcia. “Drop to your hands and knees.”
He obeyed, told himself it was a dust speck he wiped from his eyes. Drew in breath through his nose. I’m on my knees, he thought, hoping the others couldn’t see him this way. And goddamn it all, he was ramrod stiff again. What the hell was the matter with him?
“Which prospect would be more appalling to you?” she asked. “Being made to jerk off before bidders at a sperm auction, or allowing the bidders to milk the semen from you, taking turns until you squirt?”
Peter only saw the simulation of the second choice. The wall before him went mirror mode so that he missed none of it. Three women dressed as cowgirls and three men dressed as cowboys. One of the women put a pail on the floor between his legs, just ahead of his jutting cock. In the background, Johnny Cash sang “Ring of Fire.”
Before they could start, Peter answered, tempted to say the easier one, the one he thought he could almost get through without too much difficulty. Instead, he answered honestly.
****
The scream had come with the resolution of a question:
“Which would be more embarrassing to you, to have your body explored manually by strangers or by people you know?”
Strangers would be mortifying. But when the devil named Alejandro Garcia somehow knew—and had the flippin’ resources—to conjure her roommate Toni out of nowhere, Cassidy had simply lost it.
Her scream, apparently, had served as an adequate response to the question, because Officer Garcia then said, “Very good. Shall we continue?”
And eventually, when she could, Cassidy said, “Yes, sir,” because doing so was the only way to make Toni go away.
****
Nurse Reyes-Garcia went to each one, in order of finishing, and removed their headsets: Cassidy, Buddy, Emma Jo, and finally Peter, still on his hands and knees in front of his table.
“Congratulations,” she said to them. “You have made it through. It is now official. On Monday, upon the completion of our program, you get to return home instead of having to face real trouble, which is all to the good. Your school will be happy to receive you again the following day. You should be pleased.”
She knew better than to expect any celebration out of them. They were through the first shock, but they were feeling it. And that was well, in the end. They were not here to have a party.
“Come, my clueless young fap-bandits. I think that you are entitled to a—what is it called?—group hug.”
The proclamation of their success hadn’t inspired them to move an inch.
The invitation to hug each other, however, did.
Chapter Six
Conspirators
Toni DiFiore checked herself in the mirror, finding her chocolate-brown hair nice and bouncy, her makeup understated but pretty, her smile easy and unaffected. I don’t feel guilty, she told herself, primping her hair with her fingers. I didn’t break the law.
Well, maybe she had with the camera. Hadn’t been caught, though, had she?
Nor had she been dishonest with the prosecutors, and she didn’t think her information had been particularly damning either to Cassidy or to Emma Jo. She’d told the truth. She’d seen quite a lot of the Dare Dungeon Chat, fell for it as legit (same as everyone), witnessed Emma Jo’s participation in it, and seen Cassidy go out into the hall to run outside and do her part as well.
The e-mail had come on Monday, from “Counselor Paige Lavallee, Office of Behavior Reformation.” The first line had read, The United States Department of Justice requests your assistance in the judicial correction of Cassidy Lee Harper, should she be convicted of the charges filed against her. Are you and Miss Harper close? Does the prospect of such service interest you?
This, Toni expected, was a consequence of listing her orientation as bisexual in her original college application four years ago. She knew nothing specific about the sort of “corrections” transitional offenders were put through if they got busted doing naughty stuff. There were rumors that the punishments, quite often, were made to fit the crime. Tempting, but…
Her first answer had been no. She’d have to share a room with Cassidy for the first semester of school at least. She went on to inform Ms. Lavallee—God, that name was familiar—that she liked Cassidy well enough, but she was having trouble establishing rapport with her as her “big dorm sister.” She’d never be able to mentor her if she volunteered for such service. And she’d feel bad. On top of that, she wasn’t particularly of the opinion that Cassidy and the other freshmen had done anything wrong.
But Toni had also provided Ms. Lavallee her contact number as a gesture of goodwill.
She didn’t want to get into trouble.
The following day, the actual “big dorm sister” at Alpha Chi, Farah, had informed her that both Cassidy and Emma Jo had been given a new room assignment for the remainder of term—together. The order had come from Dean Turner. There had been no explanation.
So, Toni didn’t have that to worry about anymore. By then, she had recalled where she’d heard the name Lavallee before. And Cassidy Harper was so pretty, a true darling in every sense of the word. Temptation and regret began to gnaw at her.
On Wednesday, the texts started:
You won’t be asked to do anything hurtful. As a volunteer humiliator, you’ll be in charge of a bit of harmless embarrassment and fun. From you, it’d be like giving her Hell Day after all. We could get strangers for this—or you could at least give her a familiar face to look to during her corrections. Remember, all on the hush-hush, Toni.
Yes, as per the original e-mail warning. Now she had a chance to reconsider. Whatever she decided, the correspondence was dead secret under penalty of law.
And later: When she’s back at school, she’ll pretend it never happened. She’ll have to, same as you. I won’t lie. We want you for this, Toni. Your backstory with her, short as it is … is important.
Toni answered. She had to. You couldn’t just ignore—or block—the United States government. But she’d been noncommittal. Yes, she liked Cassidy. She’d prefer it if Cassidy liked her back before or if they did anything about it.
You will be given specific instructions. Everything required of you would be perfectly legal. It would be just. Assuming she’s convicted, of course.
Toni dithered. She didn’t know how to respond.
Your parents have given their consent, Toni. Call them.
Government service, she thought. Maybe Cassidy will even understand.
You’d be helping her through, Toni. Down the line, she’ll be grateful.
And, before she could think herself out of it again, she texted back, Okay.
Now, it was getting on toward six o’clock on the evening of Cassidy’s conviction. She’d gotten the news from Lavallee herself almost right after it happened. She’d been told to get ready.
The anticipation was exciting. Toni had been ready, all packed, for more than half an hour. Counselor Lavallee was coming to collect Toni herself, and she could be here anytime. She checked her bag again, just to be sure she hadn’t forgotten anything important.
When the time came, she wanted to look her best.
****
Kevin Carter waited for her under the Tree of Knowledge. Sierra had made promises. Meeting him here at 7 PM when “court day” was over had been one of them. It was 6:50.
She’d better come. Kevin was not a man used to being stood up, even when it wasn’t a date. Damn sure he wasn’t going to take being stood up by a sophomore. Not even Sierra, whose family came from money and who was capable of all kinds of strange shit with the school’s technology.
She’s got an “in,” he thought. She can’t just hack university firewalls and encrypted records without help.
Oh, and there she was. Unlike Kevin, she was out of uniform, striding his way in a perky red blouse and blue jeans, cute little felt boots, the curtains of straight jet hair over her cheekbones bobbing in step with her. She hadn’t a care in the world.
Kevin had come early—straight from class, in fact. He was uneasy, no denying it. If those kids really went to jail… If he and Sierra were ever found out…
She plopped down next to him, patted his knee.
Kevin drew back. That was, technically, below-the-belt contact with the opposite sex. They’d need a room if she wanted to pat his knee (or anything else).
“Ready?” she asked, unfolding her iPad.
“If you have something to show,” Kevin slowly said, “then that’s that. They really went down in court today.”
She smiled. “Oh, I wish I could have seen it,” she said. “Heard there was crying, begging, all that good stuff. Check it out.”
She flashed him the screen. On it, a defiant-looking Emma Jo Swanson held up her booking number, her eyes pooling with disbelief and defiance. It was … everything Kevin Carter had wanted when they’d first started talking about doing this. Just that picture—of any of the women he had chosen for the Dare Dungeon—would have been enough.
Sierra had chosen the men, including the man-pussy, Buddy Zimmer.
“I’ll have a recorded feed of all the sessions, too, just like I said I would.”
This is real, Kevin thought. She was really able to do everything she’d said she would do. He hadn’t counted on much more than getting to see a couple of pretty girls streaking, truth be told. Good for a laugh among friends.
“Still want to see the footage when I get it tomorrow? Can’t say exactly when it’ll be.”
“Yes,” he said, his voice husky with expectation.
She leaned against him a little. “They’ll be so traumatized,” she said. “It’ll be so hot.”
“Yeah.”
And, there again, the thought: What if we get found out?
“Let me…” he started, forcing the thought down. “Let me see that Cassidy bitch.”
She thumbed past Emma Jo, past Peter, and past Buddy to the first mugshot—Cassidy Harper, a thousand times more defeated in her pic than Emma Jo in hers. Softly, Sierra said, “You like her like that, don’t you, Kevin? It’s okay. I do, too.”
“Yeah,” he agreed, his voice still weak. “Fuck. I can’t help it.”
“Don’t try,” she said. “Kind of looking forward to that boy Peter getting his, myself.” Then she shut the iPad. “And look, you promised to put in a word for me and my story at the lit magazine, right? How about you, Kevin Carter? Do you keep your promises?”
Kevin was one of the slush pile filterers at Eddas Write Now. He sat back. “Don’t worry. I got you. It’s a good story anyway. Not sure what Max was thinking, slushing it.”
That much was a lie. Sierra’s story was a heap of shallow sophomoric shit—like most of his own. Social relevance, parallelism, symbolism, allegory, global microcosm: check, check, check, check, and check. Academic fodder, the both of them. The only thing either of them needed was an idea someone would actually want to read about.
Professor Shirk would get it in. He loved academic fodder.
“I’m not the worried one,” Sierra said. “Go ahead. Tell me. What’s up? Not like I don’t already know.”
“What if we get busted, Sierra?”
“We won’t. Listen, I know we won’t. For that, you’re just going to have to trust me.”
I hardly know you, he thought. Trust takes time. Information, too.
“Okay, track with me a sec, tough guy,” she challenged. “You made sure to be seen in the common room, right? While the Dare Dungeon chat was still going?”
“Yes,” he said. “I made sure everyone saw me. No worries there.”
“No worries at all,” she corrected him. “You have an alibi tight as a piano wire. Anyway, nobody’s going to bust you because there are people that won’t let anyone bust me.”
Kevin snorted. “And people tell me I have a high opinion of myself. Sierra, if the wrong people find out about this, we’re both screwed. The machine doesn’t care who you are. Just ask Senator—”
She stood to leave. Leaned forward and kissed his forehead. Which was fine. Couldn’t get in trouble for that.
“I am the machine, you big doofus,” she said. “No stress. And get ready for one hell of a show.”
****
Tamara Gibson wrenched open her computer.
“Fuck,” she said, leaning forward to put her face in her hands. Then, eyes upturned to her apartment ceiling, “Fuck!”
It wasn’t just that she had lost the case. She hated losing cases—her track record for acquittals was near 80%, which was almost unheard of—but she could have borne it if that had been the only thing. Nor was it just that those poor, dumb, naïve kid
s were about to get unjustly pummeled by the system. It happened all the time. Tamara could scrape off that mess, too, and move on. But finally, after wishing for the opportunity since the very first day of Consequences, Live! she’d had a chance to face down the system and deny the show their presumed—their expected—pound of flesh. And they’d gotten it anyway.
Somebody set those young women and men up. There was no doubt. The Dare Dungeon. Dentists had confirmed both halves of the face were probably college aged.
Their protections were so strong, so deeply encrypted, it was like a rival government had done it. But investigators had looked into that, too. Everything was being checked out. Except…
Except…
Except us. The system at home.
The show.
Tamara clicked on the power button, eyes brightening for the first time all week.
****
Paige Lavallee stepped out of her car in front of the sorority building, her pantsuit pressed, hair pinned back, briefcase with the contract still in the car. She’d gotten the ones from Toni DiFiore’s parents digitally, but she’d get the one from Toni herself over a bit of late dinner, wherever she chose to go.
She texted Sierra: If you see me, don’t make a thing of it. Just stay inside.
The front door opened. Out of it emerged Toni herself. Must’ve been watching from the window.
She texted Sierra again: Good job on everything. Very happy. She added an emoji or two, much as it crushed her very soul.
And Sierra answered: Thanks, Mom.
Chapter Seven
Medicine
The walls, which had gone to mirror mode during the interview, reverted to black glass. To their left, the glass again showed the countdown timer: 0:30. On the right, the Pay-Per-View count was now up to 205.
Nurse Reyes-Garcia moved in, gently broke up the group hug she had permitted, one set of clinging hands at a time.
No tears. There was a certain fortitude, Buddy found (rather to his surprise), in being part of a group that shared the same suffering. There was even some tentative smiling, and that seemed only natural as well. None of them were going away for two years. Best of all was the comforting smile from Emma Jo, which he returned. Both of them had yet to take their promised medicine, but at least neither would have to do so alone.
