Xchange

by Stan Mason

  ‘We’ve been given orders to return the equipment to Lytham St. Annes,’ replied the man helpfully.

  ‘When did you know about this?’ asked Preston.

  ‘The orders came last night,’ came the answer as he walked back inside the jail to collect more equipment.

  ‘Who gave the orders?’ enquired the Governor irately.

  ‘I only obey them, mate,’ uttered the man bluntly. ‘Ask no questions, tell no lies!’

  Preston pressed his lips together in annoyance. What was the Government playing at? One moment they were operating at Lytham St. Annes... the next it was at Lancaster jail... and then it was being transferred back. More importantly, why was he being kept out of the loop? It was reprehensible! Although he had been appointed the Governor of Lancaster jail, it was as though he didn’t exist. Now he had no prisoners and the exchange programme had slipped from his grasp! He returned to his office in a fury intending to send out his own fax message to Jordan telling him what he thought of him and his promises. However when he got back to his office, he was stunned to see a visitor sitting on a chair staring up at him with an angry expression on his face.

  ‘Roberts!’ snapped Preston, recognising the man instantly. ‘What are you doing here? You should have been transferred to Blackstock jail!’

  The prisoner stared at him for a moment without speaking. He wore a rough tweed jacket hiding his prison uniform while the chain on one side of his handcuffs peeked out from under his sleeve. Somehow he had managed to free himself from the fetters which secured his ankles.

  ‘What you’ve done to me is against all humanity,’ he growled with fury in his voice.

  ‘Wayne Roberts!’ stated the Governor sitting in his chair behind his desk without any fear of the man for it was clear that he was old and exhausted. ‘How did you manage to avoid being transferred?’

  ‘I escaped from Blackstock jail,’ he admitted wearily, ‘but never mind about that., You owe me an explanation Governor. What happened to my body?’

  Preston reflected the file on Roberts from memory. The man was thirty-eight years of age. He had been a bank robber who had successful raided a number of banks together with three accomplices. They all carried loaded rifles but they were renowned for not having harmed anyone in any of their robberies. One day, during a raid, a cashier pressed the alarm button and, as the klaxon boomed out to warn the police and everyone in the vicinity that a bank raid was being carried out, Roberts panicked and started firing his rifle at all and sundry, As a result, he killed two cashiers and four customers in the banking hall. He was given a life sentence by the Judge with no chance of remission or parole during his lifetime. Now he was hunched over like an old man unshackled and unchained.

  ‘What can I say, Roberts?’ uttered the Governor sombrely. ‘I’m truly sorry for what happened to you. The Government scientists have embarked on an experiment whereby your body was exchange with an older person who once made the grade in the community.’

  Roberts stood up and removed his jacket, opening his shirt to expose his body from the neck to the waist. ‘Look at this body!’ he growled angrily. ‘I’m an old man. I’m a bloody old man!’

  Preston was moved by the man’s plight. Roberts may have been a murderer but he didn’t deserve to be dealt such an awful blow.

  ‘How long have I got to live. Preston?’ he enquired forcefully. ‘A day, a week, a month, a year? Not much longer to my mind! Yes... I killed some people and I’m being punished for it by a life sentence in jail but I didn’t deserved this! He pulled his shirt around his body and sat down wearily.

  The Governor opened the bottom drawer of his desk to remove a bottle of whisky and two glasses. He poured out the liquid and passed one of the glasses to the prisoner. ‘Here,’ he told him. ‘Drink this!’

  Roberts leaned forward and took the glass, sipping the whisky slowly. ‘I’m tired all the time,’ he bleated. ‘Sleeping most of the day! My mind’s the same but my body’s old . I’ve got trouble walking. How I managed to get here from Blackstock jail lord only knows.’

  ‘Why have you come back here?’ asked Preston somewhat puzzled.

  ‘To get the situation reversed,’ stated the prisoner bluntly. ‘I thought if I got back here I might be able to get my body back... or someone else’s young body. I certainly don’t want this one!’

  Preston sipped his drink slowly. ‘I’m afraid they’ve packed up all the equipment to take back to Lytham St. Annes,’ he explained. ‘There’s nothing anyone can do. I’m afraid you’re stuck with the body you have.’

  The prisoner began to cough long and loudly, trying to catch his breath. ‘That’s not the answer I’m looking for, Preston!’ he snapped when he had recovered.

  ‘It’s the only one I have,’ returned the Governor candidly. ‘You and I are the innocent parties in this debacle. I had no say in this exchange programme and I’m still waiting for someone to tell me of my role here. I’m in charge of a high security prison with no one to guard. Every prisoner here has gone through the exchange programme getting old bodies in place of their younger ones.’

  ‘It’s bloody disgusting!’ muttered Roberts irately. His hadn moved to his jacket pocket and produced a revolver, pointing it directly at Preston’s head. ‘Maybe this’ll help you focus your mind on getting me back m body!’ he threatened.

  ‘Put that away!’ snapped the Governor angrily. ‘You’ll not do yourself any good if you shoot me!’

  ‘You don’t think so!’ challenged Roberts curtly, swaying slightly on his chair. ‘I was sentenced to life imprisonment and I was willing to do the time. I didn’t deserved this. You’ve given me an old body in place of mine. That’s not right! You can’t treat people like that whatever they did in the past!’

  The Governor shook his head slowly in agreement with the other man. ‘I told you Roberts. We’re the innocent ones in all this. I’m held to ransom just the way you are.’

  ‘Except that you still have the same body.’ criticised the prisoner point-blank, still holding the pistol in both hands which remained pointed at the other man’s head.

  Roberts head suddenly rolled forward tiredly as he fought off falling to sleep, then it shot up as though he had been jolted by an electric current.

  ‘What use will it be to you if you shoot me?’ asked Preston coolly. He had faced death many times during his career as a police officer. He had adopted an attitude that when one’s number was up death was inevitable. Each time he had faced danger, he recognised that when death came it would be instant. Now he was faced with another dilemma. If Roberts pulled the trigger, his life would come to an end but he wouldn’t know anything about it. ‘Even if you fired that gun, you won’t get your body back,’ he told the prisoner, hoping that the man would see sense.

  ‘I’m not going back to Blackstock jail,’ he uttered irately, staring bleary-eyed at the Governor. ‘Prison’s no longer an option for me.’

  ‘What do you intend to do?’ asked Preston with an element of surprise. ‘You can walk out of here and hide somewhere in the community but the police will always be on the lookout for you. You’d be hunted down in due course.’

  ‘No I wont!’ returned the prisoner with the gun waving slightly in his hands. ‘This body’s made me too tired to go on the run. I’m finished... finished!’

  He turned the gun so that the barrel was placed inside his mouth and in the next second he pulled the trigger. Preston closed his eyes as the gun exploded with blood splattering all over the wall of his office. Roberts was unrecognisable as half his head had been blown off. The Governor leaned back in his chair in dismay shutting his eyes. Every man had a right to live whether he had committed crimes in the past or not. To take away a person’s body and leave him with no hope at all... even if his life was one in incarceration... was inhuman to say the least. He leaned forward to pick up the telephone re
ceiver and rang the Governor of Blackstock jail.

  ‘Holden!’ he reported when the call was answered. ‘I’ve one of your prisoners here. A man by the name of Wayne Roberts. Unfortunately he won’t be coming back to you... he’s dead. He shot himself with a revolved. I thought that you might like to know.’

  He ended the conversation quickly, leaving his office. He would arranged for the body to be collected and for someone to mop the blood from the wall. It was yet one more death due to the exchange programme and the Governor was less than pleased to have witnessed it!

  ***

  In an expansively bleak office in Whitehall, six people sat around a large shining oval table facing each other. They were the unofficial committee who had set up the exchange programme for scientific research and the advancement of specific individuals who could obtain a longer lease of life at the expense of inmates in jail sentenced to life imprisonment., Their role covered technical development, politics, science, medicine and administration. They had obtained a budge for the programme from the Minister of Science who had raided a Treasury fund what was held in case of emergency but, like the programme itself, he had kept the investment a secret, failing to inform anyone that he had borrowed from the fund.

  Individually, the members of the committee consisted of Jeremy Ratcliffe, the Minister of Science, Alan Jordan, the government agent, Donald Jones, the Undersecretary of State, Jessica Warren, who held a doctorate in science, Harry Price, the Government’s senior medical adviser, and William Devereaux, in charge of Public Administration.

  They began talking amongst themselves as Ratcliffe shuffled some papers in front of him before being ready to face the others.

  ‘Thank you all for coming,’ he began sonorously. ‘A great deal has happened since we first outlined the initiation of the exchange programme. I’m going to ask Mr. Jordan to advise us of the present position.’

  The government agent shuffled the notes he had in front of him for a few moments before finding his voice. ‘The exchanged programme has almost come to an end for the time being,’ he told them frankly. He paused and they all stared at him waiting for him to continue. ’So far we have exchanged just over one thousand prisoners for the same number of recipients who once held senior positions in the fields of science, politics, the arts, the military and industry. The number of prisoners who died as a result of the stress of undergoing the exchange, mainly from cardiac arrest and strokes, amounted to two hundred-and-ninety-three easing the pressure on our high security prisons. Subsequently, Lancaster jail is now completely bereft of prisoners having earlier incarcerated five hundred of them.’ He paused to think for a moment with five pairs of eyes raking his face. ‘We also took fifty women from Holloway prison and exchanged them.’

  ‘With other women, I hope,’ cut in Devereaux quickly.

  ‘Of course,’ returned Jordan, surprised at being asked such an obvious question. ‘They were exchanged with other women. We have now run out of inmates serving life sentences or very long sentences which had cause us to temporarily halt the programme.

  ‘Where do we go from here then?’ asked Jessica Warren.

  ‘There are many people in mental hospitals and sanatoria,’ continued the government agent curtly. ‘Obviously a lot of them are old and decrepit but some of the young ones are mentally incapacitated. As such, they’re available for exchange. The deaths that follow and the early demise of people being exchanged with other bodies will also reduce the stress on the exigencies in mental hospitals and sanatoria especially as one-third of the subjects are expected to die shortly afterwards. We also have many young people living on the streets in poverty who declare themselves homeless in a number of major cities. They could be used in the programme in future.’

  ‘We’re really digging deep into the depths,’ stated Jones bluntly. ‘I mean to say, there are very few people left who we can exchange, aren’t there?’

  ‘That’s why the programme’s come to a halt,’ responded Jordan sullenly. ‘But there are some people available, I assure you!’

  ‘How secret do we keep this matter now?’ intervened Donald Jones, pursing his lips as he asked the question.

  Ratcliffe took up the baton at this stage. ‘It’s been extremely difficult keeping the project under wraps. There have been some people prepared to blow the whistle for their personal views and reasons but they’ve been dissuaded or dispensed with in one way or another.’

  ‘In what way?’ enquired Harry Price with concern in his voice.

  ‘Every recipient of a younger body has been warned that the release of information on the project will invite instant death,’ revealed the Minister of Science avoiding answering the question. ‘It sounds extremely dire but we have to ensure that silence is maintained. More importantly there is a need for secrecy otherwise every old person in the country will be clamouring to become exchanged with someone who had a younger body. There could be riots in the streets if it became known in the public domain.’

  ‘Why don’t we close it down altogether now that we’ve run out of subjects to exchange?’ continued Price adamantly. He had never liked being involved in the programme and now he disliked it intensely. ‘Sweep it all under the carpet. After all, a thousand people have a new lease of life and we seem to have run out of subjects. Why not end it now before it gets messy.?’

  ‘It’s too good a programme to end,’ stated Jordan flatly. ‘We could go on for another few thousand people . Surely it’s worth it from all angles! There are many people who can contribute so much to the country but they retired when they got old. We can resurrect them. Giving them a new lease of life to continue their good work in favour of those far less worthy is essential. We haven’t touched the realm of mental patients, homeless people, gypsies, the scum of society as well as others who would take payment for having their bodies exchange. Do you know there’s a retired politician of over ninety years of age who’s standing as a candidate in a bye-election. He was exchanged recently with a prisoner serving a life sentence and he reckons that he has more than thirty years more. Why should we close down such a valuable programme?’

  ‘You do realise it could become a yoke around our necks and also for the present Government if such information leaked out,’ advanced Jessica Warren with concern. ‘It’s enough that there are a thousand or so people who have new bodies from the programme. They will, no doubt, heed the warning and keep the secret for as long as they live about the exchange programme but someone is eventually going to realise what we’re doing. When that happens, the media will have a field day and they’ll make their feelings known at the next election... especially when the opposition parties find out the truth and hammer the situation home to all and sundry.’

  ‘The television authorities have already penetrate Lancaster jail, taking photographs of the process,’ revealed Ratcliffe in an unusually calm manner. The room exploded with noise as panic ran through the people in attendance. However the Minister of Science held up his hands to quieten them allaying all their fears. ‘I’ve managed to put a lid on it... silencing them once and for all,’ he informed them.

  ‘In order to create confusion,’ declared Jordan taking up the reins, ‘we move the project from Lytham St. Annes to Lancaster jail. We were concerned that too much attention was being paid to the ASA but now Lancaster jail is empty, plans have been made to transfer the whole caboosh back to Lytham. We intend to continue the programme at a much more leisurely pace in the future but what we intended to do has taken place. So far, the recipients of the new bodies have benefited greatly while the number of life-serving prisoners has been very much reduced in number.’

  ‘And what about the prisoners whose lives have been shortened by death or age senility in the near future?’ demanded Devereaux sombrely.

  ‘I’m sure that many of them would rather pass on to the next world than have to serve many years in servitude in the same
jail,’ commented Jordan with a tinge of anger in his voice. ‘Do you think that suffering in Lancaster jail for thirty or forty years is an exciting prospect for anyone?‘

  ‘I suppose that was the merciful part of the equation in respect of this programme,’ uttered Jones shortly.

  Ratcliffe clenched his hands together in front of him in the silence that prevailed, deciding to put a swift end to the meeting. ‘Are we ready to vote on the motion that we continue the programme at Lytham St. Annes on a much smaller scale than originally carried out. If you agree, we shall list the names of mental patients suitable for exchange and those homeless people who live on the streets of Britain.’

  ‘Will you ask anyone for their permission to transfer their bodies?’ asked Jessica Warren.7

  ‘That will not be necessary,’ countered the Minister of Science. ‘We cannot accept refusal having explained the nature of the exercise.. We must focus on secrecy. Can I see a show of hands for those in favour?’ Everyone in the room raised their hand, some rather reluctantly, as Ratcliffe smiled smugly. ‘The ayes have it!‘ he concluded, turning to leave.

  ‘There’s just one question I’d like to ask,’ submitted Harry Price before the Minister of Science reached the door. ‘You say that Lancaster jail is empty. What’s going to happen to it?’

  Ratcliffe stared at him bleakly. ‘We haven’t decided yet. I supposed it leaves us with space to house other offenders.’

  The Governor must be wondering what’s going to happen to him,’ uttered the senior medical adviser accordingly.