“So we’ve reached this point in our partnership, huh?” she said. “The critique phase. I guess that means you’re comfortable around me now.”
He threw her another glance. “It’s not a critique. It’s called clear and open communication. Can’t have a partnership without it. I know it must bother you, having to talk about your feelings.”
She looked out the windscreen; she wasn’t getting drawn into another argument. She had to admit she was beginning to feel a little melancholy for past days, of working with Stanlevski. He never antagonized her like Mitch had been doing lately. Poking, prodding. Stan kept to himself and focused on the job. It made her work easier. Mitch was beginning to be equal parts focused on the job and focused on her. She didn’t like being the topic of his curiosity, his hobby, his own personal investigation. And she didn’t like the amount of time her mind was getting caught up thinking about his behavior. This wasn’t her. She was focused and driven and hardworking, not the distracted kind.
The rest of the trip to Bountiful was done in silence. Mitch focused on the road ahead, while Salvi looked out the passenger window at the landscape as it turned from the dark gray hues and neon lights of the city, to the muted colors of an autumn country town. And while they drove, the SlingShot raced past them as though trying to beat them there.
Salvi studied the tall silver gates of the Solme Complex. Cylindrical posts topped with spear-like ends, it was the most prison-like aspect of it. But that wasn’t the overall look the Solme Complex was going for. In order to be accepted by the people of Bountiful, and the outside world, this facility had to look different. It had to look secure, yes, but not frightening to outsiders. And it generally succeeded in that. The gate looked secure, as did the boundary fencing, but inside it looked like any other state-of-the-art industrial facility. A business that, according to the information Riverton had stored in their case file, supplied fresh goods, BioLume products, and a friendly, trustworthy, community of workers willing to help others, for free.
She glanced at Mitch. He sat clenching his jaw, eyes narrowed as he studied the perimeter, while the checkpoint guard scanned the Raider for contraband.
“If it was someone from the Complex,” Salvi said, eyeing the fences, “they’d have to be rostered on for service in the town. No one could just walk out of here without authorization.”
Mitch didn’t answer, instead he watched the guard carefully on the rearview camera footage screening on the Raider’s console. Salvi looked into her rearview mirror to watch the guard as he moved around to her side of the Raider. As she did, she caught sight of the bright red lipstick she wore. Pressing her lips together in thought, she wondered whether maybe she should’ve gone without today.
Something moving in the distance caught her eye and she looked through the windscreen to see a guard drone flying toward them. Mitch shifted his eyes to the drone then looked back at the guard again, who was now approaching his window. As the guard appeared, they exchanged a nod.
“Follow the drone to the parking area,” the guard said through the data-enabled silver helmet visor that covered his entire face. “Do not deviate.” The guard looked at Salvi then and back to Mitch. “And keep her with you,” he said. “Don’t go anywhere you’re not supposed to.”
Mitch glanced at Salvi, as she lit up her badge and flashed it at the guard.
“I can take care of myself,” she said. “Thank you.”
The guard seemed to find her comment amusing. “You haven’t met some of our residents, miss.” He looked back at Mitch. “Follow the drone.”
Mitch threw her another glance, then put the Raider in motion.
As they followed the drone she was impressed by how expansive the Solme Complex actually was. She’d known it was part prison, part BioLume manufacturing plant, and part rehabilitation center for the Serenes, but hadn’t quite appreciated the sheer scale of it. It was almost an entirely self-sufficient community. They made their own furniture and clothes, fixed their own vehicles and machinery. They grew their own fruit and vegetables. The only food sources they relied upon from the outside world were fresh meat and dairy products, as it was deemed inappropriate for their rehabilitation to have the Subjugates butchering animals or milking cows.
To the left of the main building, in the outer grounds, Salvi saw six huge silver teardrop-shaped silos connected to each other and then to a processing plant by a long silver pipe. Beside that were the farms that supplied the Serenes and some of Bountiful with all their food. In the middle was the main facility, a large hexagonal-shaped prison where the processing took place. Curved white panels layered the outside giving it a strange appearance like some kind of alien cocoon.
Behind the main building she could see the tops of the housing units for the processed Serenes, oval-shaped habitats that looked like white wicker baskets stacked on one another. To the right of the housing units were the vineyards. Beyond that were workshops for carpentry and the like.
“It’s a lot bigger than I realized,” she mused aloud.
“Yeah,” Mitch said. “Might take us a while to check everyone out.”
“Well let’s just start with the ones who had contact with the victim, huh?”
The drone started flashing its lights, indicating they were arriving at their destination. A Serene stood waiting for them, beige uniform and belt flapping gently in the breeze, almost the same color as the man’s skin. He smiled pleasantly and gracefully waved them forward. Salvi recognized him as the one Mitch had blocked on the sidewalk outside Stackwell’s house the day before.
Mitch pulled the Raider up and turned off the engine, staring at the Serene, who moved toward him as Mitch popped the doors.
“Welcome to the Solme Complex,” the Serene said, then walked around to Salvi’s open door. “I am Serene-41, at your service.” He bowed.
“Hello,” she said, getting out of the Raider. “I’m Detective Brentt and this is Detective Grenville.” They flashed their badges. The Serene, who looked to be in his late forties, about 5’8 and 150 pounds, smiled and bowed again.
“Mayor Solme is expecting you,” Serene-41 said. “This way, please.” He turned and began to make his way to the main building’s entrance. Salvi threw Mitch another look as he moved up beside her.
“Goddamn freaks,” he muttered.
As they reached the building, Serene-41 stood by the door waiting for them.
“This way,” he said, leading them into a hollow reception, bare except for a plain curved desk. No artwork, no seats, just curved walls and soft green BioLume lighting. A doorway sat along the back wall by the desk, but it was a second door to the left that the Serene led them to.
The Serene knocked lightly upon it.
“Enter,” a voice on the other side answered.
Serene-41 smiled, opened the door and bowed once more as Mitch and Salvi passed.
Attis Solme stood from his desk and walked around to greet them both. Like the rest of this building, his office was neat and tidy, all soft curves and gentle tones. The only thing distracting from the smooth lines and calmness was a small wooden cross that hung on the wall behind Solme’s desk, adorned with a silver, crucified, Jesus Christ.
“Detectives Grenville and Brentt,” Mitch announced.
“Yes,” Attis Solme said. “Detective Lieutenant Ford told me to expect you.” Standing at 6’ and about 260 pounds, Solme shook the detective’s hand, then turned to Salvi, softening his face as he shook her hand also. She gave a nod back, eyeing his pale blue suit and bolo tie, making him look somewhat like an old Texan rancher. “Heila and I go back a ways. She’s been a big supporter of what I’ve accomplished out here.”
Salvi and Mitch exchanged a glance. This was news to both of them.
“Will that be all, Mayor?” Serene-41 asked politely.
“Yes, thank you, Serene-41,” Solme said. “You are excused.”
The Serene left, closing the door as Attis Solme motioned for them to sit in two white rounded c
hairs positioned for guests.
“They call you Mayor?” Mitch asked as he took the proffered seat.
Attis Solme smiled. “Well, the Solme Complex is a community, after all. And it sounds a lot nicer than warden. Especially after they’ve been processed. It’s important they feel a sense of accomplishment. It’s all a part of their treatment, you see. We reward them for good behavior.”
Mitch nodded, while Salvi’s eyes caught on a stone statuette of Mary on Solme’s desk. The statue captured Mary from the waist up, looking gracious, gentle, chaste, her eyes turned toward the ground in servitude. At least, that was what Mary was supposed to look like. Salvi always took her for looking sad. But sad for what, she wasn’t sure. Sad at how her life turned out? How her son’s life had turned out? That she was known simply as the mother and nothing more? That she’d had to take a back seat to everyone else’s glory? That her job was simply to look gentle and patient and give the Christian girls an icon to follow? Who the hell was Mary, really?
“I believe you wish to interview some of my Serenes,” Solme said.
“And your Subjugates,” Mitch said.
“I understand.” Solme’s face fell serious. “I’ve been praying for the Gleamer family. Word is, Sharon’s death was quite heinous.”
“Yeah,” Mitch said. “Something along the lines of what some of the people in here did once.”
Solme gave a small smile. “I understand the natural reaction is to look here given the history of our residents, but I assure you only those sufficiently processed are allowed out of the Solme Complex and into the town. Our Serenes go through years of stringent treatment. This facility has been running for nine years and of that only the last three have seen Serenes released into the town’s service. Do you know what that means?” he asked.
“Tell me,” Mitch said.
“It means, generally speaking, and of course each case is different, that the standard treatment is seven years. The first two years here they are kept in solitary confinement. During that time, they deal only with their medical personnel, their psychiatric team and the guards. They are implanted with our special neural technology and undergo intense daily therapy. Extreme therapy. The following two years see them put to work in the farm and vineyard, all the while continuing the intense treatment. They only have contact with their medical teams, the guards, and now other residents. The next two years see them progress to work in the BioLume factory. There they come into contact with the people from the outside. Mostly it’s those delivering supplies and salesmen with orders. Again, all the while they undergo the treatment. It is only after that that they are allowed into town with an escort. For twelve months they must keep this escort.” Attis smiled. “So you see, Detective, that is seven years of supervised treatment.”
Mitch nodded, scratching his jaw. “So that means for the past two years some of your Serenes have been walking around free of escorts.”
Solme stared at him a moment, his face passive. “Yes. That is correct. And there have been no incidents.”
“Until now,” Mitch said.
“This was not one of my Subjugates or Serenes.”
“Do you know how many pedophiles and rapists manage to stay away from temptation for years, only to reoffend in a weak moment?” Mitch countered.
“Have they been implanted with our neural technology? Have they undergone years of the intense treatment that we offer?” Solme asked.
Mitch stared back at him but didn’t respond.
“Have they been chemically castrated to control such… weak moments?” Solme continued, analyzing Mitch carefully. “The Solme Complex has been running for nine years and we’ve never had an incident. Not even inside these walls. Trust me, our treatment is thorough. Our program is the best in the world.”
“How many inmates do you have here?” Salvi asked.
“We currently have a total of one hundred and sixteen, with more due next month. But only twenty-three of them are Serenes. Serene being the name we give to those who have been successfully converted. The ones unconverted, as you know, are referred to as Subjugates. They arrive here as inmates, but the Solme Complex subjugates them and turns them into Serenes.”
“So, you have twenty-three Serenes and ninety-three Subjugates?” Mitch asked.
“Yes.”
“The Serene that showed us in,” Salvi said. “He was Serene-41. How can that work if you only have twenty-three of them?”
“When they arrive, they are assigned a number. They keep that number through the process. Serene-41 was the forty-first inmate we had. However, his treatment went very well, and he was allowed to progress to a Serene more quickly than others. He’s one of our longest serving Serenes, in fact. We’ve given him the position of Serene Supreme. He helps to watch the others.”
“I thought you just said they all generally undergo six years of treatment and one year of supervision. They don’t all undergo the same level of treatment, then?” Mitch asked. “How can you be sure the treatment worked?”
“The Subjugates we receive come from different backgrounds and have committed varying degrees of crimes. Each must be assessed on a case by case basis and the intensity and length of treatment provided tailored to their individual needs. Serene-41 came to us as John Holden, a man convicted of many accounts of indecent exposure. He never physically harmed anyone, but he was obsessed with showing his private parts to women. He had a particular fetish for mothers out walking with their young daughters.” Solme smiled. “Perverse, yes, but he was never violent. He was easier to treat than some of the others here for more serious crimes, so he progressed through each stage more quickly.”
“Why was Serene-41 sent here?” Salvi asked. “His crimes are minor.”
“How does someone come here?” Mitch added. “Do you select them?”
“No, but we do assess each candidate before accepting them,” Solme said. “This facility, despite how successful it has been, is still fairly new. We are being watched by a lot of agencies, our reports reviewed with interest, but we are not yet accepted as standard practice by the federal authorities. Our treatment is considered a specialist program. Niche. And to some… controversial. Given what happened in the crash of 2040, there is a strong mistrust for neural implants, and the technology we use here is a step back in that direction. However, our success is slowly winning back the confidence of the federal agencies. But that’s why, right now, each prisoner must volunteer to undergo the program. Normally, the families hear about our services and apply to send the Subjugates here for treatment, part of their plea deal. The families are the ones who believe, and perhaps hope, that these men can change. That they can be saved. On rare occasions, such as with Serene-41, he volunteered for the treatment himself. He wanted desperately to be cured.”
“Can you tell us a little about the neural technology you use on the Subjugates?” Salvi asked. “I’m intrigued by the silver… crowns they wear.”
“Halos.” Attis smiled. “That’s what we call them.”
“Halos?” Mitch asked.
“Yes,” Attis said. “The halos turn them from sinners into saints.” He smiled again, a man impressed with his own cleverness. “Our society has been using similar neural applications for years to treat physical diseases such as Parkinson’s and dementia. However, we are the first ones to treat psychological conditions. Each Subjugate first undergoes neural imaging to map their brains. Once this has been done, a minor surgical procedure to implant the tech is undertaken with exact positioning according to their neural imaging. The implants are small but powerful and they sit inside the skull wall, on each side of the brain. The implant, thanks to the precise neural imaging, records electrical activity in the centers of the brain that control emotion, sexual arousal and the like. When the implants detect increased electrical activity in these areas, a signal is sent externally along the silver panels you can see on the outside of their skull. Heightened emotion, such as anger, or sexual arousal, will trigger a visual
alarm warning us that action needs to be taken before the Subjugate can act out.”
“What exactly is the alarm?” Salvi asked.
“Their halos will turn ice blue.”
“And how often do you find them turning blue?” Mitch asked.
“While the Subjugates are still in early treatment, often. But as time marches on, the more we hone our treatment to the individual, they trigger less and less. We’ve never had a code blue in a Serene. Ever.”
“Is that how you determine their graduation from Subjugate to Serene? The lack of code blue?”
“That’s the primary indicator, yes. We submit them to all sorts of stimuli and when they no longer react to it, we know we’ve won our battle and have exorcised the demon within them.”
“So, the neural tech you use is effectively just a warning system,” Mitch said. “It doesn’t stop them.”
“It can if required,” Attis said, sitting back in his chair.
“How so?” Mitch pushed.
“If required, if a Subjugate were to be considered a threat, considered dangerous, we could use the implants to shock them into submission.”
“Shock their brains?” Salvi asked. “Wouldn’t that be dangerous?”
“Yes it would, at high levels. The levels we would submit them to would be minor, equating to something similar to a brain freeze or brief fainting spell, but enough to halt their actions.”
“And have you ever had to use this measure on any?” Mitch asked.
“Rarely.”
“But you have had to use this method?” Mitch said.
Attis stared at Mitch a moment. “Once or twice a Subjugate has needed this method, but it is extremely rare. Normally our guards would handle such outbursts or misbehavior. But again, even that is rare in the later stages. Between the chemical castration we give them and our stringent therapy, they are well controlled. Their desire for evil has been fully suppressed.”
“Suppressed but not eradicated,” Mitch said, eyes fixed on Attis.
“Fully suppressed, meaning eradicated,” the mayor replied firmly.
The Subjugate Page 10
