The Vita Tanks

Background:

In the year 2014, the Universal Criminal Reform Act had been ratified as a response to ever growing crime rates around the country. New and unusual punishments had been contrived and the time-consuming court system done away with. Police could arrest without warrants and for various breaches which before would have been considered only minor. Judges could hear a case and decide its outcome without lengthy trials, without lawyers, and without recourse to higher courts. The new system affected everyone from age nineteen up, and though it was harsh, it was tolerated, partly because merely speaking out against it was illegal, and partly because it immediately reduced all forms of crime.

One form of punishment was the tanks, used for various minor crimes. The tanks had been perfected in 2011, and since they were made no one had ever escaped from them. They were 20x20x20 foot cubes filled with a liquid with unusual properties. It had the consistency of water but felt somewhat like silk or "heavy air." It was exactly the equivalent of human density so persons floated perfectly within it. It held oxygen and could be breathed, and it held water and nutrients so swallowing it meant that a person was fed and hydrated. Persons kept in the tanks never had to use toilet facilities, nor were they fed—adding to the doldrums of being penned in Tanks. This substance was called vita. But to breathe or receive nutrients from vita, one had to receive a special serum—taken orally or injected—which altered the structure of the lungs or the digestive tract just slightly. The alteration made it impossible for a person exposed to vita to leave it, otherwise they would "drown in the air" in only minutes. The use of vita as a prison option was quickly realized and the vita tanks were created to replace some ordinary prisons. No one could escape vita tanks and they were considered 100% secure.

The Story

Jen was a petite nineteen year old. Pretty but not beautiful, she was five feet tall, with a slender, pixie-like body. She was curvy, but a bit tomboyish in build, perhaps, with a 32-24-30 figure and b cup breasts. It was summer vacation and she was taking a break from her first year in college, visiting her aunt who lived in Florida, a thousand miles from where she had grown up. Her Aunt Donna was a middle aged but well maintained woman of forty-four, with short-cropped sandy blond hair. Larger and fuller figured than Jen, she was five feet eleven inches tall, with a 34-24-34 figure and a D cup bust. Both Jen and Donna were joggers and nicely fit, though not great athletes by any stretch.

On Thursday afternoon, Jen and her aunt had been riding downtown from Donna's suburban house in order to shop and maybe catch a movie. Donna had been looking for a parking space and missed a stop sign. She ran right though it without noticing and it was her bad luck that a police van had been behind her. The lights went on and she pulled over. The officer, a burly male with short cropped sandy hair, sporting shades, got out and approached her window. Already, Donna's heart was thudding. Cops had so much discretion now. He could issue her a warning, a ticket, or easily do more.

The cop said through her opened window, "Didn't you see the stop sign?" "I'm sorry," Donna replied. "I'm new to this part of town and a bit lost. I missed it."

"License," he said, his voice flat. She handed it to him and he scanned it with a small scanner device about the size of a PDA. "Says here you've had two moving violations in six years. I'm going to let the judge decide this one." He ordered the ladies out of the car. They got out. Donna was wearing red form-fitting pants, black boots, and a white blouse, simple and elegant. Jen was more conservative and wearing sneakers, blue jeans, and a T-shirt. Several pedestrians had stopped to watch, and Jen felt very nervous. She had never liked being the center of attention.

The cop ordered Jen to hand him her ID. She passed her license to him. He scanned it. "No moving violations or arrests. Good girl, but according to the Bylaw 2403-33, all persons in a vehicle share guilt, so you're going to have to come in, too." He got on his radio and ordered a tow truck to come and get Donna's car. Then he went on. "Donna Small, you're forty-four according to your license. You come under mature rules for transport. I need all your jewellery and underwear, as those have been used for bribery and weapons."

Donna frowned but nodded. Arguing or resisting would only make things worse, and rapidly. She removed her school ring and her watch and a silver bracelet and earrings and handed them to the officer. "I...I don't have to undress here in the street, do I?" she said, not wanting to, but she was too self-confident to actually show nervousness. Formerly a successful stockbroker, she had learned perpetual poise and a smooth manner years ago. The cop shook his head. "Not if you can give them to me otherwise." She reached into the waistband of her pants and snapped the hip straps of the delicate panties she wore and passed them to the cop. He took them and put them in a bag with her jewellery then said the blouse buttons had to go, as well. He took out a small knife, untucked her blouse, and smoothly cut each button from her blouse, leaving it open revealing the cleavage between her ample breasts covered by the flaps of the blouse. Donna snapped the shoulder straps of her bra and unhooked the front and pulled it off, handed it to him. He put it away, likewise. Then Donna tied the blouse together at the base, giving her peculiar sophisticated country girl look.

"Stand there, ma'am," said the cop and she took a spot beside the van where he could keep an eye on her. Then he turned his attention to the nineteen year old. "Jen Small, you are under twenty-six and so fall under the youth-risk transport provisions. I see you aren't wearing anything with buttons, but I need your watch." She handed it over, hands shaking. He then withdrew a scan-wand from his belt and had her spread eagle against the side of the van. He passed the wand up along each leg and her torso, very quickly and professionally. Satisfied she wasn't carrying any metal or any weapons, he said, "You'll have to change into a transport garment. Go into the van and grab one from the girl's locker. Leave all your clothes in there." Blanching, she made a little nod and stepped into the van. "You have one minute," said the officer. He closed the door, leaving her in the small, locked back room of the van. There were two lockers, one for transport garments for males, another for females, and a crate to hold things. Seconds were ticking. As fast as she could, she slipped out of her jeans and T-shirt, slipped off the bra and panties and pulled off her shoes. She counted in her head as she went, guessing she had maybe twenty seconds left. She had to hurry—persons that tarried were simply stripped forcibly and transported to court in the nude. She pulled a transport garment from the female locker—a black body stocking, "one size fits all," and pulled it on. It fit over her snugly. It was low cut in front and half backless, and had a muscle-shirt type of top that left her arms bare. When the cop opened the back of the van, she was just pulling on the soft ankle high black boots that went with the suit.

He curled his finger, indicating she should get out of the van. One of the watchers in the crowd catcalled. She looked at the road at her feet, trying to ignore the growing crowd. Lacking her auntie's confidence, this was doubly hard for her. The cop ordered her to turn around and fitted a pair of double cuffs on her, at the elbows and wrists, so that her arms were essentially folded behind her. The awkward position caused her breasts to strain at the front of the body stocking, and if she had to bend backward for any reason, they might pop over the top hem. Since the UCRA act, persons under twenty-seven were considered far higher risk than mature adults, and so were always restrained while mature adults generally were accorded some dignity while interacting with the cops—at least until they were found guilty of something. The cop held the police van's back door wide and directed the two women inside the windowless compartment. Then he went up front and started driving to the courthouse.

"It's just a minor traffic violation," Donna whispered to Jen, sitting beside her and looking scared. "I'm sure it'll just be a little fine and we'll be on our way."

"Oh, this is so embarrassing," said Jen.

"Hang in there, trooper," said auntie, and ruffled her short black hair. She forced and laugh and said, "Hey, the body stocking works so well on you, maybe we'll buy it after we finish at the court house."

Jen shrugged modestly. She was never sure about her auntie's humour.

****************

The courtroom was attached to the police station. When the police van arrived, Jen and Donna were led promptly to a waiting area with about a dozen other persons. A big male bailiff entered the room and told Jen, "Girls aren't allowed to speak in court, that's a mature adult privilege." He showed her a ball gag. "I'm going to have to put this on."

"But how can I defend myself?" said Jen, voice quavery.

"The judge will read the police report and decide the outcome."

Aunt Donna said, "Can we be tried together? That way, if I'm innocent, Jen can get off, too. And at least I can speak to defend myself." The bailiff nodded. "Yes, you can do that, Mrs. Small. But if you're found guilty, you share the blame. And Jen has to enter the court as your subservient."

"What's involved in that?" asked Aunt Donna.

He said, "She goes in on all fours, beside you, to show subservience."

"Get out!" barked Jen, who couldn't imagine anything more demeaning.

But Donna thought about it. Deep within, a kind of appealing tingle fluttered—dare she admist it to herself? She shook her head slightly to ward off the intrusive, uninvited thought and told Jen she was more worried about her being found guilty and what might happen than she was about a little embarrassment for Jen, so that's what she would have to do. Turning to the bailiff, she said flatly, "Fine." The bailiff fitted the gag on Jen.

One by one the others were called into the courtroom, and finally their turn came. Jen, feeling silly, got on her hands and knees and went in beside her aunt, going slowly. The court room was tiny as there was no need for lawyers and recorders anymore. Just the judge, two bailiffs, and them.

The judge read the charge. "Running a stop sign. Third moving violation in six years. What do you have to say?" Donna explained that she was distracted and lost. The judge replied, "I'm afraid that's no excuse. We must maintain safe roads, and you're driving is unsafe. I sentence you both to two years in the Tanks."

Jen's eyes grew wide and a feeling like ice swept through her. Aunt Donna said, "Two years? Please, that seems unjust." The judge nodded. "You're right. Three years." He slammed down the gavel. Then he paused to think about how they would serve their sentence. "Well, it's not a major or dangerous crime. I suppose you two can serve it in medium security and work off the cost of your incarceration as waitresses in a state sponsored club."

An aide leaned into his ear and whispered something.

"Oh," he said, looking thoughtful, then said. "My aid informs me the medium security prison is overcrowded. You'll have to make do with the Tanks."

Auntie's and Jen's eyes grew wide and Donna blurted, "The tanks?"

The judge shrugged. "Look at the bright side. You won't have to work at a club."

A bailiff escorted them down to a prisoner transport. He took off Jen's gag and they got into the back of the truck. It had no windows and the compartment that carried them was big enough for about ten people, but they were the only ones being transported today.

Jen looked very nervous. "My gosh, three years, auntie? For such a little thing? And the Tanks, of all things? Can't your husband help us."

Auntie looked dejected and said, "I don't think so. There is no appeal process anymore."

"I've heard of the Tanks, once. They say they're really bad. Aren't they like swimming pools or something and they keep prisoners in them in like solitary confinement?"

Aunt Donna said, "Sort of. You stay entirely under the vita. It's like water, but they give you a serum so you can breathe it, and unless they give you the antidote, you can't breathe air. They don't feed you since they just put nutrients in the vita. They sell pictures of the prisoners to collectors to pay for the incarceration."

"Pictures?" gasped Jen.

Donna nodded. "Yeah, there are cameras in each tank." Donna didn't know much more, but she had also heard rumors about the Tanks.

**********************************

They arrived at a large, windowless building on the outskirts of town. The bailiff opened the door and they were given into the supervision of a tall, stout blond woman wearing a guard's uniform with stripes. Two regular guards were with her—all female. "I'm Amy Jakes, the warden of this facility. Mrs. Donna Small and Jen Small, come with me." The women were led inside, a guard holding each of them with a hand gripping an arm firmly. In the building, which was very warm, they passed an outer office and were led to a processing room. There were several shower stalls along one wall. All were empty. On the opposite wall were several cabinets. The warden told the women, step into the stalls and close the doors. Jen glanced nervously at Aunt Donna who shrugged. What else could they do? She stepped into a stall and shut the door. Tall Aunt Donna's head and shoulders showed well above the door of the stall. Jen stepped into an adjoining stall and the door shut. Only her chin and up could be seen. The warden said, "Now, ladies, be kind enough to undress and hand the guards your clothes. You won't be needing clothes for quite some time." Heart thudding, Jen watched her pouting aunt slip out of her boots and hand them to a guard, then begin to take off other things. Jen did the same, slipping from the body stocking and boots. In a minute, she and Donna had handed the guards everything. The warm humid air of the shower room felt light and serious on Jen's bare body. Goosebumps from nervousness pimpled her skin, and her nipples had gone hard for the same reason. She felt tingly from the nervousness.

The warden handed them each a small bottle. "Rub your bodies from the neck down with that solution. It cleans and permanently removes body hair. Do not get it in your scalp or on your face if you value your hair and eyebrows." She chuckled.

"Ha ha," said Aunt Donna flatly. She opened her bottle and began rubbing herself down. Jen did the same. When they had rubbed themselves down, each in their separate stalls, the showerheads were turned on and in a minute the warm water sluiced over them washing the solution away. Jen was amazed to see her pubic hair entirely gone. With even the very fine, almost invisible body hair gone, she felt very smooth. Still displaying her tough attitude, Aunt Donna said, "Nice stuff. You should sell it at the mall."

"Ha ha, tough broad," said the warden. The guards handed them towels over the stall doors and the women dried off. They handed the towels back and each was then handed a white leotard of high cut, skimpy design. "These are not given to you for modesty," said the warden. "We're Tgoing to the tanks now. If you misbehave, you can be shocked through micro-fibres in the leotards." Understanding, they nodded.

Jen felt awkwardly and embarrassingly exposed in the leotard. It was white, felt like cotton, and showed the outline of her nipples. It was low cut in the chest and high cut all the way to her hips on the sides and had a thong back.

Aunt Jen must have noticed and told Jen, "Don't feel embarrassed, kid. It'll look great on you." She smiled encouragingly. Jen smiled back, trying to be brave.

"Step out and hold hands. Do not let go each others' hands or you'll be shocked," the warden warned. The women opened their stall doors and stepped out of the shower. They promptly took each others' hands. The guards and warden directed them through the next door.

On the other side was the Tank Room. "We have twenty-four tanks here, and are almost filled to capacity," the warden was saying as they walked down an aisle between the large tanks. Each one was twenty feet high, and the same wide and deep. There were twelve tanks on each side of the walkway. The back and side walls of the tanks were actually huge video screens. The cameras in the tanks were hidden. The first tank had a slender, nude red haired woman in her mid-twenties. She floated in the tank, almost in the middle of the crystal clear liquid, looking bored. She didn't seem to notice them as they passed. The video screens showed the woman from front, back, and side, like mirrors.

The warden said as they walked, "You'll notice each tank has video screens. The screens sometimes work like mirrors. Sometimes they will show images from other tanks. Sometimes they will show you other video piped in at our discretion, depending on what is going on at the time."

They passed another tank. A busty dark haired women floated near the front wall facing the walk. She was upside down, her feet toward the ceiling. The warden said, "The tanks can cause a feeling of weightlessness. Often you'll see people upside down in the tanks, hardly paying attention to up and down." The woman swam, languidly, along the front wall, keeping pace with them as they walked, studying the new prisoners, still observing them after they passed her tank.

Aunt Donna said, "How do people talk in the solution?"

The warden said, "Normally, you can't talk in the vita. But you will be given special collars that will allow you to talk. And speakers are set in each tank so you can hear things from guards or other people."

They passed the next tank. Two girls floated in the tank, each about Jen's age, watching videos on all three screens which showed girls from other tanks. The warden said, "These girls were cousins, seemed a shame to separate them, so they got to a share a tank for the duration of their sentence. They've been here two weeks. They probably don't know if they are in heaven or hell."

They passed two more tanks, both holding women in their mid-thirties or forties, one swimming avidly for exercise, the other floating around, watching the a porn video on her rear video screen. They stopped at the last tank.

"We are too full, so you two will share a tank," said the warden, turning to face them. "Guess you're lucky, since they were originally meant to be solitary confinement units." She pointed to Jen. "You, little brunette girl. Swallow this." She handed Jen a small vial containing a syrupy green serum.

Hands trembling, Jen said, "Is...is this the serum?"

The warden nodded. "Swallow it all. Don't make us have to shock the leotard."

Jen didn't want to, but there was no option, and she knew it. She pulled the small cork off the vial and tipped it into her mouth. It tasted like thick mint syrup. She closed her eyes and swallowed it, heart racing. Aunt Donna was watching her intently. "Curiously?" Jen wondered. "Interested?" It made her feel kind of creepy, that look auntie gave her. She handed the empty vial back to the warden.

The warden said, "In just a couple minutes you won't be able to breathe anything but vita, so don't get any funny ideas. Got it?"

Jen nodded.

"Slip out of the leotard, hand it to your guard, and step on the platform beside your tank."

Her hands were trembling almost too much to comply, but she grasped the shoulder straps and pulled the suit from her shoulders. Taking a nervous breath she blushed and slid the leotard down and off. Turning, she handed it to the guard, and noticed the tank opposite her. She had been so nervous before that she had not noticed it. Two more women of middle thirties years, both of whom floated near the front window, watching she and her aunt curiously.