Thomas Dean The Institute: Pt 5 Figures on the Ledger: Tits and Ass
When Father surrendered me to the Institute to secure a business loan, Dr Trystan Throop, an energetic, young physician with a fringe of grey hair creeping into her scalp who examined and accepted me into the Institute, explained the law, "Your person, your body, your mind is The Institute's property. You're just another bare ass on our books with one right: to accomplish the task The Institute assigns you."
Then surrendered as property to The Institute by Father, I had been caught in a downdraft, one of many victims of the collapse of the era of freewheeling spending and liberal bankruptcies. Now with personal guarantees of loans backed by a commitment to servitude, I found myself on a crew sent out to enforce The Institute's rights to repossess delinquent debtors and runners whose obligations the Institute had bought. In my position on the crew, I had a right to accomplish the task by whatever means possible. I had neither the right nor the opportunity to moralize.
I may have been thinking of that when we, my crew, arrived at our forward base in River Bend in two vans. On our first stop, at an isolated farmhouse outside town, we exchanged our double trailer truck which would bear our cargo back to the Institute for these less conspicuous vans and a sedan. Our forward base was hidden in an old house on a tree lined side street surrounded by towering, neatly trimmed hedges. A button on my electronic notebook opened the hidden doors to access the basement of the house. We drove straight into an underground chamber far larger than the house above. When the vehicles came to a stop alongside a heavy door with an eye slit, the access gates closed behind us.
The crew, dressed in a medley of fashionable styles taken off indenturees, hopped out of the vans to assemble on the sidewalk. Using recycled clothing taken from Indenturees on these missions saved the Institute money. Efficiency and economy were the Institute's watchwords. Eventually, these garments would be resold in one of the Institute's Thrift shops.
With my crew on this round up in River Bend of debtors and runners, I had two old hands my sister Jane and Cliff, both had been with me on this crew awhile, Mary, an old hand, reassigned to me and two newbies, Elm and Logan. A capture crew ferreting out elusive runners who escaped bondage and dodging debtors must as Mary told the newbies after a demonstration of handling an uncooperative subject, "depends on absolute loyalty to each other and the mission. We share everything. Our commitment to protect each other must be as strong or even stronger than our dedication to the mission."
How had Dr Throop during my intake physical put it in a cadence? "After a time // you may find // The Institute captivates your mind// You belong to The Institute// that is certainly true // but also that it belongs to you."
Certainly, however poetically put, the words were appropriately inspiring, but with half of my old crew transferred to other duties, I had to conceal anxiety as I looked over the team formed up on the sidewalk in front of the entrance.
Our boss Captain Tim arriving in the sedan waited for me to form up the crew on the sidewalk. Joined by Captain Tim, the only one of the elite crew assigned to recover Institute property wearing the Institute's grey security uniform, I explained or mission, "Listen up people!" I called for the crew's attention. Comparing petit Mary's rounding belly to my sister Jane's wiry lean frame, while I waited for silence, I was puzzled. Though Mary was an old hand, she was newly assigned to my crew. Why had the institute used security personnel in its Surrogacy program? I wondered, one of the many natty incongruities I had already encountered on this mission.
When silence fell, I continued, "We're an elite crew on a routine mission. Starting tonight we'll haul in the usual suspects, repossessing college students who overspent their allowance, single mothers who didn't surrender when requested, overextended businesspeople, no one special we expect a fight from, but still detained people can be unpredictable..."
Routine? I wondered. Before the crew set out in a truck pulling two trailers, Captain Jim and I had been briefed personally by Dr Philip Crenshaw, the Institute's chief medical director on the importance of our mission, "Officially your elite capture crew is out to round up runners, indentures and slaves who escaped from their terms of bondage as well as delinquents those debtors pledged their persons as security for a loan. In point of fact, you are on the trail of Bernie and Brigit, the elusive odd couple. You should train your crew accordingly."
I sighed. Our search for Bernie and Brigit in this college town of young people over-spending their parent's money enjoyed the highest priority. A security system which required absolute loyalty cannot brook betrayal.
Opening the inner door, we found ourselves in an airlock, a holding area. Once inside, I asked for a volunteer. Receiving none, I looked around and made a choice purely whimsically. Or was it made on intuition? I decided to appoint Elm, the short slender newbie on the crew. Despite a short stature, neatly coifed Elm, fresh out of the Institutes' security school, stood out. In the attire she had selected, a crisp business suit dark pants, jacket and even a vest over a white blouse, she fit the image of one of those bankrupted businesswoman gone bust we routinely haul in for non-payment of debt.
Noting the holding area created by a cyclone fence, I explained, "We place detainees in there, pending examination and identification. Mary, you show--uhm," I pointed to Elm, "Elm inside the accommodations for newly apprehended indenturees."
In a gentle tone, Mary simply took over. Requesting Elm's jacket and vest, Mary told Elm to "place your hands on the back of your head." A quick pat down followed.
In an aside to the crew, Mary, as she examined the jacket and vest, explained, "Before you pat down, have the subject remove outermost garments, jackets and vests." To Elm, Mary offered a compliment, "Those black boots go nicely with your outfit. I'll need you to take them off and the white anklets, too." In an aside to the crew, Mary, holding the boots upside down and banging them together, noted, "It's harder for a runner to run without running shoes."
I ordered Mary to secure the holding pen. "Ordinarily, we don't bind the hands of indentures who come along voluntarily, but never leave a detainee unattended. Mary, remain with your prisoner."
Behind the next door, led the crew into the processing area. "Here we inspect the newly detained person, confirm the identity of the detainee and photograph the detainee."
I messaged Mary to bring in the prisoner. Reporting in with barefoot Elm bubbling and giggling in tow, Mary at my signal from me demonstrated the intake procedure. While Mary explained the usual procedures, Captain Tim retreated to his office in the recesses of the building; I took up the desk in an adjacent office next to another office which boasted of a gynecological examination table.
"To safely inspect the detainee requires control over the person with a display of power. First," Mary introduced the topic, "Never in-process more than one detainee at a time. Groups are bolder than isolated individuals on their own. Second, never begin in-processing without another member of the team present for inspection and verification of the identity of the detainee. Jane, step forward."
Arms crossed, standing next to Mary, Jane looked on. Hugging Jane enthusiastically, Mary proclaimed, "our success -- and safety -- depends on absolute loyalty and dedication to protect each other."
Jane was a good choice. While Jane was my sister and I had inveighed with Dr Throop to get Jane on my team, Jane drew her share of the grungy, gut-wrenching work. Only yesterday prior to departure from Home Station at the Institute, during the crew's frolic in the shower, Jane had played the rambunctious detainee in an unannounced demonstration.
I wrestled Jane to the concrete floor of the shower. She kicked and squirmed. Squatting over her head to pin her to the rough floor, I found it hard to keep a grip on her slippery shoulders. Cursing and swearing, Jane bucked and attempted to rear up, curling her body to grab me between her legs, but my hold was firm.
