My thanks and more to Prosecutor M. who not only edited this work but was the inspiration for it as well. She knows who she is...
"Open file, case number 10212." Sitting at my desk I watched as a hologram appeared showing me a man, approximately forty years of age, his brown hair worn unfashionably long, his blue eyes warm though he seemed to look away rather than forward. He stood 5' 10", 165 pounds, rather average at first glance as I spoke yet again saying, "Report," and with that a mechanical voice replied....
"Name: Jonathan Samuels, occupation: author, crime violation of Statute Two, purveyor of words used to excite and inflame the public, sentence death or reeducation based against the findings of prosecutor M. and the ruling of the Council."
I continued to look at the face before me, the graphics as clear as if he were standing directly in front of my desk as I spoke softly, "Breaking the code is the second most serious offense you can commit next to murder Mr. Samuels. What was it that you said?"
"Download files, all images and material pertinent to case," and seconds later I slipped the drive into my bag, preparing to leave for the night. It had been a long day in the judicial office and I was ready for a quiet evening at home. I wasn't fooling myself; I knew full well that I would spend a great deal of it pouring over the information requested in anticipation of meeting Samuels for the first time tomorrow morning. First impressions were still important, even in the year 3042, and his could mean the difference between life and death.
I arrived home, in the private transport I was now privileged to use, thanks to my recent promotion to lead Prosecutor. It gave me a chance to relax instead of being forced to exchange empty smiles and meaningless hellos with other strangers using the public shuttles.
Looking out the window I couldn't help but wonder, "Why me, why this case?" Most of the prosecutions I had been assigned to had involved an actual act against society, usually spawned by greed or malice. The three dimensional character I had viewed seemed incapable of harming another yet he now stood on death's door, a sentence I very well might have to recommend.
I walked into the master bath, "Shower, full blast, 104 degrees," and with that I slipped out of my clothes, allowing the android to pick them up where they would be cleaned then laid out to wear again the next morning. The standard uniform was simple, the smock blended in with all the others and provided a covering that neither confirmed nor denied anyone's gender. Every man, woman and child wore a variation of the garment, enforcing the same gender neutral attitude.
Physical contact had proven to be the downfall of civilization and early in the millennium, when I was just an infant, it had been banned along with all forms of written and visual stimulus. This was the reason behind Statute Two.
As I stepped from the shower into the warm drying tube, I closed my eyes for a moment enjoying the sensation. As I opened them I caught sight of my reflection in the shiny surface of the drying tunnel. It was the only reflective piece in my home big enough to see my entire body.
Green eyes looked back at me. The eyebrows above the eyes were dark as was the short hair that was cut in a unisex style that was standard among government employees. Fitting in was the key to survival in this day and age.
But viewed objectively I thought I looked pretty enough. I remembered seeing outlawed photos in past case files, and thought I could look just as nice as some of the women. My eyes traveled down the reflection taking in the larger than average breasts. It was something of double edged sword. Personally, I liked them, but they made it harder to hide the femaleness of my body. My nipples were pink, soft in the warm air while my stomach was softly rounded, as were my hips and bottom. I wore smocks bigger than necessary to help add to the asexual look so I couldn't be suspected or accused of inciting others.
As I took in my form, I wondered, as I often did, why viewing it would be seen as arousing another to engage in activities which the state had deemed unlawful? I shook my head, trying to clear it, reminding myself of my role and that the law was clear on the matter. The only release, as far as the physical body was concerned, was only allowed through the cerebral stimulation program imbedded in each citizen, activated when they were of adult age. I had never utilized the neural stimuli process though I had heard others in whispered tones mention the enjoyment to be found within. It had been my work that provided me with the greatest pleasure and up until now, there had been no need for any other.
Sitting down on the bed, my robe lying across it I took the drive and inserted it into the audio/visual monitor and said, "Play". After slipping into the garment, I engaged the food replication device to provide dinner and then I listened to a voice pour out from the speakers, the sound almost hypnotic in tone...
"Sometimes there are stories that write themselves, while at other times it takes considerable time and effort to create something of substance. I've always found that when it comes to my own desires, my own fantasies the latter is the case. I don't know why, I guess when it's someone else's desires I do not judge, do not censor my words nor my thoughts.
When it comes to me, though, I choose each word carefully, dissecting each sentence, each phrase, until finally I grow weary and usually just finish, never really allowing things to progress to their natural conclusion. I'm unsure why I think this one will be different, I'm not really sure why I'm even writing it, but perhaps I'll discover that and even more by the time I'm finished. This is a tale of pure fiction, the characters have never met, know nothing of the other's existence, but soon their paths will cross and nothing will ever be the same again."
I was unsure how long I sat there, listening to his words, the story he wove like nothing I had ever dared dream of. All I knew was by the time he had finished, and the mechanical voice asked if I wished to proceed to the second piece of evidence against the accused, I felt feelings unlike any I had ever felt before. It had been like listening to someone recalling a dream, yet the images seemed so lifelike, so...dare I say, erotic, that I had felt a conflict of emotions, feelings I'd never thought I might experience, simply by the sound of his voice.
My food lay cold, still waiting as I stood from the bed, my legs wobbly, my heart racing as my mind envisioned that which I had just heard. "Prosecutor M., do you wish to continue?" The voice was so cold and mechanical compared to the one I had been listening to. That voice, those words, had started a slow burn that was as welcome as it was unexpected.
"No, pause and wait," my voice trembling along with my body, a trait as unfamiliar as the feelings coursing through it at the moment.
That night when sleep finally came it was filled with vivid dreams painted with the words of the mesmerizing voice. When I awoke the next morning it was to sweat-filled sheets and half-formed memories which left my body hot and wanting, though unsure as to what.
The reflection in the drying tube that morning resembled more closely the outlawed photos, instead of my usual self. My face was flushed, my nipples were hard and my breathing was still heavier than normal. It was...arousing. I quickly dressed and then sent a missive, directing the penal system that I would meet with the prisoner and his court appointed clinical psychologist at ten that morning. Today would play a pivotal role in his future and though I was at a loss to say why, I felt compelled to insure that his future would last beyond this day.
By the time I arrived, a room had already been prepared, and it was only seconds later that the door opened and in walked two others, one of them dragging a third man whose legs seemed to be inoperable as the hulking figure not so gently deposited the prisoner in a seat across from me.
The man in the chair bore no resemblance to the one I had seen in the holographic image only twenty four hours ago. He looked as if his physical presence and his mind had been destroyed over time. The pitiful figure resembled one of those who had been unlucky enough to live through the urban wars waged hundreds of year ago. His body emaciated, while his eyes were unresponsive to anything or anyone.
As I sat there taking in the spectacle, I saw the look of complete disinterest on one man's face along with an almost sadistic glee in the eyes of the other, the guard. He was holding some form of remote, and it was only then that I noticed how he was looking at me, having seen my interest in the object in his hand.
His voice was almost a deep growl saying, "This is to insure that the infamous Fantasy Writer here doesn't get any ideas as to acting up. Isn't that right, my good man?"
He pressed the button, the leather collar around Samuels neck lighting up, an electrical charge surging through it, and to my horror, the individual in question didn't even blink, simply sitting there, almost comatose in his lack of response. I looked directly into the prisoner's eyes and finally I understood.
Turning my attention to the other man I spoke tersely, "I assume you are the case worker for this subject. He's obviously under heavy sedation. What has been prescribed, to what levels and why has it been administered?