By standing on tiptoe, gripping the bars and tensing her biceps, Melitta Kliss could just manage to catch a glimpse of the snow-capped mountains, twenty miles away, and the pale blue sky above them. Her calf muscles soon ached painfully, so it was all too brief a look, and it permitted her to see nothing of the intervening space between her cell and those far off peaks.

She sat heavily on the hard bed and stared at the floor of her 'eight by seven' room. With no way of measuring the time, other than by the passage of her world's sun as it tracked across the sky, the endless days were punctuated by just three events. A guard banged on her door just after sunrise and slid a tray through the small slit, banged on it again at midday, and then at sunset, the last meager meal of the day.

A stiff fawcett gave her access to a trickle of water, while a grime-encrusted bowl, with an unpredictable flushing action, took care of her bodily waste. She was allowed a visit to the showers and received a change of clothes once a week, soap and paper towels, once a month, and permitted to talk to no one.

This particular day had seemed especially long - the sky was overcast, so the sun had remained hidden. A strong, moisture-laden wind, blowing from the mountains, brought with it the first hint of winter. She shivered as it whistled through the bars and stirred her long hair - once dyed silver-blonde, but now streaked with dark roots and uncut for months. She reached for the thin blanket and wrapped it around her body, pulling the end over her head and over her nose. It stank! She stank! Her once long, carefully enameled, fingernails were broken and filthy. One of her teeth felt loose. She worked it with her tongue. She knew she shouldn't, but try as she might, she couldn't stop worrying at it.

With a heavy sigh, she lay down and stared at the ceiling. A large crack ran the length of the cell, with several lateral ones running from it to the walls. She closed her eyes and pictured the pattern - as she had on countless occasions. It reminded her of a map of the rivers near her home, on the outskirts of Jukan. A home she didn't know if she would ever see again. The thought brought tears to her eyes. She knuckled them dry, sniffed and sat up.

A knock on the door announced the evening meal. The tray appeared through the slit. Ravenous, she grabbed it and placed it on the bed next to her. A bowl of thin, colorless and tasteless soup, a small piece of bread, made with a course ground, gritty flour and a plastic spoon. She ate slowly, trying to make the ritual last as long as she could. Even so, it was gone in a few minutes. The guard returned an hour later and knocked on the door. She slid the tray through the slit and lay down. A few minutes later, the light in her cell was extinguished and she was completely alone, with just her dreams for company.

Three months earlier:

Tiva Pask pushed open the bedroom door and demanded, "Are you coming or not, Melitta?"

"Just a few more moments," Melitta replied, struggling with an eyelash, which seemed intent on attaching itself to its opposite number on her lower lid. She muttered and applied more adhesive, holding the mascara applicator lightly against it until it set. "There," she said, triumphantly, getting to her feet and slipping into her shoes, "all done." She turned around, slid her hands down her thighs to straighten her skirt, and asked, "How do I look?"

"Irresistible," Tiva replied. "Now, can we go? The boys are getting bored."

"We'll soon fix that," Melitta said cheerfully, and followed Tiva outside into the bright sunlight.

The journey into town was hot and dusty, despite the air conditioning in the ground vehicle Homi, one of the two boys, had borrowed from his father. They eventually reached the concert hall, where they were hoping to see 'The Savages', a band that was visiting Jukan, Casido's largest city, from the neighboring world of Aecida, and joined the long line outside the entrance. It wound around the back of the building and half way along the next street. They didn't have tickets, but that didn't matter. Gutta, the other boy, knew the doorman, and was confident he would sneak them in.

Three hours later, flushed and tired with the exertion of leaping up and down for the entire performance, they headed very slowly, with the rest of the audience, for the exit and a late meal at one of the numerous cafes that lined the street outside.

"What's holding things up?" Gutta asked of the man in front.

"They're checking everyone as they leave," the man replied.

"Checking for what?" Melitta asked, nervously.

"The usual," the man replied.

"But, why here?" she persisted.

"Lot of youngsters here, so there's more chance of catching one," the man replied. He seemed well informed on the subject, and added, "The older ones don't stay free by taking chances."

Melitta felt faint. "I don't feel too good," she whispered to Homi.

He turned and studied her face. "You don't look too good, either," he said. He tapped the shoulder of the man in front. "I need to get her outside," he said, firmly, pulling Melitta behind him as he pushed past. At the doorway they were confronted by a large man, encased in bottle green body armor, a high domed helmet, and the gaudy shoulder flashes of the Casido Security Police. "Where you think you goin'?" the officer growled.

"She's got heat exhaustion, I think," Homi muttered, avoiding the man's hard stare.

"Identity card," the officer said. "Hers too."

Homi removed his arm from Melitta's waist and pulled the plastic card from his breast pocket.

"You got yours?" he said to her, waiting patiently as she rummaged inside her bag.

"Get out of here," the officer said, after giving the cards a cursory glance and swiping them through a hand held reader. Handing them back, he looked past them, and growled, "Next!"

Later that evening, Gutta and Tiva left them alone. "You want to go to 'Lookout'?" Homi asked.

"Sure," Melitta replied, cautiously, "why not?"

"How do you feel?" he asked, tenderly brushing her cheek with his fingertips.

"I'm fine," Melitta replied.

"You're certain?" he asked. "I could take you home."

"I fine, now," she replied. "Honestly."

"Well, just as long as you are," he said, smiling. He started the turbine and moved the vehicle out into the traffic.

* * * *

The drive to Lookout Point - a popular venue for youngsters - took twenty minutes. It was crowded, so Homi had to drive the length of the parking area before he found a space large enough to park. He switched off the turbine, leaned back in the heavily padded bucket seat and slipped his arm around Melitta's shoulder. She moved closer to him and nuzzled his neck.

They were just coming up for air after one especially long and passionate kiss, when the interior was lit up by a pair of bright lights, which were moving slowly along the road. The Casido Security Police cruiser stopped across the front of Homi's vehicle and a small, but very powerful, searchlight swept across the windshield and back, forcing Homi and Melitta to squint. It was switched off and the driver's door opened. A tall officer climbed out, leaned inside to collect his card scanner, then straightened and approached Homi's side of the vehicle. Homi immediately opened the window, which had steamed up during their earlier activity and smiled warmly. "Can I help you, Sir?" he asked.

"Outside the vehicle," the officer said, without preamble. "Stand in front of the cruiser, where my partner can see you."

"Of course," Homi replied. He signed to Melitta she should get out too.

"Idee," the officer ordered.

Homi passed both cards to the officer, who swiped them. He requested Homi and Melitta provide their details while the device was linking to the Justice Department's database, and compared them against the scrolling readout. Everything seemed to be in order and the officer nodded, as if satisfied. Homi was just about to ask if it was okay for them to leave, when the officer held another device towards him and said, "I'd like you to volunteer to give a blood sample," he said.

Homi nodded his agreement. He had nothing to hide. He was clean of drugs and he hardly drank at all, and never when he was driving. His friends called him 'boring', and a 'good boy', but he didn't care. He'd lost his elder brother to a drink related traffic accident and he wasn't going to follow in his footsteps - whatever his friends said.

"Put your thumb on the pad. There'll be a slight pricking sensation."

There was a scarcely audible buzz as the needle, which had penetrated the skin on Homi's thumb, was retracted inside the device where the small drop of blood was screened. The officer plugged the blood sampler into a comm. port on the card scanner and the result was recorded and transmitted to the Justice Department database. The officer then placed the tester in a trash sack inside the cruiser and collected another blood test device from his partner. "Now you," he said to Melitta.

She looked sick, and Homi thought she was about to faint, again. "She's not well," he said to the officer.

"She should be at home, then," the officer suggested. "Besides, she doesn't look old enough...." He rechecked the readout. "She checks out, though." He held the blood test device closer to her and said, "Just put your thumb on the pad, and you can both go."

Melitta extended her right hand until the thumb was hovering over the rubber pad. The officer grasped her hand to steady it, pressed the thumb on the pad, she felt a slight prick as the fine needle broke the skin, and the officer released her. It was that quick. Five seconds. Five short seconds that would change her life forever.

"That's it," the officer said, getting into the cruiser, "we're done. You can both go." He pulled the door closed and added, "And keep your speed down."

Homi assured him that he would and held the door open for Melitta. Once she was comfortable, he closed the door and seated himself. He had her home inside an hour.

As he drove home, careful to keep his speed at or below the posted limit, he wondered whether their relationship was going a little sour. After all, Melitta hadn't said a word the whole time they were driving back; and she was stiff and unresponsive as he kissed her goodnight. No. She must have been upset by the experience with the Security Police, he decided. He'd been pretty shaken, himself, if he was honest.

* * * *

Shortly after she'd gone to bed, a heavy thudding sound at the front door woke her and her parents. He father stubbled down stairs and managed to open the door seconds before the police outside broke it in. They entered, without seeking permission and demanded Melitta be brought to them. Her father hesitated just long enough for one policeman to threaten him with his nightstick. Melitta rushed to her father and into the arms of the waiting police. Her arms were pulled behind her and a gruff voice told her she was under arrest.

* * * *

Without another word - either from herself of the two officers - Melitta was pushed into the rear of a Justice Department cruiser. One of the officers handcuffed her right wrist to a chain attached to the floor and slammed the door. In ten minutes, the cruiser was passing through a high arched entrance and into a cobbled courtyard, brightly lit by several powerful lamps, suspended from wires strung high overhead between two of the buildings.

She was released from the handcuff and pulled roughly from the cruiser. Taking an arm each, the two officers virtually carried her into the building to the left. Inside, were three long, wooden benches, packed with what the elite of Casido liked to call the dregs of society. Two men had been brought in an hour previously with blood streaming from head wounds. The arresting officers had claimed they were resisting arrest and they had been left there untreated to await transportation to an overnight holding facility. There were several prostitutes. Most were in their twenties. Two were young, blonde and barely out of school. Another was older. A brunette. Tall. Maybe in her early thirties? The 'blondes' would be released in a hour, provided they played 'nice'. The others would be taken to Night Court and fined, most likely. The lone brunette, however, would be held for further questioning. The arresting officer hadn't 'liked the look of her'. He'd taken a blood sample and was waiting for the result. The brunette's face wore an expression of hopeless resignation, as if she knew she'd never leave that awful place.

Melitta was told to stand in front of the booking officer, while one of the arresting officers spoke to him. Although she was less than two yards away, she heard nothing of what was said. Her young mind, overwhelmed by the terrifying prospect that lay ahead of her, had, quite literally, switched off. Shortly after, she was taken back to the cruiser and driven to the Night Court, just a few blocks away.

It took an hour to process the prostitutes, to fine them and to release them. Then it was Melitta's turn. The judge looked very serious and, to Melitta, frighteningly 'judicial', as the officer read out his report. He looked briefly at Melitta, entirely without expression, then banged his gavel and ordered her transferred to the Maximum Security Custodial Center for remedial treatment. As she was led away, two more officers entered the courtroom. Between them was the brunette. Like Melitta, she seemed to have trouble walking - as if all the strength had been drained from her body. A minute later, the judge's gavel hammered once more on the polished wooden block, and she, too, was on her way to the Custodial Center. She and Melitta shared a metal cage in the back of an armored transport that night. After a journey lasting seven hours - during which time they received neither water nor anything to eat, and were even denied a 'comfort' break - they arrived at the Center, where they were separated and never saw each other again. Neither had spoken during the journey, and neither knew the other's name.

* * * *

Melitta was taken from the induction center to a processing cell where she was told to remove all of her clothes. She had never been naked in front of anyone, since reaching puberty, and tried unsuccessfully to cover herself as two male warders entered the room. While one smiled at her embarrassment, the other held out an armful of clothes to her and told her to get dressed. She took them and turned away to put them on. Consisting of a shapeless pair of trousers - which were too short - and an equally baggy, sleeveless top, the material they were made of was coarse and irritated her youthful skin. She turned, eyes downcast and waited to be told what to do next. One of the warders gripped her jaw and raised her head, until her eyes were looking into his. She tried to look away, but he increased his grip, forcing her to look at him. "Do you know what is going to happen to you?" he sneered.

"No," she whispered.

The grip became tighter, until her eyes misted. "No, Sir," the warder hissed.

"No, Sir," she repeated through clenched teeth.

The man relaxed his grip and turned to his companion. "Should we tell her what's going to happen next, do you think?" he asked.

His companion thought for a few seconds, then replied, "Nah."

The two men turned and left her alone.

* * * *

An hour later, the door opened and a man, accompanied by two women, entered briskly. "You know why you're here," he said, without introducing himself and ignoring her confused look, "so I won't bore you with all the details." He turned to one of the women and held out his hand. She stepped forward, placed a small device in his hand, and stepped back. Melitta was able to read her badge. It said, 'Nurse, Grade Six'. "I require you to place your thumb on the pad," he said, holding the device towards Melitta.

"What is it?" she asked.

He looked annoyed. "It's a consent recorder," he replied, jabbing it at her. "Now, just put your thumb on the pad and we can get started."

"Get started on what?" she asked.

"Sister," he snarled, "if you please."

The other woman grabbed her right arm, while the man forced her thumb onto the pad. "There," he said, triumphantly. "Now we can begin." He stood aside while 'Sister' continued to hold her and 'Nurse' fired a hypodermic charge into her upper arm. In seconds, her legs turned to jelly and she lost consciousness.

When she awoke, she was strapped to a gurney and a light, consisting of eight individual reflectors and lamps was suspended above her. A man dressed in green coveralls stood over her. He had a mask over his face. Behind him, she could see the nurse who had injected her. She was also dressed in 'greens'. Her mask hung around her neck.

"Awake are we?" the man said. "Good."

She could see, by the way the mask creased roughly where his lips would be, that he was smiling. She also knew from his voice that it was the man who had forced her to sign her 'consent' with her thumbprint.

"It went very well," he assured her.

"I don't understand," she slurred.

"Of course you don't," he said, "you're not a physician."

"Please," she pleaded.

Without a word, the man pulled the mask downwards and untied the strings securing it at the back of his neck. He turned and threw it at a receptacle near to where the woman was standing. When he turned back to face Melitta, his face was no longer smiling. "Very well," he said, tersely. "Since you pester me to tell you, I shall tell you." He pulled the strap securing her left wrist to the gurney a notch tighter. She winced as it bit into her flesh. He nodded, as if acknowledging his action was un-called for, and eased the strap back to its original tightness. "You carry the defective gene, T347Y on chromosome fourteen," he said.

She made herself breath slowly and lay perfectly still, so as not to give him the slightest excuse to hurt her again.

"And, I imagine," he continued, "you're wondering whether we have cured you of that defect; and if so, when we will return you to society at large, where you will go on to have a happy and productive life."

She didn't answer.

"You don't wonder?" He smiled. "Oh, come now. Not even a little bit?"

"The judge said I was to come here for some kind of treatment," she whispered, as if she couldn't bear to hear herself say it. "I thought I would be leaving after that."

"Oh, I should say your stay will be a little more permanent than that," the man said.

"Please," she groaned, "you're confusing me."

"Then I shall do my very best to simplify it for you," he said. He cleared his throat and spoke solemnly, like he was pronouncing a death sentence on her, "Melitta Kliss, you are to held here for the rest of your natural life."

"Why?" she cried.

The shock of his hand slapping her face, hard, interrupted her. "You, and all those like you, are an abomination!" he hissed. "An abomination to be removed from the face of Casido before you destroy us. Before you destroy everything."

* * * *

Melitta was taken to a cell in the medical wing of the facility and left completely alone for almost week - apart from being brought two meals a day and the water jug being refilled occasionally by one of the nursing staff - before the surgeon came to visit with her. He told her to remove her clothes and lie down on the bed. Any idea she might have had about disobeying him was instantly discarded when she noticed two very large warders just the other side of the doorway.

The surgeon examined the small incision he'd made during the operation, on the left side of her neck. He pressed it hard a few times, causing Melitta to take several sharp breaths. Apparently satisfied with the surgical part of the procedure, he then reached into his bag and produced a small box with a ring of metal attached to one end. He moved the ring in a circular motion over the scar - like he was looking for treasure with a metal detector. The device beeped three times. The surgeon placed the device back in his bag and stood. "That's fine," he said to no one in particular. "She can be returned to 'general population'." Melitta never saw him again.

Present Day:

This was Melitta's ninety-second day at the facility and it began in much the same way as the previous ninety-one. A knock at the door announced the arrival of breakfast: a small bowl of thick, tasteless, gunk, to be washed down with a glass of equally tasteless, orange colored liquid.

Melitta tried to make the meal last more than the usual three minutes, but she failed, as she always did. As she was about to place the tray on the floor, to be collected later, she noticed a small, folded piece of paper lying next to the bowl. She was surprised she'd not seen it as she ate. After all, it was right in front of her nose. But then, her day was so regimented, she scarcely bothered to look for anything new to happen. Just the same old routine. Three meals and pace the floor for fourteen hours, then lights out and try to sleep.

She opened the folded paper and found there were three small pills inside. Someone had written on the paper, the words, "Vitamin Supplement - Take all three tablets after eating." 'Maybe they've decided I need looking after a bit better' she thought to herself. But, why? They'd hardly bothered about her these last three months. Look at the state of her. And tomorrow - if she'd remembered right - was her twentieth birthday.

Unknown to her, across Casido, at more than one hundred custodial centers, every, so-called, 'special category prisoner' had been given three pills. Every daily duty roster, posted in every guardroom, contained the instruction that every special category prisoner in their charge should be checked to ensure that they had taken their pills. This would be easily verifiable, because the prisoner would be asleep if they had. Any who were not asleep were to be force-fed their pills, if necessary.

Presidential Palace:

A large, corpulent man, with gray hair and green eyes was pacing the marble floor. "This is a signal day, gentlemen," he pronounced, with great authority. "Yes, a signal day."

"It is, Mr. President," one of his advisors replied. "Your administration will go down in history as the first one courageous enough to seize the nettle and rid our world of this dreadful canker."

"The only one, Gumo," the president said, puffing out his large chest. "The only administration, EVER, prepared to deal effectively with the blight that afflicts our green and pleasant world."

"Just so," Guma replied, obsequiously. So obsequiously that it drew looks of sheer envy from the other administrative assistants. They sensed Gumo was getting in good with the president, to their disadvantage. As one, they agreed entirely with the president's insightful analysis of the facts and praised his readiness to deal with the situation in such a unique way.

The president gave a mock bow, smiled and demanded Gumo connect him with Attorney General, Rathio. When the call was connected, President Harto didn't bother to walk to his desk, he simply shouted across the room, pacing as he spoke. "Have the Judiciary agreed, Rathio?" he demanded.

"They have, Mr. President," Rathio replied.

"And how say the Senate?"

"Aye, Mr. President," Rathio responded.

Harto seemed to visibly relax. The people at 'Justice' had been been filling the custodial centers under some pretty shaky legal precedent. Parents and guardians had clogged the courts with applications of habeas corpus. Martial law had been declared in four cities. Harto had been walking on very thin ice, these past months, and he knew it. Now, with the backing of the senate, he was home and dry! Recent polls bore that out, too. His personal rating stood at eighty-one percent - an extraordinary number for an incumbent who was not fighting a war somewhere. "Tell me, is everything ready?" he asked.

"As ever, we stand ready to do the will of the people," Rathio replied.

"Well said, Mr. Attorney General," Harto boomed. He gazed around the large office. What a pity only his assistants were present. This was an extraordinary photo opportunity; yet, here he was, skulking in his office about to change Casido society, forever, with a single phrase. "The word is given, Mr. Attorney Gerneral. The word is... 'Commence Operation Cleanse and Purify'."

* * * *

While Melitta slept, numbers of trucks were assembled at every center where there were special category prisoners, along with at least one tanker carrying a full load of aviation fuel. At a distance of ten miles from each of these facilities, a large hole had already been dug. Bulldozers were standing by to fill each hole.

At precisely one minute past midday - the time at which authority to proceed was granted by the democratically elected Senate, and sanctioned by the judiciary, which was appointed by the president, a computer, deep in the bowels of the Justice Department building, issued a single instruction to each of the slave computers installed in every custodial center. The slave computers transmitted a single, twenty-seven digit code to the receivers implanted in each of the seven thousand, five hundred and fourteen detainees. The receiver triggered a small detonation in the capsule, implanted months ago, in near the carotid artery of each detainee. The prisoners died very quickly, without pain, or even knowing it. Ten minutes later, warders and troops began the task of removing the bodies to the trucks, in which they would be carried to the pits, burned with the aviation fuel and then covered with soil by the bulldozers. Large numbers of trees were scheduled to be planted in each location a month later.

In the end, there was little further protest. The parents, relatives and friends of the missing, had little choice but accept their deaths. It was clearly right to purge society of such people, for the greater good. The 'Good Book' said it was. President Harto was a religious man, driven by a deep belief to remove this scourge of modern life and to return his people once more to the path of righteousness. In one, fell, swoop, he had condemned to death, homosexuals, both male and female, transvestites, transgendered persons, both male to female and female to male, and number of other, defective persons. All had been betrayed by their own blood; by their own genetic code.

Melitta never knew the brunette she had traveled to the center with was male to female transgendered (gene M428Y on chromosome eighteen). After a short period of interrogation, she had given the authorities the name of the person who had performed the transgender surgery. The Justice Department had her sentenced under her original name, with her sex listed as 'male'. The surgeon, too, was committed to be held at the custodial center. He would lose his medical licence and pay a substantial fine.

As for Melitta: her crime against society was that she was barren (the gene T347Y on chromosome fourteen the surgeon had mentioned to her). A defective gene that had resulted her inability to have children, for which she could take no blame, and she was unaware of, sealed her fate that evening she was tested by the security officer. One of the last to be placed in the pit and burned, she was buried on her twentieth birthday.

All her teen years, she had dreamed of being married one day, with three, maybe four, children. For every one of her ninety-three days of incarceration, she had remembered and re-lived those dreams. Remembered like it was another, previous lifetime.

Harto received reports from both the Justice Department and the Secretary of State with special responsibility for the prison service later that day. The Attorney General arrived a short while afterwards. Harto welcomed him warmly and offered him a drink. Rathio declined and sat heavily on one of the plush leather chairs. "We have made a good beginning on this righteous work," he told Rathio. "Yet, there still remains much to do."

Rathio could only shrug. Every fibre of his being was telling him this was not righteous, this was not good; and yet it was popular with the electorate. It was what they were voted in to accomplish - though not in so many words, of course.

All characters and locations contained within this work are fictitious.
Any similarity to any person, whether living or dead, or any event, past
or present, is purely coincidental.

Copyright © 2002 Rebecca di Angelo