The Prisoner by Carlos J. Cortes Page B

those bobble-headed plastic dogs a few old-fashioned cretins still carried on the rear shelf of their automobiles. “The goals of the penal institution have changed through the ages, from retribution and vengeance—the biblical eye for an eye, tooth for a tooth—to deterrence, making the inmates an example to themselves and others. Other issues, such as reform and correction, arrived much later—their goals being to repairthe prisoners’ character shortages and return them as productive members of society. Yet all of these approaches, however well intentioned, proved in effective in the end. Vengeance couldn’t work, as there was no real way to adapt the punishment to the offense. The example idea floundered for how can a citizen serve as an example when he can just remove to a distant location and start a criminal career anew? Reform didn’t work either. Our prisons became true universities of crime, where seasoned felons had their own fiefdoms and petty criminals graduated, often with honors.”
    Again, she reached for her glass. Not only was delivering a tirade cloaked as a speech thirsty work, but the audience needed time to register half-forgotten facts.
    “As I said before, the old prison setup was built on hypocrisy: not just from the government but from its citizens. We wanted an effective penal system to remove those individuals unable to conform to the laws of society and to do so in a way that would deter others, but we were too entrenched in a quagmire of moral half-truths to get the job done properly. Those with money or good lawyers could hamstring the system with countless appeals and other such tricks until we were left with a system containing obscenely revolving doors.
    “We were at a crossroads and chose to safeguard our fellow citizens from repeat offenders by locking them up for extended periods, often for life. This idea almost brought our nation to its knees. Long-term prison sentences and other obsolescent methods of warehousing criminals became so expensive that they threatened to bankrupt our nation.”
    Odelle removed her glasses and rested them on the table with her now-useless notes: She knew the rest of her speech by heart.
    “Our government was desperate. Twelve years ago, with a prison population of more than six million and the national debt skyrocketing, the only solution was to reduce prison sentences, to put hardened criminals back on the streets. Criminals who, statistics showed, would only kill, murder, steal, or rape again.
    “Then Hypnos proposed a groundbreaking new approachto prisons, Congress approved it, and we built the first hibernation station and tested it over two years. The rest is history.” She held a hand over her head, her thumb outstretched, like Caesar granting life to a fallen gladiator, and hiked her voice a semitone. “We have reduced the prison network’s costs to ten percent of 2050 levels.” Her index finger joined her thumb. “We have shrunk criminal offenses by seventy-five percent.” Another finger. “We have doubled the time felons are removed from our society.” A fourth finger joined the other three. “In ten years we’ve had no breakouts, no mutinies, and no disturbances, with a fraction of the workforce the old setup needed.” Finally, she offered her hand, all fingers splayed to the audience, but her words were for Hamilton.
Soon I’ll get my pound of your flesh
. “Eventually the media had to eat humble pie, when the foreign governments recanted. In only ten years, eighty-six nations—the same that tore at their vestments and recalled their diplomats when we passed the change—have adopted the Hypnos system of humane hibernation.”
    Close to five hundred guests at the convention hall stood to drown her last words in a thunderous ovation.
    Odelle darted a glance toward the central exit door, where George Wilson, her personal assistant, had appeared next to Genia Warren, the inept bitch overseeing the Federal Bureau of Hibernation.