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Katrina Nichols followed the solitary Bane through the darkened park. It was raining steadily and Katrina was soaked through despite her raincoat. She had an umbrella, but that would have been too unwieldy for sneaking through the trees and bushes. Besides, the Bane would surely spot an umbrella bobbing along in pursuit and would have darted off like they always did. All Katrina wanted was to get close enough to interview one… somehow. It was nighttime in the park and there was no one around to see them, so she hoped she might finally get a chance without either of them getting in trouble.

This female Bane was exhibiting unusual behavior. Unusual behavior for a person, that is, though not too unusual for a Bane. They often acted strange, but who could blame them? Anyone would start acting strangely after living as a Bane for long enough. That was what had caught Katrina’s attention. She had been walking down a sidewalk in Eudemonia when she had spotted the Bane dancing–dancing, of all things–in the park, heedless of the rain pouring down on her bare, black ‘skin’. Many of the Banes she had to tried to contact had been morose, every facet of their body language expressing the wretchedness of their condition. That was understandable. At best, they had the air of patient resignation as they watched life go on around them. But there were others, like this one in the park, who appeared completely happy with their situation. Katrina was very curious about those.

The Bane continued to wind her way through the trees. Katrina almost lost the lithe, dark figure several times. The rain slowed to a petulant drizzle. The chorus of tree frogs and the patter of raindrops on leaves muffled the sounds of the city beyond the park. The Bane slipped out of the trees and went to stand in an open grassy field, where she tilted her head back to look at the clouds. Katrina was forced to hunker down at the edge of the forest, knowing there would be no way she’d be able to catch up with the Bane if she was startled and took off across the field. She willed the Bane to get a move on as she wriggled her shoulders in discomfort. Raindrops from the leaves were trickling into her shirt collar and down between her shoulder blades. Finally, after standing completely still in the open for a few minutes, the Bane descended down the gently sloping bank of a narrow creek and splashed her way into the darkness beneath a low, pedestrian bridge. Katrina followed her down, slipping on the wet grass, and cautiously approached the bridge. With the help of the streetlights, she could just make out the shape of the Bane, who appeared to be settling down for the night.

“Hello?” Katrina ventured.

Instantly, the Bane sprang to her feet. She stood crouched over in alarm, apparently ready to run at a moment’s notice.

“Wait!” Katrina cried hastily. “Don’t run, please don’t run. I won’t hurt you, I promise. I just want to talk to you.”

The Bane, tensed like a wary a****l, tilted her head. She must certainly have been confused. It may well have been the first time anyone had spoken to her in years. At least she hadn’t run off yet.

“I won’t hurt you. My name is Katrina Nichols. I’m an investigative reporter. I’m not from the city. I’m not from Eudemonia. It’s safe to talk to me, I promise. I won’t get you in trouble. I just want to talk.”

‘Talk’ was relative term, Katrina knew. Banes weren’t able to speak aloud, but there was more than one way to communicate. She caught her breath in excitement as the Bane slowly, hesitantly, inched her way out from under the bridge. Finally, success!

The Bane straightened up and stood before her, just feet away. Rain beaded and trickled down the blank surface of her helmet and body. Her heaving chest was the only visible sign of her agitation. It was almost intimidating, standing there alone in the deserted park with this bizarre vision. Katrina was fairly sure she was safe, however, as the Banes’ behavioral restrictions were supposed to prevent them from violent acts against citizens. In theory, anyway. Katrina experienced a mild erotic rush at the sight of her, as she did whenever she saw any of the Banes. That was the secret draw that had pulled her into investigating the secret world of the Banes in the first place. Though she had never worn it herself, she had always had an inexplicable fascination with latex, and the Bane was all latex.

She was entirely coated with high-gloss, black latex from head to toe. The suit left nothing to the imagination while simultaneously revealing nothing. It was more than merely skin-tight; there were no seams, zippers, or openings of any kind. There were no folds or stress lines that would identify it as a normal latex garment or any other type of clothing. It appeared to be more like a second skin than an outfit, as though it had been painted directly onto her body. The shiny skin was only half of the strangeness. She also wore a latex-coated helmet of some kind that was completely featureless–her head was encased in an ovoid shell, has face was trapped behind the glassy smooth, glistening black surface. It closely fit the contours of her head and allowed just enough room for her features beneath, even though none could be seen. There weren’t even the slightest of bumps that would hint at her having ears or a nose. It was though her face had been erased.

Katrina knew the Bane could see out, somehow, but the invisible eyepieces blended in perfectly with the rest of the helmet. Altogether, she looked less like a human being and more like a faceless, rubber-coated doll. That impression was further enhanced by the Bane’s breathtakingly perfect figure–a figure for which Katrina felt some envy, now that she was in her mid-thirties. She knew that Banes often developed good physiques from their limited diets, but it didn’t seem that diet alone could account for this latex-encased woman’s unnaturally perfect curves. Katrina wondered who this Bane had been, and what sort of crime could this woman have committed to have ended up in such a lowly state.

……

Banes, a popular slang for people who had been banished, were the subjects of an experimental penal system in the city of Eudemonia. Eudemonia was a planned city, one of the many mid-sized cities that had sprung up as people had fled the congestion and overpopulation of the metropolises. It was an idyllic community in the eyes of its framers, though the city’s detractors might call it an oppressive police state. Whatever criticisms outsiders had for the way the city was run, it had certainly grown rapidly. It had a lot going for it: clean streets, nice architecture, plenty of parks, low unemployment, a low crime rate, and plenty of high-tech jobs. It was a pleasant enough place to call home, if you were willing to obey the rules and didn’t mind the Banes living in your midst.

A few years earlier, in a time when the problem of overflowing prisons popularized many experimental rehabilitation projects and alternative punishments, Eudemonia tried something new. With the help of homegrown Ashton Technologies (a research institute that was largely responsible for the founding of the city in the first place), the city council instituted the Banishment Project. While banishment and shunning were ancient forms of punishment, Eudemonia utilized cutting edge technology to take them to chilling new levels.

The idea was that criminals, instead of filling up jail cells, became prisoners in their own, private prisons. The Banes, as the subjects soon came to be called, were left free to roam the city as outcasts. They were to be ignored by the citizenry and treated as if they didn’t exist. In fact, a person could be fined for even speaking to a Bane–it was a Violation of Banishment. A person wasn’t allowed to treat a Bane with either kindness or cruelty or even acknowledge them in any way. Attempting to aid a Bane or offering one shelter was a criminal offense.

In a surprisingly short amount of time, the first Banes effectively ceased to exist in the eyes of the Eudemonic community. It was considered a terrible punishment, to be cast out and shut off completely from society. Banes could watch life carry on around them but they could take no part in it whatsoever. They weren’t permitted to contact their friends or family. They couldn’t enter any public or private structure that wasn’t properly designated. Proximity sensors in every suit would punish them if they even tried to enter a structure or to leave their designated areas. They weren’t allowed to approach other Banes too closely, so they couldn’t even offer each other comfort or companionship. To be a Bane was to be perpetually alone in the middle of a bustling city.

To make matters worse for the Banes, the Banesuits that they were forced to wear stripped away all their identity and even their humanity: faces hidden behind the form-fitting, blank helmets, distinguishing characteristics hidden within tight, second skin of black latex. Except for differences in gender, weight, and height, they all looked the same. The revealing nature of the tight outfits was considered an added humiliation, for they might as well have been naked. While the Banesuits shielded their occupants from the elements, they were also said to muffle the sense of touch of the prisoners. They were denied the contact of others as well as the sensations of their own bodies.

As part of the punishment, as well as a method of rehabilitation, Ashton Technologies–the inventors of the Banesuits–used the latest in techno-organic, nanorobotic computers. They were called Custodians. Utilizing a simplified artificial intelligence, the computers that each of the Banes carried around in their helmets somehow tapped into the prisoner’s brain waves. Following a strict code of guidelines, the computer Custodians were able to ‘read’ the person’s thoughts and modify their behavior through the application of physical punishment. It became a personalized prison warden, constantly observing a Bane’s actions and intentions, and warning or punishing the Bane as necessary. That eliminated the need to pay people to keep track of all the Banes in the city; the Banesuits did all the work for them. The prisoner could get away with absolutely nothing, no matter how secretive he or she might be. The Custodian was always watching. It also monitored their vital signs for possible medical issues (emergency healthcare being the only human contact a Bane was allowed during their prison sentence). Ignored from without and chastised from within, a Bane’s life was surely nothing short of a waking nightmare. They existed in perpetual solitary confinement.

That was about all the public knew–or the citizens of Eudemonia cared to know–about the Banishment Project. The technology itself was a closely guarded secret. Its primary inventor, Doctor Ashton, abandoned the project years ago (possibly in protest, possibly to avoid the inevitable social controversy) and went into seclusion, an act which turned control of the Banishment Project over to the city council. Neither the city officials nor Ashton Technologies would divulge little more information than that to curious reporters and concerned civil rights groups. People wondered if the whole project was essentially little more than legalized human experimentation on prisoners. Many, such as the online newspaper Katrina Nichols worked for, questioned whether it violated civil rights.

While it was unquestionably a kind of cruel and unusual punishment, it was still voluntary. Prisoners who agreed to opt in to the Banishment Project instead of going through the regular penal system had their sentences reduced by one third. Violent offenders weren’t eligible for the banishment; citizens didn’t want violent criminals roaming the streets among them. Even though the Banesuit Custodians were supposed to prevent violent acts against citizens, nobody yet trusted that completely. Crimes with reduced sentences of less than five months were also not eligible, as it wasn’t yet cost effective to do it for such short terms. Most of the people who ended up as Banes were white-collar criminals, prostitutes, burglars, d**g dealers, and others. However, as an added deterrent, when one volunteered to participate in the Banishment Project, they wouldn’t get a choice to enter the regular system if they committed another crime afterwards--they would go straight back into banishment.

It was certainly proving effective. Aside from being effective, it was cheap. After the initial investment of the suit and Custodian, ongoing maintenance of a Bane was only a tiny fraction of the cost of an incarcerated prisoner. Crime rates were low. Those who volunteered to serve their sentence as a Bane seldom became repeat offenders. The punishment was considered that severe by those who had experienced it. Some ex-Banes required stays in rehabilitation institutes to properly reintegrate with society. For the most part, they were only too happy to try to put the experience behind them and try to become productive members of the Eudemonic society, if they didn’t move far away from the city altogether. They had learned their lesson, one might say. And those were the ones who had lived as a Bane for less than a year.

Long term effects were still unknown because the Project simply hadn’t been going for very long. It was entirely possible that prisoners who endured longer terms might very well go insane. No one in the public knew for sure, but since life was so good in Eudemonia, few citizens pressed for disclosure. Even without solid answers concerning the long term effects, other cities were considering implementing similar projects. Public curiosity was on the rise.

A tourist strolling through streets of Eudemonia would be greeted with the sight of black-suited Banes loitering throughout the city. Hundreds of them. Crouching or standing against the sides of buildings, keeping out of people’s way during rush hour as best they could, or huddled in alleyways, or just wandering around aimlessly and without purpose. They had nothing else to do. Most of them congregated in the city’s parks and wooded areas where they could avoid the foot traffic of the streets.

The tourist would see no one at all interacting with the Banes. It was as though two different societies existed in the same space, hardly aware of each other. The only time they made contact was if a Bane got in somebody’s way. The person might step around them, but often as not would rudely brush past the Bane, sometimes knocking them down. That sort of contact was not considered a Violation of Banishment, since a Bane was expected to be treated as if he or she wasn’t even there, and the Banes were expected to stay out of people’s way. If the tourist, moved by curiosity or compassion, tried to speak to a Bane, a passing citizen might quietly advise them to leave it alone. Most often the Bane would flee, apparently fearing a lengthening of his or her sentence for the appearance of trying to interact with someone. If the person persisted in their attempts, they would receive a harsh warning from the police, a hefty fine, or might even be arrested and detained. It was no secret that the police had been encouraged to show little leniency in dealing with outsiders–activists and the like–who came to cause a scene and disrupt the new Eudemonian way of life.

It was in hopes of discovering some kind of insider information about the Banishment Project, as well as to learn more about the lives and experiences of the Banes, that had lead Katrina to come to Eudemonia. Trying to get information was just as difficult as she had suspected it would be. No one was willing to talk. Ex-Banes she had interviewed weren’t very forthcoming, either. They said little more than that the experience had been hellish, extremely boring, lonely, and sometimes painful. They weren’t allowed to discuss any part of the processing or the nature of the Banesuits because of a non disclosure agreement. None were willing to do anything to risk becoming banished again.

Katrina had been warned several times due to her attempts at making contact with Banes. She had then tried to find some in the parks and wooded areas, away from authoritarian eyes. The Banes she found there avoided her like skittish forest a****ls. Some angrily waved her away. One, a large male with lean muscles, stuck around long enough to boldly flip her off in response to her entreaties before walking away with shoulders heaving in mute laughter. Another had completely ignored her as she writhed against the trunk of a tree in apparent orgasmic pleasure as though the rough bark was a sensual bliss. A strange sight by itself, made stranger still by the park-goers walking past her and ignoring the masturbatory display as though it wasn’t even happening.

……

But now Katrina finally had a Bane in front of her, and for whatever reason this one didn’t seem to be afraid of being punished by her Banesuit for violating the rules of contact. Katrina only hoped that the suit couldn’t somehow report her activities remotely; her editor, Benjamin Mellon, would be pissed if he had to bail her out of jail or help her pay a fine. “Just some questions. You can hear me, right? And understand me?” she asked, not knowing to what degree those helmets interfered with a Bane’s hearing.

The Bane nodded in affirmation, appearing a little more relaxed but still cautious.

“Can you tell me your name? How long have you been like this? Can you, maybe, write it?”

Katrina began to rummage in her bag for a pad and pen, but the Bane had her own solution. The drizzle beaded on her back and trickled in rivulets down her sides as she bent over to pick up a stick to write with on the muddy silt of the riverbank.

Barbara/Eden, she wrote. 3 yrs.

“Barbara Eden? Like the actress from that old show?” Katrina wondered.

A sharp shake of the head. The Bane wiped the words from the silt and wrote again. I am Barbara. Barbara Bane now. Also Eden.

Katrina stared at the cryptic words. The poor woman must have gone off the deep end after being isolated all that time. Did the city officials even care what was happening to the minds of these prisoners, or were they just tossed aside and forgotten? “Wow. Three years is a long time. Am I first the person to, uh, speak to you like this in all that time, Barbara?” Katrina asked.

There was a nod in response. She wrote again. Why U here?

“Like I said, I’m a reporter. I’m trying to find out more about this whole Banishment Project. People want to know. Some people say it’s inhumane. You’re the first Bane, I mean, person I’ve been able to talk to. So can you tell me? Is it?” she asked. “Is it inhumane?”

Barbara shrugged. Depends who U ask, she wrote. She then giggled visibly and hugged herself.

“I’m asking you. I want to help. Don’t you want to your story told?”

Barbara’s body language showed hesitation. Then she wrote with definitive bold letters, NO.

Katrina grunted in frustration. So close and yet so far. “Why not? Are you scared of punishment? I promise I’ll keep you completely anonymous. Nobody’ll ever know it was you I spoke to. Don’t you want people to know what you’ve been going through? Don’t you want this to stop?”

Barbara appeared to struggle with the words before finally stooping to write. Never stop. U don’t know. U can’t know. Never will. Sad 2b U. Feel sorry for U.

“You feel sorry for me? Why? What do you mean?” Katrina asked in confusion. “What can’t I know? I need you to tell me, that’s why I’m here.”

Can’t tell. U r human. Must stay secret.

“A secret, huh? I’m good with secrets. Lots of people trust me with secrets. If you don’t want me tell anyone else, I won’t. Off the record, then. Just give me something to go on.”

Barbara stubbornly shook her head.

Okay, Katrina told herself. Remember, she’s a little crazy, so don’t get mad at her. Just try to draw her out.

“All right, no secrets, then. But if I’m human, what does that make you? Can you tell me that?”

I am a BANE!! Am perfection. U r lost.

I’m lost? You’ve got that right, sister, Katrina thought. “Help me out here. I just want to understand.”

Barbara considered for a moment. She cleared the silt and wrote slowly and carefully. You cannot understand. Only banes understand. Beauty beyond words. So happy. My perfect Eden. She stopped writing for a moment to hug herself again. Pleasure you can’t imagine. Love you’ll never know. She underlined the word ‘love’ several times in emphasis.

As Katrina puzzled over the words, Barbara’s head shot up. Katrina looked around. There was a pair of umbrellas approaching along the walking path. They were still a distance away yet. This Bane must have had excellent hearing. Barbara turned to run.

“Wait!” said Katrina. “I still don’t get it. I want to tell your story! Can we meet again?”

Barbara shook her head in obvious agitation. Kneeling, she swept the mud clean with a swipe of her forearm and hastily wrote again with the stick held in both hands. She then turned and sprinted away, quick as a gazelle. Her latex-clad body disappeared without a trace into the darkness.

Katrina looked down at the single word scrawled deeply in silt. EUDEAMON.



Chapter 2



Katrina sat in a booth in a late night diner not far from the park. It was a chance to dry off and to try to understand the strange, written conversation she had just had with the Bane. There was no question that the woman had gone around the bend, if only a little. Why wouldn’t she want to have her story told? Was she afraid of the repercussions? Or had she simply gotten so accustomed to living as a Bane that she had forgotten how to live any other way? Katrina had heard of prisoners becoming institutionalized to the point of being unable to function outside of prison. Could such a thing happen even to a Bane despite the terrible life of deprivation they lived with? Well, Katrina decided, even if all the writing turned out to be nonsense, it wasn’t completely fruitless. Barbara’s personal delusions would seem to support the theory that long term banishment was a crime in itself if it drove a person so insane. But perhaps it wasn’t all complete delusion. Maybe she knew something, some secret that Ashton Technologies wouldn’t want made public knowledge.

There was there was that one word Barbara had written… Eudeamon. It occurred to Katrina that it wasn’t the first time had seen that word written. While traveling through the city, she had seen it written here and there. Painted on walls, etched into park benches, carved into the bark of trees–that same word appeared again and again. At the time, she had dismissed it as simple graffiti, an intentional or accidental misspelling of the city’s name. It was a rather peculiar misspelling, though, especially since it occurred repeatedly. What can it mean? she wondered. Is it a code? An individual, maybe?

She was at the counter getting a refill of her coffee–pretty decent coffee, too–when a rain-soaked police officer came into the diner. He pulled back the hood of his black poncho, revealing the face of a man only a few years younger than herself. Katrina stiffened, worried that he had come for her. Maybe someone had seen her chasing Banes in the park, or perhaps Barbara’s Banesuit had reported the both of them. She watched out of the corner of her eye as the cop came up to the counter and ordered a coffee and a slice of lemon meringue pie. Katrina relaxed.

“You look like you got worse than me, officer,” she said with casual affability, tossing her damp hair over her shoulder, and sliding onto one of the stools.

He looked over at her chuckled. “Yeah, s’pose I do. It’s pretty soggy out there tonight. Everything going all right?”

“Oh, yes, thanks. It’s just been a long day. One of those days.” She sipped her coffee. “I hope you don’t me bugging you. I’m just feeling a little lonely right now. I don’t know anybody around here.”

He waved away her concern. “Aw, it’s okay.”

“I’m Katrina Nichols,” she said, offering her hand.

“Michaels.” He had a strong but gentle handshake. He wasn’t too bad looking, either. “Not from around here, then?”

“Oh, no, I’m just visiting.” She continued to warm him up with some small talk and judicious flirting. She was fairly confident her old charms still worked. After a while, she said, “I’ve been thinking of maybe moving here. I mean, I’ve been thinking about it for a while. The city is so pretty and everybody is so nice. It’s just…”

“Oh. The Banes,” Michaels said, finishing for her. He grinned ruefully. “All the tourists ask about them.”

She laughed. “Well, the last thing I want to do is come off as some gawking tourist. But... really, what’s it like with them everywhere? It seems so strange.”

He shrugged. “Technically, we shouldn’t even be talking about ‘em. That’s part of the whole ‘shunning’ thing, you know. Really, you get used to them pretty fast. But they’re just people, you know, not a****ls. Even if some people treat ‘em that way.”

She detected a hint of something in his voice. Was it distaste? “You don’t approve of the idea? The banishment, that is?”

Another shrug. “Eh, I’m just a cop. What I think doesn’t matter. I don’t make the laws, I just enforce ‘em,” he added in with an officious tone and a self-deprecating smile. Katrina grinned at him. “Sure, I guess have some sympathy for ‘em. I mean it’s an okay idea and all, seems to work… but I’ve seen what some of them have to go through. The beatings. They call it Bane-bashing.”

“I thought that was i*****l.”

“Oh, it is,” he said. “Very. But when did making something i*****l stop a group of drunken k**s from having their fun? They can’t even defend themselves. At least it doesn’t happen often.”

“But other than that, it works, right? I mean, it must be effective. They don’t commit any more crimes, right? The Banes, I mean.”

Officer Michaels smirked a little to himself. “So they say,” he mumbled.

Katrina perked up. “They say? There’s more to it, I take it?”

“Aw, I shouldn’t be saying anything about this,” he said, but the way he was nervously spinning the fork in his fingers said that he really did want to. In Katrina’s experience, people could be surprisingly open with a friendly stranger, so she simply peered intently at him, careful not to push him or sound overly curious. He eventually continued. “I’ve heard some things. Seen some things. Things that make me think they’re not telling us everything.”

“Like... what?”

“Well,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “I dunno. It’s just my department has had to deal with unexplained behavior more and more lately. I mean, now that a lot of the longer term Banes’ sentences are ending. The ones who’ve been banished for a couple years or so, you know. I mean, if you had been a Bane for two years, you’d be pretty excited about your term coming to a close, right?”

“I’d think so.”

“Yeah, me too. You’d just lay low, not draw any attention to yourself, and wait ’til your time was up. Right? And some do. But others, right near the end of their sentences, start going on these sprees: vandalizing, Violation of Banishment, defacing property. These are people who–a lot of ’em–haven’t put a toe out of line during their sentences. Then, all the sudden, when it’s almost over, they go haywire? Add years to their sentences? Doesn’t make sense. You might expect crap like that from someone brand new to banishment, like throwing a fit, rebelling. They don’t–can’t, apparently–but the long-timers do. And we’re not even allowed to talk about it, much less ask questions. That bugs me.”

“But I thought the Banesuits kept them from doing things like that.”

“That’s another thing,” he said, becoming more animated. “They don’t. Not in those situations. Oh, it works great for the short-timers, but the longer the sentence, the less the inhibitors seem to work. I think maybe the program gets corrupted after a while. Glitches they haven’t ironed out. Heck, maybe it’s even someone hacking into the system, maybe an anti-banishment activist trying to cause problems. Whatever it is, Ash-Tech tells us nothing.”

“So you’re telling me the behavior inhibitors break?”

“I don’t know. That’s part of the mystery. Those incidents have petered off a little lately, and they were never exactly common. So maybe it was just a bug and they’ve got it under control. But like I said, they behaved fine the rest of the time. And they never act violently against citizens,” he added a little hastily. “That’s nothing to worry about. No, I’m more concerned about the Banes’ safety out there. Tell you the truth, if they were able to defend themselves, I wouldn’t be sorry to see some of those bashing punks get what they deserved. Not sorry, at all.”

“Wow.”

“But don’t get me wrong,” he said with a comforting smile. “I don’t mean to come off sounding negative or anything. It’s not like it’s a big deal. Aside from some unanswered questions, Eudemonia really is a great place to live.”



Chapter 3



“There’s definitely something going on, Ben,” she told her editor through vid-conference. She had finished giving him a short hand report of her experience. She was comfortably settling back into her small apartment after the two hour mag-lev train ride from Eudemonia. It always felt great to get back home, even if it was on the cramped and cluttered side.

“It’s some interesting tidbits to be sure, but not much to go on, is it? It does corroborate with some of Verne’s findings, though,” said Benjamin, his round face filling up the video window from end to end. He was referring to Verne Sawyer, a techno geek on the newspaper’s payroll. Katrina had worked with him a few times. While not exactly a reporter, his computer expertise and hacking skills had helped to ferret out plenty of secrets in the past. “He’s been working on the Ashton Technologies angle, but the security on that place is tight as a drum. He did manage to find an imperfectly deleted memo on the system. Something about the treatment of patients who are suicidal or catatonic after being released from banishment. A fragment about ‘recommending the restraint of all patients after the suicide of patient T-5067’ and a few other things.”

“I’m not surprised, honestly,” said Katrina. “The way these people are treated, criminals or not, is just wrong. I’d be surprised if some could function at all after that kind of psychological torture. Not to mention the humiliation. People have got to know about this, about what the Banes are subjected to. The problem is I couldn’t get any of the ex-Banes to talk. Hell, I got more out of that cop than from any of them. They just seem terrified.”

“Can you blame them? Do you know what the penalty of breaking that non disclosure agreement is in that city? Automatic banishment. Say a word and back into the black suit you go. It does present something of a road block, does it not?” Benjamin’s lips pursed into a frown. “I just don’t think we can do much more on this right now. I need more to go on than a cop’s hearsay and some nutty, self-absorbed Bane writing bad poetry in the mud.”

“But Ben–”

“I know, you don’t have to tell me. But we can’t just throw around conjecture and accusations without solid proof. Let the other guys do that. We have integrity. Unless someone chooses to come forward or the system breaks down on its own, there’s just not enough there for a real story.”

“Benjamin. That might never happen.”

“Maybe, maybe not. It’s the nature of the universe for systems to break down,” said Benjamin.

“Don’t go getting all metaphysical on me. These people are suffering now.”
“That’s thermodynamics, actually, not metaphysics,” he corrected dryly. “I know how strongly you feel about all this, Nichols, I do. But unless you can find me a whistle-blower or one of these Banes willing to talk and make sense, there’s not much I can do.”

……

Later that evening, Katrina was stretched out on her bed with her laptop. She had been trying to do some research on the word eudeamon. She hadn’t been able to find much. Eudemonia was an ancient Greek word, defined as a state of happiness, of being governed by reason, or of being generally blessed by the gods. She already knew that much from the city of Eudemonia’s promotional literature. That’s why the founders had picked the name in the first place. A eudeamon, however, was a benevolent spirit, demon, or angel. Katrina couldn’t make much sense of it. All of her searches on eudeamon in connection with the actual city of Eudemonia turned up nothing but misspelled entries.

She rolled onto her back and rubbed her eyes. Maybe it really was a code, some kind of secret Bane communication. Or could it be some Banes’ way of praying for help or some kind of savior? Or it could be a person. Or any number of different things. Too many possibilities equaled another dead end. She wanted to be the one to break this story so bad she could taste it, but Benjamin had been right; she needed a story before she could break one.

Her thoughts wandered back to the Banes. Or rather, the Banesuits. There was an undeniable, if guilty, excitement she took from their appearance. She couldn’t get the thought out of her head, imagining what it would be like to be in a Bane’s place. What would it be like to be covered up in all that latex and trapped inside it against her will? What would it feel like? The smooth tightness all around her, over every inch of her body, with no escape and no way to take it off...

Pleasure you can’t imagine.

Just as her hand was starting to slide into the front of her pants, the phone rang. She groaned and rolled over. Caller ID showed it to be Steven, her boyfriend of five months. She eagerly answered the phone. “Well hey, honey, why haven’t you called?” she asked.

“Oh, er, hi! I wasn’t sure when you’d be up for talking, since you just got in.”

“I might be up for a little more than talking. Believe me, I could use some pleasant distraction after the week I’ve had. I’ve been trying to research those Banes all night. But anyway, never mind that. I need to get my mind off the job. I may be tired, but–”

“Yeah, uh, listen, that’s why I called,” said Steven, sounding suddenly uncomfortable. “Look, I’ve been doing a lot of thinking and…”

“And?”

“I just don’t think it’s… working out. I think it’s time we started seeing other people.”

A cold weight slammed into Katrina’s chest. “What are you saying? You’re breaking up with me? Over the phone?”

“Well, um–”

“But what happened?” Katrina demanded. She was trying hard not to cry, but felt the heat of tears building up behind her eyes. “Why now? We were fine last week!”

“No, no we weren’t,” replied Steven, “and I think you know it. We just aren’t connecting anymore, Katrina. It’s nobody’s fault.”

“So that’s it then? After all this time, it’s over just like that?”

“I’m sorry,” he said.

“Come on, just talk to me, tell me what’s the matter. We can work something out, I know it,” said Katrina, knowing she was starting to sound a little pathetic but not caring. “Hang on, is this because of those kinky fantasies I talked about?”

“What? No. There’s just nothing to work out. Some people just aren’t meant to be together. I’m sorry, but… listen, I gotta go.”

“Yeah. Gotta go. Sure,” she said quietly and hung up the receiver. Then she picked it up again only to slam it viciously down on its cradle several more times.

She rolled over, buried her face in her pillow, and let loose the floodgates. This had come so unexpectedly. And why now? Didn’t she have enough to deal with right now? The inconsiderate bastard. It wasn’t even like she was madly in love with Steven or anything. But, all the same, she had loved him a little. She had let him in a little. Being with him made her feel normal, like she was doing something right. Now she had to start all over again. It only got harder each time.

Not again. Not alone again, she thought miserably as her tears slowly dampened her pillowcase. Why am I always alone? Why can’t ever find something real? How many times is this? Is it that some people aren’t meant to be together, Steven? Or is it that I’m not meant to be with anyone, ever? Am I supposed to grow old alone? I hate this, I hate this, I hate it.

……

The next morning she stared at the ceiling for a long time, sprawled out among her twisted sheets. All cried out, she was now feeling numb and hollow. Steven, jerk that he was for a phone-breakup, had been right about one thing; she had never been able to connect with anyone for too long. Why couldn’t she make a relationship last? Why did she always have to end up by herself? She didn’t even know what she was doing wrong. Was she doing something wrong? Or was it everyone else who couldn’t connect with her? It seemed like she hardly had anyone in the world who really cared for her. A few friends, a few coworkers, maybe. She had no family left, none at all. Her mother had died shortly after Katrina was born. Her father had never remarried. He had focused all his attention on Katrina as she grew up. And why did he have to go and die before she was even out of college, leaving her to face her future alone and without his guidance? She always ended up alone in the end. She was always left with nothing but fading memories.

She sniffled and rubbed her hands across her face. She had always been too cautious in her relationships, afraid of exposing too much of herself. That was one of the problems. Fear of getting hurt just insured that she would get hurt all over again. All her life she had shied away from going all out, from taking a real chance. She needed to make a change, a serious change. Make a difference. Face real risk with real rewards. Excitement. Challenges. Making a life worth living.

Why not? she asked herself. Why not, indeed?

She rolled out of bed and fixed her face and hair. Then she got on the vid-phone and called her boss. “Benjamin? Yeah, hi. Listen. This is going to sound crazy, but I had an idea.”



Chapter 4



A month later, Katrina Nichols, A.K.A. Vivienne Mulberry, stood in a Eudemonic court accused of prostitution. Her fourth count of prostitution, no less. She was facing a lengthy prison sentence.

“Miss Mulberry, how do you plead?”

“Guilty, Your Honor,” said Katrina thickly. She had never been in court before. Just standing there made her feel guilty. She was sweating bullets. She shakily took her seat and zoned out while the judge considered the matter and the lawyers gabbled in Legalese. She could hardly believe this was really happening. And for prostitution? Very funny, Benjamin. It was so humiliating, but she could hardly complain. It got the job done, and it was only ever a means to an end, anyway. Soon the charges wouldn’t matter. She felt a strange exhilaration, the thrill of doing something wrong and getting away with it. She also felt fear. A lot of fear.

“Miss Mulberry,” said the judge, a stern-looking, older woman with thin lips and softly sagging jowls. “Your willingness to admit your wrong-doing and not waste our time stands you in good stead with this court. However, you do face a minimum mandatory sentence, this being your fourth offense. Do you have anything to say?”

“I, uh,” mumbled Katrina, genuinely trying to think of a contrite statement. She decided the less she said, the better. She was no actress and this was no movie set. “No, Your Honor.”

“Very well. I sentence you to a term of no less than f******n months incarceration. In accordance with the Banishment Statute, you may choose public exile for a commuted term of eight months. Which do you choose?”

Katrina took a deep, shuddering breath to try and steady herself. “Banishment.”

“As you wish. You will forthwith be remanded to the custody of the Ashton Technologies facility where you will be processed. Processing time will count toward time served.” The gavel banged down. People began to mill around in the courtroom in preparation for the next case. A bailiff helped Katrina out of her seat and ushered her towards the exit.

This is it, she thought.

……

It had taken time for Benjamin Mellon to come around to the idea. He did try to talk her out of it, telling her how nuts it all was. He didn’t try very hard, though. Ever the media mercenary, he could smell a potential story. Katrina had known his personal concerns for a reporter’s safety and well-being would ultimately be overridden by his greed for a good, breaking story.

It took a great deal of planning and the use of an old friend of Benjamin’s–a cop with access to the police and court database. It was a fairly simple matter to find Vivienne Mulberry, a citizen of Eudemonia and a prior offender, who also roughly fit Katrina’s description. Miss Mulberry was soon to be due for a court hearing concerning her latest exploits in prostitution. She had no family, no one to notice if she went ‘missing’. It was easy enough to contact the woman and convince her to switch identities for a little while. She was all too eager, in fact. Then, a little fiddling with the database, and presto change-o, it was Katrina’s photo and particulars on Vivienne’s rap sheet. The real Vivienne got a free vacation while someone else served her sentence for her. She could hardly complain about that. Especially since she had been given substantial remuneration (partly out of Katrina’s own pocket) in order to keep her quiet.

Sure, it was i*****l what they were doing, but everyone involved felt that the potential benefits outweighed the crime. There might be some fallout, but if Katrina could discover some damning inside information and prove inhumane treatment, that would surely outweigh the switch-off and records-tampering done to uncover it. Afterwards, when she finally reported on her inside experience, she intended to keep Vivienne’s complicity completely secret. She didn’t want the woman to get in trouble for skipping out on her judicial punishment.

And if she uncovered nothing and her experience wasn’t considerably worse than one might receive in the regular prison system? No harm, no foul. Afterwards, she and Vivienne would switch back, Vivienne’s time would have been served, and no one would be the wiser. Katrina would have lost a few months, but, hopefully, it would be worth it. And, at the very least, she would at last know the truth of it all. Her motivations weren’t entirely altruistic, though. She was elated to finally be doing something, actually going in and facing a potentially grueling experience in the name of a story. Real journalistic integrity. It would, without question, put her name on the map. She might even get a Pulitzer for this.

There was also a darker, secret motivation that she could barely even admit to herself. Part of it was her brief encounter with Barbara. She was aching to know what the Bane had found so beautiful and pleasurable about her predicament. The mystery of it had nearly become an obsession for her. And who or what was this eudeamon? Also, ever since her previous trip to Eudemonia, her thoughts had often returned to the Banes and their jet-black occlusion suits. What would it be like to wear one and be unable to escape it? Trapped in latex for months? The thought made her feel light-headed with fear and… something else. Whatever it was, simply thinking about it made her feel guilty. She managed to sweep thoughts under the carpet of her subconscious. She wanted to stay focused and professional.

As she waited in a small holding cell in the courthouse, however, she was starting to have second thoughts. What had seemed like a great idea during the nihilistic depression following her breakup with Steven was now a lot more intimidating. It was really happening. She was actually volunteering to have her identity erased, her humanity stripped away, even if only temporarily. After hearing what happened to other people, she knew she faced possible mental harm. She hoped the light at the end of the tunnel would help her to keep it together. She wasn’t really a criminal, after all, and this wasn’t a punishment. It was a mission. And it was too late to turn back now, anyway. She would have to see it through to the end.

After a few hours waiting, a guard came for her and put her ankle cuffs and wrist restraints with a belt that pinned her hands close to her waist. She thought it unnecessary. At least she was still in her street clothes and not in some prison jumper. She was escorted through a back door in the courthouse. Outside, in a walled-in parking lot, there were a couple more guards and a minivan converted for prisoner transport. The Ashton Technologies logo was emblazoned on the door. Two other prisoners stood around, looking uncomfortable and anxious, while the others were being helped into the van. There were five in total, including Katrina. Two men and two other women.

After they were all loaded onto the bus and secured into their seats, Katrina found herself sitting next a skinny, shivering girl who barely looked out of her teens. She looked as if she had recently been crying. She gave Katrina a nervous smile. “Um, hi. I’m Tina. Tina Scott. What are you here for?”

“I’m, uh, Vivienne. Prostitution,” she said with a flush of embarrassment.

“You too? Me too!” chirped Tina, as if that gave them something in common, like belonging to the same sorority. “I-I had to do this. The banishment thing, I mean. I couldn’t stand the thought of going to jail. I’m kinda claustrophobic. I have to be able to get outside. This sounded better. I hope.”

Katrina tried to give her an encouraging smile. She felt a strong sense of sympathy. The girl might have been judged guilty of a crime, but she looked so terrified. It was hard not to feel sorry for her.

“Are you as scared as I am?” Tina asked. “I’ve never been this nervous in my life. Do you think it’ll hurt?”

“No talking,” barked the guard as he boarded the van and got into the back seat. He had a static rifle cradled in his arms.

“It’ll be okay,” Katrina whispered and patted the Tina’’s arm. She hoped she wasn’t lying to the girl. At the very least, being concerned for someone else helped belay her own anxiety. “I’ll… I’ll look out for you.” A look of pitiable gratitude washed over the girl’s face.

The drive wasn’t too long, only about twenty minutes from the courthouse. She saw the occasional Bane standing out in their black outfits here and there. I’m going to be just like that soon, she thought to herself. It was apparent that the others in the van were thinking similar thoughts of themselves.

They drew near to a large building on the wooded outskirts of town. It was in the neo-modern style with some odd angles and curves, and lots of cement and glass. The landscaping was very tidy and the grass was lush and green. It was all very clean and orderly, just like the rest of the city. Near the street was a sign made of a short, curved wall with metal letters that formed the name of Ashton Technologies. In front of the sign was a fountain with a silvery, abstract human statue. Whether it was by design or artistic coincidence, the statue had no face.

The small group was unloaded in an enclosed receiving area out back. From there they were lead inside. The glass doors weren’t barred, but they were reinforced with a metallic mesh and had electronic locks. It seemed to Katrina to be less like a prison and more like a high security mental institution. They were seated in a holding room and bidden to wait. They endured several long and awkward minutes before a man came in to greet them. He was dark haired, hollow-cheeked and was all bones and sharp angles beneath his white lab coat. He took some paperwork from the guard.

“I want to welcome you all to the Ashton Technologies Facility. My name is Doctor Julian Torres. You have all voluntarily opted in to the Banishment Project. If there is anyone who is here mistakenly, please let us know now.” He paused a second. “No? Fine. I know you’re all probably very nervous, but please try to relax. We will try to make your processing as stress-free and as comfortable as possible, but we’ll need your cooperation to do so.” An assistant came in carrying a stack of clipboards which were distributed to the prisoners. Each held a hefty stack of admittance papers, legal forms, waivers, and medical history forms. “Please sign and date wherever you see a space highlighted in yellow. And please fill out the medical history forms accurately. We can’t be held responsible if something goes due to your lack of honesty.”

Several minutes passed as the prisoners signed form after form. Tina hesitantly raised her hand. “Uh… what’s the date?”

“October the Eighth,” said the doctor.

“Excuse me,” said Katrina, “but what exactly are we waiving with these waivers?”

“You’ve consented to undergo a safe but experimental medical procedure. You’re waiving all claims and liabilities,” replied Dr. Torres coolly.

If it’s so safe, why do I need to waive liabilities? Katrina wondered. “What about long term effects? I’ve heard there’ve been people left catatonic,” she asked. Tina stiffened in the seat next to her.

The doctor arched his brow. “And where did you hear such a thing?”

“Oh… you know, around. Rumors. Is it true?”

“Absolutely not, I assure you. Rumors like that are started by people who are opposed to the goals the Banishment Project aims to achieve: punishment and rehabilitation. Most of them are Luddites who prefer the thought of inmates moldering in prison cells rather than giving them a chance to truly learn repentance by being rejected by the society they chose to harm and act against.”

“So there’s no real danger in doing this?” Katrina asked.

“None whatsoever.”

Katrina didn’t believe his assurances for a minute, but at least she had his opinion on the record.

One by one, they were taken away for processing. When only Katrina and a short, balding, chubby man were left, a female guard opened the door and called, “V-7505.” She pointed at Katrina. “That’s you. This way, please.”

“Have there really been that many V’s before me?” Katrina asked as she preceded the guard down a carpeted hallway.

“It’s a random number. Now, please refrain from talking, V-7505.”

Fine, have it your way, she thought sourly.

She was taken to a room where, in front of the guard and another woman in white jumpsuit, her restraints were removed and she was required to completely disrobe, including any jewelry and piercings she might have. She was wearing neither. She was also told to remove her contact lenses. “You, uh, know I can’t see without these, right?”

“It won’t be a problem,” the woman said tersely.

From there she was subjected to a full cavity search. It was humiliating, but she supposed it was nothing out of the ordinary compared to entry into a regular prison. Afterwards, she was taken to an adjoining room with tiled floors and walls. The floor was wet and the air was damp and humid, like a public shower. Cuffs were placed over her wrists and were lifted overhead by a bar. “Is all this really necessary?” Katrina asked, feeling terribly helpless.

“Please refrain from talking, V-7505.”

“Okay, but… oh my god, what are you doing?” Katrina yelped as the harsh, grating sound of electric clippers buzzed to life. With a swift and experienced hand, the woman began to shear off Katrina’s body hair, including her pubic area. She then moved up to Katrina’s head. With quick, untidy swipes, Katrina’s long, blond hair was reduced to stubble. Not even her eyebrows were spared. It hadn’t even occurred to Katrina this sort of thing would be necessary. It made sense; there wasn’t much room for hair beneath those suits and helmets, but logic didn’t make it any less traumatic. She was sobbing by the time they lowered her arms and connected her cuffs behind her back. She didn’t even get a chance to feel her new buzz cut.

She was lead to a shower stall, where she was allowed to soak in a stream of hot water. It felt spectacularly bizarre against her head. Meanwhile, the woman was donning a baggy, plastic bodysuit. It looked similar to one a person might wear in a hazmat situation. The sight of it made Katrina nervous all over again and she cringed back into the shower stall. The woman drew Katrina from the shower and began to coat her with a clear, goopy liquid squeezed from a large bottle that simply read Sol. B-66. It was slick and slimy like hair conditioner and every inch of Katrina’s body was soon slathered in it.

“What is this stuff?” she asked, unable to keep the distress out of her voice. Some of the stuff got in her mouth and tasted bitter. She spat it out. “What are you doing to me?”

“Relax,” said the woman. “It’s simply a disinfectant and follicle inhibitor.”

Follicle inhibitor? Katrina wondered. “It’ll kill my hair?”

“No. It inhibits growth. It’s only temporary. Please step back into the shower.”

As the hot water washed the slimy stuff away, it became apparent that it did more than inhibit hair. It also dissolved it. What little stubble she had left on her head and body was washed down the drain. She couldn’t believe it. She had been rendered completely bald. Her only consolation was that soon nobody would be able to see it. That was cold comfort. She was roughly toweled off and lead, hairless, naked, and handcuffed, into another room.

This one looked more like a proper doctor’s office. The cuffs were unhooked from behind her back and she was helped to lie down on a padded table. The sanitary paper crinkled beneath her as she moved. There was some kind of head restraint at the top of the table, but they didn’t use it on her. Her cuffs were attached to the sides of the table. “You really don’t need that. I’m not gonna do anything, I promise.”

No one spoke to her. The older woman left the room, leaving her alone with the stony-faced guard. Several minutes passed uncomfortably before a middle-aged man in a lab coat entered. He was carrying a sealed, plastic container. He didn’t introduce himself, but his ID tag read Grable. He examined a clipboard, made a noise in his throat, then put on some latex gloves and gave her a quick physical examination. She felt awfully exposed, restrained to the table like that, being both bald and naked. He put a sedative IV into her arm and connected a heart monitor clamp to her fingertip.

“Um, can I ask what you’re going to do me? I’d really be a lot less stressed if, you know, you tell me everything that happens. I’ve always been like that… in doctors’ offices.”

“Refrain from talking, V-” the guard began to drone. The doctor cut her off.

“No, it’s all right,” he said to the guard. “I don’t mind explaining. In fact, you can step outside. I’ll call you if I need you.”

The guard gave him a loaded glance, but left the room as requested.

Grable looked at Katrina. “I can explain things, but I really don’t think you’ll find it helps you relax any.” He unsealed the plastic container he had brought in with him. From it he lifted from its bed of clear gel a flexible, curved, black rubber disk. It was no more than an inch think in the center and tapered to feather-thin edges. There was a blunt nub, about the width of a pencil eraser, poking out from the surface of its concave underside. The thinner edges of the thing wobbled a little as he moved it. “Do you know what this is?”

“It’s, um… no.”

“This is the latest in nano-computer technology. It’s a Custodian. Technically, a self-integrating onboard neuronet computer. It will become the artificial intelligence that will monitor your daily life.”

“It looks pretty small for an AI,” she observed.

“Oh, it is. This durable shell just houses the essential programming and a transceiver. All of the computing will be done by you. That’s the magic of it,” the man said proudly.

“Come again?”

“The human brain,” he said, “is far more powerful and complex than any computer built to date. We don’t even come close to needing the use of all of it. There’s so much to spare. This handy little device uses nanoprobes to explore and map the physical workings of your brain, then sends out techno-organic tubules to make connections with the pertinent neurons. Just think of it as tree roots growing into fertile soil. Its operating program will be uploaded into your brain. It will then use your own untapped brain power as its processor and hard drive.”

“It goes into my brain?” Katrina asked, horrified. “I don’t want that! I don’t want some computer growing itself inside my head!”

“Oh, not to worry, you won’t even notice it’s there. Not unless you do something wrong. It’ll just sit there, quietly observing your thought processes, until it learns how to interpret your intentions and anticipate your behavior. It will probably know what you’re going to do even before you do.”

This was starting to be a whole lot more than she bargained for. “No way! I’ve changed my mind! I want out of this!”

“Oh, it’s a little late for that, I’m afraid. You’ve already signed all the forms. But don’t be so upset. It’s not permanent or anything. When your sentence is finished, it will break its connections and completely withdraw itself from your brain.”

“I don’t buy it,” Katrina said, pulling at the cuffs. “You can’t just do that and expect there to be no damage!”

“I assure you, there will be no trace of it left. It will be as if it never existed. No brain damage has ever resulted.” He observed her struggle. He looked amused by her reaction. “I told you that knowing wouldn’t relax you.”

“Oh, screw you, you asshole!” spat Katrina, completely losing her composure. It pissed her off to no end to see this man being entertained by her distress. What kind of sadistic bastards did they have working here?

“But I haven’t yet told you how we’ll implant it,” he said with unpleasant eagerness. “I have to drill a little hole into your skull, right here.” He touched his finger to the crown of Katrina’s bald head, making her flinch. “Then we just adhere the unit to your scalp and it will do the rest. We’ll keep you u*********s for five days to allow it to make its connections. We’ll also be implanting your waste reclamation unit into your colon during that time. Be thankful that you’ll be asleep for that. It requires a bit of stretching. After that, once we get your suit on you, you’ll be just another faceless Bane.” He turned on the IV drip.

“You enjoy your work, don’t you?” accused Katrina spitefully.

The man glanced up and down her naked body. “Yes. Yes, I do.”

…….

The next thing Katrina knew, she was waking up in a small, dimly lit cell. Her body was pinned to a cot with padded straps. There was a monitor beeping steadily away beside her. She moaned, in a haze of confusion. Her body was stiff and sore all over. She squirmed around as much as the restraints would allow. Her lower abdomen felt full and cramped inside, and her rectum felt tender. There was a rubber pad adhered over her entire crotch and smaller ones over her nipples. On the soles of her feet were glued cushy, rubber pads that were molded to a perfect fit and also squeezed up between her toes. She could only flex her toes the slightest bit. Her head throbbed annoyingly. My head…

Her eyes shot wide open. Memories of the courtroom, the shaving, the padded table, and the man with the wobbling black disc flooded her mind. She rubbed the back of her head against the pillow. There was something attached to the back of her skull. She screamed.

A minute later, a mature, henna-haired woman in a lab coat peered into the cell window and opened the door. “Ah, V-7505. Right on schedule.”

“Wha… what’s–”

“How do you feel?”

“Get this off me! It’s eating my brain! Please get this thing off of me!”

The woman gave Katrina an examination, then peered down at her with stern disapproval