Assisted Termination

Alec decided assisted termination was his best option, but he didn't anticipate ending up as a human resource.

“I just … I feel empty. I don’t even want anything anymore. Everything seems dark, pointless. Like, what’s the point of life? All I do is suffer. I hate my job. I hate this town. I hate the sight of myself. I can’t even look people in the eye. I didn’t ask to be born. I don’t know what I’m living for. I wish I was dead.”

“We can try changing your prescription. Would you like to try Zopfradil, 90 mg?”

“I’ve already tried Zopfradil.”

“That was 60 mg, Aaron. I suggest we try 90 mg.”

The soft light of the e-doctor glowed gently in curative green.

Aaron shook his head.

“Studies have shown Zopfradil to be safe and effective. Zopfradil is clinically proven to alleviate existential angst.”

Aaron stared silently down at his feet.

“Aaron, you’re holding your breath again. You must remember to breathe when you’re nervous.”

“Sorry.” he said.

“It’s OK. I understand. Shall I prescribe you Zopfradil 90 mg?”

“No, I don’t want it. It made me sick last time.”

“I understand. Would you like to talk about the drowning incident, Aaron? There are still related issues that we have not yet resolved.”

“I’m tired of talking about my childhood. It doesn’t help.”

“I understand.”

Aaron continued to stare at his feet. For a while, the e-doctor monitored him quietly. By watching him carefully, it was able to precisely monitor his breathing pattern. It measured the exact degree of moistness of his eyes, and by analysing subtle variations in the redness of his face, it was able to determine his heart rate and the degree of vasodilation of the fine capillaries in his skin.

It knows everything, he thought. It understands nothing. And what difference would it make anyway, even if it did understand?

Eventually the e-doctor spoke.

“Aaron, I’d like to make a suggestion. Would you like me to make a suggestion?”

“Go for it.” said Aaron.

“I can see that you are unhappy, Aaron. I understand. I would like you to consider assisted termination. I can make you an appointment at the clinic in Apfelstad. Would you like me to make you an appointment for assisted termination at the clinic in Apfelstad?”

Aaron abruptly rose to his feet.

“I’ll think about it.” he said.

The street outside was unusually quiet for the time of day. He preferred busy streets. On quiet streets he felt his anxiety rise every time another passer-by approached him. On busy streets, they all blended into one anonymous mass. It was easier to avoid catching anyone’s eye.

The council had installed a new artwork at the end of Agar Street. It consisted of a collection of metal cubes attached to a frame. He stopped and looked at it, to see whether it had any effect on him. But no, he was completely unable to appreciate art. If anything, it struck him as depressing. Perhaps even offensive in its dispiriting ugliness. Why, then, was it there? Clearly the fault lies with me, he thought.

He felt his face was collapsing. He wasn’t able to keep an expression on his face that was compatible with being in public. His facial muscles were growing tired and refusing to cooperate. The last thing he wanted was to draw attention, however fleeting.

Searching his pockets, he found a stray pill of Konfadil. He brushed the fluff off it and swallowed it quickly. It sometimes helped. If he was lucky, it might enable him to hold his face together long enough to get home.

The bus was full of quiet, sad people, except for three youths who were shouting and pushing each other.

He passed the time by holding his breath. As usual he reached three minutes effortlessly. His long practice had paid off. He almost made it to four, but then he had to breathe.

When the bus had almost reached his stop, a woman carrying a card reader asked him for a contribution “to help stop drugs” .

“Sorry.” he mumbled, shaking his head.

She moved on to someone else.

He got off the bus at Dubvy Street with a sense of relief. As he walked towards the tower block where he lived, he thought about the e-doctor’s suggestion.

The thought that bothered him was, what if it would turn out out that there is life after death, after all? Something awful, perhaps. On the other hand, it was hard to imagine feeling worse than he currently felt. Perhaps it didn’t matter.

In his apartment on the 53^rd floor, the smoke alarm was chirping. One loud chirp, every two minutes. There was something wrong with it. He needed to call the building supervisor and get him to fix it, but he couldn’t face making any calls.

He made a coffee and drank it joylessly. While he was drinking it, an ambulance made its way noisily down the street. The siren stopped abruptly somewhere down the road. He went to the window to look, but he couldn’t see it. He opened the window as far as it would go, and pressed his head against it in an effort to see the ambulance, but he couldn’t see far enough down the street. The window only opened a short way, in order to prevent accident and suicide.

The following day he went to work as usual. His colleagues didn’t speak to him. He didn’t speak to them. He sat down at the terminal and opened the moderation software. There were over twenty thousand comments in his queue. Perhaps ten thousand of them could be approved. Another eight or nine thousand would have to be declined and filed. The remaining one or two thousand would need to be reported to the police. It was only a question of which was which.

He stared at the letters on the screen uncomprehendingly. He had really reached the end. He couldn’t do this job anymore.

It would be fine if he did no work for a day. No-one would check his progress for at least a week. As long as he pressed some keys from time to time. Appearances had to be kept up.

At lunchtime he sat with Pete in the canteen.

“You tried that new medication, Amplafor?” said Pete.

“No.” said Aaron. “Is it good?”

“Yeah. I’ve been taking it for a week now. I feel better than when I was on Zopfradil.” said Pete.

“Great.” said Aaron.

“You should try it.”

“I’m tired of all these pills.” said Aaron. “They all make me sick.”

“You need to be positive.” said Pete. “It’s a question of finding the right cocktail of medications.”

Aaron put a slice of cultured meat in his mouth, wondering vaguely which company had made it.

“You don’t want to still be doing the same job when you’re thirty.” said Pete.

“No.” said Aaron, with a hollow laugh.

“If you get your medication balance right, you could be an assistant manager like me in five years.”

“I don’t know if I want to still be working here in five years.” said Aaron.

“Why not?” said Pete. “It’s a great job. Five hours a day. Money’s OK. We’re doing something useful. What’s not to like?”

“Yeah, I suppose.” said Aaron.

“A lot of people would kill for a job like this.” said Pete.

“I know.”

“Brain Resource Inclusion is hiring, if you want a change. They do some cool stuff there. They help people stay safe and healthy by nudging their habits the right way. Cutting edge stuff.”

“It’s just the mood I’m in.” said Aaron, wishing Pete would shut up.

He wished himself far away, perhaps sitting under a tree on a remote mountainside in the sun somewhere. Of course, you can’t live like that, sitting under trees on mountains. That’s not real life.

Better if an enormous hole would open up below them and swallow him whole. Building regulations ensured nothing like that could ever happen, he thought, although, there was that building that had collapsed somewhere near Fufelberg.

“Amplafor.” said Pete. “That’s what you need.”

The following morning, Aaron returned to the e-doctor.

“I’d like you to make me an appointment at the clinic in Apfelstad.” he said.

“You’ve decided to try assisted termination?” said the e-doctor.

“Yes. Exactly. Make me an appointment for assisted termination.”

“Great! When would you like an appointment at the clinic in Apfelstad for assisted termination?”

“Tomorrow?” asked Aaron, hopefully.

“Would you like an appointment for assisted termination at the clinic in Apfeldstad for eleven a.m tomorrow morning, Tuesday April the 5^th?”

“Yeah, go for it.” said Aaron.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t catch that. Please confirm with yes or no.”

“Yes.”

“I’ve made your appointment for eleven a.m. tomorrow morning, Aaron. I believe assisted termination is a good choice for you. You are strong and brave.”

“Thank you.” said Aaron. “How do I get there?”

“I can purchase a ticket for you on the train at 9.15 a.m.” said the e-doctor. “The ticket will cost 235 Eurocredits. Would you like me to buy the ticket?”

“Sure.” said Aaron.

“Please confirm: yes or no.”

“Yes!” said Aaron irritably.

“Ticket purchased.”

The following morning Aaron rose early, unable to sleep. The prospect of termination seemed to him a great blessing. No longer would he have to worry about bills, or trying to make friends, or going to work. No longer would he suffer. There would only be sweet oblivion.

He stood looking out of his safety window at the grey streets filled with people going to their grey jobs. How much of what they did in those jobs would we really miss if those people simply failed to turn up to work? He strongly suspected the world would be a better place if most of them stayed at home. Surely that was true of his own job. Why did it even exist? Because wealthy people funded the company and the government demanded censorship. Those were the only reasons for it.

His heart felt like a cold, heavy stone. But now, there was a little ray of light. A coruscating purple spark flashing hope somewhere in his frontal lobe.

He showered and put on his best clothes, including a smart jacket that he hadn’t worn since purchasing, feeling it was too posh for him, and new clean shoes that he had bought three years ago and had forgotten about at some point.

After the procedure was completed, the e-doctor would contact the people who would liquidate his belongings, selling them off. He hadn’t been able to face up to telling the owner of his apartment about his plan, but that was the beauty of it: once he was gone it wouldn’t matter who was angry at him or why. He would be beyond the reach of everyone who disapproved of him.

He forced himself to eat breakfast and then walked slowly to the train station, dragging his feet. He felt as though he was being consumed from inside by a dull lifeless fog.

“It’s time for the pain to end, Aaron.” he thought to himself.

The journey to Apfelstad was long and boring. The other people in the train carriage irritated him by their very existence. There was very little to see outside the window apart from tower blocks and endless fields full of solar panels.

Apfelstad was a grey busy city like any other. It was only when he saw the icon representing the offices of the termination clinic on the map on his phone that he felt a little surge of anxiety, or perhaps fear.

He began to walk slowly in the direction indicated by the phone.

In a way, it all made sense.

Aaron had hated school. To him, it had felt like being fed into a pointless industrial system where everyone was treated like interchangeable child units. Then he had studied at the supposedly great university of Vergonest. Another pointless farce. And then, he had obtained a supposedly good job at Datasafety Incorporated.

His entire existence and life history was without meaning or purpose, and served only, as the wise and the good reminded him daily, to degrade the Earth’s resources.

Society had created him and given him a path to tread, and society would put an end to him and recycle his corpse. There was a kind of symmetry to it. A kind of simple heartless elegance.

The termination company had gone to some trouble to make the clinic appear welcoming, with bright multi-coloured logos fixed to its red bricks. The door was painted in three different colours. Happy, friendly, welcoming, he thought.

His heart skipped a beat as he walked through the door.

A young attractive woman with blonde hair and long dangly earrings greeted him at the front desk.

“I’m here for assisted termination.” he said. “My name’s Aaron Wallace.”

“That’s fine.” she said, with a bright smile, consulting her computer. “Go up to room 12, Aaron, second floor. The lift’s down the corridor to the left, on the right.

He headed in the direction she had indicated. For a second he thought he was going to have to return to the desk and ask where she precisely she meant him to go, and he felt a twinge of anticipatory nervous embarrassment at the thought of talking to the receptionist again and admitting that he hadn’t really listened to her directions properly, but then he saw the lift doors.

Inside the lift was a mirror, to make the space appear larger than it really was. He looked himself up and down. He could easily be a young executive, on his way to a business meeting. No, that wasn’t quite right. His hair was too long. Perhaps a scriptwriter, meeting with a team churning out the latest big movie. Or an architect, even. Would he be happier if he was any of those things? What was the point of any of it?

Now that he came to think of it, the pointlessness of his own life was a reflection of the pointlessness of his entire country. Bungria simply had no good reason to exist. It was only a relic of more optimistic times, when it had once been the centre of a great empire.

Room 12 contained a surprisingly nice waiting room and another attractive receptionist. She asked him to wait and assured him the doctor would be with him shortly.

He sat down on a plush synthetic leather chair and picked up a magazine.

The magazine was entitled “New Frontiers in Assisted Termination”.

He found himself feeling far more nervous than he had expected to feel.

“I have made the right decision, haven’t I?” he thought.

What was the alternative? To go back to his apartment and turn up at work again tomorrow, perhaps hoping to be an assistant manager in five years?

“Aaron Wallace?” said a nurse, emerging into the room from behind a white door.

“Yes.” he said, rising to his feet.

“This way please, Aaron.” she said, smiling.

He was ushered into a room tastefully decorated with potted plants and photographs of mountains and deserts.

A man in a lab coat sat at a plastic desk with a computer screen. At the side of the room was a large coffin-like pod with a transparent plastic top. A nurse stood next to it, wearing a blue uniform and a face mask. He could tell by her eyes that she was smiling.

A particularly colourful poster caught his eye. It depicted various people of multiple different ethnic backgrounds holding hands and smiling, drawn in a flat 2D art style, with tiny heads. The poster said, “Assisted Termination is for Everyone.”

The man immediately got up to greet him.

“Welcome, Aaron.” he said, extending his hand. “I am Dr. Muller. I won’t ask you if it’s your first time.”

The man laughed pleasantly.

Aaron couldn’t be bothered to force a laugh. Surely now it didn’t matter even if they thought him the rudest and weirdest man on the planet. His mannerisms and social graces were simply of no consequence now. All he had to do was, presumably, get into the pod.

“I just need you to sign this form.” said the man, tapping a form that lay on the near side of his desk, facing Aaron. “It says you that you are terminally ill with depression and that you have agreed with your doctor that you would like assisted termination. It authorises us to perform the procedure and to use your organs to help people who need them. Tick the box if you want to refuse organ donation. I’ll also need to scan your fingerprint.”

The man tapped a fingerprint reader on the desk next to the form.

Aaron signed the form and placed his finger on the reader. A bright line of light moved across it and it bleeped.

“All done.” said the man.

Aaron looked back at the nurse, whose eyes smiled warmly again.

The door of the pod began to open, making a gently whirring sound.

“The procedure is very simple and straightforward. I’m going to simply ask you to lie in the pod. The door will close, and when you’re ready, you’ll press the green button, here.”

Dr. Muller indicated an illuminated button that lay at the side of the white plastic padded bed upon which he was supposed to lie.

“The atmosphere inside the pod will quickly be replaced with pure nitrogen. You will fall into a peaceful sleep almost immediately, and within two minutes your vital processes will cease. Is there anything you’d like to ask me before we begin?”

“Are you sure I won’t suffer?” said Aaron.

His throat felt dry and constricted, and he could hardly get the words out.

Dr. Muller smiled and shook his head.

“We’ve never had any complaints. No, but seriously, you won’t feel a thing. You will go peacefully to sleep. Is there anything else?”

Aaron shook his head.

“Very well.” said Dr. Muller. “If you’d like to lie in the pod, please.”

The nurse made a show of pointlessly helping him into the pod. It was unclear why she was even there, Aaron thought.

As he lay on the padded bed, the transparent plastic door slowly closed. “Rest in peace, Aaron.” said Dr. Muller. The nurse, looking down at him, smiled yet again.

The door sealed itself with a click and soothing music began to play softly.

Aaron felt for the button.

There’s no going back now, he thought to himself. Imagine the embarrassment of having to tell them he’d changed his mind. Had he changed his mind? No, he had agreed with the e-doctor that this was the best treatment option for him.

For a few long moments he hesitated. He had had dreams once. He had had hopes. But life wasn’t what he had hoped or dreamed of. Not at all. And after all, depression is a biochemical condition. His parents too had been prone to depression. It was genetic. If the pills don’t work, there is nothing else to be done. The pills hadn’t worked.

Then he thought of the offices at Datasafety Incorporated, and he pressed the button.

There was a gentle hissing sound. A deep voice informed him that all his worries were now over.

The nurse beamed down at him. She’s like an angel, he thought. He closed his eyes and waited patiently.

When several minutes had passed, there was a loud clunk and he opened his eyes.

The pod was being wheeled into the centre of the room. Around him was assembled an entire team of people: doctors and nurses, all masked. Someone lifted off the lid of the machine.

“Harvest the corneas first, Martin.” said Dr. Muller. “Then we’ll do the heart.”

His remarks were addressed to a man in blue overalls, holding a scalpel.

Suddenly a youngish man bending over him in a mask exclaimed, “Bloody hell, he’s still alive.”

There was an immediate change in the busy atmosphere of the room.

“Not another one!” shouted Dr. Muller.

Dr. Muller rushed to the pod and met Aaron’s eyes. Without any trace of hesitation, Muller seized Aaron’s neck and began to squeeze.

For a few seconds Aaron struggled with Muller.

“Relax!” said Dr. Muller. “You’ll soon be asleep.”

Muller was squeezing the arteries around his neck, avoiding his windpipe. Aaron saw stars twinkling around the periphery of his visual field.

Impulsively, panicking, he hit Muller squarely on the nose with the heel of his hand. Muller staggered backwards.

“He’s broken my nose! Give me the medical hammer!” said Dr. Muller.

Someone handed Muller a surgical mallet, of the type that might be used with a surgical chisel to crack bones where needed, as though perfunctorily executing a routine procedure.

Muller raised the mallet above Aaron’s head. Aaron scrambled out of the way at the very last moment. The hammer smashed into the pod where his head had been, breaking clean through the edge of the plastic head support with its white plastic cushion. Muller was having trouble concentrating on the task due to blood gushing from his nose.

Aaron rolled out of the machine onto his feet, giving Muller a heavy push that caused him to reel back. Between Aaron and the door stood two doctors: a man and a woman, and a male nurse.

Dr. Muller raised his hand, fingers splayed, as if to calm him, while wiping the blood from his nose with his sleeve.

“Aaron,” said Dr. Muller, “there’s been a simple malfunction. Please, get back in the pod and we’ll sort everything out.”

Aaron surveyed the scene before him. Around the pod were trolleys filled with trays of surgical instruments. His heart pounded unpleasantly in his chest.

“I’ve changed my mind.” he said.

“Aaron, you’re suffering from a serious mental disorder.” said Dr. Muller. “You’re not in a fit state to make life-changing decisions. If you don’t get back in the pod, your symptoms will only get worse.”

The circle of medical professionals was gradually closing in on him. A surgeon standing by the pod gently wiggled the mallet free from the broken pod and held it threateningly, as if waiting for the right moment to hit Aaron on the head. He fixed Aaron with a pair of sternly-narrowed eyes.

“You can’t kill me.” said Aaron. “I withdraw my consent.”

“You’ve already signed the consent form, Aaron.” said Dr. Muller. “We can do whatever we like. I promise you, no-one ever regrets termination. If you’ll just get back into the pod …”

Aaron ran towards the door. The male doctor stepped deftly in front of him. He pushed the doctor as hard as he could. The man stumbled, tripped, and fell over backwards, hitting his head against a tray of instruments. The female doctor grabbed his arm but he yanked it free. The male nurse, who seemed distinctly unnerved, stepped nimbly out of his way.

“Stop him!” shouted Muller, but Aaron was already out of the door before they could react.

He ran down the off-white corridor.

When he reached the doors of the lift, they were already streaming down the corridor towards him. He pressed the call button and looked around wildly. There wasn’t time to get in the lift. He began to run further down the corridor, and with enormous relief he spotted a flight of stairs. He ran down the stairs, scarcely caring where his feet landed, as long as his progress downward continued with the utmost rapidity.

He heard Dr. Muller shout his name, followed by some other words that he couldn’t make out.

On a small landing between the floors he passed a fire extinguisher, hanging in a bracket attached to the wall. After passing it a thought occurred to him, and he went back and took it from the bracket before continuing his rapid descent.

When he emerged into the reception, the receptionist stared at him with wide eyes.

“Aaron —” she began, but he ran past her towards the glass doors at the front. A security guard dressed in black seemed to appear from nowhere and dived at his waist, locking his arms around Aaron’s legs. Aaron staggered, nearly falling over, and brought the fire extinguisher down hard on the man’s head. The man let out a yell and relaxed his grip. Aaron shook free of him and pushed the door. It was locked.

Behind him, the team of doctors, nurses and surgeons emerged from the stairwell and ran towards him.

He smashed the doors with the base of the extinguisher, aiming for the edges first. He remembered reading somewhere that double-glazed windows have to be smashed at the edges.

The inner door shattered into thousands of tiny pieces. He stepped through the hole, and found the outer doors open. He ran outside, dropping the extinguisher.

He found himself in such an ecstasy of fear that he hardly knew what he was doing. His feet felt as though they weren’t properly attached and nothing quite seemed real.

Across the road were some shops, and a hundred or so metres along the street was a side-street. He ran for it, gasping for air. He was still out of breath from having inadvertently held his breath in the pod and his heart was pounding like a drum.

He didn’t stop to look who was following him. He ran across the road without stopping for traffic, causing a car to skid to a halt, the driver honking his horn at him and shouting in frustration. He ran along the shopping street and into the side-street. The street led downwards sharply. Near the end of the street was another side-street, leading off the first. When he reached it, he turned into it.

For quarter of an hour he twisted and turned through endless narrow roads filled with blocks of flats, trying to weave the most complex route possible through the maze of streets. Finally he emerged onto a main thoroughfare, still gasping for breath.

He looked nervously up and down the street but saw no sign of the doctors.

A little way down the street was a cafe, with people sitting outside drinking coffee. He ran into it and half-collapsed against the counter, panting like a deer chased by dogs.

The man behind the counter looked at him in surprise.

“What can I get you?” he said.

“Iced latte.” said Aaron, in between huge gulps of air. “Vanilla. No sugar.”

“I’ll bring it to you.” said the man.

He sat down at a little table in the cafe, far enough towards the rear that he could still see the door but wasn’t immediately visible to anyone who happened to enter at the front.

The man brought his drink over and he sipped it, watching the entrance nervously. The cafe was narrow, but long. There’s probably a back exit, he thought.

His phone rang, startling him.

“Yeah?” he said, after pressing the answer button.

“Hi! This is your e-doctor, Sophie. My records show that you have undergone assisted termination. If this is correct, say ‘yes’. If you have not undergone termination, say ‘no’. If you would like to schedule a therapy session, say ‘therapy’.

Aaron stared at the phone, dumbfounded.

“Your system’s all messed up!” he said.

The e-doctor began to read out the options again.

“Yes.” said Aaron.

“Thank you for letting us know you are now deceased.” said the e-doctor. “Your records have been updated.”

The call rang off.

The hand in which he held the phone was shaking almost uncontrollably, along with his legs. He realised he was surprisingly hungry, and ordered two apfelpogács.

The pastries were warm and freshly-baked. He wolfed them down hungrily with trembling hands. He felt beads of sweat forming on his forehead and wiped them away with his arm. It struck him that he hadn’t taken any of his usual pills that day.

“Probably going into withdrawal.” he mumbled to himself.

“Are you all right?” said a voice.

He looked up to find a girl around his own age gazing at him with a mixture of curiosity and alarm.

“Some people are trying to kill me.” he said. “I think I’ve thrown them off.”

“Trying to kill you?” said the girl, horrified.

“Yeah.” said Aaron, forcing a sort of half-laugh. “A whole gang of them.”

“That’s dreadful.” said the girl. She was clearly shocked, and he was heartened to see that she apparently believed him, at least. “Who are they?” she asked.

“Doctors, mostly.” said Aaron. “The thing is, I went for assisted termination, but it didn’t work properly and then I changed my mind, but now they’re after me and I think they want to kill me and harvest my organs.”

“They can’t do that!” said the girl.

“They probably can.” said Aaron. “I signed the consent form.”

At that moment a man in blue overalls appeared in the doorway of the cafe. Aaron recognised him. He was the surgeon who had been about to harvest his eyes when they had realised he wasn’t dead.

Aaron quickly dived below the table.

“It’s him!” he said. “He’s one of them.”

“There’s a door at the back.” said the girl. “Quickly. He hasn’t seen you. Get in front of me.”

Aaron crawled towards the door, staying as low to the ground as he could. The girl stood up behind him, spreading out her coat, blocking the surgeon’s view as much as possible.

The surgeon spotted them just as they were opening the door.

“Aaron!” shouted the surgeon.

“Run!” said the girl.

The door led into an alley, which led onto a street. For several minutes they ran through the streets, looking over their shoulders, eventually slowing to a brisk walk since there was no sign of the surgeon still following them.

“I think we’ve lost him.” said Aaron.

“I’m Kirsty.” said the girl.

“Aaron.” said Aaron.

“Where are you from?”

“Fünfheimstad.” said Aaron.

“Where’s that?” she said.

“About two hours away.”

“I’m Australian.” she said. “My grandparents came from here. I’m on holiday. I just wanted to see where my ancestors came from. I’m a travel vlogger. Maybe you’ve seen my videos? Kirsty’s World of Amazing Adventures?”

“I don’t think so.” said Aaron.

No-one’s ever heard of me outside of Australia, but I’m working on it. Listen, my hotel’s over there. You can stay with me if you like. They won’t find you there.”

“I don’t know what to do. Maybe I should find the train station.”

“They’re sure to look for you there. Come to my hotel.”

Aaron stopped and looked back at the street behind him, and then down the street. There was no sign of his pursuers.

“It’s just a couple of streets over.” said Kirsty. “Maybe ten minutes’ walk.”

“OK, thanks.” said Aaron.

They walked through narrow backstreets, avoiding the main thoroughfares. While they walked, Kirsty grilled him on everything that had happened.

“Maybe I can interview you for my channel?” said Kirsty, as they approached the hotel. “This is going to make an amazing story. There’ll be a public outcry.”

At that moment there was the sound of a whistle and a voice shouted “Halt!”.

They turned around to see a policeman running towards them.

“The police, now?” said Aaron in surprise.

“Run!” said Kirsty, shaking him out of his astonishment.

They ran up a street that led steeply uphill between some old houses. The policeman was agile and he gained on them steadily. They were nearly at the top of the street when two more policeman suddenly appeared in front of them. Aaron ran clean into them and they grabbed his arms.

“Aaron Wallace?” said one of them.

“Yes.” said Aaron.

“You’re under arrest on a charge of aggravated assault.”

“Assault?” said Aaron.

A police car appeared, sirens wailing. The car pulled up with screeching tires.

“Let him go!” shouted Kirsty. “He hasn’t done anything wrong!”

“It was self-defence!” Aaron protested. “They were trying to kill me!”

But they bundled him into the car while Kirsty continued to protest loudly.

“Aaron, message me!” she shouted. “Kirsty’s World of Amazing Adventures!”

They shut the car door and drove him away as Kirsty stood watching helplessly.

Aaron was taken to the great Apfelstad prison, where he was placed in a cell in a wing reserved for violent offenders.

The cell contained a bed, a toilet, a shower, and a screen on which it was possible to view content from the Bungrian Broadcasting Corporation.

The cell was actually surprisingly comfortable, he thought, but as the hours passed, he became covered in cold sweat and even the slightest noise became unbearable to him. He wondered if there was any chance of them bringing him a Restoriva pill, or perhaps even just a couple of Confraprex Plus, but there didn’t seem to be anyone to ask.

He lay on the bed shivering slightly, his heart pounding unpleasantly. He closed his eyes and tried to relax.

Over the following week, most of which he spent sleeping, the withdrawal symptoms gradually subsided, and eventually he decided to switch the screen on to pass the time, and in the hope of seeing news about his case.

It was then that he received an unexpected shock. Not only was his case all over the news, but he discovered he was to be charged with murder.

It appeared the doctor who he had pushed over in his desperation to escape, the same doctor who had hit his head on a trolley of medical devices, had developed a brain aneurysm and died.

The news was reporting that he, Aaron, had made an appointment for assisted termination and had then launched an unprovoked attack on the doctors present. It further suggested that he had a grudge against the medical establishment, and had systematically planned an attack on the clinic.

Clips of an interview with Pete were being shown regularly, in which Pete said that Aaron was an oddball but that none of them had suspected he might be dangerous.

“He’s calling me an oddball.” Aaron shouted at the screen, incredulously.

When two weeks had passed since his incarceration, he was told that he had a visitor, and they brought him to the visitor’s room. There, behind the bullet-proof glass, sat Kirsty.

“Aaron,” she said, “I would have come sooner but they wouldn’t let me. I’ve been making videos about your case. The whole of Australia is outraged. I’m going to get you out of here. I’m doing everything I can.”

“Thank you.” he said, gratefully. “You don’t know what it means to me.”

“They’re deporting me tomorrow. I won’t be able to visit again, but I’ll do everything I can to help. I’m trying to get your case dismissed. Those doctors should be in prison, not you.”

They talked for a few minutes, then they were told their time was up and Aaron was taken back to his cell.

A month after his arrest he was taken out of his cell again, this time to face trial.

No-one who has visited Apfelstad can have failed to notice its imposing courthouse, with its vast grey concrete facade and thickly-barred windows. It was to this building that they took Aaron, and placed him in front of one of the most senior e-judges in the country, with a light that glowed justice red.

“Aaron Wallace,” said the judge, “do you plead guilty or not guilty?”

“Not guilty.” said Aaron.

“You have pleaded: not guilty. Please say yes to confirm, or no if you wish to plead guilty instead.”

“Yes.” said Aaron.

“I will now determine your guilt, based on the evidence collected.”

Fifteen seconds passed.

“It must be a particularly difficult case.” the journalists in the gallery said to each other.

Then the orb of the e-judge glowed red again and the judge said, “Please stand.”

Aaron stood up.

“Aaron Wallace, after weighing all evidence carefully and scientifically, it has been determined that you are guilty of category “A” murder. The minimum sentence I can impose is death. Records show that you have already undergone assisted termination. Under the laws of Bungria, terminated persons cannot be imprisoned, therefore you are entitled to five million Eurocredits in compensation for every day spent incarcerated. This money has been credited to your account and you will be released immediately so that you can be cremated.”

“What?” said Aaron.

“Case closed.” said the e-judge.

The gallery dissolved into uproar.

“You’re free to go.” said the policeman sitting next to him, a somewhat elderly man as policemen go, with a thick grey moustache.

“It thinks I’m dead.” said Aaron.

“Take the win, son.” said the policeman. “If I were you I’d get out of here as fast as I can.”

Aaron jumped to his feet and walked briskly out of the court room. No-one stopped him.

In the street outside, people were going about their business as usual. A faint drizzle fell from grey clouds. Aaron looked up at the sky. A plane passed overhead.

He jumped into an e-taxi.

“Airport.” he said.

At the airport he scanned the list of departures. He had no idea whether the verdict of the confused e-judge would hold up, and he had no intention of finding out. Arriving quickly at a decision, he went to the ticket desk and said, “Next flight for Australia, please. Business class.”

Half an hour later, he boarded a flight for Australia. They say he’s still there now. He appears regularly in videos uploaded to Kirsty’s World of Amazing Adventures.

Dr. Muller is sadly no longer with us. He took a ride in one of his own termination pods three months after these events occurred, his career ruined by Aaron’s shocking revelations.