This chapter is dedicated to Clinton. Thank you again for your support!
Getting the punishment pill wasn't an easy process. My parents had four pages of forms to fill in, to prove that they were using this as a legitimate deterrent to antisocial behaviour. It wasn't supposed to be used to slap down kids for showing independence, being smarter than their parents, or pointing out adult hypocrisy. So the first prescription required evidence that the victim had been warned, had still done something that could contribute to negative lifestyle consequences, and seemed likely to continue.
My Dad could skip most of the second page. There was no need for a warning if the incident that justified punishment was a crime listed in section seven of the Degraded Independence for Preventative Education of Youth Act. Malicious damage to public property was on the list. In theory this system was to protect kids from harsher consequences. A single dose that could provide a few months of embarrassment; kids would escape juvie or jail, and the overcrowding of those facilities would be reduced. It was a way for parents to keep their kids out of the 'real' justice system for a while, rather than a punishment.
They didn't need much proof, either. Section 3 could just include a reference to the sanctions issued by the mall cops, and the form I'd signed accepting responsibility. The only parts they needed to complete in full were about the cost of the treatment, finance options, and mitigating circumstances that would need to be taken into account when determining the severity of my punishment.
After a long wait, a young man appeared at the door and waved us through into the back room. There were racks of medication packages all along the walls, and desks filled with old-fashioned paperwork. Everything was spotless here, and I looked nervously at a high, faux-leather couch in a nauseous shade of green, which looked like it could have come from a doctor's examination room of the previous generation.
"Okay," the man said. "I'm Eric, and I'm going to be taking you through the preliminary stages of the Punishment Pill process. The actual application will be done by a head pharmacist, who has the appropriate licences to perform the procedure legally. The head pharmacist will need to check with you that all the information given on your forms is accurate, and will verify that your justification for requesting the treatment is within the rules set down by law. Now, as I believe you have told us this is based on a legal situation, I am required to advise you that you should speak with a legal professional to determine the likely outcomes if Lorna opts to be punished as an adult. As she will be consenting to this treatment as an alternative to that, it is necessary that she has a clear idea of what the punishment is likely to be."
"We've talked to our lawyer," Mum answered. I didn't know if they actually had, but that was something I planned to look into a little more as soon as I had the opportunity. Coming home from school today, they had bundled me into the car and brought me here with the promise that this treatment would keep me out of jail, but I had yet to hear an independent opinion of how likely that was.
"Very well. But the head pharmacist will at least research the situation described in your forms, and will contact one of our associated lawyers to ensure that your understanding of the likely outcomes is accurate. We can schedule a second appointment for Monday if that is convenient?"
"Can't we do it now?"
"No. And not just for procedural reasons. Firstly, I should inform you that Punishment Pill is in fact a brand name, not a description of the process. Some people are surprised by that. The form of the treatment is in fact one of these."
He had been facing one of the shelves on the wall as he spoke, but now he turned around with a slim metal cylinder in his hand. It could have been an up-market epi pen, or possibly a really sophisticated electronic cigarette, save for the branding on the side. The name "HumiliX Punishment Pill™" was clearly visible; a logo that they had all seen before in television advertisements. Eric twisted the barrel, and a button extended on one end until it clicked into place and a dim red light illuminated around it. Then he took a cap off the other end of the device, revealing what seemed to be a needle inside a short glass dome. There was a hole in the tip of the dome, so I guessed that it would pop out when the button was pressed.
I found myself shrinking away. It wasn't that I was scared of needles; I'd already heard a little about this thing from Marcie, and I knew that the pill wasn't really a pill. But the terror was really hitting me now, reminding me what I could be in for if I agreed to go through with this. My parents' response if I said 'no' was bound to be more dramatic, but that was something I had no control over.
"The dose is uniquely prepared for each patient," he explained. While we watched, he took the needle and pressed it against the back of his other hand. He tried to press the button, which didn't move, and another red light flashed in the bubble around the needle. "The treatment contains an exact set of smartproteins, hormones, and initiators that are tailored to that precise person's DNA and blood serum mineral levels. This is one reason that most patients don't know which effect they will experience. In addition to the psychological bonus from the mystery, the set of possible treatments for any given individual will vary. It could be that instant acne would be very effective for you, or that you would be immune to that particular treatment. So we take a DNA swab and blood sample, which are sent to Punishment Pill labs for analysis, and they return a precisely-measured dose of the treatment which we believe would be most effective for you in particular. The injector is also calibrated for safety, and has a real-time genelytics sensor in the delivery dome. The button will only depress when it is in contact with the skin of the exact person that dose was calculated for."
"That's a lot of precautions," Mum said, clearly admiring this sales pitch.
"Yes. So today we will take the samples. And then Lorna can fill in her own copy of the forms, giving her consent to the treatment. You can either take that home to complete, or do it here. In either case, your parents have no legal right to check your work. If you feel there is some mitigating circumstance which would make punishment inappropriate; or if you believe you are working to improve yourself without the need for any treatment, this is your opportunity to prove it. The head pharmacist will make the decision once he has seen both sides of the story."
My parents grumbled, of course they did. They were still mad at me for things that had happened months ago. They really didn't like having to face the fact that their actions were clearly hypocritical. What they hated more than anything was when I took them seriously. Like when a weaker kid was being bullied and they said that somebody should do something, and then I did something. I hadn't hurt anybody, I hadn't broken any of their precious rules, I hadn't broken the law or the school's conduct code in any way. And I'd done what my parents kept on telling me any responsible person was obligated to do. And that made them mad. They'd said I was going to get into trouble, either with the school discipline system or the police. That they were just upset because they didn't want me to get in trouble. And when every form of official justice ruled that I had been in the right, my parents got even more upset. My best guess was that they didn't like being wrong. So since then they had been looking for any possible justification for over-the-top discipline, and a broken shop window had been just what they were hoping for.
They gave me the forms, and I started to fill it in there. Not giving the full details; I didn't want to tell the truth. I just said that I had broken something, that it wasn't that bad, and that I'd immediately confessed and promised that I would pay for everything when I saw how much damage it had caused. I didn't know how far that would go as a mitigating circumstance; but I hoped it might be good enough to rule out some of the more extreme punishments. I could probably make a joke out of it if they gave me a lisp; I was good at turning things around. But I didn't want to come down with body odor or something for the next couple of months. I didn't even know how objective my reasons needed to be. I knew there was a list of criteria, and that sometimes pharmacists would be checked to make sure they were following them. That was the system the government had demanded to ensure this system was never used to abuse vulnerable children; punishment had to have a reason that someone else could check on. But I didn't know how specific their rules were, or how much any given pharmacist could use their judgement.
Then I looked up from my form and saw that the head pharmacist had arrived. There was no mistaking it; it said "Head Pharmacist" on his name badge, he was wearing the same uniform as Eric, and he had a very official-looking card with his photo on pinned to his chest, telling the world that he was qualified to administer Special and Unusual Deterrents. But that wasn't what was upsetting me the most.
I watched in silence as he greeted my parents, shook their hands, and then gave me a smile that had no kind of sympathy in it. He looked a lot more confident than the last time I'd seen him, that was for sure.
The pharmacist, the man who held my dignity in his hands, was Andy freaking Becker.