He opened his eyes, saw Hendricks' ugly face and thought for a minute
he was still having the nightmare.
"I just saw your doctor," Hendricks said. "He says your treatment is
over. You can go home now. I thought I'd give you a lift."
As Joe dressed, he searched his mind and tried to find some difference.
During the treatment, he had been unconscious or drugged, unable to
think. Now he could think clearly, but he could find no difference in
himself.
He felt more relaxed than he'd ever felt before, but that could be an
after-effect of all the sedatives he'd been given. And, he noticed when
he looked in the mirror, he was paler. The treatment had taken months
and he had, between operations, been locked in his room.
Hendricks was standing by the window. Joe stared at the massive back.
Deliberately goading his mind, he discovered the biggest change:
Before, the mere sight of the man had aroused an intense hatred. Now,
even when he tried, he succeeded in arousing only a mild hatred.
They had toned down his capacity to hate, but not done away with it
altogether.
"Come here and take a look at your public," said Hendricks.
Joe went to the window. Three stories below, a large crowd had gathered
on the hospital steps: a band, photographers, television trucks,
cameramen and autograph hunters. He'd waited a long time for this day.
But now--another change in him--
He put the emotion into words: "I don't feel like a hero. Funny, but I
don't."
"Hero!" Hendricks laughed and, with his powerful lungs, it sounded
like a bull snorting. "You think a successful criminal is a hero? You
stupid--"
He laughed again and waved a hand at the crowd below them. "You think
those people are down there because they admire what you did? They're
down there waiting for you because they're curious, because they're
glad the CPA caught you, and because they're glad you're an Ex. You're
an _ex_-criminal now, and because of your treatment, you'll never be
able to commit another crime as long as you live. And that's the kind
of guy they admire, so they want to see you, shake your hand and get
your autograph."
Joe didn't understand Hendricks completely, but the part he did
understand he didn't believe. A crowd was waiting for him. He could see
the people with his own eyes. When he left the hospital, they'd cheer
and shout and ask for his autograph. If he wasn't a hero, _what was
he_?
* * * * *
It took half an hour to get through the crowd. Cameras clicked all
around him, a hundred kids asked for his autograph, everyone talked at
once and cheered, smiled, laughed, patted him on the back and cheered
some more.
Only one thing confused him during all the excitement: a white-haired
old lady with tears in her eyes said, "Thank heaven it was only a
watch. Thank heaven you didn't kill someone! God bless you, son." And
then the old lady had handed him a box of fudge and left him in total
confusion.
What she said didn't make sense. If he had killed someone rather
than stealing a watch, he would be even more of a hero and the crowd
would have cheered even louder. He knew: he had stood outside the CPA
hospitals many times and the crowds always cheered louder when an
ex-murderer came out.
In Hendricks' robot-chauffeured car, he ate the fudge and consoled
himself with the thought, _People are funny. Who can understand 'em?_
Feeling happy for one of the few times in his life, he turned toward
Hendricks and said, "Thanks for what you did. It turned out great. I'll
be able to get a good job now."
"That's why I met you at the hospital," Hendricks said. "I want to
explain some things. I've known you for a long time and I know you're
spectacularly dumb. You can't figure out some things for yourself and
I don't want you walking around the rest of your life thinking I did
you a favor."
Joe frowned. Few men had ever done him a favor and he had rarely
thanked anyone for anything. And now ... after thanking the man who'd
done him the biggest favor of all, the man was denying it!
"You robbed Gralewski's apartment," Hendricks said. "Gralewski is a CPA
employee and he doesn't live in the apartment you robbed. The CPA pays
the rent for that one and he lives in another. We have a lot of places
like that. You see, it gives us a way to get rid of saps like you
before they do real damage. We use it as a last resort when a DCT First
Class won't take the free psycho treatment or--"
"Well, it's still a favor."
Hendricks' face hardened. "Favor? You wouldn't know a favor if you
stumbled over one. I did it because it's standard procedure for your
type of case. Anyone can--free of charge--have treatment by the best
psychologists. Any DCT can stop being a DCT by simply asking for the
treatment and taking it. But you wouldn't do that. You wanted to commit
a crime, get caught and be a hero ... an _Ex_."
* * * * *
The car passed one of the CPA playgrounds. Boys and girls of all ages
were laughing, squealing with joy as they played games designed by CPA
psychologists to relieve tension. And--despite the treatment, Joe
shuddered when he saw the psychologists standing to one side, quietly
watching the children. The whole world was filled with CPA employees
and volunteer workers. Everywhere you went, it was there, quietly
watching you and analyzing you, and if you showed criminal tendencies,
it watched you even more closely and analyzed you even more deeply
until it took you apart and put you back together again the way it
wanted you to be.
"Being an Ex, you'll get the kind of job you always wanted," Hendricks
continued. "You'll get a good-paying job, but you'll work for it.
You'll work eight hours a day, work harder than you've ever worked
before in your life, because every time you start to loaf, a voice in
your head is going to say, _Work! Work!_ Exes always get good jobs
because employers know they're good workers.
"But during these next few days, you'll discover what being an Ex
is like. You see, Joe, the treatment can't possibly take all the
criminal tendencies out of a man. So the treatment does the next best
thing--you'll find a set of laws written in your mind. You might _want_
to break one now and then, but you won't be able. I'll give you an
illustration...."
Joe's face reddened as Hendricks proceeded to call him a series of
names. He wanted to smash the fat, grinning face, but the muscles in
his arm froze before it moved it an inch.
And worse than that, a brief pain ripped through his skull. A pain so
intense that, had it lasted a second longer, he would have screamed in
agony. And above the pain, a voice whispered in his head, _Unlawful to
strike someone except in self-defense_.
He opened his mouth to tell Hendricks exactly what he thought of him,
the CPA, the whole world. But the words stayed in his throat, the pain
returned, and the mental voice whispered, _Unlawful to curse_.
He had never heard how the treatment prevented an Ex from committing a
crime. And now that he knew, it didn't seem fair. He decided to tell
the whole story to the newspapers as soon as he could. And as soon as
that decision formed in his mind, his body froze, the pain returned and
the voice, _Unlawful to divulge CPA procedure_.
"See what I mean?" Hendricks asked. "A century ago, you would have been
locked in a prison and taxpayers' money would have supported you until
the day you died. With the CPA system, you're returned to society, a
useful citizen, unable to commit the smallest crime. And you've got a
big hand in your dirty little mind that's going to slap it every time
you get the wrong kind of thought. It'll keep slapping you until you
learn. It might take weeks, months or years, but you'll learn sooner
or later to not even think about doing anything wrong."
* * * * *
He lit a cigarette and blew a smoke ring at the car's plush ceiling.
"It's a great system, isn't it, Joe? A true democracy. Even a jerk like
you is free to do what he wants, as long as it's legal."
"I think it's a lousy, filthy system." Joe's head was still tingling
with pain and he felt suffocated. The CPA was everywhere, only now it
was also inside his head, telling him he couldn't do this, couldn't do
that. All his life it had been telling him he couldn't do things he
wanted to do and _now_....
Hendricks laughed. "You'll change your opinion. We live in a clean,
wonderful world, Joe. A world of happy, healthy people. Except for
freaks like yourself, criminals are--"
"Let me out!" Joe grabbed at the door and was on the sidewalk, slamming
the door behind him before the car stopped completely.
He stared at the car as it pulled away from the curb and glided into
the stream of traffic again. He realized he was a prisoner ... a
prisoner inside his own body ... made a prisoner by a world that hated
him back.
He wanted to spit his contempt, but the increasingly familiar pain and
voice prevented him.
It was unlawful to spit on a sidewalk.