War with the Robots

Carl was on his feet, staring unbelievingly at the speaker. Was it some trick? Yet as he watched the calendar mechanism ground gears briefly and the year numbers slowly turned over. 18… 17… 16… The whirring stopped. stopped.

Just like that. Three years off his sentence. It didn’t seem possible — yet there were the numbers to prove that it was.

"Sentence Control!" he shouted. ‘Listen to me! What happened? I mean how can a sentence be reduced by this award business? I never heard anything about it before?"

"Sentence reduction is never mentioned in public life," the speaker said flatly. "This might encourage people to break the law, since threat of sentence is considered a deterrent. Normally a sentenced person is not told of sentence reduction until after their first year. Your case however is exceptional since you were awarded reduction before the end of said year."

"How can I find out more about sentence reduction?" Carl asked eagerly.

The speaker hummed for a moment, then the voice crackled out again. "Your Sentence Advisor is Mr. Prisbi. He will advise you in whatever is to be done. You have an appointment for 1300 hours tomorrow. Here is his address."

The machine clicked and spat out a card. Carl was waiting for it this time and caught it before it hit the floor. He held it carefully, almost lovingly. Three years off his sentence and tomorrow he would find out what else he could do to reduce it even more.

Of course he was early, almost a full hour before he was due. The robot-receptionist kept him seated in the outer office until the exact minute of his appointment. When he heard the door lock finally click open he almost jumped to it. Forcing himself to go slow, he entered the office.

Prisbi, the Sentence Advisor, looked like a preserved fish peering through the bottom of a bottle. He was dumpy fat, with dead white skin and lumpy features that had been squeezed up like putty from the fat underneath. His eyes were magnified pupils that peered unblinkingly through eyeglass lenses almost as thick as they were wide. In a world where contact lenses were the norm, his vision was so bad it could not be corrected by the tiny lenses. Instead he wore the heavy-framed, anachronistic spectacles, perched insecurely on his puffy nose.

Prisbi did not smile or say a word when Carl entered the door. He kept his eyes fixed steadily on him as he walked the length of the room. They reminded Carl of the video scanners he had grown to hate, and he shook the idea away.

"My name is…" he began.

"I know your name, Tritt," Prisbi rasped. The voice seemed too coarse to have come from those soft lips. "Now sit down in that chair — there." He jerked his pen at a hard metal chair that faced his desk.

Carl sat down and immediately blinked away from the strong lights that focused on his face. He tried to slide the chair back, until he realized it was fastened to the floor. He just sat then and waited for Prisbi to begin.

Prisbi finally lowered his glassy gaze and picked up a file of papers from his desk. He riffled through them for a full minute before speaking.

"Very strange record, Tritt," he finally grated out. Can’t say that I like it at all. Don’t even know why Control gave you permission to be here. But since you are-tell me why."

It was an effort to smile but Carl did. "Well you see, I was awarded a three year reduction in sentence. This is the first I ever heard of sentence reduction. Control sent me here, said you would give me more information."

"A complete waste of time," Prisbi said, throwing the papers down onto the desk. "You aren’t eligible for sentence reduction until after you’ve finished your first year of sentence. You have almost ten months to go. Come back then and I’ll explain. You can leave."

Carl didn’t move. His hands were clenched tight in his lap as he fought for control. He squinted against the light, looking at Prisbi’s unresponsive face.

"But you see I have already had sentence reduction. Perhaps that’s why Control told me to come—"

"Don’t try and teach me the law," Prisbi growled coldly. "I’m here to teach it to you. All right I’ll explain. Though it’s of absolutely no value now. When you finish your first year of sentence-a real year of work at your assigned job — you are eligible for reduction. You may apply then for other work that carries a time premium. Dangerous jobs such as satellite repair, that take two days off your sentence for every day served. There are even certain positions in atomics that allow three days per day worked, though these are rare. In this way the sentenced man helps himself, learns social consciousness, and benefits society at the same time. Of course this doesn’t apply to you yet."