My hands trembled as I read the summons while the National officer stood in my doorway drumming his fingers on his holster. The summons was dated November 4, 2048; it would be my son’s birthday tomorrow.

“How long do I have?”

“You got about thirty seconds,” said the officer in a thick New Jersey accent.  

“But my wife and child, I—I need to tell them.”

“I’ll leave a note on the door. Now let’s get going.”

“But—”

“Don’t you work hard and do your job well?”

“I guess so. I mean I—I put in long hours and make enough to provide for my family.”

“Then you got nothing to worry about. Come on, get in the car.”

I hesitated, but the safety strap of the holster popped off, motivating me to comply.

It was a quick drive to the LAW station since every town had one. Cut into the cement above the entrance were the words, “Logical Analysis of Worth #1072; Enacted on Dec. 2, 2035.”

I scanned my wrist ID at the entrance terminal. The door opened quickly and my escort prodded me inside.

“Sit over there and wait with the rest of them. And don’t try anything funny! Remember, your behavior impacts your worth rating,” said the officer as he walked away.  

The air stank with nervousness as the red light above the machine door cast a crimson foreboding glow over the people in the waiting room. The armed guards stood in the shadows as insurance against those who would resist their evaluation.

I sat in the only vacant chair. I never realized how busy these places were. Most of the people there were elderly or disabled, with a few exceptions, including myself and a mother who was desperately trying to control her child.  

“So why are you here?” asked a young woman seated beside me.

“Well, I’m not actually sure. I always thought someone my age needed to be turned in by an employer to be brought here, but my boss loves me.”

“It used to be that way, but just last week a friend of mine was called in for his Internet usage. The LAW said he had been wasting too much time doing research unrelated to his job, but since he was still productive it let him go. It monitors everything nowadays.”

“Wow,” I hadn’t thought of that. I’d been searching for information about the world before the war. Maybe that’s why I’m here.  

My thoughts were suddenly interrupted by the cries of the child across the room. He’d been standing on his chair, but tripped and now found himself on the floor.

“I told you to sit down and behave, but you never listen! Now look what you’ve done to yourself,” his mother scolded.

Wanting to escape from the noise, I turned to resume the conversation and started to say, “What are you here—” but I stopped short when I noticed her maternity clothes.

“Yeah,” she said with a sigh as her eyes dropped to her stomach.

Almost whispering I said, “He’s going to be okay.”

“My last child was aborted. The LAW said that he would be borne with Down syndrome. I wanted to keep him so badly though. Figured I’d try again; have it in secret. But it found me.”

“I’m sorry I—I don’t know what to say.”

“Yeah,” she sighed again leaning her head against the wall and closing her eyes.

Any words I could have said would mean nothing to her. I’d heard this story countless times. A few years back a new rule was added to the LAW. It stated that if an unborn child was diagnosed with a disease, that child and all of the woman’s subsequent children would be aborted, removing the “bad genes” from society.

The door of the machine began to open as the light above it turned green. No one ever knew if the person before him had passed or failed their analysis since those who passed would exit out the back of the building and those who failed would exit into eternity.

A name was read over the loud speaker, “Michael Harris.”

“Finally,” said the mother as she began to drag her young disruptive son to the door of the machine.

“Put him in there and make sure he fails,” she said as she handed him over to the attending guard.

Quickly the guard put the boy into the machine. The door slid shut and the light above it turned red.

“Mrs. Harris, would you please accompany us to the back while you wait for the results.”

“Gladly,” she said as she was led away.

I’d heard of mothers voluntarily bringing their children for evaluations, but this was the first I’d ever seen it for myself. I couldn’t imagine wanting to bring my son to one of these places. He should be getting out of school soon, and he’ll be wondering where I am.

Fifteen minutes passed and like clockwork the light turned green and the door opened. A moment later another name was read and I watched as a man was forced at gunpoint into the machine. The light above the door turned red again.

By chance, I happened to glance out the window to see the disappointed Mrs. Harris drag her kicking and screaming child into her car. Apparently he still had some worth.

From green to red then green to red again, I watched the light as the room slowly emptied, growing my anxiety. I started to think about my life and all the things I should have done differently. My mind kept inventing all sorts of scenarios and what-ifs that could have prevented me from being summoned.  

What will the LAW ask me? What will it find out? What does it already know? What will it decide?

The light turned green and the machine opened its mouth again, ready to receive another person to swallow or spit out.

“Ronny Palmer.” The words from the speaker resonated in my ears with such gripping fear that the room around me seemed to go black until all I could see was the green light of the door.

The pregnant girl beside me touched my shoulder and whispered, “It’s going to be okay.”

Her words were gentle and for a moment the fear and tension released me, but the arm of a guard muscled me out of my chair and quickly the green light grew brighter. Before I had time to react, the door clanked shut and I was alone for the first time with the LAW.

The small circular room was overcast by a single red light. The metal grates beneath my feat felt warm through my shoes, and the air smelt burnt and charred.

“Welcome, Ronny Palmer,” said the disembodied feminine voice. “I will now begin my analysis. Please try to relax.”

The walls suddenly lit up with panoramic images of my life. My childhood, adolescent, and adult years whirled around me faster than I could embrace the memories.  

The voice continued, “Name, Ronny Palmer. Age, thirty-seven. Weight, one hundred eighty pounds. Occupation, maintenance worker. Salary….” Its monotonous regurgitation of facts continued like this for a seeming eternity.

“Analysis completed with a worth rating of seventy-nine percent. Goodbye, Mr. Palmer.”

The subtle hum of the machine began to increase. The sound of grinding mechanical parts filled the room and I could feel warmth creep up my back. I quickly shut my eyes waiting for the inevitable. Suddenly, silence.

“Hey, buddy, you gonna get out of there or are you gonna wait to get vaporized?”

Startled, I turned around to see the silhouettes of two guards standing in the open sunlight doorway.

I stumbled out of the building and followed my escort to his car. Noticing a hospital van, I paused and watched as the disabled, handicapped, and elderly were fed into the building.

I knew their fates without asking a machine. I knew they would never see the people they loved again. For the first time, I truly understood that they and I were nothing more than a faceless number. Our worth was not in our existence or our capacity to love, but in a number, a percentage.

As we began the trip home, I glanced behind me and watched the black smoke rise from the smoke stacks of the LAW station. It was a doleful thought to know that my life was dependent on my worth to a society, my worth to its machine.

As we pulled up to the house, my son ran out to meet me. I quickly got out and lifted him off the ground into my arms.

“Daddy, Mommy said that they took you away to see out how much you were worth. What are you worth, Daddy?”

“Well, what am I worth to you son?”

“Everything Daddy, everything.”

Contents