Dr. Miller Braxton made sure the information on the monitor was correct, glanced at the documents on the screen briefly, and offered up a forced smile to the man sitting across from him.
“These all appear to be in order,” he said, turning the computer around. “Once you sign the contract there, you’ll officially be a patient and client of the Guilt-Free Association.”
Phillip Meadows cheerfully scrawled his name across the bottom of the screen, initialing the last two of several pages and shifting the monitor back so it was facing Braxton.
“So,” Meadows said, “Tell me again how this works and how soon we can make it happen? Time is money, and I don’t have time to waste.”
The Guilt-Free Association was the latest in the “Mind Over Matters” movement that gained popularity in the latter part of the 22nd century. Just as plastic surgery had been a staple for those who wanted to make themselves more beautiful, brain surgery no longer had such ominous implications. There were procedures that could make you happy, optimistic – even fearless.
But one of the newer operations was the boldest – and most controversial – yet; it could remove all guilt and prevent the mind from allowing any culpability for future transgressions.
Meadows had spent three decades as a cyber trader, and couldn’t think of a customer he hadn’t cheated … probably because there wasn’t one. True, he was able to help people make money in the information technology stock game, but never as much as they could have. The illegal program he devised to make transactions allowed him to shave off a little more for himself – to go along with an already exorbitant fee.
His dishonesty had made him wealthy, and continued dishonesty would make him even wealthier. The longer he perpetuated his scams, though, the more guilty he felt.
And guilt was something he simply didn’t want to deal with.
“The surgery itself is extremely safe and, really, quite simple,” Braxton explained. “I could throw a lot of technical jargon at you – it’s all listed in the fine print of the contract – but it comes down to extracting the feelings of guilt from your prefrontal cortex and installing a block, which is a device about 10 times smaller than the head of pin. The guilt we remove is placed in a small containment vessel and then we transfer it into the brain of one of our service animals, usually a dog. Dogs don’t feel guilt – at least not the way humans do – but our studies show that it can alter their behavior in other ways and could open up a whole new avenue of mental makeovers in the future. The larger point is, your guilt lives outside your mind. The surgery takes less than 10 minutes, we keep you sedated for two hours afterward to observe your brain activity, and then you’ll wake up in one of our recovery rooms with no guilty feelings whatsoever. Once you’re aware of your surroundings, you’ll simply press the buzzer by your bed and we’ll answer any additional questions you might have.”
Meadows took a deep breath.
“And you absolutely guarantee no matter what I do going forward – no matter how bad – I won’t feel guilty?” he asked.
“Guaranteed 100 percent,” Braxton said. “Now of course, you’re still subject to the laws of the Pan-America Corporate Government, and the contract you signed absolves us of any liability for a criminal act you might commit. That said, whatever you do will not result in any feeling of guilt or remorse. And, let me remind you, the procedure is irreversible. It’s hard to imagine why anyone would want to reverse it, but it’s important you know that before we continue.”
“Understood,” Meadows said. “Now, let’s do this thing. I’ve got a virtual call with a client in Amsterdam in four hours, and that could be one of my biggest scores of the year.”
Braxton led the patient into a pale blue-colored operating arena that featured a surgeon and an assistant, both adorned in red scrubs. Meadows stripped down to his shorts, and was then asked to lie flat on his back on a cushioned table.
“Have any of you guys had this surgery?” Meadows wondered.
Braxton shook his head from side to side.
“No,” he said. “Our staff is comprised entirely of sociopaths, so there would be no need. With the volume of surgeries we perform, its best to have a staff that is all business all the time. Now, close your eyes and we’re going to give you an injection that will put you under. Once you awake, it’ll be as though no time has elapsed at all. Good luck, Mr. Meadows … I’m confident this will be routine for us and life-changing for you.”
Meadows awoke with a start and saw a large dog crouched in the corner, barking. As he arose, the dog inched closer to his bed and started to growl.
Meadows quickly located the button Braxton had told him about and pressed it.
“Hey!’ he shouted. “This is Phillip Meadows in the recovery room … I guess it’s the recovery room. There’s a dog in here for some reason and he doesn’t seem happy. At all. What the hell?”
“Mr. Meadows, this is Dr. Braxton,” said the voice coming through the intercom. “The surgery was a success and we’ll be releasing you within the hour. In a few moments a technician will come in and give you instructions on the care and feeding of your service animal.”
A service animal was not part of the agreement, at least not as far as Meadows knew.
“Look, I just wanted to have my guilt removed. I didn’t sign up for a dog.”
The door to the room opened and Braxton and a Guilt-Free Association staffer – holding a leash – walked in.
“You should’ve read the fine print, Mr. Meadows,” Braxton said. “The dog is your responsibility since it now carries your guilt. You won’t feel it anymore, but you still have to live with it.”