Which Will It Be

The decision did not surprise anyone. It was a sentence they would feel; the reason they packed themselves into the old sweaty court, on the wall to the peeling-oakwood-wall, the five hundred bodies holding the Clickers, pushing with one voice eagerly into their NutriShake feed.

The judge silenced the suspect. Breathing stopped. A thousand eyes focused on the wide Hi-Fi Sentencing screen, which is extended sideways and dark behind the judge's chair.

"Your sentence," said the judge, "was to find a shellfish shell on the beach."

Oohs filled the dank room. Good sentence! The shoreline was full of scavengers and half-lizard mutates, and it could take months to dig up the diesel mud to find the shell. The defendant was about to face a horrible fate - but what kind? It will be a bet.

"Choose your way," said the judge, and everyone looked forward as the widescreen flashed live.

CHOOSE! YOURS! HOW! Glossy Words In Sentencing Cursive 28. Winner of a recent sentence-designing font competition.

The defendant had turned black due to sunburn.

The new text is illuminated with the bright New Order Serif. OPTION A.

"Option A: Go to the beach," said the judge. "You can take one cola pop-ration."

The audience roared. The coast was a three-day trek through the hot ruins of the gray road, which was infested with bandits and widows. Colapop comes with twenty-oz packages: just enough to entertain you and imagine you can lighten it in three days.

The best sentence methods have always been: a clear conclusion, but enough tactics to keep society from stumbling.

"Next," shouted the judge, and the screen illuminated OPTION B with commitment. "The nutrition industry."

A red bottle of NutriShake danced a jig on the screen. The court blew raspberries. Bo-ring. A certain death option always comes out second, but at least it would be buzz-buzz, like a group of budding assassins-and Uzis. The killer in the betting line.

"Order," said the judge. The text shines on the NutriShake bottle. EASY REMOVAL AND REMOVAL REMOVAL.

"Option C," said the judge. "Swap at Nina's Emporium for beach access supplies."

The court is in good health.

People whistled. Stamped feet. Nina was a member of the community, she did not make great trials. So lucky the defendants have chosen their city to take over — no — all those stockbrokers.

"You can take any of the four items you exchange."

Nina's ad filled the widescreen. Magnetic pockets and magnetic bedding! L-scans! Weapons of projects! Diesel wheels! Emporium had it all.

"Audience vote?" asked the judge.

Fingers smash iClickers. "Of Nina. Of Nina." The court chanted slogans on their feet, the suspect sweating in wet overalls.

"Choose your path," said the judge.

The suspect contacted his actor icon software. Chances of survival: nil-nil-nil. ('Nina's! Nina's!') Bets exploded.

"Option C," said the suspect, roaring everyone.

Nina's Emporium was sitting in a deluxe-extra-extra living space, family size, twenty-seven feet. Aluminum shelves cover the metal walls, and the Cozy-Ambient supplement provided a soft, soft blue glow to retina heat. The four hovercams gave the outside audience a thirty-six view.

Nina waited behind the counter at the end. She was wearing a brown knitted coat, a vintage-cosplay edition, and her black braided hair.

"Welcome to Emporium!" He smiled at the hovercams.

"I need a sunscreen," said the defendant, "a jumbo cola pop-ration, a sludge-mixer Mega-edition, and a boom-boom-gun."

Wise decisions: those things can take him to the beach. The buzz-buzz points will go inside.

Nina held up the barter pad. "A special deal today: everything, in exchange for a single neuro-chip trip. You choose a trip."

Outside, the audience roared. Hovercams slammed into the defendant's face, his eyes sunk deep from Nina to the trading post. He nodded.

Nina pulled out of the counter a rusty box full of neuro-chips. He chose one, small and bright, and read his label.

"The stockbroker has been stolen instead of the pop."

The suspect shuddered: it was the neuro-chip of his first victim. If he chose to, he would enter his moment of turning off the lights. Look and feel that he had it, while he put the needle in his stomach.

He scratched the neuro-port behind his ear and shook his head.

Nina picked up another record. "Diesel-dripper meets the order volunteer."

People roared outside. Good trip! Diesel drippers roam the metal yards, licking old exhaust pipes and absorbing carburetors. They were not a non-aggro danger, so the order guards hunted them down to play.

The suspect shook his head and took a deep breath.

Another chip. "The woman is protesting against the rules for disciplinary action."

"Residents of the 19th district have been arrested for looting District-18 compost."

"The family with four files is complaining about the yum-yum ministry assignment. Oh, this is great," Nina said. "It shows how the yum-yum minister got the idea for NutriShakes."

"I have received credits," chanted the accused. "You can take it all - give me what I need."

"Of course," said Nina. "But Emporium trades goods on-chip trips. Which trip do you prefer?"

"I changed my mind!" swallowed. "I'll take Option A!"

"The verdict does not change." The judge's voice came through the Cozy-Ambient boombox. Outside, the crowd cheered. The betting lines were fried. "Do your business."

"I have different chips if you don't like them." Nina pulled out another box, with a yellow tape label that read, New Order - Executions, First Wave.

He took a neuro-chip. A hovercam focused on the minuscule label engraved on the back. The first protester of the New Justice Code. The audience whistled.

"Choose," smiled Nina. "What will it be?"