Story 1

It had been about a month since the Reevaluation had begun and the evaluations of women were moving along quickly. Each day Harold checked the mail he dreaded finding the envelope containing the notice scheduling the evaluation. His wife Samantha had barely left the house since the announcement; it was no longer safe for women to be out alone. Just a week prior one of Samantha’s friends had been grocery shopping when a black van grabbed her and drove off. There were witnesses but it didn’t matter.

When Sam saw Harold’s face that morning she knew the letter had come. She started to cry but he consoled her. They had money so they were at a low risk of being split up. The evaluation itself would be terrible but it would be one day and then it would be over. They had the benefit of not being part of the first wave so they had learned some things from friends who had come before them, like that the evaluators were trained to pick up attempts to make a woman look worse than she really was and reduce her value. They would usually respond by increasing her cost significantly.

The morning of the evaluation Harold and Samantha sat nervously at the kitchen table. They were too stressed to eat and barely were speaking to each other. There was a firm knock at the door.

“Just remember,” Harold said, “do what he says, anything he says. Answer all questions. Don’t disrespect him in any way. Tomorrow everything will go back to normal.” Samantha nodded, her eyes misty and pointed toward the ground. Harold opened the door.

“Hello, I’m Inspector Andrews and you are?” the inspector said. He was tall and pale, with sunken cheeks and small black eyes. He had a black suit on with a dark red shirt. Harold guessed he was about 50.

“I’m Harold, Samantha’s hus ... Samantha’s former husband.” The inspector smiled. At least this would be an easy one; it went so much smoother when the couples played along.

“Will you be joining us for the evaluation Harold?” he asked, stepping inside.

“No, no, I’ll be upstairs if you need anything though,” Harold replied. He and Sa, m had given that decision much thought and conversation but in the end Harold didn’t know if he could keep his cool with what they knew could happen. The inspector nodded and Harold walked slowly up the stairs.

“And you are Samantha then.” He looked at Samantha as he spoke to her but not in her eyes. Already he was measuring her physically. She was wearing a tight yellow blouse and blue jeans.

“We are beginning the evaluation. Please remember that the penalty for lying is that your owner will immediately lose possession of you and you will be auctioned off or used for government business. Let’s start with the basics. Age?”

“27,” Sam replied in a quiet voice.

“Years in your current relationship?”

“5.”

“Number of male sexual partners?”

“8,” Sam said, staring straight ahead. The question was a trap. A high number would mean the evaluator would value the current relationship less and give less of a discount. A low number would increase her exclusivity and thus her value. The chances of her getting caught lying were low so she went right for the middle. The truth wasn’t that much higher anyway...

“Level of supposed education?”

“I have a bachelor’s degree in accounting.” The inspector shook his head. So much time had been wasted trying to teach women work skills.

“Now it’s time for the physical evaluation. Please stand up and remove all of your clothing.”

Sam’s face turned bright red as she stood up. She had known this was coming but couldn’t have prepared herself. She unbuttoned her blouse and laid it on the table, then pulled off her jeans. She looked at the inspector as if for a sign of mercy but he gave her no indication to stop. She unhooked her bra, pulled off her panties and laid them on top of the rest of her clothes. She stood straight as she could but was nearly crying.

The inspector began jotting notes down on his score sheet. Height: 5’7. Build: Athletic. Hair: Long, straight, dark brown. Skin tone: Fair. He wrapped a tape measurer around her hips, stomach and breasts and jotted down the measurements, using a scale to assign a value to each one. Breast firmness: 7/10. Breast shape: 6/10. Nipple size and shape: 8/10. Sam got a look at the things he was measuring and nearly vomited in disgust.

“Of the 8 men that have used you, how many were after you married your husband?”

“None,” she answered as he groped her butt cheek, writing ratings about every detail of her body.

“Have you ever been pregnant?”

“No.”

“Are you infertile?”

“No ... I don’t know. We’ve never tried.” The inspector nodded and continued writing.

“Be aware that confirmation of your fertility could in the future increase your value and lead to your owner paying higher property taxes. However, changes to your body resulting from a childbirth could also lower your value. Be sure to report any pregnancies and their outcomes immediately.”

This had been the magic bullet solution to abortion. The government didn’t want to outlaw it because it was frequently useful and early on it couldn’t even be proven that the fetus was a person (male). But if all abortions had to be reported by the doctor it would be easy enough for them to add a fertility value to the woman. If she went through with the pregnancy, which the government needed women to do frequently to maintain the population, they could offset it by saying her body was more used up.

“Now what is your understanding of the relationship between property and owner?” the inspector asked, looking her up and down again.

“Property obeys the owner,” she replied, as she had practiced.

“Since your former husband has not yet paid for you, who is your owner.” Sam was silent for a moment. She knew what was coming. The inspector stopped writing and stared at her, waiting for an answer.

“The government owns me.”

“So being that I am an instrument of the government,” he said, running his hand up and down her back, “do you agree that right now you should be obeying me?”

“Of course,” she replied, a tear rolling down her cheek. The inspector sighed. He preferred them either to fight back a little so that he could correct them or to be completely submissive which would increase their value. This would be another day at the office. He reached down and unzipped his slacks.

“This is the second assessment today so you may notice some residue,” he said as he pushed lightly down on her head. She hesitated a bit but did fall to her knees. Damn. He reached down and slapped her across the face, eliciting a yelp.

“I did what you asked,” she said through tears. He slapped her again, then again. No resistance but more tears. Complicit but unwilling, he thought.