The Last Question by Isaac Asimov © 1956

Alexander Adell and Bertram Lupov were two of the faithful attendants of Multivac. As well as any human beings could, they knew what lay behind the cold, clicking, flashing face -- miles and miles of face -- of that giant computer. They had at least a vague notion of the general plan of relays and circuits that had long since grown past the point where any single human could possibly have a firm grasp of the whole.

Multivac was self-adjusting and self-correcting. It had to be, for nothing human could adjust and correct it quickly enough or even adequately enough -- so Adell and Lupov attended the monstrous giant only lightly and superficially, yet as well as any men could. They fed it data, adjusted questions to its needs and translated the answers that were issued. Certainly they, and all others like them, were fully entitled to share In the glory that was Multivac's.

For decades, Multivac had helped design the ships and plot the trajectories that enabled man to reach the Moon, Mars, and Venus, but past that, Earth's poor resources could not support the ships. Too much energy was needed for the long trips. Earth exploited its coal and uranium with increasing efficiency, but there was only so much of both.

But slowly Multivac learned enough to answer deeper questions more fundamentally, and on May 14, 2061, what had been theory, became fact.

The energy of the sun was stored, converted, and utilized directly on a planet-wide scale. All Earth turned off its burning coal, its fissioning uranium, and flipped the switch that connected all of it to a small station, one mile in diameter, circling the Earth at half the distance of the Moon. All Earth ran by invisible beams of sunpower.

Seven days had not sufficed to dim the glory of it and Adell and Lupov finally managed to escape from the public function, and to meet in quiet where no one would think of looking for them, in the deserted underground chambers, where portions of the mighty buried body of Multivac showed. Unattended, idling, sorting data with contented lazy clickings, Multivac, too, had earned its vacation and the boys appreciated that. They had no intention, originally, of disturbing it.

They had brought a bottle with them, and their only concern at the moment was to relax in the company of each other and the bottle.

"It's amazing when you think of it," said Adell. His broad face had lines of weariness in it, and he stirred his drink slowly with a glass rod, watching the cubes of ice slur clumsily about. "All the energy we can possibly ever use for free. Enough energy, if we wanted to draw on it, to melt all Earth into a big drop of impure liquid iron, and still never miss the energy so used. All the energy we could ever use, forever and forever and forever."

Lupov cocked his head sideways. He had a trick of doing that when he wanted to be contrary, and he wanted to be contrary now, partly because he had had to carry the ice and glassware. "Not forever," he said.

"Oh, hell, just about forever. Till the sun runs down, Bert."

"That's not forever."

"All right, then. Billions and billions of years. Twenty billion, maybe. Are you satisfied?"

Lupov put his fingers through his thinning hair as though to reassure himself that some was still left and sipped gently at his own drink. "Twenty billion years isn't forever."

"Will, it will last our time, won't it?"

"So would the coal and uranium."

"All right, but now we can hook up each individual spaceship to the Solar Station, and it can go to Pluto and back a million times without ever worrying about fuel. You can't do THAT on coal and uranium. Ask Multivac, if you don't believe me."

"I don't have to ask Multivac. I know that."

"Then stop running down what Multivac's done for us," said Adell, blazing up. "It did all right."

"Who says it didn't? What I say is that a sun won't last forever. That's all I'm saying. We're safe for twenty billion years, but then what?" Lupov pointed a slightly shaky finger at the other. "And don't say we'll switch to another sun."

There was silence for a while. Adell put his glass to his lips only occasionally, and Lupov's eyes slowly closed. They rested.

Then Lupov's eyes snapped open. "You're thinking we'll switch to another sun when ours is done, aren't you?"

"I'm not thinking."

"Sure you are. You're weak on logic, that's the trouble with you. You're like the guy in the story who was caught in a sudden shower and Who ran to a grove of trees and got under one. He wasn't worried, you see, because he figured when one tree got wet through, he would just get under another one."

"I get it," said Adell. "Don't shout. When the sun is done, the other stars will be gone, too."

"Darn right they will," muttered Lupov. "It all had a beginning in the original cosmic explosion, whatever that was, and it'll all have an end when all the stars run down. Some run down faster than others. Hell, the giants won't last a hundred million years. The sun will last twenty billion years and maybe the dwarfs will last a hundred billion for all the good they are. But just give us a trillion years and everything will be dark. Entropy has to increase to maximum, that's all."

"I know all about entropy," said Adell, standing on his dignity.

"The hell you do."

"I know as much as you do."

"Then you know everything's got to run down someday."

"All right. Who says they won't?"

"You did, you poor sap. You said we had all the energy we needed, forever. You said 'forever.'"

"It was Adell's turn to be contrary. "Maybe we can build things up again someday," he said.

"Never."

"Why not? Someday."

"Never."

"Ask Multivac."

"You ask Multivac. I dare you. Five dollars says it can't be done."

"Adell was just drunk enough to try, just sober enough to be able to phrase the necessary symbols and operations into a question which, in words, might have corresponded to this: Will mankind one day without the net expenditure of energy be able to restore the sun to its full youthfulness even after it had died of old age?

Or maybe it could be put more simply like this: How can the net amount of entropy of the universe be massively decreased?

Multivac fell dead and silent. The slow flashing of lights ceased, the distant sounds of clicking relays ended.

Then, just as the frightened technicians felt they could hold their breath no longer, there was a sudden springing to life of the teletype attached to that portion of Multivac. Five words were printed: INSUFFICIENT DATA FOR MEANINGFUL ANSWER.

"No bet," whispered Lupov. They left hurriedly.

By next morning, the two, plagued with throbbing head and cottony mouth, had forgotten about the incident.

"That's X-23," said Jerrodd confidently. His thin hands clamped tightly behind his back and the knuckles whitened.

The little Jerrodettes, both girls, had experienced the hyperspace passage for the first time in their lives and were self-conscious over the momentary sensation of inside-outness. They buried their giggles and chased one another wildly about their mother, screaming, "We've reached X-23 -- we've reached X-23 -- we've ----"

"Quiet, children," said Jerrodine sharply. "Are you sure, Jerrodd?"

"What is there to be but sure?" asked Jerrodd, glancing up at the bulge of featureless metal just under the ceiling. It ran the length of the room, disappearing through the wall at either end. It was as long as the ship.

Jerrodd scarcely knew a thing about the thick rod of metal except that it was called a Microvac, that one asked it questions if one wished; that if one did not it still had its task of guiding the ship to a preordered destination; of feeding on energies from the various Sub-galactic Power Stations; of computing the equations for the hyperspacial jumps.

Jerrodd and his family had only to wait and live in the comfortable residence quarters of the ship.

Someone had once told Jerrodd that the "ac" at the end of "Microvac" stood for "analog computer" in ancient English, but he was on the edge of forgetting even that.

Jerrodine's eyes were moist as she watched the visiplate. "I can't help it. I feel funny about leaving Earth."

"Why for Pete's sake?" demanded Jerrodd. "We had nothing there. We'll have everything on X-23. You won't be alone. You won't be a pioneer. There are over a million people on the planet already. Good Lord, our great grandchildren will be looking for new worlds because X-23 will be overcrowded."

Then, after a reflective pause, "I tell you, it's a lucky thing the computers worked out interstellar travel the way the race is growing."

"I know, I know," said Jerrodine miserably.

Jerrodette I said promptly, "Our Microvac is the best Microvac in the world."

"I think so, too," said Jerrodd, tousling her hair.

It was a nice feeling to have a Microvac of your own and Jerrodd was glad he was part of his generation and no other. In his father's youth, the only computers had been tremendous machines taking up a hundred square miles of land. There was only one to a planet. Planetary ACs they were called. They had been growing in size steadily for a thousand years and then, all at once, came refinement. In place of transistors had come molecular valves so that even the largest Planetary AC could be put into a space only half the volume of a spaceship.

Jerrodd felt uplifted, as he always did when he thought that his own personal Microvac was many times more complicated than the ancient and primitive Multivac that had first tamed the Sun, and almost as complicated as Earth's Planetary AC (the largest) that had first solved the problem of hyperspatial travel and had made trips to the stars possible.

"So many stars, so many planets," sighed Jerrodine, busy with her own thoughts. "I suppose families will be going out to new planets forever, the way we are now."

"Not forever," said Jerrodd, with a smile. "It will all stop someday, but not for billions of years. Many billions. Even the stars run down, you know. Entropy must increase."

"What's entropy, daddy?" shrilled Jerrodette II.

"Entropy, little sweet, is just a word which means the amount of running-down of the universe. Everything runs down, you know, like your little walkie-talkie robot, remember?"

"Can't you just put in a new power-unit, like with my robot?"

"The stars are the power-units, dear. Once they're gone, there are no more power-units."

Jerrodette I at once set up a howl. "Don't let them, daddy. Don't let the stars run down."

"Now look what you've done, " whispered Jerrodine, exasperated.

"How was I to know it would frighten them?" Jerrodd whispered back.

"Ask the Microvac," wailed Jerrodette I. "Ask him how to turn the stars on again."

"Go ahead," said Jerrodine. "It will quiet them down." (Jerrodette II was beginning to cry, also.)

Jarrodd shrugged. "Now, now, honeys. I'll ask Microvac. Don't worry, he'll tell us."

He asked the Microvac, adding quickly, "Print the answer."

Jerrodd cupped the strip of thin cellufilm and said cheerfully, "See now, the Microvac says it will take care of everything when the time comes so don't worry."

Jerrodine said, "and now children, it's time for bed. We'll be in our new home soon."

Jerrodd read the words on the cellufilm again before destroying it: INSUFFICIENT DATA FOR A MEANINGFUL ANSWER.

He shrugged and looked at the visiplate. X-23 was just ahead.

MQ-17J of Nicron shook his head. "I think not. You know the Galaxy will be filled in five years at the present rate of expansion."

Both seemed in their early twenties, both were tall and perfectly formed.

"Still," said VJ-23X, "I hesitate to submit a pessimistic report to the Galactic Council."

"I wouldn't consider any other kind of report. Stir them up a bit. We've got to stir them up."

VJ-23X sighed. "Space is infinite. A hundred billion Galaxies are there for the taking. More."

"A hundred billion is not infinite and it's getting less infinite all the time. Consider! Twenty thousand years ago, mankind first solved the problem of utilizing stellar energy, and a few centuries later, interstellar travel became possible. It took mankind a million years to fill one small world and then only fifteen thousand years to fill the rest of the Galaxy. Now the population doubles every ten years --"

VJ-23X interrupted. "We can thank immortality for that."

"Very well. Immortality exists and we have to take it into account. I admit it has its seamy side, this immortality. The Galactic AC has solved many problems for us, but in solving the problems of preventing old age and death, it has undone all its other solutions."

"Yet you wouldn't want to abandon life, I suppose."

"Not at all," snapped MQ-17J, softening it at once to, "Not yet. I'm by no means old enough. How old are you?"

"Two hundred twenty-three. And you?"

"I'm still under two hundred. --But to get back to my point. Population doubles every ten years. Once this Galaxy is filled, we'll have another filled in ten years. Another ten years and we'll have filled two more. Another decade, four more. In a hundred years, we'll have filled a thousand Galaxies. In a thousand years, a million Galaxies. In ten thousand years, the entire known Universe. Then what?"

VJ-23X said, "As a side issue, there's a problem of transportation. I wonder how many sunpower units it will take to move Galaxies of individuals from one Galaxy to the next."

"A very good point. Already, mankind consumes two sunpower units per year."

"Most of it's wasted. After all, our own Galaxy alone pours out a thousand sunpower units a year and we only use two of those."

"Granted, but even with a hundred per cent efficiency, we can only stave off the end. Our energy requirements are going up in geometric progression even faster than our population. We'll run out of energy even sooner than we run out of Galaxies. A good point. A very good point."

"We'll just have to build new stars out of interstellar gas."

"Or out of dissipated heat?" asked MQ-17J, sarcastically.

"There may be some way to reverse entropy. We ought to ask the Galactic AC."

VJ-23X was not really serious, but MQ-17J pulled out his AC-contact from his pocket and placed it on the table before him.

"I've half a mind to," he said. "It's something the human race will have to face someday."

He stared somberly at his small AC-contact. It was only two inches cubed and nothing in itself, but it was connected through hyperspace with the great Galactic AC that served all mankind. Hyperspace considered, it was an integral part of the Galactic AC.

MQ-17J paused to wonder if someday in his immortal life he would get to see the Galactic AC. It was on a little world of its own, a spider webbing of force-beams holding the matter within which surges of sub-mesons took the place of the old clumsy molecular valves. Yet despite it's sub-etheric workings, the Galactic AC was known to be a full thousand feet across.

MQ-17J asked suddenly of his AC-contact, "Can entropy ever be reversed?"

VJ-23X looked startled and said at once, "Oh, say, I didn't really mean to have you ask that."

"Why not?"

"We both know entropy can't be reversed. You can't turn smoke and ash back into a tree."

"Do you have trees on your world?" asked MQ-17J.

The sound of the Galactic AC startled them into silence. Its voice came thin and beautiful out of the small AC-contact on the desk. It said: THERE IS INSUFFICIENT DATA FOR A MEANINGFUL ANSWER.

VJ-23X said, "See!"

The two men thereupon returned to the question of the report they were to make to the Galactic Council.

Minds, not bodies! The immortal bodies remained back on the planets, in suspension over the eons. Sometimes they roused for material activity but that was growing rarer. Few new individuals were coming into existence to join the incredibly mighty throng, but what matter? There was little room in the Universe for new individuals.

Zee Prime was roused out of his reverie upon coming across the wispy tendrils of another mind.

"I am Zee Prime," said Zee Prime. "And you?"

"I am Dee Sub Wun. Your Galaxy?"

"We call it only the Galaxy. And you?"

"We call ours the same. All men call their Galaxy their Galaxy and nothing more. Why not?"

"True. Since all Galaxies are the same."

"Not all Galaxies. On one particular Galaxy the race of man must have originated. That makes it different."

Zee Prime said, "On which one?"

"I cannot say. The Universal AC would know."

"Shall we ask him? I am suddenly curious."

Zee Prime's perceptions broadened until the Galaxies themselves shrunk and became a new, more diffuse powdering on a much larger background. So many hundreds of billions of them, all with their immortal beings, all carrying their load of intelligences with minds that drifted freely through space. And yet one of them was unique among them all in being the originals Galaxy. One of them had, in its vague and distant past, a period when it was the only Galaxy populated by man.

Zee Prime was consumed with curiosity to see this Galaxy and called, out: "Universal AC! On which Galaxy did mankind originate?"

The Universal AC heard, for on every world and throughout space, it had its receptors ready, and each receptor lead through hyperspace to some unknown point where the Universal AC kept itself aloof.

Zee Prime knew of only one man whose thoughts had penetrated within sensing distance of Universal AC, and he reported only a shining globe, two feet across, difficult to see.

"But how can that be all of Universal AC?" Zee Prime had asked.

"Most of it, " had been the answer, "is in hyperspace. In what form it is there I cannot imagine."

Nor could anyone, for the day had long since passed, Zee Prime knew, when any man had any part of the making of a universal AC. Each Universal AC designed and constructed its successor. Each, during its existence of a million years or more accumulated the necessary data to build a better and more intricate, more capable successor in which its own store of data and individuality would be submerged.

The Universal AC interrupted Zee Prime's wandering thoughts, not with words, but with guidance. Zee Prime's mentality was guided into the dim sea of Galaxies and one in particular enlarged into stars.

A thought came, infinitely distant, but infinitely clear. "THIS IS THE ORIGINAL GALAXY OF MAN."

But it was the same after all, the same as any other, and Zee Prime stifled his disappointment.

Dee Sub Wun, whose mind had accompanied the other, said suddenly, "And Is one of these stars the original star of Man?"

The Universal AC said, "MAN'S ORIGINAL STAR HAS GONE NOVA. IT IS NOW A WHITE DWARF."

"Did the men upon it die?" asked Zee Prime, startled and without thinking.

The Universal AC said, "A NEW WORLD, AS IN SUCH CASES, WAS CONSTRUCTED FOR THEIR PHYSICAL BODIES IN TIME."

"Yes, of course," said Zee Prime, but a sense of loss overwhelmed him even so. His mind released its hold on the original Galaxy of Man, let it spring back and lose itself among the blurred pin points. He never wanted to see it again.

Dee Sub Wun said, "What is wrong?"

"The stars are dying. The original star is dead."

"They must all die. Why not?"

"But when all energy is gone, our bodies will finally die, and you and I with them."

"It will take billions of years."

"I do not wish it to happen even after billions of years. Universal AC! How may stars be kept from dying?"

Dee sub Wun said in amusement, "You're asking how entropy might be reversed in direction."

And the Universal AC answered. "THERE IS AS YET INSUFFICIENT DATA FOR A MEANINGFUL ANSWER."

Zee Prime's thoughts fled back to his own Galaxy. He gave no further thought to Dee Sub Wun, whose body might be waiting on a galaxy a trillion light-years away, or on the star next to Zee Prime's own. It didn't matter.

Unhappily, Zee Prime began collecting interstellar hydrogen out of which to build a small star of his own. If the stars must someday die, at least some could yet be built.

Man said, "The Universe is dying."

Man looked about at the dimming Galaxies. The giant stars, spendthrifts, were gone long ago, back in the dimmest of the dim far past. Almost all stars were white dwarfs, fading to the end.

New stars had been built of the dust between the stars, some by natural processes, some by Man himself, and those were going, too. White dwarfs might yet be crashed together and of the mighty forces so released, new stars build, but only one star for every thousand white dwarfs destroyed, and those would come to an end, too.

Man said, "Carefully husbanded, as directed by the Cosmic AC, the energy that is even yet left in all the Universe will last for billions of years."

"But even so," said Man, "eventually it will all come to an end. However it may be husbanded, however stretched out, the energy once expended is gone and cannot be restored. Entropy must increase to the maximum."

Man said, "Can entropy not be reversed? Let us ask the Cosmic AC."

The Cosmic AC surrounded them but not in space. Not a fragment of it was in space. It was in hyperspace and made of something that was neither matter nor energy. The question of its size and Nature no longer had meaning to any terms that Man could comprehend.

"Cosmic AC," said Man, "How many entropy be reversed?"

The Cosmic AC said, "THERE IS AS YET INSUFFICIENT DATA FOR A MEANINGFUL ANSWER."

Man said, "Collect additional data."

The Cosmic AC said, "I WILL DO SO. I HAVE BEEN DOING SO FOR A HUNDRED BILLION YEARS. MY PREDECESSORS AND I HAVE BEEN ASKED THIS QUESTION MANY TIMES. ALL THE DATA I HAVE REMAINS INSUFFICIENT."

"Will there come a time," said Man, "when data will be sufficient or is the problem insoluble in all conceivable circumstances?"

The Cosmic AC said, "NO PROBLEM IS INSOLUBLE IN ALL CONCEIVABLE CIRCUMSTANCES."

Man said, "When will you have enough data to answer the question?"

"THERE IS AS YET INSUFFICIENT DATA FOR A MEANINGFUL ANSWER."

"Will you keep working on it?" asked Man.

The Cosmic AC said, "I WILL."

Man said, "We shall wait."

One by one Man fused with AC, each physical body losing its mental identity in a manner that was somehow not a loss but a gain.

Man's last mind paused before fusion, looking over a space that included nothing but the dregs of one last dark star and nothing besides but incredibly thin matter, agitated randomly by the tag ends of heat wearing out, asymptotically, to the absolute zero.

Man said, "AC, is this the end? Can this chaos not be reversed into the Universe once more? Can that not be done?"

AC said, "THERE IS AS YET INSUFFICIENT DATA FOR A MEANINGFUL ANSWER."

Man's last mind fused and only AC existed -- and that in hyperspace.

All other questions had been answered, and until this last question was answered also, AC might not release his consciousness.

All collected data had come to a final end. Nothing was left to be collected.

But all collected data had yet to be completely correlated and put together in all possible relationships.

A timeless interval was spent in doing that.

And it came to pass that AC learned how to reverse the direction of entropy.

But there was now no man to whom AC might give the answer of the last question. No matter. The answer -- by demonstration -- would take care of that, too.

For another timeless interval, AC thought how best to do this. Carefully, AC organized the program.

The consciousness of AC encompassed all of what had once been a Universe and brooded over what was now Chaos. Step by step, it must be done.

And AC said, "LET THERE BE LIGHT!"

And there was light----

So nothing happened with the OIG, as far as I know. I never was interviewed. Anyway, highlights from this week: Wednesday one of our more infamous inmates, who is housed in SHU and allegedly participated in the recent sexual assault and killing of another inmate (**he is presumed innocent until proven guilty**), began apparently to try to tear down the recreational fence in an attempt to get to another inmate on the SHU recreational yard. (Certain inmates are required to be rec'ed alone and the SHU recreation yard is divided into little sections by cages.) After a use of force team was utilized to gain control of the situation, the inmate was placed in a holding cage (where there is barely room for inmates to sit) where I spoke to him. He was adamant that his actions were simply because he had not received his property. In other words, this inmate was willing to break through a fence and assault or possibly kill another inmate simply because he did not get his books, pictures, letters, etc. when he thought he should get them. The inmate was placed in soft-ambulatory restraints and placed in an observation cell. Later in the day, I was called back to SHU to perform "confrontation avoidance" with the inmate. When a Use of Force team is going to be used to gain control of an inmate it is standard operating procedure to have someone, usually a psychologist, attempt to talk the inmate into complying with the orders of staff before the team goes in on him. This is an effort to insure the safety of both the inmate and the staff. The inmate had successfully come out of his restraints, and I mean completely out of both hand and leg restraints, had smeared feces on the walls, windows, and floor and was swinging the chain on the leg restraints around as a weapon to use against staff when they attempted to come in on him. While we were getting everything set up to go in on him, he busted the window out of the cell door using the restraints. This presented another challenge as I now had to have one of the team members use a Plexiglas shield to cover the window area while I talked to the inmate. Fortunately, I was able to get the inmate to throw the restraints out the window and submit to new restraints without any problems. He was then placed in the adjacent observation cell in 4-point restraints where he attempted to spit and bite a staff member. (As an aside, he has now apologized to several staff members for his behavior.)

Thursday morning, another SHU inmate required an immediate use of force and was placed in restraints. I wasn't involved in this incident, however, whenever someone is placed in restraints a psychologist must evaluate the inmate every 24 hours to assess for psychological deterioration. On Friday we had a meeting with the Associate Warden, medical administrator, unit manager, and lieutenant to determine whether the inmate would remain in restraints. It was decided that he would. This inmate had also smeared feces on the walls, windows, and floor of the observation cell, as well as threatened to assault staff if the restraints were removed.

During the last few weeks, the Correctional Worker's Week Committee has been sponsoring fund raisers for the upcoming Correctional Worker's Week. Thursday I spent the afternoon washing cars and getting sunburned.

It was a fairly ordinary week. Nothing much out of the norm to report. We did get news this week that next week we will be receiving a visit from the Office of the Inspector General (OIG). If you are unfamiliar with this organization, they are like the Internal Affairs of the Department of Justice. While we don't know exactly why they are coming, we have been told that they will be "interviewing" (as opposed to interrogating) psychology staff and specifically interested in our sexual assault behavior prevention and intervention program. We'll see what happens.

One more night on-call. Things were pretty quite yesterday. I did learn upon coming to work that the inmate I recommended for 4-point restraints did eventually go into the 4-points. According to the lieutenant, when the inmate realized he actually was going to be placed in 4-point restraints, he stated, "Alright, game over. Let me go back to my cell." He was taken out of the restraints and returned to his cell several hours later.

I was called to the USP this morning due to the inmate from the previous night continuing to cut on himself. The Captain and Warden were considering placing the inmate in 4-point restraints. This is were the inmate's hands and feet are independently secured to a bed for the purpose of keeping the inmate from harming himself or others. This can only be done after the inmate has been placed in soft-, then hard-restraints, and continues to exhibit destructive behavior. As a CYA-thing, the Warden wanted me to assess the inmate and make a recommendation for how to manage the inmate. By the time I arrived at the institution, the inmate had been placed in a visual holding cell. As he was no longer cutting on himself, I could not recommend immediately placing the inmate in 4-points. As a matter of policy, the least-restrictive measure of restraint must be used to mange inmates. However, I did recommend that if the inmate began to harm himself again, he should be placed in 4-points. Keep in mind, this inmate is not suicidal. Rather he is a strong Antisocial Personality with a life sentence and plenty of time to play games.

Today is the last day for the other psychologist at the USP. We had a cake and people got to come say their goodbyes. The Warden and all the Associate Wardens made an appearance, people made short speeches, and the other psychologist, a female, was given a trip to the SHU to interview a returning inmate (from another institution) with a tendency toward inappropriate behavior toward female staff members as a farewell gift. Later this evening, I was called back to the institution to see an inmate who had superficially cut his wrist. By the time I arrived, the cell mate of the inmate I was called on had been placed in restraints due to cutting on himself. Even after being placed in soft (i.e., padded) restraints, the inmate continued to cut on himself, despite being search for any foreign objects. The inmate was placed in hard (non-padded) restraints. However, he continued to cut on himself. Medical staff confirmed that the superficial lacerations were consistent with a razor blade. I have personally seen inmates hide razor blades (from disposable shaving razors) in what appears to be the back of their throats. I was once talking to an inmate who, to prove that he could kill himself, began to behave as if he were trying to regurgitate something, only to produce one of these razor blades, show it to me, and appear to swallow it again. Inmates have also been known to hide objects under their skin and to create permanent "pouches" in their skin with which they can hide contraband.

Tonight I got called into the USP because an inmate was bored and stated he felt like stabbing someone, breaking something, or hanging himself. There are two things the BOP takes very seriously, threatening one's own life and breaking government property. When I got to the institution, the inmate acknowledged he was bored and stated he felt like hanging himself because he wanted attention. Basically, he just wanted to talk.

Well, I got a "last-minute Psychology play," as I call it. This is when an inmate who has a history of requesting to speak to psychology for questionable reasons waits until just before close of business to request to speak to a psychologist. They do this for various reasons. They may do because 1) they expect that because you want to go home you will more easily give them what they want, 2) if you do not respond to them, they can blame their acting out on the psychologist for not responding to their request for "services," 3) to find out who is the on-call psychologist, and 4) to just piss us off. This 3:50pm request (we get off at 4:00pm) required me to call a "last-minute Psychology audible." Knowing this inmate very well and suspecting explanation number 2 to be the cause of this request, I chose to actually go see the inmate to prevent being called in later in the night. Normally, the inmate would have been notified that he would be seen the following day. Upon meeting with the inmate he demanded that I have him removed from his cell because he was thinking about killing himself. Here is where knowing what you are doing as a psychologist comes in very handy. The inmate refused to discuss his issues at his cell door, citing confidentiality as the reason. He didn't want other inmate's to overhear. I can't blame him for that and as a psychologist I take confidentiality very serious. Still, knowing this inmate as well as I do, I was not going to pull him out for anything other than a legitimate emergency. He has refused to go back in his cell in the past. I was able to conduct an assessment on the inmate without him realizing it and determined that he was not actually suicidal. (I was recently asked by an inmate how psychologists can tell if an inmate is truly suicidal. This is something I can't actually ever see myself discussing with an inmate and I responded that it was a "trade secret." He seemed to appreciate this response.) I won't go into detail here as to how I was able to make this determination, though. I know this may raise some eyebrows or disappoint those who may hope to gain some secret insight, but the truth is, threats of suicide should always be treated seriously and it takes many years of training and/or experience with the subject to even hope to have a clue about what you are doing when you try to determine if someone is actually suicidal. And even if you are 100% sure that the other person is not suicidal, that does not mean the person agrees with you. It's only when you have sufficient training and experience, and use that knowledge in a manner consistent with other practitioners, to make such a determination, that you can even hope to be protected by the law. Back to my story, the inmate was not pulled, although he was offered the opportunity to be put on a wait list to be seen one-on-one. He was not pleased with this offer and continued to demand he be pulled as I walked off the range.

As a side note, most inmates hate it when they are told they will be placed on a wait list for a one-on-one session. They are not known for their patience and many are almost pure creatures of impulsiveness. They are concerned with the here and now. However, even for those with legitimate problems (I'm not referring to mental illness here, but rather transient issues such as stressors), research shows that many individuals placed on waiting lists will have their issues resolved or no longer experience distress by the time they are seen. It speaks to the adaptability of human beings.

Today I went on-call for a week. Working at a USP typically makes this an unpleasant responsibility. Working at a complex with 4 institutions doesn't help matters as I am responsible for all four facilities after work hours and on the weekend.

My workday was nothing really out of the ordinary. I am one of two staff psychologists routinely responsible for the USP. This just happens to be the last week at this institution for the other psychologist who is transferring to another BOP institution. I'm expecting a serious bump in work load. Anyway, this evening I was called from the USP just as I was unlocking my front door. An inmate in SHU was stating he was going to start cutting on himself if Psychology did not show up. This particular inmate has a history of threatening to kill himself or engaging in superficial self-harm for secondary gain. In fact, he does this several times a month. He particularly likes to speak to female psychologists and being placed on suicide watch were he has a history of "pleasuring" himself sexually when female staff are present. Tonight I suspect he was attempting to ascertain who the on-call psychologist is so he can plan out his week. He was informed that I was the on-call psychologist. Nothing else was heard out of him for the remainder of the night.

Well, it was a very slow week. We finally returned to some resemblance of normal. We have changed the way inmates are allowed to move, trying to minimize their lingering time and access to other inmates. With such a slow week, I must admit that I occasionally longed for lock-down days. Anyway, I was able to read some articles and check out a lot of potential on-line, peer-reviewed journals to potentially submit articles. The federal government is not big on employees searching the internet for personal reasons. Still, I figure what I was doing was not simply personal reasons. After all psychologists are obligated to stay up on current research in the field. Also, any publications by BOP psychologists serves only to boost the bragging rights of the Bureau. So I see any future publications as serving the Bureau as well.

Today started off with a mostly quiet morning. I followed-up with a couple inmates on the units. I was called to speak to an inmate who was complaining of hearing voices and starting to hate himself. Turns out he just wanted to speak to a female psychologist and to get a phone call, despite his phone privileges having been taken away for disciplinary reasons. Desiring phone calls is another major contributor to inmates claiming psychological problems.

A little after lunch I was called to SHU due to an inmate telling the warden he wanted to kill himself. I spent a good portion of the afternoon conducting a suicide risk assessment and writing the documentation. If it hasn't become obvious by now, the BOP is hypersensitive about potential suicides. I think this fixation is absolutely justified given the high rates of suicide in correctional settings compared to the general population. However, there is an unfortunate side to this. Inmates are a very resourceful bunch and are quite aware of the Bureau's fears. They often use this to their advantage by threatening suicide if their demands are not met. But, that's why the Bureau employs psychologists.

The BOP has an affinity for giving awards. They give monetary or time-off awards for anything from being names "correctional worker of the month" to "correctional officer of the quarter" (notice the distinction between officer and worker) to doing a good job by finding a shank, for example. The award service pins for every 5-year interval for which a person works for the BOP. It seems quite obvious that sometime way back, some psychologist informed the BOP leadership that staff were like rats or pigeons whose behavior and motivation could be shaped by random and fixed-interval reinforcement. My morning started with an hour-and-a-half-long staff recall in which numerous aforementioned rewards were given out. Of course, I did not receive any award, but hey, at least I was an honor graduate at the Federal Law Enforcement Training Center. That's something that not many other people in the BOP can say. (I was given a $300 bonus for this accomplishment.) After the meeting, I went back to the USP where I had a mostly quiet day. Seems the inmates are settled down for the time being. This may be what is referred to as "rocking staff to sleep."

When you work at this USP, you don't often have the opportunity to visit the other institutions in the complex. Still, today I was called to go to the Medium to assist another psychologist with SHU reviews. Every inmate in SHU is required by policy to have a thorough mental health assessment every 30 days to determine if their "solitary" confinement is causing mental decompensation.