The Unincorporated Man

by Dani Kollin; Eytan Kollin

  “Five years? Did he really say five years?”

  Neela was in the director’s office. His name was Mosh McKenzie, and he was the first superior Neela had ever really liked—not that she’d had a lot. Part of it grew from the fact that she didn’t understand him. He’d achieved self-majority, which, while commendable, wasn’t particularly extraordinary. Plus, she’d met enough of those. Smug bastards most of them. No, Mosh was different. He was the first person she knew who’d achieved his goals—which in his case meant becoming a powerful member of the GCI board of directors—and then had himself transferred to this tiny little enclave located somewhere in the bowels of Colorado. Most assumed he’d screwed up somewhere on his steady climb up the golden ladder and that this was his punishment, but Neela suspected differently. She was a good judge of character, a must in her line of work, and Mosh was not a man who seemed incompetent, and—even more telling—not upset with his current situation. In fact, Neela would have to say that this was a man supremely content with himself and his place in life. It was true that he was 175 years old and could easily retire, but, she suspected, his inner drive would never have let him. Of average height at six feet two inches, he was confident enough in himself that when he started to bald he simply let it happen rather than spend the thirty credits it would have cost to prevent the process. Neela had to admit that, although his appearance had shocked her at first, she couldn’t imagine him looking any other way.

  “Mosh,” said Neela, “is there any problem medically that I wasn’t informed of?”

  “Actually,” he answered, “now that you mention it, no.”

  “Do we know why he was suspended?” Neela continued.

  Mosh checked his holodisplay.

  “Says here, lymphatic cancer—apparently late stage. Happened back then.”

  “Hard to believe that was once fatal,” answered Neela, shaking her head. “It would be like allowing a toothache to kill someone.”

  “Don’t laugh, Neela,” he retorted. “That used to happen, too.”

  “Just curious, Mosh, how long would it take to cure him?”

  He checked the display again. “According to Dr. Wang, six hours to cure, twelve to revive.”

  Neela thought about it.

  “So why on Earth would that corporate goon have said five years? That’s not only unconstitutional, it’s unethical.” She paused. “Barbaric, even.”

  Mosh called up the accused’s file on his holodisplay. “Our goon’s name is Hektor. Hektor Sambianco. And you’d better watch your back with that one. I know the type. They’re like pit bulls; once they lock on to something it’s hard to get ’em to let go.”

  “Duly noted,” she answered. “But I don’t get it, Mosh. What exactly is he locked on to?”

  Mosh chuckled at the innocence of his charge’s question. “Our newfound friend, my dear. He wants to incorporate him, and he doesn’t want to share, if you get my drift.”

  “Which,” she continued, lightbulbs going off, “explains why everyone around here’s getting paid leave. But it doesn’t explain five years, Mosh. Keeping anyone down that long when it’s unnecessary is not only illegal, it’s unconstitutional—corporation or no corporation.”

  “True enough,” Mosh said, leaning back into his state-of-the-art Nomic chair.

  They both knew what was at stake. The “right of return” with regard to reanimation was sacrosanct. And it made sense that it would be. After all, who would willingly suspend themselves knowing their reanimation might not happen due to litigation, corporate interference, or any other manner of legality that might leave someone suspended involuntarily for centuries? Therefore, the right of return had been enacted into constitutional law almost as soon as reanimation had become technically viable. Its basic premise was that a suspendee had the right to immediate revival pursuant to the ability to do so safely, without causing any realistic undue hardship to society or the individual in question.

  “Alright, Neela,” Mosh said, brows cinched tightly, “you’ve got my ear. Let me do a little fact-checking and I’ll get back to you.”

  Ever the perfectionist, Hektor Sambianco was in the transport bay overseeing the final details for shipment. He was also marveling at the beauty of the suspension unit itself. The huge black rectangle inscribed with the fiery red letters had a compelling presence all its own, unlike the simple and economical teardrop units currently in use. Hektor saw right away that the unit would be worth untold credits—regardless of the prize within. But the prize within, if successfully revived, could be worth quite a bit as well—a man from preincorporation America. There was no telling how much profit would be in it for GCI—and even better, what kind of bonus share might be in it for Hektor.

  He chuckled, remembering his recent conversation with that ornery revivalist. I might just make majority after all.

  Hektor’s musings were rudely interrupted by the sound of confrontation. He turned around to see Director McKenzie and the revivalist woman being denied access to the bay by one of the guards he’d stationed as a precautionary measure.

  “The last time I checked,” Mosh said to the newly stationed guard, “I was still the director here, and this is still my transport bay.”

  “Actually,” proclaimed Hektor from across the bay, “the hospital—transport bay included—still belongs to GCI, unless, of course, you’ve made some large purchases I’m not aware of. Nevertheless . . .” Hektor signaled the guard to let them pass.

  Mosh and Neela quickly traversed the bay to where Hektor was working.

  “Make it quick, please,” Hektor said, “I don’t have a lot of time.”

  “Four hours, fifty-eight minutes, and twenty-two seconds to be exact,” the director answered, consulting his DijAssist.

  “You’ve been checking up on me, I see.”

  Mosh was about to answer but was beat out by Neela.

  “Who do you think you are?!”

  “Hektor Sambianco,” he replied casually. “No need for you to introduce yourself, thank you.”

  “I think,” Mosh offered, “my overwrought employee is upset with what you’re planning to do.”

  “No,” interjected Neela. “I’m upset with what he’s planning not to do!” Turning her wrath again toward Hektor, “How can you leave him suspended?”

  “Don’t you worry your little head,” Hektor answered condescendingly. “We’ll revive him, all in good time. Yes, anyways, thank you for sharing your feelings. I’ll make sure to mention them to . . . whoever I mention these things to.” He then turned his back on them, continuing his preparations.

  Neela and Mosh remained in place.

  “I may have a difficult time signing the clearance order to move this unit,” said Mosh. “You know, busy schedule and all. My assistant could do it, but, oh my,” he said as he pressed a button on his DijAssist, “I just gave her the rest of the day off.”

  With a sigh, Hektor turned around.

  “Perhaps I was a bit single-minded in pursuit of completing my job. What is it you need, Director?”

  Good, Mosh thought, he’s got his eyes on the ball.

  “An explanation would be a start.”

  “An explanation about what?” Hektor asked, feigning innocence.

  “About why you seem to be denying this man his civil rights,” challenged Neela.

  “Whoa! Who said anything about denying this man his civil rights?”

  “The Constitution . . . ,” began Neela.

  “. . . does not apply here,” finished Hektor.

  “And who gave you the right to say that the Constitution does not apply?” Neela retorted.

  Hektor smirked. “Actually, I’m a constitutional lawyer. Who gave you the right to say that it does?” Chew on that one, bitch.

  “Lawyer or not,” Neela continued unfazed, “this man has to be revived immediately. It’s the law, and every citizen knows that.”

  “OK, Miss . . . Harper, was it?” Hektor began. “Let’s just see about that la
w that every citizen knows about. First of all, how do you even know this man is a citizen? If he’s not, constitutional law doesn’t apply, does it? Didn’t think about that, did you? Secondly, for all we know he was suspended because of some horrific act or acts he committed. Constitution or no, do you want to take responsibility for rereleasing him into our society? Would it not be prudent to wait and run some tests, and then perhaps let the courts decide?”

  “We ran all the tests needed,” answered Neela. “He’s curable and poses no medical danger to society. Under the criteria of the Constitution and the Supreme Court’s interpretation of it, no other consideration is needed—citizen or not. All crimes or debts will be dealt with upon revival.”

  “Bravo,” Hektor chided, clapping his hands slowly. “I see you know the legal aspects of your profession well. But you’re forgetting one thing.”

  “He’s curable and he’s here,” she spat back. “That’s the only criteria. I’m forgetting nothing.”

  “Payment,” the director said, choosing the moment to step in. He had a grim smile. “You’re going to steal him on payment.”

  Hektor’s return smile was equally as grim. “ ‘Steal’ is such a harsh word, Director.”

  Neela was confused. “But everybody pays with insur . . . oh.”

  “Everybody today pays with insurance,” continued Hektor. “The first we were notified of our mystery man here was when one of our adjusters couldn’t find any insurance for him. And we’re certainly not obligated to wake patients without proof of ability to pay—and this revive’s going to cost a doozy, I can assure you. That’s the law, young lady. But don’t you worry, I’m sure we’ll be able to work something out, and we will get around to reviving him eventually.”

  “When you can figure out how to make the most profit out of him,” sneered Neela.

  Hektor smiled at her with all the innocence of a choirboy, refusing to bite. “Now, if we’re all done here, I really . . .”

  “I’ll pay,” Neela blurted.

  “You’ll what?” asked Mosh and Hektor simultaneously.

  “I said I’ll pay. I may have to max out my credit cards, borrow on my remaining stock, and use my employee discount, but I should be able to raise the money. What’s another ten thousand credits? I’m pretty much buried in the hole as it is. So what the heck . . . I’ll pay for his revival. You can stop doing whatever it is you’re doing here, OK?” Neela sighed in satisfaction.

  Hektor was smiling, too.

  “What’s your problem now?” asked Neela. “We have a revive that’s medically viable, in a proper facility, with payment being fully covered.”

  Mosh was looking at Hektor, curious as to what he would do with this one.

  “I apologize for underestimating your zeal,” Hektor answered. “I should have seen it sooner and factored it into my considerations. Most sloppy of me. Still, I’m greatly impressed at your willingness to spend ten million credits of your own money.”

  Neela was flabbergasted. Mosh remained silent.

  “Ten million credits for a revive?!” screamed Neela. “What are you doing? Gilding his ass in uranium?”

  Hektor, busily humming to himself, began to add up points in his DijAssist. “Let’s see, one million credits for a proper inspection, storage, and shipment; this is a three-hundred-year-old unit, after all. Two million credits for a thorough nanotechnologically invasive investigation of the occupant. Four million credits for consultation with the experts in the field . . . and there are, as you well know, only two that matter, Bronstein and Gillette, but if you want we will even call you in on that one—add another hundred credits. And, oh, let’s see, three million for, what the hell, a brand-new revive clinic, state-of-the-art, for this unique find.” He held out his DijAssist to her, showing the invoice ready to be paid in its official format. “To use an old phrase, will that be cash or charge?”

  “You can’t be serious,” cried Neela. “There’s no way this is legal.”

  “Actually,” he continued, “the law states that we can charge whatever we wish. He was found in our territory, under our jurisdiction, brought to our hospital, and is under our care. Now a party of standing, a relative or spouse, could contest this in court and, I’ll even give it to you, could probably win. However, that doesn’t appear to be the case. But I’m nothing if not thorough.” He spoke up loudly so all in the bay could hear. “Anybody here a party of standing, a relative or spouse? Speak up . . . anyone?”

  Silence.

  “Hmm,” he said. “How unfortunate. The gentleman in question seems to be an orphan. When we revive him he’ll be free to contest the price . . . in, say, four or five years.”

  “You mean when you’ve already got a firm grasp on his shares,” said Mosh.

  “Why, Director, you are speaking prematurely. He’s not even incorporated yet. We’ll need to set up a legal guardianship and assign stock options, as well as investigate the legal ramifications. It would do this man an injustice to bring him into this world without making sure everything was in order.”

  “Mosh can pay,” blurted Neela.

  Before Mosh could respond, Hektor laughed out loud. “Yes, I suppose he could. Now that is very generous of you, spending your boss’s money like that, but I think he’ll be more than happy to explain to you why that’s not going to happen.” He then looked over at the director.

  “Mosh?” pleaded Neela.

  Mosh raised his hand to silence her. “We’ve taken up enough of Mr. Sambianco’s time.” Then, looking over at Hektor, “I trust, sir, that you will not hold my employee’s enthusiasm against her.” It was delivered more as a warning than a request.

  “On the contrary, Director. I’m greatly impressed by her zeal.” Hektor considered for a moment, and brightened. “In fact,” he said, inputting some new commands in his DijAssist, “I just placed a purchase order for another thousand shares of her personal stock.”

  “You really are a bastard,” Neela said, before turning on her heel and storming out of the bay.

  Hektor and Mosh were now alone.

  “Look,” Hektor said, “I know you were once a pretty powerful member of GCI, and you came to this nice little hospital of your own volition. But you were clearly outmatched today. I hope it will not be necessary to embarrass you like this in the future.”

  “Not if I can help it, Mr. Sambianco.”

  Mosh smiled thinly and walked away without saying another word.

  Neela was anxiously pacing outside the transport bay entrance when Mosh emerged.

  “Sorry about that,” she said.

  Mosh put his hand on her shoulder and smiled.

  “Don’t worry about it.”

  They walked down a long hallway toward the cafeteria.

  “No, it really was wrong of me to offer your money,” Neela continued, narrowly avoiding a group of internists on their rounds. Then, as an aside, “Like you’d even have that kind of money lying around anyways.”

  “Actually, Neela,” he said, stopping to thumbprint-approve some forms handed to him by a nurse, “I do.” He continued walking—minus his rebellious subordinate. After a few paces he turned to Neela, standing in consternation. “You coming, or what?” he asked.

  He waited for her at the entrance to the cafeteria. They headed together to his reserved table. “You’re telling me,” she asked, “you have ten million credits?”

  “Considerably more, actually.” She knew he wasn’t bragging; it wasn’t in his nature.

  “Then why didn’t you just pay him?” she asked. “Why did you let me go out on a limb for ten thousand when you had millions, no, I’m sorry, tens of millions in the bank?”

  “Neela,” he answered, reaching across the table to take her hands into his. “I’m truly sorry, but I had to let you, well . . . be you. Besides, I never would have been able to pay, and neither would you.”

  “Care to explain that one?”

  Mosh smiled. “Of course,” he said, releasing her hands from his gr
asp and leaning back into his chair. “Neela, you’re an excellent revivalist. With experience, you may be one of the best. Hektor’s not the only one buying your stock.”

  “Really?” she asked in disbelief.

  “Ten thousand shares, to be exact, but only in options. You have a temper that may get the better of you. As I was saying, you really are quite talented. But you don’t have a corporate bone in your body. As much as this may surprise you, I never went to the transport bay with any hope of helping that man.”

  “Why would you leave him like that?”

  “I wouldn’t. But Neela, it’s not up to me. It never was. Nor is it up to you. Even if I’d been suicidal enough to want to pay, I wouldn’t have been allowed to.”

  “How could they stop you from paying with your own money?”

  Mosh sighed. “Neela, I can think of three ways off the top of my head, conflict of interest being right at the top. But they don’t need to stop payment—just delay it. A court order from a friendly judge would be more than enough to delay the revive for days, if not weeks.”

  “So we revive him in a couple of weeks instead of hours. Better than five years, no?”

  “Neela, GCI wants him. In a couple of weeks he could be lost in a warehouse with a foreman all set up to take the blame for misplacing him. Or worse, someone could decide that he’s too much of an inconvenience, and the corpsicle disappears for another hundred years.”

  “That doesn’t happen!”

  “Not often, but yes, it does. Why do you think I got out? The price was too high for the power I was capable of wielding.” Neela looked at her boss with a mixture of respect and worry.

  “But . . .”

  “No buts, Neela. Suppose that we had managed to succeed. And I was willing to expend the bulk of my fortune using the connections built up over a lifetime to protect and revive this man against the most powerful corporation in human history—against, I might add, a corporation that wants this man for numerous compelling reasons, and would be willing and economically justified to go to incredible lengths to insure their investment in him. Now, my dear girl, what do you think GCI would do to anyone standing in their way?”