The Unincorporated Man

by Dani Kollin; Eytan Kollin

  What on Earth is a Standard Individual Incorporation? thought Justin. He read for a few more seconds. This can’t be right.

  “Perhaps, Hektor,” Justin said, raising the DijAssist slightly, “you could leave this here with me and come back later . . . since you seem to be in such a hurry, that is.”

  Hektor, who until now had purposely lowered his profile—slouching even—suddenly stood erect, to his full six-foot four-inch height.

  “Justin,” he said, eyes narrowing—lifeless, “you don’t seem to understand. You are, for lack of a better word, an indigent. If we do not have the ability to collect payment we will be forced to resuspend you until other means of payment can be secured.”

  Justin was taken aback. “And when would this ‘resuspension’ take place?” he asked, barely managing to recover and hoping to negotiate some wiggle room. The last thing he wanted after a three-century coma was another nap.

  “Now seems to be as good a time as any,” answered Hektor coldly. He snapped his fingers and two thugs appeared in the doorway. They were dressed in starched white jumpsuits, and together formed an impenetrable wall of muscle—not that it mattered. Justin had neither the knowledge nor inclination to flee. Neither brute smiled, and both looked at Justin as if he was keeping them from something far more important than their imminent manhandling of his being.

  “Wait a minute,” barked Justin to Hektor, as the thugs moved in. That seemed to stall the wall momentarily. “Dr. Harper said that I was the only one from my era. You’d really risk your job resuspending someone like me?”

  “Someone like you?” sneered Hektor. “Do you actually think you’re special? Well, I’ve got news for you. You’re not.”

  The “wall” stayed in place, waiting for a signal from their boss.

  “We get guys like you all the time,” he continued. “ ‘I survived, luck must love me . . . I’m important,’” Hektor said in a mockingly high and whiny voice. “Well, that’s horseshit!” he bellowed to no one in particular. “Dr. Harper’s been warned about her ‘you’re unique’ therapy for the last time. It does more harm in the end than good.” Now he focused his steely glare on Justin.

  “Justin, let me make this clear. You’re a patient. One of many in a world you couldn’t possibly understand. The only thing that should matter to you is not your delusions of grandeur, but your ability to convince me you can honor your debts. And just in case you were wondering, by your refusal to sign, you haven’t. I have three other clients to see this morning, and you’re holding us all up. Now, if you don’t put your thumbprint and signature on the box and line as shown in the next ten seconds, flunky number one will subdue you while flunky number two puts you back into never-never land. At which point—and let me be real clear here—the next face you see will be decades or centuries from now, but at least I won’t have to deal with you. In fact, screw giving you ten seconds. You have five, four, three . . .” The thugs began to move in.

  Justin was thrown enough by Hektor’s threat and the two massive figures’ advance that, without his realizing it, his hand had started to reach for the pad.

  “What’s going on here?!”

  It was Neela. She was standing in the doorway holding a tray of scrambled eggs, toast, and coffee. She didn’t look at all pleased.

  That’s what I’d like to know, thought Justin, thankful for at least a few more moments among the conscious.

  “Nothing that concerns you, Dr. Harper,” snarled Hektor. “I suggest you move along.” He gestured to the thugs, who quickly turned around and refocused their attention on this newest threat.

  Neela didn’t budge. “Three securibots and a slew of Dr. McKenzie’s personal bodyguards say otherwise, Mr. Sambianco . . . they’ll be here momentarily.” She put the food tray down on a small table next to the door’s entrance and folded her arms across her chest.

  Hektor stood his ground, but then apparently thought better of it. He wasn’t going to win this battle—it was on unfamiliar ground, and he was, apparently, soon to be outgunned. He decided to pull up stakes.

  “Right, then. To be continued, Justin,” he said, leaving the room with his goons in tow. He made sure to shoot Neela a look that let her know in no uncertain terms exactly where she’d landed on his list.

  Neela came in, and as she did the door slid closed behind her. “Good morning, Justin. Please forgive Hektor’s intrusion.”

  A wan smile appeared on Justin’s face. “There is no security on the way, is there?”

  “No,” she answered almost breathlessly, as she collapsed into the chair next to the small table and the now cold eggs. “How did you know?”

  “More interestingly,” he asked, “why did Hektor believe you?”

  “To be quite honest, I’m not sure he did. He just didn’t ‘not’ believe me.”

  Justin, who was only now leaving his short-lived fear behind, nodded. “Good point. May I ask you another question?”

  “As many as you’d like,” she said, allowing herself a moment’s calm in order to brush off the vestiges of her Hektor encounter.

  “Exactly who’s in charge here?”

  “As far as you’re concerned,” she answered, folding her arms, “I am, and I strongly urge you to disregard whatever it was that Hektor said.”

  “Hard to disregard death, Neela.”

  Neela’s eyes went wide. “Whaa . . . what are you talking about?”

  “Mr. Sambianco threatened to resuspend me unless I signed . . . what was it called again? . . . Oh, yes, . . . a Standard Individual Incorporation clause . . . Which is what, exactly, Neela?”

  Neela could barely contain her anger. Goddamn all the Hektor Sambiancos!

  “That’s something I wanted to bring up later,” she barely managed.

  “Hmm . . .” Justin now sat down across from Neela, leaned back, and crossed his legs. “Let’s bring it up now.”

  Neela sighed. Her days of preparation had been torpedoed in milliseconds. She’d lost the advantage of time, and now would have to rely solely on her instincts.

  “Justin, please believe me when I tell you that I only want what is best for you, and I think it would be a mistake to try to grasp too much too quickly. You’ve just awakened to a brand-new world and should take it slowly.”

  “On the contrary, Neela, I believe someone just tried to con me using my lack of knowledge of your brand-new world. He also succeeded mightily in scaring the crap out of me based not on my knowledge but my ignorance. So let’s just say that I’ll feel more ‘secure’ if I start learning about it—now.”

  Neela sat, staring hard at Justin, waiting for some “give” on his part. It wasn’t forthcoming.

  “Very well, then.” She realized her only hope was to gain his trust. If he wanted inundation, he’d get it. But she’d at least be there to help guide him through the morass. She pointed to the DijAssist resting in his lap.

  “Let me at least show you how to use that damned thing.”

  He looked at her, a bit surprised. He’d actually forgotten that he had Hektor’s computer in his lap.

  “This thing?” he asked, holding up the DijAssist. “I’ll guess we’ll have to get it back to Mr. Sambianco.”

  “Yes, that thing, and we won’t have to bother. And, by the way, it’s called a DijAssist. It’ll be the best damned pain in the ass you’re ever going to meet.”

  “Funny,” he mused, “I assumed that that was going to be your job.” For the first time since Hektor’s intrusion he allowed himself a grin.

  Neela blushed at the warmth of his smile, and even more surprisingly, found herself tongue-tied. Her only parry was to divert the conversation back to the DijAssist.

  Justin downed his breakfast, and they spent the next half hour going over the ins and outs of the unit. She explained that although there wasn’t a need for the device to be external, there was something called the Virtual Reality Dictates that mandated they remain so. Justin made a mental note to look into the so-called dictates late
r. But the features of the unit were interesting. As far as he could tell, its function was much like that of a radio—cheap and practical, but only good when in range of a desired frequency. In this case the “frequency” being the human using it. Apparently the DijAssist performed two main functions: information retrieval and personalized avatar. The first part, information retrieval, was easy enough to understand. The Internet as he remembered it had simply grown more vast and complex in size, and was today known as the “Neuro,” apparently in deference to the vast complexity of the brain’s neural networks. The unit could tap not only into the Neuro, but into an individual’s implanted microprocessors as well. It gave self-storage a whole new meaning. Simple enough. However, the thing that got Justin’s attention was the avatar function. Somewhere in the Neuro was a stored database of every search, every request, and every nuance an individual made while holding a DijAssist in his hand—since the time he first held one. And most people started holding them at the age of two. In this manner the avatar that evolved from the hundreds of thousands of decisions made over a lifetime sometimes knew an individual better than the individual knew himself. Neela spoke of instances where avatars had played matchmaker by scanning the Neuro for partner compatibility, going so far as to arrange the unsuspecting owners’ schedules around a “chance” meeting. The reason Hektor hadn’t made a fuss about leaving his DijAssist behind was because it wasn’t his per se. As soon as he stopped touching it, it, so to speak, stopped touching him.

  Since Justin hadn’t the luxury of a lifetime of recorded decisions, his newly created avatar was tepid, to say the least. He even thought about not using it altogether, so as not to leave a trail that could be hacked into, but he rejected that out of hand. He’d have to dive in somewhere—and what better way than a key to the Neuro and a personally evolving avatar?

  In no time at all he was “nurfing,” as the slang apparently went. Neela got up to go.

  She was now standing in the doorway, halfway out. “Careful. The Neuro will feed you more information than you need, and you’ll feel like you can handle it. Don’t be fooled. Just like the first glass of alcohol goes down easy and the buzz comes later, so too with the Neuro. Take it slow. If you feel dizzy or overwhelmed, it’s natural. And call me if you need anything . . . even if you don’t.”

  Justin followed her with his eyes as she slipped out of the entrance. The doors slid closed as he watched her walk down the hall.

  “Let’s start from the beginning,” Justin said to no one in particular.

  “I presume you mean the contract,” answered the DijAssist, in a voice almost as sure as his own. Justin smiled. This was going to be one interesting day.

  “Neela would like to speak with you now. Shall I tell her you’re available?”

  “But I just spoke to her.”

  “Yes,” the DijAssist confirmed.

  “Sure, put her through.”

  Neela’s face appeared in the DijAssist’s screen. It was a three-dimensional image so lifelike that Justin was afraid to drop the unit for fear of hurting her.

  “Hi, Justin. Sorry. I’m planning on the fly now, and I just realized, apart from a few people, no one yet knows who you are—or, more important, that you are. It’s important for the time being that we keep it that way. Not only for our sake, but for yours. There’ll be a media frenzy, and when it hits you’ll be lucky if they let you shit in peace.”

  This got a chuckle from Justin.

  “What do you suggest, Neela?”

  “I’ve given your avatar everything you’ll need for your interim ID. By the way, have you given it a name yet?”

  “Name?”

  “Yes. Though it’s not necessary, the superstitious among us feel they function better when given names.”

  “Totally false,” piped in the avatar.

  “Very well,” answered Justin.

  “Anyhow,” continued Neela, “there are so many nuances and acceptable forms of behavior not yet known to you that the only cover I can think of for now is that of a level-four DeGen.”

  Justin furrowed his brow. “That doesn’t sound very good.”

  “It’s not. A DeGen is someone whose DNA got screwed up to the point that nanotechnology still hasn’t figured out a way to get him working properly—a ‘buggy’ computer in your terminology. Level four’s pretty mild, but at least it will excuse a lot, and right now you’ll need that.”

  “Fair enough, Neela. Fair enough.”

  “I’ll be in to see you in a bit.”

  Neela’s face disappeared, and the contract reemerged on screen.

  “When you’re ready to exit this room,” said the DijAssist, “I will create your badge.”

  “Great,” answered Justin. “I’ll be ready in a minute. And by the way . . .”

  “Yes?” asked the DijAssist.

  “How do you feel about the name sebastian?”

  Mosh was in transit to a meeting when Neela appeared on his DijAssist.

  “Mosh?”

  “Yeah, Neela.”

  “Hektor got to him.”

  “I can’t say I’m surprised. What does that mean for us?”

  “You know that beautiful speech I gave in the boardroom?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Purge it. What he doesn’t already know, he’ll know inside of a few hours. He’s got a DijAssist and knows how to use it. By the way, is there any way we can sue Hektor and GCI for custodial interference with a valid reanimation?”

  Mosh laughed. “Neela, you don’t sue the corporation that owns a majority of you.” Then, “I can’t believe Hektor taught him the Dij.”

  Silence.

  “Neela?”

  “He didn’t,” she answered. “I did.”

  More silence.

  “Mosh, you with me?”

  “Yeah, I’m with you.” He changed his mind. “Actually, no. No, I’m not.”

  “I had to, Mosh. Not only did Hektor show him a DijAssist, he tried to trick him into signing a personal incorporation contract.”

  Mosh sighed. “That man’s ability to cause trouble should not be underestimated.”

  “That’s why Justin has to be able to trust me, and if it can’t be on my terms, then it will have to be on his. He doesn’t know it yet, but I’m his only chance of making it.”

  “So he’s Neuroed, Neela. Best to stay on him like white on rice at this point.”

  “Can’t do that either.”

  “Right, the trust thing. What do you suggest?”

  “I’ve given him an L4 DeGen clearance. I’m assuming he’ll start roaming soon. And if I had to guess, I’d say to the suspension unit.”

  “We’ll track him . . . from a distance. Keep me versioned, OK?”

  “Will do, Mosh. Bye.”

  Neela’s image vanished, and Mosh returned the DijAssist to his pocket. The life he had tried so hard to escape seemed to be back, nipping at his heels. A smarter man would have quit and vanished into the local universe. But the reasons he left GCI in the first place were now the same ones that compelled him to stay. He would not abandon his coworkers to Hektor and his ilk, nor would he abandon this Justin character under his care. It was not in his nature, and it never would be.

  Our ability to arrange atoms lies at the foundation of technology. We have come far in our atom arranging, from chipping flint for arrowheads to machining aluminum for spaceships. We take pride in our technology, with our lifesaving drugs and desktop computers. Yet our spacecraft are still crude, our computers are still stupid, and the molecules in our tissues still slide into disorder, first destroying health, then life itself. For all our advances in arranging atoms, we still use primitive methods. With our present technology, we are still forced to handle atoms in unruly herds.

  But the laws of nature leave plenty of room for progress, and the pressures of world competition are even now pushing us forward. For better or for worse, the greatest technological breakthrough in history is still to come.

  —ERIC
DREXLER, ENGINES OF CREATION:THE COMING ERA OF NANOTECHNOLOGY, 1986

  Justin spent the better part of an hour going over the intricacies of the contract Hektor had asked him to imprint. On one thing Hektor had been correct: It was a headache of epic proportions. Forty-eight pages of legal mumbo jumbo exacerbated by the addition of three hundred years of newer and more complex mumbo jumbo. Had his avatar not been around to explain the finer details of the text and subtexts, the process of understanding it would most certainly have taken weeks.

  “So, they basically wanted to own a piece of my ass before I had any say.”

  “Yes, Justin,” answered sebastian, “though it would certainly have been a small piece of your ass.”

  Justin smiled at the retort. He was starting to like his little helper.

  “I don’t get it, then. What’s the point? They’d have no control over me, as they would over those they own a controlling interest in.”

  “The point in your case,” chirped sebastian, “is not profit. It’s profit potential. Even a minute percentage of you, a virtual alien in our world, would garner GCI untold millions of credits.”

  Justin allowed that to sink in.

  “OK. That’s enough information for now. I need to move. Can you direct me to my suspension unit?”

  “With ease, Justin. I’ve arranged for your DeGen badge. You’ll find it in the receptacle by the side of the door.”

  “Good.”

  Out of habit, Justin looked around the room to see if there was anything he was forgetting. But for now, he owned nothing. At least nothing he could take with him—except for the DijAssist.

  “Um . . . sebastian,” said Justin, slowly pivoting the small computer in his hand.

  “Yes, Justin.”

  “This DijAssist, the one you seem to be living in . . . it was Hektor’s, right?”

  “Yes.”

  “Dunno why, but it makes me nervous.”

  “As far as I can tell, Justin,” answered his fledgling companion, “I am interfacing with a standard unit. If it makes you nervous we could implant you with a handphone and you could use that to communicate with me, or you could get another DijAssist.”