“I like option number two. Let’s get a new one and dispose of this.”
“As you wish.”
The bottom drawer of his dresser opened up, and in it were various objects Justin could not identify, and one that he now could.
“Take this DijAssist,” commanded sebastian’s voice from inside the new unit, “and throw the old one in the garbage. It will dissolve on its own.”
Once the switch had been made, Justin felt better. He knew it defied logic, but at this point he was going on gut. He’d let experience catch up in due time. He then went to the door and, sure enough, a badge was waiting for him.
His DijAssist chirped to life. “Place it on the left side of your chest. It will stay.”
As soon as the badge was on, the door slid open, and Justin was confronted with the hustle and bustle one would associate with a small but efficient medical center. People and objects were busily moving, walking, and even whizzing about. He stood in the doorway of his room for a full ten minutes. He watched and made ample use of sebastian’s Neuro access to understand some of the stranger anomalies occurring around him, chief of which was the absence of any doors along the corridor. He watched in utter amazement as walls opened up and closed to fit the person or persons entering or exiting.
“Please explain what I’m seeing, sebastian.”
“You’re referring to the permiawalls?”
“Yes, I am. If that’s what you call those openings,” Justin replied.
“It is. Permiawalls are constructed of molecules that can sense approaching objects. Once the object is within a specified range the wall calculates the amount of room the object will need to pass through.”
“But why don’t people bump into each other?”
“Look closely,” answered the avatar, “and you’ll see clearly demarcated lines indicating exit and entry points.”
“Ahh,” responded Justin, noticing the floor markings. “Not to sound petty, sebastian,” he continued, “but how come I don’t have a permiawall?”
“Strictly speaking, Justin, you do. The configuration of your door has been changed on the orders of Dr. Harper.”
“Dr. Harper?”
“You know her as Neela.”
“Why, of all things, a sliding door?”
“Although I’m not aware of the reasons, my data search has shown that three files on twentieth-century views of the future have recently been accessed by an individual with a revivalist-grade rating. It is a 93.4 percent probability that the recipient of the information is Dr. Harper. In viewing the data I have determined that your culture had an almost religious belief that doors in the future would slide open. Rather than shock you by walking through a wall, Dr. Harper wisely decided to have a sliding door that would go whoosh, and so make you feel comfortable. That was most insightful of her.”
“I see,” said Justin.
“Doors are inefficient in an era of electro-liquid metals and nanotechnology,” continued sebastian. “It is far simpler to have a wall that will dissipate and re-incorporate as needed.”
“But wouldn’t a person feel trapped in a box without a door?”
“Yes, a person would. But the interiors of the rooms can be as suffocating or as airy as the user determines. If you wish, I can explain the technology.”
“I’ll pass for now, sebastian, thanks. I’m curious, though. Does the technology ever fail? Have people’s virtual environments as you describe them ever crashed, actually leaving someone in a box, as it were?”
“Justin, did you ever play the lottery?”
Justin was taken aback by the accurate reference to his cultural past and the left field of the question. “Uh . . . no.”
“Why not?”
Justin decided that his avatar must have a purpose in this line of questioning, and answered honestly. Could you even lie to your avatar successfully? “The odds were ridiculous.”
“Justin, the odds of the ‘crash’ event as you describe it are 349,120,004 to one. You have a better chance of winning the lottery . . . three times in a row.”
“Thank you, sebastian. I understand.”
“I am glad, Justin. Are you ready to begin our walk?”
Justin nodded.
“Good. Let’s exit the door to the right and begin down the hallway. I will tell you when to turn.”
Justin obliged and began walking down the hall, trying hard not to stare, yet finding it almost impossible not to. The permiawalls, it turned out, were just an indicator of a society that had adapted fully to a nano world. It seemed that everything he looked at was solid until it didn’t have to be. Certain objects seemed to melt away and re-form almost at will. But on closer view, that wasn’t the case. Every movement of a material object was connected intimately with the movement of a human being. So, for example, he noticed an orderly holding something in his hand that resembled a clipboard. It seemed to shape-shift into a cylinder, which the orderly placed in a bin with other cylinders. It was almost like living in a dream.
Between the information he was absorbing and the environment he was walking in, Justin was indeed beginning to feel a bit dizzy. But he was nothing if not determined, and he would at least get to the bay that held his suspension unit. There were things inside he needed, and he didn’t want to risk the unit being moved without his having retrieved them. He pressed ahead.
“Can you make the environment I’m currently viewing more to what a twenty-first-century human would experience?”
“I’m sorry, Justin,” answered sebastian, “I cannot. Your personal space, yes. A group space, no. Perhaps we should return to your room until you feel you’ve adjusted better?”
“No, that’s alright. I’ll be OK. Just get me to the suspension unit with the least amount of visual stimuli possible, OK?”
“Certainly, Justin. Turn to the right at this next corner.”
Justin did as he was told.
“As you are familiar with elevators,” continued sebastian, “you will be glad to know we have just arrived at one, though slightly more refined.”
In front of Justin stood two clear, hollow, cylindrical tubes.
Sensing Justin’s confusion, sebastian attempted more clarification. “We call them lifts.”
“Just like the old days,” added Justin, “I guess. But these certainly don’t look like the old elevators.”
“That is correct, Justin. Since the movable platform had been eliminated, the old term came back into fashion . . . approximately 122 years ago.”
“So how do I use it then?”
“The tube to the left is always down and conversely the tube to the right . . .”
“. . . is always up,” finished Justin. “But it’s empty—oh, never mind.” At that moment Justin saw a woman float upward in the right-hand tube. The woman mistook Justin’s amazed stare and slack-jawed expression as a compliment and smiled. Well, at least some things haven’t changed, Justin thought. However, the woman’s smile dissipated quickly when she noticed the patch on his shirt.
“Um . . . sebastian?”
“Yes, Justin?”
“When I do start to date, this little number will have to go,” he said, indicating his DeGen patch.
“I would think so.”
“And another thing.”
“Yes, Justin?”
“These tubes . . .”
“Yes?”
“They’re kind of like the sliding doors. I mean, in that that’s pretty much what I imagined a futuristic elevator would look like.”
“Yes. Surprisingly, in that and a few other things your science-fiction writers were correct.”
“Let me guess—flying cars?”
“Two for two. Not bad, Justin. Not bad.”
“So how do they work?
“The cars weigh about twelve pounds and are powered by a . . .”
“Not the cars, the lifts.”
“All clothing worn is capable of generating a magnetic field that interacts with the tube to move a
n individual up or down at four miles an hour, and faster in express tubes. We will be taking the down tube to level minus three.”
“Four miles an hour, eh? Well, here goes nothing.” Not realizing he was holding his breath, Justin stepped into the left-hand tube and started to descend immediately—albeit at a very leisurely pace.
After a few moments of descent, Justin heard sebastian’s command. “You will exit by saying the word ‘exit’ on . . . one . . . two . . . and . . . now.”
Justin did as he was told. His body was immediately and lightly whisked into the hallway. The sensation was almost like exiting a swing, but with a much softer landing. Justin took a moment to store the experience, and started looking around. He found himself standing in a more industrial area of the facility. There were fewer people, but no less movement. He was forced to step farther into the hallway when a group of four women chatting amicably among themselves also exited the lift. Then, to avoid being struck by a gaggle of small floating machines, he had to step farther into a larger open area, where he finally managed to find a space that made him less of an obstruction and gave him more of a view. Had he been more familiar with the environment, he would have realized that nothing could have or would have bumped into him. All nonhuman devices were programmed to either go around objects or stop in place until the object, in this case one Justin Cord, figured out exactly where it wanted to go.
“Where is the security, sebastian?”
“For what, Justin?”
“I presume you have theft?”
“Yes, but not how you imagine.”
“Save it,” Justin answered. “Just get me to the suspension unit.”
“It will require us walking through a wall. Are you ready?”
“Yes.”
“Step backward, then.”
Again Justin did as he was told. He watched in utter amazement how a hole was formed around his body, only to close up as he finished his backward step. It was almost like the experience of putting a hand into a soap bubble without having popped the bubble.
“Cool.”
Justin walked one step forward, back the way he had just entered, and watched the wall melt away around him again. He was again “outside” the room, with the wall now behind him. He smiled, turned around, and walked back into the bay, facing forward.
That is so cool, he thought.
Now that he was back in the room he began to concentrate on its interior. It was a loading bay of sorts, empty but for his suspension unit and one other individual. The man was a rough-looking fellow with dark wavy hair, an unshaven face, and a lean body. He was wearing an outfit that suggested a manual laborer if, indeed, wondered Justin, that vocation still existed. He watched the man quietly for a few seconds, hoping he’d check what he needed to check and move on. But the laborer kept snooping around. He was prodding and pushing on the exterior of the suspension unit, almost as if he were looking for a way in.
“Excuse me, sir,” Justin interrupted, in as polite a tone as he could muster. “What do you think you’re doing?”
“Who wants to know?” the stranger volleyed back, whipping around to stare at the man who’d had the temerity to interfere with his work.
Ahh, scrappy. How refreshing, actually, Justin thought.
“The guy whose ass was frozen in it for a few centuries and the rightful owner of that object you happen to be poking around in, that’s who.”
“In that case,” retorted the worker, “I’m the guy who carved you out of a mountain in the middle of nowhere and, therefore, by default, saved your old, frozen, and obviously ungrateful ass.”
They stood their ground staring intently at each other. After a few seconds they both burst out laughing.
“Name’s Omad,” the man said, sporting a wide, infectious grin. He gave a surprisingly Japanese-style bow. “And you would be?”
“Justin,” Justin answered, returning the smile and mimicking Omad’s bow.
“Well, Justin, I just have to tell you, this thing’s amazing. Never seen anything like it. Truth be told, I’ve never even heard of a self-contained suspension unit outside of the ones they use in space. How’d you manage to get a terrestrial version?”
“I didn’t get it. I built it.”
“C’mon, friend. I see the patch on your shoulder. You may only be an L4, but you’re still a DeGen. You couldn’t build a transfixer, much less a self-sustaining sus unit.”
“Oh, this,” Justin said, looking at the patch on his shoulder. “It’s sort of a cover to allow me to move around without causing too many gaffes . . . not being from this time period and all.”
“Ahh.” Omad didn’t look too convinced.
Justin continued. “Some of the design is mine, but mostly it was made on the Roman method.”
“Roman method?”
“I overengineered the crap out of it. I had backup systems, and made everything three times as durable as the specifications called for . . . and I spent a lot of money . . . and, by the way, thank you.”
That caught Omad a little off guard. “For what?”
“Saving my frozen, and, I can assure you, quite grateful, ass.”
They both laughed. “And I do agree with you,” he continued, beginning to circle the unit. Even in his new world of technological wonders, it began to dawn on Justin that he might be looking at an invention unique in mankind’s history. “This thing is amazing. I just didn’t realize how amazing.”
“Yeah. You know the saying about sus units,” Omad said, grinning. “Better to be looking from the outside than in.”
“Couldn’t agree with that more,” Justin said, also grinning. “I wonder what this thing’s worth now?” he asked, almost as an afterthought.
“You mean,” answered Omad, “if it’s still yours, don’t you?”
“Well, why wouldn’t it be?”
“Justin, you’d be surprised what GCI can lay claim to given enough time and money.”
“No, actually. I wouldn’t,” he said, remembering his run-in with Hektor. He’d played the same game many times before. What you couldn’t steal outright you could attempt to steal by incessant litigation, with the hopes of eventual settlement. Best to check out Omad’s theory.
“Please connect me with Neela, sebastian.”
“Of course, Justin,” answered his avatar. “So you know, most people don’t use their DijAssist as a calling device. You may wish to have a handphone installed.”
“Thanks for the info. However, call now, marvels of the future later.” The connection was made instantly, and once more Neela’s attractive face filled his DijAssist’s screen. Justin made a mental note to ask sebastian to give himself a “face” as well. It was becoming a little disconcerting to converse so freely with a block of plastic . . . or whatever composite the DijAssist was made of.
“How can I help you, Justin?” Neela asked.
“Under the laws in operation here, do I own my suspension unit?”
“Well, provisionally, yes.”
“Provisionally?”
“You have to take effective control of the unit by securing a safe location you have claim to . . . a storage space will do. Also, you’ll have to pay any reasonable expenses incurred in the retrieval of your unit. But you have primary and binding legal claim to it. You can prove it is your unit?”
“You mean coming gift wrapped in it doesn’t count?” he asked.
“A man gets rescued in a boat at sea. Does that make him the boat’s rightful owner?” Neela shot back.
“I see your point. I believe I have sufficient documentation to substantiate my claim.”
“Good, you’ll need it. Is that all?”
“For now. Thanks.”
“Glad I could help. It’s good that you called me,” Neela said, and broke the connection. Justin felt his cheeks redden a bit.
The corners of Omad’s mouth tilted up. “You like her,” he said, grinning.
“Of course I like her. She’s nice, and she’s helpi
ng me.”
“Uh-huh. What a shame.”
Justin was thrown by the response but chose to ignore it.
“How’d you find me?” he asked, switching to a topic of more immediate interest.
“I’m a tunnel rat. Correction—I’m a great tunnel rat.”
“Which means?”
“I search mines for minerals that are difficult to manufacture. I specialized in finding the old ones and reassessing them based on modern extraction techniques. And that’s where I found you.”
“You said specialized, as in past tense?”
“Yup. Thanks to you I just made 51.3 percent. I had to cash in the ridiculously expensive lunar vacation they gave out to shut me up. But I’m now in control of my own destiny. I work or not as I wish, and I’m only sixty-nine years old.” Justin could feel Omad’s beaming pride.
“Why would they want to shut you up?”
“Guess they didn’t want word getting out about you and this,” he said, pointing to the suspension unit.
“What difference would it make?”
“Probably not too much. But a find like this . . .” He again pointed to Justin’s former crypt. “Worth thinking about how best to exploit it. They’d want that quiet for at least a good couple of weeks.”
“Guess I ruined their well-laid plans then?”
“Guess you did. They’re probably not too happy about it, either.”
“No. I don’t think they would be.”
They stood silently for a minute.
“Omad, if I’m stepping on any toes let me know, but I need to ask you a personal question.”
“Shoot.”
“I read a contract for the standard incorporation for payment of debt. I understood the legalese, and the numbers are easy to understand, but something’s just not clicking.”
“There’s a question somewhere in there, right?” Omad asked.
“Yes,” Justin said, unflustered. “How could you not control your own life?”
“But I do.”
“You do now that you’ve made majority. But you didn’t yesterday? What’s that all about?”
The Unincorporated Man Page 8