The Unincorporated Man

by Dani Kollin; Eytan Kollin

  “I didn’t have as much control for sure, but I still had enough.”

  “How can you have enough control? Either you have control or you don’t.”

  Before Omad answered he stopped for a moment, giving Justin a second once-over.

  “Did I say something wrong?” Justin was genuinely puzzled.

  “No. It’s just such an odd question . . . I mean, I figured you’d been down for a while, just didn’t figure how long that while was. Not that I was particularly interested. So exactly how old are you?”

  “Three hundred years . . . give or take.”

  “Damsah’s ghost! Are you serious?”

  Justin nodded.

  “Your stock is going to be worth a fortune!”

  “I’m not sure the companies I had stock in are still in existence. But yes, if they are I would imagine the stocks will be worth quite a lot.”

  “Not company stock. You. Your personal stock.”

  “Ahh, right.” Justin paused a bit to let the next part sink in. “I’m not incorporated yet.”

  “Damsah’s ghost!” Omad’s face had contorted into a steady look of shock.

  “By the way,” Justin asked, “what exactly does this ‘Damsah’s ghost’ you keep referring to mean?”

  “Uh . . . yeah. Just an expression. Sort of like ‘Jesus Christ,’ I suppose. But with Tim Damsah instead. You’ve heard of him, I suppose.”

  “Omad, I’ve not only heard of him—I’ve actually had the pleasure of meeting him.”

  “You’ve met Tim Damsah?!”

  “Yeah, if it’s the same guy. He was some young, minor elected official from Alaska.”

  “Yeah, that’s him alright. Can I touch you?” Omad asked.

  The question, Justin realized, had been rhetorical.

  “Now it all makes sense,” continued Omad. “You’re not only an exceptional find, you’re not even friggin’ incorporated! No wonder they cleared the crews out!”

  “Really, Omad, I’m not sure I understand yet why that, in and of itself, seems to be such a huge issue. Or why, for example, Mr. Damsah has achieved apparently godlike status.”

  “It would take a while to explain, Justin, but needless to say, you gotta understand that around here, Tim’s the man. After the Grand Collapse only his vision seemed to get us all back to square one.”

  Justin furrowed his brow. “Lot of info here, which I guess I’ll get to eventually. But if you don’t mind, I’d like to get back to what we were talking about, because, I have to say, it’s really bothering me.”

  “OK. But forgive me for gaping, Justin. You’re . . . well, you’re one of a kind in an all-of-a-kind society.” He took a breath. “Look, Justin,” he said, leaning up against one of the crate’s supporting walls. “Your question was, how could I give up control? Part of it was I had no choice, and the other part was that I did it voluntarily. The ‘no choice’ part is parents and government. The ’rents get 20 percent, the government gets 5. Can’t do nothing about that. The other part is real simple. I wanted things, and people or corporations gave me things. It was my decision about how much of a percentage of me those things were worth. But what don’t you understand? In your day and age, and correct me if I’m wrong, you gave up quite a bit of control as well, without profit, I might add.”

  This took Justin by surprise. “What do you mean? No one controlled percentages of me and told me where to work or play.”

  “Not to be rude,” Omad fired back, “but they sure as stock did. You had companies that told you what to wear, how to cut your hair, when to show up, and when to leave. You took vacations at the company’s convenience, not your own, or you lost your job. That’s not even getting into what your prink government used to do.”

  “Prink?”

  “Oh, sorry. Stands for Pre Inc., or Pre Incorporation. Anyways, you had seat-belt laws, antismoking laws . . . in bars, for Damsah’s sake! No smoking in bars? Care to explain that one? You had drinking and drug regulations. In some of your provinces you couldn’t even smoke in your own private domain if it bothered the guy next door. And again, I repeat—you didn’t get an ounce of profit from all that control you gave up. If you ask me you had little control with nothing to show for it. If today’s government tried to pull that crap there’d be blood in the streets.”

  Omad folded his arms as if in triumph.

  Justin didn’t waver.

  “But we could quit,” he answered. “Or leave, or decide whether we wanted to remain poor or shoot for the sky, making whatever compromises were necessary to achieve those aims. We could vote to change the laws if we wanted to. And what kind of laws run this place anyways? You don’t seem to have that choice. You were apparently incorporated from the moment you were conceived, and had to pay with your income and your time, whether you wanted to or not.”

  Justin’s DijAssist started to beep.

  Omad laughed. “It beeps. How very old school.”

  “Yes, sebastian?” answered Justin.

  “I determined that you would want to be informed. Hektor Sambianco, acting on behalf of GCI, has scheduled a court hearing to determine if GCI is the rightful owner of your suspension unit.”

  “On what grounds?”

  “In lieu of losses incurred due to your failure to incorporate.”

  “That’s ridiculous.”

  “Just thought you’d want to know.”

  “Thanks, sebastian.”

  Justin concentrated his gaze once more on Omad. “Well, I suppose you were right about that one. Boy, it didn’t take too long, did it?”

  “The length of one conversation. Not too bad.” Omad rubbed his unshaven chin. “A bit slow, if you ask me. I would’ve expected it sooner.”

  “But why is he going after my unit and not me?”

  Omad smiled amiably. “You’re among the living now. Can’t touch you. This,” he said pointing to the chamber, “is a bona fide piece of property.” He knocked on the outer frame for effect. “Very touchable.”

  “Can you please clarify, sebastian?”

  “As all your revival expenses were paid in full,” answered the avatar, “he has no legal claim on you. Because your unit is still on GCI property, and because GCI dug you out with the hope of an eventual return on the investment, he, as their representative, can make a claim.”

  The question Justin never thought to ask dropped into his lap like an errant baseball landing on an unsuspecting fan.

  “Who . . . who paid for my revival?” he barely managed.

  “Unknown.”

  “I need to find out.”

  “I will attempt to find out.”

  Yeah, you do that. “Thank you, sebastian. Please inform Neela of this news.”

  “Of course.”

  Justin hated the idea that he owed. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. He had currency, even in this day and age. Actually, a boatload. Whatever his revival cost amounted to, he was sure he could have covered it. Sure, it would have taken a little bit of time to figure out what of his possessions were valuable and what weren’t, but damn it all, he could have paid. What he failed to take into account was that he couldn’t prepay. And this was clearly a society that put a lot of capital in that very notion—literally and figuratively.

  Again the DijAssist beeped. It was Neela.

  Omad continued to stand quietly, waiting for Justin’s cue. It had already been an exceptional week, he figured, and today was no different. Whatever this guy was going to do, he was going to try and do it with him. Besides, this Justin character seemed to be able to give it out as well as he could take it. A far cry from the lot he’d been hanging out with recently at the center. Mainly fellow tunnel rats. Mostly secretive, afraid any slip of the tongue might reveal too much, and hence possible loss of profit. Didn’t make for the type of bawdy revelry among men Omad so enjoyed.

  Neela’s voice interrupted Omad’s thoughts, turning the twosome mulling in the shipping bay back into a threesome.

  “Hi, Justin.
Sorry if I interrupted. I just heard the news. Listen, and listen well. First of all, we’re going to need to meet. Sooner rather than later. Too much stuff is going on, and I need to at least brief you on what to expect.”

  “OK, Neela.”

  “Second, Hektor will attempt to isolate your suspension unit until the case is resolved. He’ll succeed. I strongly suggest you retrieve from it anything you deem critical. Do it now.” Neela’s image disappeared from the DijAssist.

  Shit. Justin felt the edge of panic. He prayed to himself that his restored memories included those that would enable him to liberate his precious possessions from the crypt before Hektor could boot him out. It was no minor prayer. He’d modeled the unit on the ancient sarcophagi, hidden compartments and all. The real trick had been having to pull it all off without any reliance on an electrical source. It had to be manual, and it had to be complex. It also had to be deadly for anyone trying to fuck with it. He’d built in all sorts of nasty devices, from poison gases to spring-loaded poison darts to blades so sharp they could remove a finger without the perpetrator feeling a thing—that is, until the blood started to spurt. With a perfunctory “excuse me” to Omad, he dived in. He began by placing his palms at specific locations on the unit. Once assured he’d positioned his hands correctly, he pushed in. That in turn caused another series of panels to open. Each layer revealed yet more complex systems of ratchets and knobs. You can do this. Sweat began to appear at his brow. Justin expertly turned and pulled the knobs before him until he gained the desired result—the expulsion of a few rectangular drawers containing within them important papers, maps, data drives, keys, and other assorted items he had deemed critical to his future survival. Four minutes and twenty-two seconds later his task was complete. With his back to Omad, he stuffed what he could into his pockets, deftly slipped a watch onto his wrist, and then turned around.

  “Justin.” It was Omad. He had a worried look on his face.

  “Yeah?”

  “We have to leave. Now. This area is probably officially off-limits. Securibots will be arriving shortly, and you can bet your defrosted ass they’ll want what you’ve got right there in your hot little hands.” As he said the words, a ruckus could be heard outside the bay. It was the sound of many footsteps approaching.

  “Follow me,” Omad barked.

  Justin did as he was told and followed Omad as he ran toward and through the wall at the opposite end of the room from which he had entered. They were now in a hallway a few hundred feet from what looked like a central hub. “This way,” Omad whispered, with Justin following quickly behind. Within moments they’d arrived at an express lift. Omad ran into the “up” shaft, disappearing almost instantly as his body was sucked up through the tube. Justin did the same. They were harmlessly expunged seconds later at an outdoor plaza.

  Justin had barely caught his breath when he realized he was outside for the first time since awakening. It was midday and, as far as he could tell, springtime. He would have liked to stop and take it all in, but he wasn’t yet sure he could. Was he being chased? Had he committed a crime? All these questions and more raced through his mind as he attempted to situate himself. OK, no one’s following you. Calm down. Locate Omad. Justin allowed himself a little more view time. He’d somehow ended up in a rest area. People were milling about and eating, seemingly relaxed. There were about twenty cylindrical tables that were positioned one next to the other. Most were occupied. He noticed Omad sitting alone, beckoning him over. Justin walked the twenty or so feet over to the table.

  “How did it know where to let me off?” Justin asked between huge gulps of air. He then sat down.

  “You mean the lift? Easy. I told it,” Omad smiled.

  “And if you hadn’t?”

  “It would’ve sent you right back to where you started, where they probably would’ve nailed you. That wouldn’t have been too good for you now, would it?”

  Justin thought about his predicament. He was, for all intents and purposes, alone. Trust, a notion he little believed in and rarely had had much of, was something he accepted only after years of experience with an individual or institution. So while Neela, and even this Omad guy, seemed at the outset well-intentioned, it was far too early to tell. One thing was certain—he needed some form of capital so he could get his basic necessities met and ultimately begin to control his situation. Neela would have to wait. There was business to take care of first.

  “OK, Omad, I’m going to have to get my hands on some money.”

  “Don’t look at me. I spent all of mine on me. I would have helped you out if I had known . . . well, actually, no, I wouldn’t have. I still would have bought my majority, but if I can help in any other way . . .”

  Omad now began to take a more keen interest in the subject sitting before him. There was no doubt that Justin, if he was who he said he was, could prove to be beneficial indeed. “Riches by association” was a common and oft-used phrase to describe those lucky enough to be somehow entwined in the good fortunes of others.

  “Maybe you can,” Justin said, fiddling with the contents of his hands. “I have a couple of items I pulled from the unit I’d like to try and cash in. Do you know of any establishments that trade goods for money?”

  “You mean like a pawnshop?”

  “Uh, yeah. They still have pawnshops?”

  “There will always be pawnshops—and, given my sometimes dire financial straits,” he answered, “now hopefully behind me, I was often forced to liquidate certain assets.”

  Justin took out a small, thin, exquisitely made box from one of the many pockets found in the outfit he was wearing. It was made out of wood and had the letter T engraved on the lid. Justin opened it to reveal ten flawless five-carat diamonds resting between two cylindrical velvet dowels. “Is this worth anything?” he asked, hoping earnestly the answer would be yes but knowing that nanotechnology may have rendered his once precious commodity worthless. He was pleasantly surprised by the answer.

  “Oh yeah, I know a dealer who would love to get her hands on that.”

  “Let’s go, then.”

  “Not so fast.” Omad figured that since he was already on a roll, there was no point in slowing it down. “What’s my take?”

  “Nice try, Omad. I know what I’m worth, and have some inkling of what I’ll be worth. And speaking of which, I believe it’s worth your while to help me now.” The truth was, Justin wasn’t sure about anything just yet. He had reason to believe all he’d just said, but had no concrete proof. It was a gamble.

  Omad stared keenly into Justin’s eyes, then shrugged. “OK, have it your way. To the city, then?”

  “I need the money now, so let’s go.” A small victory, thought Justin, and hopefully one of many.

  Eleanor was working at her desk when she saw Neela come in. Neela, Eleanor noticed, looked a little closer to relaxed, if such an adjective could be applied to a woman whose idea of relaxation was working late.

  Eleanor smiled. “Well, you’re certainly looking a little better.”

  “Thanks, Eleanor. I’m not sure if that was a compliment or not, but thanks.”

  “I’m not sure either, but you’ve had me worried. What’s new?”

  “Well, for the first time I think I may have a shot at undoing the damage Hektor did.”

  “Really. Just an hour ago you were running around like the world was at an end. How come things are looking up?”

  “He asked me a question.”

  “Not to be rude, Neela, but isn’t that what he’s supposed to do?”

  “Of course, Eleanor. It’s the question he asked that’s got me feeling good.”

  Eleanor leaned forward, her chin on her hands and her eyes bright with the anticipation of information bordering on gossip. “Tell all, my dear, tell all.”

  “I received a call from our Justin. He was in the loading bay and had been asking questions of his DijAssist, which, by the way, he named ‘sebastian,’ all afternoon. When he got to the loading ba
y, he called me to ask about the laws concerning payment and ownership of recovered property.”

  “Hardly worth a call to you,” purred Eleanor.

  “I agree.”

  “Something he could have asked sebastian. It would have made more sense.”

  “You’re absolutely correct,” smiled Neela.

  “Good going, dear,” Eleanor said, viewing Neela with admiration.

  “Thank you,” Neela replied. They both turned at the snort of derision emanating from the director’s office.

  “Eavesdropping again, dear?” Eleanor said, shooting a knowing glance to Neela.

  “Yes,” came from the voice in the office, “for all the good it did me. I don’t understand what you’re both so happy about. All he did was make you his legal clerk. Do women really enjoy being given the work of an unevolved avatar?”

  “Men,” both women said at once. They laughed.

  Mosh came out to the reception area. “I must be missing something. Unless, of course, you’re going to tell me it’s a woman thing.”

  “It’s a woman thing,” they both answered in unison, giggling once more.

  “Would you like an explanation?” asked Eleanor.

  “If you can explain how women think,” responded Mosh, “I, as well as the rest of mankind, will be eternally grateful.”

  “Not that you’ll understand,” Eleanor replied, playfully brushing off some lint that had settled on her husband’s shoulder, “but a woman knows a man is interested by a couple of signs. Some of these will let the woman in on a man’s interest even before the man knows it himself.”

  “That transparent, huh?” Mosh said with amusement.

  “Glass is opaque by comparison, dear, now please stop interrupting.”

  “Allow me to finish,” interjected Neela. “When a man starts to ask you things he can find out someplace else, or he finds reasons to be nearby, it’s a pretty good bet that he’s not just interested in information.”

  The director’s face revealed his skepticism. “That’s ridiculous.”

  “Really, dear,” Eleanor countered. “And how many times did you lose your DijAssist before you asked me out? Three or four?”