The Unincorporated Man

by Dani Kollin; Eytan Kollin

  In the waning daylight he saw that the flotilla was approaching a building that looked remarkably like a giant turtle shell hovering over a short rectangular structure. The shell had about twenty silos in it, spaced equidistantly around the top. Each one of the silos was encircled by small holes that were acting as gas exhausts. The silos were shooting out and sucking in cylindrically shaped pods from the sky in a fluid motion. The entire building complex took up about four city blocks.

  As the vehicles began to disperse Justin watched as they entered different slots alongside the large metallic wall that made up one side of the base of the “turtle.”

  A few seconds later their car entered its own slot. The interior cab lit up for the short time they were ensconced in the tube and diffused back to natural light upon exiting. They were now in a large garage. In some cases cars were stacked on top of each other with a few inches of air separating hood from underbelly. In others cars were parked in an orderly fashion side by side. As they came to rest at the entrance of the orport itself, he saw that theirs would be of the side-by-side variety.

  “You know, it’s funny, Neela,” Justin said, upon exiting the vehicle. “I have so many real questions I’d like to ask you, but the one that doesn’t seem to want to go away is, did you just luck out with this spot or does everyone get such great parking accommodations?”

  “Not luck at all, Justin,” she answered, smiling. “Privilege. Mosh just upgraded my parking . . . thanks to you. I certainly couldn’t afford to park here. In fact, I’m pretty much in awe of it myself.” Then, looking out toward the entrance, she said, “You ready?”

  Justin smiled, which was all the confirmation she needed. She walked to an entry point with Justin following close behind. They situated themselves on a small walkway that led to a long, clear, tubular—and well-trafficked—corridor leading into the main building.

  “Come to think of it, Justin,” Neela said, beginning to walk at a clip down the corridor, “ ‘parking’ as a concept might give you a little more insight into how we do things around here.”

  “I’m listening,” he answered, keeping pace.

  “OK. For one thing, you probably noticed that some cars were stacked and some weren’t.”

  “Yes, I did. For the life of me I couldn’t figure out why any facility that can stack floating cars would waste the space on side-by-side parking.”

  “Simple, really,” Neela answered. “In your day and age you had machines that washed dishes, correct?”

  “Correct. We . . . um, called them ‘dishwashers.’ ”

  “Right. Yet the rich among you hired household help to wash dishes, which if you think about it doesn’t make any economic sense whatsoever.”

  “I see your point. It’s a prestige thing.”

  “Exactly,” Neela confirmed. “You see, Justin, while technology has expanded vastly, human psychology has not. All that’s left for you to do besides absorbing a ton of information is to re–plug in the subtle clues that indicate status, social order, and norms.”

  “That’s all I have to do, huh?” Justin asked.

  Neela laughed.

  “It also explains,” Justin continued, “why some restaurants on Pearl Street had human waiters and others had flying servants.”

  “We call ’em drones. What type of drone—well, that depends on their function. We’ve got bar drones, waiter drones—or ‘woodies’ for short. Anyway, you get the picture.”

  “Got it.”

  “But yes,” she continued, “you’re correct. The restaurants with human waiters were far more posh in appearance than those without.”

  Then, indicating the entrance to the orport, she asked, “Shall we?”

  What greeted Justin as he entered the main lobby was a symphony of movement in three dimensions. People were walking, running, and floating. Drones were everywhere, in all shapes and sizes, issuing papers, collecting trash, showing ads, even bouncing up and down. The interior of the building was cathedral-like. The exterior walls were clear from floor to ceiling, yet there was movement within them, as stringlike creatures moved freely up and down their length. The light emanating from the walls created a shimmering shadow effect that gave Justin the feeling of being underwater. The ceiling was made up of cylindrical tubes, each protruding at different depths, each with a large number printed at the base, and each a different color. There was a steady stream of human traffic going up and down from each tube—without, Justin realized, the presence of an escalator.

  Neela watched in fascination as her charge took it all in.

  “That’ll be us in a few minutes,” she said.

  Justin nodded, smiling.

  “This way,” she said, heading toward a bank of palm machines. As they walked, little drones with small television screens buzzed them. Neela, Justin saw, was being pummeled with dating service, vacation getaway, and all manner of luxury item advertisements. He, on the other hand, was buzzed only once and then left alone.

  “Neela,” Justin asked, “not that I want the attention, but why am I being left alone by the drones?”

  “Ad drones,” Neela answered. “ ‘Addies’ for short.

  “And that’s why,” she said, pointing to the patch on his breast. “Not much worth selling to a DeGen—reliably, that is.”

  “Why don’t people just put these on when they want to be left alone?”

  “A, not easy to get one, and B, not something you’d ever really want to be seen wearing . . . unless, of course, you have to. Anyways, welcome to our small but humble orport. And by the way, ‘orport’ is short for ‘orbital port.’ ”

  “Ahh. Now I get it. Judging from what I saw outside, and the ceiling I’m looking up at, I’d kind of guessed suborbital flights.”

  “Good guess. Ten credits for you,” she replied. “Perhaps your avatar could give you a more detailed explanation.”

  “The transorbital pods, otherwise known as t.o.p.s, create thrust by means of magnetohydrodynamic forces,” answered sebastian, “which arise when a conductive fluid or gas moves through crossed electric and magnetic fields. Because beamed energy means that neither oxidizer nor conventional fuel has to be carried out of Earth’s gravity field, laser-driven t.o.p.s reduce launch costs significantly. A network of orbital solar-power stations supports the t.o.p.s.”

  “How extensive is the orport system?” asked Justin.

  “It’s everywhere,” answered Neela. “The equipment is mass-produced and incredibly simple to manufacture. We’re just giant teapots in the sky, really . . . with some pretty neat interior-building software thrown in. It’s simplicity itself to set up one tube or a hundred, depending on need. The very rich even have private tubes in their homes. Any town with over ten thousand people will have at least one. In fact, a one-tube town is what you would refer to as a ‘hickopolis.’ ”

  “ ‘Hicksville,’ actually.”

  Justin saw that they’d arrived at the bank of palm machines.

  Neela placed her palm into one and asked for two open-ended tickets on a private flight to Florence, Italy. She was told which launcher to go to. The process took all of thirty seconds.

  “How long do we have to wait?”

  “We don’t. This way,” she said. They bypassed lines of people waiting to get into the designated “fly up” zones and proceeded directly to an area cordoned off by a red velvet rope. Once they were there, an immaculately dressed attendant greeted them. Neela placed her hand into a palm machine. The attendant confirmed the reservation, lifted the rope, and beckoned them in.

  “Enjoy your flight,” he said, smiling.

  Before Justin could grasp the fact that he’d been levitated, he found himself trailing after Neela as she floated up to the platform leading into the only open doorway.

  Once they were in the pod, an attractive stewardess greeted them.

  “Welcome to Majority Orlines. My name is Pat, and I’ll be your B&Cer for today’s flight.”

  “B&Cer?” asked Justin.

>   Pat noticed his badge. “Oh, forgive me. That would be short for ‘beck and caller,’ sir.”

  “Right, thanks,” he answered, playing to her misconception. He still wasn’t used to being treated like an idiot, but until such time as either he or Neela deemed the badge unnecessary, he’d play along. He was, after all, in “Rome” and didn’t speak the language, and his only tour guide insisted—and he grudgingly agreed—that it was for the best.

  “Anyhow,” continued Pat, “we’ll be leaving in a few minutes. Why don’t you take this time to set yourselves up?”

  At first sight the luxury accommodations seemed paltry to Justin. All he could see was an empty circular room with a white luminescent floor surrounded by standard attendant facilities, including a bathroom and a kitchen. There was also a computer console being attended to by a man who had his back to them. Is it possible, thought Justin, that first-class is simply defined by not having to travel with other people? And where are we supposed to sit? I don’t see any chairs.

  The answers came quickly, in the form of a data pad handed over to Neela by Pat. “Mind if I look at it?” he asked. “I swear I won’t touch a thing.”

  With a catlike curiosity about how he’d handle new technology, Neela gave him the pad.

  Now holding it in his hands, Justin looked down and saw several images of interior layouts beneath which were written short descriptors, such as “moonlight lodge,” “power trip,” and “bachelor bash.” Nominally satisfied, he started to hand the pad back to Neela, inadvertently touching one of the buttons. The lights in the room dimmed to reveal a large, fur-laden bed, stoked fireplace, and all the necessary accoutrements of a well-planned tryst. This included a chilled bottle of Dom Perignon, two empty Champagne flutes, a Frank Sinatra song playing in the background, and a lifelike simulation of a beautiful moonlit ocean view.

  Justin was so pleased by his mistake he barely noticed Neela squirm.

  Her body stiffened considerably. “This is not really appropriate,” she said.

  He was confused by the coldness of her response, and not a little disappointed that he’d now have to take his mind out of the gutter it had so comfortably found itself in. He was certain that she liked him, or, at least, felt something toward him. And, after all, the room he’d just created was an innocent mistake easily rectified by a joke or subtle parry. What he had gotten instead was an extremely cold shoulder. So either he’d missed some obvious clue to her disinterest in him, or his many years of experience in that particular department had been somehow warped by his many years of sleep in the cooler. Not knowing what to say, he said nothing at all.

  “Why don’t you let me choose?” said Neela. Not a question—a command.

  Justin readily agreed, handing the pad back over—carefully. Neela deftly played her fingers along its surface, and within seconds the room had once again transformed itself. A pair of brown overstuffed leather chairs was now in the place where the fur-laden bed had only moments before stood, so inviting. Next to the chairs stood a small table with a tea service. The ocean view had been replaced by a more somber New England day—complete with falling leaves. All that remained of Justin’s choice was the fireplace.

  This time he watched the transformation in amazement. “Quite impressive,” he said.

  “Isn’t it?” Neela answered, charm returned. “I mean, I’ve seen it in the holos and on commercials, but it’s the first time I’ve ever gotten to use one.”

  Justin walked to the center of the room and sat in one of the leather chairs. It felt great. It even had an old leather smell about it. He picked up the teacup and examined its detail. “Amazing. How does it work?” he asked.

  Neela joined him in the other chair. She, too, was looking around the room in awe.

  “No clue,” she answered, stretching out her legs.

  Before Justin could reach for his DijAssist, Pat answered.

  “Sir, it’s a nanoassisted morphemic polymer that responds to commands on an electrical and photonic level. The substance can mimic any solid and quite a few liquid states, and is guaranteed to provide you with a comfortable trip.”

  “Let me guess,” Justin chided, “you’ve answered that question before.”

  “Sir, if I had a credit for every time I had to answer that question, I’d probably be asleep right now in that bed you dreamed up a minute ago.” Equally obvious to Justin and Neela was who she’d prefer to share that bed with—DeGen badge or not.

  This elicited a smile from Justin. At least someone wants to use the damned thing.

  “Anyhow, as I was saying,” continued Pat, “in future trips you can bring your own customized configuration—as long as it doesn’t interfere with the flight of the pod.”

  “It could interfere?” asked Neela.

  “Well, I once had a guest who wanted to morph in her own swimming pool so she wouldn’t miss a lesson, but the water would have sloshed around during launch, and as for zero gravity, well, kind of a nonstarter. If I recall, we opted for a simulated water experience.”

  “Thanks,” said Justin, as he got up from his chair and walked over to a small library. He perused the books, pulling out one that caught his eye, Mark Twain’s The Innocents Abroad.

  “How come,” he asked, flipping through the pages of the book, “this morphing thing is not standard in all flights?”

  “The polymer,” answered Pat, “needs constant fine-tuning and can only be maintained in specific environments. The equipment to run the environments safely is bulky, and by its nature only a few people can use it comfortably per pod. Also, it breaks down quickly and has to be replaced. All of this means it’s not yet economical for standard use.”

  “Yet?” Justin inquired.

  “Things are always getting better, sir.”

  “I wouldn’t know,” he said, giving Neela a knowing glance. “I haven’t been around that long.”

  “That’s alright,” answered Pat. “Boulder’s more like a nice place to visit.”

  “Yeah,” added Neela, “but you wouldn’t want to live here.”

  Pat smiled. Professional sympathy, guessed Neela.

  “I’ve just been informed,” said Pat, “that we’re ready for takeoff, so if you’ll both please take your seats, I’ll come in to check on you after liftoff.” She disappeared into the background.

  Justin looked around, confused. Neela, still sitting comfortably, patted the seat cushion of the leather chair next to hers. When Justin gave her another bewildered look, she just nodded. He shrugged, laughed, and headed back over to the seat. He forced himself down and patted the armrests.

  “Relax, Justin,” said Neela. “It’s the pod that’s taking off, not the chair.”

  “No seat belts?”

  “No seat belts. You’ll see.”

  And he did. The first effects of g-force were felt immediately. A slow tug at his very being. Not uncomfortable, but definitely restricting. The pressure increased only slightly. He was hoping for a view of the liftoff, but all he got was fall leaves.

  “Any chance I can watch the actual takeoff?” he asked no one in particular.

  “Certainly, Justin,” answered Pat’s ethereal voice, and just like that he was looking out the window at a horizon line shifting slowly downward. Within a minute the evening sky was replaced by a darkening skyline, and forty seconds after that Pat’s voice could again be heard wafting in from nowhere.

  “Welcome to space.”

  Neela got up from her chair and walked over to the bookshelf, barely glancing up to notice the view outside. Justin, seeing she was up, lifted himself out of his seat. His legs felt sluggish, and he noticed that his walking was stilted. It was at that moment that he realized that he wasn’t . . . floating.

  “How on Earth . . . bad choice of words.”

  Neela looked up from the book she was perusing.

  “Why aren’t I, um . . . floating?”

  “Right,” responded Neela. “You’ve been, how shall I put this . . . altered so
mewhat.”

  “What?”

  “Relax, Justin. So much information, so little time, remember? Under normal circumstances we would have gotten to this little bit of information around day four. However, this is not a normal circumstance, so bear with me.”

  “I’d still like to know what you’ve done to me.”

  “Well, first of all, I haven’t done anything to you. You’ll have to speak with Dr. Wang or sebastian to get a more complete understanding of what’s going on inside. However, I can give you the basics.”

  “Shoot.”

  “You, like the rest of us, have been fitted with a whole-body nano communications grid, or, to be more specific, nano-made cells stationed every hundred or so microns apart in your body tissue. These nano cells affect your internal physical states, including your spatial orientation, hormone levels, and neural firing patterns. It also means that when traveling in space you’re turned into a giant, for lack of a better word, magnet. That’s why you’re walking funny. I guess I’m just used to it.”

  “Ahh.”

  “It also explains,” continued Neela, “why you haven’t been too cold or too hot. You’ve been ‘just right.’ Your nanites have been adjusting you constantly.”

  As if to somehow confirm Neela’s information, Justin stared at his hand. “Fascinating.”

  “Isn’t it?” she agreed.

  “Oh, well,” Justin said, a bit resigned, “I was quite looking forward to experiencing weightlessness in space. Some other time, I guess.”

  “Be my guest,” Neela said, smiling. “Pat?”

  “Right away,” came the voice from above.

  Justin felt the strange and wonderful sensation of release. It was very much unlike what he had felt on the ground. Now he realized that when he “flew” on Earth his body had been forced, albeit gently, upward. This time his body was not being manipulated at all. It was just being free. For the next few minutes he reveled in the pure joy of doing the type of slow-motion somersaults he’d drooled over as a kid watching the NASA astronauts on television. And with all that he’d been through in the less than a day since he’d been reborn, it was perhaps these few minutes of uninhibited acrobatic joy that made his three-hundred-year nap worth the wait.