The Unincorporated Man

by Dani Kollin; Eytan Kollin

  “Hey, buddy,” said the man, “don’t forget the second dictate, there.” That comment provoked the young man’s gorgeous girlfriend to speak up.

  “Now honey, that’s being a little strict, even for you. The orlines allow it, so it doesn’t really violate the VR dictates, now does it?”

  “Sugarplum,” he said, “you know it’s a slippery slope. I’m just offering some free advice to the fella. You know me, can’t help giving advice.”

  The woman spoke over the man’s shoulder to Justin. “Please excuse my husband, sir, he’s been like this for years and . . .” The woman stopped on seeing Justin’s DeGen badge. “Oh, sorry for bothering you.” She whispered to her husband, but loud enough for Justin to hear, “For goodness’ sake, Carl, the man’s a DeGen, why bother?”

  The man’s body language signified defeat. “Well,” he tried to counter, “the VR dictates apply to them as well.” His wife shushed him, at which point the man settled down, muttering to himself.

  Justin found this confusing on three levels, the first of which was familiar. He needed to learn a lot more about DeGens and how they came to occupy the lowest rung in this society. The second was, what were these dictates that kept coming up, and what did they have to do with the gigglegogs? And the third was the fact that he just saw a handsome young couple, that he would swear from all appearances were freshmen in college, acting very old and very married. When he asked Neela about the pair her answer was short and to the point.

  “They are an old married couple. I’d say for at least forty, maybe fifty years. You can tell by their mannerisms. If I had to guess I’d probably say they were each in their late eighties.”

  “Fascinating,” Justin said, putting his goggles back on. The pod was now on its way down. He could make out the shiny amalgam of silver and glass that was representative of any great city from the sky. But New York City wasn’t just any great city. In his mind New York City was the great city. He wondered if it still held that place on the mantle.

  As they got closer to the ground he saw that the city didn’t look anything like he remembered it. He was looking specifically for the telltale markers, the chief of which was the Hudson River.

  Justin paused the view. “Neela,” he asked, goggles still on, “have they moved New York in the last three hundred years?”

  “No, Justin, it’s still in the same place.”

  “Then where’s the Hudson River?”

  Neela smiled. “They had to move it when the land the river was occupying proved to be too valuable to waste on a waterway.”

  Too valuable to waste on a waterway?

  Neela decided to play tour guide. She lowered Justin’s goggles and pointed out the window. “It’s over there. You can thank GCI for that.”

  In the distance Justin saw a building that rose well into the sky and dwarfed every other building around it.

  “What is that thing?”

  “GCI headquarters. In technical terms, the large building in the center is a beanstalk . . . a means of transporting large loads into outer space.”

  “I thought the t.o.p.s did that.”

  “They do,” she affirmed. “That building is essentially a relic these days. It’s still used, but mainly as a tourist attraction for the best view on the planet.”

  Justin put the goggles back on for a closer view.

  “Look back up . . . farther north,” said Neela. “Do you see those two identical small buildings dwarfed by all the big ones surrounding them?”

  “Hold on . . . let me fiddle here a moment. . . .”

  Justin zoomed in on the two buildings and blinked a couple of times. “Neela, are those what I think they are?”

  Neela did some calculating of dates. “That’s right, you were suspended before they were rebuilt. We call ’em ‘W3’ for short.”

  “W3?”

  “Yes, they replaced the second rebuild.”

  “Oh,” Justin thought out loud. “I never got to see the second one.”

  “It was nice,” she replied. “Pity it didn’t last very long. You probably remember when the original went down.”

  “9/11,” he whispered. “I’ll never forget . . . ever. So they rebuilt them.” He sported a big grin and looked at the handsome twins, strangely heartened by the city’s act of architectural defiance in the face of cold-blooded murder.

  “Why re-create the original?” he asked.

  “From my limited understanding—nostalgia. When New York City was rebuilt the people yearned for landmarks associated with the city’s greatest era. The twin towers were one of those chosen.”

  As he looked closer he saw some of the more familiar landmarks, like the Chrysler Building and Yankee Stadium. Do they still play baseball? he wondered. Those markers were easy to spot by the fact that they were the smallest structures in the area.

  “Neela, is the Empire State Building still around?”

  “Oh, sure!” she said.

  “Where? There’s a huge building where it used to be. Did they move that, too?”

  “Didn’t move it,” she answered. “Built over it. It’s in an atrium now. Great place to visit.”

  Justin shook his head and laughed. By orienting on the W3 Justin was able to grasp the city’s size. It seemed to be nothing but huge skyscrapers running to New Jersey and beyond. The city went well north of the old island of Manhattan.

  “Neela, how tall are those buildings?”

  “They average over three hundred stories. You know, over seventy million people live in metropolitan New York. It’s the largest city in the solar system now.”

  Justin took off the goggles and noticed that the cabin was empty. “We’re here?” he asked.

  “We landed over a minute ago,” answered Neela.

  With his first t.o.p. trip he had been so caught up in the whole experience he had failed to notice the individual parts. But on this one he did, and liked what he saw—a fully mature and impressive industry, made all the more salient by the fact that everyone, except Justin, took it for granted. It made the industrial capitalist in Justin want to stand up and applaud.

  They both got up to disembark. As they made their way to the exit Neela’s thumb started to vibrate. She held her hand up to her ear. It was Mosh.

  “Neela, if you’re on Trans-Global’s Florence to New York shuttle do not . . . I repeat, do not get off that pod!” Neela grabbed Justin’s shoulder, stopping him just before the exit. As she did so three mediabots came whizzing through the exit and started to circle Justin. Before either Justin or Neela could so much as blink all three crashed to the floor and remained inert. A stewardess appeared from the exit, and as she did the doorway closed up behind her.

  “Are you Dr. Harper, ma’am?” asked the stewardess.

  Neela nodded her head but continued talking to Mosh.

  “What’s going on?” she asked, even though the sinking feeling she was experiencing was answer enough.

  “They know,” the director answered.

  “Who knows and how much?” she pushed.

  “All the major media outlets, and therefore, by extension, the world.”

  “Mosh, do they have Justin’s last name yet?”

  “No, and if you know it don’t say it now. Has a stewardess come up to you yet?”

  “Yes.”

  “Let me speak to her.” Neela held her hand, pinkie and thumb extended, out to the stewardess, who touched her own hand to Neela’s, thereby “transferring” the call. The stewardess then brought her thumb and pinkie to her own ear and mouth.

  “Yes, sir.” The stewardess paused. “I understand, sir.” After a moment she said, “Thank you, sir. He wants to talk to you.” The stewardess held out her hand and Neela took back the call in the same manner she had given it out, under Justin’s curious gaze.

  “Neela,” said Mosh, “the exit is covered with bots and reporters. You won’t move a meter without being mobbed.”

  “I suppose,” suggested Neela, “we could stay he
re for the flight back to Florence.”

  “Way ahead of you, but the media already rented out all available seats on that flight, so I’ve taken the liberty of renting a luxury pod that’s being added onto your own. The nice stewardess will take you to it once it’s attached. You’ll take it back to Florence, stay in the pod, then head back to Boulder. You’ll be met at the gate by a security detachment. Dr. Wang and Gilbert will be waiting there as well. Ask them some personal questions to make sure it’s not a reporter who’s made a face change.”

  “Something tells me you’ve done this before, Mosh.”

  “Long story that I’ll probably never tell you. Any other questions?”

  Justin coughed. “I take it that I should brush up on my press conference techniques now?”

  Neela, much to her surprise, laughed, and then mouthed the word no.

  “Neela,” said Mosh, “I’ve gotta go. Someone talked, and I need to plug that leak.”

  “It was probably Hektor,” Neela said, without any hesitation.

  “Neela, convenient as you may find it, not everything that goes wrong is Hektor’s fault.”

  She ended the conversation with a quick flick of the wrist and gave Justin a shrug.

  “Might as well make yourself comfortable. Looks like it’s going to be quite a ride.”

  “As if it hasn’t been already,” he countered.

  They both slumped back down into their respective seats, realizing that their short little joyride was about to get a whole lot longer.

  Hektor was sitting alone in his tiny rented office in Boulder, pleased with the day’s work. He’d alerted the media . . . all the media. He’d exposed pretty much everything there was to expose: the basic story, Justin’s miraculous reanimation, GCI’s involvement, and even Hektor’s own unsuccessful attempt to have Justin incorporated. Yep, he’d blown the lid sky-high off what was supposed to remain a “quiet” operation. More to the point, he’d blown the lid sky-high off what he’d been told to keep quiet. And even though he’d probably dug himself a grave a mole couldn’t get out of, he was truly pleased. Because, for the first time in his life, Hektor Sambianco was using his natural and learned abilities completely for his own ends, however veiled they might be. He’d disgraced himself and his company, he’d probably ruined an ancient man’s life, which even he had to admit may have been uncalled for, and he’d done it solely out of self-preservation. But none of that mattered now. He was freer than he’d ever felt. He wasn’t kissing anyone’s ass, because he no longer had to. In fact, if by some miracle a god were to appear from the heavens and offer him a chance to take it all back—to make everything the way it was before Boulder happened, before Justin happened—Hektor would have said no.

  “Hektor,” his DijAssist chirped, “you have a call coming in from the DepDir.”

  “Thank you, iago—put him through.” Hektor put his briefcase on his desk, opened it up, and activated the screen inside.

  “Your avatar is your secretary, Sambianco?” the DepDir asked, clearly enjoying the moment. “Isn’t that a little embarrassing?”

  “Gosh, Kirk,” Hektor answered, knowing how much the DepDir hated being called by his first name, “when you reassigned me, somehow my privileges got revoked. An oversight, I’m sure.”

  “I’m sure. I’ll look into it.”

  “But not to worry, Kirk, I’ve been keeping busy. A secretary would just have gotten in the way.”

  “Yes, Hektor. I can see you’ve been busy.”

  “Anything else . . . Kirk? I’ve got a full slate today.”

  “Yes, actually. One thing.”

  “Yes?” Hektor’s lips curved upward slightly, in anticipation of what he knew was about to come.

  “Have you gone Alaskan, Sambianco?!”

  Now it was Hektor’s turn to enjoy the moment. “Me, sir? No, sir.”

  “Then what the devil do you think you’re doing?”

  “Why, my job, Kirk.”

  “Your job was to keep a lid on this till we could find someone to replace you!”

  “Ahh, right. ‘Replace me.’ So you mean I wasn’t supposed to inform all the major networks and news bureaus about Justin?”

  The DepDir didn’t answer. He didn’t need to. The look he was giving Hektor more than sufficed.

  Hektor was unruffled.

  “Oh, by the way, Kirk, how is it going?”

  “How is what going!?” If the DepDir could have reached through the screen and strangled Hektor his expression left little doubt that he would have.

  “Finding a replacement? For me, that is. Any volunteers? Wait, don’t tell me, no one wants my job. I have to admit, this assignment is a real career-buster. Oh, wait, my career’s already busted, how convenient for me.”

  “I should have had you transferred to the Oort Cloud, Sambianco,” the DepDir snarled. “You should be testing environmental suits on Mercury. But don’t you worry. I’ll make sure you will.”

  “Kirk, aren’t you forgetting something? I don’t work for you anymore. You transferred me from your staff to the independent assignment with the board. I’m their problem now. I suggest you sit back, relax, and enjoy the show. It won’t affect you too badly either way. You’re the ‘brilliant’ executive who got rid of me before I could really damage your career. Or, at least, that’s how I suggest you play it out.”

  The DepDir was about to launch into another tirade when he started to laugh.

  “You’re too smart for your own good, you realize that, don’t you?”

  “Yes sir, I do. But I’ve got nothing to lose and everything to gain.”

  The DepDir paused for a moment. Now it was his turn to crack a smile, though it seemed far more malicious than Hektor’s. “You’d better win, Sambianco.”

  “I know” was all Hektor could muster.

  The DepDir cut off the connection. Hektor closed his briefcase, got up from behind his desk, and was about to head out of the office when iago interrupted him again.

  “Busy, busy iago.” Hektor chuckled. “Quite a life I’m leading, eh?”

  “Humor’s never been a strong point with you, sir; however, if you want, I can laugh.”

  “Don’t bother, iago, just tell me who it is.”

  “It’s Irma.”

  Hektor couldn’t help but smile again. Perhaps it was his lucky day.

  “Transfer to handphone.” Hektor lifted his thumb to his ear. “Irma, to what do I owe the pleasure? Are you in Boulder?”

  “You son of a bitch. You had to make me work, eh?”

  “Irma, I haven’t the foggiest idea what you’re talking about.”

  “You know very well what I’m talking about. You could have told me his last name.”

  “Oh, that,” Hektor said, smiling. What on Earth is she going on about? “I gave you enough information to work with, Irma. You know the rules.”

  “I suppose I do. Look, any tidbits you have would be great for the story. Have you spoken with him yet?”

  “Who?”

  “What do you mean, ‘who?’ Justin Cord. Who else?”

  Hektor hesitated, trying both to absorb the shock of what he’d just heard and to hide it. That was all Irma needed to realize she’d just made a rookie mistake. Hektor told no more than the beginning of a lie before Irma interrupted.

  “Oh, shit, you didn’t know, did you?”

  No use lying now. Hektor shrugged and smiled. “Well, I do now.”

  “How could you not know with all the resources of GCI?”

  “The truth is, Irma, I am not in the best of positions with GCI right now. But this little tidbit will certainly be of use in rectifying that situation.” Irma started to ask him not to divulge the information but suddenly stopped, snarled, and cut the connection.

  “Iago,” Hektor commanded, “get me all the information you can on Justin Cord, then set up calls with all the news services and the board. I think I just found out how to make this hot story absolutely too hot to handle. Oh, I’m also going to
need some convincing statistics to show that I am on the trail of whoever it was that screwed me over by paying the ten million credits.”

  “But Hektor, you are not on the trail. You stated it would take ten years and millions of credits to discover the true identity of the person or persons responsible.”

  “Job security, iago. Just do it.”

  “As you wish, Hektor.”

  It took Irma a precious thirty seconds to stop ranting until she was calm enough to explain her blunder. “Goddamned rookie mistake. I may as well have graduated from Harvard.”

  “Enough,” said Michael. “We have to get the story out, and now we won’t be going after it alone.” They took a few seconds to consider their options.

  They were still at the Boulder orport in a privacy suite. The team had already rented temporary offices, and then rented larger ones once they discovered their subject’s last name. Given the media circus that was about to deluge Boulder, effective and private workspaces would be worth Fortune and Fortunate 500 stock. Irma and her team would trade space for information to pay back past favors or get future ones. But as they weren’t sure where they were going, they decided for now to stay at the orport. The privacy suites were simple rooms with desks, chairs, and couches in the amounts requested, and were a secure location in which to conduct business. In an age as advanced and intrusive as this one, privacy suites were one of the strategies society had developed to cope. They were prevalent in orports, hospitals, hotels, resorts, and any other location a traveler might feel the need to conduct business.

  “All right,” Irma said, once the team had dumped their baggage, “someone give me some good news.”

  “Irma,” answered Michael, “I think you may be in luck. Do you remember that piece we did on tunnel rats about two years ago?”

  Irma nodded. “That was the last time we were all in Boulder. If I’m not mistaken, we played the angle of a few brave men pushing too hard for majority. What about it?”