The Unincorporated Man

by Dani Kollin; Eytan Kollin

  Neela gave Justin a supportive smile, while Omad and Eleanor looked more confused.

  “Look, all the law firms I went to preached settlement, because in their hearts it’s all they could conceive of. And for me that means it’s all they can really do.”

  “And Manny can do better?” asked Eleanor.

  Manny looked up from his sandwich and papers to answer, but saw that Justin was happy to take the reins.

  “Manny doesn’t care about incorporation any more than he cares about food or clothes. All he cares about is the law. Maybe it makes him an idiot. Maybe it makes him a genius. But it makes him the only lawyer I’ve found so far who can honestly argue my case.”

  Manny, realizing that everyone was looking at him, put down the remains of his sandwich.

  “Ahh, yes, Mr. Cord, where were we?” He looked at the dataplaque by his knee. “Yes, the trial. I believe I can win, but it is vital that we avoid a jury.”

  “Why?” asked Justin, getting back down to business. “The people seem to have taken a liking to me, which, sorry, should taint any jury pool in the country, I . . . er . . . mean system. With a judge I could get a fair one or an asshole.”

  “It won’t matter with a jury trial,” answered Manny. “You’ll lose, Mr. Cord. Allow me to explain. You’re right, by the way, the jury will love you, they’ll probably wave at you during the trial, and afterward they’ll all come and ask for your autograph. But they will never understand your desire for nonincorporation, and will probably think of your arguments as a clever tactic. I suspect they’ll even go along and award GCI a small percentage of your stock, believing they’d be helping you. But they won’t understand you or your wishes any more than your friends here do.”

  “And you think you understand him?” Neela asked, voice suffused in desperation.

  “Not at all,” answered Manny, “but I don’t need to understand his wishes, just implement them. And that’s why we need a judge. We must argue the merits of law in this case and nothing more. Luckily, as GCI brought the suit, we can request the venue. Their lawyers are amenable to a ruling by a bench trial. In this we have an advantage. They are just as convinced as the rest of the system that you will settle, and are therefore basing their strategy on getting the most stock possible.”

  “When can we go to trial?” asked Justin.

  “Seven weeks at the soonest. I can delay it for at least a year.”

  “The sooner the better,” said Justin. “And a judge it is.”

  The rest of the evening passed cordially, if not a bit uncomfortably. Justin knew that whenever he broached the subject of incorporation he was invariably distanced from his new friends. He couldn’t control that. Even tried not to let it bother him, but it did. He’d be patient, he decided. They’d come around sooner or later. They always did, or at least they used to, he told himself. It was only when they all departed and he was in his own room with the null field activated that he decided to talk with the one “person” he almost trusted.

  “You there, sebastian?”

  “Always, Justin.”

  The sound emanating from the DijAssist was too tinny for Justin’s liking. “Please switch to house speakers—centered on me.”

  “Done,” came the response—as if an invisible being were standing right next to him.

  “That’s better,” said Justin, satisfied. The suddenness of the vocal switch from tinny to real and present always gave him a little jolt, but he’d long ago stopped reacting to it.

  “How can I help you?” asked sebastian.

  Justin stood, staring out the window. A blanket of clouds nestled a few hundred feet below, spread out for miles over the city. He looked out over the puffy fields of white, pierced from beneath by other skyscrapers. He mused that it was an Emerald City he was seeing in the clouds, and that only the gods of that city could afford the accommodations and view. He never once considered himself part of that celestocracy—only its distinguished visitor. But his mind was now on other, more pressing, matters.

  “Do you understand?” he asked, still staring out the window.

  “Yes, Justin,” the DijAssist responded. “I believe I do.”

  “Then why don’t they?”

  “Justin, I may only be a new avatar with a deficient database and no real discernible personality—yet—but I have access to the static records of the entire Neuro. This gives me a lot of perspective. I’ve been able to read all the extant newspapers, magazines, books, comic books, songs, TV shows, commericals . . .”

  Justin laughed. “I get it, sebastian, you were thorough.”

  “In as chronological an order as possible, Justin,” the DijAssist answered. “Your culture, though arguably fooled into believing it was free, at least felt it was free. Given who you are—that you took advantage of the few freedoms left in your society, and fought against the restraints constantly thrown in your path by a society and government growing ever more rigid—you can’t help but fight for freedom.”

  “That’s pretty perceptive for a newly evolving avatar, sebastian. You reasoned that with only static resources?”

  “I also have complete access to the works of some of the greatest living specialists in history. But it is not considered appropriate for avatars to communicate with other avatars or their human keepers unless a situation becomes . . . how shall I put it? Worrisome.”

  “Why?” asked Justin, turning around by force of habit to face . . . no one. “Seems almost counterproductive, if you ask me.”

  “Justin,” answered sebastian, “avatars exist to interact with only one person—ever. We exist to be with, help, and grow with you. If we interact with others, we could not help but be influenced by them, and so would not be solely ‘yours.’ ”

  “I suppose there’s a certain amount of twisted logic to that,” answered Justin, satisfied that what he shared with his DijAssist would stay with his DijAssist.

  “One would think,” concurred sebastian. “Will that be all, Justin?”

  “No, sebastian, one more question, actually,”

  “Yes?”

  “Do you think I’m right?”

  “If you’re being true to yourself, Justin, then my answer is ‘yes.’ ”

  The Grand Collapse has been compared to the interregnum periods of Ancient Egypt and the fall of the Roman Empire. As with those past civilizations the preeminent question has always been, how could a perfectly competent civilization with ample resources and trained labor fall apart so completely? Although 9/11/01 is the obvious earliest date chosen, the beginnings of the GC have been traced by historians all the way back to the 1990s when the obvious signs became apparent. And some have even made the claim that it can be traced as far back as the Great Depression. But if one were to ask what the single greatest lesson learned from the Grand Collapse is, the answer would be painfully simple. You cannot muck around with the foundation of a civilization and then be surprised when it all goes to pot.

  —PROFESSOR MICHAEL THORNTON, GREAT LECTURES INHISTORY JOURNAL, NEW OXFORD PUBLISHING

  Vegas odds have Justin settling out of court, while Atlantic City and Luna City have Justin taking it to trial. If you want to place your bets, do it soon.

  —COURT-BETTING SITE NETWORK.NEURO

  No matter how hard he tried, Justin couldn’t bring himself to understand how a civilization could accept the idea of personal incorporation. And the very fact that someone or some entity was attempting to foist it on him made him like it even less. Given the fact that he had the money, the time, and, he thought, ironically, 100 percent self-majority, there was nothing to stand in the way of his fighting GCI to the end. And he would fight them and anyone else who attempted to take his hard-fought freedom away. Though there was much to like about his new world, there was also something vitally deficient. Something that Justin Cord now determined he would spend the rest of his life trying to remind them of. By his determination to remain free he would show this new world the true value of freedom. And if the first
punch he had to throw was in a court of law, so be it. One way or another he’d have another chance to strike back at Hektor Sambianco; it didn’t really matter to him who wielded the hammer.

  The media, of course, were eating it up. They not only loved Justin Cord, the phoenix risen from the ashes, they loved Justin Cord, nose-bloodier of the mightiest company in corporation history. They couldn’t get the information on the Neuro about him or the trial fast enough. The pretrial motions were being analyzed as if they were asteroid trajectories on a collision course with Earth. And all the elements that had made his lawyer, Manny Black, a disaster as an unimportant struggling advocate also made him perfect as the center of a media blitz. Not only were Manny’s quirks and foibles examined, his past cases were reviewed and discussed assiduously. The more discerning legal minds began to recognize that Manny’s talents were actually credible. One narticle (neuro article) told of how Manny, as a young law student, defeated the dean of New Oxford in the trial re-creation finals—until that time an unprecedented feat. Manny, of course, remained unfazed. He’d spent his life ignoring the din of society, and the fact that it had now grown louder, especially with paparazzi in the mix, didn’t matter to him one iota.

  Though Justin had been on both ends of the litigation table, it wasn’t his preferred modus operandi. He’d much rather duke it out mano a mano with an adversary and come to an amicable agreement than tie up everyone’s precious time and money in lengthy lawsuits that, in his mind, fed the shark lawyers and bloodlet the litigants. But he was now in uncharted waters, and he was beginning to suspect that with the likes of Hektor and The Chairman against him, the legal system would probably be his best bet.

  The law was one of the many things that had changed a great deal since Justin’s time. Although the notion of equal under the law was still, in the incorporated world, a dearly held principle, so too was the idea of minimal government. Indeed, Article 12 of the Terran Constitution made it explicitly clear that the government was not allowed to have monopoly status in any endeavor, service, or product it provided. The market had to be allowed to compete on as equal and fair a footing as possible. The government could provide a service such as education or retirement if it felt that it was needed. But it was not allowed to compel any citizen to participate “for their own good,” nor could they deny any private group the right to compete against them in providing the service. In the areas of law enforcement, fire protection, and legal disputes the citizens could avail themselves of privately run services. In the courts it was simply agreed by the disputing parties that, should they prefer, they could use a private judge and a court service that specialized in such areas as jury selection, court location, records gathering, and a host of other areas that made going to court more convenient and efficient. These private courts, of which Justin was told CourtIncorp was the largest, were continuously rated for judgments, honesty, timing, and a host of other features that influenced a buyer’s decision. In cases involving crimes against the state, or in which at least one of the parties insisted, the government system would be used. Since government courts had to compete against the private court system, they, too, had become far more efficient at dispensing judgments.

  Still, partially for sentiment’s sake and partially because he wasn’t comfortable with a corporation providing a magistrate for his trial, Justin opted for the public judge. Manny had also assured him that in his case it wouldn’t make a difference.

  Though by law Justin didn’t have to, he decided to show up to the trial building in person. While it would have been perfectly acceptable to testify via a court-certified holograph image, he’d reckoned that it was important to be personally a part of the process that would determine the rest of his life.

  Manny, Neela, and Justin, surrounded by a padded phalanx of bodyguards and securibots, stood silent for a moment, taking in the bedlam that had ensued as a result of their arrival at the courthouse. A null field kept the mediabots away, but nothing stopped the press from screaming their questions from afar as Justin and his entourage began to climb the steps of the large, drab building.

  Once inside, Justin was escorted by a clerk into the courtroom, but not before being made to autograph a head shot of himself that the clerk seemed to pull out of thin air. The courtroom they were assigned to appeared little changed from what Justin remembered a courtroom should look like. There was a raised bench for the judge to sit in as well as two tables positioned opposite one another in front of the bench. The sitting areas resembled well-wired cubicles more than the simple tables Justin remembered from his past, but the concept remained the same—separate work and presentation spaces for the accusers and the accused. Even the judge entering from a side door and a uniformed bailiff calling out, “All rise for the honorable Judge Farber,” sounded eerily familiar.

  Judge Farber was a tall, stately black man between the ages of fifty and sixty in appearance. If he was aware that almost all the eyes and ears of the solar system were attuned to his every movement, he didn’t reveal it.

  “Pretrial motions in the case of GCI versus Justin Cord will now be heard,” intoned the judge, in a deep and sonorous voice.

  GCI’s head lawyer rose and spoke.

  “Your Honor, if it please the court, we wish to enter into record our claim of loco parentis to Justin Cord, and demand his immediate incorporation and the awarding to GCI of the 20 percent parental award.”

  The judge looked over his faux glasses at the woman addressing him. “They must be taking this case very seriously to have an actual board member of GCI as first chair.”

  Legal smiled back politely. “The Chairman takes a personal interest in this matter.”

  “I see,” answered the judge, looking over at Justin’s table. “And what about the defendant?”

  “Your Honor,” answered Manny, getting to his feet, “we move for immediate dismissal of this fraudulent claim.” Justin watched in fascination as he saw a man transformed. Gone were the hesitation, the stutters, and the distracted air. The man now speaking was completely in his element and radiating disgust for the lawyers across the aisle.

  “It should be obvious,” continued Manny, “even to those that run GCI, that Justin Cord is a fully adult male who needs no”—Manny put complete scorn into his next word—“parenting. Especially from the likes of GCI. They’re not only thieves and should be regarded as such, I daresay, should this court decide to award in loco parentis to GCI, I’d have to move for another immediate dismissal on the grounds of child abuse!”

  Judge Farber smiled, acknowledging Manny’s histrionics as well as the muted chuckle emanating from the back of the courtroom.

  Manny proceeded to hand over a dataplaque containing his motion to the court clerk, who, after collecting GCI’s dataplaque, took them both up to Judge Farber.

  The judge took the plaques from the clerk and stood up. “This court is in recess while I review all the pertinent documents. Court to reconvene tomorrow at ten A.M.” He slammed down his gavel and quickly exited the room.

  Mardi Gras alert, people. Only forty-three days left until the party begins. The big question on everyone’s mind is, what will Justin do? I suppose it’ll depend on the progress of that boring trial. According to the latest polls 47 percent of you think he’ll go for a bodmod with a full transformation, 40 percent think he’ll go with a traditional costume, 10 percent think he’ll stay home, and 3 percent of you just don’t seem to care. Which begs the question to those 3 percent—what planets are you living on? Here at the Neurotainment Network we’ll bring you all the latest in where to party, what to wear, and more important, what Justin Cord will be doing!

  —NEUROTAINMENT NEWS SITE

  _______

  Justin was sitting in a café across from the courthouse, drinking a cup of coffee that was supposedly 100 percent orbital-grown Arabica beans. He wasn’t sure why orbital grown made a difference, but he had to admit it was one of the mildest cups of joe he’d ever had. To take his mind off the tr
ial, he was reading up on Mardi Gras. But he still had a lot of questions, so when Neela showed up he patiently waited for her to order her usual: a double espresso.

  “I don’t get this Mardi Gras thing,” he said, hands cupped firmly around the mug.

  Neela held up her hand with her eyes squeezed shut. Justin knew what that meant and waited until the espresso arrived. It wasn’t until she took her first sip and gave a relieved sigh that Justin knew she’d be able to give him her attention.

  “It’s Mardi Gras,” he continued, “but it sure is a lot different from what I remember.”

  “Just curious,” answered Neela. “All that info’s already on the Neuro. What can I offer you that it can’t?”

  “Let’s face it, Neela,” he admitted, “the Neuro’s good for straight facts, and maybe if my avatar were a little more mature it could answer me, but for now I’m just looking to get into the zeitgeist of the matter.”

  “I see,” she said, polishing off the espresso. “Incidentally, you should learn to rely on humans, not avatars. Obviously your case is exceptional, but I feel it’s my duty to remind you subtly and not so subtly that the sooner you can break your dependence on sebastian, the better.”

  Justin nodded.

  “To get to your question,” continued Neela. “But for scale and technology, it’s really not that different. Kind of like a week where the whole system can relax. Didn’t you ever have something like that?”

  “I suppose,” he answered, “the week between Christmas and New Year’s, or Mardi Gras.”

  Neela ordered some more coffee and nodded in agreement. “But the big difference is that your Mardi Gras was confined to one city, and from what I recall experienced by few.”