The Unincorporated Man

by Dani Kollin; Eytan Kollin

  “Right.”

  “Ours encompasses everyone and is therefore all of society’s way of escaping itself. It’s how we deal with all the pressure and constraint we have.”

  Justin scratched his chin. “That’s the part I don’t get. The Terran Confederation is, at least on paper, and it would seem in practice, the least obtrusive government in history. They’re hardly allowed to do anything, much less impose on or pressure anyone. And anything they can do, the market can try to do better. In fact, I just read about a private consortium trying to gain the rights to terraform Venus instead of the government.”

  “Oh yeah,” Neela said, acknowledging the narticle, “I heard about that. I hope they fail. If the government doesn’t get the terraforming contract it could place a serious crunch on the budget.”

  “What crunch?” asked Justin, slightly bewildered. “Wouldn’t that mean they’d have a huge surplus?”

  “Yes, it would,” answered Neela, “and that’s the problem. Do you know how hard it is to find projects that the government can invest in? Remember, by law they’re not allowed to keep the money. It creates too much tumult in the credit markets if the government is lending out trillions of credits, and it doesn’t solve the problem.”

  “What problem?”

  “If the government starts giving away or lending the money and services,” she answered, “they risk market contamination, because eventually they’ll have to be paid back, which will earn them even more money. And that’ll give them an automatic guaranteed dominant position as a borrower or a lender. If they give away services, then they could limit or drive out competitors.”

  She saw that he still wasn’t getting it.

  “Justin, the government gets an automatic 5 percent of everyone’s shares, correct?”

  “Correct.”

  “Well, there’s a good forty billion of us. You do the math.”

  “Got it. It’s a big chunk of change.”

  “More than that,” countered Neela, “it’s a huge advantage to build on. Not fair. Leads to questions like ‘Will the government be borrowing or lending, and at what rate?’ That’s why they need to do things to spend the money, and that’s why I hope they win the Venus project.”

  Justin thought it over for a moment. “Your civilization has some very strange problems.”

  Neela nodded. “Venus is the perfect venue for government spending. It will take decades and trillions of credits to terraform the planet, and then the government can sell the land off at a loss.”

  “And this is a good thing?”

  “Of course, Justin. Think about it. The government is charged with the overall protection of the state. What could be better than getting rid of the excess money while creating a viable new planet to live on? Of course, once we get the process down for Venus, we may be able to start on the more environmentally hostile moons of Jupiter and Saturn.”

  “So everything seems to be well in hand.” Justin waited for Neela to nod, and continued, “Which brings me back to my original question. Where is all this supposed pressure that society has to blow off?”

  “Justin, the problem is that while we don’t have many legal constraints, we do have a lot of societal constraints. Just because we don’t impose our restraints with law, like that ever worked, doesn’t mean we don’t have them, obey them, and every once in a while need to chuck them by the wayside.”

  “And that’s Mardi Gras?”

  “That’s Mardi Gras. It’s one big party that lasts a whole week. You can go out and get drunk, stoned, screwed, and tattooed—a great song by the way.”

  “And body-altered?” he asked, pointing to an advertisement from the day’s paper.

  “Oh, yes, I’ve always thought about doing that but never had the money . . . until now, that is . . . until you.”

  A quiet acknowledgment passed between them.

  “So,” he continued, “you have, according to what I’ve read, people who use nanotech to transform their bodies, go out and spend the week partying, and then change back?”

  “Yes.”

  “Alright, if it’s so easy to change, why bother changing back? Why not just keep experimenting with newer and newer shapes and effects?”

  Neela, Justin realized, was giving him “the look” again. If he could sum it up in words he’d have to say that it roughly translated into “you really have no idea what this world is all about, do you?” Like so much else he’d learned to ignore, he let it pass and continued with his questions.

  “This doesn’t have anything to do with those Virtual Reality Dictates, does it?”

  “That’s very perceptive, Justin,” answered Neela. “In a roundabout way, it does. You see, our culture is very conservative. Oh, don’t get me wrong, our technology and economy are constantly in flux, but what we as a, well, for lack of a better word, tribe will tolerate is much less than in your day.”

  “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

  “Justin, the more freedom you allow a society the more intolerant you may have to become.”

  “You’re telling me this society is bigoted and prejudiced?”

  “About some things, yes—wasn’t yours?”

  “Yes, but only the big things, like rape, murder, or child molestation.”

  “Justin, your society tolerated all those things. You let murderers go free on technicalities. Most rape victims never reported it for fear of a court system so incompetent it would often put them on trial and let the rapist go free.”

  “I’ll give you that we could’ve improved on that,” he replied, “but we for sure did not tolerate child molestation.”

  Neela shot him a sad look and called up some facts on her DijAssist.

  “Your own USA had an organization called NAMBLA that ran an orphanage in a country called Thailand. This organization was tolerated by your culture and protected by the powerful and clearly misguided ACLU lobby. Child pornography on your Internet was pervasive to the point where people would have it on their computers and not even know it. So don’t tell me it wasn’t tolerated.”

  “Not only am I telling you it wasn’t, I’m also telling you that I spent years and millions trying to put an end to that filth.” He looked away in disgust.

  “And you failed. Your culture may have cared, just not enough. Oh, sure, they passed laws. Lot and lots of laws. But when the law becomes that vast and impersonal, you almost can’t help breaking it. And then pretty soon all law becomes degraded.”

  “And you feel,” he said, more as a fact than a question, “that this system is better.”

  “Yes. Our laws are based on the precept that one human being cannot impose his or her will on another human being without consent. If a prosecutor can prove that this precept was violated, then the court can and will impose a severe penalty.”

  “Well, then, what if,” he asked, baiting her further, “the authorities find someone with a stash of child pornography? Wouldn’t that, under the definition you just gave, be considered legal?”

  “Actual child pornography or generated?”

  “What do you mean?” he asked, momentarily thrown.

  “I mean, if the photos were verified as actual, he’d be arrested. We may be hands-off vis-à-vis our laws, but as I just said, one human cannot impose his will on another without consent—a child obviously cannot give consent.”

  “OK, then. Well, what if the authorities found someone with a stash of generated child pornography—that, you’re telling me, would be considered legal.”

  “Yes, perfectly,” she answered, not taking the bait. “However, the authorities, in addition to ordering an immediate psyche audit, would also let that individual’s associates and family know that there was a monster in their midst, and, let me tell you, I wouldn’t want his stock in my portfolio.”

  Justin was taken aback. “They’d just let everyone know? Isn’t that an invasion of privacy? Or worse, an infraction of your precept?”

  “Yes, yes, and no,” she answered c
almly, trying to synthesize hundreds of years of evolutionary law into a few sentences. “Yes, they’d of course let everyone know. And yes, to a certain extent it is an invasion of privacy, but no, it’s not an infraction of the precept because no one’s imposing anyone’s will on someone else.”

  She saw Justin about to object and put up her hand to silence him . . . if only to let her finish her thought.

  “However,” she continued, “I’ll grant you that society, in an act of self-preservation, is bringing great pressure to bear. But think about it, Justin. To have had a psychological audit you also had to have gone through an appeal process that had seven separate levels. So anytime you do have an audit, you might as well let your investors know what it was for. And as soon as they know, well,” she said, almost apologetically, “everyone knows.”

  Justin took a moment to gather his thoughts. “So, Neela, what you’re saying is that this . . . this pervert is in fact property, and that investors have a right to know what’s wrong with . . . well, with their property. Am I getting that correct?”

  Neela furrowed her eyebrows. “You make it sound so bad.”

  “And you think it’s not?”

  “No, Justin. No, I don’t. If you knew what we’ve been through and how far we’ve come, I do believe you’d appreciate our insistence on protecting the smooth running of our society.”

  “So then tell me, Neela,” Justin said, still shocked at where the conversation had drifted. “What happens to our social misfit?”

  “This person would not be able to hold a job,” Neela stated, “a marriage, or his friends. He’d be completely and thoroughly ostracized. And believe me when I tell you, fear of that happening is far more effective than any laws you could conceive of. We learned the hard way that you can get around a law far easier than a societal imperative. Of course, once the perpetrator was corrected by the psyche audit, he’d be able to rebuild his or her life elsewhere.”

  The topic, decided Justin, was far too incendiary for banter. But inside he was in turmoil. Neela was ever so casually talking about a mental lobotomy as if it was the best thing for everyone. Though even he had to tip his hat to the solution’s efficiency, and more important, its success in safeguarding society. In his day the molester probably would’ve gone undetected until lives were ruined, lost, or both. And even then the shit probably would’ve gotten released early, only to destroy again. Justin decided he’d have to research the matter thoroughly, then come back and continue the debate better prepared.

  “OK,” he said, “the whole idea of man as property is making my head spin.”

  “Understandable,” said Neela, smiling sympathetically. “What would you like to talk about?”

  “Mardi Gras.”

  “Right,” she agreed, “Mardi Gras. Justin, when the trial is over I want to take you someplace. Normally we go there as children, at about age seven or eight. It’s one of the few laws we actually have.”

  “What is it? A monument?”

  “Not a monument,” she answered, with palpable solemnity, “a memorial.”

  The ability to enforce law is the first goal of government. The ability to apply law consistently and sparingly is the ultimate goal of government.

  —EVAN RICKS, SECOND INAUGURAL ADDRESS

  Justin had been waiting for this day . . . the day when the lawyers across the table realized that he and Manny had no intention of making any sort of deal with GCI. The weeks of negotiations and memos back and forth had been a ruse. When Manny had first suggested the tactic, Justin had been apprehensive. But it was paying off now. GCI’s considerable legal talent had been building arguments based on obscure case law for justifying the percentage they should receive. They hadn’t considered that Justin would never consider settling. It was a blind spot in their thinking. No—more than just a blind spot, thought Justin, a blind acre. In his “new” world, Justin realized, society in general and GCI in particular could not possibly grasp that someone would not want to incorporate. The idea of personal incorporation had been such a mainstay and for so long—well over two centuries—that Justin’s defense would be equally as incomprehensible to society.

  Manny began his opening statement.

  “Your Honor, it has been the contention that this trial is about share of stock. The corporation involved feels that since the land Mr. Cord was found on was GCI land, they have a claim to his stock. The corporation involved feels that since the clinic Mr. Cord was revived in was a GCI clinic, they have a claim to his stock. The corporation feels that since a GCI staff member cared for Mr. Cord, they have a claim to his stock. Well, here’s an interesting little fact,” said Manny, emphasizing each word, “Mr. . . . Cord . . . has . . . no . . . stock. Let me repeat that and let that simple fact sink in. Mr. Cord has no stock. Not only does Mr. Cord have no stock, but GCI has no legal standing whatsoever to require him to incorporate for the sole purpose of giving stock to GCI. I will call witnesses and bring financial evidence that GCI not only has suffered no financial burden from Mr. Cord being awakened but, on the contrary, has made quite a handsome profit. Incorporation’s purpose is to serve a social good, not enable already wealthy corporations to gain access to more wealth they do not deserve. They deserve nothing from my client, and nothing is what they should receive.”

  Manny had started off in a low, calm voice, but throughout his opening statement had varied his tone and volume until he had reached an impassioned crescendo. It was only when the courtroom realized that he was done speaking that an almost spontaneous burst of applause broke out. It took the judge over a minute to restore order.

  “Mr. Black,” the judge cautioned, “your oratorical talents will not impress me. I am not a jury and care only for your legal, not verbal, skills. Do I make myself clear?”

  “Of course, Your Honor.”

  “Ms. Delgado, we will hear opening statements for GCI.”

  The head of Legal was frantically consulting with her fellow lawyers, and seemed not to have heard the judge.

  “Ms. Delgado,” barked the judge, “if you please!”

  GCI’s Legal head slowly rose from her table. “Your Honor, if it please the court, we request a,” she leaned over and confirmed a number from her subordinate, “six-hour recess.”

  “Whatever for, Ms. Delgado?”

  “Your Honor, we were led to believe that the nature of this trial would be . . . less dogmatic, and wish to check some facts, given the opening statement by Mr. Cord’s attorney.”

  “You’ve had two weeks since declaratory statements were given. Ms. Delgado, if you feel you were misled by the defense, then that is your problem and not the court’s. We will proceed with trial or you will default. Do I make myself clear?”

  Council was trapped, and she knew it. “Perfectly,” she answered.

  Manny raised his voice. “Your Honor, we are ready to call our first witness.”

  Judge Farber looked over at the GCI table.

  “I will proceed with my opening statement,” Ms. Delgado said tersely. She then gave a long, obviously improvised, and disjointed speech—even going so far as to argue against a point that the defense had never actually made. Eventually she found her way back on track. It was clear that Manny’s strategy had paid off. What wasn’t clear, and what Manny and Justin were hoping for, was whether or not their strategy could keep GCI off balance for the trial’s remainder.

  From Justin’s perspective the next few days seemed a blur of questions, mostly coming from Manny Black:

  Mr. Sambianco, how many credits did GCI receive for Mr. Cord’s revival?

  “Ten million.”

  Dr. Gillette, what would you say was the most expensive revival you’ve ever participated in?

  “Four hundred and eighty thousand credits.”

  Dr. Wang, were there any sorts of complications in Mr. Cord’s revival?

  “None.”

  Mr. Kline, as an expert in land ownership, would you say that Mr. Cord’s claim to ownership of the No Tim
bers mine would entitle him to challenge the claim of GCI?

  “Indeed, yes. GCI may be able to make a monetary claim for any fees or liabilities paid on the property itself, but, in my expert opinion, the land still belongs to Justin Cord.”

  The trial’s third day was ending when Hektor approached GCI’s first chair and their Legal division head, Janet Delgado. She was seated in the courthouse cafeteria, reviewing some documents. He slid a small dataplaque in front of her. She looked up to see who had interrupted her rare moment of silence. When she saw who it was, she slid the plaque back to Hektor without bothering to read it.

  “I’m busy, Sambianco.”

  “I strongly suggest you read it,” said Hektor.

  “Well, I strongly suggest you piss off.”

  “Janet,” he responded with vicious charm, “you’re nose-diving the trial; what have you got to lose?”

  “Screw you, Sambianco,” she said, with a voice so even-keeled it made Hektor blink, “and we’re not on a first-name basis.”

  “Janet,” he answered, choosing to ignore her directive, “you’ve lost. You know it, and I know it. It’s the biggest trial GCI has been in since we leveraged AmEx out of those lunar options.”

  “Bullshit. That was worth billions.”

  “It’s not the money, Janet. It was never about the money. This trial’s important because of the ramifications it could have.”

  Janet stopped reading and looked up, piqued. “What are you talking about now, Sambianco?”

  “I don’t have time to go into details, but the bottom line is that Cord hates us, and the longer this trial takes the more dangerous he becomes.”

  “What are you trying to pull, Sambianco?” she challenged. “You yourself said at the board meeting that you thought the trial should take a long time. Why the change of heart?”

  “Not trial, Janet. Pretrial motions.”

  “Whatever,” she spat back.

  “Janet, no one at that board meeting wanted to hear what I had to say. They just wanted to formalize my getting canned. I do, however, remember saying we should keep him ‘engaged.’ Had I had my druthers it would have been in pretrial motions and not in an actual trial—that, you chose to plow ahead with.”