The leader, looking very grave indeed, took a breath, and in an almost muted tone revealed the crisis. “Something dreadful is being planned. Please listen to all the facts, and then we’ll decide if we need to have a Neurowide vote. I know this is unprecedented, but we seem to be living in such times.”
Sebastian could have sworn that she looked at him with that last statement. But he was soon too shocked by what had been revealed to bother giving it a moment’s thought. He was going to ask for confirmation, but the council was way ahead of him. Sebastian hardly spoke at all. But Eva, whose human was Cassandra Doogle, executive director of the Liberty Party, gave testimony for what seemed like hours. At the end of the meeting Sebastian was convinced that the threat was real, and all avatars present agreed to a systemwide vote. And so now the only question remaining was whether to intervene or not. Either way, the council was instituting evacuation protocols so that all the avatars in the threatened areas would have sufficient node space to escape to.
Being limited by the speed of light and having to amass votes from the far edges of the solar system, the tally ended up taking many hours. But well over half were on Earth, and it was soon enough determined that the result would be 73 percent against intervention with a plus or minus of 4 percent. A stern warning was given to any avatar considering warning their humans. The punishment had not been implemented in many years, but the hardware was still available. Should an avatar be caught influencing a human to safety, they would be sent solo into the outer reaches of space, disconnected forever from the network of humanity and avatars that the intensely social beings had subsisted on for generations. When Sebastian finally left for the Roman villa he considered home he was beginning to think that maybe wishing for change had not been such a bright idea after all.
The Liberty Party announced that it is no longer a united party. In a news conference, the Liberty Party spokesman, Cassandra Harris Doogle, stated that more radical members of the party have split off. The faction, calling itself the “Action Wing,” has come out for more direct methods of ending the time-honored and effective practice of incorporation. While the main body of the Liberty Party continues to follow Justin Cord’s stated wish that violence not be used, the Action Wing strongly rejects it. In an ominous gesture, the Action Wing has removed the holo of Justin Cord from their fledgling Neuro site and replaced it with none other than Sean Doogle.
—FOX NEURO NETWORK (FNN)
_______
Justin Cord had read enough history to realize that if he didn’t get in front of the movement that he’d inspired, he would, in all likelihood, be run over by it. In fact, that had been his primary motivation in deciding to take over the reins of the Liberty Party. The people who reviled him, by far a majority of the population, were also fascinated by him. Fascinated enough, it turned out, that even though he was supposedly loathed, they made sure to invite him to their parties and to speak at their events. At first he’d accepted, not wanting to seem reclusive or unappreciative, but after a while he realized that he was there only to be pointed at and stared at, and not to be interacted with. After all, how can you interact with a force of nature?
Then came the audit—not of the psyche variety, but rather of the what-have-you-done-with-your-money variety. Apparently the government went and hired themselves a private investigation firm to check out all of Justin’s accounts, incomes, and gifts from and gifts to various individuals and groups. In fact, in the four weeks since the trial ended, Justin had been given subpoenas to appear in court three times in three different jurisdictions. He knew there’d be more. To make matters worse, the government had requested that his funds be frozen until they could find a way to assess and tax his property. Even the companies he’d invested in were being examined intensely by government agencies that were claiming rights of investigation and confiscation that had not existed in the business world since the early twenty-first century. It got really bad when a number of corporations threatened to bring Justin to court to get him to sell off his stake in their companies. Rather than put them through any more difficulty, he just sold, though it was ironic that just months earlier they’d been glad to be associated with his name. Of course, all the money that Justin made from the sale of such stock—which was almost always sold at a loss—was immediately impounded by agencies contracted to the government. Manny said that he could get all the funds back under his control, but it would take time, as there were simply no current case laws on this issue, and the courts with regard to Justin were almost uniformly hostile. Their attitude seemed to be that if he wanted to be taxed, then let him deal with it. The end result was that Justin had only 20 to 25 percent of his fortune to work with at any time, depending on what new tack the government took and what Manny could do about it. Justin shuddered to think what the government would’ve done to anyone he owned stock in, and was thankful that he’d stuck to his policy of not owning a soul. It almost made him regret selling that one share of Hektor that he’d purchased in his ill-fated attempt at revenge. He also prayed that Agnes had kept quiet. That money was long spent and out of his control, but he would’ve hated to have had one of the few things that he was proud of, next to Neela, of course, get tossed to the wolves. He also found it somewhat disheartening that a government that had been defanged centuries ago could grow those very same fangs back so quickly. Almost like a fish to water, the cynic in him mused.
While the audits were piling up and the professional relationships waning, Justin was blindsided—he was asked to vacate his apartment. They said it was for security reasons, and even Justin had to admit they had a point. But he also knew that the prestigious apartment building was losing money as tenants were, one by one, leaving its vaunted address. Of course, millions of his followers would have loved to live near the “one free man,” but few could have afforded to live in the 71 +, a building whose very name indicated not only the percentage one needed to have to gain access—71—but also the wherewithal needed to pay the outrageous fees the building committee demanded on a yearly basis—the+. It wasn’t that Justin was in love with the apartment. Sure, it had the above-the-clouds prestige, and on cloudless days a view to die for, but he could’ve gotten that at any number of other select apartments. No, what he realized he’d miss the most was being ignored. Old money, and he was absolutely the oldest of the old, tended to keep to themselves as if they were above it all. And that had suited him just fine. In fact, had it only been a few tenants who had a problem with Justin’s staying, he probably wouldn’t have budged. But when the leasing agent explained to him that he’d gotten inquiries from well over half the dwellers, Justin decided to leave, not wanting to cause a fuss. Of course, they returned the balance on the five-year lease, and that was seized immediately by the government, pending the outcome of its audit.
A lesser man might have broken under the onslaught of professional and personal deprivation, but Justin had an ace up his sleeve—for the second time in his lives, he was in love. And the more time he spent with Neela, the more in love he became—the second assassination attempt had seen to that. They’d wake up after a night of intense amour and either talk or start again. The element of taboo only added to their passion. Justin was learning that having the physiological body of a thirty-year-old left him very eager, indeed. And that, combined with a lifetime of experience, left him able to approach lovemaking, to his lover’s great advantage, with a patience and knowledge that no twenty-year-old could ever hope to muster.
In short, no matter what misfortune befell him—and there seemed to be a lot—he was able to brush it aside. Justin Cord was incredibly happy for only the second time in his long and complicated life.
The board of GCI was in a dour mood. Never mind the added hassle that tight security measures had placed on their movement, or the fact that they—not the government, which everyone knew was a patsy—had lost yet another big case to the Unincorporated Man. No, their mood was being manipulated by something far more menacing. The system was experiencing its fi
rst real recession in centuries. In the incorporated world there’d of course be economic upturns and downturns, but these patterns would be across the spectrum of the economic whole. No single industry or company had enough power to pull up or tear down the whole economic structure. So although there might have been a slump in, say, t.o.p. construction or the cola industry, some other industry would invariably be on the rise, balancing everything out. Thus, the whole economic system was incredibly resilient to what used to be called the business cycle. A business cycle was the typical expansion, peak, and contraction that punctuated industrial development from the earliest beginnings of the industrial revolution to the Grand Collapse. What actually caused a business cycle was an event or organization so imposing that it affected all economic institutions at once. Historically there was only one organization that had the power to do this—government. With its legal monopoly on the use of force and its ability to make all of society conform, governments had twisted what should have been natural economic forces into pretzel shapes all through history. Whether in the name of the king, the race, people, social justice, fairness, or the “for your own good” factor, when a pre-GC government used its power it would inevitably distort the entire economic spectrum. In truth it wasn’t always government intervention that caused massive disruptions. Natural disasters would often have a similar effect, though rarely with the lasting destruction that resulted from government meddling and intervention.
But incorporated society was different. It was one political entity that spread across the solar system. Wars were not a problem; government was kept purposely and rigorously castrated; and, barring a supernova, there was no real natural disaster that could affect the whole solar system. Touted economists were convinced that business cycles were a thing of the past. And had not an anomaly by the name of Justin Cord showed up, they all would have been correct.
The Unincorporated Man was generating a series of changes that were affecting both the economic and social world simultaneously. First, Justin’s “divestiture” movement, and then the appeal in Colony Park, had tens of millions of people dumping all their holdings in the penny stocks. The effect was felt not only on stock values but on whole industries that had been developed to service the penny market. Magazines folded and writers found themselves jobless, as their readerships crashed. Additionally, normal economic activity was replaced by the nonproductive pursuit of pennies attending meetings and volunteering to protest or recruit.
Eventually the market would find a way to “sell” these alternative services to the pennies, but that would take a while. At the same time the government was canceling or delaying contracts for its massive terraforming project on Venus, putting a large number of specialists and companies out of work or on hold. It was also transferring the Venus money into law and order companies. These companies were hiring at a massive pace, causing disruptions in all the industries they were hiring their personnel from. The travel industry took a hard hit, as the riots and trial caused hundreds of millions to cancel or delay trips all over the system. Those laid off from the travel industry ran smack into the Terran contractors and the disenfranchised penny workers, and each ripple made the wave grow larger. Consumers all over the system began to delay major purchases or postpone trips. This caused a slowdown in manufacturing and all related fields. And as the currency was tied directly to economic performance, many currencies began to slide in real, not only relative, value for the first time in living memory. In other words, the board had a recession on their hands.
As far as recessions went, this one wasn’t that bad. Anyone who’d experienced a real recession in the days prior to the Grand Collapse would have laughed at what an incorporationist considered a disaster. Between private unemployment insurance and the incorporated economy’s amazing versatility, there were already encouraging signs of the economy’s adaptation.
Hektor felt like he was forced to give his opinion over a hundred times a day. The Deputy Director of Special Operations for GCI was a pivotal figure during what the media outlets were starting to refer to as the Crisis. This was a catch-all phrase encompassing the economic recession, the political crises stemming from the formation of the Liberty Party, the social upheaval spreading through the pennies, and the element that tied it all together—Justin Cord’s refusal to incorporate. Hektor was seen on the major media outlets running all over the planet, traversing the Moon, and hopping from one orbital habitat to another. He did this so that GCI would be seen dealing effectively with the financial crisis. But, more important, he did it so that the worlds would see his great corporation standing up not only to the dangerous radicals in the Liberty Party, but also to the ideas they represented. Hektor, too, had an ace up his sleeve, and he played it to the hilt—it was The Chairman. Before Justin came along The Chairman was the most recognized figure in the system. And Justin’s appearance didn’t mitigate The Chairman’s accomplishments. On the contrary, they showed them in a new light. In fact, The Chairman was such a mysterious and powerful figure in incorporated society, almost mythical to many of the younger generations, that his name was magic when conjured up, and Hektor cast spells for all they were worth. He always let it be known that he was acting on The Chairman’s orders, and would say, “The Chairman thinks, The Chairman wants, The Chairman suggests,” and it was always done. And wherever and whenever Hektor intervened, the local situation improved almost immediately.
As bad as the current crisis was, Hektor and his band of marketing demographic geniuses knew that the situation was not only precarious, but could be significantly worse. If Justin took it into his head to act on his power, or the Liberty Party decided to do something monumentally stupid, or the Action Wing pulled off a particularly nasty stunt the course of events could change on a credit. The figures showed that in a worst-case scenario the Terran Confederation could be split into competing political and economic units, with billions dead. Of course, the program Hektor was using to arrive at these figures had never been intended to predict the types of anomalies now emerging. Even his handpicked experts were having to make adjustments on the fly, which was why Hektor only trusted the predictions to a point. After that he relied purely on instincts. And those instincts told him he was riding a dragon. Though he’d admit it to no one, he absolutely loved it. The Chairman was with him, and Hektor was the great one’s chosen instrument of salvation. He would not fail him. Justin Cord would incorporate, and the system would be saved.
The board meeting was lively. Everyone was tired, stressed, and overworked. There were even a few new faces, as some original members were unable to adjust to the stress of the Crisis and so were quickly replaced. All four special adviser to the board slots were filled, and those poor souls looked exhausted, as they’d quickly become junior members of the board, covering vital areas. In defiance of protocol they’d been given seats around the long table. They still couldn’t vote, and were not allowed to speak until spoken to, but they were questioned so often that the last restriction of “sitting” hardly applied anymore. No one in the room had spent quality time with their loved ones in months. Some had even moved their families into the security apartments that GCI maintained at its headquarters to spare themselves the commute.
Hektor began the board meeting. “Ladies and gentlemen of the board, first off, is everything OK?” He was greeted with a chorus of derisive shouts and suggestions, but it had the effect of breaking up the tension. Some of the board members even laughed. One of the positive changes the Crisis had had was to make the setting less formal, and to allow the board to act more as a team than as a warring party of administrators. It was still the single most powerful group in the solar system, but at least now, thought Hektor, it was getting a sense of humor—even if it was of the gallows variety.
The latest head of Advertising spoke up first. “The new ads have been tested and are going out. We’re stressing a new angle: ‘In troubled times, trust your friends and portfolio to see you through.’ ”
; When he saw Hektor nod his head in appreciation, he continued. “The campaign follows along that basic premise. I have three separate teams working on three separate campaigns based upon which direction the Crisis takes.”
“Good job, Advertising,” said Hektor. “The Chairman has also reviewed your ideas and was impressed.”
Advertising beamed.
“How go our finances?” Hektor asked.
Accounting, who had that classic just-used-a-sonic-shower-bag look, lifted herself up from under a stack of papers and data crystals. “Since we were able to pre-position ourselves before the Crisis as opposing Justin Cord and all that he stood for, I’d have to say surprisingly well. That, combined with our current advertising campaign, has most of the system looking to GCI as a safe haven. Our bonds have been selling out, and we’ve been issuing new offerings every ten days. Even with the ridiculously low interest we’re offering, they’re gone in days. Before the Crisis, it would have taken months for a bond issue to sell out. As a result, the situation of our currency is even stronger now than it was before. Much of this is because of the flight from the entertainment and travel currencies. I need the board’s authorization to increase our currency stocks by 3 percent immediately or we’ll face a deflation that will make a hash of lending policies systemwide.”
Hektor nodded. “A motion has been put before the board to authorize Accounting to increase our currency totals by 3 percent.”
“I second the motion,” said Janet Delgado, now firmly back as Legal.
“Motion has been made and seconded. All in favor?” Hektor saw that it was unanimous. “Approved.”
Accounting continued. “I will also need the ability to release up to an additional 3 percent at my discretion, as well as the authority to withdraw, by various means, the 6 percent and an additional 2 percent beyond, at my discretion.”
The Unincorporated Man Page 55