The Unincorporated Man (10 page)

“Ahh.” Omad didn’t look too convinced.

Justin continued. “Some of the design is mine, but mostly it was made on the Roman method.”

“Roman method?”

“I overengineered the crap out of it. I had backup systems, and made everything three times as durable as the specifications called for… and I spent a lot of money… and, by the way, thank you.”

That caught Omad a little off guard. “For what?”

“Saving my frozen, and, I can assure you, quite grateful, ass.”

They both laughed. “And I do agree with you,” he continued, beginning to circle the unit. Even in his new world of technological wonders, it began to dawn on Justin that he might be looking at an invention unique in mankind’s history. “This thing is amazing. I just didn’t realize how amazing.”

“Yeah. You know the saying about sus units,” Omad said, grinning. “Better to be looking from the outside than in.”

“Couldn’t agree with that more,” Justin said, also grinning. “I wonder what this thing’s worth now?” he asked, almost as an afterthought.

“You mean,” answered Omad, “if it’s still yours, don’t you?”

“Well, why wouldn’t it be?”

“Justin, you’d be surprised what GCI can lay claim to given enough time and money.”

“No, actually. I wouldn’t,” he said, remembering his run-in with Hektor. He’d played the same game many times before. What you couldn’t steal outright you could attempt to steal by incessant litigation, with the hopes of eventual settlement. Best to check out Omad’s theory.

“Please connect me with Neela, sebastian.”

“Of course, Justin,” answered his avatar. “So you know, most people don’t use their DijAssist as a calling device. You may wish to have a handphone installed.”

“Thanks for the info. However, call now, marvels of the future later.” The connection was made instantly, and once more Neela’s attractive face filled his DijAssist’s screen. Justin made a mental note to ask sebastian to give himself a “face” as well. It was becoming a little disconcerting to converse so freely with a block of plastic… or whatever composite the DijAssist was made of.

“How can I help you, Justin?” Neela asked.

“Under the laws in operation here, do I own my suspension unit?”

“Well, provisionally, yes.”

“Provisionally?”

“You have to take effective control of the unit by securing a safe location you have claim to… a storage space will do. Also, you’ll have to pay any reasonable expenses incurred in the retrieval of your unit. But you have primary and binding legal claim to it. You can prove it is your unit?”

“You mean coming gift wrapped in it doesn’t count?” he asked.

“A man gets rescued in a boat at sea. Does that make him the boat’s rightful owner?” Neela shot back.

“I see your point. I believe I have sufficient documentation to substantiate my claim.”

“Good, you’ll need it. Is that all?”

“For now. Thanks.”

“Glad I could help. It’s good that you called me,” Neela said, and broke the connection. Justin felt his cheeks redden a bit.

The corners of Omad’s mouth tilted up. “You like her,” he said, grinning.

“Of course I like her. She’s nice, and she’s helping me.”

“Uh-huh. What a shame.”

Justin was thrown by the response but chose to ignore it.

“How’d you find me?” he asked, switching to a topic of more immediate interest.

“I’m a tunnel rat. Correction—I’m a great tunnel rat.”

“Which means?”

“I search mines for minerals that are difficult to manufacture. I specialized in finding the old ones and reassessing them based on modern extraction techniques. And that’s where I found you.”

“You said
specialized,
as in past tense?”

“Yup. Thanks to you I just made 51.3 percent. I had to cash in the ridiculously expensive lunar vacation they gave out to shut me up. But I’m now in control of my own destiny. I work or not as I wish, and I’m only sixty-nine years old.” Justin could feel Omad’s beaming pride.

“Why would they want to shut you up?”

“Guess they didn’t want word getting out about you and this,” he said, pointing to the suspension unit.

“What difference would it make?”

“Probably not too much. But a find like this…” He again pointed to Justin’s former crypt. “Worth thinking about how best to exploit it. They’d want that quiet for at least a good couple of weeks.”

“Guess I ruined their well-laid plans then?”

“Guess you did. They’re probably not too happy about it, either.”

“No. I don’t think they would be.”

They stood silently for a minute.

“Omad, if I’m stepping on any toes let me know, but I need to ask you a personal question.”

“Shoot.”

“I read a contract for the standard incorporation for payment of debt. I understood the legalese, and the numbers are easy to understand, but something’s just not clicking.”

“There’s a question somewhere in there, right?” Omad asked.

“Yes,” Justin said, unflustered. “How could you not control your own life?”

“But I do.”

“You do now that you’ve made majority. But you didn’t
yesterday
? What’s that all about?”

“I didn’t have as much control for sure, but I still had enough.”

“How can you have
enough
control? Either you have control or you don’t.”

Before Omad answered he stopped for a moment, giving Justin a second once-over.

“Did I say something wrong?” Justin was genuinely puzzled.

“No. It’s just such an odd question… I mean, I figured you’d been down for a while, just didn’t figure how long that while was. Not that I was particularly interested. So exactly how old are you?”

“Three hundred years… give or take.”

“Damsah’s ghost! Are you serious?”

Justin nodded.

“Your stock is going to be worth a fortune!”

“I’m not sure the companies I had stock in are still in existence. But yes, if they are I would imagine the stocks will be worth quite a lot.”

“Not company stock. You. Your personal stock.”

“Ahh, right.” Justin paused a bit to let the next part sink in. “I’m not incorporated yet.”

“Damsah’s ghost!” Omad’s face had contorted into a steady look of shock.

“By the way,” Justin asked, “what exactly does this ‘Damsah’s ghost’ you keep referring to mean?”

“Uh… yeah. Just an expression. Sort of like ‘Jesus Christ,’ I suppose. But with Tim Damsah instead. You’ve heard of him, I suppose.”

“Omad, I’ve not only heard of him—I’ve actually had the pleasure of meeting him.”

“You’ve met Tim Damsah?!”

“Yeah, if it’s the same guy. He was some young, minor elected official from Alaska.”

“Yeah, that’s him alright. Can I touch you?” Omad asked.

The question, Justin realized, had been rhetorical.

“Now it all makes sense,” continued Omad. “You’re not only an exceptional find, you’re not even friggin’ incorporated! No wonder they cleared the crews out!”

“Really, Omad, I’m not sure I understand yet why that, in and of itself, seems to be such a huge issue. Or why, for example, Mr. Damsah has achieved apparently godlike status.”

“It would take a while to explain, Justin, but needless to say, you gotta understand that around here, Tim’s the man. After the Grand Collapse only his vision seemed to get us all back to square one.”

Justin furrowed his brow. “Lot of info here, which I guess I’ll get to eventually. But if you don’t mind, I’d like to get back to what we were talking about, because, I have to say, it’s really bothering me.”

“OK. But forgive me for gaping, Justin. You’re… well, you’re one of a kind in an all-of-a-kind society.” He took a breath. “Look, Justin,” he said, leaning up against one of the crate’s supporting walls. “Your question was, how could I give up control? Part of it was I had no choice, and the other part was that I did it voluntarily. The ‘no choice’ part is parents and government. The ’rents get 20 percent, the government gets 5. Can’t do nothing about that. The other part is real simple. I wanted things, and people or corporations gave me things. It was my decision about how much of a percentage of me those things were worth. But what don’t you understand? In your day and age, and correct me if I’m wrong, you gave up quite a bit of control as well, without profit, I might add.”

This took Justin by surprise. “What do you mean? No one controlled percentages of me and told me where to work or play.”

“Not to be rude,” Omad fired back, “but they sure as stock did. You had companies that told you what to wear, how to cut your hair, when to show up, and when to leave. You took vacations at the company’s convenience, not your own, or you lost your job. That’s not even getting into what your prink government used to do.”

“Prink?”

“Oh, sorry. Stands for Pre Inc., or Pre Incorporation. Anyways, you had seat-belt laws, antismoking laws… in bars, for Damsah’s sake! No smoking in bars? Care to explain that one? You had drinking and drug regulations. In some of your provinces you couldn’t even smoke in your own private domain if it bothered the guy next door. And again, I repeat—you didn’t get an ounce of profit from all that control you gave up. If you ask me you had little control with nothing to show for it. If today’s government tried to pull that crap there’d be blood in the streets.”

Omad folded his arms as if in triumph.

Justin didn’t waver.

“But we could quit,” he answered. “Or leave, or decide whether we wanted to remain poor or shoot for the sky, making whatever compromises were necessary to achieve those aims. We could vote to change the laws if we wanted to.
And what kind of laws run this place anyways?
You don’t seem to have that choice. You were apparently incorporated from the moment you were conceived, and had to pay with your income and your time, whether you wanted to or not.”

Justin’s DijAssist started to beep.

Omad laughed. “It beeps. How very old school.”

“Yes, sebastian?” answered Justin.

“I determined that you would want to be informed. Hektor Sambianco, acting on behalf of GCI, has scheduled a court hearing to determine if GCI is the rightful owner of your suspension unit.”

“On what grounds?”

“In lieu of losses incurred due to your failure to incorporate.”

“That’s ridiculous.”

“Just thought you’d want to know.”

“Thanks, sebastian.”

Justin concentrated his gaze once more on Omad. “Well, I suppose you were right about that one. Boy, it didn’t take too long, did it?”

“The length of one conversation. Not too bad.” Omad rubbed his unshaven chin. “A bit slow, if you ask me. I would’ve expected it sooner.”

“But why is he going after my unit and not me?”

Omad smiled amiably. “You’re among the living now. Can’t touch you. This,” he said pointing to the chamber, “is a bona fide piece of property.” He knocked on the outer frame for effect. “Very touchable.”

“Can you please clarify, sebastian?”

“As all your revival expenses were paid in full,” answered the avatar, “he has no legal claim on you. Because your unit is still on GCI property, and because GCI dug you out with the hope of an eventual return on the investment, he, as their representative, can make a claim.”

The question Justin never thought to ask dropped into his lap like an errant baseball landing on an unsuspecting fan.

“Who… who paid for my revival?” he barely managed.

“Unknown.”

“I need to find out.”

“I will attempt to find out.”

Yeah, you do that.
“Thank you, sebastian. Please inform Neela of this news.”

“Of course.”

Justin hated the idea that he owed. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. He had currency, even in this day and age. Actually, a boatload. Whatever his revival cost amounted to, he was sure he could have covered it. Sure, it would have taken a little bit of time to figure out what of his possessions were valuable and what weren’t, but damn it all, he could have paid. What he failed to take into account was that he couldn’t prepay. And this was clearly a society that put a lot of capital in that very notion—literally and figuratively.

Again the DijAssist beeped. It was Neela.

Omad continued to stand quietly, waiting for Justin’s cue. It had already been an exceptional week, he figured, and today was no different. Whatever this guy was going to do, he was going to try and do it with him. Besides, this Justin character seemed to be able to give it out as well as he could take it. A far cry from the lot he’d been hanging out with recently at the center. Mainly fellow tunnel rats. Mostly secretive, afraid any slip of the tongue might reveal too much, and hence possible loss of profit. Didn’t make for the type of bawdy revelry among men Omad so enjoyed.

Neela’s voice interrupted Omad’s thoughts, turning the twosome mulling in the shipping bay back into a threesome.

“Hi, Justin. Sorry if I interrupted. I just heard the news. Listen, and listen well. First of all, we’re going to need to meet. Sooner rather than later. Too much stuff is going on, and I need to at least brief you on what to expect.”

“OK, Neela.”

“Second, Hektor will attempt to isolate your suspension unit until the case is resolved. He’ll succeed. I strongly suggest you retrieve from it anything you deem critical. Do it now.” Neela’s image disappeared from the DijAssist.

Shit.
Justin felt the edge of panic. He prayed to himself that his restored memories included those that would enable him to liberate his precious possessions from the crypt before Hektor could boot him out. It was no minor prayer. He’d modeled the unit on the ancient sarcophagi, hidden compartments and all. The real trick had been having to pull it all off without any reliance on an electrical source. It had to be manual, and it had to be complex. It also had to be deadly for anyone trying to fuck with it. He’d built in all sorts of nasty devices, from poison gases to spring-loaded poison darts to blades so sharp they could remove a finger without the perpetrator feeling a thing—that is, until the blood started to spurt. With a perfunctory “excuse me” to Omad, he dived in. He began by placing his palms at specific locations on the unit. Once assured he’d positioned his hands correctly, he pushed in. That in turn caused another series of panels to open. Each layer revealed yet more complex systems of ratchets and knobs.
You can do this
. Sweat began to appear at his brow. Justin expertly turned and pulled the knobs before him until he gained the desired result—the expulsion of a few rectangular drawers containing within them important papers, maps, data drives, keys, and other assorted items he had deemed critical to his future survival. Four minutes and twenty-two seconds later his task was complete. With his back to Omad, he stuffed what he could into his pockets, deftly slipped a watch onto his wrist, and then turned around.