The Unincorporated Man (13 page)

“. . . Yeah, yeah, and ended up cleaning Uranus!” Omad laughed, almost as if he was telling it again for the first time.

“Of course, you were drunk at the time,” added Fred, as an afterthought.

“They still tell Uranus jokes?” asked Justin, of no one in particular.

“Well, this guy is different,” continued Omad, ignoring the query, “and I think you’ll like what he has to offer—real antiques.”

“Well,” she said, finally deigning to address Justin, “what have you got?”

Justin took out the thin Tiffany box he’d shown Omad earlier, and snapped it open gently to reveal the five flawless diamonds still resting comfortably on the twin velvet dowels. Even in the poor light, they shimmered brilliantly. Satisfied, he rested the package on the counter. Fred went all business, making her way back around the counter and sitting herself down to examine the product. She took the box and emptied its contents onto a soft, velvety pad. She pulled a scannerlike contraption from some hidden nook and proceeded to run it over the box. It didn’t take long for the results. Fred took a moment to weigh her offer. “Four hundred standard credits, take it or leave it.”

“Aren’t you going to examine the merchandise?”

“Jesus, DeGen, where did they dig you up from? I just did.”

“The name is Justin.”

“DeGen, JusGen, think I care? Take it or leave it.” Justin looked toward Omad, who nodded slowly.

The idea of making a deal without understanding all of its facets went against every fiber of Justin’s former CEO self. But he was now in a situation where he had little choice. He was also comforted by the fact that that would be rectified shortly. For now, at least, he had something of value. Whatever value one could garner from four hundred standard credits.

“I’ll take it,” he sighed.

“Good,” Fred answered. She picked up the small Tiffany case gingerly, and with one swipe of her arm flung the diamonds off the table like so many worthless pebbles. They scattered across the floor and landed at Justin’s feet, where they stood shimmering amid the dust and debris on the pawnshop floor. Justin first looked down at his feet, and then up at the proprietor, his mouth agape. Fred was too busy eyeing the Tiffany case to notice the shock on her customer’s face. Justin saw Omad keeled over by the counter, laughing so hard it appeared he was having trouble breathing.

“You knew they were worthless all along… from the second I showed ’em to you… you son of bitch.” Justin grinned. “And you just let me walk right on in.”

“Well, uh… yeah,” Omad answered as best he could through tears of laughter.

“Do you have any idea,” asked Justin, “how much those things cost back in my day?”

Omad could hardly speak, and just managed to shake his head.

“A bloody fortune—that’s how much!” Justin thought about it for a moment. “Of course, a chance for a joke like this only comes along… ,” and he himself started to laugh, “. . . once every three hundred years.” That got Omad laughing all over again, and soon the both of them were on the floor keeled over. The release was exactly what Justin needed. His first few hours of his new life had been so thoroughly intense he’d almost forgotten what it was like to let his hair down. Well, it was down now. Omad had seen to that. They both sat there on the floor bellowing so hard neither of them noticed Fred. Her eyes were riveted on Justin’s wrist, only now exposed because of the crouched position he’d assumed while leaning against the display case.

“Damsah’s balls!”
she exclaimed. “Is that a mil one Timex? I mean, a
real
mil one?”

Justin held up his wrist, still laughing, while acknowledging and answering the question in the one motion. However, that quickly subsided when he saw that Omad, too, was staring at him with a look of total seriousness.

“Jesus, man,” Omad almost huffed, “you didn’t tell me that thing was a Timex. What are you doing wearing it? Take it off… carefully.”

“Hey, it’s just a watch, for Christ’s sake,” Justin said. “Not even a nice one, at that.”

“If it’s authentic mil one,” Fred said, biting her lower lip, “twenty thousand credits.”

Both Justin and Omad looked at Fred in disbelief.

“Fine,” she said, before anyone could answer, “twenty-five thousand, then. But not a credit more.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me… right? My Tiffany case is only worth four hundred, and this,” Justin said, holding up his wrist to show the watch, “this thirty-five-dollar piece of crap is worth almost fifty times as much?”

“I couldn’t be more serious, mister,” answered Fred. “That watch should be in a museum, not on a wrist. If you’re willing to wait you’ll get more money for it but I can transfer credits
now,
no questions asked. Check with your avatar, it’ll tell you.”

In the minute or so he took to confer with sebastian, Justin learned two early and valuable lessons. One, in an age of nanotechnology, diamonds were worthless—any kid with a home nanochem set could produce them. Two, most of the “mil one,” short for “first millennium,” accessories he’d managed to bring with him into the future would prove to be far more valuable than he ever could have imagined. He’d figured that if he were revived he’d be able to calculate the worth of his cache based on their condition and age; what he hadn’t taken into consideration was how few in number were the amount of good antiques that had made it through the so-called Grand Collapse. After a quick consultation with sebastian and some whispered conversation with Omad, Justin agreed to an unheard-of price of 38,000 credits, SCV (standard credit valuation). About two-thirds of its present-day value, but the third he’d tossed was worth the money he’d gained. And, more important, how he’d gained it—quickly, and without questions.

“How do you want it?” asked an obviously happy Fred.

“Is it safe to assume,” asked Justin, “that ‘in fifties and hundreds’ won’t count as an answer?”

Fred looked at Justin blankly, then at Omad for rescue.

“Give him a credit card.”

“That, I’ll also assume,” Justin added, “is not what I think it is either, correct?”

“Depends,” answered Omad, “on what you think it is?”

“Well, in my day it was a card that took the place of money… kind of like a loan. You’d buy something with your credit card and pay the credit card company back later… with interest.”

Fred stared at Justin in awe. “Omad. I gotta hand it to you, this guy’s a real piece of work.”

“More than you realize, Freddie. More than you realize.” He turned his attention back to Justin.

“Today it’s a card that keeps a record of how many credits you have at your disposal. The difference is, if you’re using a card it usually means it’s a quiet account… .”

“It’s illegal?”

“Not exactly. It’s just not linked to your regular account per se. See, Fred here will transfer the credits to an escrow account that only you’ll be able to draw from. Normally you’d stick your hand into that thing over there.” Omad pointed to a device that looked like a small, upended box with an embossed handprint inside. “That thing would verify that you’re you through DNA, palms, prints, and nonstressed voice activation. It then transfers money either to or from your registered account.”

“But since I don’t have an account yet…”

“Friend,” interrupted Omad, “you don’t even have an identity yet.”

“Right. OK, credit card it is.”

Fred had long ago given up trying to understand what the deal was with the man with the priceless relics. And, truth be told, she wouldn’t have cared much one way or another. She’d make enough from this one day to cover the entire month. And if this guy had more stuff of this quality, she’d let him ramble about anything he damned well wanted to… as long as he rambled to her first.

“OK,” piped in Fred, “now that we’ve established the method, let’s talk about the means. What currency we talkin’ here, Omad?”

“Well,” joked Justin, “we’ve already established it ain’t going to be American.”

“Why not American?” asked Fred. “AmEx works in my book.”

“AmEx, as in American Express, like the company?”

“Uh, yeah… doesn’t have to be, mister. You’d prefer GCI, or maybe Visa?”

“Give me another minute,” Justin said to both Omad and Fred, as he pulled the DijAssist out of his pocket and walked back down the length of the shop to the entrance. As he looked out the door he could still see the street performers doing their best to impede traffic. It was only now that he noticed the occasional passerby stop to place their hand on a hovering box next to them. The box had roughly the same configuration as the palm unit in Fred’s shop. As the person put their hand on the box, they’d say something. Justin couldn’t read lips, but he could swear they were saying the number five. They’d say the word, and move on. One or two even stopped to listen.

Justin looked down at the DijAssist in his hand. “Sebastian.”

In a volume Justin could swear was a few steps above a whisper, sebastian spoke up. How the avatar knew when to speak up and when not to would be a discussion for another time. Right now, first and foremost, Justin needed a little catch-up lesson. “Yes, Justin?”

“Can you give me the basics on money in about a minute?”

“Not in this lifetime. But I can get you started.”

“Fine.”

“I have taken the liberty,” said the eager-to-please avatar, “of seeing how currency was handled at the turn of the millennium. I think I understand the source of your confusion. What you would term as money, or a universal medium of exchange, was issued by your nation-states or, to be more precise, your governments. When you said ‘American’ you were referring to dollars, were you not?”

“Correct.”

“Today units of exchange are handled by private companies.”

“Your companies make their own money?” Justin asked in a voice loud enough for Fred to pick up.

“Hey,” shouted Fred, from the other end of the store, “don’t you know it’s rude to talk to an avatar with company present?” In a slightly more muffled voice she added, “DeGens.”

“Forgive him,” he heard Omad say, “he’s, um… new around here. I’ll go see what’s taking him.” Omad went over to where Justin was standing.

“Um, Mr. I-gotta-get-me-some-money-fast, what seems to be the problem now?”

“Nothing,” answered Justin. “I’m just chatting with my avatar.”

“Yeah, well, we’re going to have to talk about that. In the meantime, finish with your little friend because my
real
one,” he said, glancing over his shoulder, “is starting to get impatient.”

“Relax, Omad, she wants this watch. She’ll wait. And don’t you worry either. You’ll get whatever cut you’ve worked out with her as well.”

Omad feigned innocence for about as long as it took him to realize the gig was up… or the better part of two seconds.

“Your watch, Justin. Your call,” Omad said with a smirk. He wasn’t so anxious to get back to Fred, anyway. All she seemed to do was complain.

“OK, sebastian,” Justin continued, “how can companies be in charge of the money supply? Wouldn’t that mean that they could literally make their own profits?”

“Who else would make the money?” interrupted Omad.

“At least someone impartial, Omad. In my day it was the government,” said Justin.

“Just so you know, Justin,” interrupted sebastian, “this is taking way more than the minute you required.”

“It’s all right sebastian, ixnay on the minute-nay thing.”

“Pardon?”

“Forget about the minute thing.”

“Ahh, you were using a modified form of Pig Latin.”

“Uh, I suppose,” answered Justin, taken aback somewhat.

“The proper phrasing,” offered sebastian, “would be… ixnay inutemey ing… .”

“Forget about it, sebastian,” snapped Justin, annoyed.

“Forget about what?”

Justin sighed. Even his avatar was yanking his chain.

“You let the government issue money?” asked Omad. “Damsah’s ghost. No wonder you had the Grand Collapse.”

Justin grimaced. “You know, I keep hearing about this Grand Collapse thing. Is it possible you’re referring to another type of Great Depression?”

“Actually, Justin,” added sebastian, “the two events are distinct.”

“Two events?”

“Oh, yeah,” interjected Omad, “that first one was a moth’s prick in comparison to the second. Come to think of it, money supply was a problem.”

“Omad is correct, Justin,” confirmed sebastian. “Both depressions were the result of improper government control of the money supply in response to cultural and political rather than economic situations. However, yours was not saddled with the unfortunate encumbrance of the VR plague.”

Justin looked puzzled. “Mine?”

“Referred to as the ‘Great Depression,’ ” sebastian clarified.

“Ahh,” answered Justin, shaking his head.

“The first event was well analyzed and the second one clearly predicted by Tim Damsah, and so his solution was ultimately adopted.”

“Hey, buddy,” called out Fred, displaying a rare bad poker face, “you want my money or what?”

Justin didn’t bother answering, but did manage to smile in her direction. In hindsight, the little lesson he was getting at the moment probably could have been put off until later. And had he only traded in the Tiffany box it most likely would have. However, with the Timex he was starting to talk some real money, and there was no way he’d accept payment on an item of such value without at least some rudimentary knowledge of the currency, or in this case, currencies, he was dealing with.

“So again I ask, aren’t corporations more likely to overprint money than governments?”

“On the contrary, Justin,” continued sebastian, “it would make absolutely no sense to do that. If you think of money as a product, and that there will be competition for that product, then by overprinting you devalue that which you hope to sell. In fact, a single currency, especially one controlled by a political rather than capitalistic entity, has greater incentive to overprint. It was called inflation. And just in case you are interested, there are currently forty-seven major currencies and hundreds of minor ones.”

Justin was about to ask another question when he noticed a familiar figure outside the shop just across the pedestrian walk. It was Neela. She was holding up her DijAssist to some people seated around a table at a small café. Though he could have, he didn’t step out the door to let her know exactly where he was—partly out of curiosity, partly out of attraction, and partly because he wanted to see how fast she’d figure out where to find him.