The Unincorporated Man (25 page)

“I’m familiar with that phrase,” answered Michael. “Today that number’s graduated a bit.”

“I’ll bet.”

“OK,” continued Michael. “Why didn’t you go to the cryonics organizations that were in existence at the time?”

“Like the pyramids, obvious open targets waiting to be destroyed.”

Michael nodded.

“Why only save yourself? We’ve all seen the size of the crypt you made. Seems like you could have easily brought someone else with you.”

Justin shifted uneasily in his seat. He noticed the chair attempting to shift with him, to make him more comfortable, much like his bed had when he woke from his long sleep. But, for what he was feeling at the moment, relief wasn’t to be found in the machinations of a well-meaning ergo chair.

“I offered it to one other person,” he said, sighing. “My personal assistant. But he refused. He felt it was wrong to live longer than what he considered to be one’s preordained time.”

“If I’m not mistaken,” Michael said, “that was a very strong meme… um… stereotype of the time. I wouldn’t blame you.”

“I know what a meme is, Michael. The Darwinian evolution of a thought or, in the case of death, group think. And I don’t blame myself.”

“Yes, of course,” Michael answered.

“But you are correct,” continued Justin. “The idea of preordained death was the prevailing meme. Had been for all recorded history, in fact.”

Michael took a deep breath, shaking his head. “As much as I’ve read on the topic, I have to admit that I can’t understand how a society could follow what would appear to be such an illogical and superstitious line of thought. Tell me, did these same people refuse medical care?”

“No, they didn’t. But to them death was an idea infused with religion and not a disease to be cured.”

“Well, guess what? We cured it.”

“Really? You don’t say,” Justin teased. “Please, understand that my assistant, Sebastian, was not a stupid man. In many ways he was the most thoughtful, well-informed person I had ever met in my life. But he was trapped like a bird in a cage. And that’s why he, like millions before him, could not escape the most successful meme of all time—the notion of the inevitability of dying.”

Michael nodded. “I once read a book on the topic called
The Cult of Death
.”

“Let me guess,” offered Justin. “You couldn’t relate.”

Michael nodded.

“I’m surprised,” continued Justin, “that you made it past the first chapter. In order to understand a book like that you’d have to think like the people of the twenty-first century, which of course you couldn’t. That would’ve been like me trying to get into the heads of people who lived three hundred years prior to my time.”

“Tell me,” asked Michael, “were the pyramids also your inspiration for the treasures rumored to be buried within your tomb?”

“Depends,” Justin laughed. “What rumors have you heard?”

“Well, that the crypt had in it gold, silver, and precious gems, not so valuable now, but you wouldn’t have known that at the time.”

Justin nodded. “The rumors are correct.”

“You also supposedly had artifacts, works of art, and, according to our friend Omad out there,” he said, motioning toward the back wall, “a Timex watch.”

“Had,” answered Justin. “Sold it this morning.”

“Really?” Michael looked surprised. “That Omad didn’t tell me. If you don’t mind my asking, how much did you get for it?”

“Thirty-eight thousand.”

“AmEx?”

“Yeah. Is that good?”

Michael laughed. “Depends, if you think a one-shot four-quarter dividend is a good thing or not.”

Justin smiled. “I do.”

“You could have done better,” Michael said.

Justin nodded, keenly aware of what he’d just heard. Michael hadn’t said “six months’ salary” or a “boatload” to describe Justin’s good fortune. He’d referred to it as a dividend payout. That it had entered into the vernacular was revealing. Justin recalled how once wealth used to be determined by the number of harvests a person could get in. So a question like “How much did you make last year?” would be answered with the amount of harvests the farmer had brought in. The higher the number the greater the awe. Only when industrial society emerged did people think of a per-year salary as the measure of wealth. And now that a purely corporate society had emerged, the obvious indicator of wealth, short of the material, was the quarterly dividend.

“If you don’t mind,” continued Michael, “just a few more questions.”

“Shoot.”

Michael stared at his subject. Justin was articulate, thoughtful, naturally good-looking, well informed, smart, and even, in a way, heroic. He was the embodiment of all that was good about a lost civilization, gift wrapped for the present. And that, decided Michael, was how he would plan on slanting the story.

“What are your plans for the future?”

As soon as he finished the question, Justin’s door chime rang.

The room informed Justin that Neela and Omad were waiting for permission to enter. Justin smiled, begging Michael’s indulgence.

“See them in,” Justin said to the room, while staring at Michael.

Neela and Omad entered. Omad took up a position leaning against the wall while Neela sat down at the foot of the bed.

Justin looked over at Neela. “Our good friend here wants to know what my plans for the future are.”

“Don’t look at me,” answered Neela. “I had a whole schedule worked out, and you can see how that turned out.”

“Well,” answered Justin, “contrary to Neela’s lack of faith in her scheduling abilities, my immediate future is very much in her capable hands.”

Though she tried to hide it by turning her face, Michael noticed the faint blush in her cheeks.
Is she actually attracted to him?
he wondered.

“Well, in that case,” answered Neela, “Justin will stay here for a few days, during which time he’ll rest, read, and begin to learn a little bit about our world and way of doing things. Justin’s long-term plans are, of course, up to him.”

Michael made a mental note to schedule an interview with this reanimation specialist. He’d do it himself if need be, but would try to pass it on to Irma. She was far better at getting women to trust her than he was.

“If you could choose,” he continued, “between the following advances in technology—space travel, nanotechnology, the arrival of near-perfect health, or our long life spans—which would you say was the one that you found most surprising?”

Justin had to think about the question for a moment. While the list he’d been given was impressive, given all that it encompassed, he couldn’t honestly say that any of it surprised him. Amazed? Yes. Impressed? Without question. But surprised? No. The future was all that Justin had dreamed it would be and more.

“I’d have to say… none of the above.”

Michael looked up from his DijAssist, his cocked eyebrow revealing his astonishment. “Really? What then?”

“This concept of personal incorporation.”

“I could have told you that,” Neela mumbled just under her breath, but loud enough to make sure that Michael heard her.

Michael regained his composure and pressed on. He hated that he hadn’t seen that one coming. His fault, he figured.
Shouldn’t have given him a list to choose from. Oh, well
.

“The implication,” continued Michael, “is fascinating. Care to explain?”

Justin was about to go into a detailed answer when he saw Neela shaking her head and drawing her hand across her throat. He acknowledged her signal with a slight nod, and gave Michael a sound bite instead of a response.

“Well, I kind of expected all the other things, but personal incorporation is something I definitely found surprising.”

“In what way? If you don’t mind my asking.”

“Let’s just say it was a little unexpected, and I’m looking forward to learning all about it.”

Michael realized that there was no point in pressing the issue further.

“Well, I’m sure our readers will look forward to your IPO date for the chance to invest in you. I know I will.”

“Well, uh, thank you,” Justin answered, stuttering uncharacteristically. His confidence of a moment ago was strangely shaken by Michael’s good intentions. Nothing bad had happened, and he knew that Michael was offering him a compliment, but it was hard to take it as such. In essence, Michael was saying, “Can’t wait to see you up there on the auction block.” The only thing missing for Justin was the shackles someone of his era normally associated with such goings-on.

Neela, sensing his discomfort, intervened. “I know it’s your interview, Michael, but I’d like to ask Justin a question that I’m sure your readers would want to know as well.”

Michael considered objecting, but the desire to remain on Dr. Harper’s “good” list was greater than his need to control the interview. He leaned back a little in his chair, putting his DijAssist to the side.

“Sure, go ahead.”

“I’m curious, Justin,” Neela went on, “about what you did for fun in the past.”

“Well, of course, there were movies, plays, sports, music… that sort of thing.”

“The music of your era is considered some of the most varied and moving ever.”

“Yes,” he countered, “but do
you
think it was any good?”

“I do, in fact. The classical rockers are much emulated. Tell me—did you like the Beatles?”

“Sorry, no.”

Neela’s expression revealed surprise at the answer.

“I
loved
the Beatles,” he said with a grin.

Neela smiled back. “Smart-ass.”

Justin laughed.

Damsah’s ghost, there is something there
, thought Michael. It was a story—or would be, if anything ever happened. He’d sit on it for now—reputations were at stake. Maybe he’d talk to Irma about it.

“Well, then,” she said, “maybe you won’t be surprised to learn that they’re the most popular turn-of-the-millennium group today.”

“No, I wouldn’t be,” he answered, having an urge to give them a listen. “Even in my generation they had a certain… timeless quality.”

Justin tilted his head slightly, as if straining to listen to a song that wasn’t there.

Michael, following what he felt was Neela’s mundane line of questioning, was forced to admit that, for better or worse, it had seemed to jar something loose in his interviewee. “Are you alright, Justin?”

“Sorry, yes. That last question reminded me of one of their songs… now it’s stuck in my head.”

“Which one?” asked Michael.

“ ‘Across the Universe.’ ”

The next couple of days were pleasant ones for Justin. He made no more attempts to sneak out of the hospital, and heeded Neela’s advice about not interacting with the press. Omad would come by, and they’d hit the clinic’s exercise room, then go to the cafeteria for a beer. Other than the fact that people were constantly staring at him, Justin was beginning to think that his new life had returned to what might be called normalcy. He’d even gotten used to the stares. After all, he was a bit of an anomaly, and the looks he’d been getting were not oppressive. People were looking at him with what he gathered was open curiosity. But it became clear early on that they knew better than to bother him. He was to find out later that Mosh had let it be known that anyone who spoke to him without an obvious invitation to do so would be fired on the spot. Justin recalled a very interesting conversation with Mosh and his wife, Eleanor, one night over dinner. Eleanor was a knowledgeable source of information on practical financial matters, like getting a currency account and buying a house. Plus, she seemed to take a mother-hen attitude toward Justin, which he found strangely comforting.

Of all the problems he’d dealt with in planning his trip to the future, the idea of loneliness was never one he’d considered. Since the death of his wife he had wanted to be alone and, in fact, had drawn comfort from the walls he’d built around himself. He’d been prescient enough with his physical being, just not with his emotional one. Now he was beginning to regret not having tried harder to get his erstwhile assistant, or at least someone else from his era, to accompany him. But then Justin would remind himself that all plans have at least one mistake inevitably discovered after the fact. His was in believing that as an outsider he’d have no problem leaving his world, and everyone in it, behind. And now that it was gone he knew he’d been wrong.

Mosh was tired. He was, after all, approaching his second century and beginning to feel it. As if the day-to-day pressure of running a hospital weren’t enough, he now had a pissed-off GCI and a horde of ravenous media to contend with. The tricks the press were pulling to get into the hospital ranged from funny (someone claiming to be Justin’s long-lost brother) to ludicrous (one idiot shooting himself in the leg to gain entrance). Mosh gladly signed the recommendation for a psychological audit on that man. What was becoming intolerable was that the world was rapidly catching on to the fact that Mosh McKenzie, ex–GCI board member, was alive and well. And that was a very bad thing. Mosh had known when he retired just how ruthless the corporate world could be—even to retirees. Which was why when he’d left he’d done so with an old-boy handshake deal. He’d get to rule his private fiefdom as long as he promised to stay out of the spotlight and clear of GCI’s internal politics. In short, he’d agreed to disappear.

But thanks to Justin he was not keeping up his part of the bargain. He was exerting power, and the world, as well as GCI, was starting to remember that Mosh McKenzie was not only a man to be reckoned with, but also a man who’d once been in contention for the Chairmanship.

Mosh looked out at the conference table and saw a bleary-eyed group of people staring back at him: Neela, Dr. Wang, Gil Tellar, and Eleanor. Mosh chuckled to himself, realizing that it was this same group, minus Eleanor, who less than a week before were so excited by the prospect of their “find” that they’d already planned their retirements. Well, that had changed, hadn’t it? None of them had gotten much sleep during the week, and they were all beginning to realize that they’d be getting even less as time wore on. If they attempted to leave the hospital they’d be mobbed by a news-starved world. If they attempted to contact anyone outside the hospital, it was a sure bet their lines would be hacked into. There was no escape. The interest in Justin was at a fever pitch and they were the closest thing to the man who, but for one interview in
The Terran Daily News
, had barely spoken to anyone. The press was painting him as a romantic hero from the past who’d survived incredible odds to reach nirvana. The talk in all the homes and offices was of Justin Cord. Any information about him was instantly downloaded and gobbled up. Most of it was readily available for free, but for the few enterprising entrepreneurs, it was sold at a profit. His birthplaces were immediately made into tourist attractions… all five of them. Items that had been owned by him, even with flimsy vetting, were auctioned off at an enormous price. It was a banner day for anyone in the Justin Cord business. Unfortunately, it was proving to be difficult for anyone in the business of helping Justin Cord.