The Unincorporated Man (57 page)

“Uh… OK, then. I’ll tell him.” The assistant clicked off.

The AG put his legs up on his desk, placed his hands behind his head, and watched the second hand on the wall knock off about ten ticks. “OK,” he said, having prepared himself for the kudos, “you can put him through now.”

Within a second the image of Hektor Sambianco appeared on the AG’s holodisplay. It only took a moment for the AG to realize from the look on Hektor’s face that kudos were not on the menu.

“Pardon me, sir,” Hektor said, purposely treading as gingerly as he could manage, “but I believe something’s wrong about the arrest you made.”

“What,” shot back the AG, “that we made the arrest and you didn’t?”
The nerve of that guy
, he thought.

“Well,” answered Hektor, trying desperately not to waste time, “not to put too fine a point on it, but yes.”

“Good-bye, Mr. Sambianco.” The AG was about to switch Hektor off when the DepDir did something he almost never did—he yelled.

“Wait!”
shouted Hektor. He resumed his composure when he saw the AG hesitate. “Just a moment, that is. You arrested Sean Doogle by himself, correct? All alone in a house?”

The attorney general nodded. “Yes, your spies do you credit, sir.”

“You caught him,” continued Hektor, “because he failed to disconnect from a manual upload to the Neuro?”

“Yes, he must have been trying something new and made a mistake. It’s how most criminals are caught.”

“He was in,” continued Hektor, brushing aside the useless information, “a newly rented, fixed house, without
any
special devices or warning systems?”

“He’s been moving around… a lot.” Now it was the AG’s turn to feel a little discomfort.
No
, he thought.
Couldn’t be
.

“Finally,” Hektor said, finishing off his short list, “he had no codes, equipment, or cash cards on him at all beyond an off-the-shelf Neuro upload unit.”

“Correct.”

“Doesn’t any of this strike you as possible that
he wanted
to get caught?”

“What does it matter?” the AG spat. “The psyche audit will tell us everything we need to know.”

Hektor could not identify why he knew or what specifically the result of the audit would be, but he realized exactly what Sean Doogle was attempting, and every fiber of his being told him that the audit must not happen.

“For Damsah’s sake,” pleaded Hektor, “don’t do it!”

“Do what, Mr. Sambianco? A psyche audit?”

“Yes! Yes!” screamed Hektor. “Don’t you see? He wanted to get caught by the government.”

Now
that
was too much. If it were anyone else on the holo, the AG would have hung up long ago. But there was only so much insult a man could take. He realized that he still hadn’t bothered to take his extended legs off the desk. Which meant the DepDir of the most powerful corporation on Earth was continuing to plead… to the soles of the AG’s feet.
Serves him right… bastard
.

“You mean,” chided the AG, “he doesn’t like you, Mr. Sambianco? I’m shocked.”

Hektor took a deep breath. Yelling at this man was not going to help. He felt like he was talking to Kirk Olmstead. Hektor silently vowed that if this bureaucrat screwed with
his
system he would find a way to have him transferred right next to his former boss. But now he forced a smile on his face and continued trying to achieve his purpose.

“No, sir,” Hektor continued, attempting to remain calm. “I think it’s because he knows I would not do an immediate psyche audit on him.”

Now it was the AG’s turn to tire of the DepDir. “Mr. Sambianco,” he said, making a show of checking the time, “I have no choice. The law is clear. Mr. Doogle is a dangerous
and
convicted felon. The protocol for crimes such as his demand an immediate psyche audit upon capture. Especially in cases where the felon might have information that could lead to the capture of other felons. You can trust this procedure, Mr. Sambianco. It’s a standard investigative technique that’s been used for years. Now is there
anything else
I can help you with?”

Hektor sighed and rubbed his eyes. “Don’t you see? That’s exactly what he’s probably planning to use against you. Do me this favor—and I can assure you you’ll be well rewarded. Order a temporary halt to the procedure. Surely you have the authority to do that?”

“Of course I do,” the AG said, ignoring not only the bribe but the expressed wishes of the man on the other end of the holodisplay, “but I cannot use that authority without documentable justification. And I’m afraid that hairs raising on the back of your neck, Mr. Sambianco, do not qualify.”

To the utter surprise of the head of the Justice Department of the Terran Confederation, Hektor hung up. Hektor hadn’t done it to be rude; he just didn’t have time to be formal. And when it became patently obvious that the AG was not going to help him, Hektor had decided to go over his head.

Back in his command center Hektor took out a special device from the top shelf of a well-secured cabinet. The device was in the shape of a small metallic square and had a depression in it designed to fit a normal-sized hand. Hektor placed his hand on the box. Immediately, microscopic filaments burrowed from the box into his hand and, in essence, hijacked his internal electronic communications system. Next came the dangerous part. The box, unlike most other palm readers, would not only make sure that Hektor’s DNA was, in fact, that of Hektor Sambianco—this box would kill him if he wasn’t. The death would be an instant nanofailure—an episode in which the body’s internal nanites are taken over by killer duplicates that replicate at a frightening speed, eating the body up from within. When the box was convinced that Hektor was who Hektor said he was, it vibrated. Hektor then made the only call the box was capable of making.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Chairman. I need to eliminate a problem.”

By then it was too late.

Investigator: The patient was cooperative, you say?

Dr. Goldman: Oh yes, I would say eager, even. Most auditees have to be sedated. He walked right up to the chair and had a seat
.

Investigator: This is when you began the audit?

Dr. Goldman: Yes. I ordered the introduction of stage-one mapping nanites, and tuned the recorder to the subject. Mapping must always be done first to determine the areas that need to be read and/or adjusted. That’s when things began to go wrong
.

Investigator: Could you elaborate, Dr. Goldman?

Dr. Goldman: Of course. [long pause] Forgive me. [pause] I’m still a little shaken.

Investigator: Take your time
.

Dr. Goldman: The patient’s brain stem had what could only be called an allergic reaction to either the nanites or the scanner. It may have been a combination of both. As the nanites were mapping the upper level neural pathways, they were also… collapsing them. By the time we were able to get the nanites out, Mr. Doogle had lost most of his upper-level brain functions
.

Investigator: What does that mean in layman’s terms, Doctor?

Dr. Goldman: He could breathe on his own, and he could eat and sleep and dream. But without extensive neural reconstruction he would remain a congenital idiot his entire life
.

Investigator: I see
.

Dr. Goldman: But the real question was, do we completely restructure his pathways, in essence creating a new person, or do we try to save as much of his memory, learned responses, and personality as possible?

Investigator: Does not medical ethics force you to do the latter?

Dr. Goldman: It’s not that simple. It’s not as if Mr. Doogle had his memories wiped out in chronological order
.

Investigator: Please explain
.

Dr. Goldman: It wouldn’t be like rolling back the clock. In other words, that type of memory loss wouldn’t mean we’d end up with an eight- or ten-year-old Sean Doogle
.

Investigator: Perhaps you could explain what it would mean
.

Dr. Goldman: It would mean he’d be a man with only about 10 percent of his memories, and we’d have no way of knowing which of those memories would be preserved. For example, he may know half the alphabet. Say, everything under Q. He may not remember the sun, his parents, or what a room is. He may remember all the pain of the day his childhood dog died and not know what a dog is. In short, sir, it’s a recipe for madness. Luckily, we did not have to decide. His wife came forward and made the decision for us
.

Investigator: Please tell the board what was decided
.

Dr. Goodman: As per Mrs. Doogle’s request, we tried to save what we could
.

Investigator: She chose madness, then
.

Dr. Goodman: Yes. [long pause]Yes. Madness
.

—TRANSCRIPT FROM THE MEDICAL INQUIRY INTO THEPSYCHOLOGICAL AUDIT OF SEAN DOOGLE

Over an hour of Sean Doogle floating in the center of a gravity room has been released to the Neuro. Though his parents were strongly against the release of this video, ISN was given permission to show it by Mr. Doogle’s wife and legal guardian of his will, Cassandra Doogle. We must warn you, the video is disturbing. Some viewers have reported crying and even throwing up upon seeing the clip. Parents with young children are urged to view this with caution. In a personal note, this reporter has never been a supporter of Sean Doogle or any of his beliefs or actions. That being said, after watching the creature in the video—flailing madly about trying to make coherent sounds, desperately, it seems, trying to make sense of his predicament—well, all my hatred left. Mr. Doogle may have deserved death, but he did not deserve this.

—
EVENING WRAP-UP WITH MARK STROMBERG
, ISN

RIOTING IN ALL MAJOR CITIES ON EARTH!

MAJOR OUTBREAKS OF VIOLENCE REPORTED ON ALL THE PLANETS OUT

TO SATURN! POLICE STRUGGLING TO MAINTAIN CONTROL!

In major acts of violence not seen since the days of the Grand Collapse and the Alaskan unification, many cities were brought to a standstill. Massive mobs made up of mostly pennies but in some cases containing citizens with higher percentages, some even with majority, were destroying any buildings associated with the government. This led to a string of attacks on court buildings, police stations, and some corporate structures as well. There have also been reports of looting, rape, and even murder. Death tolls from all causes are in the thousands as many remain dead too long to be preserved in cryostasis. Using a combination of deputized citizens, amnesties, and some hard-fought street battles, the authorities have only recently begun to restore law and order to most urban areas. Some in charge believe the exodus of those fearing for their lives has also helped.

It was the simultaneous release of a video showing Sean Doogle after his botched government audit and Mr. Doogle’s last download to the Neuro, the now infamous “any sacrifice for freedom” speech, that sparked this latest and greatest of social disturbances.

—HEADLINE AND ACCOMPANYING ARTICLE FROM A TERRAN CONFEDERATION

NEWSPAPER AFTER THE RELEASE OF THE SEAN DOOGLE VIDEO AND HIS NOW

INFAMOUS “ANY SACRIFICE FOR FREEDOM” SPEECH

Justin sat impatiently in his apartment in New York and watched a world go mad. The court had decided to recess for another few days, waiting for the troubles to dissipate. Although private t.o.p.s were still running, the New York City International Orport was shut down due to rioting and personnel failing to show up for work. Utilities and basic services were being disrupted on a citywide basis. As far as Justin could tell, this was happening systemwide. But it was when people started dying that he’d had enough.

In one incident the magnetic fields allowing orport flight had been purposely sabotaged in a small rural city, sending hundreds of people plummeting to their deaths. And of those deaths, eighty-seven were said to be permanent. It appeared that Doogle’s followers had one major success. The attorney general was assassinated outside his office. He was using a secret exit to avoid the press and walked right into an ambush. Though no group claimed immediate responsibility, authorities assumed it to be a vengeance killing for Sean Doogle’s effective death.

“Neela,” Justin sighed, gazing pensively, “all those people are dead because of me.”

“Bullshit,” she fumed. “Those people are dead because a bunch of criminals are rioting and destroying vital services… and, in case you hadn’t heard, not all the deaths were fatal.”

“Well, then, why did those eighty-seven deaths need to be permanent?”

Neela sat down next to Justin and put her arm around his sagging shoulders. “The brain,” she explained, “was destroyed by the fall, Justin. All the neural pathways were splattered.”

“Honey,” Justin said, exasperated, “I know about brain death. I knew about brain death when your great-great-grandfather was a gleam in your great-great-great-grandfather’s eye. What I meant is, why does it have to be permanent? You have psychological audits, which seem to me to be the mapping and interpreting of how an individual’s brain works. So why can’t you store the recorded data and put it back into a new brain?”

Neela exhaled slowly, her face destitute.

“You’re asking a question,” she said, “that’s been gone over by smart people and smarter corporations for hundreds of years. What it boils down to is this: You can
store
the brain via cryonic suspension, and even correct for any misaligned brain cells during that suspension with nanotechnology, but what you cannot do is
restore
the brain. The few times it was tried a gibbering lunatic was the end result. When it comes to the human brain, knowledge must be grown, not implanted. The most they’ve been able to do is implant some small bits of knowledge into an already functioning brain. But that, as a technique, is still in its infancy and is also not 100 percent. So the short answer to your question is that we haven’t conquered death—just aging.”

If Neela had hoped that the diversion into the evolution of death would sidetrack her lover, she was wrong. She could’ve brought up the fact that she, too, was in the process of being audited, and that her assets had been frozen, but in the context of all that was happening she chose to keep it secret. Justin got up, put on a jacket, and headed for the door. Neela leaped out of the seat and beat him to the exit, placing herself squarely in front of him.