The Unincorporated Man (72 page)

“Sir,” gasped Hektor, “these are priceless artifacts. It will be an honor to display them in my office.”

The Chairman was suddenly incredulous. “Display them? After all the money I spent to have them nanoreconstructed, you’d better damn well smoke them!”

Hektor was dismayed. “They’re… actually smokable.”

“At 1.5 million credits each, they’d better be!” answered The Chairman, with a hearty laugh.

Hector sat stunned, overwhelmed at the connection implied by The Chairman’s generosity.

“Take your time, son.”

Hektor didn’t take much. The thought of getting one of the cigars to his lips propelled him up and out of his seat. “That’s alright, sir, I really should get going. There’s a lot to do.”

The Chairman nodded his agreement.

With perfunctory grace, Hektor left the grand room. As he entered the lift he felt, for the first time, that the opportunity of a lifetime had been bestowed on him. And what made it even better was who had bestowed it.

Hektor hurried into his office, ignoring the pleas and harangues of his assistants. Y
ou probably only get one day like this in your life
, he’d reasoned,
and I’ll be damned if I’m not gonna enjoy at least one hour of it—the system can wait
. He put the Aniversarios on his desk, sunk into his chair, and began to let the waves of joy rush over him. His future was assured and, with it, he’d convinced himself, the future of the world. He would have all the power and prestige that a human could have. It was, he mused, like the Roman emperors of old. The system worked best when the benevolent emperor chose his successor to rule the empire. Well, the corporate world’s emperor had just chosen him, and in time he would choose his—thus assuring that Damsah’s gift of incorporation would pass peacefully from one generation to the next. The harmony and conformity of the system would grow ever stronger, until it was unbreakable. Humanity would be safe and cared for, and he, Hektor Bandonillo Sambianco, would go down in human history as one of the great men who made it all possible. Hektor didn’t mind that he’d probably never reach the same dizzying heights of fame as his boss, the man who’d started it all—and that was just fine. Hektor was more than content to be a part of his legend.

He called his indefatigable assistant, Mariko, into the office and told her to hold all his calls, and that, further, anyone short of The Chairman himself was not to interrupt.

Mariko, as usual, stood at sprite attention. “Good meeting then, boss?”

Like any good number two she’d learned to read Hektor’s many moods, and either stay clear or revel. Today, she saw, revelry was very much on the agenda.

Hektor nodded.

“In that case,” she continued, “I’ll give you the pertinents and leave.” Before Hektor could stop her, Mariko dutifully launched into her laundry list of data.

“The info on Ceres is downloaded to your secure file, and those hard copies are ready for you to print and…” Mariko’s voice faded as she registered the box of cigars on her boss’s desk.

I should’ve locked those up immediately
, was Hektor’s first thought. But then he realized that Mariko would of course know what she was looking at. Hadn’t he, after all, “brought her up” with his selfsame love of this sweetest of leaves?

“I… I didn’t think they still existed,” she stammered. “Are they real?”

Hektor was delighted. “Yes, Mariko, real, nanoreconstructed, and ready to smoke.”

“Well, boss,” answered Mariko, still eyeing the smokes, “just knowing they exist has made my day.” She then turned back to her list. “As I was saying, the Ceres info…”

“Really?” interrupted Hektor, enjoying the banter. “How so?”

Mariko looked up from her DijAssist, smiling. “It means,” she answered, “that I’ll have a shot at maybe smoking one… of my own, that is, someday.”

Hektor laughed. “Not to put too fine a point on it, Mariko, but they’re well out of your reach… I dare say for many years to come.”

“Maybe yes, maybe no,” she said, rising to the challenge. “I mean, no offense, boss, but look at you.”

Hektor thought about it for a minute, and laughed. He’d hired Mariko for her pluck, and today was yet more evidence of it. “Touché, my dear. Look at me, indeed. Well, what the hell then, kid, let’s make it today.”

Mariko gulped. “You can’t be serious.” She turned around to look at the closed door—knowing full well the scope of her responsibilities that lay on the other side. She then turned back to face her boss. “Are you serious?”

Part of Hektor was wondering the exact same thing. There was generosity, but this, he realized, was almost insane. He put the thought aside as petty. “Mariko, I’ve had a very good day. In fact, I’ve had what is possibly the best day most any human being has ever had. So good that those cigars are only a small part of it, and you’ve just made me realize that I’d like to share some of the good day I’ve been having. In fact, I’m positive I do.”

“Well, then,” his assistant said, thrill evident in her voice, “let’s light those babies up before you change your mind and I have to wrestle you to the floor for ’em!”

Hektor grinned and proceeded to remove two of the invaluable cigars from the box. He handed one of the wood cylinders to Mariko, and took the other for himself.

The young woman handled the Davidoff with the appropriate care and appreciation. She slowly removed the cigar from its encasement, eyed it expertly, and then brought it up to her nose, inhaling deeply. She exhaled with such a pleasurable grin Hektor knew he’d made the right decision. Hektor sniffed the length of the cigar as well, which resulted in almost the same frothy expression as that of his underling. He produced a clipper from inside a pocket, snipped off the end, and invited Mariko to do the same. He then lit a match, and was about to light his own cigar, when he decided at the last moment to light the end of Mariko’s. A gesture like that, he reasoned, would not only be perceived as magnanimous, but would also go a long way toward securing his legacy.

Mariko was once again surprised but didn’t refuse. She dragged slowly on the three-hundred-year-old stick, twisting it ever so slightly in order to get a perfect, even burn at the end. She then slowly exhaled straight up into the air so as not to blow smoke directly into her boss’s face. Though, thought Hektor, she needn’t have bothered. Hektor was going to light his off the same match but at the last second decided it would be better to use a fresh one and light his cigar properly. He dug another match out, struck it, and was bringing the flame to the tip of his cigar when he saw that Mariko’s face was distorted, and that she appeared to be choking. She looked confused, but when she tried to speak, a bright, crimson river of blood poured out of her mouth. Hektor, stupefied, let the match drop from his hand, and was about to leap forward to help, when the nanite alarms went off. Suddenly, and for the second time in as many months, the walls came crashing down.

Hektor reacted on instinct. He immediately tossed the cigar, jumped away from the pleading eyes of his assistant, and scrambled as far from the terrified girl as he could. The room started to fill with a diaphanous white mist, which Hektor knew to be the billions of defensive nanites attempting to smother the area. “Work, damn it,” he managed to say, gritting his teeth, “work!”

But Hektor could see that Mariko was slumping forward, already on her knees, cigar still dangling awkwardly from her right hand. The blood was now pouring from every exposed orifice. He prayed that she was dead. All he could do now was hope that none of the microkillers had gotten to him. He opened his mouth and breathed in as much of the white mist as he could while simultaneously disrobing. He then threw every last article of clothing and jewelry he’d been wearing into the center of the room. Then, naked and turning in circles like a drug-addled shaman in a ritual dance, he let the mist of the defending nanites coat him completely. He even jumped up and down a few times to make sure the defenders touched the soles of his feet. He took deep breaths, even though it meant painful fits of coughing. The mist had thickened to the point that it was almost impossible for him to see his own hands clearly in front of his face. He continued to hack into them, checking for spatter.
No blood. Good. No blood
. Though the room had cooled significantly—the best environment for the defender nanites—Hektor was sweating from exertion and fear.

As suddenly as it began the alarm bells stopped; the air, and with it the white mist, was sucked out of the room through large vents in the ceiling and floor. The massive steel doors then slowly rose and disappeared back into the decor of the ceiling.

Hektor, alone and naked, covered from head to toe in a thin layer of white film, stood mere feet away from the half-dissolved remains of his number two. He approached, hoping that enough of her brain had remained to make her death temporary and not permanent. He was to be disappointed.

In a horrible flash of realization Hektor knew who’d been responsible for the attempt on his life. The Chairman had set him up, and he fell for it. The Chairman, he realized, had wanted him dead, and but for a young woman’s impertinent curiosity it would be Hektor’s half-eaten carcass strewn on the floor and not that of the poor, lovely Mariko. Now The Chairman’s number two needed to find out why. Why him? Why now? As Hektor stood waiting for the hazmat team to arrive, he quite unexpectedly began to weep. At first slowly, and then openly and in fits. He felt pain and accepted pain. As he sobbed, the rivulets of white powder mixed with tears rolled down his cheeks, and then fell onto the now sanitized floor. It was at that moment that Hektor Sambianco swore revenge on the only man he’d ever truly loved.

The Chairman studied the security reports. He felt regret at the death of the assistant—an unintended but necessary consequence given the importance of the assignment.
Who knew that Hektor would have been so generous?
More important, he mused, two dead, partially dissolved bodies had been discovered. That certainly made things easier on him. He’d known that the body might be completely reduced to dust if the nanite defenders were too slow, and that that would have rendered inconclusive Hektor’s ultimate demise. The Chairman was prepared to live with that fact, but now, given the information he’d just received from the head of internal security, there was one less thing to worry about. Hektor was dead, and The Chairman would have months to arrange for the appointment of a qualified yet uninspired replacement. For now, the story would go out that Mr. Sambianco was not in his office, and was very much alive somewhere—which was standard operating procedure when a top-level executive died or had been murdered, especially in his own headquarters.

The Chairman got up from his command center, walked over to a viewing area, and looked out over his wayward planet. It was filled with a mass of humanity that he’d come to love, pity, and, sometimes, when he was lost in thought and most vulnerable to his inner self, envy.

As he stood staring out the window he began to formulate a plausible cover story. It didn’t take long. It would be explained that Hektor had been called away on important business for the stockholders; that he was doing something of vital importance, but that day-to-day operations would be handled by whichever sacrificial lamb The Chairman chose to put in his place.

The Chairman would have to call the board together and let them know, if they didn’t already, about Hektor’s assassination at the hands of the Action Wing. They’d of course be upset, but he’d reassure them. He sent instructions to his assistant to prepare the board for a meeting, and then began the necessary work of finding a successor for Sambianco.

His research was interrupted by a dulcet tone emanating from within the room.

“Call for you, sir,” came the equally soft voice of his assistant. “It’s Accounting, and she said it’s urgent.”

The Chairman frowned. Calling him directly bordered on impudence, but Accounting had been the longest-serving member of the board, and had developed quite an entourage of her own at GCI. Plus, he figured, she wouldn’t have called without a good reason.

“Connect us, please.”

Accounting’s image appeared above the Chairman’s desk. She was, he could see, a bit disheveled.

“Good evening, Brenda,” said The Chairman, leveling his gaze evenly.

“Good evening, Mr. Chairman,” she answered, in obvious disarray. “Thank you for taking my call, and please forgive the intrusion.”

The Chairman nodded, indicating she should continue.

“There’s a problem with the board.”

“What sort of problem?” he asked.

“They’re agitated, sir.”

“I know that, Brenda. I plan to address them personally.”

“Personally or
personally
, sir?”

Though The Chairman was taken aback by the director’s forthrightness, she would never have known by looking at the stone-cold stare of the man peering at her.

“I don’t like to appear physically, Brenda. It has to be of vital importance to even consider it.”

“That’s why I called, sir. It
is
vital. They all know, sir, and they’re scared—some even terrified. I’ll be the first to admit that Hektor was arrogant and made lots of enemies, but he was also a respected leader who had earned the admiration of the board—especially since the Crises began. I don’t think anyone realized just how vital he’d become until he died.”

“Assassinated, Brenda,” interjected The Chairman. “No need to beat around the bush.”

“Yes, sir, assassinated. And in the very heart of GCI.” Accounting paused to take a breath and gauge whether or not she would be allowed to continue speaking. The Chairman’s silence once again prodded her on.

“Many,” she continued, “are on the verge of breaking down. Whether they quit, run away, or just plain start drawing with crayons, we face a possible decapitation of our executive wing. And if that happens—just as the system learns or even suspects Hektor’s death—it would be,” she paused, and then grimaced, “unfortunate.”

The Chairman considered the words of his deputy, excused himself for a moment, and then called up some psyche data to see if the evidence bore them out. It did. Stress levels were well above normal for all the members. He also quickly cross-checked the psyche info with strategic data: number of calls to family; time spent at lunch; hours spent in the pub. The fact that two of the board members had been found passed-out drunk and had to be sobered up medically was all he needed to see to close the deal.