The Unincorporated Man (22 page)

Justin nodded, managing a tepid smile.

“Godspeed on your journey… Justin.” It was the first time she’d used his given name.

Then, clasping his hands into hers, and looking deep into his eyes, she said, “May this lifeboat keep you safe on the oceans of time until you find safe harbor.”

She understands
, thought Justin, finding a small satisfaction that at least one person didn’t think he’d dropped off the deep end. At least one person saw the potential of what he was trying to accomplish.

He felt the injection and knew that what had just invaded his body would stop his heart and deliver him into the hands of Morpheus. He tried to tell Sandra that this was what he wanted—a chance—but he was already so very tired, and he drifted away without saying a word.

Neela stared in awe. The amount of determination, planning, and faith his achievement spoke to was remarkable. She tried to think if there was anyone she knew who had the same internal fortitude, and could only come up with two names: Mosh McKenzie, and, strangely enough, Hektor Sambianco.

Why did Hektor come to mind?
She shook the thought off and concentrated on her job. And for the first time she caught a glimpse of a problem she’d not been trained for. What effect would Justin’s social integration have on society?
Maybe the problem would not simply be, “Was Justin ready for the incorporated world?” but rather, “Was the incorporated world ready for Justin?”
She pondered this while finishing off dessert. In the reflection of the now empty silver pizza pan she caught the bright flash of a small circular object. When she turned around it was gone.

“So you saw it too?” he asked.

“What
exactly
did you see, Justin?”

“It looked kind of like a floating eight ball.”

“Eight ball?”

“Don’t tell me they don’t have pool in the twenty-fourth century?”

“Oh, billiards, yeah, some people still play, I’m just not one of them. So can you describe it further?”

“Well,” he answered, “it was a perfect sphere, about two and a half inches…”

“Inches? Ahh, right… ,” she said, as another historical fact dusted itself off and reminded her of who she was talking to. “We use the metric system now.”

Justin sighed. “OK, about six, six and a half centimeters.”

“The Alaskans tried to make the world go back to the American system,” she said, with as much sympathy as she could muster, “but not even they could turn back that clock.”

“Alaskans?”

Neela smiled. “That will take some time to cover. Would you please continue with your description?”

“It was shiny, black, and had what seemed to be a reflective glass dot in the center.”

Neela stopped eating. She looked around and saw that the flying object had taken a position just outside the restaurant at the entrance. It appeared to be waiting patiently.

Shit
. Neela squirmed.
Mediabot
.

Mediabots were used by the world’s news agencies to cover breaking news. But more often than not they were used as a sort of flying paparazzi to harangue the rich and famous. Like insects, they were annoying, abundant, and sometimes even dangerous.

“We should probably head back,” she said, getting up from her chair.

“Something wrong?” Justin asked, concerned for the change of mood in his dinner partner.

Neela considered making up an excuse, and dismissed it. Her policy was one of absolute honesty. Unless the welfare of her patient called for outright lies, in which case she would swear on her future majority that the sun revolved around the Earth and Tim Damsah was really a socialist. This was not one of those cases.

“It looks like it’s a mediabot. Essentially, a roving camera. That model is used almost exclusively by news agencies, though you’ll find them used as high-tech toys by those who can afford them.”

“So you’re saying it could be lost or waiting for its owner?”

“Yes. But to be on the safe side… ,” Neela said, still looking over her shoulder.

“We should vamoose,” he suggested.

“Va-what?”

“Go,” explained Justin.

“Right. Let’s vamoose.”

The waiter, seeing them both standing, appeared with a small rectangular device in his hand. Neela indicated for Justin to hold up the card he’d received earlier in the pawnshop and say the word “agreed,” which he promptly did, and just like that the meal, tip included, had been paid for.

As they departed the restaurant they kept an eye on the bot. It didn’t appear to be following them, which was a good sign. Then again, explained Neela, they were programmed not to draw too much attention.

“You don’t think I should be giving interviews just yet?” asked Justin.

Neela made a mental note to have her avatar look for all news footage of Justin in a press situation.

“I’m not sure that now is the time to introduce you to the world. Let’s avoid that firestorm for as long as we can.”

“Isn’t it a bit too late?” asked Justin, moving his head in the direction of the recently seen mediabot.

“If they knew who you were there would be dozens of bots and lots of reporters here right now,” answered Neela. “But just to be on the safe side, let’s get back to the hospital.”

“Fine with me.”

“Right, let’s grab another char…” She stopped herself. “No,” she said, thinking out loud. “If they’re on to us, privately charted t.o.p.s would probably be the first counters they’d scope out. Best to travel cattle class.” Neela took out her DijAssist to check schedules.

“OK,” Neela said, not bothering to look up, “there’s a quick connection to Boulder via New York. But we have to leave right now.”

They took a cab to the orport, and with little difficulty made it to their flight. As they settled into their seats Neela suggested that Justin try out a pair of gigglegogs—aptly named because anyone who used them—mostly kids—ended up doing a lot of giggling. The neat thing about the gogs was that they enabled the user to view the entire flight live with the ability to pause, fast forward, or reverse, as if the shell of the pod didn’t exist, in essence, allowing them to fly outside of the craft. They were a very popular item with the children but rarely used by the adults, who were content to listen to music or try and catch up on some much needed sleep.

Before trying out the goggles Justin took in his immediate environment. His first experience had been on the equivalent of a luxury liner and had therefore kept him from getting to know the ins and outs of his world’s main transportation system. Now he viewed it anew. The “standard” pod, he noticed, seemed very much like a circular conference room with two rows of seats circling the center, which had a galley and a bathroom. The seats resembled the very best of first class that Justin remembered from his days of jet travel. There was enough space for each seat to recline fully. Comfort seemed to be the main concern here.

“Sorry about the crowding,” said Neela.

Justin smiled. He wasn’t bothered at all. This standard was as nice as, if not nicer than, the luxury accommodations he’d grown accustomed to in his previous world. The only odd part of the flight happened when Justin wasn’t using the gigglegogs. It occurred when he took them off to ask Neela a question and was confronted by a good-looking young man from across the aisle.

“Hey, buddy,” said the man, “don’t forget the second dictate, there.” That comment provoked the young man’s gorgeous girlfriend to speak up.

“Now honey, that’s being a little strict, even for you. The orlines allow it, so it doesn’t really violate the VR dictates, now does it?”

“Sugarplum,” he said, “you know it’s a slippery slope. I’m just offering some free advice to the fella. You know me, can’t help giving advice.”

The woman spoke over the man’s shoulder to Justin. “Please excuse my husband, sir, he’s been like this for years and…” The woman stopped on seeing Justin’s DeGen badge. “Oh, sorry for bothering you.” She whispered to her husband, but loud enough for Justin to hear, “For goodness’ sake, Carl, the man’s a DeGen, why bother?”

The man’s body language signified defeat. “Well,” he tried to counter, “the VR dictates apply to them as well.” His wife shushed him, at which point the man settled down, muttering to himself.

Justin found this confusing on three levels, the first of which was familiar. He needed to learn a lot more about DeGens and how they came to occupy the lowest rung in this society. The second was, what were these dictates that kept coming up, and what did they have to do with the gigglegogs? And the third was the fact that he just saw a handsome young couple, that he would swear from all appearances were freshmen in college, acting very old and very married. When he asked Neela about the pair her answer was short and to the point.

“They
are
an old married couple. I’d say for at least forty, maybe fifty years. You can tell by their mannerisms. If I had to guess I’d probably say they were each in their late eighties.”

“Fascinating,” Justin said, putting his goggles back on. The pod was now on its way down. He could make out the shiny amalgam of silver and glass that was representative of any great city from the sky. But New York City wasn’t just
any
great city. In his mind New York City was
the
great city. He wondered if it still held that place on the mantle.

As they got closer to the ground he saw that the city didn’t look anything like he remembered it. He was looking specifically for the telltale markers, the chief of which was the Hudson River.

Justin paused the view. “Neela,” he asked, goggles still on, “have they moved New York in the last three hundred years?”

“No, Justin, it’s still in the same place.”

“Then where’s the Hudson River?”

Neela smiled. “They had to move it when the land the river was occupying proved to be too valuable to waste on a waterway.”

Too valuable to waste on a waterway?

Neela decided to play tour guide. She lowered Justin’s goggles and pointed out the window. “It’s over there. You can thank GCI for that.”

In the distance Justin saw a building that rose well into the sky and dwarfed every other building around it.

“What is that thing?”

“GCI headquarters. In technical terms, the large building in the center is a beanstalk… a means of transporting large loads into outer space.”

“I thought the t.o.p.s did that.”

“They do,” she affirmed. “That building is essentially a relic these days. It’s still used, but mainly as a tourist attraction for the best view on the planet.”

Justin put the goggles back on for a closer view.

“Look back up… farther north,” said Neela. “Do you see those two identical small buildings dwarfed by all the big ones surrounding them?”

“Hold on… let me fiddle here a moment… .”

Justin zoomed in on the two buildings and blinked a couple of times. “Neela, are those what I think they are?”

Neela did some calculating of dates. “That’s right, you were suspended before they were rebuilt. We call ’em ‘W3’ for short.”

“W3?”

“Yes, they replaced the second rebuild.”

“Oh,” Justin thought out loud. “I never got to see the second one.”

“It was nice,” she replied. “Pity it didn’t last very long. You probably remember when the original went down.”

“9/11,” he whispered. “I’ll never forget… ever. So they rebuilt them.” He sported a big grin and looked at the handsome twins, strangely heartened by the city’s act of architectural defiance in the face of cold-blooded murder.

“Why re-create the original?” he asked.

“From my limited understanding—nostalgia. When New York City was rebuilt the people yearned for landmarks associated with the city’s greatest era. The twin towers were one of those chosen.”

As he looked closer he saw some of the more familiar landmarks, like the Chrysler Building and Yankee Stadium.
Do they still play baseball?
he wondered. Those markers were easy to spot by the fact that they were the
smallest
structures in the area.

“Neela, is the Empire State Building still around?”

“Oh, sure!” she said.

“Where? There’s a huge building where it used to be. Did they move that, too?”

“Didn’t move it,” she answered. “Built over it. It’s in an atrium now. Great place to visit.”

Justin shook his head and laughed. By orienting on the W3 Justin was able to grasp the city’s size. It seemed to be nothing but huge skyscrapers running to New Jersey and beyond. The city went well north of the old island of Manhattan.

“Neela, how tall are those buildings?”

“They average over three hundred stories. You know, over seventy million people live in metropolitan New York. It’s the largest city in the solar system now.”

Justin took off the goggles and noticed that the cabin was empty. “We’re here?” he asked.

“We landed over a minute ago,” answered Neela.

With his first t.o.p. trip he had been so caught up in the
whole
experience he had failed to notice the individual parts. But on this one he did, and liked what he saw—a fully mature and impressive industry, made all the more salient by the fact that everyone, except Justin, took it for granted. It made the industrial capitalist in Justin want to stand up and applaud.

They both got up to disembark. As they made their way to the exit Neela’s thumb started to vibrate. She held her hand up to her ear. It was Mosh.

“Neela, if you’re on Trans-Global’s Florence to New York shuttle do not… I repeat,
do not
get off that pod!” Neela grabbed Justin’s shoulder, stopping him just before the exit. As she did so three mediabots came whizzing through the exit and started to circle Justin. Before either Justin or Neela could so much as blink all three crashed to the floor and remained inert. A stewardess appeared from the exit, and as she did the doorway closed up behind her.

“Are you Dr. Harper, ma’am?” asked the stewardess.

Neela nodded her head but continued talking to Mosh.

“What’s going on?” she asked, even though the sinking feeling she was experiencing was answer enough.

“They know,” the director answered.