The Unincorporated Man (65 page)

“Perfect,” he said, with a satisfied look.

Though the bartender had nothing to do with it, other than the fact that he’d pressed a few buttons, he seemed pleased with himself.

What Justin didn’t tell the man behind the counter was that the drink was, in fact, too perfect. He took another perfect sip. He realized that he could order this drink from anywhere in the system and he’d get this exact drink… every time. Every time in every location it would never, ever change in the slightest iota. And that was the problem. Whiskey, like wine, changed subtly with age. And the Springbank 21 was only drinkable a day or two
after
opening. And it would continue to amaze with each successive opening. No wonder people were willing to pay big bucks for the real thing, the
real anything
. Humans needed stability, but they also craved variety. The slight difference a drink would have from how it was made, stored, and prepared would be invaluable after a while—and no one here could afford it. Nor would most of them ever be able to in all the long years of their lives. And, for the first time, Justin truly understood what it meant to be poor in the incorporated world. He took his drink over to Omad who, sensing someone’s presence next to him, looked up.

“What the fuck are you doing here, asshole?”

“No idea, Omad,” answered Justin, “you called and told me to meet you. You said you had some good news. ‘Get drunk with a buddy’ sort of news.”

“Buddy, Justin, old chum, you’re an asshole.” Omad looked as if he had had the most profound realization of his life. “Damsah’s balls, Justin, you are my buddy!” Omad waved to the bar. “Hey, everybody! This is my buddy.”

No one looked up, but that didn’t stop Omad from laughing uproariously. “Hey, everybody, body and buddy. I rhymed. My buddy has a rhyming buddy!” The patrons, pulled momentarily out of their individual stupors, shot back a chorus of derogatory comments and suggestions for both Omad and Justin.

“Let’s get you out of here,” suggested Justin.

“You got it, buddy.” Omad stood up on unsteady feet and turned to the bar. “Me and my buddy, Justin Cord, the great and powerful Unincorporated Man, don’t need you, anyways. My buddy here is all I need. He can destroy you all with just a glance.” This brought more suggestions from the patrons, but now some seemed to notice who Justin was. Maybe they all did and most were just too far gone to care.

Justin rolled Omad into his flyer and managed to get him over to the hotel suite he’d rented. Unfortunately, Omad’s body decided to rebel against the abuse he’d inflicted on it the night before—leaving a sacrifice on the couch instead of the traditional altar in the bathroom. Fortunately, the cleaning drones made quick work of it.

Justin was tempted to administer some scrubber nanites into Omad’s bloodstream to clear out the alcohol and various other foreign chemicals—but he decided against it. Omad could’ve chosen to make himself immune before he got started. He’d obviously wanted to get blind and stinking drunk, and Justin knew enough about life to realize that sometimes that’s just what a person had to do. He did what any friend would do for a passed-out, drunk buddy. He put him on a clean couch, facedown, near the edge with a large bowl nearby, took off his boots, and put a light blanket over him. Justin called Neela and told her that Omad was fine, and that he, himself, probably wouldn’t be back until the following morning. He hated losing any time with her, as it was now measured in months instead of decades. But Omad was a friend and, as he explained to his lover, he didn’t have all that many left. She understood and wished him luck. Justin took off his shoes and settled himself down in a chair near his nearly comatose friend, and sooner than he would have thought possible was sound asleep.

He was awakened by Omad sitting up and groaning. “Did someone piss in my mouth?” Omad looked like a man who wanted to spit but didn’t have the saliva to do so. Justin poured and handed him a cup of hot coffee from a nearby counter.

“That foul, acidic crap in your mouth is all you, Omad,” answered Justin. “Well, you and a variety of booze.”

“What the hell is booze?”

“Alcohol,” Justin corrected.

“Ahh.” Omad took a sip of the coffee, looked dubiously at the cup, and took another sip. “What did I do or say last night?”

“I don’t know about before I got there, but when I got there you called me an asshole and tried to start a fight.”

“Sounds about right,” he said, grinning. “Sorry about the asshole part. Well, no, you actually are an asshole, but I don’t think you can help it.”

Justin laughed. “Who can?”

Omad smiled. “Good point.” Justin settled back in his chair and called room service for a simple breakfast of oatmeal and orange juice. They waited in companionable silence for the food to arrive, and when it did they both chowed down. When breakfast was done, Omad remained unusually tight-lipped.

“Let me guess,” asked Justin, “you’ve been offered a great job at great pay, but it’s nowhere near the Earth… or me, for that matter.”

Omad looked up from his plate. “Something tells me this is not the first time you’ve heard this.”

“They’re doing something similar to Neela—only she doesn’t have much of a choice.”

Omad put his utensils down. “That’s gotta hurt.”

“What are the details?” asked Justin.

“Leading a mining expedition,” answered Omad. “In the belt. On-site management, great quarterly pay, plus a percentage of all gross profits from the mining as a result of my discoveries.”

“Sounds great,” Justin offered, knowing full well it didn’t. “When do you leave?”

“Fuck you, and fuck them, too. They can take their bribe and shove it out an airlock.”

Another long pause.

“Omad, I don’t get something,” said Justin, sipping from his coffee. “You don’t approve of my being unincorporated, right?”

“Yeah, it’s downright inhuman.”

“But you’re willing to stand by me.”

“I don’t run out on friends… ever.”

Justin was suspicious.

“There’s something else, isn’t there?”

“Who died and made you auditor?”

“What’s bothering you, Omad?” Justin asked again, ignoring the snipe.

Omad got up and refilled his coffee and sat back down. “Justin, I know that you say you don’t own stock in anyone, the original divestment guy and all, but you wouldn’t happen to have some shares of my stock you were hanging on to?”

“Why would you ask me a question like that?”

“So I’m guessing that would be a no.”

“I don’t get it,” said Justin, “don’t you already have a majority?”

“Yeah, but it might not be big enough.”

“Big enough for what? I thought majority was majority.”

Omad looked at Justin through weary, bloodshot eyes. “For a guy who’s so smart, I sometimes forget just how much of an idiot you can be.”

“Though Neela can attest to my finer points of idiocy, I can assure you this is just a case of ignorance, Omad, so please help me out.”

Omad sighed. “When a person gets a majority of themselves they get a lot of control over their lives.”

“But…”

“But not total; especially if it’s not a big majority. I only have 53.737 percent of my stock. The bastards who own the other 46 point whatever of me have the right to expect a decent return on their investment. When I turn down this job, they’re going to be a wee bit upset that they’re not going to be getting the dividends they’d have a right to expect.”

“But what could they do? You are, after all, a majority stockholder of yourself. Why not just take it to a vote?”

“For one, they could take it to court. If they can prove ‘depraved indifference’ or ‘conspiracy to defraud,’ I could lose.”

“You’re rich, pay the fine.”

“Justin, you don’t get it.
They could sue for stock
.”

“Jesus.” Justin thought about what he’d just heard. “So that’s why you wanted to know if I had any extra stock. How much would make you bulletproof?”

“If I understand what you’re saying,” answered Omad, “seventy percent usually does it.”

“Omad, can I ask you a question?”

Omad nodded.

“But,” he continued, “you gotta answer it honestly. No jokes, equivocations, or your usual bullshit.”

“My pounding head awaits your question.”

“If I wasn’t in the picture, would you take this job?”

“In a nanosecond.”

“Then stop being an idiot,” exclaimed Justin, “and take the job.”

“Can’t, Justin. First of all, I didn’t earn the job. They’re just giving it to me to split me up from your ignorant, primitive ass. Second of all, like I was sayin’, I don’t walk out on my friends… ever.”

Justin put his cup down on the coffee table.

“First of all, what a load of crap. If a thousand credits fell out of Hektor’s pocket and you picked it up, would you run after him and give it back, or find me, go to a bar, and get drunk on his money?”

“Hell, Justin,” grinned Omad, “we’d be shit-faced within the hour.”

“Good answer. Well, guess what, asshole? Hektor Sambianco and GCI just dropped a suitcase filled with money right in front of you. As for the ‘walking out on friends’ part, it goes both ways. You’re my friend, too, and I wouldn’t be a good one if I let you screw up a perfectly good opportunity to screw GCI out of untold amounts of credit.”

“Hey, Justin, news flash, it’s my choice to make.”

“Not according to the rules of incorporation that you keep on telling me I should get on board with. According to you, those rules will fuck you if you stay. So do me a favor and go get stinkin’ rich. Make GCI regret ever giving you such a great deal.”

“Fine,” answered Omad, relenting.

“But,” continued Justin, “you’d better come back here with all those credits you’ve earned and buy me something worthy.”

“Worthy, huh? What’d you have in mind?”

“I don’t know. What’s Tokyo going for these days?”

“Tokyo? Man, you wouldn’t appreciate Tokyo. It’s a crying shame about Shanghai. Now, that would’ve been something.”

“Right.” Justin remembered reading about how the Three Gorges Dam was destroyed during the Grand Collapse and had never been rebuilt.

“How about Bangor?” offered Omad, sheepishly.

“Bangor? Bangor, Maine? Fuck you, Omad. Stay in the asteroid belt, you cheap bastard. At least you could have offered me Havana.”

Omad looked confused.

“The one in Cuba?” Justin almost pleaded.

“Where’s Cuba?”

“Jesus Christ, what happened to Cuba?”

Omad started laughing. “Oh, man, Justin. I just love doing that shit to you.”

“You son of a…”

When Justin got back to his new house he was surprised to see the flyer of some unexpected visitors in the driveway. The car hovering by the guesthouse belonged to Mosh and Eleanor. He entered through the front sunroom and immediately heard voices coming from the library. He went in to find Neela, Mosh, and Eleanor sitting on opposite sides of the plush leather couch, obviously having an enjoyable conversation together.

“So Gil’s back working for me, and Dr. Wang has her own practice.”

Neela laughed out loud. “Who would have thought? To listen to them go on for years about what they planned to do…”

“Well,” continued Mosh with a wan smile, “the nosedive their stock prices took really…”

He looked up as Justin entered the room. “Justin, glad to see you’re looking well. We were just catching Neela up on some old workmates.”

Justin sat by Neela. “You two are always welcome.”

Eleanor got up and gave Justin a peck on the cheek. Mosh stayed decidedly put on the couch. “We found out about what happened to Neela and came by to offer her help.”

“You can stop her transfer?” Justin asked, with a glimmer of hope, knowing full well he’d piss off Neela, who’d already made her feelings about the matter quite clear.

“Wish I could. Even made some calls to see if I could get her back at Boulder. Had to use favors to get that far. But there’s no way, Justin. They ain’t budging.”

“Why not?” he asked. “You used to be an important figure at GCI.”

“Used to. Not anymore. Besides, if they respected The Chairman before, they worship the ground he walks on now. Him and his damned apostle, Hektor Sambianco. The Chairman proposed this plan, and the board will do his will.”

“Who
is
this guy that he can mess with my life with impunity?”

Mosh sighed. “Justin, The Chairman is the most savvy, cunning, and capable corporate mover I have ever seen. He understands the incorporated world better than any person alive. He started out as a penny and rocketed his way to the top. Me, personally? Didn’t like him much. He was superficially friendly enough, but he’d crush anyone and anything that got in his way. That’s the reason I got out. I may have been able to get the Chairmanship of GCI, but I didn’t want it as badly as he did. I’m good at the corporate game, Justin. But I would’ve been ‘Mosh McKenzie,’ Chairman of GCI. I never would have been ‘The Chairman.’ ”

“That still doesn’t explain why he’s going after me.”

“Justin,” Mosh explained, “in his mind, he’s not going after you, you’re going after him. You’re disrupting the system that he’s mastered. You’re screwing with his whole universe. And have done so, I might add, while escaping every attempt of GCI’s to have you incorporated. And because of all that the whole solar system is up in arms. I’d venture to say that you’re probably the first person I’ve ever met to truly scare the guy.”

“But I’m
not
going after him. I mean, for goodness’ sakes, I didn’t start this,
he
did.”

Mosh sighed. “Justin, I respect what you’ve done, really, I do. But that’s a load of horse crap.”

Justin gave a weary smile. “OK, Mosh, I guess you deserve a turn, too. Everyone else seems to have gotten one. So go ahead, tell me what an evil man I’m being.”

“Justin,” he answered, weariness evident in his voice, “you’re not evil. The truth is, I think you’re absolutely remarkable. But you are a little selfish, a tad hypocritical, and, I suspect, a little scared. At least, that’s why I believe you’re refusing to incorporate. You have this notion of who and what you are, and somehow you think it’s incompatible with our way of doing things. So you say, ‘Leave me alone and I’ll leave you alone.’ But it can’t work like that. You damned well know the effect that you’re having on the universe. And if you don’t you’re blind, an idiot, or both.”