The Unincorporated Man (54 page)

Justin was surprised to see Manny blush, Omad spit out some of his beer laughing, and the rest of his friends trying hard to swallow their chuckles.

“What!?” was all he could think to say.

Omad leaned over and whispered into Justin’s ear.

Justin’s eyes widened. “Really?”

Omad nodded.

“Oh,” answered Justin, who was now caught between laughing and blushing. He chose to laugh. “Manny, trust me, you’re not my type.”

This brought about more laughter, but at least it broke the tension. “I guess,” said Justin, “although some things don’t change, how we say them does. My apologies. If you could continue,” he said, looking toward Manny more for deliverance than facts.

Manny blinked a couple of times and got his train of thought back. “Oh, yes.” He stood and began walking around the table as if playing a game of duck, duck, goose. “The good news is that if you can avoid being served you will have time to prepare. As long as you do not leave here or look out the window you cannot be served. It should be a couple of weeks before they burn down the building.”

Justin interrupted. “They wouldn’t burn down an entire…” but stopped when he saw Mosh shaking his head. “Ahh, continue, Manny.”

“But when they do see you, they’ll serve you.”

Justin placed his hands on his hips and grimaced slightly, preparing for the worst. “Spell it out, Manny. Who and with what?”

“The Terran Federation will serve you for the purposes of getting their 5 percent.”

Everyone thought about what Manny had just said, and Justin noticed that every head at the table was nodding slowly, as if understanding the idea, and even possibly approving of it.

“What do you mean, ‘getting their 5 percent’?”

Manny continued his matter-of-fact accounting.

“According to Article four of the Terran Constitution all persons born or naturalized into the Terran Confederation shall not be required to pay taxes. All such persons shall have an initial portfolio of one hundred thousand shares. The Terran Confederation shall receive five thousand shares. The Terran Confederation may not, in any way, acquire more shares or the benefit of more shares, nor may they give up those shares in any way, or lose the benefits of those shares.” When he saw that what he’d just said elicited no questions, Manny continued. “Justin, you’ve been woken up in this society. The government can make a case that you have taken advantage of its abilities or, let’s just say, standardized parts and protocols. For example, you’ve used t.o.p.s and flying cars. And, of course, you specifically used the federal court system during your first trial. They’re claiming damages and want what is owed them.”

Justin was trying to keep his cool, but he was beginning to realize now what his cohorts had realized only moments earlier.

It sounded reasonable.

“Manny,” he said, maintaining his composure but feeling something in the pit of his stomach nonetheless, “can the government actually win this case? Can I be compelled to incorporate?”

“Justin, all the government has to do is show that they’ve been damaged… .”

“But… but… I can pay for all of that!”

“Pay for all what, Justin?” responded Manny, purposely coming down hard. “Traffic? Parking? Defense? The terraforming of planets? You’re telling me you’re not going to visit Mars… ever?”

“Well… ,” Justin stuttered.

“I’m not done yet,” Manny said. “You’d also have to prove why an outlandish means of collection—which would be the case—in your case is something the government or society would be interested in.”

“What about my interest?” Justin asked.

Manny shot him a look. “Your interest, Mr. Cord, does not outweigh the interest of the whole system and how the government administers its affairs. At least, that is what I would argue.”

“And,” interjected Omad, “if you don’t mind my saying so, which I’m sure you will, they’d be right.”

“Care to elaborate, Omad?” asked Justin.

Omad smirked. “Justin, I like you. To be honest, you’re one of the few people I’ve ever really respected. So, hopefully, you won’t mind me telling you to do us all a favor and grow up.” Omad waved aside the shushing motions. “No, he needs to hear this.” Omad stared pointedly at his friend. “When you took on GCI I was all for you. Those bastards needed to be taken down a peg. When you busted those chains during Mardi Gras, I thought, ‘Free system, baby! Stick it to ’em.’ But Justin, look at what’s going on. You live up here all day long in this ivory tower, and when you leave this ivory tower you just t.o.p. or fly over to another one. Hey, don’t get me wrong. I like ivory towers, too. But I also go back home to the bars and the pawnshops of the pennies and, ya know what? They’re scared. Except for the ones shouting ‘one free man,’ and preaching about divestment—those bastards scare me. I went up to one a few days ago and said, ‘Aren’t you afraid of a psyche audit? What with you saying all of this out in public?’ And you know, he looked me square in the eye and said, ‘Hey, mister, we’re all psyche-audited—have been from birth. All they could do is give me another one.’ ”

Omad shook his head in disbelief, repeating, “All they could do is give me another one,” for effect. He continued, “Justin, this crazy Alaskan was not scared of a psyche audit, and I can almost guarantee you he ain’t the only one. And you know what, my friend? Sean Doogle may be their leader, but you’re their god. Incorporate, Justin. End this thing.”

“Oh, I see,” Justin said, his face contorted in disbelief, “some nutcase decides to make me into his group’s poster boy, and I’m expected to part with a piece of me? Where will it end, Omad? Next month it’ll be another lunatic, and so on and so on. Don’t you see, it’s
my
freedom, and what you’re saying is, ‘Just sell yourself into servitude for the good of society.’ Well, let me ask
you
a question.” His eyebrows arched in anger. “Why would I want to belong to a society that would ask that of me?”

Omad shook his head and fiddled with his DijAssist on the table. “Justin, I think you’re way off base, but you’re my friend, and I hope I’m still yours. Know this about me. I’ll follow a friend to the gates of hell and walk right in if that’s what the damned fool needs. But don’t expect me to go without telling him what a damned fool he’s being.”

Justin’s shoulders sagged a bit. “You’re still my friend, Omad. I’m just worked up, is all.”

“Justin,” Eleanor pleaded, “couldn’t you just accept this? What is it they’re asking for? I think we all agree that this lawsuit has nothing to do with money. What they really want is for you to join us. Is that really so bad?”

Justin looked at everyone. Mosh was clearly proud of and therefore in agreement with his wife. Omad was drinking his beer, pretending not to give a shit, and Dr. Gillette was carefully neutral. Manny… well, Manny was, as usual, in his own private Idaho.

“Eleanor,” Justin stated firmly, “I can’t. Manny, we’re going to fight.”

The Unincorporated Man appeared in Geneva today. According to witnesses, he actually went to the office of the attorney general and requested his summons to court. The flummoxed government staff did not have a summons on hand. The Unincorporated Man allegedly spent the time the government bureaucrats needed to get the document ready signing autographs. By the time he left the building crowds of people were gathered. The crowd, made up of government workers and average citizens from all walks of life, started chanting “in-cor-por-ate.” The Unincorporated Man went into the crowd and started answering questions. By the time he left the crowd had stopped chanting. In this reporter’s opinion, the Unincorporated Man may be selfish and dangerous, but he certainly does have style.

—CAM LO SONG FOR
NEURO COURT NEWS

Hektor Sambianco was a very busy man. And it wasn’t just his surreptitious running of the court case against Justin Cord. As DepDir of Special Operations for GCI he was in charge of a number of projects important to the corporation’s well-being. Beyond even that, Hektor had come to realize that GCI had grown so large and powerful, with connections in so many facets of everyday life in the solar system, that the interests of humanity and the interests of GCI had become indistinguishable. In order for GCI to be healthy and grow, the socioeconomic body had to be healthy. For the first time in Hektor’s life he felt he was working not only for his own good, but for the good of everyone. With rare exception, Hektor Sambianco had not acted for anyone but himself. But now
his
choices and actions helped the great mass of humankind. The ignorant always needed to be led, and he was now a leader. What surprised him most was how appropriate that felt. It was strictly a side benefit. He still wanted Justin’s head on a corporate pike.

He was struck by the number of decisions that had to be made on an almost minute-by-minute basis. Special Operations was responsible for intelligence gathering, paramilitary actions, propaganda, threat assessment, unusual acquisitions, occasional assassinations, site and personal security, as well as a host of other activities. If GCI was to be compared to a pre-GC American government, then Special Operations would be the FBI, CIA, NSA, and Secret Service all rolled into one. It was a level of responsibility that many people simply couldn’t handle. Hektor, however, thrived. It was as if he were a shark living in a shallow, brackish pond suddenly released into the wide-open seas. He spent his first couple of weeks catching up on all of GCI’s projects. At first he had to go with his instincts as to whom to trust and whom to replace, which projects to advance, close down, or put in a holding pattern. But more quickly than he or anyone could have imagined, Hektor began to get an understanding of the overall picture of the mammoth corporation. He spent every free waking moment of every day immersed in reading, researching, interviewing, and inspecting. He was in constant contact with his staff. The truth of the matter was that Hektor Sambianco was the first V.P. of Special Operations in decades to be good at his job. This had less to do with his predecessors’ abilities than with the nature of corporate politics.

Though it seemed ironic, the vice president of Special Operations was too powerful a post to give to a competent individual. A truly power-hungry individual could go from V.P. of Special Operations to Chairman in a remarkably short period of time, a fact not lost on the current Chairman of GCI, whose previous job had been V.P. of Special Operations. Usually the V.P. of Special Ops post was filled on a rotating basis by all the various department heads of the Special Operations branch. They would be given the title of deputy director of Special Operations, or DepDir for short, and after a few years put back in their old job and replaced with someone else. The few times that a talented or overly ambitious executive was given the formal job of V.P. they would inevitably find themselves in a situation they couldn’t handle, and be removed from the GCI power structure. Wiser heads knew not to become V.P. of Special Operations. Some, like Mosh McKenzie, had built themselves secure little empires and retired from the larger fray. The Chairman wisely let those sleeping dragons lie. Others were happy taking alternate positions on the board. The long-standing and powerful,
but not too powerful
, V.P. of Accounting was such an example.

It was believed by most corporate insiders and reporters who specialized in the corporate world’s byzantine politics that Hektor Sambianco, like Kirk Olmstead before him, was due for a fall. It was leaked by some insiders that if not for the Unincorporated Man, Hektor would not be needed at all. However, almost all believed that if Hektor could maintain his position for a decade or more he would be the next Chairman of GCI.

No one, even the board itself, understood the paradigm shift that had taken place on that fateful day of Kirk Olmstead’s demise. But both Hektor and The Chairman understood it. Hektor was loyal to the man in charge. Maybe it was because he had spent his entire adult life with The Chairman being
The Chairman
. Maybe it was because he knew he was trusted to do his job with intervention from above kept to a minimum with the merest of suggestions rather than detailed commands. Maybe it was simply the way The Chairman made Hektor feel whenever he was in the great man’s presence—almost like an adoring son desperately in need of his father’s approval. Or it could have been the sense that as long as The Chairman was in his office, everything would be alright. Even though he’d have a tough time explaining why, Hektor knew he couldn’t have done nearly as good a job if his superior wasn’t looking down from above, occasionally dotting the
i
s and crossing the
t
s.

The Chairman, understanding this, allowed Hektor the authority he needed to do his job properly. For the first time in decades the DepDir of Special Operations could hire, fire, or transfer personnel and use operational funds at his discretion. Hektor was alive. He was in a position to defend the system that, until recently, he hadn’t realized he cared about. Best of all, The Chairman was pleased.

Implicit in the relationship was Hektor’s ability to control the occasional fires that erupted. The Cord fiasco had already downed one V.P., and Hektor wasn’t about to let it oust another. The first order of business, as far as the new V.P. of Special Ops was concerned, was with Justin’s accomplice, Sean Doogle. Hektor had realized early on that Sean was the greater immediate threat, so after getting the ball rolling on the government versus Justin case, he began the arduous task of dealing with Sean Doogle and his Liberty Party rabble. He knew that once Justin was incorporated the problem would resolve itself, but until the trial Doogle and his minions could cause a lot of damage. Since the problem was social as well as economic, Hektor dealt with it on both levels. He answered almost all of Sean Doogle’s broadsheets with broadsheets of his own. He began a subtle advertising campaign to be used not with the 25 percenters but with the 30 to 35 percenters. It was a means of subtly reinforcing their loyalty to the system and society. He likened it to a social firewall. To deal with the pennies he began reminding them of what it was like to be poor in the pre-GC era. Heart-wrenching ads showed people being forced to pay taxes, live in boxes, and watch helplessly as only a few chosen by the elite were jettisoned off into space.