The Unincorporated Man (63 page)

As bad as the current crisis was, Hektor and his band of marketing demographic geniuses knew that the situation was not only precarious, but could be significantly worse. If Justin took it into his head to act on his power, or the Liberty Party decided to do something monumentally stupid, or the Action Wing pulled off a particularly nasty stunt the course of events could change on a credit. The figures showed that in a worst-case scenario the Terran Confederation could be split into competing political and economic units, with billions dead. Of course, the program Hektor was using to arrive at these figures had never been intended to predict the types of anomalies now emerging. Even his handpicked experts were having to make adjustments on the fly, which was why Hektor only trusted the predictions to a point. After that he relied purely on instincts. And those instincts told him he was riding a dragon. Though he’d admit it to no one, he absolutely loved it. The Chairman was with him, and Hektor was the great one’s chosen instrument of salvation. He would not fail him. Justin Cord would incorporate, and the system would be saved.

The board meeting was lively. Everyone was tired, stressed, and overworked. There were even a few new faces, as some original members were unable to adjust to the stress of the Crisis and so were quickly replaced. All four special adviser to the board slots were filled, and those poor souls looked exhausted, as they’d quickly become junior members of the board, covering vital areas. In defiance of protocol they’d been given seats around the long table. They still couldn’t vote, and were not allowed to speak until spoken to, but they were questioned so often that the last restriction of “sitting” hardly applied anymore. No one in the room had spent quality time with their loved ones in months. Some had even moved their families into the security apartments that GCI maintained at its headquarters to spare themselves the commute.

Hektor began the board meeting. “Ladies and gentlemen of the board, first off, is everything OK?” He was greeted with a chorus of derisive shouts and suggestions, but it had the effect of breaking up the tension. Some of the board members even laughed. One of the positive changes the Crisis had had was to make the setting less formal, and to allow the board to act more as a team than as a warring party of administrators. It was still the single most powerful group in the solar system, but at least now, thought Hektor, it was getting a sense of humor—even if it was of the gallows variety.

The latest head of Advertising spoke up first. “The new ads have been tested and are going out. We’re stressing a new angle: ‘In troubled times, trust your friends and portfolio to see you through.’ ”

When he saw Hektor nod his head in appreciation, he continued. “The campaign follows along that basic premise. I have three separate teams working on three separate campaigns based upon which direction the Crisis takes.”

“Good job, Advertising,” said Hektor. “The Chairman has also reviewed your ideas and was impressed.”

Advertising beamed.

“How go our finances?” Hektor asked.

Accounting, who had that classic just-used-a-sonic-shower-bag look, lifted herself up from under a stack of papers and data crystals. “Since we were able to pre-position ourselves before the Crisis as opposing Justin Cord and all that he stood for, I’d have to say surprisingly well. That, combined with our current advertising campaign, has most of the system looking to GCI as a safe haven. Our bonds have been selling out, and we’ve been issuing new offerings every ten days. Even with the ridiculously low interest we’re offering, they’re gone in days. Before the Crisis, it would have taken months for a bond issue to sell out. As a result, the situation of our currency is even stronger now than it was before. Much of this is because of the flight from the entertainment and travel currencies. I need the board’s authorization to increase our currency stocks by 3 percent immediately or we’ll face a deflation that will make a hash of lending policies systemwide.”

Hektor nodded. “A motion has been put before the board to authorize Accounting to increase our currency totals by 3 percent.”

“I second the motion,” said Janet Delgado, now firmly back as Legal.

“Motion has been made and seconded. All in favor?” Hektor saw that it was unanimous. “Approved.”

Accounting continued. “I will also need the ability to release up to an additional 3 percent at my discretion, as well as the authority to withdraw, by various means, the 6 percent and an additional 2 percent beyond, at my discretion.”

“That’s quite a request,” said the normally quiet V.P. of Shipping and Supply. “What on Mars for?”

“The rise in value in our currency,” she answered back, “is not based on an increase in our productive capacity or improved services. We have simply become a haven currency. Such currencies are incredibly volatile, with wild swings in value—sometimes on a daily basis. But my research shows that eventually these currencies are, for lack of a better word, called to account. The closer I can keep those currencies to the actual productive value they represent, the less harm we should experience overall. I need this authority to keep the GCI credits value as close to reality as possible, while avoiding inflation and deflation.”

“Brenda,” Janet asked Accounting, dispensing with the title formality, “what you’re asking to do now… I was led to believe that this was how all currencies operated back in the Unincorporated Man’s day. Can that be true?”

“Believe it or not, yes.”

“How can you run an economy with money like that?” Shipping asked, hardly believing his ears. “That is, one based on perception and not on reality?”

“They couldn’t,” answered Hektor, “but, then again, they never really trusted the pure market.”

Janet looked back at Accounting. “Well, then how long can we, um… screw with it this way?”

Accounting shrugged her shoulders, resigned. She had no idea. None of them envied her the job she was forced to do, nor would they begrudge her the powers she asked for.

Hektor checked his monitor, which let him know where The Chairman stood. “A motion has been put forward to grant Accounting the ability to release up to an additional 3 percent at her discretion, with the additional authority to withdraw, by various means, the 6 percent and an additional 2 percent beyond, at her discretion.”

“I second,” said Advertising.

“Motion has been made and seconded,” announced Hektor. “All those in favor raise their hands.” Again, unanimous. Hektor called for drinks to be served, and then waited patiently until everyone was reasonably comfortable.

“What I’m about to say will disturb some of you. Actually, who am I kidding? Probably all of you. So here goes. You all must realize that all our efforts will ultimately be futile.” He wasn’t greeted with cries of surprise or outrage. What he got instead were shrugs of acknowledgment.

“I feel like I’m putting out little fires all over the place,” said Advertising. “When I get one taken care of, another one pops up.” He got appreciative nods of agreement.

Hektor smiled. “That’s almost word for word how The Chairman put it.”

“I don’t suppose he has a solution.”

“Yes, as a matter of fact, he does.” The room perked up. “I think that I can tell you now. The Chairman has had a plan for quite a while now. I’ve just been implementing it. He knows how hard you’ve all been working, and will continue to work, but it has been to a purpose.”

“About fucking time,” exclaimed Janet. “What do you need?”

“Well,” answered Hektor, “the board will have to authorize a stock purchase of about one billion credits.”

Silence.

“We’re going to bribe him?” asked Accounting, whose signature and DNA sample would ultimately rest on the large request.

“In a manner of speaking,” said Hektor. He gave the board just enough information to make them realize the stakes being played and with whose blessings.

After getting the board to approve The Chairman’s plan, Hektor began to think about the best time to spring his trap on Justin. He filtered out the noise of the back-and-forth arguments, and went back to imagining what Justin’s face would look like the moment he realized he’d been checkmated. His only regret was that he couldn’t be a fly on the wall for that moment.
Give nano another hundred years
, he half joked to himself. He noticed that Janet was the first one out of the boardroom. She was on her way back to Manny Black, of course. At first moving him into her security apartment seemed like an invitation to a gross conflict of interest. But the more Janet was with Manny the less Manny was with Justin, so Hektor had kept his peace.

A loud, piercing alarm broke his reverie. Before he could blink, three massive titanium doors at the boardroom’s entrance made a rapid descent from the ceiling to the floor, hitting the marble with such ferocity that Hektor was surprised the doors hadn’t kept on going into the floors below. He managed to look over toward the doors, only to see the shock on Janet’s face as the large steel doors cut her off from the boardroom. Next came the unmistakable hiss of airlocks springing to action. The room had been sealed, and now the most powerful group of individuals in the solar system, sans their Legal representative, was effectively trapped in the top story of the world’s tallest building. If they knew what was going on just outside their well-sealed environs they would’ve thanked their lucky stars.

Hektor remained calm, believing now more than ever it was his job to do so. Alarms had gone off before, and in the present state of heightened security, they’d probably go off again. Best not to get all worked up until he knew exactly what was happening. He checked the Neuro for any relevant information. When he finished reading the small bit of news he did manage to find, his face turned ashen white. He immediately tried to reach Janet to warn her to stay put, but for some strange reason he couldn’t get his or her avatar to respond. For the first time in Hektor’s adult life he was completely terrified.

13 Fall

Tough, omnivorous “bacteria” could outcompete real bacteria: They could spread like blowing pollen, replicate swiftly, and reduce the biosphere to dust in a matter of days. Dangerous replicators could easily be too tough, small, and rapidly spreading to stop—at least, if we made no preparation. We have trouble enough controlling viruses and fruit flies…  .

Among the cognoscenti of nanotechnology, this threat has become known as the “gray goo problem.” Though masses of uncontrolled replicators need not be gray or gooey, the term “gray goo” emphasizes that replicators able to obliterate life might be less inspiring than a single species of crabgrass.

—ERIC DREXLER,
ENGINES OF CREATION:

THE COMING ERA OF NANOTECHNOLOGY
, 1986

GRAY BOMB USED!

TERRORIST ATTACK CENTERED AT GCI SYSTEM HEADQUARTERSFLATTENS HALF OF NYC! MILLIONS FEARED PERMANENTLY DEAD!

In an attack that showed technical skill and a viciousness not seen in the Crisis until now, members of the Action Wing claimed credit for the release of a Gray Bomb at GCI system headquarters. The permanent death toll is in the millions and, given the nature of the attack, will have to be calculated using secondary means. The attack appears to have been centered in the middle of the residential area of the GCI Tower and Harlem.

The Action Wing has claimed responsibility and has sent to all media outlets claims that the nanites should have deactivated after reducing three cubic kilometers to dust, the goal being the complete destruction of GCI system headquarters and all of its key personnel.

“Those stupid fuckers had no idea what they were working with,” claimed the head of research at NaniCo, the leader in nanite research. “Three cubic kilometers!? Do you have any idea how many generations of replicators are needed to reduce three cubic kilometers to dust? We’re talking hundreds, making up trillions of nanites! All I can say is, thank Damsah for Hektor Sambianco and GCI. If they hadn’t contained this thing there’s no telling what could’ve happened. Probably would’ve lost the planet. And you can forget about psyche-auditing these Action Wing bastards. I say, kill ’em. Kill ’em all!”

According to experts, the Gray Bomb was not more effective due to strict precautions that GCI had taken as a result of the recent disturbances. Hektor Sambianco, vice president of Special Operations, had implemented a series of countermeasures based on worst-case scenarios. Luckily for the planet and millions of New Yorkers, one such scenario was that of a Gray Bomb. When the attack was detected, the GCI building was closed down, compartmentalized, and all air systems directed inward. Security personnel had equipment on hand to capture and analyze hunter/killer nanites that were released soon after the nature of the attack became apparent but, sadly, not before the lion’s share of damage had been done. By the time GCI security had secured GCI HQ with its all-important Nano-Lab and been dispatched to the rest of NYC, tremendous damage had already been done. Millions were dead and much of the city lay in ruin.

Ironically, many family members had been brought to GCI system headquarters for safety. Among the permanent dead, Manny Black, the extraordinary lawyer and close friend of Justin Cord. Mr. Black had been staying at the apartment of vice president of GCI Legal, Janet Delgado, who is also believed to be permanently dead. It is believed that Ms. Delgado made her way back to her apartment after being accidentally locked out of a GCI board meeting.

Hektor Sambianco, speaking for the board, had this to say: “NYC, GCI, and the world have been attacked. Millions are in pain tonight, having to deal with losses that I cannot even begin to understand. To my friends and colleagues I can only offer my support and grieve with you. To those bastards who call themselves the Action Wing, there is no place you can hide. The whole system knows you for what you are. Your act of hatred and contempt for the lives of innocent children, women, and men will not be forgotten. Your ilk has been seen time and again, and always your hatred and evil has failed. You will fail this time. You’re finished.”

—
THE TUERRAN DAILY NEWS

J
ustin was still in shock. He was holding a DijAssist in his hands and staring at the images in abject horror. If the firemen atop the burned wreckage of the twin towers had been the visual icon of one of his era’s defining tragedies, then surely the image before him now would be the icon of this one. A jagged, half-eaten ruin of the Empire State Center could be seen in the foreground while emerging from its carcass was the miraculously still intact Empire State Building. Behind that in the background were the uneven remains of New York’s once mighty skyscrapers, now broken and jagged, with large gaps of empty space between them. In much the same way as a firestorm, the nanites had been fast but unpredictable in their paths of replication and destruction. His own apartment building had fallen victim to the plague of replicators, converting his three-hundred-story behemoth and all those inside into a pile of dust within minutes. Justin kept staring at the videos. In one, t.o.p.s were being blown out of the sky by unseen lasers, destroying any and all who attempted to flee the city. Fear of them spreading the nanites was enough justification for the government to shoot them down. The same grisly scenes played themselves out on the ground. People were being gunned down mercilessly lest they threaten the very existence of mankind itself. The skyline was filled with long plumes of smoke from one end of the city to the other. Justin didn’t believe—didn’t want to believe—that millions were gone. And that among those millions was Manny Black. He couldn’t begin to imagine what it must have been like. To be trapped in a room with no possibility of escape, waiting to be dissolved from the inside out. Knowing that it was coming, and then having to wait for the inevitable. At least Manny had had Janet with him. That was something, wasn’t it?

Though he mourned for the millions, it was the few who ended up having the most impact. He couldn’t get Manny out of his mind. Justin knew that he needed the lawyer’s skills in the courtroom, and even enjoyed the idiosyncrasies that so often annoyed others. But what Justin hadn’t realized—until it was too late—was just how much he
liked
Manny. Over the course of months he’d become a close friend. He’d miss having him over for meals, and hearing him go off on tangents that had nothing to do with the subject at hand. He’d even miss playing chess with him—no matter how many times Manny whupped his ass.

This attack had cast a harsh light on Justin, and now for the first time in ages, he was filled with self-doubt. He had money, fame, and love, but he was struggling to fit into the new world or, as Neela had so prophetically said, “make the world fit him.” Well, he’d made it fit alright—managed to shove that square peg into that round hole—but at what cost? He’d been willing to part with his money, the respect of the business community, and even a few friends—Mosh being a case in point—to live with himself, to be able to look himself in the mirror every day and say, “I don’t own anybody and nobody owns me.” But if the cost of making the world fit him was the death of so many, then perhaps that cost was too high. He wasn’t sure how long he’d been out walking, trying to drive the demons from his head, but it must have been hours, because the sun was setting and the dissonant symphony of birdsong had tapered off, replaced by the hypnotizing chirp of the crickets. And so, alone in the woods of Coffman Cove, Alaska, site of his new home, away from the Liberty Party faithful, and away from the harangue of the Hektor Sambiancos of the world to force him into a defensive posture, Justin Cord did something he never thought he’d do.

He wavered.

Since the attack on GCI all tourism and most entertainment stocks have taken a serious slide, with a corresponding slide in their currencies as well. GCI stock experienced a momentary decline, but quickly rallied as it was realized that all but one of the board had not been harmed, and GCI was marketing a new generation of hunter/killer nanites systemwide. Economic activity is the lowest it’s been in fifty years, with unemployment reaching toward the double digits for the first time in living memory. Although almost all employees are covered by private, comprehensive unemployment insurance, the system was not designed to handle this number of unemployed at the same time. There were rumors of some of the most venerable names in insurance declaring bankruptcy, but an unconfirmed bailout by system giant GCI apparently staved off disaster. Such measures will only help temporarily.

The insurance companies are paying unemployment benefits in the currencies of the industries the insured were fired from. Thus, many of the unemployed are being given benefits in devalued currencies when the products and services they most need must be purchased in currencies that are not only at full value, but have risen in value. Of the most pressing concerns, economically, is the fact that the policies were overwhelmingly written only to pay benefits for three months. Massive, sustained unemployment being considered unlikely, few individuals bothered to pay for benefits they were unlikely to use.

The effects of the unemployed and unpaid billions are predicted to have cascading, catastrophic consequences on the economy not seen since the days of the Grand Collapse and wars of unification.

—
ECONOMIC SYSTEM NEWS

“Justin, she’s here.” It was sebastian informing him of his visitor.

The door opened, and Cassandra, whom he hadn’t seen in some time, came flying in like an unraveling spindle of emotion. “Justin, I’ve been watching the satellite images,” she practically wailed. “It’s horrible, horrible! We should issue a bulletin showing that this so-called Action Wing has nothing to do with the Liberty Party.”

Justin looked up from his desk. His eyes were cold, his teeth clenched. “That’s going to be hard to do considering that we funded them.” As he said this four guards and two securibots emerged from the permiawalls and surrounded Cassandra. She also found herself enveloped in a stall field that allowed for minimal movement as well as acting as a disruption field for any equipment hidden or exposed on her body.

“Mr. Chairman,” she said, surprised, “what are you doing?”

“Holding you in custody until the authorities can get here,” he answered coolly.

“For what?” she asked in disbelief.

“For the deaths of millions innocent lives, to start.”

Cassandra was incensed. “But I had nothing to do with the Action Wing! How dare you?”

“Nothing, Cassandra? Nothing!?” he asked, barely able to contain his rage. “There are three million dead, maybe more. This Action Wing was
your
creation, and you can sit here and lie to my face?”

“I’m innocent,” she seethed. “I demand you release me!”

Justin held up a crystal and twirled it between his forefinger and thumb. “Cassandra, you may think of me as some buffoon playing at politics, but you seem to have forgotten what I was before I had myself suspended.” He then stood up from his desk and walked right up to her so that they were standing toe-to-toe. “You were good,” he continued. “The money you siphoned off was never much or ever to one place—seemingly. But those murderers you gave the money to, the money that
I
helped raise, were not so smart. Their encryption was good, but we tracked the spending.”

Cassandra said nothing.

“I was hoping,” continued Justin, “it was just you embezzling. I thought you were pissed—angry—that I was in charge, and were stealing enough money to start your own party. But you had grander plans, didn’t you, Cassandra? You funded an underground nanotech lab and hired all the personnel. Jesus, Cassandra, you ordered the deaths of more people than Pol Pot.”

“Circumstantial,” she muttered, her face now revealing the true antipathy she felt for her accuser. “That crystal proves nothing.”

He could see the venom in her eyes. Feel it burning into his soul. Such pure hatred he’d never experienced, not so close—so animal.

“It’s enough for a psyche audit,” he answered, unblinking. “Then we’ll know. But don’t worry, they’ll be extra careful—won’t let what happened to your husband happen to you.”

The mention of her late husband made her blood boil. Cassandra had had enough.

“You simpering moron!” she shrieked. “You think it’s all
so
easy. You think that the corporate bastards will just let us all go? Fool! Utter fool! You aren’t one tenth the man Sean was! He understood what had to be done. He understood that the ends justified the means!” She then spat at him, but the field surrounding her caught the large gob of spittle and slowly lowered it to the floor. Cassandra was breathing heavier now, straining against the field that grew more taut with every attempt to break free of it.

“History,” answered Justin, unfazed, “has had to deal with your kind forever. You don’t get it.
The ends are the means
. You are what you do and what you accept. What makes you think any sane person would want to live in a world that you created when its very nascence is the death of three million people?”

Cassandra smiled, and the malevolence of her stare silenced the room.

“They were already dead,” she stated with absolute calm. “
We
. . . are already… dead.”

She then began to laugh in fits, and then finally in convulsions. Justin was too disgusted to continue, and motioned for the guards to take her away. As they did, he could hear her screaming down the hallway, “Dead! You hear me, Cord? We’re
all
already dead!”

Neela found Justin in his San Francisco office, sitting on a couch, scanning documents, and barking orders to a ready and willing cadre of Liberty Party staffers (his divestiture crew had long since been folded into the larger movement). Justin seemed distracted, not driven. He’d been lauded for capturing the terrorist célèbre Cassandra Doogle but took no solace in that small victory, instead holding himself culpable: one, for trusting her, and two, for missing the signs that may have led to early detection. Though Neela had patiently explained to him that it couldn’t possibly be his fault—that Cassandra’s duplicity had gone undetected by greater, more resourceful terror-sniffing agencies than his own—he still bore the weight of the massacre on his shoulders. And so now he was going through the motions of running a ship without bothering to steer it. The faithful were unaware, thrilled only to be in the great man’s presence. Neela, however, knew better.