Book 3: 3rd World Products, Inc (10 page)

"Before Stephie can get a green card, Mr. Wilmot, someone's going to have to certify her as being a person.
That's
your real job for us, because we don't really know how to go about it. The gold is secondary."

Without taking his eyes off Steph, he asked, “Secondary? How can it be secondary?"

In her Jessica Rabbit voice, Stephanie said, “It will pay for my legal expenses, but it can't
buy
my autonomy, so it's only half a tool. At present, Mr. Wilmot, I'm an Artificial Intelligence who is legally considered an automobile."

With a slight and undoubtedly unnecessary flourish of her hand, an image of Stephie's Florida license plate appeared in the air above the desk. At that moment, Wilmot's secretary entered the office with the receipt for the coin. She froze about halfway across the room, staring at Stephie.

"How did you get in here?” she asked Stephie.

"Like this,” said Steph, then she seemed to disappear instantaneously.

She reappeared next to the secretary and reached to take the receipt from her hand. The secretary gave a little shriek and scrambled back a couple of paces. Stephie apologized for startling her, then walked over to hand me the receipt and sat back down in the chair.

"Don't misunderstand me,” said Steph. “I'm not like some silly TV android on a quest to become as human-like as possible. I'm only trying to achieve legal and social autonomy, so that I may independently pursue my own interests."

"Ah...” said Wilmot, seemingly almost unable to gather his thoughts. “Ah ... Well, uh, what might those interests be, exactly?"

Stephie grinned and indicated the cardboard box as she said, “Treasure hunting, for one thing. I'm also thinking of starting my own salvage business."

That startled me as well as Wilmot. Stephie had never mentioned being interested in starting a business. Wilmot slowly sat back in his chair and glanced at me. I gave him my best
'this is news to me, too'
expression before turning back to Stephie.

"Should I be looking for a new flitter?” I asked.

"No, Ed. Not even for a new flitter pilot. Very little will change for us."

"What things will change?"

Stephie stood up, then a duplicate of her image stepped out of and away from the first image of her. The duplicate came to stand by my chair while the original sat back down. The Stephanie by my chair perched herself on the chair arm and both Stephanies said in perfect unison, “Nothing needs to change, as far as you're concerned. Not unless you want things to change. I'm just branching out a bit."

Wilmot's secretary's knees gave out and she moved to try to catch herself as she fell. Steph disappeared from the arm of my chair and reappeared by the secretary, assisting her to stand even as Wilmot and I were still getting to our feet. After a quiet, staring moment, the secretary tottered out of the room with Stephie's assistance.

A few moments later, the second Steph reappeared on the arm of my chair and said, “She'll be all right in a few minutes. I helped her to the bathroom."

Wilmot asked, “She did that on her own, didn't she? And you didn't know she could do it, did you? I saw your face when she divided herself."

I laughed shortly. “Yeah, right on both counts."

Nodding, Wilmot turned his still-staring gaze back to Stephie.

"I'll take your case,” he said. “I wouldn't miss this trolleycar for the world."

The Stephanie in the chair said, “It could turn out to be a long, ugly legal battle, judging from what I've read of such cases. I'd hate to have to look for another lawyer before it's over, Mr. Wilmot."

Wilmot sat fairly straight and said, “Ms. Montgomery. When I accept a case, I see it through unless extenuating circumstances come to light and can't be rectified."

"What sort of circumstances would those be in my case?"

"I can think of only one at present,” said Wilmot. “But I don't think you've lied to me about either your combined goals or your ability to qualify as an individual."

His gaze turned to me and there was a long moment of silence before he said, “But you, sir, appear to be more concerned with how much the gold will bring, even though you said it was secondary."

"I am,” I said. “The gold is secondary, but still crucial. Stephie isn't completely dependent on her flitter's engine for power. Even if her engine died and a replacement was unavailable, she could function
indefinitely
as you see her now using broadcast power."

"I'm not quite following you,” said Wilmot. “How does this relate to the value of the gold?"

"What I'm saying is that Stephie could conceivably live forever or close to it, so if they don't certify her as a person this year, she'll have plenty of time for trying again. But I won't live forever, Mr. Wilmot, and I'd like to be around to see Stephie succeed at this, so I'd like to get the matter of her autonomy into a courtroom soon. The problem is; we can't pay you or any other major legal fees unless the gold is sold."

I watched his eyes during my last words, but he remained impassive, so I continued, “We also probably can't conveniently open a major bank account in Stephie's name until the gold is turned to money. We might not be able to open that account in her name at all, conveniently or otherwise, until she's achieved legal individuality, but if that's the case, we'll just stash the money somewhere else. As I see it, we could probably file the necessary residency papers for her and set things in motion fairly cheaply, but the followup crap and repeated appearances in a case like this could be damned expensive."

Wilmot picked up the gold coin he'd been studying and leaned back in his chair. He looked at the coin in his hand for a few moments, then tossed it into the box with the others.

"You want a two-pronged, simultaneous attack on this matter that would use the treasure as a sort of bait,” he said. “I advise against that. We can show the gold around quietly this week and next. Immediate and ongoing sales can be handled through foreign brokers and the proceeds can be banked in a numbered foreign account. We could literally buy Ms. Montgomery a legally-recognized residency in any of several rather greedy little countries, and we could then file and fund her legal petition for US recognition without tax controversy that might hinder the process."

"Everybody'd know that she simply bought her status if she got it from some third-rate banana republic. It would only be as valid as the current regime."

Stephanie asked, “But if I had legal status in any other country, wouldn't that status be recognized here in the US?"

"Probably, but you wouldn't be able to vote,” I said. “Among other things. And if you want to reside here indefinitely, you'd need a renewable visa, which might be very hard to get. Better to fight the battle for your independence in the US or one of the NATO countries. Their stamps of recognition would hold a little more water than one from someplace like Nicaragua or Panama."

Wilmot said, “True enough. Ms. Montgomery..."

"Call me Stephanie, or Steph. Or Stephie."

Nodding, Wilmot said, “Stephanie, if you can manifest yourself this way in my office, is there any reason you couldn't do the same in an INS office?"

Steph shook her head and said, “No, none at all. The ‘me’ you're seeing is a manifestation of field energy."

"Does your flitter have to be nearby in order for you to appear?"

Again she shook her head. “No. The flitter could be anywhere on Earth. I manipulate broadcast power to create these field images."

Wilmot rubbed his face and gazed at her for a moment, then said, “We could simply attempt to process you as we would any other illegal immigrant. Under the
"Legal Immigration and Family Equity"
act, you could conceivably qualify as having—and I quote, here—
'a specialized job skill and a potential employer who will petition for you'
. This option hinges on there not being an American available for the job, but I'm sure Mr. Howdershelt would offer you such a job."

"Sure would, and you can call me Ed."

"And you can both call me George,” said Wilmot. “This is March third. The
'LIFE'
program is a temporary revival of an old immigration provision called
245(i),
and it closes to further applicants on April 30th. There's a $1000 fine assessed up front for being in the US illegally, but I don't foresee that being a problem. If they can find a way to accept your money, they'll have laid the groundwork for further recognition."

Stephie asked, “What if they simply keep the money and later fail to approve my application for residency?"

"Then we take them to court. If they won't recognize you as an illegal alien, they'll have no business assessing a fine, but if they take the money, they'll open the door to further proceedings."

Turning to me, he said, “As I said, her legality and the gold are two separate issues. We need only show that Stephanie is solvent and self-supporting in her own right and that she can do something for which an American can't conveniently be found. A few thousand dollars in a foreign account in her name will quell any question of her solvency, and I believe it won't be too difficult to demonstrate that she possesses the required specialized skills to qualify."

I asked, “What if they ask where her money came from?"

"They'll have no right to ask and neither of you will have an obligation to answer. Direct anyone asking such questions to me."

He pressed a button on his phone and called his secretary.

"Yes, sir?” she answered.

"Mrs. Javitz, please bring a pad and an extra chair."

"No,” said Steph. “I mean, no extra chair is necessary. She can use mine."

With that, the Stephie who'd been seated by the desk disappeared and the Stephie who perched on the arm of my chair smiled at us.

Wilmot recovered quickly and said, “As the lady said, no extra chair, Mrs. Javitz."

"Yes, sir."

Wilmot regarded Stephie quietly for some moments as Mrs. Javitz came in and sat down. Mrs. Javitz crossed her legs and prepared to take notes, all the while staring at Stephie, then abruptly turned to face Wilmot. He issued her a list of general and specific instructions concerning preparation of Stephie's INS documents, then told Mrs. Javitz to see if she could reach a man named Donald Jeffries.

"Jeffries will be our gold broker,” said Wilmot. “He's handled similar finds and he's known for discretion. Tomorrow, I want you to go to this bank"—he pulled a business card from his middle desk drawer and handed it to me—"And open a numbered account in Stephanie's name. Do you have $2,000 for this purpose?"

"I can get it from my bank tomorrow,” I said.

George nodded. “Good. Jeffries will need the account number for deposits. You'll be talking to him in this office sometime in the next few days. We'll work out his commissions and other such details then."

Steph asked, “What if the bank won't open an account for me?"

Wilmot picked up Stephie's CW passport and said, “I'll call ahead for you and set it up. This is all you'll need if you have the $2,000."

Handing Stephie's passport to Mrs. Javitz, he said, “Take Ms. Montgomery into your office and get her particulars for the forms, please. We'll be filing them late in early April. Right now, I'd like a few words with Mr. Howdershelt."

The ladies rose and left the room, and as the door shut behind them, George said, “Some people won't take this well at all, you know."

He went on to mention various other
'firsts'
that had incurred the wrath of social and religious powers and individuals;
'firsts'
such as integration in the South.

I shrugged. “Screw ‘em. Some people never take anything new very well."

George Wilmot seemed to think that he wasn't getting through to me.

"I'm talking about the same kinds of people who shoot clinic doctors and cite religious reasons for their actions.” He paused, then added, “You can expect to be opposed, and possibly violently opposed, no matter what the government says."

"I've faced them before over Amarans and other issues. If you believe there's danger ahead, why'd you take the case?"

Wilmot fiddled with his pen for a moment, then quietly said, “I'm sixty-three. This case will make history, one way or other. If I had to, I'd do it pro bono.” He looked up quickly. “Not that I'm offering to do that, of course. You aren't exactly broke."

I laughed. “No sweat. I didn't think you were offering, George."

Wilmot's phone beeped once. He pressed a button and Mrs. Javitz said that the appointment she'd been unable to cancel had just walked into the foyer. She was still holding the button as she greeted the newcomer with, “Hello, Mrs..."

Cutting her off, a woman's harsh voice asked, “Is he in there?"

George sighed and said, “My ex-wife. I can't put this one on hold, Ed, so I'm going to have to ask you to give us some privacy. Please leave one of the gold bars with Mrs. Javitz for verification. She'll give you another receipt for that purpose."

"No problem,” I said, tossing one of his business cards in the box with the gold items. “I'll see if I'm needed out front. If not, I'll just head back to Spring Hill."

The overdressed, bejeweled matron who came in as I was leaving eyed me doubtfully, glancing at my cardboard box. Her skeptical gaze swept over my fatigue shirt, jeans, and rubber-soled golf shoes, then returned to my face.

While looking at me, she said, “I'd been led to believe that you handled a better class of clientele, George."

I didn't look to see how George had taken her comment. I simply opened the box to let her see the coins and two gold bars, then closed it. Her eyes widened briefly, then met mine again.

"Is that all of it?” she asked coolly.

"Nope. There's five hundred pounds or more. That's why I need a lawyer."

Her eyes widened again. “Why are you leaving? Didn't George take your case?"

"If he had, would I be leaving?” I turned to Wilmot and said, “Thanks for the advice. Are you sure that one little coin will be enough?"

George smiled and said, “It covers the visit and your friend's INS papers, Ed. Don't worry about it."