The Unincorporated Man (14 page)

Omad noticed Neela as well. But his feelings were entirely different from those of his friend. Justin, he was beginning to realize, was a pretty good businessman, but he also knew that nothing could wreck a good deal faster than a businessman thinking with the wrong head. And Omad stood to profit from this deal. He saw that Justin wasn’t making a move to let Neela know where they were, and hoped that she’d miss them entirely and move on.

Neela headed straight for the pawnshop.

Omad smirked at Justin. “Tracked you down.”

“Yes,” Justin replied, with just a hint of admiration in his voice, “she did.”

Justin opened the door that Neela was making a beeline for and greeted her with a welcoming smile.

“Won’t you come in?” he said, taking her a little by surprise.

“There you are,” she said, with no small amount of triumph in her voice.

“Great, a party,” Fred called out from behind the counter. “Tell ya what, why don’t we just invite the whole goddamned block in? I’m sure they’d be equally fascinated as I am to hear a lesson on the Grand Collapse, multiple currencies, and how much my ass is starting to get sore sitting here watching this little freak show go on, I’m beginning to suspect, at my expense.”

“Dr. Harper,” said Omad, opening his palm in the direction of the source of the outburst, “Fred.” That was followed by a brief exchange of superficial nods. “Fred, Dr. Harper.”

“Pleasure,” Neela responded, with little conviction.

“Doctor?” asked Fred.

“Reanimationist,” answered Omad, saving Neela the honor. Then, using a thumb to point toward Justin, added, “
His
reanimationist.”

“Oh,” Fred said, eyeing Neela. “Sorry. For a moment there I thought you two were like… you know, a ‘thing.’ But obviously that would be pretty disgusting, even for Omad’s class of friends.”

Omad didn’t bother with an answer, choosing instead to lob a pointed gaze in the direction of Fred. And Justin, who actually thought his brief greeting
was
flirtatious, wondered why Fred would have a problem with that.

Time to move on.

“How’d you find me?” he asked Neela. “Am I tagged somehow? Some secret DNA-seeking sensor?”

She sidestepped the answer. “Actually, Mosh—I mean, Director McKenzie—the head of the medical facility where you were revived, called a few of his friends who have shops around town and sent them your description. One of them called it in, and that’s how I found you.”

Justin laughed. “Oh, right. Common sense.”

Neela smiled. “It’s a small town, Justin. Not much of a problem.”
And only an investor could’ve compelled us to track you down in the way you meant. But nobody owns you.

Neela turned her gaze on Omad. “So you’re the famous tunnel rat.”

“Correction, famous
ex
–tunnel rat.”

“Right. Heard about that. Not every day that our humble little facility becomes a rat-to-riches story.”

“Riches? Hardly, Dr. Harper.”
Though I’d certainly be getting a little closer if you’d just let my friend here sell his damned watch.

“So, if neither of you mind,” she continued, “catch me up.”

“Not at all, Dr. Harper. Justin here is confused by our money. He thinks governments should issue it.”

“Oh, that,” smiled Neela.

“Oh, that?” Justin was incredulous. “Money is run by the likes of Microsoft, and you say ‘oh, that’?”

Now Omad looked confused. “Microsoft?”

“I don’t even want to know,” Justin moaned, shaking his head and thinking about the five-carat trinkets recently scattered about the floor.

Neela took Justin by the hand. “Justin,” she said, as she squeezed his hand slightly. “How can I put this in a way that you’ll get?”

While her simple act was meant as a show of support, its reverberations were not. Short of a few cursory brushes and a handshake, this was the first real human touch, as a means of comfort, Justin had experienced since being revived. While he was able to quell his feelings of
feeling,
he had a sneaky suspicion that Neela knew exactly what she was doing.

“Let’s see,” Neela continued, “how about this? You’re a bull in a china shop. Yes, it’s a strange and wonderful world you’ve managed to barge your way into, but it’s one that you’re not quite ready for. It’s not a ride, Justin. It’s our way of life. And like I told you at the center, I’m here to help you and answer all your questions, but you’ve got to cut me some slack and learn to trust me just a little, OK?”

“OK, Neela,” Justin responded. “You’re on. The owner of this pawnshop owes me about thirty-eight thousand credits SCV for this thing I’m wearing on my wrist.” He held it up for effect. Neela’s eyes popped out just like Fred’s and Omad’s had.

“Yes,” Justin said, sounding bored. “It’s authentic mil one.”

“Whoa.”

“Yeah,” replied Justin. “Been there, done that. Anyhow I don’t know which currency to go with.” He added, “And I’m starting to get hungry.”

Once Neela got over the fact that the man under her care was wearing the equivalent of her year’s salary on his wrist, she also began to realize that the guy she was responsible for was loaded, or would be by the time the week was through.
Great,
she thought,
another set of protocols to catch him up on.

“American Express,” she answered, “and I know a charming little place where we can sit down and talk about money.”

Back at the far end of the pawnshop, Fred finally began to smile.

Justin stood outside Neela’s car for a moment, then followed her in through the permiawall. What greeted him on the inside was not only Dr. Harper, sitting comfortably in a well-proportioned chair, but also a cozy little workspace. In fact, it almost reminded him of the well-designed spaces utilized by the RVs of his time. It had two chairs, a small circular table in the center with the strangest-looking computer he’d ever seen, if that’s what it was, and of course a stunning 360-degree view… of the street.

He sat down in the only other seat available, which happened to be directly across from Neela. “Where to?” he said, as casually as he could muster.

“How’s Florence sound?” Neela answered, with just a hint of sly in her smile.

“You know I’m loving this, don’t you?”

“Oh yeah,” she answered. “I’m loving it too. Kind of living vicariously through you, actually.”

“Then how about Venice—could we eat there?”

Neela gave him a sad shrug. “Not without scuba gear.”

Justin pursed his lips and shrugged. “Florence it is then.”

Neela smiled sympathetically. “We’ll have to go to the Boulder orport first. It’s a short trip.”

“Estimated time of arrival,” intoned the car’s automated response system, “four minutes, twenty-two seconds.” And with that the car began its slow but gentle ascent skyward.

Justin was a little saddened by the fact that a trip he’d waited a lifetime to take was only going to last under five minutes. But those feelings were quickly dispelled as the unassailable fact sunk in that he was now in a car that was actually flying. He noticed that Neela was staring out the window—lost in thought. More likely, he figured, she was allowing him the opportunity to fully experience his first-ever flight without it being marred by the white noise of small talk.
God bless her
.

The car achieved a height of approximately one thousand feet and headed out over the city. For the first few minutes of the trip it had the sky to itself. Justin noticed other flying cars, but they were well dispersed and far off enough that they didn’t seem to pose any danger… if any existed at all. It wasn’t until the final minute or so that the car found its way into a small flotilla of similarly sized vehicles all heading in the same direction.

In the waning daylight he saw that the flotilla was approaching a building that looked remarkably like a giant turtle shell hovering over a short rectangular structure. The shell had about twenty silos in it, spaced equidistantly around the top. Each one of the silos was encircled by small holes that were acting as gas exhausts. The silos were shooting out and sucking in cylindrically shaped pods from the sky in a fluid motion. The entire building complex took up about four city blocks.

As the vehicles began to disperse Justin watched as they entered different slots alongside the large metallic wall that made up one side of the base of the “turtle.”

A few seconds later their car entered its own slot. The interior cab lit up for the short time they were ensconced in the tube and diffused back to natural light upon exiting. They were now in a large garage. In some cases cars were stacked on top of each other with a few inches of air separating hood from underbelly. In others cars were parked in an orderly fashion side by side. As they came to rest at the entrance of the orport itself, he saw that theirs would be of the side-by-side variety.

“You know, it’s funny, Neela,” Justin said, upon exiting the vehicle. “I have so many
real
questions I’d like to ask you, but the one that doesn’t seem to want to go away is, did you just luck out with this spot or does everyone get such great parking accommodations?”

“Not luck at all, Justin,” she answered, smiling. “Privilege. Mosh just upgraded my parking… thanks to you.
I
certainly couldn’t afford to park here. In fact, I’m pretty much in awe of it myself.” Then, looking out toward the entrance, she said, “You ready?”

Justin smiled, which was all the confirmation she needed. She walked to an entry point with Justin following close behind. They situated themselves on a small walkway that led to a long, clear, tubular—and well-trafficked—corridor leading into the main building.

“Come to think of it, Justin,” Neela said, beginning to walk at a clip down the corridor, “ ‘parking’ as a concept might give you a little more insight into how we do things around here.”

“I’m listening,” he answered, keeping pace.

“OK. For one thing, you probably noticed that some cars were stacked and some weren’t.”

“Yes, I did. For the life of me I couldn’t figure out why any facility that can stack floating cars would waste the space on side-by-side parking.”

“Simple, really,” Neela answered. “In your day and age you had machines that washed dishes, correct?”

“Correct. We… um, called them ‘dishwashers.’ ”

“Right. Yet the rich among you hired household help to wash dishes, which if you think about it doesn’t make any economic sense whatsoever.”

“I see your point. It’s a prestige thing.”

“Exactly,” Neela confirmed. “You see, Justin, while technology has expanded vastly, human psychology has not. All that’s left for you to do besides absorbing a ton of information is to re–plug in the subtle clues that indicate status, social order, and norms.”

“That’s
all
I have to do, huh?” Justin asked.

Neela laughed.

“It also explains,” Justin continued, “why some restaurants on Pearl Street had human waiters and others had flying servants.”

“We call ’em drones. What type of drone—well, that depends on their function. We’ve got bar drones, waiter drones—or ‘woodies’ for short. Anyway, you get the picture.”

“Got it.”

“But yes,” she continued, “you’re correct. The restaurants with human waiters were far more posh in appearance than those without.”

Then, indicating the entrance to the orport, she asked, “Shall we?”

What greeted Justin as he entered the main lobby was a symphony of movement in three dimensions. People were walking, running, and floating. Drones were everywhere, in all shapes and sizes, issuing papers, collecting trash, showing ads, even bouncing up and down. The interior of the building was cathedral-like. The exterior walls were clear from floor to ceiling, yet there was movement within them, as stringlike creatures moved freely up and down their length. The light emanating from the walls created a shimmering shadow effect that gave Justin the feeling of being underwater. The ceiling was made up of cylindrical tubes, each protruding at different depths, each with a large number printed at the base, and each a different color. There was a steady stream of human traffic going up and down from each tube—without, Justin realized, the presence of an escalator.

Neela watched in fascination as her charge took it all in.

“That’ll be us in a few minutes,” she said.

Justin nodded, smiling.

“This way,” she said, heading toward a bank of palm machines. As they walked, little drones with small television screens buzzed them. Neela, Justin saw, was being pummeled with dating service, vacation getaway, and all manner of luxury item advertisements. He, on the other hand, was buzzed only once and then left alone.

“Neela,” Justin asked, “not that I want the attention, but why am I being left alone by the drones?”

“Ad drones,” Neela answered. “ ‘Addies’ for short.

“And that’s why,” she said, pointing to the patch on his breast. “Not much worth selling to a DeGen—reliably, that is.”

“Why don’t people just put these on when they want to be left alone?”

“A, not easy to get one, and B, not something you’d ever really want to be seen wearing… unless, of course, you have to. Anyways, welcome to our small but humble orport. And by the way, ‘orport’ is short for ‘orbital port.’ ”

“Ahh. Now I get it. Judging from what I saw outside, and the ceiling I’m looking up at, I’d kind of guessed suborbital flights.”

“Good guess. Ten credits for you,” she replied. “Perhaps your avatar could give you a more detailed explanation.”

“The transorbital pods, otherwise known as t.o.p.s, create thrust by means of magnetohydrodynamic forces,” answered sebastian, “which arise when a conductive fluid or gas moves through crossed electric and magnetic fields. Because beamed energy means that neither oxidizer nor conventional fuel has to be carried out of Earth’s gravity field, laser-driven t.o.p.s reduce launch costs significantly. A network of orbital solar-power stations supports the t.o.p.s.”

“How extensive is the orport system?” asked Justin.

“It’s everywhere,” answered Neela. “The equipment is mass-produced and incredibly simple to manufacture. We’re just giant teapots in the sky, really… with some pretty neat interior-building software thrown in. It’s simplicity itself to set up one tube or a hundred, depending on need. The very rich even have private tubes in their homes. Any town with over ten thousand people will have at least one. In fact, a one-tube town is what you would refer to as a ‘hickopolis.’ ”