The Unincorporated Man (70 page)

He reminded Justin of a cat, mouse in paws, unsure what to do with it.

They left the antechamber through the double doors and started walking clockwise around the corridor. Though the Earth was still shrouded in darkness, parts of it were quite luminous. The light was seen overwhelmingly on the coasts and the rivers. It was, thought Justin, as if someone had etched the continents and major waterways in bright fluorescent paint.

“I never get tired of the view,” said The Chairman. “I think that’s why I moved the headquarters up here.”

“So,” asked Justin, “the fact that being up here symbolically makes you the most important person on Earth had nothing at all to do with it?”

“Well,” The Chairman answered, with a mischievous smile, “maybe just a little.”

There was an awkward moment of silence as they both stared out the window onto the Earth below. Justin decided they’d had enough of the small talk.

“Look,” he said, continuing to take in the view, “I think I know your position about my incorporating, but why don’t I spell out the basics and you can tell me if I’m missing anything.”

The Chairman looked amused. “By all means. I’m very curious.”

Justin turned to face his adversary.

“GCI—which is you—contends that I have the power to disrupt the incorporated system, which at its heart is voluntary. I do this by not only continuing to remain unincorporated, but by also acting as the head of the Liberty Party and actively encouraging divestment. You with me?”

“All the way, Mr. Cord.”

“Good.” He continued. “I give credence and hope to the millions who’ve decided that they don’t want to be incorporated anymore, and seeing one man, or, to be more precise, ‘one free man,’ defy the system gives them that hope.”

“Hope is very powerful, Mr. Cord.”

“And, to you, very dangerous,” Justin added.

The Chairman nodded.

“In order to curtail a massive violent social confrontation,” continued Justin, “you need my active support. This won’t end all the problems, but it will pull the steam out of the Liberty Party and the Action Wing. How am I doing so far?”

“Exceptionally well,” The Chairman said with a muted smile. “Please continue.”

“To this end you’re willing to pay over one billion credits in stock options, giving Neela Harper a supermajority in herself. And this, of course, is for the sole purpose of making me comfortable in giving her my one—and only one—share out of the hundred thousand that would be formed following standard articles of incorporation for an individual.”

“So far, so good.”

“You will also stop harassing me, my associates, and my friends—sadly, a much diminished group.”

“I take it you are referring to Mr. Black?”

“Not specifically,” answered Justin, “but yeah, he would definitely be in the ‘diminished’ category.”

“Manny Black was a great loss,” The Chairman readily agreed. “A mind like that is difficult to find and impossible to cultivate purposely.”

“He was a good friend.” Justin paused, remembering the death he’d felt indirectly responsible for. He then continued with his review of the “facts.” “Neela will be given a media-driven, well-orchestrated pass for having become involved with her patient and, finally, you’ll release my assets and turn me into a great human being beloved by all.”

The Chairman nodded. “That’s about the gist of it.”

“Good,” said Justin. “Now that the carrot’s out of the way, let’s see if I’m clear on the stick.”

The Chairman remained silent.

“If I persist,” continued Justin, “in adhering to, how did Hektor put it, ‘my silly superstitions,’ I’ll be audited until I’m broke. I’ll have all my friends and acquaintances harassed to the point that they’ll likely shoot me before they’ll say hello. I will never see Neela again—even to the point of your threatening to kill her.”

“Hektor shouldn’t have been so direct on that, Mr. Cord. It was rude.”

“You saying you wouldn’t?”

The Chairman gave a shark’s grin. “Oh no, Mr. Cord, I’d do it, but I believe that when one threatens the most that’s also when one should be the most polite… . Hektor’s still young.”

Strange words
, thought Justin,
coming from the face of a child
.

“Hektor also tried his best to explain,” continued Justin, “why my beliefs are wrong and harmful. And that everything I wanted was right in front of me. All I had to do was take it.”

The Chairman nodded. “So much passion and commitment lurking under that layer of selfish disinterest. Funny, isn’t it, Mr. Cord? Did he really offer you Venus?”

“Well, I did get the impression that that would be the maximum I could hope for.”

The Chairman laughed. “I hope you aren’t getting your hopes up, sir. Venus really is a bit much. I could possibly swing Ganymede or Io.”

Justin folded his arms and waited, choosing to ignore The Chairman’s olive branch.

Upon his realizing that Justin had finished, The Chairman’s eyes shifted once again—all business. “I have everything drawn up for you to take to your council in order to put the agreement into motion. You will notice that I have already embossed my fingerprint, signed, and given a DNA sample. Forgive my using a drop of blood; I sometimes can’t resist a flare for the dramatic. You will also sign, fingerprint, and give a DNA sample. Hand this pad to your lawyers, and by Damsah, Mr. Cord, you’ll get everything you want, the system will return to normal in a matter of months, and everyone will get to live happily ever after. Does that sound so bad?”

Justin remained silent, and then a second later motioned for The Chairman to hand over the pad.

“So,” asked Justin, staring down at the glorified DijAssist, “everything to seal the deal is contained right here?”

The Chairman nodded solemnly.

Justin studied the pad for a few more moments, and then, appearing to be puzzled, beckoned The Chairman over.

“I don’t want to be confused,” Justin said to the man now peering into his pad, believing he’d been called over to elucidate a point, “because it seems so much of what I say gets misconstrued. So I’d like it to be really clear here… .”

The Chairman nodded, anticipating the question.

“Since you believe that everything vital to your existence can be found within this,” Justin said, raising the pad ever so slightly, “why don’t you take it—and all that it represents—and shove it up your ass.”

Justin then let the pad drop to the floor.

“I choose freedom.”

Contrary to Justin’s expectations, The Chairman didn’t overreact. In fact, noticed Justin, the man seemed suddenly tired. His shoulders sagged, and the gloom in his eyes revealed far more of the ninety-three-year-old than that of the young man currently represented.

“As would I, Mr. Cord… As would I.”

Justin stared at the man, unsure of what to do. He’d expected a harangue, a threat, a phalanx of securibots to drag him off to some netherworld, but not this. Whatever The Chairman’s game was, Justin wanted no part of it.

“You won’t change my mind,” he said, refusing to move from his spot. “So whatever it is you’re up to, you can forget it.”

“Change your mind, Mr. Cord?” the old man answered. “Why would I want to change what I helped to create?”

The Chairman smiled, as a father would to a son. And with that one smile Justin finally understood the mystery that had stymied not only him, but all those around him. A mystery that had faded in importance in the rush of events.

“You,” he said, smiling knowingly. “You paid the ten million credits and made it untraceable. You,” he said, hardly believing the words pouring out of his mouth, “made me into the Unincorporated Man.”

The Chairman nodded, slowly turned around, and began walking down the promenade, beckoning Justin to follow. “Why don’t we get a drink and really talk.”

The Chairman led him off the promenade to a small sunken lounge. He then procured some glasses and a bottle of amber liquid from behind a bar while Justin sat, waiting impatiently at a small table. Justin had come expecting a polite but terse conversation, confirmation of positions, and a getting on with life. The strange turn of events had unnerved him.

“Why didn’t you just tell me from the start?” he asked. “Why the charade?”

“I needed to know if Hektor had gotten to you.”

“To what end?”

“Justin,” began The Chairman, pouring drinks for the both of them, “all will be explained.”

“To what end?” Justin said, this time more firmly.

The Chairman raised his glass and drained the amber liquid. “Humor an old man, won’t you? I assure you, it’ll be worth your while.”

Justin eyed the man for another few seconds. “Go on.”

The Chairman nodded in thanks. “Let me tell you a little bit about my life that the bios don’t talk about. It begins accurately enough. I was born on Mars and my mother was killed. I never really knew her. Just a memory of a kind face and a voice singing in the night as I went to sleep. After she disappeared I asked about her and why she died. My earliest clear memories are not of my mother, but of my asking about her. According to my father, Mother really didn’t want to be on Mars. But she didn’t have majority, and the job paid very well, so she agreed. My father says to this day that if she had had majority she never would have taken the job that killed her.”

“Do you believe him?”

“Back then, Mr. Cord, I had absolute faith that it was the truth.”

Justin nodded, indicating that The Chairman should continue.

“This may come as a shock to you, but the truth is, I’ve always hated incorporation because of it. As I grew up I came to realize that my father was probably just grieving. The money
was
very good. I couldn’t see how my mother could have turned it down, majority or no.”

“And yet you still have this hatred?”

“It’s my earliest and most constant feeling, Mr. Cord. In all the many years between then and now I’ve never lost that.”

“Well, if you don’t mind my saying, sir, you have a pretty interesting way of expressing it. You were a near-worthless penny stock and rose to be Chairman of arguably the most powerful organization in history. I’d say the incorporated system has been very good for you.”

The Chairman didn’t respond—intent, figured Justin, on seeing the story through.

“Mr. Cord, what would happen to someone from your time who said he hated the USA? Not only that, but at every opportunity, from grade school through adulthood, this guy made his feelings known in a loud and obvious manner.”

“They’d probably make him a writer for
The New York Times
,” snickered Justin. He then saw the confused expression on his host’s face. “A bit of very dated humor, sorry. I understand what you’re getting at. He’d be ostracized, most likely.”

“And made useless,” added The Chairman. “From the earliest time I knew that my loathing for the system that surrounded me had to be kept very deep. That there was no one I could share it with, no one I could talk about it with. But, Mr. Cord, every share that I did not own, I considered a piece of my soul torn away. I thought that when I achieved majority it would go away. I’d be at peace. But it only made it worse. The fruits of my labors were not my own. I could never have all of what I achieved. I would always have to share it.”

“Mr. Chairman, not to be rude, but we had that in my time, too. It was called taxes.”

“Mr. Cord, taxes, horrible as they might have been, only taxed income. Incorporation takes a piece of everything. From the moment we’re born our actions are circumscribed. There are whole categories of actions we cannot take because our stockholders won’t allow it. They not only own a piece of our income, they, by default, own a piece of us. Can you say the same for your taxation?”

“No,” admitted Justin, “I guess not.”

“After I got my majority,” continued The Chairman, “I considered becoming an asteroid miner. That’s about as free as a person can be in our system. If you have majority you’re on your own. Your shareholders don’t mind that you’re in a high-risk field because of the profit, and you can forget you’re incorporated, as long as you don’t look too closely at your earnings statement.”

“Why didn’t you?”

“Because, Mr. Cord, the more I studied the evolution of the incorporated society the more I realized that it was becoming more dangerous.”

“Well, according to those opposed to my vision,” answered Justin, “you’re talking about a system whose biggest crime seems to be that it works.”

The Chairman nodded somberly. “And they’d be correct, Mr. Cord. For going on three centuries now incorporation has given mankind unparalleled peace, progress, and prosperity. But at what price? Humanity has stopped asking that all-important question, ‘at what price?’ ”

“If the price is freedom,” snapped Justin, “then guess what? Ninety-five percent of your people don’t want it.”

The Chairman’s eyes grew still and cold. “How can they, Mr. Cord? They don’t know what ‘it’ is. This world we’re living in, sir, is a dictatorship—a dictatorship of the content. It’s a creeping, smothering form of tyranny because it works so well and makes everyone so happy… on the surface. But I knew that if left alone to develop, it would grow to the point where it could not be stopped.”

The Chairman poured himself another glass and leaned back in his seat, knowing full well the impact of his words.

“Let me get this straight,” said Justin, hardly believing what he’d just heard. “You’re saying that all of mankind is in danger of falling into this ‘dictatorship,’ and that you’ve been somehow trying to stop it?”

“Oh, Mr. Cord, that’s the irony,” answered The Chairman. “I can’t. Though I’ve been trying very hard to slow it down. I’ve worked night and day to get enough power to reverse the direction humanity’s been going in. To make us all pause and retrace our steps.”

“So then why not change it?” asked Justin. “You’re The Chairman, for God’s sakes.”

The Chairman sighed.

“Mr. Cord,” he answered, “if I could have, you would not be sitting here right now listening to the confessions of a lonely old man. You’d be out traipsing around the solar system with your Dr. Harper, and the human race would not be on the road to slavery.”