Justin put his belongings in the satchel while keeping one eye on the traffic. Omad, he could see, was growing impatient.

"All this stuff," Justin said, arm extended, "may mean nothing to you, but it's sure cool to me."

"I'm sure it is, Justin, but neither you nor I have envirosuits on, so guess what? We still get wet out here in the future. And if you're going to stop and gawk every time you see something 'cool,' whatever that means, we'll probably drown out here before we ever make it to the pawnshop."

Justin wasn't particularly swayed by Omad's argument but figured he'd have plenty of time to gawk. It was more important to start getting his financial affairs in order.

"Fine. Do we get to go in one of those?" he asked, as a flyer passed overhead.

"No, we'll walk," Omad said, as if that were somehow unusual. "It's pretty close by.

"Besides, it's a freak town, Justin. Here walking is part of the nostalgia. Just like all these buildings you're looking at. You think the future looks like this?" he asked, pointing to no building or structure in particular. "They make no economic sense. A two-story structure? Where's the profit in that? Tourist town, friend. Nothing more, nothing less ... And by the way," he said, pointing up at the traffic lanes with a snicker, "this ain't traffic by any stretch of the imagination."

Justin shrugged. "Well, take it from me, Omad, it still looks plenty futuristic."

Omad sighed and pulled out his DijAssist. "Deb, get me a New York City visual for wide-eyed boy, please."

"Certainly, sweetie," answered the avatar. "Any shot in mind?"

Justin mouthed the word "sweetie" to Omad, laughing quietly as he did.

Omad ignored him. "Yeah, Drexler Plaza. Do a bird's-eye drop down to ground level, and throw in a little subway to boot."

"Got it," the avatar answered. When Omad was satisfied with the result he shoved the DijAssist into Justin's face. "Now that, my friend," he said, with no small amount of pride, "is the future."

It took all of nine seconds to view. It started with a dizzying drop down the face of what must have been a three-hundred-story building, swooping onto a street the likes of which Justin had never seen. Organized chaos, Organized chaos, was all he could think. Before he even had a chance to take in the street's vast expanse, the camera flew down a tube into a brightly lit subway system. Nothing about the subway, from what little he saw, indicated that it was underground. In fact, it seemed more "outside" than the street he'd just left. was all he could think. Before he even had a chance to take in the street's vast expanse, the camera flew down a tube into a brightly lit subway system. Nothing about the subway, from what little he saw, indicated that it was underground. In fact, it seemed more "outside" than the street he'd just left.

"Impressive, Omad," Justin said, handing back the DijAssist. "But if you show me more stuff like that we'll most certainly drown."

Omad laughed. "This way, then."

They made their way down a few side streets until they came to a large thoroughfare. As they walked, Justin took in the tantalizing scenery. While the town itself was structured very much in the mold of a new millennium city, there was so much about it that was not. There were fire hydrants, but they weren't colored in the traditional bright colors he remembered. These hydrants appeared to be sculpted out of some sort of blue crystal-almost as if they were meant to blend into the surroundings rather than stick out. In fact, he doubted very much that they worked at all, or even that they were truly needed. There were also no protruding wires or cables anywhere. Strewn telephone and power lines had become so normal in his lifetime that their very absence now somehow made the city feel naked. The buildings were consistent with what he remembered-even, he noticed, down to their real doors. The streets had the familiar signs, lights, and even billboards. He took a moment to read one: GET YOUR NEW TRANSBOD TODAY BECAUSE MARDI GRAS IS JUST 63 DAYS AWAY! What is a transbod? What is a transbod? he wondered, he wondered, and what does it have to do with Mardi Gras? and what does it have to do with Mardi Gras? He was searching for a word to describe what was throwing him off about this city. He noticed a cop wearing a uniform from the 1950s with a billed four-pointed hat and brass buttons up the side of her jacket, but she had on sunglasses far more reminiscent of his millennium than hers. The cop, like the town, had gotten her eras crossed. The only thing he could liken it to was the retro styles of his time period that also attempted to emulate the past. And like this town he was now canvassing, those past attempts succeeded only marginally. It seemed that one generation's perception of another's would always be reinterpreted to fit current stylings and realities. The town, he realized, was not so much a He was searching for a word to describe what was throwing him off about this city. He noticed a cop wearing a uniform from the 1950s with a billed four-pointed hat and brass buttons up the side of her jacket, but she had on sunglasses far more reminiscent of his millennium than hers. The cop, like the town, had gotten her eras crossed. The only thing he could liken it to was the retro styles of his time period that also attempted to emulate the past. And like this town he was now canvassing, those past attempts succeeded only marginally. It seemed that one generation's perception of another's would always be reinterpreted to fit current stylings and realities. The town, he realized, was not so much a blast blast from the past as much as it was a from the past as much as it was a splash splash from the pasts. from the pasts.

Will you just look at the flying cars, he thought again. In the three blocks he'd walked there must have been a few hundred of them. Still, the part of his mind that was forever analyzing did notice that there were no flying buses or trucks. He also saw, with some relief, that there were still regular old "motor" cars. In fact, many of them almost looked like they came from a "cars of the ages" auto show. He saw Model Ts and Mustangs, and even an old Honda Civic hatchback. But just like the string of other inconsistencies he'd picked up, these cars, too, were out of place, in that they emitted almost no distinctive sounds or exhaust at all. he thought again. In the three blocks he'd walked there must have been a few hundred of them. Still, the part of his mind that was forever analyzing did notice that there were no flying buses or trucks. He also saw, with some relief, that there were still regular old "motor" cars. In fact, many of them almost looked like they came from a "cars of the ages" auto show. He saw Model Ts and Mustangs, and even an old Honda Civic hatchback. But just like the string of other inconsistencies he'd picked up, these cars, too, were out of place, in that they emitted almost no distinctive sounds or exhaust at all.

"There it is," Omad said, indicating a sign that read FREDDIE'S FAST FINANCE. Justin saw a small storefront nestled in between a not too busy cafe and what he guessed was some kind of hardware store. They made their way to Freddie's by sidestepping a group of singing troubadours accompanied by a small flotilla of harmonizing, color-changing drones.

As they entered the store, Justin was surprised at the feeling that overcame him. It was relief. Relief that the pawnshop Omad had dragged him into looked remarkably like ... a pawnshop. It even sounded sounded like a pawnshop, with their presence announced by the jingle of a string of silver bells strung from the top of the door. Though Justin had worked his entire life and, even, to some extent, his death in the anticipation of just the type of day he'd already had, there was only so much like a pawnshop, with their presence announced by the jingle of a string of silver bells strung from the top of the door. Though Justin had worked his entire life and, even, to some extent, his death in the anticipation of just the type of day he'd already had, there was only so much Brave New World Brave New World a man could take. And Freddie's Fast Finance, silver bells and all, was just the respite he needed. a man could take. And Freddie's Fast Finance, silver bells and all, was just the respite he needed.

The shop was long and narrow, with the door at one end and a steel barenclosed counter at the other. In between was a wide array of used merchandise, much of which Justin recognized, and the rest of which he hadn't a clue about. For example, the guitar selling for 30 AE credits he could understand. The cylinder of lipstick seemed innocent enough. That it was selling for 1,000 AE credits, 1,100 SCV credits, or 1,193 GCI credits was beyond him.

Omad greeted the young, attractive blonde with obvious delight. "Hey, Fred, how's business?"

"Omad, you bastard." The harshness of the response was ameliorated by the fact that the woman came around the counter and gave Omad a friendly hug. "Heard you made majority, is that true?"

"Absolutely, and right on schedule," he answered, with a toothy grin.

The woman gave him a pout.

"And you didn't let me know personally? I had to hear it from ... from my avatar?"

"Fred, Freddieeee. C'mon. It's me," pleaded Omad. "I've had majority for less than twenty-four hours. And if it weren't for Justin here and his, um ... special circumstance, you woulda been the first to know. I swear."

Fred eyed Justin with suspicion.

"Look," Omad said, "I found a guy who needs some help. You know the deal, Freddie. I help him, you help me, he helps you, and maybe, just maybe, you get a little closer to majority."

"Yeah, right. Not with this dump. Do you have any idea how many times a year my shareholders request an audit?"

"As in psyche?" Omad half joked.

Fred's eyes narrowed. "Don't even kid about something like that."

She continued studying the stranger.

"Hey, Omad," she continued.

"What?"

"Since when do you hang out with DeGens?"

"Since when have you become a discerning bitch, as opposed to a regular one?"

"Gimme a break," she snapped back. "You're the one who wants them off this planet, terraforming the outer ones. And if I'm not mistaken, it was you who told me the joke about the DeGen who was sent to terraform Mars ..."

"... Yeah, yeah, and ended up cleaning Uranus!" Omad laughed, almost as if he was telling it again for the first time.

"Of course, you were drunk at the time," added Fred, as an afterthought.

"They still tell Uranus jokes?" asked Justin, of no one in particular.

"Well, this guy is different," continued Omad, ignoring the query, "and I think you'll like what he has to offer-real antiques."

"Well," she said, finally deigning to address Justin, "what have you got?"

Justin took out the thin Tiffany box he'd shown Omad earlier, and snapped it open gently to reveal the five flawless diamonds still resting comfortably on the twin velvet dowels. Even in the poor light, they shimmered brilliantly. Satisfied, he rested the package on the counter. Fred went all business, making her way back around the counter and sitting herself down to examine the product. She took the box and emptied its contents onto a soft, velvety pad. She pulled a scannerlike contraption from some hidden nook and proceeded to run it over the box. It didn't take long for the results. Fred took a moment to weigh her offer. "Four hundred standard credits, take it or leave it."

"Aren't you going to examine the merchandise?"

"Jesus, DeGen, where did they dig you up from? I just did."

"The name is Justin."

"DeGen, JusGen, think I care? Take it or leave it." Justin looked toward Omad, who nodded slowly.

The idea of making a deal without understanding all of its facets went against every fiber of Justin's former CEO self. But he was now in a situation where he had little choice. He was also comforted by the fact that that would be rectified shortly. For now, at least, he had something of value. Whatever value one could garner from four hundred standard credits.

"I'll take it," he sighed.

"Good," Fred answered. She picked up the small Tiffany case gingerly, and with one swipe of her arm flung the diamonds off the table like so many worthless pebbles. They scattered across the floor and landed at Justin's feet, where they stood shimmering amid the dust and debris on the pawnshop floor. Justin first looked down at his feet, and then up at the proprietor, his mouth agape. Fred was too busy eyeing the Tiffany case to notice the shock on her customer's face. Justin saw Omad keeled over by the counter, laughing so hard it appeared he was having trouble breathing.

"You knew they were worthless all along ... from the second I showed 'em to you ... you son of bitch." Justin grinned. "And you just let me walk right on in."

"Well, uh ... yeah," Omad answered as best he could through tears of laughter.

"Do you have any idea," asked Justin, "how much those things cost back in my day?"

Omad could hardly speak, and just managed to shake his head.

"A bloody fortune-that's how much!" Justin thought about it for a moment. "Of course, a chance for a joke like this only comes along ... ," and he himself started to laugh, "... once every three hundred years." That got Omad laughing all over again, and soon the both of them were on the floor keeled over. The release was exactly what Justin needed. His first few hours of his new life had been so thoroughly intense he'd almost forgotten what it was like to let his hair down. Well, it was down now. Omad had seen to that. They both sat there on the floor bellowing so hard neither of them noticed Fred. Her eyes were riveted on Justin's wrist, only now exposed because of the crouched position he'd assumed while leaning against the display case.

"Damsah's balls!" she exclaimed. "Is that a mil one Timex? I mean, a she exclaimed. "Is that a mil one Timex? I mean, a real real mil one?" mil one?"

Justin held up his wrist, still laughing, while acknowledging and answering the question in the one motion. However, that quickly subsided when he saw that Omad, too, was staring at him with a look of total seriousness.

"Jesus, man," Omad almost huffed, "you didn't tell me that thing was a Timex. What are you doing wearing it? Take it off ... carefully."

"Hey, it's just a watch, for Christ's sake," Justin said. "Not even a nice one, at that."

"If it's authentic mil one," Fred said, biting her lower lip, "twenty thousand credits."

Both Justin and Omad looked at Fred in disbelief.

"Fine," she said, before anyone could answer, "twenty-five thousand, then. But not a credit more."

"You've got to be kidding me ... right? My Tiffany case is only worth four hundred, and this," Justin said, holding up his wrist to show the watch, "this thirty-five-dollar piece of crap is worth almost fifty times as much?"

"I couldn't be more serious, mister," answered Fred. "That watch should be in a museum, not on a wrist. If you're willing to wait you'll get more money for it but I can transfer credits now, now, no questions asked. Check with your avatar, it'll tell you." no questions asked. Check with your avatar, it'll tell you."

In the minute or so he took to confer with sebastian, Justin learned two early and valuable lessons. One, in an age of nanotechnology, diamonds were worthless-any kid with a home nanochem set could produce them. Two, most of the "mil one," short for "first millennium," accessories he'd managed to bring with him into the future would prove to be far more valuable than he ever could have imagined. He'd figured that if he were revived he'd be able to calculate the worth of his cache based on their condition and age; what he hadn't taken into consideration was how few in number were the amount of good antiques that had made it through the so-called Grand Collapse. After a quick consultation with sebastian and some whispered conversation with Omad, Justin agreed to an unheard-of price of 38,000 credits, SCV (standard credit valuation). About two-thirds of its present-day value, but the third he'd tossed was worth the money he'd gained. And, more important, how he'd gained it-quickly, and without questions.

"How do you want it?" asked an obviously happy Fred.

"Is it safe to assume," asked Justin, "that 'in fifties and hundreds' won't count as an answer?"

Fred looked at Justin blankly, then at Omad for rescue.

"Give him a credit card."

"That, I'll also assume," Justin added, "is not what I think it is either, correct?"

"Depends," answered Omad, "on what you think it is?"

"Well, in my day it was a card that took the place of money ... kind of like a loan. You'd buy something with your credit card and pay the credit card company back later ... with interest."

Fred stared at Justin in awe. "Omad. I gotta hand it to you, this guy's a real piece of work."

"More than you realize, Freddie. More than you realize." He turned his attention back to Justin.

"Today it's a card that keeps a record of how many credits you have at your disposal. The difference is, if you're using a card it usually means it's a quiet account. ..."

"It's illegal?"

"Not exactly. It's just not linked to your regular account per se. See, Fred here will transfer the credits to an escrow account that only you'll be able to draw from. Normally you'd stick your hand into that thing over there." Omad pointed to a device that looked like a small, upended box with an embossed handprint inside. "That thing would verify that you're you through DNA, palms, prints, and nonstressed voice activation. It then transfers money either to or from your registered account."

"But since I don't have an account yet ..."

"Friend," interrupted Omad, "you don't even have an identity yet."

"Right. OK, credit card it is."

Fred had long ago given up trying to understand what the deal was with the man with the priceless relics. And, truth be told, she wouldn't have cared much one way or another. She'd make enough from this one day to cover the entire month. And if this guy had more stuff of this quality, she'd let him ramble about anything he damned well wanted to ... as long as he rambled to her first.

"OK," piped in Fred, "now that we've established the method, let's talk about the means. What currency we talkin' here, Omad?"

"Well," joked Justin, "we've already established it ain't going to be American."

"Why not American?" asked Fred. "AmEx works in my book."

"AmEx, as in American Express, like the company?"

"Uh, yeah ... doesn't have to be, mister. You'd prefer GCI, or maybe Visa?"

"Give me another minute," Justin said to both Omad and Fred, as he pulled the DijAssist out of his pocket and walked back down the length of the shop to the entrance. As he looked out the door he could still see the street performers doing their best to impede traffic. It was only now that he noticed the occasional passerby stop to place their hand on a hovering box next to them. The box had roughly the same configuration as the palm unit in Fred's shop. As the person put their hand on the box, they'd say something. Justin couldn't read lips, but he could swear they were saying the number five. They'd say the word, and move on. One or two even stopped to listen.

Justin looked down at the DijAssist in his hand. "Sebastian."

In a volume Justin could swear was a few steps above a whisper, sebastian spoke up. How the avatar knew when to speak up and when not to would be a discussion for another time. Right now, first and foremost, Justin needed a little catch-up lesson. "Yes, Justin?"

"Can you give me the basics on money in about a minute?"

"Not in this lifetime. But I can get you started."

"Fine."

"I have taken the liberty," said the eager-to-please avatar, "of seeing how currency was handled at the turn of the millennium. I think I understand the source of your confusion. What you would term as money, or a universal medium of exchange, was issued by your nation-states or, to be more precise, your governments. When you said 'American' you were referring to dollars, were you not?"

"Correct."

"Today units of exchange are handled by private companies."

"Your companies make their own money?" Justin asked in a voice loud enough for Fred to pick up.

"Hey," shouted Fred, from the other end of the store, "don't you know it's rude to talk to an avatar with company present?" In a slightly more muffled voice she added, "DeGens."

"Forgive him," he heard Omad say, "he's, um ... new around here. I'll go see what's taking him." Omad went over to where Justin was standing.

"Um, Mr. I-gotta-get-me-some-money-fast, what seems to be the problem now?"