With something as simple as a sales tag and menu listing, Neela realized, Justin had somehow come up with a keen insight into her world. Her lesson plan was shrinking by the minute.

"I'm waiting for you to ask your question," he said, interrupting her thoughts.

"Which question?"

"The one that's purely for personal pleasure and curiosity. And if I'm guessing correctly, the one you'd feel a little guilty even wanting to ask."

Neela looked at him open-mouthed, in shock. He'd described her feelings exactly. He was correct in that she did want to ask him questions of a more personal nature, i.e., questions not necessarily associated with his adaptation to society. However, he was incorrect in that she never would have broached the subject. But now he'd given her permission, and she had to assess whether or not, even under that circumstance, it was acceptable to pursue.

"How did you ...?"

"I am," he said, then corrected himself, "or was, was, a very good businessman, Neela. Reading people is not only useful but vital at the level of finance I worked at." a very good businessman, Neela. Reading people is not only useful but vital at the level of finance I worked at."

"What kind of numbers are we talking about here?" Neela asked.

"Oh, come now, Neela. That's not what you want to know."

I guess I'll just apply the "nothing's going according to plan" rule, she lamented to herself. she lamented to herself.

"OK, Justin," she responded, "who are you ... really?"

4 Fame

Irma Sobbelge was seventeen when she got her first share of a truly valuable stock. Not that those of her parents, brothers, and sisters weren't valuable, it was just that their value was based more in the realm of psychology than economy. The reasoning was simple and straightforward-owning shares of a sibling made one think twice about doing any undue damage, both physically and emotionally, to that sibling. In fact, Irma was convinced that had she not gotten shares of her baby brother early on, the little bastard wouldn't have made it to puberty. And given how well not only her family, but most families in general, performed, she considered it borderline miraculous how anyone anyone at all managed to survive and function before the incorporation movement. She rightly felt that the gaining of her first-ever shares was an indelible rite of passage-up there in importance with the loss of her virginity (a good memory) or the field trip to the Museum of the Virtual Reality (a horrifying one). For Irma, gaining those shares was the start of a process that connected her to society more intimately and securely than anyone had ever been connected before. Because that connection, unlike at any other time in history, was made through the powerful and subtle bonds of the world's most cohesive unifier-self-interest. And it was in the spirit of that self-interest that Irma managed to happen upon a very valuable share. at all managed to survive and function before the incorporation movement. She rightly felt that the gaining of her first-ever shares was an indelible rite of passage-up there in importance with the loss of her virginity (a good memory) or the field trip to the Museum of the Virtual Reality (a horrifying one). For Irma, gaining those shares was the start of a process that connected her to society more intimately and securely than anyone had ever been connected before. Because that connection, unlike at any other time in history, was made through the powerful and subtle bonds of the world's most cohesive unifier-self-interest. And it was in the spirit of that self-interest that Irma managed to happen upon a very valuable share.

When she was seventeen she had a relationship with a boy from a wealthy family. The boy thought he was a man and she was young enough to believe him. He was also anxious to get into Irma's pants, and in the spirit of self-interest gave her the share. As he was fond of grand gestures, that single share just so happened to belong to the newly appointed chairman of a powerful, up-and-coming corporation by the name of GCI. If only the boy had known that a simple "wanna do it?" would have sufficed, he might not have forked over so valuable a commodity. But both he and Irma were "in love," and neither had any idea just how valuable and useful a gift that share would turn out to be. Irma felt, as the gesture was intended, that giving it represented an act of pure and undying love. However, when that undying love managed to do just that some six months later, a person broker, "perker" for short, contacted her, representing the family. It seemed the perker was interested in buying back that single stock and and at market value. Even then the stock would have brought a considerable amount of money but, against the universal advice of her family, Irma decided to hold on to it-a prescient move indeed. Because it turned out that at market value. Even then the stock would have brought a considerable amount of money but, against the universal advice of her family, Irma decided to hold on to it-a prescient move indeed. Because it turned out that that that chairman ended up becoming The Chairman. Not only the most famous and reclusive individual in the solar system, but also the man responsible for making GCI the most powerful corporation in human history. The fact that she owned even one share of his stock made her unique among her peers, like someone lucky enough to have inherited a rare work of art made a person of standing unique among theirs. chairman ended up becoming The Chairman. Not only the most famous and reclusive individual in the solar system, but also the man responsible for making GCI the most powerful corporation in human history. The fact that she owned even one share of his stock made her unique among her peers, like someone lucky enough to have inherited a rare work of art made a person of standing unique among theirs.

As Irma got older she discovered that, unlike with other celebrities, politicians, and people of that ilk, there were almost no shares of The Chairman lying around. Plenty of offers to buy, but hardly ever any for sale. And even when that exceedingly rare occurrence did take place, the going price was so stratospheric it almost always made the headlines.

What was odd about The Chairman's lack of shares was that it was contrary to the norm. Famous people, politicians and celebrities especially, went out of their way to subdivide their stock into minuscule percentages to be given away as shares to as many people as possible. It seemed, recalled Irma, that at every election she would get a complimentary share of at least a dozen politicians in the mail with the some old hackneyed line: "Vote for the candidate you have a stake in." Irma would routinely send those freebies to her perker for immediate sale. If she were lucky, the lot of them would bring in enough money to pay a utility bill.

But The Chairman's share was clearly different. In many ways that single share determined much of her life. Her investigation into his world led to her present career of journalism, which had led to husband number two-a journalism professor. Husband number two, besides having the gift of charm, also had something rare-a single share of The Chairman that he, too, got at an early age and was smart enough to hold on to. The fact that her second husband had the same power to fascinate made him seem more intriguing than he actually was. Unfortunately, she realized that bit of information a little too late, discovering to her dismay after the marriage that all he really was, was a jerk with some smooth lines, a pretentious ego, and one share of The Chairman. Well, the jerk and his share were soon to be parted.

Cornelius loved his job. It was true he only had one client, but he only needed one-given who that "one" was. He hadn't started out that way. He used to be a regular, run-of-the-mill perker. He may have known that the job was a combination of the words "person" and "stockbroker" or he may not have, but he knew his job. People were a perker's stock-in-trade, and Cornelius knew people very well-in fact, he saw himself more as a gossip reporter than as an accountant. He knew perkers who made a living at high-end, exclusive parties, and others who did very well never leaving their cubicles, hooked into the Neuro following obscure trends. But the rules of his trade hadn't changed that much since its first recorded transaction in Mesopotamia over four thousand years ago. Buy low, sell high.

Life was going pretty much according to plan until one deal changed it all. There were three shares of Chairman stock that had become available due to an inheritance. Though they weren't Cornelius's clients, he did some research and found out that the heirs were going to sell the stocks to The Chairman directly, for a hefty profit-enough, in fact, to make the bickering family members civil to each other for the first time in months.

Cornelius knew that Chairman stock, let alone three shares of it, did not become available all that often. So he searched all the accumulated financial records and found what he was looking for. Apparently, the now deceased titleholder had once, in a third-party deal, put his Chairman stocks up as collateral. And, as part of that deal, a "first rights option to buy" clause was included. It allowed the third party the right to buy The Chairman's stock first, and at a previously agreed-to price, should the stock ever be put up for sale. Cornelius realized that the inheriting family was not going to inform the third party about the impending sale, either because they didn't want to or, more likely, because they were unaware of it.

So he made a call.

After the third party's money manager got over the fact that he'd dropped the ball, he was happy to include Cornelius in the deal. After all, Cornelius had not only prevented him from possibly losing his job, he would manage to make the third party's family significantly richer. In the end, the original inheriting family was forced to sell, and then went back to squabbling with each other, all cursing the fact that their father had once again screwed them all. Cornelius got his usual commission, which in that case turned out to be a small fortune.

The day after the deal was closed he got an anonymous call. He was offered his standard deal and a twenty-thousand-credit bonus if he could find a way to buy another share of Chairman stock. There was, however, one catch-the share had to be acquired within the next forty-eight hours.

Cornelius, liking a good challenge, accepted. It wasn't easy, and it ended up costing the anonymous caller a fortune, but the fact remained that he'd risen to the challenge.

That was how Cornelius was offered and eventually accepted the position as perker for The Chairman. He had only one job. He was to acquire Chairman stock. He could use any means necessary as long as it didn't break the law's boundaries-he could push, absolutely, but not break.

He had a huge budget and more money than he wanted. Even when he achieved majority, he still worked. Many of his old colleagues thought he'd sold out. But they were wrong. Each stock was like a brand-new hunt. The same method almost never worked twice. He was more psychologist or big-game hunter than perker. And money was never the answer. Had it been, The Chairman would never have needed him. Money helped, but it was only a tool to get The Chairman one more share. He had only one regret in his job: He did not own a share of Chairman stock for himself. Of all the dozens he had gotten for The Chairman, he turned them all over. And not because he couldn't afford it. Given the money and resources he had at his disposal he could probably afford two or even three. But in his heart he knew with the certainty of the sun's arrival that if he ever got one share for himself he would never work for The Chairman again.

So he went about his task and put his one regret firmly out of mind.

His avatar informed him of an incoming call. He noted that it was from one of his LCP groupings. It stood for "lower class prestige" holders. They were without question the hardest group to pry shares from. Because with them it was almost never about the money. They would sooner lose a limb permanently than give up something that made them stand out among the world's billions and billions of souls. But he never gave up hope. He would make sure that they each got small-but-unique Christmas presents annually, and often would have handwritten cards for each of their birthdays, in the hope that when they needed something more than prestige, they would remember him. He was praying that it was paying off now.

He looked at the name his avatar was displaying. Ahh, yes, Ahh, yes, he thought, he thought, the girlfriend who never budged. Smart lady from a surprisingly young age. This should be interesting. the girlfriend who never budged. Smart lady from a surprisingly young age. This should be interesting.

"Miss Sobbelge," he answered, as if taking a call from a dear friend, "I am so very glad to hear from you. How may I be of service?"

Although he could have personalized the greeting with sad noises about her divorce or congratulations on getting her first article sale with an intersystem magazine, he chose to keep it basic. They called when they were ready, and he did not want to sidetrack them or, worse, sidestep into a touchy subject. One of the things he had had to learn about having lots of information was resisting the urge to use it. Again it seemed to be the right thing to do.

Irma got right to business. "I'm willing to sell The Chairman my share," she said.

"Wonderful. You are about to become a financially well off young woman, the current rate is ..."

"Whatever it is will be fine, but I will need one more thing besides the money."

He smiled inwardly but kept it off his features. "And that would be?"

"Information. To be specific, I need to know how many shares The Chairman owns of himself in a way that can be verified financially. And I need it in two hours."

Cornelius looked at the seriousness with which Irma was staring at him. He wasn't being sent on a fool's errand.

"I'll get back within the next two hours, and, once more, thank you for the chance to be of service."

He cut the connection and leaned back in thought, cupping his fingers around his chin. After a moment he got up, went to his wall safe, and opened it. In it were various papers, digicrystals, and objects of great value, all of which he ignored. He reached gingerly for a rarely used and specially modified DijAssist. It was identical in all ways to a normal one but for the codes built in that let him make one special call. He went to his desk and called up all information about Irma Sobbelge and discovered that she currently did not have title to her share, as it was being held by a Vegas casino. A little more due diligence also let him know that Miss Sobbelge's ex-husband's share was being held by the same casino. It seemed they'd made some sort of wager having to do with his boss-winner take all. Just in case, he looked to see if any more shares were being offered in this gamble. Just the two, he noted.

Once he had as much information as he could gather quickly, and aware of his promise to Miss Sobbelge, he sent his report with all his findings via special interface to The Chairman. He further sent his recommendation that they approach the ex-husband to leverage both shares out of the deal. In ten minutes he got a return message from The Chairman with the simple instructions to offer Miss Sobbelge no money, but with the promise that The Chairman would provide the information in a verifiable way.

Better the bird in hand, thought Cornelius, and began to make his employer's wishes into reality. thought Cornelius, and began to make his employer's wishes into reality.

Irma was in a privacy room with her ex-husband and some ditz he'd brought along just to grate on her. Bastard really wants to make this personal, Bastard really wants to make this personal, thought Irma. She was hoping that her own information had been registered at the casino before the bet was considered closed. thought Irma. She was hoping that her own information had been registered at the casino before the bet was considered closed.

The three of them sat in plush recliners as the hologram of the casino employee appeared before them. He began, "As both parties turned in their responses within two hours of each other it has been ruled that the one with the closer number will be the winner, if they are both within 2 percent. This is as agreed to in the contract signed by both before the bet."

Irma's ex turned to her. "Irma, you took a guess. Good for you. Never give up."

The casino employee continued, "As both answers were extremely close to each other, Professor Warburton will explain his decision and answer all reasonable queries from the parties involved." The image blended from the casino employee into that of the economics professor they had both agreed to as the neutral judge. Irma had the satisfaction of seeing the first sign of worry from her husband. He hadn't expected this. He hadn't expected her to be within 10 percentage points of him. This was not how it was supposed to happen.

"Well, I have some good news for one of you," said Professor Warburton, milking the fact that he had a captive audience. "Well, anyway, congratulations, Irma. I don't know how you managed it, but you are positively the winner. Sorry, Paul."

Irma's ex looked like he'd been hit with a two-by-four. It took ten seconds for him to finally respond. "That's not possible. I destroyed all my records and kept no copies except for the false ones. There's no way you could have stolen that information from me!"

You really are an arrogant slug, she thought. "Paul, I didn't steal a thing. My source is a little better than yours." She looked to Warburton. "Go on, tell him." she thought. "Paul, I didn't steal a thing. My source is a little better than yours." She looked to Warburton. "Go on, tell him."

"Paul, she got The Chairman-I mean, The Chairman himself-to tell me the figure with the stock statements verified. He gave me the exact number. If it means anything, you were only off by .297. That's well under 1 percent. But Irma got it on the nose."

Paul remained speechless.

Warburton turned once more to Irma. "I'm curious, dear. How did you get him to tell you?"

But Irma was not listening to Professor Warburton. She was watching her ex. She waited until she saw the look on his face. The look that told her he'd figured out exactly how she'd gotten The Chairman to provide the information. She leaned close. "Paul. I will admit that most of the time you are smarter than me. It's just that I'm smarter when it counts. If it's any consolation," she said, getting up to excuse herself, "I still only have one share of Chairman stock. But then again, I only ever needed one."

She walked out of the privacy room and never saw her ex-husband again.

Even before the bet had been made, it never once struck Irma as odd that a man as rich and powerful as The Chairman would-in fact, could could-never own 100 percent of himself. Maybe, she figured, between 60 percent and 70 percent but certainly not much more. For, even if in theory he or any man could succeed in buying back 95 percent of himself, the incorporation movement demanded that 5 percent automatically be given over to the government. The government was responsible for a minimal amount of caretaking, and that caretaking had to be paid for somehow. Article five, section three of the Constitution was very clear: "All persons born in the Terran Confederation will be incorporated with a stock listing of 100,000 shares, 20,000 shares to go the person/persons holding loco parentis (parents or guardians), and 5,000 shares going to the government. The government may neither increase nor decrease the amount controlled in any of its citizens for any reason." The reason for the last part of the proclamation, recalled Irma, was obvious. Any loss or increase in control of those stocks by the government could, on one hand, lead to tyranny, on the other, to bankruptcy. She remembered her professor's comment on the whole issue of the Incorporation Proclamation.

"Remember, Irma," he'd said, "if there's one thing the Grand Collapse taught us, it's that the only thing more dangerous than a government that's too strong is a government that's too weak." She loved that old man, and still used him as a paid source whenever she could for any stories needing an expert account.

The stock she'd won had also played another important role in her life-it paid out like crazy. The past year's dividend alone had paid for a lunar vacation. Plus, she'd been contacted many times over by perkers wanting to buy that share at well above the market price-a pretty amazing offer considering that the stock price of The Chairman was the highest of any individual in the whole of the Terran Confederation. But Irma would never sell. Not for any price. She'd worked too hard for it-both professionally and emotionally-for monetary gain to ever enter the picture. However, pride was another matter entirely, and at this moment she was willing to bet the one share she did own that a small story coming from, of all places, tiny Boulder, Colorado, was a whole lot bigger than the local media were making it out to be.

"Michael, Enrique, Saundra, get your asses in here!" Irma's voice carried from her private chambers into the outer office where her staff was busy working. Like most modern information organizations The Terran Daily News The Terran Daily News used the mentor/apprentice group system. That meant one mentor would combine the job of journalist used the mentor/apprentice group system. That meant one mentor would combine the job of journalist and and editor with a staff of apprentices. Each group shared bylines, depending on the contributions made to the story. Then, after ten or so years, the apprentice would either become a mentor journalist himself or move on in search of greener pastures. Irma was unique in having cultivated a group of lifers-in essence, a staff that was content to stay apprentices in name, even if not in actual experience. She was able to pull this off by always managing to dig up good content, being fair about sharing the byline, and keeping the working environment interesting and fun. It might mean less pay, but the prestige associated with working for a mentor of Irma's caliber made it well worth the sacrifice. editor with a staff of apprentices. Each group shared bylines, depending on the contributions made to the story. Then, after ten or so years, the apprentice would either become a mentor journalist himself or move on in search of greener pastures. Irma was unique in having cultivated a group of lifers-in essence, a staff that was content to stay apprentices in name, even if not in actual experience. She was able to pull this off by always managing to dig up good content, being fair about sharing the byline, and keeping the working environment interesting and fun. It might mean less pay, but the prestige associated with working for a mentor of Irma's caliber made it well worth the sacrifice.

"Yes, mistress," came the by now standard chorus from her outer office. Moments later the troupe piled in.

Michael Veritas, tall, blond, and sporting two days' worth of facial hair, took his usual position leaning against the south wall, "accidentally" covering her prized print of the first issue of The Terran Daily News, The Terran Daily News, though back then it was called though back then it was called The Alaskan Daily. The Alaskan Daily. Irma put up with his quirks, since he could find dirt at the bottom of a barrel filled with bleach. Saundra Morrie came in next. She was a little over six feet, with long red hair, freckles, and a lithe quality that allowed her body to drape itself over almost anything it could find. She chose the couch. Enrique Lopez followed. Of Filipino descent, he was a squat, muscular man who was more comfortable with numbers than with people. He sat down in his usual spot right in front of Irma's desk, and took out his DijAssist. Irma never knew why he took the damned thing out. In her fifteen years of working with him she'd rarely seen him use it. But this team had won three system Pulitzers, and if their individual idiosyncrasies were par for the course, then that was a course she was happy to take. Irma put up with his quirks, since he could find dirt at the bottom of a barrel filled with bleach. Saundra Morrie came in next. She was a little over six feet, with long red hair, freckles, and a lithe quality that allowed her body to drape itself over almost anything it could find. She chose the couch. Enrique Lopez followed. Of Filipino descent, he was a squat, muscular man who was more comfortable with numbers than with people. He sat down in his usual spot right in front of Irma's desk, and took out his DijAssist. Irma never knew why he took the damned thing out. In her fifteen years of working with him she'd rarely seen him use it. But this team had won three system Pulitzers, and if their individual idiosyncrasies were par for the course, then that was a course she was happy to take.

"What do you think of the story out of Boulder?" Irma asked no one in particular. Saundra answered first. For a woman who looked like a redheaded Amazon her voice sounded more like that of an assertive eight-year-old. "What story?"

"No, wait, let me guess," quipped Enrique. "Boulder's finally exploded and the world's missing a whole bunch of useless rich folk?"

"There's no such thing as 'useless rich,' " snapped Irma, "and for your information we'd lose two-thirds of our stories without those bastards." Present company included, Present company included, she thought, managing to suppress a wry grin. she thought, managing to suppress a wry grin.

"Try again."

Michael spoke next. "I think it's a potentially important story, and we'd better move on it quickly before someone else does."

Irma looked at Michael with suspicion. He almost never agreed with her this easily. "Why do you say that, Michael?"

"Because," he answered, with a charm born of certainty, "you wouldn't have dragged our asses in here if it wasn't. And if you did I'll never let you live it down."

Irma grinned.

"This is what I know so far," she replied. "A man was awakened from cryogenic suspension in Boulder."

"Stop the presses!" squeaked Saundra.

"Well, that is is news," chimed in Michael. news," chimed in Michael.

"How could you have kept this to yourself?" Enrique asked, with a pained expression. "I ... I thought we were friends."

"Ha-ha, laugh all you want, guys," challenged Irma, "after you do one simple thing."

"Name it," said Michael.

"Don't be so quick, Michael. I'm not sure even you could dig up what I need to find."

"You willing to bet on it?" he challenged.

"Absolutely."

Enrique straightened up, Michael stopped leaning against the picture, and Saundra got up from the couch.

Irma smiled. Well, that worked Well, that worked. "Ten shares of stock each in the pot. The pot goes to whoever can get this unfrozen guy's name in ..." Irma paused to look at her watch. "... one hour starting ... now."

"Your stock has split twice," challenged Saundra. "Shouldn't you put in forty?"

"Have you seen my worth lately?" responded Irma. "I'm being generous, and you all know it. Of course, if you want a different bet ..." Her question was answered by the team's mad rush to the exit. Irma knew that they'd all probably cheat and work together to arrive at an answer. It made sense, because they could then split her ten shares, which would be more valuable than all of theirs combined. All the better, All the better, she thought. The only reason she'd issued the challenge was because she had just spent the better part of the day in a failing effort to get the name she was now asking them to find. she thought. The only reason she'd issued the challenge was because she had just spent the better part of the day in a failing effort to get the name she was now asking them to find.

Irma had an hour to kill, so she went back to the other mundane tasks she'd ignored-paying bills, making investments, and researching new stories. Of course, as soon as she was beginning to make some headway, Saundra popped her head into the office, clearing her throat to get Irma's attention.

"Yes?" asked Irma.

"Hour's up."

"Well, then, whatcha got?"

Before Saundra could answer the rest of the team piled in behind her. No one was smiling.

"All right, smarty-pants," Enrique said. "Who is he?"

Irma's response was honest and forthright. "I don't know."

Her team threw groans and expletives in her direction. "Oh," said Saundra. "We thought maybe it was some kind of test."