"Let me guess," offered Justin. "You couldn't relate."

Michael nodded.

"I'm surprised," continued Justin, "that you made it past the first chapter. In order to understand a book like that you'd have to think like the people of the twenty-first century, which of course you couldn't. That would've been like me trying to get into the heads of people who lived three hundred years prior to my time."

"Tell me," asked Michael, "were the pyramids also your inspiration for the treasures rumored to be buried within your tomb?"

"Depends," Justin laughed. "What rumors have you heard?"

"Well, that the crypt had in it gold, silver, and precious gems, not so valuable now, but you wouldn't have known that at the time."

Justin nodded. "The rumors are correct."

"You also supposedly had artifacts, works of art, and, according to our friend Omad out there," he said, motioning toward the back wall, "a Timex watch."

"Had," answered Justin. "Sold it this morning."

"Really?" Michael looked surprised. "That Omad didn't tell me. If you don't mind my asking, how much did you get for it?"

"Thirty-eight thousand."

"AmEx?"

"Yeah. Is that good?"

Michael laughed. "Depends, if you think a one-shot four-quarter dividend is a good thing or not."

Justin smiled. "I do."

"You could have done better," Michael said.

Justin nodded, keenly aware of what he'd just heard. Michael hadn't said "six months' salary" or a "boatload" to describe Justin's good fortune. He'd referred to it as a dividend payout. That it had entered into the vernacular was revealing. Justin recalled how once wealth used to be determined by the number of harvests a person could get in. So a question like "How much did you make last year?" would be answered with the amount of harvests the farmer had brought in. The higher the number the greater the awe. Only when industrial society emerged did people think of a per-year salary as the measure of wealth. And now that a purely corporate society had emerged, the obvious indicator of wealth, short of the material, was the quarterly dividend.

"If you don't mind," continued Michael, "just a few more questions."

"Shoot."

Michael stared at his subject. Justin was articulate, thoughtful, naturally good-looking, well informed, smart, and even, in a way, heroic. He was the embodiment of all that was good about a lost civilization, gift wrapped for the present. And that, decided Michael, was how he would plan on slanting the story.

"What are your plans for the future?"

As soon as he finished the question, Justin's door chime rang.

The room informed Justin that Neela and Omad were waiting for permission to enter. Justin smiled, begging Michael's indulgence.

"See them in," Justin said to the room, while staring at Michael.

Neela and Omad entered. Omad took up a position leaning against the wall while Neela sat down at the foot of the bed.

Justin looked over at Neela. "Our good friend here wants to know what my plans for the future are."

"Don't look at me," answered Neela. "I had a whole schedule worked out, and you can see how that turned out."

"Well," answered Justin, "contrary to Neela's lack of faith in her scheduling abilities, my immediate future is very much in her capable hands."

Though she tried to hide it by turning her face, Michael noticed the faint blush in her cheeks. Is she actually attracted to him? Is she actually attracted to him? he wondered. he wondered.

"Well, in that case," answered Neela, "Justin will stay here for a few days, during which time he'll rest, read, and begin to learn a little bit about our world and way of doing things. Justin's long-term plans are, of course, up to him."

Michael made a mental note to schedule an interview with this reanimation specialist. He'd do it himself if need be, but would try to pass it on to Irma. She was far better at getting women to trust her than he was.

"If you could choose," he continued, "between the following advances in technology-space travel, nanotechnology, the arrival of near-perfect health, or our long life spans-which would you say was the one that you found most surprising?"

Justin had to think about the question for a moment. While the list he'd been given was impressive, given all that it encompassed, he couldn't honestly say that any of it surprised him. Amazed? Yes. Impressed? Without question. But surprised? No. The future was all that Justin had dreamed it would be and more.

"I'd have to say ... none of the above."

Michael looked up from his DijAssist, his cocked eyebrow revealing his astonishment. "Really? What then?"

"This concept of personal incorporation."

"I could have told you that," Neela mumbled just under her breath, but loud enough to make sure that Michael heard her.

Michael regained his composure and pressed on. He hated that he hadn't seen that one coming. His fault, he figured. Shouldn't have given him a list to choose from. Oh, well Shouldn't have given him a list to choose from. Oh, well.

"The implication," continued Michael, "is fascinating. Care to explain?"

Justin was about to go into a detailed answer when he saw Neela shaking her head and drawing her hand across her throat. He acknowledged her signal with a slight nod, and gave Michael a sound bite instead of a response.

"Well, I kind of expected all the other things, but personal incorporation is something I definitely found surprising."

"In what way? If you don't mind my asking."

"Let's just say it was a little unexpected, and I'm looking forward to learning all about it."

Michael realized that there was no point in pressing the issue further.

"Well, I'm sure our readers will look forward to your IPO date for the chance to invest in you. I know I will."

"Well, uh, thank you," Justin answered, stuttering uncharacteristically. His confidence of a moment ago was strangely shaken by Michael's good intentions. Nothing bad had happened, and he knew that Michael was offering him a compliment, but it was hard to take it as such. In essence, Michael was saying, "Can't wait to see you up there on the auction block." The only thing missing for Justin was the shackles someone of his era normally associated with such goings-on.

Neela, sensing his discomfort, intervened. "I know it's your interview, Michael, but I'd like to ask Justin a question that I'm sure your readers would want to know as well."

Michael considered objecting, but the desire to remain on Dr. Harper's "good" list was greater than his need to control the interview. He leaned back a little in his chair, putting his DijAssist to the side.

"Sure, go ahead."

"I'm curious, Justin," Neela went on, "about what you did for fun in the past."

"Well, of course, there were movies, plays, sports, music ... that sort of thing."

"The music of your era is considered some of the most varied and moving ever."

"Yes," he countered, "but do you you think it was any good?" think it was any good?"

"I do, in fact. The classical rockers are much emulated. Tell me-did you like the Beatles?"

"Sorry, no."

Neela's expression revealed surprise at the answer.

"I loved loved the Beatles," he said with a grin. the Beatles," he said with a grin.

Neela smiled back. "Smart-ass."

Justin laughed.

Damsah's ghost, there is something there, thought Michael. It was a story-or would be, if anything ever happened. He'd sit on it for now-reputations were at stake. Maybe he'd talk to Irma about it.

"Well, then," she said, "maybe you won't be surprised to learn that they're the most popular turn-of-the-millennium group today."

"No, I wouldn't be," he answered, having an urge to give them a listen. "Even in my generation they had a certain ... timeless quality."

Justin tilted his head slightly, as if straining to listen to a song that wasn't there.

Michael, following what he felt was Neela's mundane line of questioning, was forced to admit that, for better or worse, it had seemed to jar something loose in his interviewee. "Are you alright, Justin?"

"Sorry, yes. That last question reminded me of one of their songs ... now it's stuck in my head."

"Which one?" asked Michael.

" 'Across the Universe.' "

The next couple of days were pleasant ones for Justin. He made no more attempts to sneak out of the hospital, and heeded Neela's advice about not interacting with the press. Omad would come by, and they'd hit the clinic's exercise room, then go to the cafeteria for a beer. Other than the fact that people were constantly staring at him, Justin was beginning to think that his new life had returned to what might be called normalcy. He'd even gotten used to the stares. After all, he was a bit of an anomaly, and the looks he'd been getting were not oppressive. People were looking at him with what he gathered was open curiosity. But it became clear early on that they knew better than to bother him. He was to find out later that Mosh had let it be known that anyone who spoke to him without an obvious invitation to do so would be fired on the spot. Justin recalled a very interesting conversation with Mosh and his wife, Eleanor, one night over dinner. Eleanor was a knowledgeable source of information on practical financial matters, like getting a currency account and buying a house. Plus, she seemed to take a mother-hen attitude toward Justin, which he found strangely comforting.

Of all the problems he'd dealt with in planning his trip to the future, the idea of loneliness was never one he'd considered. Since the death of his wife he had wanted to be alone and, in fact, had drawn comfort from the walls he'd built around himself. He'd been prescient enough with his physical being, just not with his emotional one. Now he was beginning to regret not having tried harder to get his erstwhile assistant, or at least someone else from his era, to accompany him. But then Justin would remind himself that all plans have at least one mistake inevitably discovered after the fact. His was in believing that as an outsider he'd have no problem leaving his world, and everyone in it, behind. And now that it was gone he knew he'd been wrong.

Mosh was tired. He was, after all, approaching his second century and beginning to feel it. As if the day-to-day pressure of running a hospital weren't enough, he now had a pissed-off GCI and a horde of ravenous media to contend with. The tricks the press were pulling to get into the hospital ranged from funny (someone claiming to be Justin's long-lost brother) to ludicrous (one idiot shooting himself in the leg to gain entrance). Mosh gladly signed the recommendation for a psychological audit on that man. What was becoming intolerable was that the world was rapidly catching on to the fact that Mosh McKenzie, exGCI board member, was alive and well. And that was a very bad thing. Mosh had known when he retired just how ruthless the corporate world could be-even to retirees. Which was why when he'd left he'd done so with an old-boy handshake deal. He'd get to rule his private fiefdom as long as he promised to stay out of the spotlight and clear of GCI's internal politics. In short, he'd agreed to disappear.

But thanks to Justin he was not keeping up his part of the bargain. He was exerting power, and the world, as well as GCI, was starting to remember that Mosh McKenzie was not only a man to be reckoned with, but also a man who'd once been in contention for the Chairmanship.

Mosh looked out at the conference table and saw a bleary-eyed group of people staring back at him: Neela, Dr. Wang, Gil Tellar, and Eleanor. Mosh chuckled to himself, realizing that it was this same group, minus Eleanor, who less than a week before were so excited by the prospect of their "find" that they'd already planned their retirements. Well, that had changed, hadn't it? None of them had gotten much sleep during the week, and they were all beginning to realize that they'd be getting even less as time wore on. If they attempted to leave the hospital they'd be mobbed by a news-starved world. If they attempted to contact anyone outside the hospital, it was a sure bet their lines would be hacked into. There was no escape. The interest in Justin was at a fever pitch and they were the closest thing to the man who, but for one interview in The Terran Daily News The Terran Daily News, had barely spoken to anyone. The press was painting him as a romantic hero from the past who'd survived incredible odds to reach nirvana. The talk in all the homes and offices was of Justin Cord. Any information about him was instantly downloaded and gobbled up. Most of it was readily available for free, but for the few enterprising entrepreneurs, it was sold at a profit. His birthplaces were immediately made into tourist attractions ... all five of them. Items that had been owned by him, even with flimsy vetting, were auctioned off at an enormous price. It was a banner day for anyone in the Justin Cord business. Unfortunately, it was proving to be difficult for anyone in the business of helping Justin Cord.

"We need to find a way to get him and us out of the spotlight," Mosh said wearily.

"That's not going to happen anytime soon." It was Gil. "You'd have an easier time reversing the Grand Collapse."

Dr. Wang cleared her throat. "Most people are famous in a reflected way. They reflect the fame of other people or events or actions. Those people are relatively easy to separate from the spotlight. You simply remove them from the source of their fame, and soon the world loses interest. The actor stops acting, or the sports figure stops playing, etc. But Justin is not reflecting fame. He is fame. You cannot separate him from himself. The world will have to grow tired of Justin for the spotlight to fade, and that, I suspect, will take some time."

"Unfortunately, I agree with the assessment, Doctor," answered Mosh. "My question is, how do we get the damned spotlight to shine somewhere else?"

"Mosh," chided Eleanor, knowing what her husband was implying, "we will not throw that nice man out on the street."

"What street, Eleanor? That man is going to be one of the wealthiest men in the system the second he steps out the door."

"Actually," said Gil, "he may already be. Justin's been giving me lists of stocks and works of art and collectible items he's socked away-if they've survived, that is."

"You mean other than what we found in the tomb?" asked Dr. Wang.

"Precisely."

"So," said Mosh, "you're telling us he buried treasure around the world before he was suspended?"

"That's what I'm telling you," answered Gil. "Or, at least, that's what he's telling me."

"Rich or not, we can't simply throw him out," insisted Eleanor.

"We don't have to," said Neela, interrupting the fracas. "He wants to go. To be exact, he wants to give a press conference and move back to New York."

"Well, why didn't you say so?" Mosh asked, glaring at Neela.

"I tried," she answered, "but you all seemed pretty intent on not letting me get a word in edgewise."

"I wonder why that is?" Gil asked, neither needing nor expecting an answer. Everyone laughed.

"Yeah, yeah," chortled Neela, "very funny, Gil. But the fact remains, he does want to leave."

Mosh's sense of relief was palpable and visible. He'd been thinking of sending Justin for a long space cruise on a private yacht, something that would've taken him to the Oort Cloud and beyond. It would've taken over a year before he'd have gotten back, and by then he would have hopefully had enough time to begin a proper adjustment into society. Or had Justin preferred, he could have become one of the many people who simply wandered through the solar system, content to call home wherever they happened to be. But now it was moot. Justin had solved his problem, and for a lot less money.

"Is he really ready for that?" asked Eleanor.

"You'd think not," answered Dr. Wang, "but Neela and I have gone over his biophysicals, and they're all in proper balance. And if he does have any emotional turmoil he's hiding it better than anyone I've ever seen."

Gil was perplexed. "I know I'm not an expert or anything, but shouldn't it take longer to mainstream someone like that?"

"Like what?" asked Neela.

"Like, that old," answered Gil. "Not to mention the fact that everything and everyone he held dear is irrevocably gone."

"Not his nature," said Neela. "Justin will always try to deal with reality without pretensions or delays. It is in his nature to accept a situation." And try to master it And try to master it, she thought.