"Well," he added, correcting himself, "as normal as this situation allows. Think about it, Neela. A fascinating, powerful, and remarkable man is expressing subtle but near constant interest in you. It would be unnatural unnatural if it didn't invite a mutual feeling." if it didn't invite a mutual feeling."

Thaddeus saw that his explanations had hit their intended mark. Neela looked visibly relieved. Lest she hang her hat on redemption for too long, Thaddeus swung the counterpunch.

"But mark my words, Neela, it must not be allowed to turn into anything it must not be allowed to turn into anything. We must not only protect you, we must protect our client-especially from himself."

Putting words into action, he began to immediately scan the room for telltale signs of a woman's presence.

None. That was good.

Still, he felt compelled to ask.

"Do you live here?"

"Of course not," retorted Neela, bridling once more. "He rented an apartment for me next door."

"Good, but not good enough. Will you take my advice in this matter?"

"Of course, Dr. Gill ... Thaddeus. What do you want me to do?"

"First, you must move out of the apartment. I will take it over. You'll get a place at least three kilometers away. But the farther the better."

"But we spend so much time together, and I ..."

"Of course," he said, cutting her off, "I will maintain a guest room in my/your apartment here. If you happen to spend far more of your nights there than at your own place, then that is what will be."

Neela seemed satisfied with the compromise. "Won't people think that you and I might be, well, you know?"

"I hope they do," he answered, smiling brightly. "If they're looking at us they hopefully won't be looking at you, or, more specifically, you and Justin. This will be of great use to our client, though he may not know it. And, I must admit that if people thought I could attract as charming a lover as you, it would not hurt my reputation, or love life, either."

It was uttered so disarmingly and with such innocence, Neela realized that it was not a come-on, and took it for the compliment it was meant to be. Maybe it wouldn't be such a bad arrangement after all.

"What is the second thing you need me to do, Thaddeus?"

"Quit."

"But ..."

"Fear not, my dear," he interrupted, putting his finger up. "You will no longer be working for Justin. Assuming that he agrees, your contract will be transferred to me, and I will officially hire you as a member of my staff. I'll make sure to put in a clause that you'll receive your full salary and independent publishing rights, but we must put some legal distance between you and Mr. Cord. I'm sure he'll understand the necessity of that."

Neela looked around the room, not for the last time, but at least with a look that was meant to rid her of any silly notions of taking up residence with her derelict fantasies.

"Agreed," she answered. "I'll explain it to him tonight after dinner."

"Excellent. Now, if you can help me with understanding our Mr. Cord, there is something that I cannot quite figure out."

She was relieved. It was only a matter of time, and the ever-present ear of the gentlemanly Thaddeus Gillette, that assured her that her "natural" feelings toward Justin would dissipate, and with them her feelings of guilt and shame.

"It'll be nice to get down to our real business," she answered. "How can I help?"

Thaddeus gave Neela a look of reassurance, and then plowed ahead, objectives to be met, work to be done.

"Why the violent reaction at the end of the press conference-the actual lunging for Hektor and needing to be restrained by, not one, but a handful of bodyguards? Doesn't make sense given what I know about Mr. Cord ... past and present."

"My theory?" answered Neela. "Justin was attacked, and he attacked back."

"Attacked, you say? It must be very primal."

"It is. First understand that what you consider 'freedom' and what he considers 'freedom' are two almost diametrically opposing beliefs. Having said that, know that Justin considers himself a free man. It's his whole identity. He would die, and I think even kill, to maintain that freedom."

"And incorporation?"

"Tantamount to slavery. On the surface he seems curious and accepting of it, but deep down in his gut, when he hears 'incorporation' he feels feels 'slavery.' " 'slavery.' "

"So," said Thaddeus, "Mr. Sambianco's attempt to force incorporation via the courts was, in fact, an attack."

"To Justin it would be as if someone was trying to put a chain around his neck or brand him with an old-fashioned cattle iron. I don't think he realized just how strongly he felt about it until he lost control. Add to that the fact that they have a history."

Neela went on to explain Hektor's initial attempt to first trick and then force Justin into incorporating, and how her fortuitous timing had stymied his plans.

"Shameful, shameful. Not good. And, incidentally-it also means you've saved Justin twice," muttered Gillette. "Explains a lot."

Neela said nothing, but she realized just how bad this could be. Everyone was incorporated, and Justin had to come to some accommodation with that fact or be forever exiled from society. She was only now beginning to realize how his old-world definition of freedom wasn't just semantic, it was intrinsic. He couldn't live without it. Further, that Justin's views of freedom weren't just out of sync; they were dangerous. And so she swore to herself that she would do whatever it took to change the man, for better or for worse.

It was then that a call came through. Neela raised her hand to her ear and answered.

"What is it?" asked Thaddeus, seeing the blood drain from his newest hire's face.

"Justin's fallen off the Empire State Building."

When Justin's eyes fluttered back to life it was in a hospital surrounded by a coterie of doctors, police, and technicians. But there was only one face he was truly glad to see.

"You know I can't keep waking you up," Neela said, smiling down on him, rolling her eyes. "It's starting to get a little boring."

"Yes ... yes, you can," he replied, awkwardly lifting his hand up for her to take. She looked around uncomfortably, and then took it into hers. It would not be considered inappropriate, she reasoned. No one gave her a look. She allowed herself to admit it felt good.

When Justin was done answering the questions as well as having his own answered, he realized just how lucky he'd been. The weapon used to threaten him was called a neurolizer. It was designed specifically to cause permanent death by scrambling a person's neural network connections, leaving the brain dead and, for all intents and purposes, the owner of that brain a vegetable; the man Justin had thrown over the side of the building had suffered a permanent death as a result of the fall. In short, there had been nothing left to reconstitute. Fortunately, there had been no bystanders to land on, as the area had been cleared once "the incident," as it was being reported across the system, had come to the attention of those responsible for the ESC's security; the man with the gun had been an immediate threat to Justin's being and was eliminated without prejudice, a young lieutenant had informed him. And no, they couldn't have just knocked him out. Not knowing what sorts of precautions or defenses the assailant may have taken resulted in a hard, fast decision that had not boded well for the recently obliterated Marcelius Henklebee, who had been unmarried and led an uneventful life-quiet sort. Who knew? The lieutenant shrugged his shoulders again. As for Justin, he was "one lucky sonavabitch, don't ya know?" Seems they managed to get the floater field reactivated approximately forty feet from impact, slowing Justin's descent appreciably enough to prevent him from becoming street pizza.

"Impact?" asked Justin.

The lieutenant nodded and smiled.

Neela was waiting for him as he checked out of the hospital and, with a police escort in tow, took him home. He needed it. His experience on the observation deck was not just being reported, it was being systemcast. Multiple recorders from the apartments and shops above the Empire State Building had seen and heard everything.

He was not so pleased to learn that Neela had found a much less expensive apartment in the Jersey borough, and was even less pleased to learn that a man he'd never met was moving in next door. Still, in the course of an evening he came to like Thaddeus Gillette. Although Justin knew that it was the doctor's training to be attentive, questioning, and amiable, he still had to admit he liked the guy. Once Justin had spent enough time, drank a few beers, and discussed the situation with the good doctor, the importance of Neela not living next door was understood, if not felt. But that wasn't the change that bothered him the most. It was having to hire a security agency to protect him, watch his back, approve his itinerary, and check his food. Perhaps he'd been naive, thinking he'd just pop out of his high-tech casket and resume the life of a regular Joe in an idealized future. Perhaps. Either way, the new security precautions had reminded him of one thing, and one thing only-a life he'd left behind.

5 First Trial

Hektor was standing in front of a very long table. It was clear to the point of invisibility and supported by nothing but air-or, to be more precise, a hidden magnetic antigravitational device. Were it not for the various DijAssists, papers, pads, and pointing devices strewn across its surface, one might walk right into it.

He was the only one standing.

The rest of the board members gathered around the table were sitting stiffly, aware that their every move and phrase was being, or would be, watched and listened to. Each member had one or two assistants sitting behind him or her, ready to whisper salient information when called to do so. And each board member was addressed by their title and not their name. They were Publicity, GenOPs, Legal, and Accounting. At the head of the table, sitting opposite Hektor, was Kirk Olmstead, the deputy director of the powerful Special Operations branch of GCI, otherwise known as the DepDir. Conspicuously absent was the DepDir's personal assistant. Hektor was disappointed. He'd been drawn to her ice-queen looks and demeanor. But he had other things to worry about, chief of which was the fact that he found himself in front of a corporate firing squad in the guise of an unofficial board meeting-"unofficial" because The Chairman was not physically present. However, if the meeting's outcome met with The Chairman's approval, then it would be entered into the logs as "official," and all the minutes and decisions would be acted upon. If he did not approve, changes would be made. And if he really disapproved, chairs could be emptied. No one presently sitting at the table thought there'd be any disagreement with the anticipated outcome of the day's meeting. They'd discuss the facts, gather what information they could from Mr. Sambianco, and then chart a course toward rectification. But that didn't negate the fact that Hektor Sambianco, once respected as an up-and-coming corporate strategist, was now to be viewed with contempt and, should any of the board members be so inclined, pity.

Publicity spoke first.

"Disaster, an absolute disaster. We've got the biggest, most sought-after name in the system making us out as some kind of corporate monster attempting to steal him away forever."

"Forever's a bit long," Hektor said, ignoring Publicity's hysterics. "More like four or five years."

The corners of Publicity's mouth began to twitch as he focused his rage on Hektor. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Enough," the DepDir interrupted, "and Hektor, do us all a favor and shut up."

Hektor tilted his head in acknowledgment.

"What we need," continued the DepDir, "is to keep the proper perspective on this. With all due respect to Publicity, we are are a corporation and our goal a corporation and our goal is is to make money for our shareholders. And even though Hektor's behavior has forced GCI into a course we would not normally have taken, we may as well take advantage of it." to make money for our shareholders. And even though Hektor's behavior has forced GCI into a course we would not normally have taken, we may as well take advantage of it."

Publicity began to protest, but the DepDir put up his hand to stop her.

"Accounting," he said, "just out of curiosity, how much money is Justin Cord worth?"

Accounting, a soft-spoken African woman, spoke up. "He is priceless. We cannot calculate his value because there are too many unknowns, but it is without a doubt that he is potentially the most valuable human being in the system."

"And we don't have a single share!" shouted GenOps, a florid-faced, sandy-haired man who had the uninspired yet de rigueur look of fitness so common to nanobuilt bodies. "This is intolerable."

"For that we can blame Hektor." The DepDir's comment elicited general grunts of agreement to which Hektor had the good grace to remain silent.

"But," continued the DepDir, "we can rectify the future. I repeat, our goal is to make money for the stockholders, and the only reason any of us are here," he said, pausing to stare markedly at Hektor, "is because we can can make money. So again, let's just view this as a moneymaking procedure." The DepDir looked toward Legal. make money. So again, let's just view this as a moneymaking procedure." The DepDir looked toward Legal.

"How's the lawsuit going?"

Before Legal could answer, Hektor held up a dataplaque and gestured that he was ready to present.

"Yes, Mr. Sambianco?" answered Legal, glad to deflect the question even if only for a few minutes. She could see she'd pissed off the DepDir, but he wasn't her boss yet, and until then she'd use her authority to cement that fact. Besides, she figured, Hektor had started this damned lawsuit, let him take some more heat for it. And if she could've done something worse to him than what Kirk was obviously planning she would have felt compelled to try. How dare he start a legal proceeding without her.

"Yes, ma'am," answered Hektor. "As all of you may already realize, I was the one who instituted the lawsuit."

Per corporate chess, the blank stares of the people in the room neither denied nor confirmed whether they knew it or not.

"And," continued Hektor, "I managed to get it onto the court dockets quickly. It should keep us engaged with Justin for quite a while."

"It is not a good idea," answered Publicity, "to keep him 'engaged,' young man. Every day we're mentioned with him makes us look bad. And that does amount to," she said pointedly looking away from Hektor and toward the DepDir, "what I'm sure is a substantial credit loss, which is why I think we should cancel this lawsuit immediately."

Publicity looked around and saw that there were heads nodding in agreement.

"I don't mean to be rude," Hektor answered, "but canceling the suit would not be the correct way to handle this."

"Oh really, Mr. Sambianco?" seethed Publicity. "And how would you, with all your years of experience, handle this? Drag it out for all it's worth, even though we're probably going to lose?"

"Why, yes, ma'am, that's exactly what I'd do."

This brought a round of mutterings concerning Hektor's mental fitness. It didn't last long. Accounting came to his rescue.

"How can you justify such a position, Mr. Sambianco?"

Hektor exhaled. "Cord's a nutcase. OK, he's a damned popular nutcase, but he's still a nutcase. Remember how easy it was to push his buttons at the press conference?"

"Oh, yes," Publicity chimed in sarcastically, "it did us a world of good to see a duly recognized member of GCI harass the most popular man in the system."

"It will," shot back Hektor, enjoying the fact that expendability let him speak his mind. "I'll grant you Cord's popular now, but in a couple of months he'll be pissing people off. And when that happens they'll remember that we were never afraid of him. And, I might add, when that happens we'll force him to settle ... at a more preferable percentage."

Hektor could see one of Publicity's assistants whispering something into her ear.

"According to the Spencer ratings," Publicity stated, "Justin Cord will remain popular for years if not decades to come."

The Spencer ratings had developed as marketing became more of a science and less of an art. It was known for making extremely accurate predictions of trends and fads as well as of shifts in consumer interest. In the last fifty years it had become as indispensable to ad men as quadratic equations were to mathematicians.

"Forget the Spencer ratings," scoffed Hektor. "They won't work concerning Justin Cord."

"I will do no such thing!" screamed Publicity. "You're not even a member of this board. I don't know why we're even bothering with you."

"You're 'bothering with me,' " Hektor answered calmly, "because I was detached from Special Operations"-he then smiled acidly in the DepDir's direction-"and assigned as a special adviser to the board. And, I repeat, since we're already well into it, my advice is to drag out the pretrial motions. We can't get a favorable ruling in court, but we can still win. Justin will say and do things to piss off the public. He can't help it; he doesn't like the whole idea of incorporation-an idea, I might add, that is fundamental to all the values we as a society hold sacred. So when Wonder Boy starts mouthing off against this, the heart of our civilization, we'll do just fine."

"He's got enough money to hire the best lawyers in the system," fired back Publicity. "What makes you think they're they're going to let him mouth off?" going to let him mouth off?"

"He can't help himself," answered Hektor. "He says what he thinks."

"If only he were the only one," muttered the DepDir loudly enough for all to hear. This got the room laughing, Hektor included.

"However, we're all forgetting," continued the DepDir, "about what's important here-the money. Who gives a damn about civilizations and values? Our job is still to bring a profit. If we get some of Justin's stock we'll not only be richer, we'll also have the option of invoking audits and other means of control over him."

"What basis," asked Accounting, "do we have for getting any shares of his stock?"