Neela gritted her teeth. "It's what I've been saying all along."

Justin raised his hand. "What we need to do is figure out how to respond to this. Dr. Gillette?"

Dr. Gillette appeared forlorn. Probably, thought Justin, trying to understand how his harmless, minor suggestion could have been used to such disastrous effect. Justin felt bad for him. He felt even worse for himself, as he'd started to rely on Dr. Gillette. But clearly the good doctor was out on this one.

"Why don't we just go on the offensive?" asked Omad.

"I see," asked Justin. "Launch an attack?"

"Well, not literally, but yeah, invite some reporters and tell our side, how we did nothing but put in the form, and he must have done the rest." He paused. "Or we could just kill him."

Everyone laughed.

After a moment Neela spoke. "I suggest we do nothing."

Justin looked surprised. "Really? Just let Hektor get away with turning me into the bogeyman?"

"Bogeyman?" asked Eleanor, who until this moment had sat silently, unsure of what she could add to the conversation.

Justin thought for a moment. "Tax man." Eleanor recoiled slightly. "Yes, I can see where that is exactly what he did to you." Eleanor turned to Neela. "Child, how can you say that we should do nothing?"

"There's nothing to do," she answered. "Hektor won this round. But Hektor's at his best when someone's reacting to his actions. If we respond to the psychological audit, people will assume it's a cover-up or a backpedal of sorts. The less we say on the matter, the more people and reporters will have to find answers elsewhere.

"Who knows?" she added with a sly grin, "maybe they'll actually stumble onto the truth."

"More likely they'll make up something worse," Omad retorted.

"I think Neela's right," added Justin, "but Omad has a point. We can't not say anything. But whatever we do say will most likely play right into Hektor's grand scheme ... whatever that may be." Justin remained silent for a minute, then spoke up. "Our best course of action is to only talk to reporters we know and trust-as much as anyone can trust a reporter-and hope they'll give us a fair shake. But Manny, see if you can get the full transcripts of the psyche-audit hearings-all of them. Something strange was going on, and I'll want the facts." Though Manny gave a distracted nod, Justin knew it would get done. "And," he continued, "I'll tell all of you this-I'm through reacting to Hektor. The next time I have to deal with the man I will not underestimate him. And I suggest we all tread carefully from here on in."

"In other words," said Neela, "it ain't over."

"It ain't over." Justin agreed. However, he did get up, indicating the get-together was.

Irma Sobbelge was trying to figure out exactly what had happened with Sambianco's psyche audit. It didn't make any sense. She wasn't buying Hektor's act, and if, in fact, it was an act then the only person the audit seemed to hurt was Justin. The whole incident had the smell of a setup, and she knew she'd have to act fast if she had any hope at all of uncovering the truth. She also realized that if her suspicions were true, the harm currently being made to Justin Cord's reputation might prove irreparable. But before she could figure out how to get ahold of Justin, he got ahold of her. Not just an interview, he suggested over the phone, but a full day with her and her team-in his apartment. Hours of tours, interviews, and, promised Justin, an explanation of his recent actions. A charm offensive if ever there was one, decided Irma, but not an opportunity to be missed. Thirty-five minutes later she arrived at his door, team in tow.

It proved a delightful afternoon. Justin and his old-style beer, Justin and his old-style coffee. Justin and his breakfast cereal (cereal!), Justin and his strange preoccupation with a television set. The fifteen-minute explanation of a wall socket and power cords was priceless. But it was the promised interview at the end of the day that she was looking forward to the most. She even pulled rank and edged out Michael for the one-on-one.

As the sun set, casting a beautiful gleam down on the clouds below, Irma and Justin made their way into a private chamber, where she soon found herself sitting across from him around a small dining-room table sipping coffee. There was, she noted, a wonderfully strong smell of ground beans wafting through the air. Whether the smell had emanated from the in-house olfactory system or from the actual article was of little importance to her; it was unusually entrancing.

"Justin," she said, "let me cut right to the chase. ..."

"Please do," he said, smiling.

"The whole system is concerned about what happened with Hektor Sambianco of GCI."

"The whole system has a right to be concerned, Irma. I'm I'm concerned." concerned."

She hadn't expected that reply. Not defensive at all. Strange.

"About the bad press you're getting?" she asked, testing.

"No," he answered. "I deserve the bad press. What I did was wrong."

Irma paused and looked intently at her subject. He was playing at something, but what? No one admits they're wrong. No one on-the-record, that is. She felt she owed him something, though. Wasn't sure why, maybe the guy just brought it out. She'd long since learned not to fight her gut.

"You realize, of course, this is being recorded?"

"I do."

He knows what he's doing, she told herself, so shut up and get it down for posterity so shut up and get it down for posterity.

"Please continue, then," she said, picking up her coffee and letting her DijAssist do the rest.

Justin's legs were crossed, and he'd moved a few feet back from the table's edge. His arms were resting easily on the arms of the captain's chair.

"With the request for a psyche audit," he said, "the whole system saw me lose my temper and lash out with what seemed to be an amazing power. My economic invulnerability was, and is, I admit, frightening. It really doesn't matter that I was provoked. It doesn't even matter that this P.A. went through without a single hitch, and, I assure you, no help from me. To all the people out there listening, all they know is that I can hurt any one of them at any time, and they're powerless to hurt me back." Justin paused-shamefaced. "And those people are absolutely correct."

Irma didn't say a word. Justin had clearly prepared this speech for her and her audience's benefit. She knew better than to get in the way.

"I've made some decisions, Irma," he said, uncrossing his legs and leaning a notch forward. "Three, to be precise. If you'd be so kind as to pass them on ..."

"Of course, Justin," answered Irma, taken aback by the sincerity of the request. As if there were another possibility, as if she might decide not to go with his story. Unbelievable.

"Thank you," he continued. "First, I hereby now publicly apologize to Hektor Sambianco. Whatever the provocation, my request for the psyche audit was wrong, and I regret my abuse of power. Second, I hereby promise to give the one share of Hektor Sambianco I purchased for my despicable purpose back to him. It is his, not mine, and I was wrong to own it. If Hektor does not want it back I will sell it and put the money toward an account that'll pay for an investigation into how the justice system could've failed him so badly as to approve a frivolous P.A. in less than a week. Not even The Chairman, with all the legal resources of GCI, could have done that, Irma. How I, as a novice with one share of stock, could do it points to a criminal lapse with regards to the safeguards that were supposed to protect everyone."

Irma nodded, the seriousness of the allegation and confirmation of her suspicions made manifest. "And number three?" she asked, more as a reminder than a question. She needn't have bothered.

Justin had the look of a man who with utter certainty was about to deliver an incontrovertible truth. "Third," he continued, "I have been recently informed that as a matter of course some of my investments had me owning stock in people. No more. It's all been given back-all been divested." He paused a moment to let his last comments sink in, and then looked deep into Irma's eyes, lest she doubt the sincerity of his forthcoming declaration. "I, Justin Cord, hereby promise the system this: I will not be owned by anyone and I will not own anyone I will not be owned by anyone and I will not own anyone. A free man must not own another and I will be free I will be free. Since owning is just as dangerous as being owned-more dangerous, actually-I will give it up. I may be the one free man left in the system, but I will not allow that freedom to be abused again, especially by myself."

Justin sat back. Interview over. Gauntlet thrown. If the very definition of freedom was to be the stakes he and Hektor were playing for, then Justin had finally found the hill he was prepared to die on.

Hektor was watching the interview attentively. Part of him was as mad as hell at Justin for having so deftly turned his carefully planned public relations disaster into a public relations coup. The other part was applauding the move. But even Hektor had to admit he was beginning to worry. Justin kept getting stronger-more dangerous. And it was already too late to kill him. Or, at least, that's what his contingency programs were telling him. It still didn't mitigate the fact that Justin Cord was becoming an active threat to the corporate system-a threat that needed to be stopped. And there was nothing more dear to Hektor Sambianco than the incorporated world. It was perfect. It let an individual know who was who. How else could he ultimately sneer at all those who thought they were better than him and have them know they were his inferiors? And most of those mindless drones from his past were were his inferiors. They just didn't know it yet. his inferiors. They just didn't know it yet.

The irony, realized Hektor, was that Justin was obviously superior but had no idea. Still, he had to be stopped, and Hektor was just the man to do it. Although he had the help of Janet Delgado, he knew it would not be enough. He'd need more power, money, and information. And Kirk Olmstead had all three, didn't he? Hektor just needed to figure out a way to get at it.

One of the advantages of Kirk being V.P. of Special Operations was that he had had his back covered long ago. Hacking into his records was useless. And blackmail was out of the question. Anyone he cared about either was well protected or had had their stocks held by Kirk or his associates. There was no effective way to bug his office, and his secretary of over thirty years was about as likely to give up information as a nun would be to give up her chastity.

Still, he wondered. On the occasions Hektor had had seen Kirk's chief administrative assistant, a mild-mannered wallflower whose only claim to fame was his boss and his loyalty, he'd always been treated rudely-dismissed like some mangy pup begging for scraps. In fact, thought Hektor, following his gut, he never once heard about Kirk's secretary getting any special trips or bonuses that office gossip and quarterly reports always laid bare. Just to be sure, Hektor checked and found that the man hadn't gotten any bonuses, had been paid the minimum for someone in his position, and took no vacation days. Using a fairly ingenious spy program, he checked the financial records and saw that Kirk's assistant lived like a penny. He hadn't subscribed to any entertainment channels, took no trips other than on GCI business, and rented nothing having to do with sex-male or female. He'd even, if the automated pizza receipt records were to be believed, spent the last thirty Mardi Gras in his studio apartment. That made no sense to Hektor. Kirk didn't pay his secretary much, but he was certainly paid enough to live better than a penny with a bad line of credit. seen Kirk's chief administrative assistant, a mild-mannered wallflower whose only claim to fame was his boss and his loyalty, he'd always been treated rudely-dismissed like some mangy pup begging for scraps. In fact, thought Hektor, following his gut, he never once heard about Kirk's secretary getting any special trips or bonuses that office gossip and quarterly reports always laid bare. Just to be sure, Hektor checked and found that the man hadn't gotten any bonuses, had been paid the minimum for someone in his position, and took no vacation days. Using a fairly ingenious spy program, he checked the financial records and saw that Kirk's assistant lived like a penny. He hadn't subscribed to any entertainment channels, took no trips other than on GCI business, and rented nothing having to do with sex-male or female. He'd even, if the automated pizza receipt records were to be believed, spent the last thirty Mardi Gras in his studio apartment. That made no sense to Hektor. Kirk didn't pay his secretary much, but he was certainly paid enough to live better than a penny with a bad line of credit.

What does Kirk have on the guy? wondered Hektor. wondered Hektor. No one stays that loyal while being treated like such shit. The guy's got no friends, no hobbies, no interests, no vices, no family ties. It's like he's living in his own little ... No one stays that loyal while being treated like such shit. The guy's got no friends, no hobbies, no interests, no vices, no family ties. It's like he's living in his own little ... Hektor smiled before he even finished the thought. Hektor smiled before he even finished the thought.

"Gotcha."

It was simple to get the secretary alone. He'd called the man, saying he had a hard-copy document that needed to be handed over to the DepDir personally. The man came in shortly and stood impatiently in front of Hektor's desk. Hektor closed the door and activated his suppression system. Not a suspicious act in and of itself, as Hektor did that when anyone walked in. The man, noticed Hektor, was of average height, with no muscle tone to speak of, and hair kept very short. His clothes were utilitarian, almost severe in their simplicity. Around the upper staff it was assumed that this was the "look" that the secretary was going for. But Hektor knew that it was not affectation, it was consequence.

After his perusal he got right to the topic. "Evan, how long have you been a VR addict?"

Hektor saw Evan's eyes light up, and then quickly recover. He then saw what he knew would be Evan's inevitable conclusion-resignation.

"Thirty-five years," he managed in a whisper.

"Lemme guess," asked Hektor. "Kirk found out thirty years ago?"

"Yes," answered Evan. His shoulders had sagged.

"You do know that you work for me now."

Evan looked up, a little surprised, but he recovered quickly. "Yes."

"Excellent," answered Hektor. "We'll start by giving me access to everything you have access to, and figure out the rest later. When Kirk is removed from power-and mark my words, he will will be removed-you'll be given a job in some basement somewhere and allowed to continue your 'pastime' without interruption." be removed-you'll be given a job in some basement somewhere and allowed to continue your 'pastime' without interruption."

Evan bowed his head slightly in acknowledgment. He'd assumed this day would come and it would mean an immediate end to his addiction. It was a moment he'd dreaded for years. The fact that the moment had arrived, and that this Sambianco fellow had agreed not not to cut him off, was plenty fine for him. Let the Titans fight it out. What did he care? As long as they left him and his worlds alone. to cut him off, was plenty fine for him. Let the Titans fight it out. What did he care? As long as they left him and his worlds alone.

"I assume," continued Hektor, "you'll get caught. Your kind always does, but, rest assured, it won't be because of me."

Again, Evan nodded his head in agreement.

"If you tell anyone of this arrangement," said Hektor, putting both his hands down on the table and lifting himself up, "your psyche audit will be swift and painful." Then, looking sternly at his entrapped prey, he said, "We do understand each other."

It was not a question.

"Yes," answered Evan, and then after a second's pause, "sir."

Hektor smiled as Evan left the room much more quickly than he'd entered.

When Neela got back to the apartment she found a note from Justin fastened to the foyer mirror. Her smile at the anachronism quickly dissipated when she read the contents.

"Evelyn," she said to her DijAssist, "please get me a flight to Boston."

"That won't be necessary, Neela. Mr. Cord has leased three executive aircars for a period of one year. His avatar has informed me that one has been left for your personal disposal. It is sufficiently fast enough to get you to Boston sooner than a t.o.p. would-given traffic around Giuliani."

In a little under twenty minutes Neela found herself standing in the lobby of a commercial complex with a magnificent view of Boston Harbor. Justin emerged from a side permiawall and greeted her warmly.

"Justin," she said, "what's going on?"

He led her through the permiawall. Neela saw that he still had the odd habit of holding his arm out as far as he could and touching the door with his finger to activate it. When she got to the other side she saw a large work area filled with people and drones working together at large tables, or individually in cubes. It had the requisite buzz and clamor of a typical workspace. A few heads looked up to see who'd come in, but quickly rebusied themselves with their tasks.

"This," he answered, beaming proudly, "is what's going on."

Though she had her misgivings about the endeavor, she was more taken aback by how fast Justin had managed to put the roots into his grassroots organization.

"So you're actually doing it," she said, shaking her head in disbelief.

"I'm not," he said, scanning the area, arms outstretched. "They are."

Neela didn't speak, unsure of what, if anything, to say. She was happy that the man in her care was finally feeling empowered, but scared of what that empowerment might actually lead to.

"Don't you see, Neela," he continued. "They can free themselves of the burden of owning, and in so doing make the world ready for the next step."

Neela was a little dubious. "Which is?"

"Why, the end of mandatory incorporation, of course."

"And how long," she asked, not bothering to mask her incredulity, "do you think it will take?"

"Any idea, sebastian?" asked Justin.

"Approximately two hundred years by my calculations, Dr. Harper."

"Why that long?"

"Any faster," interjected Justin, lest his avatar misconstrue Neela's question to be directed at him, "and people could get hurt. I understand that the corporate world functions moderately well and isn't going anywhere for a while-which is just fine by me. And it's also why I've started contributing funds to political parties with similar philosophies."

"Like the Majority Party?" she asked.

"Yeah. They're small and unorganized, but I think their hearts are in the right place. Like I said, Neela, I'd really only like to end mandatory incorporation ... and do it slowly slowly. History's littered with the corpses of the unwilling who died because some big-headed idiots thought their cause was more important than the lives they were meant to protect. Well, I'm no Stalin or Osama. Gandhi and Martin Luther King are more worthy role models."

Neela shrugged. "Interesting choice ... Boston," she said, changing topics.

"True birthplace of freedom," he proffered.

She gave him a puzzled look.

"Not Washington, D.C.?"

"You mean," he answered with disdain, "the place where most of my beliefs were shot down and/or destroyed in the name of the common good? Don't think so. Besides, Boston's the true birthplace of freedom."

"Then what was Philadelphia all about?"

Justin shook his head. "It was a convenient meeting place. Boston was where Americans first started to fight for their precious freedom and, by God," he said, leading her into his well-appointed office, "it's where we'll start to fight for ours!"