"I'm sure you have a lovely home as well, Agnes," said Justin, supportively.

"Nothing much, really, just a five-bedroom Victorian on a quarter acre of land."

"Nothing much?" asked Justin, perplexed. "Trust me, Agnes, that would be 'much' in my day and age!"

"Dude," said Omad, first looking apologetically over to Agnes, "it's fixed."

Everyone else remained silent-almost as if Omad had uttered a dirty word. Justin looked at Neela. She looked at Dr. Gillette, who just looked back at her. She thought about it for a moment and shrugged. "OK, Justin, you know about the luxury t.o.p.s, and you know about the special features of your apartment in New York."

Justin nodded. "Yeah, they can form shapes and textures as desired. Pretty neat."

"Very neat and very very expensive," continued Neela. "The materials are easy, but the nanos that run the transformation have to be constantly updated and checked. The amount of human labor involved is large for reasons that I don't really understand. But the social effect is that only the richest can afford to actually live in fluid dwellings. That's when there came a split between houses that were fixed, partially fixed, partially fluid, and fluid." expensive," continued Neela. "The materials are easy, but the nanos that run the transformation have to be constantly updated and checked. The amount of human labor involved is large for reasons that I don't really understand. But the social effect is that only the richest can afford to actually live in fluid dwellings. That's when there came a split between houses that were fixed, partially fixed, partially fluid, and fluid."

"And on my salary," continued Agnes, "fixed it is."

Everyone nodded his or her head.

"If you don't mind my being so bold, Agnes," said Justin, "I'm quite curious as to where the rest of your salary goes."

"Oh, not at all!" she gushed. "Well," she said, picking at small croissant, "a lot goes into travel and entertainment. Then there are my investment portfolios. I really can't afford to buy into anyone really profitable, but I might get lucky and hit a shooting star ... like Omad."

Omad smiled. "Actually, Neela's a much bigger shooting star than anyone in the world right now."

Dr. Gillette saw the look of confusion on Justin's face and came to his rescue.

"The poor cannot afford to invest in the profitable," he answered as if Agnes was not in the room, "or even the potentially profitable. If they could then they wouldn't be poor. What they can can do is invest in each other. A few shares of a poor, struggling nobody cost nothing. The theory is, if you invest in enough of them somebody will make it big and you'll become rich. For reasons, Justin, that you would understand and most of this era would not, these types of people are called 'penny stocks.' And those few 'pennies' who do, in fact, rise dramatically in value are called 'shooting stars.' Mostly because the reason they became valuable had nothing to do with inbred talent ... present company excluded, of course. For instance, they were the sole witness of an extraordinary event, or married somebody with greater wealth than theirs. For the most part, shooting stars go down in value and disappear back into the pennies almost as fast as they rose, and hence the name." do is invest in each other. A few shares of a poor, struggling nobody cost nothing. The theory is, if you invest in enough of them somebody will make it big and you'll become rich. For reasons, Justin, that you would understand and most of this era would not, these types of people are called 'penny stocks.' And those few 'pennies' who do, in fact, rise dramatically in value are called 'shooting stars.' Mostly because the reason they became valuable had nothing to do with inbred talent ... present company excluded, of course. For instance, they were the sole witness of an extraordinary event, or married somebody with greater wealth than theirs. For the most part, shooting stars go down in value and disappear back into the pennies almost as fast as they rose, and hence the name."

"So you're telling me," said Justin, now looking toward Agnes, "that investing in someone like you, a penny, would be like gambling?"

"Oh, more than that, Justin," answered Agnes. "The penny stocks are a way for everyone to participate in society. When you gamble you get nothing, but when you invest you at least take stock in someone else.

"But, to be perfectly honest," she continued, as if resigned to her station, "I wouldn't be a good bet."

A little while later Justin found himself reading alone in Mosh's well-stocked library. He put down his book, The Rise and Fall of the American Republic The Rise and Fall of the American Republic, and called up his avatar.

"Yes, Justin."

"I was thinking about doing something nice for Agnes."

"Forgive what must be my limited understanding of human interaction. Did you form a closer relationship with Ms. Goldstein than I observed?"

"No," answered Justin, "I did not."

"Then why do you wish to do something nice for her?"

"Because," answered Justin, remembering all the people who'd underestimated him, "I think she is is a good bet." a good bet."

"Thank you, sir," answered sebastian, "now I understand. What did you have in mind?"

Justin narrowed his eyes in contemplation. "How much stock does she have in herself?"

"In order to find that information out you would need to own at least one share of Miss Goldstein. You have given me and your brokers explicit instructions not to buy a single share of a single person."

Justin gave it some thought. He was adverse to the prospect of owning a share of anyone because it smacked of slavery, but in this case, he was willing to forgo his dictate-if only temporarily. "Sebastian, is there any requirement as to how long I must own that share?"

"None."

"Could you please have one of my front operations buy one share of Agnes and get the information, and then sell it?"

"Might I suggest, sir, that you purchase one hundred shares, or at the least ten."

"Why?"

"Purchasing and selling just one might cause some automatic programs to flag the sale and investigate, for investment or media purposes. However, the buying and selling of a hundred-share lot would not be seen as unusual. Certainly not in the penny stocks."

"Do it." After a few minutes Justin had the information he wanted. He was assured by sebastian that Agnes's stock had then been resold.

"She is indeed a true 'penny,' Justin," said sebastian, "owning just 25 percent of herself. She has spent most of her stock on education, but specialized in a type of fashion that became, for lack of a better word, 'unfashionable.' Barring a change in her chosen field, her expertise will, in all likelihood, not be needed. She will have to retrain, and will therefore remain a penny stock for decades, if not centuries."

Justin's head tilted slightly. "How long will it be before she can make majority?"

"Statistically averaging based on her age, income, spending bracket, and expenses, and if she continues her frugal ways ... one hundred and seven years."

"How much would it cost me to buy a majority of her stock?"

"You will need to buy 26 percent of her to do that. Given her current portfolio, and taking into account what such a large order would do if purchased at once ..."

"Factor in a series of purchases over a year's time."

The answer was instantaneous. "Fifteen thousand GCI credits. Or roughly thirty-seven thousand of your U.S. dollars."

Justin was thunderstruck. A fluid room, he was informed, would cost millions, but a person's life and freedom cost less than 5 percent of that. And Agnes was just one of billions whose "worth," at least on paper, was almost worthless.

Two days after meeting the most famous man in the universe-a fact her friends still refused to believe-Agnes Goldstein returned to her house. It ain't much to look at It ain't much to look at, she sighed, but it's home but it's home. She noticed a small white envelope protruding from her door.

An envelope was strange enough; she'd read about them as a means of paper delivery but had never actually touched one. The fact that someone had gone to the trouble to place it in her door was even stranger. She wasn't sure how to open it, so she tore the end off, trying hard not to destroy the piece of paper inside.

It read: Agnes, I wanted to thank you for helping me understand a little more of this often strange and baffling world I've somehow managed to find myself in. If it's all right with you, I'd like to show my appreciation by giving you a gift. ... I wanted to thank you for helping me understand a little more of this often strange and baffling world I've somehow managed to find myself in. If it's all right with you, I'd like to show my appreciation by giving you a gift. ...

Agnes's heart began to pound.

... Over the course of the next year you will be given an additional 20 percent share of your own personal stock. This will bring your self-ownership up to 45 percent. It is imperative that you do not tell anyone about this gift, It is imperative that you do not tell anyone about this gift, as it will transform you into a shooting star and the stock purchases will not work as it will transform you into a shooting star and the stock purchases will not work. Once you're at 45 percent your prospects will be bright indeed. If I may be so bold as to suggest you either work hard for another ten years and achieve majority, or you invest the stock in an education that will give you the standard of living you clearly desire. (Call me crazy, but I still love a Victorian-fixed or not!) Whatever you choose, I hope you make the most of this second chance. I myself have recently been given one and know how wonderful they can be. If you feel this gift to be inappropriate or undesirable, then do nothing. However, if my gift meets with your approval, all you have to do is have your avatar call mine Once you're at 45 percent your prospects will be bright indeed. If I may be so bold as to suggest you either work hard for another ten years and achieve majority, or you invest the stock in an education that will give you the standard of living you clearly desire. (Call me crazy, but I still love a Victorian-fixed or not!) Whatever you choose, I hope you make the most of this second chance. I myself have recently been given one and know how wonderful they can be. If you feel this gift to be inappropriate or undesirable, then do nothing. However, if my gift meets with your approval, all you have to do is have your avatar call mine. Sincerely Sincerely,

Though the letter was unsigned the sender was obvious. She sat down on her front porch and took a deep breath, holding back her tears. She was being thrown a lifeline by a man from another century-and all because she'd been in the right place at the right time. Then she laughed. She'd never once had any real luck, and now she'd just landed the biggest shooting star of her life.

That night Agnes couldn't sleep, unable to believe her good fortune. Believing, in fact, that perhaps the whole thing had been some cruel hoax being played out by one of the many gotcha shows currently popular on the Neuro. She worked herself into a frenzy, castigating herself for being so gullible, then alternately pinching herself for what she felt in her gut must be real. I did meet him ... it was real ... I did meet him ... it was real ..., she told herself over and over again.

When the next day arrived Agnes Goldstein was told by helena that 2 percent of Agnes's stock had been added to her portfolio. She reread the letter over and over as tears of happiness filled her eyes. She would make the most of this, somehow.

9 The 5 Percent Solution

Every generation seems to have their unifying "where were you when?" moment. For some it's a positive, as was the world's first look at a man walking on the Moon in the twentieth century. For others it's a negative, as was the destruction of the World Trade Center in New York City on September 11, 2001. For the postGC millennium it was the first landing on the asteroid belt, and now, for us the pendulum has sadly swung the other way. Everyone will remember the moment. Everyone will know exactly where they were when the unspeakable happened.-MICHAEL VERITAS, "WHERE WERE YOU?"THE TERRAN DAILY NEWS It was only afterward that we went and looked up all his writings. All during Mardi Gras that bastard was telling us exactly what he was planning to do. But who takes the rantings of a madman seriously? Especially during Mardi Gras!-FROM AN ON-THE-STREET INTERVIEW WITH DETECTIVE LOGANOF THE BOSTON, MASSACHUSETTS, POLICE DEPARTMENT SYSTEM PRESIDENT MILDRED TURNER MURDERED!ATTEMPT MADE ON THE LIFE OF THE GCI CHAIRMAN!LIBERTY PARTY HEAD, SEAN DOOGLE:"YOU TRIED TO KILL THE ONE FREE MAN."-HEADLINES ONE HOUR AFTER THE EVENTS In an unexpected turn of events, the Fifth Appellate Court ruled in favor of the plaintiffs in the case of the shareholders of Mildred Turner versus Sean Doogle Incorporated Mildred Turner versus Sean Doogle Incorporated. Sean Doogle has been stripped of all but 25 percent of his portfolio, and that remaining 25 percent is in a trust to be run by his parents until Mr. Doogle's legal status is finalized. The only reason the plaintiffs won the case was because Sean Doogle sent the court ironclad proof of his culpability in the crime. Without that proof no court would have taken so drastic an action against a man not present to defend himself.

-NEURO COURT NEWS

Neela perused the last line of another narticle she'd been reading. She wasn't even sure why she bothered. They all pretty much ended the same way: One free man, one free man, one free man One free man, one free man, one free man. She put down the paper and looked across the kitchen table in the New York apartment she now considered hers as much as his.

"One free man, my ass," Neela groused. "If they could only see the way you've been forced to live, holed up like some kind of animal, unable to leave your apartment."

Justin sighed. "Yeah, it's what they were shouting in New Orleans the night I broke my chains. Do you think my little stunt on the balcony had anything to do with this?"

"No!" Neela shouted, and then lowered her voice. "No, I don't believe that, Justin. These are the actions of a lunatic. Your choice of Mardi Gras costume would not have made a difference. Besides, news reports showed some people were shouting that phrase before you appeared on the balcony."

Justin managed a tepid smile and took Neela's hands into his.

"You're probably right. But I keep asking myself the same question over and over again ... do you think this would have happened if I hadn't woken up?"

She smiled and squeezed his hand.

"Stupid question. Sorry," was all he could think to say, and went back to staring into his cup of lukewarm coffee.

"Two more attacks this week!" Kirk tossed some info crystals onto the long table for effect. He waited for them to finish their slide before continuing to speak. "This is all Justin Cord's fault!" His voice boomed off the high ceiling of the GCI boardroom. And what would have been an invective meant for the ears of the board members only was now also being heard by a cadre of security personnel and securibots. These well-armed sentries had not only manned the perimeter of the boardroom, they had also manned its interior. And for the first time in living memory, which by most accounts was well over a century, the security was designed to protect people and not just information. The attempt on The Chairman's life had quickly seen to that.

"Of course it is," said Legal.

"Brilliant observation," spat Accounting. "Any other gems of wisdom for the board?"

"Fuck you, Accounting!" Kirk spat back, more pissed at himself for letting her get to him than with what she'd actually said. The fact that Accounting was willing to let her hostility show so openly said volumes about how the power on the GCI board had shifted. But Kirk had seen worse days in his long rise to the top. Not much worse, but worse. She'll pay She'll pay, he thought.

Accounting remained unperturbed. "And you have a nice day, too."

"So," asked Publicity, "what do you propose we do about it?"

Advertising cleared his throat. "Why do anything? We already have enough egg on our face as it is. This whole fiasco is our fault; or at least that's what the public thinks. I say it's time to lay low and let someone else deal with it."

"Like who?" Kirk asked facetiously. "The government?"

The whole board laughed out loud at the ridiculous thought.

Kirk was pleased. At least I got them to laugh. Now, down the garden path At least I got them to laugh. Now, down the garden path.

"We have to do it," he intoned. "Even if it's not our fault, the public thinks it is. And that's all that matters." have to do it," he intoned. "Even if it's not our fault, the public thinks it is. And that's all that matters."

He saw Publicity nodding his head, sporting a self-satisfied smile.

"Also," continued Kirk, "we're GCI. We've spent decades building the public's trust. It's how we got to be the most powerful organization in history. But if we run and hide, what will the public think then?" He paused for effect. "I'll tell you what they'll think. They'll think we've lost our edge. They'll think we've backed down ... cowered in the face of a challenge. And how do you think that perception will play on our stock prices, currency rates, and personal value?" Kirk waited to let that last question sink in. "You know the drill, folks, because we're all the best at playing it. You smell blood, you attack. I can guarantee you that right now our closest competitors are meeting in their boardrooms figuring out a way to remove GCI from the top of the mountain. ... I know that's what I'd be doing."

"So then back to my question." It was Publicity. "What do we do about it?"

Kirk looked at Legal. It's now or never It's now or never, he thought. Bold moves for bold players Bold moves for bold players.

"We kill him."

There was no immediate outcry of protest. Nor was there an immediate show of support. Rather, the board seemed to be considering it. Good, at least they're in neutral ... neutral I can work with Good, at least they're in neutral ... neutral I can work with. He saw Accounting squirm. Spoke too soon, did we ... bitch? Spoke too soon, did we ... bitch?

"And what will killing him solve?" asked Accounting, almost as if on cue.

Kirk rose from his seat and put both of his fists on the table. "Justin Cord is an unincorporated man in an incorporated world. He has shown no desire to participate in our way of life, and as such will continue to be a rallying point for every terrorist crackpot out there. Doogle's just the tip of the iceberg, folks. We need to remove that threat now, and the only way we do that is to kill him. GCI will, of course, be 'shocked' at his death."

Kirk sat down in his chair, pleased. Not a single protest. If his motion carried he'd hold on to his position and, even better, rid Accounting of hers.

"May I speak to the board?" asked Hektor from his chair near the door. As a special adviser he was not allowed to speak without request or permission, but was accorded the honor of being in the room while the board met. This was correctly viewed by many in the press to be a stepping stone to the board of GCI itself. At times there could be as many as four special advisers to the board or, conversely, none. At this time Hektor was the sole adviser.

Kirk shifted uneasily at the challenge. "I move that the special adviser not not be allowed to speak." Though he stared hard at his supposed allies, no one seconded his motion. be allowed to speak." Though he stared hard at his supposed allies, no one seconded his motion.

Accounting, seeing a break in the clouds, did not hesitate. "I move that Mr. Sambianco be allowed to speak."

"I second," said Legal. No one on the board was surprised. Accounting had formed a new alliance, and it was well known that Legal was no friend of Kirk Olmstead. What was surprising, especially to Kirk, was that the rest of the board voted for Accounting's motion.

"Motion carried," Kirk grudgingly agreed. "Mr. Sambianco, you have the floor."

I so owe that lady, Hektor thought, as he stood up to speak. "Ladies and gentlemen of the board, V.P. of Special Operations is correct in that Justin Cord and his pathological hatred of incorporation is the center of the crisis. But killing him would be the worst possible thing that you could do. Besides, Kirk," said Hektor, steely grin forming at the tips of his mouth, "you already tried that and failed."