"Of course."

Justin hated the idea that he owed. It wasn't supposed to be like this. He had currency, even in this day and age. Actually, a boatload. Whatever his revival cost amounted to, he was sure he could have covered it. Sure, it would have taken a little bit of time to figure out what of his possessions were valuable and what weren't, but damn it all, he could have paid. What he failed to take into account was that he couldn't prepay. And this was clearly a society that put a lot of capital in that very notion-literally and figuratively.

Again the DijAssist beeped. It was Neela.

Omad continued to stand quietly, waiting for Justin's cue. It had already been an exceptional week, he figured, and today was no different. Whatever this guy was going to do, he was going to try and do it with him. Besides, this Justin character seemed to be able to give it out as well as he could take it. A far cry from the lot he'd been hanging out with recently at the center. Mainly fellow tunnel rats. Mostly secretive, afraid any slip of the tongue might reveal too much, and hence possible loss of profit. Didn't make for the type of bawdy revelry among men Omad so enjoyed.

Neela's voice interrupted Omad's thoughts, turning the twosome mulling in the shipping bay back into a threesome.

"Hi, Justin. Sorry if I interrupted. I just heard the news. Listen, and listen well. First of all, we're going to need to meet. Sooner rather than later. Too much stuff is going on, and I need to at least brief you on what to expect."

"OK, Neela."

"Second, Hektor will attempt to isolate your suspension unit until the case is resolved. He'll succeed. I strongly suggest you retrieve from it anything you deem critical. Do it now." Neela's image disappeared from the DijAssist.

Shit. Justin felt the edge of panic. He prayed to himself that his restored memories included those that would enable him to liberate his precious possessions from the crypt before Hektor could boot him out. It was no minor prayer. He'd modeled the unit on the ancient sarcophagi, hidden compartments and all. The real trick had been having to pull it all off without any reliance on an electrical source. It had to be manual, and it had to be complex. It also had to be deadly for anyone trying to fuck with it. He'd built in all sorts of nasty devices, from poison gases to spring-loaded poison darts to blades so sharp they could remove a finger without the perpetrator feeling a thing-that is, until the blood started to spurt. With a perfunctory "excuse me" to Omad, he dived in. He began by placing his palms at specific locations on the unit. Once assured he'd positioned his hands correctly, he pushed in. That in turn caused another series of panels to open. Each layer revealed yet more complex systems of ratchets and knobs. Justin felt the edge of panic. He prayed to himself that his restored memories included those that would enable him to liberate his precious possessions from the crypt before Hektor could boot him out. It was no minor prayer. He'd modeled the unit on the ancient sarcophagi, hidden compartments and all. The real trick had been having to pull it all off without any reliance on an electrical source. It had to be manual, and it had to be complex. It also had to be deadly for anyone trying to fuck with it. He'd built in all sorts of nasty devices, from poison gases to spring-loaded poison darts to blades so sharp they could remove a finger without the perpetrator feeling a thing-that is, until the blood started to spurt. With a perfunctory "excuse me" to Omad, he dived in. He began by placing his palms at specific locations on the unit. Once assured he'd positioned his hands correctly, he pushed in. That in turn caused another series of panels to open. Each layer revealed yet more complex systems of ratchets and knobs. You can do this You can do this. Sweat began to appear at his brow. Justin expertly turned and pulled the knobs before him until he gained the desired result-the expulsion of a few rectangular drawers containing within them important papers, maps, data drives, keys, and other assorted items he had deemed critical to his future survival. Four minutes and twenty-two seconds later his task was complete. With his back to Omad, he stuffed what he could into his pockets, deftly slipped a watch onto his wrist, and then turned around.

"Justin." It was Omad. He had a worried look on his face.

"Yeah?"

"We have to leave. Now. This area is probably officially off-limits. Securibots will be arriving shortly, and you can bet your defrosted ass they'll want what you've got right there in your hot little hands." As he said the words, a ruckus could be heard outside the bay. It was the sound of many footsteps approaching.

"Follow me," Omad barked.

Justin did as he was told and followed Omad as he ran toward and through the wall at the opposite end of the room from which he had entered. They were now in a hallway a few hundred feet from what looked like a central hub. "This way," Omad whispered, with Justin following quickly behind. Within moments they'd arrived at an express lift. Omad ran into the "up" shaft, disappearing almost instantly as his body was sucked up through the tube. Justin did the same. They were harmlessly expunged seconds later at an outdoor plaza.

Justin had barely caught his breath when he realized he was outside for the first time since awakening. It was midday and, as far as he could tell, springtime. He would have liked to stop and take it all in, but he wasn't yet sure he could. Was he being chased? Had he committed a crime? All these questions and more raced through his mind as he attempted to situate himself. OK, no one's following you. Calm down. Locate Omad. OK, no one's following you. Calm down. Locate Omad. Justin allowed himself a little more view time. He'd somehow ended up in a rest area. People were milling about and eating, seemingly relaxed. There were about twenty cylindrical tables that were positioned one next to the other. Most were occupied. He noticed Omad sitting alone, beckoning him over. Justin walked the twenty or so feet over to the table. Justin allowed himself a little more view time. He'd somehow ended up in a rest area. People were milling about and eating, seemingly relaxed. There were about twenty cylindrical tables that were positioned one next to the other. Most were occupied. He noticed Omad sitting alone, beckoning him over. Justin walked the twenty or so feet over to the table.

"How did it know where to let me off?" Justin asked between huge gulps of air. He then sat down.

"You mean the lift? Easy. I told it," Omad smiled.

"And if you hadn't?"

"It would've sent you right back to where you started, where they probably would've nailed you. That wouldn't have been too good for you now, would it?"

Justin thought about his predicament. He was, for all intents and purposes, alone. Trust, a notion he little believed in and rarely had had much of, was something he accepted only after years of experience with an individual or institution. So while Neela, and even this Omad guy, seemed at the outset well-intentioned, it was far too early to tell. One thing was certain-he needed some form of capital so he could get his basic necessities met and ultimately begin to control his situation. Neela would have to wait. There was business to take care of first.

"OK, Omad, I'm going to have to get my hands on some money."

"Don't look at me. I spent all of mine on me. I would have helped you out if I had known ... well, actually, no, I wouldn't have. I still would have bought my majority, but if I can help in any other other way ..." way ..."

Omad now began to take a more keen interest in the subject sitting before him. There was no doubt that Justin, if he was who he said he was, could prove to be beneficial indeed. "Riches by association" was a common and oft-used phrase to describe those lucky enough to be somehow entwined in the good fortunes of others.

"Maybe you can," Justin said, fiddling with the contents of his hands. "I have a couple of items I pulled from the unit I'd like to try and cash in. Do you know of any establishments that trade goods for money?"

"You mean like a pawnshop?"

"Uh, yeah. They still have pawnshops?"

"There will always be pawnshops-and, given my sometimes dire financial straits," he answered, "now hopefully behind me, I was often forced to liquidate certain assets."

Justin took out a small, thin, exquisitely made box from one of the many pockets found in the outfit he was wearing. It was made out of wood and had the letter T engraved on the lid. Justin opened it to reveal ten flawless five-carat diamonds resting between two cylindrical velvet dowels. "Is this worth anything?" he asked, hoping earnestly the answer would be yes but knowing that nanotechnology may have rendered his once precious commodity worthless. He was pleasantly surprised by the answer.

"Oh yeah, I know a dealer who would love to get her hands on that."

"Let's go, then."

"Not so fast." Omad figured that since he was already on a roll, there was no point in slowing it down. "What's my take?"

"Nice try, Omad. I know what I'm worth, and have some inkling of what I'll be worth. And speaking of which, I believe it's worth worth your while to help me your while to help me now now." The truth was, Justin wasn't sure about anything just yet. He had reason to believe all he'd just said, but had no concrete proof. It was a gamble.

Omad stared keenly into Justin's eyes, then shrugged. "OK, have it your way. To the city, then?"

"I need the money now, so let's go." A small victory, A small victory, thought Justin, thought Justin, and hopefully one of many and hopefully one of many.

Eleanor was working at her desk when she saw Neela come in. Neela, Eleanor noticed, looked a little closer to relaxed, if such an adjective could be applied to a woman whose idea of relaxation was working late.

Eleanor smiled. "Well, you're certainly looking a little better."

"Thanks, Eleanor. I'm not sure if that was a compliment or not, but thanks."

"I'm not sure either, but you've had me worried. What's new?"

"Well, for the first time I think I may have a shot at undoing the damage Hektor did."

"Really. Just an hour ago you were running around like the world was at an end. How come things are looking up?"

"He asked me a question."

"Not to be rude, Neela, but isn't that what he's supposed to do?"

"Of course, Eleanor. It's the question he asked that's got me feeling good."

Eleanor leaned forward, her chin on her hands and her eyes bright with the anticipation of information bordering on gossip. "Tell all, my dear, tell all."

"I received a call from our Justin. He was in the loading bay and had been asking questions of his DijAssist, which, by the way, he named 'sebastian,' all afternoon. When he got to the loading bay, he called me to ask about the laws concerning payment and ownership of recovered property."

"Hardly worth a call to you, you," purred Eleanor.

"I agree."

"Something he could have asked sebastian. It would have made more sense."

"You're absolutely correct," smiled Neela.

"Good going, dear," Eleanor said, viewing Neela with admiration.

"Thank you," Neela replied. They both turned at the snort of derision emanating from the director's office.

"Eavesdropping again, dear?" Eleanor said, shooting a knowing glance to Neela.

"Yes," came from the voice in the office, "for all the good it did me. I don't understand what you're both so happy about. All he did was make you his legal clerk. Do women really enjoy being given the work of an unevolved avatar?"

"Men," both women said at once. They laughed.

Mosh came out to the reception area. "I must be missing something. Unless, of course, you're going to tell me it's a woman thing."

"It's a woman thing," they both answered in unison, giggling once more.

"Would you like an explanation?" asked Eleanor.

"If you can explain how women think," responded Mosh, "I, as well as the rest of mankind, will be eternally grateful."

"Not that you'll understand," Eleanor replied, playfully brushing off some lint that had settled on her husband's shoulder, "but a woman knows a man is interested by a couple of signs. Some of these will let the woman in on a man's interest even before the man knows it himself."

"That transparent, huh?" Mosh said with amusement.

"Glass is opaque by comparison, dear, now please stop interrupting."

"Allow me to finish," interjected Neela. "When a man starts to ask you things he can find out someplace else, or he finds reasons to be nearby, it's a pretty good bet that he's not just interested in information."

The director's face revealed his skepticism. "That's ridiculous."

"Really, dear," Eleanor countered. "And how many times did you lose your DijAssist before you asked me out? Three or four?"

Mosh was taken aback. "All those times were accidental ... I swear I swear."

No one bit.

"Wait a minute," he continued. "You think Justin is starting to develop more than professional feelings for you?" he said, looking at Neela.

"Well," she answered, taking obvious pride in her looks and figure, "it makes sense."

Now Eleanor looked worried. "Joking aside, Neela, don't you think it's a dangerous game to play?"

Mosh nodded-concerned.

"I am not encouraging anything, much less that, that," she retorted. "I am simply using whatever I deem necessary to help undo some of the damage Hektor's already done. I can steer Justin's feelings into appropriate channels once I've reestablished that all-important relationship."

"So you're telling me," said Mosh, "that this 'steering' has nothing to do with the fact that this man is handsome in that rugged sort of way your file suggests is to your liking, not to mention a little mysterious, and, to top it all off, badly in need of your help?"

Neela was about to answer, but Mosh wasn't through.

"You may wish to be careful, my dear, that you do not become the puppet instead of the puppeteer. I don't need to remind you that our laws and customs concerning patient/professional relationships protect more than just the patients-they also severely punish the offenders."

Neela looked at both Mosh and Eleanor. "You have nothing to worry about. He's a patient. Nothing more, nothing less. A patient, I might add, that I desperately need to find."

Neela left quickly, afraid the conversation would continue-and of what it might expose if she stayed.

As Neela left her concerned mentors, Eleanor looked uneasily toward her husband.

"We need to help her."

"I agree, but how?"

"Can you get ahold of Gillette?"

Mosh rubbed his chin. "Yes, but if he all of a sudden just shows up it will hurt Neela professionally-cast doubt on her at an important point in her career. I don't think the situation is as dire as that."

"Tell you what," Eleanor answered. "You let me worry about that. By the time I'm done with her she'll be making the request. Your only job is to make sure the good doctor's on board when she calls."

"My only only job, eh?" he chuckled. job, eh?" he chuckled.

She gave him a quick peck on the cheek, ego rescued.

He would call Dr. Gillette as soon as he got back to the office.

3 Walk About

Hektor knew he was in trouble. He knew it because the call he'd just received from his boss's assistant ended with a request for a face-to-face meeting. It was rare that a meeting would have to be taken in person, and even rarer that a boss would fly out for it. Now his his was coming to town, and it wasn't to deliver a compliment. was coming to town, and it wasn't to deliver a compliment.

He was told to meet at the local Marriott, a beautiful hotel recently redone in the turn-of-the-millennium style. Though he didn't have to, he decided to walk, for no other reason than to finish off a little something he'd started the day before. It was bad form, but he pulled from his pocket the cigar it seemed he'd only just lit up. Might as well finish it now, Might as well finish it now, he figured, stepping out into the street. he figured, stepping out into the street. Better this bad taste in my mouth than the one that's coming. Better this bad taste in my mouth than the one that's coming. Between the wind and the now semistale tobacco, it took Hektor a full two minutes just to get the damned thing lit. He allowed himself a good half hour to arrive at his destination. His pace was leisurely enough that he began to notice his surroundings for the first time since he'd arrived. A rare treat, in that his life had pretty much been on the go from the time he'd joined GCI those forty-odd years ago. He'd never allowed himself the luxury of "taking it all in," as it were. Well, he may have rushed through his career, but he certainly wasn't about to rush to its demise. The weather was appropriately dreary. Not by coincidence, but rather by dictate. Seemed the folks in Boulder felt inclement weather was part of the town's charm, and though the weather had been influenced for centuries, there was no accounting for which way a town wanted the wind to blow. It appeared to Hektor that this one wanted it to blow harshly. All the better-he had plenty to think about, and the cold air would do him good. Between the wind and the now semistale tobacco, it took Hektor a full two minutes just to get the damned thing lit. He allowed himself a good half hour to arrive at his destination. His pace was leisurely enough that he began to notice his surroundings for the first time since he'd arrived. A rare treat, in that his life had pretty much been on the go from the time he'd joined GCI those forty-odd years ago. He'd never allowed himself the luxury of "taking it all in," as it were. Well, he may have rushed through his career, but he certainly wasn't about to rush to its demise. The weather was appropriately dreary. Not by coincidence, but rather by dictate. Seemed the folks in Boulder felt inclement weather was part of the town's charm, and though the weather had been influenced for centuries, there was no accounting for which way a town wanted the wind to blow. It appeared to Hektor that this one wanted it to blow harshly. All the better-he had plenty to think about, and the cold air would do him good.

It seemed his stock was down. Way down. Hektor had seen it happen before. It didn't take place in the blink of an eye. That would've been merciful. No, it was more like watching a lone zebra being nipped to death by a pack of wild hyenas. All it took was the smell of blood. What started out as a small wound inflicted by one determined hunter ended up as a feeding frenzy shared by all. Hektor pictured how it must have gone down. Probably an executive with a solid portfolio had sold him short on seeing or hearing of the debacle in Boulder. She told one of her husbands, who most likely told one of his close associates who was owed a favor, and after that the run was on. It was like having your own little market meltdown. The slang for it was a "minigrand." Or, more precisely, a miniature Grand Collapse. His stock market price had dropped 87 percent. He'd gotten a flurry of calls from family and friends. He was even pretty sure his own mother had sold him short. Of course she'd denied it, but he would've done the same in her shoes. In fact, he had sold his uncle short after a particularly nasty scandal went public. Got out just in time, if he remembered correctly. Family, friends, foes. How quickly the lines blurred when profit was at stake.