Just Compensation

by Robert N. Charrette

  People! Thousands of people crowded the western end of The Mall. There was movement everywhere. But this was no ordinary crowd—there were tents and makeshift buildings on The Mall, and these people were clearly living in them. What was going on?

  He took a few steps around the corner, fascinated. Tents, and shacks of cardboard and plastic, and scavenged sheet metal huts covered the western end of The Mall. A cluster of grimy white canvas spread up the shallow rise of the monument grounds, looking like dirty snow humped against the base of the Washington Monument. Who knew how much further the improvised slum extended? It was as if the sleaziest neighborhood of the Barrens had been dumped into the middle of Washington. It was unbelievable—but the noise and smells and sights were real!

  Twelfth Street seemed to be some kind of boundary. The police had set up barriers on the east side, and officers in light torso armor and helmets patrolled the makeshift fence. The dark shape of a Citymaster riot control vehicle sat in the middle of the grass like some kind of guard beast. Finding an officer had been one of Andy’s hopes, but this wasn’t what he'd had in mind.

  “What’s going on? Who are these people?” Andy wondered aloud.

  “Too wrapped in your corporate cocoon you are, not to know that they were here.” SpellMan said. “They are gift givers, wanderers, beggars, dreamers, thieves, idealists, rabble-rousers, honest people, the homeless, and the hopeless. Like most people, some are more than one of the above. Most want justice, a few fear it, and some are just looking for a handout. Perhaps there are as many reasons to be here as there are bodies camped upon the green and huddled in the crevices of the concrete. It would not be surprising.”

  Andy felt as though he were looking through a window at an alien world. He’d been intending to use his usual entrance to the Metro, the one on the Mall, but it lay just within the fringes of the tent city. So many scuzzy people packed so tightly together scared him, and he was a little afraid to go near that entrance.

  There was another entrance across Independence. It wouldn’t put him on the end of the platform he preferred, but that seemed a petty point at the moment. He crossed without looking for vehicles, hitting the entrance well of the station almost at a run. The escalator wasn’t running, but that wasn’t unusual. He was down a half-dozen stairs before he realized that the entry well wasn’t empty.

  There were people here, too, as cramped and crowded in the confines of the entry as their lookalikes out among the tents and shanties. The mass stirred as Andy burst among them. Bloodshot eyes stared from beneath bundles of blankets. Haggard faces turned to him. They had been here for some time; the entry smelled like a sewer.

  But the Metro, and his way out of downtown, lay beyond them. Muttering apologies to those he disturbed, Andy started working his way down the frozen escalator. He didn’t meet anyone’s eyes; that’s what you did, the safe course.

  Halfway down, he realized that SpellMan had evaporated. Though Andy had wanted to get free of the shaman, he was suddenly spooked by being abandoned. The shaman had been weird, but he’d at least been friendly. Most of the eyes on Andy were indifferent, but some—many—were hostile. He felt as if he were among wild animals.

  Someone reached out and ran a hand along his back, tugging at his jacket. “Nice suit.”

  Andy practically jumped down the next three stairs.

  “Hey, suit.” a hoarse female voice drawled. “Ain’t you afraid of being out here all by yourself?”

  Andy concentrated on reaching the bottom of the escalator.

  A lump tucked into a corner unfolded into a gray-bearded man as Andy neared the bottom of the escalator. The man was dressed in a worn, old US Army uniform, but his hair was pulled back in a very non-military ponytail. He stepped into Andy’s way. Though Andy was relieved not to see any weapons on the man, the old soldier’s physical bulk offered its own threat. Andy was intimidated and feared he was showing it.

  “Where you going, suit?” the soldier asked in a raspy voice.

  “Home.” Andy heard his voice quiver.

  “You sure? Maybe the gov’mint gone and gave it away while you were out partying last night. They good at that. You think about that, suit? You think you’re safe? Let me tell you, suit. Ain’t nobody safe.”

  Andy didn’t feel safe at all. “I don’t want any trouble.” The soldier laughed mockingly. He laughed until he started to cough a cough that was deep and raw. The man doubled over. Andy felt sorry for the old soldier’s obvious pain, but he knew an opportunity when he saw one. He took a deep breath and brushed past the soldier, avoiding the hand that groped out to stop him.

  “Run away, little suit.” someone called out from behind Andy. “Run home to your safe corp sell-out.”

  Andy did run, all the way to the turnstiles. To the jeers of the crowd in the stairwell, he fumbled his credstick into the slot. The reader was slow and Andy urged it on with whispered pleas for speed. He didn’t really breathe again until he was on the other side of the barrier. The station attendant in her kiosk stared at him with incurious, uninvolved eyes as he slumped against the wall and panted.

  The Mall hadn’t been like this the last time he’d been down here. It had changed, turned strange.

  >NEWSNET FILES WFDC DOWNLINK OPTIONS

  CONFEDERATES RATTLING SABERS? COMMENTARY

  Synop: The Senate of the Confederated American States has pledged support to all North American and Caribbean political entities holding coincident interests with CAS. Political analysis expert Sandra Coulson comments on implications of the seemingly innocuous wording of the Confederated States S

  Last update: [14:07:38/8-14-55]

  COMPENSATION ARMY UPDATE BACKGROUND

  Synop: Recent events involving Compensation Army.

  Last update: [17:00:00/8-15-55]

  POLICE MOVE AGAINST MARCHERS COVERAGE

  Synop: Police disperse Comp Army demonstrators gathering for vigil at the Block. Minimal violence.

  Last update: [02:23:30/8-15-55]

  POLICY CHANGES IN WASHINGTON COVERAGE

  Synop: The Alliance of Concerned Corporate Citizens announces “border closing” due to weeks of growing unrest in the nation’s capital. Statement from ACCC head Stephen Osborne of Telestrian East.

  Last update: [06:36:43/8-15-55]

  RANKS OF THE COMPENSATION ARMY GROW SIDEBAR

  Synop: Street interviews with local citizens, marchers, and SINless on the Conscience of the Country [Crossref “Consies”], the newest element of the Comp Army. Upbeat tone.

  Last update: [07:26:03/8-16-55] [continued next screen]<<<<<

  9

  All through his Metro ride home, Andy couldn’t help thinking about what SpellMan had said. Despite denying that he was a soothsayer, SpellMan had acted like one and said that Andy had a karma. The idea of having a destiny—of being important—made Andy feel good. He wanted to believe he had a karma.

  But karma could be bad as well as good.

  What if Andy’s karma was bad! What if last night’s misadventure with the shadowrunners was the start of a downhill slide? What if his position with Telestrian Cyberdyne was compromised? What if they wouldn’t let him test-drive anymore? There were a lot of what-ifs. Like, what if SpellMan wasn't a shaman at all, but just a crazy streetrat?

  Andy felt like he had to talk to someone about what had happened to him. His friends from class were out, and so were his on-line chummers; he didn’t dare let any of them know there’d been a data theft from Telestrian. His mother? Could he tell her what had happened to him? What about his sisters? Why not? They were his family, weren’t they? If they wouldn’t help him get this mess straightened out, who would? Maybe he should get in touch with Genifer; his half-sister wasn’t connected with the big T, and she would have a different perspective. Of course, to do that he’d have to call the General’s house, and he hated doing that.

  He could try Russ. Russ always listened to Andy’s problems. But could he try Russ? Russ had disappeared from the test drive
when Yates had taken over the Montjoy prototype, and Andy didn’t know what had happened to him. Russ probably hadn’t suffered anything worse than dump shock, but Andy didn’t know. He was worried about his friend. He found he was also worried about how Russ would react to Andy’s cooperating with the runners—if that was what he’d done. Starting with their interruption of the test drive, everything was still hazy. Whether Andy had helped the runners or not, it certainly would look that way since he’d left with them. For all that he was an atypical suit, Russ was a loyal company man, and would feel obliged to report Andy. Talking with Russ would have to wait until Andy had assessed the situation. He’d start by talking with his family.

  Still, he brooded on the possibilities all the way to the Telestrian complex, in through the lobby doors, past security, and up the elevator that would take him to residential floors.

  The apartment’s doorplate said that his mother Shayla was home. Andy remembered that she was on shift rotation; she had the day off today, so he’d have his chance to tell her right off. He found her snuggled up in front of the family room telecom with her latest “friend.” an ork named Chunk Gonsalvo. Andy didn’t know Chunk’s real first name; he usually didn’t bother learning stuff like that till a guy had been around for at least a month. There was a small phalanx of beer bottles on the table next to the couch; that, along with the early hour and the rumpled state of his clothes, said that Chunk had spent the night.

  “Hi.” Andy said as he entered the room. He was nervous about starting, having half-convinced himself that he should just keep quiet about the whole thing. His mother didn’t make it easier.

  “Where you been?” Shayla’s voice was already keyed to call-on-carpet mode.

  Since her clothes were as rumpled as Chunk’s, he guessed she must have spent the night waiting for him to return from work. Her vigil hadn’t left her in a good mood, and if she felt any relief at seeing him safely returned, she hid it well under sharp-tongued anger. Andy hoped she’d be more understanding once he’d explained what had happened. But how did he start? “Well—”

  “Aw, leave the kid alone, Shayla. A guy’s embarrassed to talk about things like that in front of his mom.” Chunk winked at Andy. He’d been trying to get on Andy’s good side since the first time he’d overnighted. “When ya gets lucky, ya gets lucky, eh, Andy? Go grab yourself some sack. No, no, don’t say nothing. I been there, so’s I know ya need it. Shayla will log ya in sick if ya want.”

  “I will not.” Shayla said.

  “Don’t worry about it.” Andy said. “I’ll be going in.” He couldn’t afford not to go in to the Track today. If he didn’t, it would look suspicious, and he didn’t want to look suspicious; that was one of the things he’d figured out on the ride home. “Mom, I want to tell you about what happened last night. I ran into some trouble with some shadowrunners—”

  “Shadowrunners!” Shayla rolled her eyes. “If you’re going in to work, you haven’t got time to waste with another of your gaming stories. Look at you! You look like you slept in your clothes. You’ll change and put on something clean before you leave this apartment. I won't have people thinking my son is a slum derelict.”

  “But this isn’t—”

  “No buts! Go change or you’ll be late.”

  “But—”

  “What did I just say?”

  “Listen to yer mom, Andy.” Chunk advised.

  Andy glared at them. So much for Chunk getting on his good side. Shayla wasn’t right, and no amount of motherly bluster would change that. He could see he wasn’t going to get any sympathy here. He decided to try his sisters.

  The hour being what it was, Cyndie and Lola were getting ready to go into work. The girls were in their usual whirlwind of preparations—they had no intention of letting anyone think Shayla Walker’s girls were slum derelicts. They also had no time to listen to Andy. Like Shayla, they thought Andy was trying to tell them another story about virtual adventures, and they wouldn’t give him the chance to say otherwise.

  Too bad Asa was away. She would understand. She would listen. He could call her, but that would leave a record, and he wasn’t sure he wanted to do that. What if he was connected to the shadowrunners’ theft?

  Somewhere in the back of his mind, there was an assurance that he was unconnected to what the shadowrunners had done.

  But if that wasn’t true? What if someone linked Andy to the theft? Andy was a Telestrian dependent, for God’s sake! How could the big T not track him down if they thought he’d fragged them by helping the runners? Calling Asa would connect her to this mess, and corporations like Telestrian believed in group responsibility. What might a corp that used black ice to protect its data do to the family of a data thief?

  Telestrian using black ice? Where had that thought come from? He’d never seen any evidence of any such thing, or had he?

  His memories had been messed with; that was certain. He knew the runners had taken his memories of who they were and what they had done. How much more had he lost?

  Anger flared in him as he thought about what they’d done to him. What gave them the right to go messing with his head, tromping around in his brain and deciding what he could keep and what he couldn’t? He was a person, God damn it! They’d used him and thrown him away, like a worthless piece of unrecyclable junk.

  But then why shouldn’t they? What had Andy, duty-bound Telestrian employee that he was, done to stop them? What had be been able to do? He’d been worthless to the company. The shadowrunners had only demonstrated his worthlessness.

  Maybe he didn’t want to tell anybody about what had happened, after all.

  He showered and changed, all the while wondering if there was a point to getting ready for work. Did he really have a job to go back to? Did it matter? He knew how to find out the answer to the first question—all he had to do was go in for his assignment. Upon leaving the apartment, he found it strangely hard to walk through the corridors of the Cyberdyne branch of the complex, but he made himself do it.

  The Track was quiet when he got there, and Russ wasn’t waiting to meet him. No one was. Andy tried the ready room. Russ wasn’t there; no substitute either. Nonstandard, but not the first time such a thing had happened. Andy saw from the big board that Montjoy was running today, but there was no drive scheduled for him. He called up the work assignments and found he’d been assigned to desk work.

  Did the Telestrian honchos know? But if they did, wouldn’t they just drag him down to security for questioning? The fact that they weren’t hauling him away must mean he hadn’t been connected to the shadowrun. Maybe the run hadn’t even been discovered yet. Had the runners been that good? Part of him hoped they were. If no one knew they had struck, no one would know how worthless Andy had been.

  But he knew, and that knowledge didn’t do much for his picture of himself.

  The desk work he’d been assigned was inconsequential busywork. He hadn’t had such drek dumped on him in over a year. It was a status demotion; it had to be. Well, it suited him, because he’d earned it. Andy jacked in and spent most of the morning poking desultorily at the assigned data manipulations while he brooded over what had happened. Yesterday he’d been a happy wageslave, happy enough to scoff at the term. He’d had a bright future, but that seemed gone now. The shadowrunners had done this to him. They’d taken his future away from him. And for what?

  He couldn’t even remember.

  And they’d done that to him as well.

  His anger at his losses swelled to overcome his frustration, embarrassment, and self-loathing. Just what had the runners done to his head? He felt sure they’d done more than just wipe his memories, though of course he couldn’t imagine what. He wanted to know. He needed to know. He might not be able to investigate his own wetware, but he could check out the cyberware installed in his head. And that was just what he would do.

  He might be agitated and worried, but he wasn’t entirely stupid. He set a special subroutine loose in his work files; the
system would look busy now, so there’d be no more pointless busywork dumped on him.

  Beneath the mask of phantom busy-working, he called up his best diagnostics and sicced them on his headware. When all systems came up nominal, he looked for anything out of place, anything he hadn’t put there. Nothing. Still, something seemed wrong. He checked again and again, almost obsessively, watching for hidden things, until he found something: a file swollen bigger than it should have been, an executable file. And not just any file, but his headware’s main resource file—the heart and soul of his internal systems.

  The cyberterminal he was using had the resources and Andy used them ruthlessly to flay open the corrupted file and spread its entrails for inspection. In among the expected system routines he found a pigback, a program designed to operate along with and within another. Upon examination, it looked to be an association reinforcer or a mood modifier. Whatever it was, it had minor simsense functionality. He forced a code read onto the pigback and learned that it was an associational reinforcer designed to give him warm fuzzies whenever Telestrian Cyberdyne was mentioned or brought up on an internal file.

  He doubted that the runners had put that in his head. He was shocked to find that shadowrunning data thieves weren’t the first to have messed with his head. The pigback was so deeply embedded that it could only have been installed along with his headware’s basic operating system, which led to an inescapable conclusion: Telestrian had authorized it.

  He shredded the pigback, slicing its code into component parts and purging each with a savage glee. After finishing the destruction, he felt drained, and a little embarrassed. When thought about calmly, the pigback wasn’t such a bad thing. It wasn’t like it had been a coercive program—it had only been a persuader. Was it any worse than the association reinforcers in blipvert advertising?

  All this time, he’d thought he liked belonging to the Telestrian family because he liked belonging to it. Well, he had, actually. He hadn’t gotten the headware until he was fifteen, so he hadn’t been living with the pigback associator before that. Why had Telestrian doctored the headware programming? Didn’t they trust him to like the corporation without it?