Free The Unincorporated Man by Dani Kollin Page A

with strong Latino features entered the room. He was tall, with thick black hair, a sturdy physique, and what might have been construed as an overly confident gait. Though Justin was not familiar with the styles of this generation, he could swear that the suit the man was wearing was expensive. It somehow smelled expensive.
    “Justin?” The man extended his hand. Instinctively, Justin put his hand out as well, but was surprised to find that the man hadn’t extended his the few inches farther that would have allowed them to make contact.
    How odd, Justin thought.
    The man’s arm was close to his body and his hand was extended almost like that of a toy soldier. It was as if he were going through the motions of a handshake without ever having done the deed. It didn’t end there, though. Once their hands did meet—by Justin’s overextension of his arm—the man didn’t grasp Justin’s hand. He just let it lie there, moving it up and down only when Justin did. He’s never shaken hands before, thought Justin, but I’ll give him points for trying. Probably one of many new social courtesies he’d have to relearn. But still a good sign. They were making every effort to make him feel comfortable in their world by attempting to mimic some aspects of his.
    “And you would be?” asked Justin.
    “Hektor,” he answered warmly. “Hektor Sambianco.”
    “What can I do for you, Mr. Sambianco?”
    “Please, call me Hektor.” The silence was broken by Justin’s growling stomach.
    “You’ll have to excuse me,” said Justin, “but I haven’t eaten in three hundred years and I’m bit peckish. I actually thought you were the food, as it were.”
    “Of course,” Hektor said, still smiling. “It’s not a problem. Can I order you something?”
    “No, thank you. It’s coming.”
    “Ahh. Very good. Then I suggest we wrap this up before your meal arrives.”
    “And the ‘this’ would be?”
    “Why, your ability to pay, of course.”
    “You’re talking about the bill, then?”
    “A bill, yes, I understand. What an interesting way of putting it. Yes, we’re talking about the bill,” Hektor parroted back.
    Justin relaxed. This was something he’d anticipated, and no matter what price they threw at him, he was pretty sure he’d have it covered. Certainly, with all he’d stashed away, some of it could be sold for cold hard cash… if that’s what they were using these days. But it seemed odd to him that they would bring it up this early in his acclimation period. After all, what was he now? Less than one day old? Had it been up to him he would have waited longer. But it wasn’t, and business was business. He could certainly relate to that. For all he knew he was in this century’s version of an HMO—and if that were the case, they were being remarkably patient.
    “Not to worry, Hektor, I’ll make good on my debts. Just leave me the bill. It may take a little while to transfer my assets into money, but I’m good for it. And even if my obvious assets have depreciated, I should still have access to items of cultural value that I’m sure will suffice.”
    Hektor looked surprised.
    “Oh, you don’t have to worry about paying for this now, Justin. That would be ludicrous. And we certainly understand that there’s a lot for you to do in the coming days. No, all we need from you is a thumbprint and signature right on this tablet that says, in effect, you’re ‘good for it’ I believe were the words you used.” Hektor then held out his DijAssist, pointing to where Justin should give a thumb imprint.
    In Justin’s mind, Hektor’s request was reasonable. However, anytime anyone asked him to sign anything, red flags flew. Most of the time they were false alarms, but he could never be too sure… especially given his previous line of work.
    “That sounds reasonable, Hektor. Mind if I take a look at your PDA?”
    Hektor looked at him blankly. “PD… what?”
    “The tablet in your hand that you want me to sign