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I type my name into the Web. The connection is fast today and the screen comes back with a list of a dozen items. I click on Schedule and it opens up my work schedule for June 2028, the next month. The usual computer programming.

Richard, my co-worker in the next cube, is arguing loudly on the phone about some money problem. He's usually the quiet type, so it must be something big.

Curious, I plug in Richard's name in the Web, scroll down a few lines and click on Financials. Right away I can see he's in trouble. Big trouble. He's overdue on his mortgage and he's maxed out his C-card. I breathe a sigh of relief, glad it's not me.

My own phone rings. "Lewis, get in here," my boss growls.

I go to his office and take a seat. "Yes, Mr. Jones, what's the problem? I'm on schedule with my projects."

Jones is taller than me, a beefy ex-Marine with a crew cut. "It's not about that," he says, tapping his monitor screen. "Lewis, your medical records show you're having an operation next week."

I swallow hard. Damn, I hate the Web; there's just no privacy anymore. "It's a minor procedure."

Jones gives me a hard stare. "Our company's medical insurance premiums are going through the roof. We're cutting down on all unnecessary costs, so the operation better be minor." At least the details are still privileged. I wonder how long that will last?

"Yes, sir."

That evening, I'm in my condo-box on the city's west side, watching news on the Wallscreen.

The perky female reporter chirps away. "Today we learn the International Moon Base has grown their first successful crops." I don't like her shaved head, but that's the style. "In other news, the Privacy Act of 2028 was defeated in Congress. All personal records will remain available to anyone searching the Web. Privacy groups fought to get the Act approved, but corporation lawyers argued that the Constitution doesn't guarantee a right to privacy." She flashes a smile. "Turning to the weather, tomorrow we'll have--"

I turn off the Wall and lie on my cot, sipping a beer. I stare at the cracked ceiling and think about my life. What a picture of success. Here I am at thirty, a divorced computer programmer with a sometimes girlfriend and an ass of a boss. If I could find a better job, I'd have left my company long ago. But the economy's in the crapper, so I'm lucky to have this one. I sip more beer and fall asleep.