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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.

At work the next day, Richard rushes over to my cube. He has a twitch in one eye and he talks in a whisper. "Lewis, what do you know about the layoff?"

I bolt upright in my chair. "Eh?"

"I overheard Mr. Jones this morning. It looks like the company's laying off half of us."

"What the hell... are you sure?"

His eye twitches again. "I heard him. I hope it's not me, I got plenty of money problems already."

I stare at him and wipe the sudden perspiration from my brow. My phone rings. Jones. "Get in here now, Lewis."

I plod over to his office, my feet slow to move.

"Yes, Mr. Jones, what's up?"

"I've got some bad news for you. You're being let go, effective today."

I'm stunned. "But sir, I'm one of your best employees."

"It doesn't matter, the company's cutting costs everywhere."

"Does this have to do with my operation next week?" That sort of discrimination is outlawed, but how could I prove it?

Jones glares at me. "I can't say. Just pack up your stuff and be out of here by noon. You'll get two week's pay credited on your C-card."

"But, Mr. Jones, please reconsider." His icy stare tells me it's all over.

In the evening, with a couple of beers in me, I visit my girlfriend's condo-box. When I tell her about my day, Susan's not sympathetic. She gives me a pensive look. "I looked up your financials the other day. You're low on funds. You're going to be in trouble any day now."

"I know, Susan, I know. Any chance I could move in with you."

She tilts her shaved head to one side and crosses her skinny arms. "Look, the sex's been good, but that's about it. I'm not letting someone with no job live here."

"That's cold."

"That's life," she says, as she sips some wine. "And don't slam the door on your way out."

Later, at night, I lie awake on my cot. I took two Tranks earlier but still can't fall asleep. By 3am I give up, get out of bed and do another search for programming jobs. Nothing, nada, zipo. Just as I dreaded. Everything's been outsourced to other countries. I take two more Tranks and lie down.

A loud pounding on my door wakes me up. Light streams into my room, so it must be morning already.

I check the security camera and see it's my landlord, Hassan; I open the door.

I yawn. "What's up?"

Hassan is dressed in his usual dirty gray coveralls. "Lewis, I check on my tenants to make sure they can pay the rent. Your file has a red flag on it – no job. I got plenty of people to take your place."

"Damn, Hassan. Give me a break; I just lost my job yesterday. I'm good for the rent."

He gives me a dour look. "That's not what it looks like." He points his finger at me. "You've been warned. If you can't pay, you're out."

I slam the door on him.

Damn, can things get any worse? I get back on the computer and do a search for any job available; there's nothing in the computer field. I broaden my search and find a warehousing job at TekCity. It's on the night shift, which is bad, but it's only two blocks from home. The pay is crap and it's a big comedown from programming, but I need the Cs. I shave, shower and put on my new blue coveralls; might as well dress up for the interview.

TekCity is one of those big retail stores specializing in electronics – low prices and no service. The manager of the store, Mr. Carson, looks at my application and gives me a suspicious glance.

"Lewis, I see you worked as a computer programmer up until a few days ago. What happened there?"

"Big layoff; my old company's outsourcing all of its jobs."

He rubs his chin and then plugs my name in his computer. "Well, you've got a clean record; no arrests of any kind. That's good. But I see you've got some surgery scheduled for next week."

"It's nothing, just a minor procedure."

"I see," he says, rubbing his chin again. "Well, we don't have any medical insurance, so you'll be paying for any medical costs on your own. Now, if you miss any work because of it, I'll dock your pay. When can you start?"

"How about today?"

"Fine. I'll get you started," he says, and takes me to my workstation in the warehouse. The job is painfully simple. Basically, I'm a glorified security guard on the night shift. I carry a stun gun and a phone and keep an eye on the place. There's security cameras and alarm systems everywhere, but they want a person to double-check the automated systems. I take a seat at my workstation and stare at the racks of boxes that stretch for miles.

The next night I take my hand held computer to work; maybe I can do something productive while I stare at the racks and video feeds.

I log on the Web and decide to do a little investigative work. Curious about my new boss, I plug in Carson's name.

Most of the stuff is the usually boring things you find – where he grew up, his school records, the name of his first girlfriend, his social security number, his employment history, blah, blah, blah.

Then I start looking a little closer and it starts to get interesting. Two years ago he was arrested on a drunken driving charge, but the charges were later dropped. At about the same time, he transferred 10,000 Cs from his bank account. Interesting.

I do a search of the police officers involved in the drunken driving charge. There were two officers, but find nothing out of the ordinary in their records. Then I do a search for the Assistant District Attorneys in our city. There's four of them. I check their financials from two years ago. Just as I suspected; there's a 10,000 C deposit into one of the ADAs accounts. "I'll be dammed," I mutter.

I turn off my computer and smile.

The next day I go to my boss's office. "Mr. Carson, could I see you for a minute?"

He looks up and waves me in. "What's up?"

"Mr. Carson, I was hoping to get a loan from you."

He gives me a puzzled look. "A loan? You've got to be kidding; you just started working here this week. What do I look like, a bank?"

I give him a broad smile. "I'll need 5,000 Cs."

"You're crazy, Lewis," he says angrily.

"Actually, I'm not. I figured you were so generous with that ADA two years ago that you could help me out also. Otherwise, I'm sure the police would find your generosity very interesting."

His face turns white and his hands start shaking. "But... it's not... I--"

"And by the way," I say calmly, "don't charge me any interest on that loan. I mean, we're friends now."

During my shift that night, I stare at the racks of boxes and video feeds. At my meal break, I turn on my hand held computer and start playing around. I plug in the names of each of the store's assistant managers. One of them, Lisa Garcia, has an interesting item. I turn off my computer and smile.