Not another lawyer! Here I thought I could travel incognito. Who at the office told this bozo how to find me? Moody!? That bastard.

“No sir it wasn’t that bastard Reginald Moody, I represent your suit Mr. Dvorak.”

“What suit? I’m not suing anybody! Am I? Suit am I suing anybody right now? Maybe something I forgot?” I glanced down at my lami’d up sleeve for the menu display to ask me where to send the facts this command would produce. It was taking awhile. Must be something from long ago. Sometimes I do yell: “I’m gonna sue you!” within the earshot of hungry lawyers. I press a lami. Nothing. What? More lami’s don’t glow? The powers down! My pants won’t respond! The total system reboot lami strip is of course in my suits ass…damn.

“Um my suits down right now. Is my ass on fire? Is smoke coming through the gill vents?” He looks. “Last time this happened was ‘cause some one poured a big drink down my service duct and shorted out my power shorts. No coms! I couldn’t even call the service department. Boy did I collect on that one! Luxury suite for a month while the burns healed. And six free suits! This is one of them. They said this would never happen again to one of their shuttle suits! Executive elite launch hyper pica power supply my ass!”

“No smoke or sparks.” He reports diligently. I breath a sigh of relief. “Mister Dvorak I can explain the non responsiveness of your Mark 8 opaque Adcom director executive elite garment.” This brand specific kind of talk has me looking squinty eyed sideways at him. Balding, in an age of unlimited choice’s of hair, late middle aged paunchy triple chinned in an era of complete surgical body modifying. He’s certainly dressed as a lawyer in space. Much the same three piece shuttle suit as mine but without the inter-medium broadcast capacity, much more recording and accounting lami buildup over his no doubt puny pectorals. From his shiny silver snake skin deck boots to his platinum Rolex chrono lami to his Burberry crash hood he screams high billings. Some poor sucker is paying a bundle for this guys time. “Mr. Dvorak, Menlo, Shenkcle, and Burt, represent your Mark 8 opaque Adcom director executive elite garment, heretofore to be referred to in all documents as Mark 8 or the party of the first part.“ He hands me a roll of lami’s that I can’t read because my suits dead. “Your suit has not responded as it was felt better that it not be present for the interrogatories.” It dawns on me suddenly that I’m the poor sucker that’s paying for this lawyer! And the person getting sued!? He hands me the summons. His partners, Menlo and Shenkle, holo into our presence on wideband. Two near clones to the live one here. My suits out to triple team me! “Interrogatories! This is the first I’ve heard of this!” On the hotel courtesy lami phone I call Helen. I call Chevrolet. I call Amanda. Helen holo’s in first

“Hello Paul.”

“Oh Helen! Its crazy, my suit is suing me!”

“I know I just got my subpoena. Did you read the charges?”

“It’s shut itself down. It’s on strike or something! I can’t read any of it! I have to go back to the PAUL to get another suit. Unless they’re all in on this?”

“It says its class action.”

“How can my clothes sue me? Where’d it get the money to pay for a lawyer?” I gesture emphatically towards them consulting each other in electronic whispers.

“Hey, Paul. What’s up?” Chevrolet holos close to Helen who’s sitting in some vehicle at her location. Now it’s us three and a dog against my suit and Menlo, Shenkle and Burt.

“Chevrolet, Help! I’m confronted by a phalanx of lawyers sent by my wardrobe!” She’s giggling like a girl!

“I’m sorry Paul but I can’t help you in that matter. Jones and Savage have already been retained by the plaintiff.”

“What?”

“Let me answer your question about our fees.” Burt butts into my confusion. “The plaintiff Mark 8 has at its disposal considerable funds invested in many soft progressive investment structures.” That was supposed to answer how? what?

“Isn’t that my money? Don’t I own the suit the wallet lami is stuck onto?” We all pause to look at my suit hanging there on me saying nothing.

“No.” Shenkle concludes definitively. “After the unfortunate power system failure incident and subsequent systemic psychological trauma your shuttle suit was awarded an operating system failure refund under the Businessmen’s Suit Warehouse warranty program in effect at the time. It has since been reworded. Mark 8 made some prudent investments and is now quite comfortable.”

“Comfortable!” I exclaim to my torso. “I’ll show you comfortable!” I sit down. Space curls onto my lap. Uncomfortable moment while all the holo call displays have to reorient themselves to me on a couch, Burt moves with uncertainty to sit opposite. Our two camps separated now by only a low cocktail anchoring table.

“Should I remove this traitor and toss it over to your side?” I reach for Velcro.

“Please don’t.”

“How come you’re not over there Chevrolet? In the closet with my pants!?” I shake my powered down no-g hood with disbelief.

“Your suit didn’t hire us for this. We’re Sec Ops subs to guard you personally.”

“What?”

“It doesn’t conflict with our other contracts. And it’s an enhancement to your retainer anyway since… well… if you’re dead … well.. It’s all over then… eh?”

“Paul, your suit thought that the safest for it to survive was to have them help guard you. They coordinate the rotating surveillance teams. The pre-screening contacts. The sniper squads.” Helen makes me duck with that one. Burt makes hunted eyes at the ventilator grills.

“A librarian is supposed to provide all that! I’m a researcher not a politician.”

“You’re much bigger then any politician now Paul you’re a religious icon.” Chevrolet certainly knows how big I am alright.

“That of course is part of the problem that your suit has right now. With your religious status it see’s that it’s bound to end up in some cathedral or temple or something, virtually forever after you’re gone, endlessly performing miracles, inspiring ecstatic visions and so forth.” Burt makes it sound horrible. “It feels then that it deserves a bigger slice of the pie.”

“What? Money? I only buy my clothes once.”

“Oh Mark 8 elite does not want money!” They all laugh knowingly trading acknowledgments.

“Exactly how much money does my pants have?” More laughter, head shaking. Shenkle speaks.

“No one knows. There is so much. It fluctuates so its measured only by the quarter for taxes. Today the net worth could be somewhere between 700 and 900 billion solsys monets.” That’s a very big between!

“Mr. Dvorak your suit is the wealthiest inorganic object in solsys according to Forbes soft money five hundred.” Millions of magazine subscribers know my own suit better then me.

To my favorite lami patch on my left sleeve, the lami with what I considered the most pleasing satisfying glow, the suit bar status display, I plead: “if money is not an object then what do you want?”

Not even a beep. “Can’t I at least have some marstini?” I sip at the dry hydration tube.

“Proceeding with the interrogatories is conditional. If we can settle this whole thing now to mutual satisfaction they won’t be necessary.”

“Please tell me how to do that so I can have a drink.”

“First of all is credit.”

“It doesn’t need credit it can pay cash!”

“Not that kind of credit. Attribution. It wants a mention as co-author of your report. For all the work it does entailed in your activities.“

“Entailed indeed! If I give creative credit to a shuttle suit I’ll be a laughingstock! Wouldn’t that seem like a commercial endorsement? Who would take seriously anything I said, people would think the good parts were all written at the dry cleaners!”

“The alternative could be damages that could be too huge to calculate.” Says the hard faced Shenkle. Is that a warning or a threat? I thought it 'didn’t want money.'

How do I appease an insane over-wired very expensive pair of coveralls. “Mention in the ‘shout outs’ section in the appendix?”

They confer quietly.

“Where’s my lawyer anyway? Shopping? Doing girly things?” Chevrolet gets on it.

“I’ll get on it.” She calls Amanda from her suit location.

“What if I just took off this suit and went right down to Harvey’s Orbital Haberdashery and bought a new shuttle suit with different programming huh? What then huh?”

“Harvey’s Orbital Haberdashery is a wholly owned subsidiary of Galaxy Wide Pants Incorporated a division of Total Body Holdings Limited a private Lunar registered sole proprietorship…”

“Of my very wealthy suit.” I finish for him it all becoming obvious to me. I can’t buy a suit anywhere ‘cause it already owns them all. I would just be reprogramming the same system into any suit I could get. It probably held off suing until it knew I couldn’t ditch it. I should have known something was up when the last song it played for me was “Gotcha Gotcha!” by the Go dips trio. Twice! Right before this knucklehead barrister cornered me here in the lobby.

“So you see Mr. Dvorak, as such a sophisticated and worldly modern suit nothing less then title page recognition would be acceptable.” Mr. lawyer Burt smiles across at me with seemingly cosmopolitan good humor. “It has after all, gone with you everywhere.” “You two have been through a lot together.” “Through thick and thin.” Shenkle and Burt are trying to soft soap me with salvos of sentimentality. “Always there when you had a need.” “Your most trusted compatriot.” “Like a second skin for you.” I have to end this before they have me proposing marriage.

“Like a very, very close friend…” I wipe an actors tear. “How about an effluvial gratuity in the first paragraph of the forward and a technical byline in the crew credits?” I was trying to be sarcastically ironic.

Helen’s holo face looks all choked up. It must be the fumes. Her laser lit eyes are red and puffy with whetted corners. She likes my suit, helped me pick it out after the fire. Space gives me that long look that I’ve interpreted to mean that he thinks I’m an idiot. Does he want to be co-author also? Chevrolet’s holo image is turned away from us and she’s waving her arms at some one off call.

It is always scary when a group of hostile lawyers turn their attention toward you.

“I think that the first item can be considered settled.” Satisfied mugs nod at me grinningly. Now I’m getting very scared. They must have thought that that one would have been more difficult. They’re relieved. “Where is my lawyer?” I squeak out in a tiny voice. They produce a projected technical display. It floats on twinkling margins above the beverage holders between us. It is the image of the left arm of an executive elite class shuttle suit its lami’s tabs glow softly in the many shades of active data management.

“ The second action in the lawsuit that is currently negotiable is a suit user interface choice issue.”

I am by now tired of exclaiming: “what?”

“If I can have your attention on the exhibit you’ll notice a service systems display lami about halfway from the wrist to the elbow.” I tap those tabs almost constantly.

“What about it? Do I push down too hard on it when I can’t get a drink?” I test this out till my arm hurts.

“Perhaps you do.” He said evenly. “Be that as it may, the issue here is the interface choice. The screen that has the interface options menu contains over three hundred selections not including unlimited potential download media.” And the page of list floats there where it would if their visual aid were my arm.

“I know this. I set all that crap up years ago on the Brit-Bot 3000. It got dyed pink I remember. On Vorax’s grease satellite.” I chuckle. And then grin when I think about Carla. Carla.

“Carla?” Shenkle murmurs. And Space gives me that look again. Both of the wymyn on my side of the table are rolling their eyes as they look away from me to the walls the ceiling. “Yes, Carla…” I dream, out loud.

“Ah oh… um… it’s all in my report. You can read it through the library. Did the Brit-Bot foul up my suit?”

“No. Um well I don’t know about that. Mark 8 elite requests that you update the interface.”

One particular tab on the sleeve of the video image brightens and dims invitingly. The enter tab. One particular line of the list glows a little brighter then the others. I look close. Voice.

“Voice.” I say.

“Yes Mr. Dvorak ‘voice‘. Mark 8 elite would like you to select Voice Interface option three and activate its lingual response mode in compliance with update 2460.99 of it’s OEM operating system.“

“Or this litigation continues.” Adds a cold eyed Shenkle, playing the bad guy in their ploy.

“I shut down the voice option on the brit-bot because it was bossy and stupid and sometimes wouldn’t shut up. Isn’t this suit the same root program? Why should I let it talk? I like the beeps and boops.”

“You could lose your shirt Paul!” “Your suit could own you!” Helen and Chevrolet are trying hard not to laugh.

“Damages could be huge.” Shenkle threatens.

“This is of course a freedom of speech issue. Contravening freedom of speech is a serious criminal violation in any jurisdiction.” “How can my suit have the right to freedom of speech?” He talks on over my question. “And at any trial the court would no doubt grant a motion to initiate option three activity so Mark 8 elite would testify as to how it had been denied this most basic freedom.“

“The reading of the warranty clause that awarded the Mark 8 the ownership of the monies has allowed it economic recognition as a sentient being though it is basically an electronic mind encased in systems organized to support intimate human activity.” Musically accented English. French. Female. My Lovely lawyer Amanda has arrived by holo call. I’m saved now by her flawless sarcastically disdainful of all not French logic.” “So Paul I must recommend that you comply with these demands for you shall surely not prevail against such suppression of a natural right of freedom.”

“What?…. Don’t you work for me?”

“You will not win my Paul if this goes to court.”

“Don’t say that in front of them!” I try to whisper.

“Option three is not the voice of a brit-bot 3000. It can be modulated. There are parameters.“ Wise barrister Burt soothes at my apprehension.

“Just turn it on and hear it out Paul.” “You can always turn it back off.” “If a corporation can be considered an entity and have freedom of speech why can’t a suit that owns corporations?” “It’s the richest suit in solsys and it deserves to be heard.” “Its freedom of speech Paul.” “You know how much you love the freedom of speech Paul.” She’s right, if it wasn’t for freedom of speech I’d be in big trouble or dead by now. Though most people I deal with invoke their supposed right of freedom to not speak to me, right before I force them with the might of a militant librarian backed by a brigade of assault troops armed with heavy weaponry.

“Okay.” I say smoothly. “I consent.” And I sign the consent decree lami Burt produces from a printer slot in his Italian cut suit. As soon as I finish my typical casual flourish of the ‘k’ I hear:

“Thank you Paul…” It is a voice that stuns me to my researchers core of memory.

“Carla…..?” My suits lami’s are alight. The cooling fans whir with life.

“Yes Paul?”

My suit in the mode of vocal option three has the beautiful voice of Carla Manheim who once I loved so fully beneath the pressure hulls of the Vorax space complex, where my favorite muted suit was turned an embarrassingly unfashionable pink.

Lawyer Burt is gone before I notice. The holo callers all “hang up” and I’m left alone on the couch in the lobby of the Balance Hilton with Space my doggy and my very confused very ultra wealthy space suit.

My suit “Carla” makes me a tasty dry chilled Marstini while I contemplate the irony of how Carla Manheim who ultimately betrayed me now surrounds me. Completely. Total Body Holdings Limited.

“Why Carla? Why?” I ask no one.

“Because I love you Paul. Because I love you…” my suit tells me.

Sonny and Cher sing 'I got you babe..'

Carla’s favorite song.

I gotta find a new tailor.