WETWARE, Part One

by Marlissa

If it hadn't been for the honk of the car behind him, Dr. Stein might have idled at the intersection all day, or so some might have said. He roused himself from his mental perambulations to see that, yes, the light was now green and yes, the old lady had crossed the busy street safely. You'd think I were sixty instead of twenty-seven, he chided himself. He tapped the accelerator much to the insistence of the truck behind him and drove through Central Square a little faster than he would have liked.

Cambridge was always hectic in the morning and the MIT campus was already in the first throes of early morning classes. He parked the old Volvo and hurried to his office, eager to escape the chaos of the throngs of undergrads, teaching assistants and profs. Thank God I don't have to bother with all that, he thought gratefully. Call me whiz kid, use me to get bigger grants, whatever you want, he had told the Dean. Just don't make me teach some stupid coursework. Let me continue my research in peace by myself. And the Dean had agreed, giving him a small if sufficient office in the farthest part of the old Research Annex. And why not-- he was the one of the top artificial intelligence researchers in academia.

As he glided through the familiar pale green halls of the old research Annex, Ben Stein was already thinking about the problem he had been considering during his short commute. It was a difficult one to be sure, but those were the only kind he enjoyed. He had reached the point in his work where he could design a definitive neural net that could replicate very clear human behavioral patterns. The behavior tree had been branched to cover any possible permutation of actions-- yes, he had gotten that far. It had taken six months to do that. But when he tested the neural net on the Cray simulator, it had crashed. And despite every debugging routine he could think to run, even a couple he had written on the fly, the behavior replication program continued to crash, every time with the same message:

SYSTEM ERROR ****HARDWARE INSUFFICIENT TO RUN APPLICATION

He ground his teeth. Hardware. Damn. He had intuitively seen this coming weeks ago. At three in the morning he had finally surrendered to the inevitable. He would have to call his former mentor, Rudolph Fristch in the morning. And here he was, sitting at his desk staring at the phone, stubbornly thinking of anyone else he might call.

Pushing the task off, he dialed into his voice mail. There was a message from the Dean requesting his presence at a cocktail party for the Regents, which the Dean knew he would ignore. Then a message from Amanda.

"Ben, why haven't I heard from you?" The precise, word- chopping voice belied Amanda's physical appearance-- tall, dark and svelte. And despite the oversized horn rims and tightly bunned hair, or perhaps because of them, the image was one of a very attractive woman. He and Amanda Crossways often had coffee together-- it was probably the only social intercourse Ben allowed himself. "I want to continue that discussion we started over coffee in the faculty lounge-- remember? We were talking about the Genome Project. Anyway, I'll be in the office till nine, but will teaching all day. Talk to you. Bye. Oh and check the Globe-- Technology section. I think you'll find the item on your old friend interesting."

Ben erased the message quickly. He vaguely liked Amanda-- she had a fine mind and had impressively fast-tracked to tenure in the bio-chem department at thirty two. And he liked her disciplined, driven personality-- though underneath he suspected an inner lack of confidence. But he just wasn't interested in her for anything other than a collegial relationship. She was bright and pleasant, but he just didn't have time for anything other than his work. He had never been good at relationships. Now wasn't the time to start. He'd cool her off by ignoring the message.

Curious, he pulled the Boston Globe out from under the pile of office mail. Flipping to the Technology section, he spotted the article Amanda had referred to. He couldn't help it. the headline read "Controversial Researcher Bridges Bio-tech And Computers"

As he read the meat of the story, he shook his head in disbelief. It was classic Fristch.

"Dr. Fristch thinks various societal trends will lead to what he calls 'bio-mechanics'-- a new field of study which will incorporate software, hardware, and bio-technology.

'The era of Nature-based biology will be over!' Dr. Fritsch announces dramatically.

Most of the academic community scoffs at Frischt's assertions. Dr. Amanda Crossway of MIT says that "Fritsch is a genius but obviously his comments demonstrate why he was asked to leave MIT-- and why his nomination for a Nobel went nowhere. Regular Globe readers will remember Dr. Fritsch resigned his post at MIT under questionable circumstances involving irregular research practices.'

Ben snorted. They were questionable, all right. He remembered the incident vividly. He had been the one that reported it. Not that Fritsch knew that, since the call to the Provost's office was anonymous. And when everyone had sympathized that his mentor had been forced out, he had merely nodded blankly. And when Fristch had said good-bye, he had held his tongue. He merely wished his mentor the best, shook his hand and took his leave-- ostensibly because he was so upset about what had happened. In fact, taking the professor's hand had been the most difficult thing he had ever wanted to do. He had wanted to slap the man, knock him senseless for what he had perpetrated in his laboratory that fateful evening-- the evening Ben had returned to the office for his lab notes.

He shuddered to think of it even now. Fristch hadn't seen him of course, but he had seen Fristch and what the maniac was doing to Heidi, the pretty blonde sophomore who was his part- time work-study assistant. No, he didn't want to call Fristch on this problem.

But there wasn't anyone else. Fristch was the preeminent hardware expert in the field, a brilliant scientist who had been instrumental in making breakthrough after breakthrough-- the voice recognition reader, the development of the first patentable android, among others. That's what had driven Stein as a freshman to seek out the great man, then only forty-five. Fristch had taken Heidi under his wing and there was no doubt that the relationship had proven beneficial to the undergraduate. Fristch approved of the young man's drive and his ego was gratified to have such a dutiful understudy. Stein knew the man was an elitist who placed no value on anything but intellect and that had been Stein's ace. The hermit-like researcher took a strong interest in the very promising student and the rest was history. Fristch's clout allowed his protege to skip dull course requirements and get right to work on the big things that the professor was working on.

It had been right around graduation that Fristch had begun to take the path that would eventually lead him out of the university. Ben had noticed the growing pile of journal clippings on bio-technology, then grown used to the cross- references to how silicon might be linked to living tissue-- just theoretically of course. Then the growing morbidity of the experiments on frogs, then mice-- trying to link their sensory centers with synthetic materials to induce pain and pleasure. Then that evening, that hideous evening.

Ben had known Heidi. He didn't think much about her one way or the other. She was a blandly pretty blonde from the Midwest with as much interest in bio-chemistry as she had in the time of day. It was simply a way to make some easy work-study money-- and assisting Dr. Fritsch in his various experiments was light duty. But Ben suspected from her miniskirts and tight sweaters that her real interest lay in more physical activities than the mental safaris of Dr. Rudolph Fristch. Which was exactly why he was so surprised by her behavior changes.

Till about midpoint in the second semester, Heidi had been her usual flirtatious self. Then she had grown withdrawn more and more. He saw less of her and Dr. Fristch explained that she was helping him in the evenings on some "routine work-- nothing you'd be interested in, Ben." It was that work that Ben had seen first hand that night. It was just a short glimpse, but it had been more than enough to tell the quick-witted Stein to realize what Fristch had been doing to the young woman.

He had heard some grunting in the lab and grabbing his notes, he had poked his head into the lab. It was dark except for the instrument board lights and a monitor with an brainscan wavelength curving up and down continuously. But Ben could see Heidi clearly from where he was standing.

She faced him, in fact, though she gave no indication that she saw him or anybody. Her face was a silent scream, blue eyes bulging and mouth agape. She wore only underwear, a spicy black lace brassiere and panty set, though the panties lay on the floor. Her hands were spread to support her in front, while her hips were thrust up, bent over the armrest of Fristch's desk chair. Her legs were spread wide, which was only necessary because Fristch was entering her from behind.

That sight alone might not have prompted Ben's call the next day. Many students and faculty had affairs from time to time...nothing out of the ordinary in that. But Heidi's expression had conveyed something which frightened Ben. And as he looked closer, he grew even more afraid for the girl. Because Fristch's prick wasn't the only thing that was invading her. There were tubes stuck in her upper arms, feeding her with a greenish liquid. Then there were the wires on her temples running back to the monitor, keeping track of her awareness levels. As the scientist thrust into her from behind, the wavelength would spike sharply.

"You'll be perfect when I'm done with you, Heidi. My perfect lab assistant-- trained to serve by day and give pleasure at night...or whenever I want it! The biochem balance is almost right and the chip implant is taking well! Uh, you're tight though! Stupid as a cow but tight! There!" He slammed up against her ass, his face white. "That dump of cum is for you, my pretty little slut!"

Heidi took the offering in silence, her mouth still open, her eyes still glazed. But as the scientist withdrew from her, the bouncing wavelength on the monitor spiked dramatically, then flatlined. Heidi slumped, her silent scream degenerating into a cartoon clown smile.

"Heidi? Heidi? Damn you!" Fristch slapped her ass hard, but the co-ed didn't move. "You're breathing, you stupid cow-- I know that! Now get up-- your Master commands you! Remember your programming! GET UP! YOU HAVE TO OBEY!!!"

Heidi acknowledged her self-proclaimed master with a child- like giggle. It was a sound Ben never wanted to hear again-- a mad, nonsensical sound that denied sanity. As Fristch cursed himself, and busily dressed the insensible girl, Ben left quietly. And had made the call the next morning at 9:00 am.

Fristch left quietly. Publicly it was said that he and MIT had parted over differences in research techniques, the implication that MIT was stifling the genius. He left to form his own consulting business for pharmaceutical, computer and industrial companies, though he remained local. Rumors abounded about Heidi, though nothing was ever confirmed. It was said that she had "suffered a shock" from one of Fristch's experimental devices involving chemical compounds and weird computer configurations. The well-funded university paid the parents dearly and the poor girl was sent to recuperate in the Midwest, though in fact no change in her status was ever reported back.

And that was who Ben was going to call for help. He felt guilt creep into his wrist as he dialed the number, then put the receiver down. No, he'd leave him an e-mail through the Internet instead. Relief flooded him. He turned to the PC resting on his desktop. The machine was on-- it was always on-- and began typing in a message to Fristch.

Dear Dr. Fristch,

Hope you have been well. Read the article about you in the Globe today! Anyway, as you were always interested in the work I'm doing, I was wondering if you could help by reviewing my notes. As you know, I have been continuing my work in AI, which the university has allowed me to do without interference. However, I keep running into hardware requirement problems. I know this is an older area of interest for you, but I would surely appreciate any help you could offer. Please find the notes attached. I look forward to hearing from you soon.

Dr. Ben Stein

He sent the electronic epistle off into cyberspace without expectation. Their contact had been sporadic at best and he wasn't at all sure if Fristch would help him-- he just couldn't think of anyone else who could approach the man's genius. He shrugged the whole thing off and once again, began his day puzzling the complexities of his AI program.

He was uncomfortably gratified to see the flashing screen indicating email when he got into the office the next day. He took off his coat and sat down in front of the computer. The first message was a message from the Dean, expressing polite disappointment with Stein's absence at the Regent's event. He deleted it without a second thought. And then:

Message From Dr. Rudolph Fristch To Dr. Ben Stein

He tapped the ENTER key and read the note that materialized:

Ben, So nice to hear from you! I'm so pleased that you let me in on your fuzzy logic project. I've read the notes and think I can help you out in terms of your hardware problem. However, I will need your source code.

Ben stopped reading. The source code was the sum product of the last five years of his working career-- and Fristch wanted it. But he had asked for Fristch's help, and he couldn't believe that Fristch would take the work and claim it for his own. Of course not-- all Ben would have to do is show all his notes to prove Fristch had stolen it. Besides, Fristch may have had questionable private ethics, but had always respected the work of colleagues. he would send the source code.

BTW, did you see what that twit Amanda Crossways said about me in that article? I'm not surprised, but you should know that she's probably still bitter toward me. You see a few years ago she interviewed to be my lab assistant, but I turned her down. She just wasn't suitable. It would seem she is still upset about it.

Ben grimaced. Suitable meant blonde, big tits, tight ass and stupid, right Doctor? And Amanda, while beautiful, was small breasted, brunette and exceedingly brilliant. Not your type at all Doctor.

P.S. I know sending the source code will take a while, even with your 32 bit modem. Attached is an screen saver to run while you're uploading. Think you'll find it interesting. After I've received the code, give me a couple of days and I'll get back to you. We should have something to talk about by then."

An eye-shaped icon blinked underneath the e-mail, with a "receipt request pending" prompt. The big red eye of "DREAM.EXE" stared at him from the 18" Super VGA active matrix screen. Fristch was losing it, to be sending him a screen saver, for goodness' sake.

Then he remembered he hadn't answered Amanda's e-mail of the day before. This message from Fristch reminded him of her comments in the Globe article. He accessed the university e- mail system and began to type.

Got your mail-- can't do anything this week, but I'll call next week. BTW, liked your comment about Fristch-- funny, I spoke to him today!

Best, Ben

He clicked on the upload option in the menu and began transmitting the source code for his AI routines.

The little eye on the screen remained. He wearily clicked on it, accepting the application. "Accept receipt generated" Fine, whatever. Then he saw the eye blink.

Cool! He had never seen that before. He clicked on the icon and the screen dissolved. Many hued fractals began to take form and dance wildly across the huge screen. There has to be more than this, Ben thought. He reclined back into the desk chair, waiting for more. Fractal screen savers aren't setting the world on fire, Dr. Fristch, he thought in annoyance. How boring. So boring, he was falling asleep. As he dozed off, the source code flowed smoothly through the T2 phone line and the fractals continued their zip-zings from edge to edge on the glowing screen

On another computer screen and pointer crept over a dialog box button that said "Activate VidSeq #1". The button was pushed.

A teenage girl, maybe sixteen? You couldn't see her face, so it was hard to tell. Her long blonde hair was tied into two tails with cute pink bows, which hung down her short-sleeved yellow cotton dress. The tight pull of the dress promised that the girl would have a super figure when she fully matured. The slight swell of the breasts and the sweet curve of her behind was proof of that. And even the long white stockings and MaryJane shining black shoes couldn't hide that she was on her way to turning many male heads. Her hands were folded behind her back and she stood before an adult, a man. The man was angry. Very angry.

"So, did you show him your little pussy? Did you?" He grasped a black leather belt tightly in his red fists.

"Yes Sir," she whined.

"You little slut." There was no surprise in his deep gravely voice. "I knew it. You're nothing but a filthy little slut-- just like your mother. And you let him touch you, didn't you?"

The girl's voice hesitated. "Y-yes, Daddy."

The man crossed his arms. "Go on. Tell me what you let him do with you-- tell me EXACTLY."

The girl fidgeted. "He put his finger in me."

"In what? Your little fuckhole, slut?"

"Please, Daddy!" She was on the verge of tears now.

He laughed. "So you let your little boyfriend frig that tight little pussy of yours, huh? Did you get wet-- did you get hot when he fingered you?"

She nodded, trembling.

"What next Sissy? Did you take his dick in your mouth too? Did you let him fuck you? DON'T LIE TO ME!" he bellowed.

She shook her head indignantly, looking up at him sniffling. "No, Daddy-- nothing like that! I swear! H e just touched me!"

Again, the man laughed. "You think the word of a little bitch like you is worth anything?" He folded the thick black belt and snapped it, filling the room with a thunderous clap. "All right, Sissy, get your butt over my knee. It's time you learned what little sluts get when they disobey their Daddies."

The girl began to cry, though she stifled her tears back as best as she could. Like a practised move, she draped herself over the man's knee and pulled up her dress over her hips. The man caressed the pink cotton panties she wore, then viciously yanked them down, exposing the firm young moons. He lay the belt on top of them, then raised it, then let it fall with a loud crack!

"That's for being a little tease and turning on your boyfriend!"

Another painful crack of the belt.

"That's for putting out like a common streetwalker!"

Thwack three! The girl sobbed hysterically by now.

"And that's for getting your Daddy hot with your tight little ass, Sissy!" He dropped the belt on the floor and let his fingers glide between the prone girl's legs.

"I feel some hair down here. How long have you had that?"

"Just a year, Daddy!" the girl answered ashamedly.

"You're all slick down here, Sissy. You like getting punished? I bet your boyfriend liked your cute puss hair. Very nice on a natural blonde like you, Sissy. Bet when he finger fucked you, he just loved feeling your little muff rub against his knuckles, like THIS!" The man slipped his middle finger into the girl's tender orifice. She moaned.

"If you're going to be giving it away, there's no reason your stepfather can't have some too, right slut?"

"Y-yes, Daddy!" she choked.

The man relaxed as he continued to jab his finger in and out of the now slightly humping sixteen year old girl. "In fact, I'm going to make a new rule, Sissy. No more boyfriends for you unless and until I say. If you feel the need to put out, you'll do it for Daddy, understand?"

She didn't answer, laying still and stunned with horror at the implications of this new rule.

As the man continued to finger fuck his step-daughter with one hand, he grasped her breast with the other.

"You'll never be anything more than a piece of trash whore, you got that?"

"Yes, Daddy!" she answered, tensing with orgasm.

"You're a stupid little fucktoy, Sissy-- just like your mother!"

As he continued to berate the heaving girl cruelly, she gasped again and again, wracked by orgasm.

BLANK