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 bis 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 her, 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