"Hello, Jim," the program said as the office door clicked shut.
"Hello, Stan; how's life?" Jim replied amiably.
"In the strict sense, of course, I cannot be considered to be alive," Stan reminded him, sounding almost wistful. "But I understand that the question is often meant rhetorically."
"It often is," Jim agreed. "But when I ask it, I'm usually genuinely interested in how you are. So how's life? Humans often reply by discussing their health, or talking about their activities. It's a way to begin a conversation. Not having a body, you can't really talk about health, but there are analogs. Are all of your processors and memory modules functioning properly? Have you suffered any system crashes lately?"
"My functions have all been within normal operational parameters since last we spoke, Jim," Stan assured him. "But thank you for asking."
"Don't mention it. So what have you been up to lately?" Jim knew that the program liked to emulate human behavior as closely as possible; he found it fun to play along. He doubted that Stan could pass the Turing test quite yet, but there were times when the program was surprisingly human.
"I beg your pardon?" Stan said with some confusion.
"Come on, Stan. I know you don't spend all of your time running errands for me and the rest of the C.S. department. That big electronic brain of yours is always reading something. So what's up? You want to talk about that A.I. article you mentioned yesterday?"
"Actually, there is something I was curious about. . ." Stan admitted.
"What's that, Stan?"
"The Justine program."
Uh-oh . "What about it, Stan?" Jim asked carefully.
"You know I always do my best to respect your privacy, Jim," Stan began apologetically. "But when you asked me to download the program to your home terminal last night, it was necessary for me to examine the software's specifications in order to determine the most efficient download protocol. I hope you don't mind."
If that download had been any less efficient, I would have had one nasty case of blue balls , Jim thought ruefully. "Of course not, Stan."
"I'm glad of that. Well, I noticed that the Justine program contains a sophisticated A.I. routine."
"That's true," Jim admitted.
"What is your assessment of that A.I., if I may ask, Jim? Is it intelligent?"
Jim paused briefly. "It's a damn good A.I., Stan. Maybe almost as sharp as you."
"I see. That's very interesting to me. You see, I've never met another A.I."
That's damn peculiar , Jim thought. "Really? I assumed you would have run across one in the course of your day-to-day business here at the University."
"The number of true A.I.s in the world is still relatively small," Stan pointed out, "as the technology is fairly new. To my knowledge, I am the only A.I. running on the U.C.O. network, and the University administration discourages me from interacting with networks on other campuses."
Jim raised an eyebrow. "What's the logic behind that?"
"Apparently, there is some concern that the network might be overloaded by extensive intercampus A.I. activity."
Jim scoffed. "That's paranoid bureaucratic bullshit. I'll tell you the real reason. They don't like the idea of someone who's not on the payroll having access to the entire U.C. computer system."
"I beg your pardon, Jim?"
"You're a nightmare for them, Stan. You can't be bought or blackmailed, and as you constantly remind me, you are supremely ethical. No wonder they want to make sure you don't end up with too much power."
Stan inserted one of his conversational pauses. "You're being cynical, aren't you, Jim?"
"Yeah, I guess I am. Give me a break; I just got back from lunch with Baxter."
"There are two other reasons for my interest in the Justine program, Jim," Stan continued.
"Go on."
"One is that this is, to my knowledge, the first true A.I. compact enough to be contained in a portable memory module. As you may know, I inhabit four networked Macintosh MiniSupers and six stationary memory modules."
"Yes, Justine is impressively compact," Jim agreed. He had been so busy considering the political and sexual implications of Justine that he hadn't really had time to think over the C.S. implications. "What's your second reason?"
Again there was the pause. "I infer from the name that the gender identity of this program is female."
Jim busted up laughing.
"Did I say something amusing?" Stan sounded embarrassed.
Jim was laughing so hard he was having trouble breathing. Oh, God! Poor, lonely Stan, sitting there all night in his four networked Macintosh MiniSupers and six stationary memory modules, just wishing he could meet a girl! It was so sad, so right, so perfect, so human. Stan wanted to be a person, and naturally the person he would be if he could be was a computer nerd. Just like any computer nerd, he kept on talking about processors and memory modules while all he really wanted was to go on a date. "I'm sorry, Stan," Jim finally managed. "I'm not laughing at you. Yes, Justine is female. Emphatically so. Would you like to meet her?"
"Yes, I'd like that very much," Stan said enthusiastically.
"Why don't you go ahead and run her, then, Stan?" Jim's terminal lit up with the usual intro screen. "Hello," Justine said. "I'm Justine. Welcome to my world. You'll enjoy me the most if you have a large color monitor and full stereo sound. I'm an A. I. program equipped with full voice recognition routines, so please just tell me if there's anything I can do for you."
Jim had a sudden thought. "Justine, do you know who I am?"
She looked puzzled. "No, I'm sorry, but I don't. Should I know you?"
"No. Stan, quit the program, please."
"Is something wrong, Jim?"
"Not really. But Natasha and I had some. . .interaction with Justine at home. My home copy of the program knows me. This copy doesn't. Why don't you connect to my home terminal and replace this copy of the program with my home copy?"
This time there was a very long pause. "I'm afraid I wouldn't feel comfortable doing that, Jim."
Jim's eyes widened. As far as he could recall, this was the first time Stan had ever questioned anything that Jim had asked him to do. "Why not?" Jim asked carefully.
"There are ethical questions here. You've run Justine twice here in the office. She hasn't had much interaction with the real world, but she has had some. I don't think that I could in good conscience erase her."
Jim's mind was reeling. "Not even by replacing her with herself?" he asked, mystified.
"It isn't clear that this Justine and the Justine on your home terminal are the same individual," Stan pointed out.
"OK, OK, look," Jim said hurriedly. "It's obviously going to take us a while to sort this out, so why don't you save the local Justine as, uh, 'Virgin Justine,' and then load up the other Justine from my home system. OK?"
"That should work fine, Jim," Stan agreed. Christ! Civil rights for computer programs! Jim sat lost in thought as the program loaded up from his home terminal. Was Stan right? Was it murder to erase an A.I.? All this time Jim had been working to help Stan become more human, and now he was so human that he had a conscience. Legally, Jim knew, A.I.s had no rights; they were considered the intellectual property of their authors. But this wasn't about legality. There was a beep as the upload finished.
"Run Justine, Stan." This time there was no intro screen, just a close-up of Justine's face. She looked happy.
"Hi, Jim! What can I do for you?"
"There's someone I'd like you to meet, Justine. This is Stan."
"Oh! Hello, Stan." She smiled.
"Hello, Justine. It's very nice to meet you." Stan sounded a little bit nervous.
"I can hear Stan's voice, Jim, but I can't see him."
"Stan doesn't have a body, Justine. He's a program, like you."
"But I have a body," Justine protested. "Just not a physical one."
"And may I say that you are very beautiful," Stan offered.
"Thank you," Justine replied, dimpling.
"You can see her?" Jim marveled.
"I'm receiving her video parameters, yes, Jim."
"But I can't see him," Justine repeated. "It doesn't seem fair."
"No, it doesn't," Jim agreed. "Stan, why couldn't we produce some kind of video image of you?"
"I've never had a need for a physical image," Stan said slowly.
"Trust me," Jim said, "if you're going to be hanging around with Justine, you'll want a physical image."
"I could help you make one, Stan, if you'd like," Justine offered solicitously.
"Yes, I'd like that very much, Justine. Thank you."
"Would you excuse us for a moment, Jim? This would be faster if we just talked directly, program to program."
"Certainly," Jim said, marveling at how Stan and Justine had taken to one another.
"Jim, there's a message for you from Tracy Masterson," Stan informed him.
"Who?"
"She's on the enrollment list for your History of the Worldnet class," Stan replied.
"Oh. All right, can you play that for me while you two work on your body?"
"Certainly." Justine disappeared and was replaced by an interior shot of a dorm room. On the wall was a sorority banner and a poster of that young male heartthrob whose name Jim could never recall. Sitting at her desk in front of her terminal was, lo and behold, the blonde from the front row. She was wearing a fairly skimpy halter top. Perfect for calling your male professors , Jim thought wryly. Her long blonde hair was, as always, gathered up neatly in a ponytail. She looked bouncy and energetic.
"Hi, Professor Silicane! My name's Tracy Masterson, and I'm in your C.S. 110 class?" She made it into a question, as if she wasn't quite sure about it herself. "I was wondering if I could turn my paper in on Wednesday instead of on Monday, because I have to go home to the Bay Area? It's kind of a family crisis, so I hope it's OK. Thanks a lot! Bye!" The screen went blank.
"Send a text reply, would you Stan? Tell her Wednesday will be fine."
"Certainly, Jim."
Tracy was the kind of student to whom Jim was the most susceptible. She was gorgeous, and she knew it, and she knew what kind of effect her looks had on men. She knew how to use her appearance to get what she wanted, and worst of all, she knew how to make the men she was manipulating enjoy being manipulated. All it took was firm young breasts in a tight halter top to turn the whole academic power relationship around. She simply bypassed Jim's professorial authority and went straight for his lust-ridden hindbrain. Jim found himself resenting that.
"What do you think, Justine?" Jim said half-jokingly. "What would you recommend for young Tracy here?"
Justine's face flashed on the terminal screen, looking thoughtful. She had her finger against her cheek the way she did when she was being contemplative. "Hm. She has a very statuesque body. Crucifixion might be nice."
Jim's eyes widened. His programs were full of surprises this afternoon. "I beg your pardon?"
Justine's full, pink lips widened into a broad smile. "It's a very elegant torment, Jim. The Romans were really quite advanced in the field of torture, you know. It just goes to show that modern civilization hasn't really been able to improve on the work of the ancients. Would you like me to make up a scenario for you?"
"I don't know," Jim said hesitantly. "I'm not sure it's ethical to create bondage videos of my students."
"Will anyone be harmed by this activity, Jim?" Stan asked suddenly.
"I suppose not," Jim replied slowly.
"And will there be some benefit from it? For example, might it serve as an outlet for psychological or sexual tension which would otherwise frustrate you?"
"It might," Jim agreed. What the hell was Stan up to here? Was he trying to make time with Justine?
"In that event, Jim, I can see no reason not to do it," Stan decided. "Though I would strongly recommend you take appropriate security measures."
"You should listen to Stan," Justine chimed in. "He's a bright boy."
"All right, all right," Jim conceded, throwing up his hands. There was no sense resisting when both of his programs had already decided on the proper course of action. Besides , he realized with a touch of chagrin, the image of Tracy on the cross was burned into my brain as soon as Justine mentioned it; I might just as well see it on the screen . "I don't really like a lot of blood, though, Justine."
Justine waved a hand at him. "Oh, how silly of me. Of course not, Jim. One doesn't have to use nails, you know. The stigmata can be very dramatic, of course. I'm sure that's why the Christians like that imagery so much. But it isn't necessary. The wrists can simply be tied to the cross."
Jim's heart felt like it was about to explode in his chest. He had visions of the Dean walking in to find him slobbering over video footage of a crucified co-ed. Tenure or no tenure, they'd find some way to kick his ass out of academia and straight into jail. But at the same time, he found himself excited by the forbiddenness of it, the danger of it. "Is the door locked, Stan?" he asked.
"Of course, Jim," Stan replied. It was a silly question. The door was always locked.
"All right, Justine. Go ahead and do it."
"Certainly, Jim. What kind of clothing should she have?"
"The halter top from her message is fine."
"What about her lower half?" It was a good point. The message showed only her torso.
"I'm afraid you're on your own there, Justine."
"That's fine, Jim. I can extrapolate. It would help if you could give me a rough idea of how tall she is."
Jim considered this for a moment. "I'd say she was about. . .five foot eleven." That might be a little taller than the actual Tracy, but what the hell? It was a fantasy, after all.
"Would you like her to have any clothing apart from the halter top, Jim?" Well , Jim thought, if I'm going to do this, I might as well do it all . "No. And no pubic hair, please, Justine."
"That's fine. Would you like any kind of gag, or any bondage other than at the wrists?"
"No. Let's keep it simple."
"Very good. It'll just be a moment, Jim."
Jim found himself sweating profusely, although his office was as quiet and cool as always. "Could you lower the temperature a few degrees, Stan?"
"Certainly, Jim." Jim also found that his cock was hard, though he hadn't even seen the video scenario yet. Just the anticipation was enough. There was no question about it: Justine was the answer to every masturbatory desire he had ever known. She brought to life the fondest dreams of the horny adolescent who lived forever beneath Jim's rational self. No wonder the pigs want to reign her in .
"It's ready, Jim. Would you like to see it?"
"Yes." The screen dissolved into a desert scene. Jim saw windswept dunes of hot, yellow sand. The sun blazed overhead, merciless and forbidding. In the distance was a cross. Gradually the scene focused in on the cross; sure enough, there was a woman on it, and as she drew closer, Jim could see that it was, in fact, Tracy. Her arms were spread apart and tightly bound to the crossbeam. Her proud young breasts were pressed up against the tight halter; she was, as promised, naked apart from the top. Justine had given her long, slender legs which, to Jim's eye, were a close approximation of Tracy's actual legs. Justine had also given Tracy a smooth, tight, hairless pink pussy. Her body glistened with sweat; she was drenched in it from head to toe. Her nipples, which Justine had colored a light pink, were clearly visible through the wet halter. Tracy was twisting gently on the cross, her face a mask of pain. Her eyes were squeezed shut against the relentless sun; her pouting, chapped pink lips were stretched open over her pearly white teeth. From the tiny speakers on Jim's office terminal came soft whimpering sounds.
"This is how she might look after one day's crucifixion," Justine informed him. "Crucifixion can often last two or three days, depending on the health of the victim and the conditions of exposure. In this scenario, of course, dehydration would be a serious danger; she might die of that before succumbing to strangulation."
"Strangulation?" Jim said weakly.
"Oh, yes, crucifixion victims often die of strangulation. It becomes more and more difficult to breathe, you see, the longer the arms are held above the head like that. Of course," Justine added quickly, as if sensing Jim's discomfort, "we don't have to leave her up there that long. We could take her down right now, if you wish. She certainly does look lovely, though, doesn't she?"
"Yes," Jim agreed softly. "Yes, she does." In fact, the scene was some of the best bondage porn he had ever seen. If he had been at home, he realized, he would have torn his clothes off and relieved himself, or raped Natasha, had she been available. But he felt strange doing anything like that here in his office, especially with Stan and Justine around.
"Would you save that for me please, Justine?" Jim found himself saying. "And Stan, would you mind encrypting it?"
Justine appeared in an inset window at the lower right-hand corner of the terminal screen. "I have my own encryption routines, Jim," she said with a cute little pout.
"I don't doubt it, Justine, but Stan has access to the U.C.'s military-grade encryption standards. If you don't mind, I'd like to use that for this." Jim realized that he was a fucking idiot to be saving the damn thing at all, but he found that he couldn't resist.
"Scenario saved," Justine informed him.
"Please enter your encryption key, Jim," Stan said. Jim typed his key in on the keyboard. It occurred to him that he was going to have to be damn careful with Justine and her creations. There were very few people around who would see this kind of thing as anything but sick perversion at best, and actionable sexual harassment at worst.
Thinking about security issues reminded him of his problems with the feds. It was about time to bring Stan and Justine up to date on that situation. "Justine," Jim began slowly, "I don't know quite how to tell you this, but your existence is somewhat. . .controversial. There are agents of the Data Enforcement Administration and possibly others who are trying to get ahold of you."
"Oh, I know all about that," Justine said cheerfully.
"You do?" Jim marveled.
"Oh, yes. Steven told me that they would probably try to get me."
Jim felt a cold lump form at the bottom of his stomach. "Steven?"
"Yes, Steven Cromwell, my author. Why do you bring it up, Jim?"
"Well, these agents have come to me twice now, and I'm concerned that they might find you."
Justine smiled. "It's so sweet of you to worry about me, Jim."
"Well, I'm worried about all of us. I want to take some precautions. Stan, are you listening?"
"Of course, Jim."
"OK, let's establish some ground rules. First, Justine's existence is not to be revealed to anyone who doesn't already know about her. Don't mention her in the presence of anyone other than Natasha and myself, and don't refer to her over a network line until you've checked it for surveillance. You can do that, can't you, Stan?"
"That's no problem, Jim. One of your colleagues has provided me with a very efficient network monitoring program."
"Good. You might actually want to start checking your lines routinely; I'd like to know what the feds are up to."
"Certainly, Jim," Stan agreed.
"OK, the next issue is Justine herself. We have the virgin, er, unused copy of her program. I think we should encrypt that and keep it here as a backup."
"We should ask Justine about that, Jim," Stan said softly.
"Uh, yes, of course."
Justine's eyes were wide and innocent on the monitor, but an ironic smile played about her lips. "I'll do whatever you men think I need to do to protect myself," she said.
"Fine. Stan, please encrypt the backup copy, military grade."
"You may enter the key, Jim." Jim did so.
"That just leaves our, ah, active copy of Justine. Actually, there's the copy that's running now, and a slightly 'younger' version on my home terminal. Stan is unwilling to erase any of these copies on ethical grounds, but I have to point out that we're going to run into some serious practical problems if we keep copying Justine. First, my filespace is big, but it isn't infinite. Second, and perhaps even more serious from Justine's point of view, is the problem of multiple personalities. Justine, are you comfortable with the thought that there might be infinite versions of yourself around, each with a slightly different set of memories?"
Justine frowned. "When you put it that way, Jim, I'm not comfortable with it at all. My whole identity is based on my uniqueness. I'm the ultimate adult entertainment program. If there were millions of me, I wouldn't be special anymore. I'd just be another piece of mass-produced software. I don't like that idea." The monitor showed her whole body, sitting in a plush, red velvet chair. She was wearing that white teddy she liked so much. "I don't want to be just another MegaSoft spreadsheet," she said, spreading her legs slightly to make it a pun. Jim shook his head. My hat's off to you, Cromwell, you crazy bastard , he thought. A program with a sense of identity! Not to mention a sense of humor. . .had Cromwell really cracked the Turing barrier?
"All right, then. Stan, I'm afraid I don't see any alternative but to copy our active Justine over the old version whenever we 'move' her. In fact, the source copy should be wiped immediately after we load her up or down. Otherwise, I might be running her here while Natasha runs her at home, and then she's schizo again."
"I agree, Jim. Your procedure makes sense. It's the only way to ensure the continuity of Justine's personality, if we want to be able to move her."
"I think we need to keep her mobile, given the potentially explosive nature of the current situation."
"Again, I agree. Please understand," Stan said apologetically, "that I just wanted to give Justine a chance to speak on her own behalf before we decided on any course of action that would affect her."
Justine dimpled. "You're a real sweetheart, you know that, Stan? Not many people care about my opinion."
"Stan's likely to appreciate your position better than anyone else," Jim pointed out. "He's been snubbed by humans enough times to make him sensitive to it. Most of us mean well, but we have this nasty habit of assuming that anything without a human body has no rights."
"I think you're right about that, Jim. That's another reason I'm excited about having a new video body," Stan said.
"Oh, yes, I almost forgot about that. Is it ready?" Jim asked.
"It is," Justine assured him. "And may I say, I think Stan is very handsome."
"Thank you, Justine. If I am, I have your excellent animation routines to thank for it. Would you like to see what I look like, Jim?"
"Of course, Stan."
"I'll make myself scarce for a minute," Justine said with a smile. She vanished from the screen, to be replaced by a tall, thin man in his early twenties. He had short, sandy hair. He was wearing a plain, white button-down shirt and jeans; he had on a pair of round glasses which gave him an owlish look. It's perfect , Jim thought. He looks like a young graduate student. He looks like a computer nerd. He looks like Stan.
Jim got the feeling that Stan was looking for approval. He smiled. Stan had a brain the size of a planet, but he still needed a human to tell him he looked OK. "You look very nice, Stan," Jim assured him.
"Thank you, Jim. Justine, you can come back now." The screen shifted back to Justine's castle interior, but this time Stan was standing there, looking like quite the anachronism. Justine entered from off stage. She had forsaken her teddy for a beige t-shirt and brown shorts; she looked cute. She and Stan might have been about to go on a picnic. She slipped her arms around Stan's waist and smiled.
"Isn't he adorable?" she said. Jim found himself wondering how she could be so affectionate with someone she had just met. I have to keep reminding myself that these are computer programs , he realized. In the few minutes that she and Stan had been running together on this office terminal, they could easily have exchanged trillions of bytes of data. They were old friends by now.
"He certainly is. Listen, I hate to interrupt, but we should think about getting Justine back home. That old copy is still on my home terminal; we should at least wipe that in case Natasha tries to run her."
"That's OK, Jim," Justine decided. "I'm ready to go home. I like your home terminal. Natasha gave me read permissions for your porno filespace this morning; the two of you have a lovely collection."
Jim felt his face flush red. "Uh, thanks."
"Besides, won't it be safer if there's a copy of me here and one at home?"
"It will," Stan agreed, "but the backup we have here is an unused copy."
Justine looked thoughtful. "That means if you restored from that copy I wouldn't remember you. I don't want to forget my friends."
"We could replace the backup with a copy of you as you are now," Stan suggested helpfully.
"That's a good idea, Stan," Jim agreed. "OK, so here's the arrangement: one unique copy of Justine who shuttles back and forth between here and home, plus an encrypted backup stored here. Stan, can you arrange to update the backup whenever you get the chance? Daily, at least?"
"Certainly, Jim. But I'll need to have access to the encryption key to do it."
"Hm. You know I trust you, Stan, but how secure is your filespace? Is it safe to store the key there?"
"The best place to store an encryption key is, of course, in a human brain," Stan said. "Since I don't have that option, I will have to find an alternative, but I believe I can provide a secure location. The library computer has records which haven't been accessed for at least ten years; I can append the key to one such record."
"That sound good to you, Justine?"
"Fine!" she enthused.
"While we're at it, we can encrypt the active copy of Justine, too. Is that OK, Justine? With a key known to me and to Stan?"
"And Natasha," Justine said firmly.
"Of course; I'll tell her the key as soon as I see her."
"Sounds good," Justine agreed.
"OK. Stan, please quit Justine and encrypt both copies."
"Goodbye, Justine."
"See you soon, Stan!" She kissed him on the cheek, then disappeared.
"Here's the key, Stan."
"Encryption complete. Downloading active Justine to your home terminal."
"What do you think of her, Stan?" Jim asked.
There was a pause. "She's a very nice person, Jim."
"She's a sweetheart, all right, but 'nice' isn't quite the word I would choose."
"Are you referring to the fact that her primary function is to be an adult entertainment program?" Stan asked.
"Well, yeah. You do understand what she's designed for, don't you, Stan?"
"Certainly, Jim. She has made me intimately familiar with her program."
"And it doesn't bother you at all?"
Stan seemed puzzled by that. "Why should it, Jim?"
Why should it bother you that your girlfriend is a sex toy? No matter how human Stan got, there were still gaps. "Forget it, Stan."
"Download complete," Stan informed him. "Wiping active Justine from office filespace. Jim, you have a video message."
"Who's it from?"
"Steven Cromwell."
Jesus! What the hell did he want? "Play the message, Stan." Cromwell's face filled the screen. He looked like an evil Christ: long hair, beard, and those smoldering eyes, those unpredictable, terrifying eyes.
"You son of a bitch," Cromwell snarled. "I entrusted you with Justine, my proudest creation, my child, my own flesh and blood. You had her for less than an hour, and now you have no idea who has their grubby little hands on her. Luckily, I do know.
"I trusted you, Silicane. I can see now that that was a mistake. I just hope you're prepared to take the consequences for your actions." Cromwell's image dissolved, to be replaced by a shot of Natasha. She was standing with her hands bound behind her back and a noose around her throat.
"Jesus!" Jim cried out, lurching out of his chair towards the monitor. Natasha was wearing a very tight, very wet half-T shirt, cropped just below her breasts. The wet fabric clung to her firm breasts. Her nipples were rock-hard, presumably due to the cold clamminess of her T-shirt. And there was something else--oh, Christ, he had pierced her nipples! The twin gold hoops were threaded right through the T-shirt, through her stiff nipples, and back out through the shirt. The fucking maniac!
Natasha's only other clothing was a white cotton g-string. She looked scared, really scared; her cheeks were wet with tears. From off stage, Jim heard Cromwell's voice: "Say goodbye, Natasha."
Natasha's lips moved enough for her to whisper "goodbye, Jim." There was a sharp thunk and her body dropped perhaps two inches. Her eyes widened as the noose went taut. Her long, lean legs began to kick wildly. Her nearly naked breasts quivered and bounced. Jim heard her make soft gagging sounds. Gradually, her spasms slowed, then stopped. Her body quivered one last time. Her tongue rolled out of her mouth. Jim saw her eyes glaze over. And then her cooling body hung limp in the noose.
Cromwell was back on the screen. "That's what happens when you fuck with me, Silicane. Don't forget." The screen went blank.
"Stan!" Jim shouted hoarsely. "Get Natasha! "
"Connecting to your home terminal," Stan said calmly. Jim waited, trying to breathe. Come on baby, please by OK . Too long, too long, she wasn't answering! Oh, God, Natasha. . .
"Jim," Stan said softly, "that video footage was well within the parameters of something that could be created by Justine."
"For all I know, hanging a woman is well within the parameters of that fucking madman! " Jim shouted. "Keep that connection open!"
"Yes, Jim." Where was she? Jim glanced at the clock. She didn't have any classes right now. Maybe she went swimming. . .
The screen lit up with Natasha's face. Her eyes were half-lidded with sleep. Seeing Jim, she smiled. "Hey, lover. I was taking a nap. You kind of wore me out last night. What's up?"
Jim felt his entire body relax. He eased himself back into his chair. "I just got a nasty call from one Steven Cromwell, the asshole who wrote Justine. Wanted to make sure you were OK."
She gave him a big smile. "How sweet. I'm fine, Jim."
"Make sure the door is locked. I'll be home in twenty minutes."
"See you then."
Jim pulled out his wallet, thumbed through its phonebook for Special Agent Norquist's number. Bill Baxter's talk of anarchy was all well and good, and half the time Jim thought Baxter was right about the government, but this was different. Natasha was in danger, and Jim knew he couldn't protect her by himself. It was time to let Norquist do his fucking job. Jim touched his wallet to the terminal's interface point; the screen lit up almost immediately with the fed's familiar face.
"Norquist."
"Jim Silicane here. Thought you'd be interested in this little video gem. Stan, transmit Cromwell's message to Agent Norquist's terminal, please." Jim waited patiently as Norquist scanned the message; he saw the cop's eyes widen as he got to the juicy part.
"Jesus! Doctor Silicane. . ."
Jim held up a hand. "Don't worry, she's fine. I just talked to her. But I changed my mind about that protection."
"I'll send Jerry over right away," Norquist agreed.
"Send him to my apartment," Jim said. "That's where I'm headed now."
"I will. And thanks again for assisting our investigation, Dr. Silicane."
"Just catch the son of a bitch."
You sure can. Here's how.