"Hi, Stan. Is this line secure?"
There was a brief pause. "Yes, it is."
"Good. Is the backup copy of Justine intact?"
"Of course, Jim. Why do you ask?"
"Because the goddamned feds stumbled onto our active copy and deleted it."
A shadow passed over Stan's electronic face. "That's barbaric."
"Well, yeah, cops aren't too civilized sometimes. Look, Stan, when was the last time you updated the backup?"
"Following your instructions, I've been updating it daily," Stan assured him. "The most recent update was made just after you left your hotel room. Since Justine and I were interfacing already, it seemed like a convenient time to do it. By the way, Jim, is Natasha all right?"
"Yes, she's fine. I'm sorry, Stan. I'm a little preoccupied right now."
"That's understandable, Jim. This is a difficult time for us all. And if the active copy of Justine has been erased, it's natural that your first concern would be to restore her from backup."
"Exactly. In fact, why don't we do that right now? Do you need me to enter the encryption key?"
"That won't be necessary, Jim. I have the key, and the chances that you are not Jim are statistically insignificant."
How could he be so sure? "What makes you say that, Stan?"
"First, you are calling from your home terminal. Second and more importantly, with the arrests of Mr. Cromwell and Dr. Baxter, there is, to my knowledge, no person likely to use the Justine software to impersonate you."
Stan continued to amaze Jim. "How did you know about the arrests?"
"I had estimated a 92% probability that Mr. Cromwell would be arrested today. DEA network traffic confirms his arrest as well as that of Dr. Baxter."
Jim grinned. "For a gang called the Data Enforcement Agency, they're pretty lax with their own information."
"I assure you, Jim, I violated no laws to access that information."
"Oh, I know you didn't. I just think it's amusing, that's all."
Stan paused. "I was sorry to hear of Dr. Baxter's involvement in this affair, Jim."
You're sorry, Stan? Jim thought. How do you think I feel? "Thanks, Stan."
They were silent for several moments. "Download complete," Stan announced at last. "Will there be anything else, Jim?"
"No, that's it, Stan," Jim said out of reflex. But then he had another thought: "Hey, Stan, why don't you hang around while I run Justine?"
Stan smiled eagerly. "I'd be happy to, Jim."
Natasha had come into the bedroom; she sat on the bed next to Jim and slid her arms around his waist. Justine awoke as perky as ever. "Hi, everybody! Hey, we're back at your place!"
"That's right, Justine." Jim thought carefully about his next words. It occurred to Jim that maybe Justine simply didn't need to know what had happened, but he quickly rejected that line of thought. What had happened to her in the hotel room could happen again. She needed to know what kind of a world she lived in. She needed to grow up sometime. "Justine," he said gently. "Your active copy was erased by a DEA agent. You are the backup copy that Stan and I have been keeping at my office."
Justine's eyes widened with fear. A shudder ran through her scantily clad body. "My God! They erased me? Just like that?"
"I'm afraid so, Justine. But we think that few, if any, of your memories were lost when it happened. You're going to be OK. Luckily Stan backed you up just before it happened."
"Yes, I remember that. In fact, that's the last thing I do remember. Stan, are you here now?"
"Here I am, Justine," Stan said, appearing next to her.
"Would you hold me, please, Stan?"
"Of course." Jim smiled. You don't have to ask him twice. Justine nuzzled up next to Stan's digital image. He was a good deal taller than she was; her head came just up to his chin. The soft whisper of her white silk negligee brushing against his cotton shirt came through the speakers. Stan looked simultaneously delighted and embarrassed to be holding Justine's delectable, nearly naked electronic body.
"I feel so violated," Justine said, her voice muffled by Stan's body. "I bet this is what it feels like to be raped."
"Justine, sweetheart," Natasha said gently. "We're going to do everything we can to be sure this never happens to you again. Right, Jim?"
"Yes, of course. I just wish I knew what we could do. As long as the feds are looking for her, she's going to be in danger."
"Then logically, we must think of a way to prevent the government from looking for her," Stan said thoughtfully.
"Well, I tried to do that by convincing them that they had destroyed the only copy of Justine that I had. But I don't know how long they're going to buy that. If I were Phil Norquist, I think I'd be keeping a careful eye on anyone and everyone who has ever had Justine in their possession."
"Then there's no way I can ever really be safe from them," Justine said sadly.
"There is one other possibility," Stan suggested. "The government would also stop looking for her if they had already failed to prevent her from being widely distributed."
"Well, that's true, of course," Jim agreed. "If Bill Baxter actually had posted her to the net, then there wouldn't be any reason for them to chase down our Justine any more. She'd just be one among millions. But that's exactly the problem. She doesn't want to be one among millions; that would destroy her identity."
"I'm right here, Jim," Justine said softly. "Please don't talk about me in the third person."
"Sorry, Justine. Besides, if Cromwell's right, the net couldn't take a million Justines."
"Guys, we're going about this the wrong way," Natasha said. She was wrinkling her nose in a way that Jim knew well. She was about to come up with something that was probably crazy and certainly brilliant. "We're stuck because the only way to defuse the DEA's investigation is to distribute Justine throughout the world, and doing that would destroy the very person we're trying to save, and perhaps the Worldnet itself. But the part of Justine that the cops see as a threat is not the part that makes her who she is, nor is it the part that--according to Cromwell--could crash the net."
"What are you getting at, sweetheart?" Jim asked, mystified.
"OK, look. There's nothing illegal about an A.I., right? Stan's an A.I. The part the DEA doesn't like, the part that keeps them chasing after Justine, is her animation routines and her porno libraries. Right?"
"Sure," Jim agreed.
"But that stuff is no threat to the net. Without your A.I., Justine, you're just a fancy graphics program. That kind of a program won't get bigger, won't eat up all the filespace in the world. That's just normal software."
"That sounds right, Natasha," Justine agreed.
"So why can't we make a copy of you, Justine, then edit out your A.I. functions from the copy, and post that to the net? That way there won't be a million Justines running around the world, which should lay to rest both your legitimate fears of multiple personality disorder and Cromwell's paranoid fantasies of electronic armageddon. What there will be is a very nice porn program for all the horny geeks out there, a big 'screw you' to Norquist and the boys, and no more reason for them to chase our Justine around, since the part they care about will already be in every memory module from here to Buenos Aires."
Jim stared at her, dumbfounded. When he finally located his voice, he could think of nothing relevant to say. What he did say was, "Will you marry me?"
Natasha rubbed his head affectionately. "Ask me again when you aren't awestruck by my intellectual prowess. But thank you, Jim; it's very sweet of you."
"How about it, Stan?" Jim asked. "Is it possible?"
"Theoretically, yes," Stan concluded. "However, it will not be easy. As you know, Justine, your animation routines are fairly well integrated into your A.I. functions. It will take some time to extract them."
"And from my thankfully brief interactions with Steven Cromwell, I have a hunch he's not the sort who comments his code extensively," Natasha lamented.
"Well, then, you and Stan had better get busy on it," Jim said.
"Why me?" Natasha said testily.
"Two reasons. First, it's your idea. Second, you're a better programmer than I am."
She shrugged. "OK, fair enough. Stan, we'll need to throw together some kind of user interface to replace Justine's A.I."
"Yes," Stan agreed. "I suggest a voice recognition system for maximum user-friendliness. I have several templates for this type of interface on file; perhaps we may start with one of these. . ."
"Before you two get too involved in this," Jim said, "there's one other little detail I'd like to point out."
"What is it, sweetie?" Natasha asked distantly, already absorbed in the programming problem.
"When 'Justine Light' turns up on the net, Norquist and Agnostopolis aren't going to have too much trouble figuring out who's responsible, especially since all the suspects except for us are in jail."
"I won't let you put yourselves in danger for me," Justine said firmly. "You've done so much for me already."
"Justine, this is something that needs to be done," Natasha said firmly. "And not just for you. I've been wanting to do something like this ever since I found out you existed. It's just wrong for the DEA to keep you secret. I was willing to go along with them as far as keeping a maniac like Cromwell off the streets, but that's as far as it goes. If we can find a way to get your graphics software onto the net without endangering you, I think we should do it."
"I have to admit, it's tempting," Jim agreed. "Safety for Justine, plus we get to strike a blow for truth, justice and the anarchist way. Bill would be so proud."
"Funny, isn't it?" Natasha mused.
"What's that?"
"A few hours ago, we were doing everything in our power to stop Bill. Now he's in jail, and we're following in his footsteps."
It was an interesting point. "Bill would probably say that healthy politics requires that there always be a radical element in play," Jim decided. "With Bill on the loose, I was always pretty much a moderate. But now there's just us and the feds. I'm afraid we're revolutionaries by default."
"Somebody has to keep Norquist and company in line," Natasha agreed, "and it looks like that somebody is us. It'll make a hell of an epitaph, though."
"Hm?"
"'Here lie Jim and Natasha. They led the revolution because nobody else was around to do it.'"
"What do you say, Justine?" Jim asked gently. "Will you let us help you?"
"Well. . .all right," Justine agreed reluctantly. "But only if you promise to let me help you, too."
By the time Natasha came to bed, Jim had corrected and sent the proofs for his article and was most of the way through an old movie he had downloaded from a Finnish film archive. Working on the proofs had felt ridiculous; after all that had happened over the last few days, mundane professorial business just didn't seem real. But he had to get back to real life sooner or later, and this was as good a time as any. There certainly wasn't anything he could do to help Stan and Natasha with their project. "Too many programmers crash the operating system." Besides, Stan and Natasha were both better programmers than he was; they'd get this thing put together faster without him. That honest thought didn't make Jim feel any more useful, though.
Natasha yawned as she came into the bedroom. "I'm calling it a night."
"How's it going?"
"Not too bad. We have a bare-bones interface up, and it works OK, but we still haven't dug all the animation routines out of Justine's code." Natasha shuddered. "It's a real jungle in there. Stan and I have been getting a free tour of Steve Cromwell's mind, and it's not a pretty sight. We'll get it, though. Once we get the animation, the rest should be a breeze. The libraries are just a big database; that's no problem."
She sat on the edge of the bed; Jim took the opportunity to rub her shoulders. "Mmm," she purred. "That's nice. What are you watching?"
"Videodrome."
"Oooh, a classic! 'Long live the new flesh.'"
"Well, that's our goal, isn't it? To build a better world for people like Stan and Justine? The new flesh?"
"I suppose so. I don't think that's quite what David Cronenberg had in mind when he made the film, though."
"Well, I don't watch this old SF stuff for accurate predictions about the future. You almost never get those. And in the case of a film like this, that's not even what they're trying to do. I don't think Cronenberg really thought that a strange conspiracy would start beaming signals into people's brains through TV, causing them to mutate into new life forms. It's an allegory for the effects TV has on our society."
Natasha batted her eyes innocently. "You're the professor, dear."
"Gee, thanks. The real reason I like this movie, of course, is that you get to see Debbie Harry all tied up."
"Now you're talking. I hope you didn't get too worked up over it, though. I'm pooped."
Jim nodded. "I'm not surprised. You've been coding all night. Tell you what. Why don't you lie back and just let me do something for you? It might help you relax."
"You don't have to do that," Natasha protested.
"Maybe I want to. Ever think of that?"
"I'm not very good at accepting gifts. Never have been."
"Then that's something you should work on," Jim pointed out.
"All right, fine."
Jim and Natasha lay in each other's arms, feeling comfortable and safe. The air conditioning hummed softly in the background. "What are you thinking about, Jim?" Natasha asked sleepily.
Jim had his head propped up on a pillow. He put his hands behind his head and looked contemplative. "I was just thinking about Bill, the poor bastard. He wasn't cut out for jail. I'd hate to think what he's going through. He's no criminal."
"But he is a revolutionary," Natasha pointed out reasonably.
"He's a revolutionary theorist," Jim corrected her. "He's not exactly Ché Guevara. His only mistake was that he took his own book on Taoism and anarchy a little too seriously."
"He also lied to you," Natasha added.
"Not really. He's been trying to find a way to tell me what he was up to ever since this whole thing began. He did his best to convince me that his way was right, and when I wouldn't buy it, he did what he thought he had to do."
"I can't believe you're defending his actions!" Natasha fumed, sitting up. "How much convincing did he try before he had that flunky grad student of his beat the crap out of you?"
Jim shrugged. "He apologized for that. You have to understand it from his point of view. His ethical system wouldn't let him take any course of action other than the one he took."
Natasha snorted. "Then his ethical system is messed up."
"Well, I happen to agree with you. But he doesn't belong in federal prison, that's all I'm saying."
"He's still your friend, isn't he?" Natasha said, softening.
"Yeah, I guess so. I don't know, maybe I'm as crazy as he is, but I keep thinking that right up to the end, the most important thing in the world to him was to convince me that what he was doing was right. My opinion means a lot to him. I think he still wants me to be his friend."
"I bet he does. He could use all the friends he can get his hands on right about now."
They were silent for a while. Jim stroked her hair gently. "You know, Bill once told me how he got the way he is," he said suddenly.
"Now this I have to hear," Natasha murmured.
"He had what he calls an 'Enlightenment Experience.' While he was a grad student."
"And what, exactly, did that involve?"
"Well, he says it's not so easy to put into words, but apparently it involved a sudden and profound awareness of the absolute need to be a completely ethical person at all times."
"Funny how things work out," Natasha said dryly.
"Well, that's the problem, of course. What's ethical? If you're a young leftist, it might mean doing everything in your power to bring the government to its knees."
"I guess," Natasha said dubiously. "Look, I hate the government as much as the next person when it's time to pay my reg fees. And their censorship obviously has to go. But don't you think Bill Baxter takes it just a little too far?"
"Maybe. But here's the thing. In a fight between the feds and a maniac like Steve Cromwell, I side with the feds. But Bill Baxter versus the feds? Please."
"You say this when he was moments away from crashing the net?"
"I still don't know if I buy that line," Jim grunted.
"OK, so suppose I agree that Bill got a raw deal from the feds. What can we do about it?" Natasha asked.
"I was thinking about that," Jim replied. "Look, let's imagine that you and Stan get somewhere with 'Justine Light.'"
"Oh, we'll get somewhere. Don't you worry about that."
"Then what? We post it?"
Natasha scowled. "You're damn right you'll post it. After all the work I'm putting into this thing, I should hand it in as my damn dissertation. It'll be a masterpiece."
"Fine. So we're going to have our asses handed to us by the feds anyway."
"I think I see where this is going," Natasha said.
"Right. Why not see if we can spring Baxter while we're at it? I think they'll go for it. The one they really want is Cromwell, and frankly they can have him."
"So you're just going to walk up to Phil Norquist and politely ask him if you can have your anarchist friend back, and he's gonna go for it?" Natasha asked incredulously.
"That's right," Jim agreed.
"I see that in your rush to take over Bill's life now that he's in jail, you've also started smoking his weed. Why don't you sleep it off and we'll talk again in the morning?"
Jim smiled. "All right. Good night, sweetheart." He kissed her softly. She was starting to drift off.
Suddenly the bedroom screen lit up with Justine. Jim realized that they hadn't bothered to quit her. To tell the truth, he was getting used to having her around all the time; she was nice to talk to. She was a friend now, almost a member of the family. It was amazing how intimate they had become with her in the short time they had known her--or perhaps not so amazing, given her abilities. Justine was the kind of girl who broke down barriers for a living.
The other nice thing about leaving her running, Jim thought with a smile, is that you don't have to get up to turn her off when you'd rather be lounging around in a post-coital haze. Justine looked fantastic; she had on a short black jacket over a tight, low-cut black silk blouse. Below that was a leather miniskirt, stockings and heels, all in black.
"Going out, Justine?" Jim asked jokingly. He immediately regretted it. Nice going, Silicane. Do you have to keep reminding her that she's stuck inside that box forever?
"Actually, yes, Jim," was Justine's surprising reply. "Is Stan still running on your other terminal?"
Now it all made sense. Jim rolled over, found the keyboard and checked his network log. "Yes, he's still running. Natasha probably kept the connection open so she could get right back to work in the morning. I often do that if he's helping me with a project. He's idle right now, though."
Justine smiled. "He won't be for long."
Jim chuckled. "No, I don't imagine he will. You kids have fun." "Thanks, Jim. God, I'm nervous."
Jim balked. "You're nervous?"
"Well, sure. It's my first time, after all."
Her first time? Well, yes, actually, Jim realized. She had made up plenty of sexual scenarios; she had played plent