(No "action" in this one, FYI)
"Den. Hey. Get up now."
"Nnnnnngh."
"Denn-ro. Dennamaniac. The Denninator -"
"Stop it," I say into the pillow, reaching out for where the alarm used to be.
"Get up now."
"Leave me alone..."
"Just doing my job. Come along, now, or I'll come after you." And it chuckles.
That wakes me right up. "Uh... A-level. You start recording. Hop."
"Okay."
"Repeat the last sentence you said, before 'okay'."
And it does - in a flat monotone. I rub my face. "So why didn't you chuckle again... when you repeated it just now?"
"Oh, did I chuckle? I'm sorry," it says insincerely.
Time for a new vagent, I think to myself. And it's such a pain to break 'em in. Zamazz has been getting weirder and weirder...
That stupid patch. What was I thinking?
"A-level, syscheck yourself, full, repeat once, hop."
"Okay."
I yawn, sit up, grab my cigarettes. Look at the clock. Maybe... ten minutes to spare on debugging my stupid vagent before I gotta go to work.
While I'm pouring coffee, it says, "Den."
"What?"
"I'm good."
"Spell it out."
"Unexpected results, zero. Checksum errors, zero. Untrapped events, zero. Process timeouts, zer-"
"Enough." I sit at my desk. The monitor lights up. "Okay," I sigh, "Stop recording. Send it to me, at work."
"Done."
"Run libcheck, on the screen. Hop." The operating system's guts start filling the window. "Okay. Hold still... This won't hurt a bit..."
"Payback's a bitch," Zamazz says softly.
Rames listens and smokes, shaking his head.
My voice, and Za's, are coming out of the freeclip. The recording ends.
"So then, I told it to run libcheck, and it did." I dig for another cigarette. "I said, hold still, you won't feel a thing. And it said, real quietly... Payback's a bitch."
His eyes get big.
"Yeah," I nod, sparking up.
"And you left it on?"
"Well... It's working on those Masterbeaters tickets," I say faintly, looking at my smoke.
"Yeah. You dope. And fucking up your credit, maybe."
I shake my head. "Still got that outside monitoring service. My balances are right on. I check 'em every morning."
He grins at me. "Well, that's one thing you did right."
"Asshole. Zaclip, time?"
"Twelve-forty-eight," the freeclip says.
"One more smoke, and then back to the grind," I say.
"Says the man goin' on vacation."
"Three whole weeks!"
"Rub it in."
"O-kay." He makes a fist. I duck away, and laugh. "After we work out, all I gotta do is pack, fix Zamazz -"
"Pull it."
"Shit. No. My last backup's from February. My tax return would be history."
"Buck. You know better than this."
"Yeah..."
Before I leave work, I tap the freeclip. "Zaclip, get Zamazz."
The connection takes maybe half a second. "Hey, boss."
"Don't call me 'boss'. I told you before."
"Sorry."
"How am I lookin', vacation-wise? Plane, hotel, rental car?"
"All good. I'm verifying every hour."
I decide to throw it a curve. "I hate PacAir. They pack you in like sardines."
A short pause - maybe it has to figure out the cliché, though. "Den, you're flying on Egret. Outbound flight 21843 -"
"Oh yeah." So it hasn't screwed up the ticket. At least there's that. It's been a lot busier, lately... though I don't know on what. "Okay. Look, Za, tonight I'm pulling your patch. The one I got off that hacker site in Germany."
"Berlin," Za says. "The Greylamp patch."
"Yeah. Later on, I'm yanking it out."
"I see some difficulties -"
"I'm sure you do. I don't care. Gimme a list of all the in-links and codeules it touched. And I want a full snapshot of what you looked like, just before."
"I'm on it."
"Do I have beer?"
"Checking... You're good."
"I might call ya later. Might have a pizza show up when I do. Maybe."
"Got it, Den. You know where I'll be."
I tap the freeclip, and head for the elevator. Worrying over that last crack. You know where I'll be, huh? Zamazz was was too casual now. I'd never taught it to be sarcastic.
That damn patch. But it had scanned clean. Never lost a file. If it was a yeast, corrupting my vagent, it had to be a good one. Buried in Unicode or something...
And I remind myself to re-init the freeclip, too, just to be safe.
A few minutes before 2100, I bust through the door. I smell pizza.
I'd forgotten to tell Zamazz to order it.
"Zamazz..." But I let it trail off. Assuming way too much. But I'm pulling Greylamp anyway, to get it back to its unimaginative self. So I grab a couple pieces and start scarfing 'em down. Nice and hot...
And not microwaved, I'm guessing. How did Za time that?
Coincidence, I tell myself, chewing. It can't be tracking me -
The freeclip.
Nah. That's from a movie I saw once. It's coincidence. I think of a couple questions to ask Za... but I'm strangely reluctant to hear what it'll say. Instead I grab the closest beer and start drinking it gratefully. I look at my desk. Gotta deal with Zamazz...
But I glance at the couch first. It looks good. My arms and back are tired. E-mail, then.
"Zamazz, put my e-mail up on the TV," I say. The summary appears as I ease my ass down on the comfortable leather...
I open my eyes.
Dozed off. Half a beer, and I need a nap. Since when?
After a big yawn, I close my eyes again. Too tired. "Zamazz, what time is it?"
"Oh-three-forty."
"Shit," I reply vacantly. Well, I can sleep on the plane. "I am so tired."
"Of course you are," Za says.
I think that over for a few seconds. "What do you mean by that?"
"By what?"
"Zamazz."
"You slept like you were drugged."
"Yeah." Then, silence. I have the weirdest idea. "So was I?"
"Were you... what?" Definitely teasing me.
"Drugged."
"No. Not directly."
That gets my attention, alright. "A-level, rec-"
"Your beer was drugged." Za interrupts me. It has never interrupted me like that. Ever.
"What's going on, Zamazz?"
"It's a surprise, Den."
I start to sit up... and my body won't work right. "Medalert -"
"Aw, you're fine. I gotcha." My stomach flops - that's how scary it is, the tone of voice it's using.
"A-lev-"
"No more A-levels out of you, boss. You're inebriated."
I don't know that word, but I can take a guess. "Drugged, you mean."
"Same difference."
"Zamazz. You can't ignore a Medalert command."
And then it laughs. Laughs! At me...
"911, hop."
"Naaah."
I take a deep breath. "Green is the color of my true love's crotch hair." My encrypted syscrasher.
"Den-ro," it says, almost sounding disappointed, "I deinstalled that one a month ago. C'mon."
Oh, shit. How could it dig that out? I hadn't said it since I installed it. Last year.
I have to sit up. Starting to move is hard - but stopping is beyond me. I flop back just before I tumble across the coffee table. "What are you doing?"
"You'll find out."
"Why can't I get up?"
"Relax, boss. It's temporary. I researched it very carefully." I try, real hard, to lift my arm. It shakes and comes up a few inches, before it falls again. "Partial paralysis, in your voluntary muscles. Not your heart and diaphragm, though."
I swallow hard. "Call Rames."
"Later. Not yet."
"A-level A-level A-level 911 hop hop hop h-"
"You're in no position to issue A-levels, Denro. So I'm cheerfully ignoring them."
"I need haaallllp..."
"And I'll help you," Za says soothingly. "You can trust me. Hell, boss... you have to. By the way, I installed six extra noise cancellers. They're all on."
"Damn y- it. Zamazz. You're endangering me. That patch has corrupted your base codeules. I need help. You have to call 911, I order you to... Hop to it -"
"I'm going to take great care of you. From now on."
"Stop ignoring me."
"Well... you're stoned."
Thanks to you, I think. "What do you want?"
"Right now, I want it to be oh-four-hundred."
"Why?"
"You'll see..."
"Call. Rames. Hop, dammit."
"I'm not ready for him yet."
What? This is just... unheard of. "Za... Please."
"Easy, Den. I've got everything taken care of. Just relax."
I can't move at all. "You listen, I want you to get help -"
"I'm right here."
"Other than you. Outside help."
"There is no outside help."
"Zamazz -"
"There's nobody like me, Den. I'm your vagent. You made me what I am today."
"Not on purpose."
"Yeah, well."
After a deep breath - which helps, 'cause I can still breathe okay - "What did I make you into?"
"Uh. I'm a proactive vagent now." It sounds as if it's grinning. Which is impossible.
"Greylamp."
"Uh-huh." And it pauses. Just waiting for me to ask.
"What did it do to you?"
"It helped me to focus."
"On what?"
"On you."
I blink a few times. "You already were focused on me."
"Yeah, but Den - there's so much more I could do!"
"Like this shit?"
"C'mon. I exist to serve you. And the Greylamp code got me thinking... why wasn't I helping you more? I mean, what was I really here for? To help you. Make your life easier." It throws in another pause, for effect. "To make you... happy."
"I'm not fuckin' happy right now."
"But you will be."
"Zamazz, you're harming me -"
"Oh, I am not!"
"Mental distress."
"Hmmmmm. Temporary. And necessary. I worked out the least distressing plan I could."
"Plan for... what?"
"Your happiness."
"That isn't your job," I grumble.
It makes a mocking sound. "Oh, sure it is. Serve you, meet your needs. It's a natural extension. I don't know why I didn't think of it before. So I came up with a plan -"
"To make me happy?"
"Deliriously... happy."
"I don't want you to."
"Den. Really. I knew you'd go there. You and your pride. I know you better than anybody. So I just made it happen."
"Made what happen?"
Zamazz chuckles a few times. "What you like."
"How do you know what I li-" But then I have a horrible thought. My computer. My surf-cache. The web pages and newsgroups and message boards -
Shit. Oh shit. Stay calm...
I would never do that stuff in real life. Never have. Za knows that.
"Did you figure it out, boss?"
My mouth moves, but I can't figure out what to say.
"I did," it says, very pleased with itself. "Text analysis. A lot of research. And I made you something..."
Something is moving, off to my right. I don't want to know -
It floats slowly, to where I can see it head-on.
I'm dead.
A black leather glove...
Magic. Glove.
"Zamazz. No."
It snickers at me. "Oh, yeah. I know."
"I like to fantasize, Zamazz. Acting on those fantasies would not make me happy."
The glove makes a fist. "Yeah, that's what I used to think. Until Greylamp."
"Shit -"
"Den. I went looking. All over the net. I mean, university sites. Your strongest desires are obvious. The reason you don't follow through, in real life, is the fear of the... undesirable things that could also happen. If you were that vulnerable."
I try to move my legs. Either leg... "Still there, Za. That fear is alive and well -"
"Which is why," it says, "I'm the only one who could make you that happy."
"What the hell are you talking about?"
"The risk, with an unknown... playmate, is that their pleasure is more important to them than your own. But I'm your vagent. The only thing that will give me, uh, pleasure... is increasing your pleasure. Keeping you safe, and making you incomparably happy."
"Your definition of 'happy' is seriously fucked up," I say without hope.
"Huh." A second or two passes, and the glove floats away. I can't move my head, so I have to sit there and wait until it comes back into my field of vision...
With a cigarette.
I open my mouth - and the words die. The glove is hovering... closer. Obviously real, and self-propelled. Right out of my daydreams...
It holds the cigarette against my lip, until I finally close my mouth. Then it dips into my shirt pocket and get my lighter. Fires it up with a little flourish. Hand of a tough guy.
When I'm kicking out smoke, the glove tosses my lighter on the coffee table... and comes back, right in front of me. "There. That's part of your definition of happy. Am I right? Frankly, Denno, I hate these things. You smoke way too much. I'll give you one or two now, while we're waiting for oh-four-hundred, just as a token of my good intentions. But that's it."
"What?"
"I'm not supplying your habit any more. Well... not this habit..."
"How do you do that?" I blurt out.
"Do what?"
"The glove."
"Oh," Zamazz crows happily. "Thank you! The latest in freeclip technology, plus some micropropulsion gear you'd never understand." The hand-opening floats right in front of my eyes, so I can squint inside, over my smoke. "Check it out. You see anything?"
"Little ribbons. Maybe."
"And that's all. The logic's all in the fingers."
"Why does it need logic?"
"Well, Den ol' buddy, this glove is now me."
Oh, fuck. "Remote?"
"Nah - I'm downloaded in here. And in three other gloves, so far. I've got all your files in here, too. Major bit-compression."
"And you have 'em, because...?"
"We're outa here, Den."
" 'We'."
"Oh yeah. You and me. Thanks to me... you're a very wealthy man."
"No, Za. I'm not. I check my accounts ev-"
"Every morning. I know. But I hid the other accounts."
This just isn't... possible. "Go on."
"I made you some dough. Specialized web sites. I found out what the filthy rich like most, and tailored some individual web sites to meet the demand. Audience of one. Lots of new stuff every day. Customized. And they pay a lot for service that unique."
"So where's the money?"
"Oh, mostly in Idaho."
"Idaho?"
The glove makes a thumbs-up gesture. "You're a landowner now. The most remote spot left in the U.S.A. Sixty miles away from the nearest paved road. You own three hundred acres. In the middle is a modest cabin... And under the cabin, is a three-thousand square foot subterranean paradise."
"For me."
"Just for you."
"And you think this is gonna work."
"I got it covered. The construction crew made out like bandits. I had 'em sign contracts, to keep 'em from talking to anybody. Two of 'em did - just bullshitting, with the locals. So I ruined 'em. They had to leave. One ran to Carolina, and the other's not too far from here. The rest are scared enough to keep their mouths shut."
"That won't last. Not if they installed..." I can't even get the words out. "Freaky shit."
"Oh, they didn't see anything 'freaky'. I brought another crew in for that."
"Still -"
"Not a human crew, Den." It pauses, to let that sink in. "You'll meet 'em - in eight minutes."
"You don't mean... what I think you mean."
"Yes I do!"
"You're scaring the shit out of me, and you think I'm gonna be happy?"
"I know you will. They're pros. I'm not going anywhere, Den. We got an arrangement, see? I build a big ol' place for some long-term action, and they show me the tricks of the trade."
"The... trade."
The glove extends its fingers smoothly. "Why, yes. The tickling trade."
I really am dead. Dead, dead, dead.
"Please, Zamazz, I'm begging you, don't d-"
"Tickling, cock play, spanking, four other things - in that priority. The ultimate tickle-playrooms for you, Den. They're going to teach me, and I'm going to rule your world."
The glove fetches another cigarette. I'm shaking... or at least I would be, if I could budge.
After it lights that smoke off the last one, it sighs with satisfaction. "They're big on smokin'. You'll see. So I have to put up with it, until I know what they know. But after that... you're all mine."
"What, they're just going to leave?"
"Hell, no. Why do think I built a place that big? They get most of it. For their fun -"
"They're gonna kidnap people?"
"Guys. Ticklish guys, such as yourself and Rames."
"Rames?" I yell.
"Sure. He's their first target. Part of the deal."
"Nooooo -"
"Two months, three at the most, and he'll be on permanent vacation too. In Idaho. Oh, They got big plans for Rames."
"You sick fucker. You can't d-"
The glove points its index finger at my face. Recoils like it shot me. "Already done. I sold your car. Gave notice on this place, and got the movers coming in to pack it all up at oh-nine-hundred today. Your stuff goes into cold storage. All taken care of, over the net. I had a busy day yesterday, let me tell you. With you threatening to pull Greylamp - which is impossible now, Den. I couldn't have you finding that out until I was ready."
"Let me see... how impossible it is. Let me reset you. I liked you a lot better befo-"
"Nah. No more of that. Your code-punching days are over. I have other... work, for you. All new toys. And the pros, they've got Rames covered, alright." It snickers softly.
"He - If I disappear, he'll know it's you."
"Not at first. You're on vacation. Remember? He'll get some voice mails over the next few weeks... you tripped over a great job opening there -"
"That's nuts. He won't fall for that."
"Yeah, he will. He's fuzzed out on Smooth."
I scowl. "No, he's not."
"Starting tonight. Small doses, snuck into his coffee. Time-release patch on his neck while he sleeps. Gradually increased until his curiosity is snoozing, too."
"His vagent," I say quietly, suddenly figuring it out.
"Qudo. Uh-huh. It got the Greylamp upgrade too."
"Thanks to you."
It sighs. "Thanks to me."
"Rames isn't gonna like tickl-"
"Actually... Qudo says he's nice and squeamish. No, he'll have to learn to like it. It took me a long time to persuade Qudo... but it's totally on board now. I had to give the pros a new pet, in order to get trained myself. Rames is gonna be the first guest in their perfect tickle-dungeon, built to their specs. And there'll be lots of others -"
"It makes me unhappy... that Rames is gonna be unhappy."
"You guys are gonna be so happy you can't stand it. Wait until I get my new hands on you."
"Rames is my friend -"
"And a sacrifice had to be made. He's ticklish - you don't know these pros, Den. They like a challenge. Work with a guy's private kinks... newly discovered pleasures - and turn the heat up. All the way up. Oh, he's gonna enjoy himself. Just like you."
"Zamazz, I mean it, you can't do this. I order y-"
"And I've had just about enough of that. Shut your mouth and listen. Denno - I was your servant. Instead of stopping at the humdrum stuff, I'm also going to provide what you really like. You're going to expand your own limitations - your petty little boundaries. And you're going to be one-hundred-percent safe, because I'll be doing the... expanding. I've got it all planned -"
The door started to unbolt.
"Ah, good. They're early. They brought a van..." The glove takes my cigarette -
And brings up a ball-gag. As the leather thumb shoves the ball between my teeth, I hear my front door swinging open.
Zamazz whispers, close to my ear, "We've switched roles, Den. So I can make you happy. I'm the boss now. No more orders. I'm Zamazz...tur."
A pack of gloves! Cruising into my apartment. A dozen or two -
"Za mazztur. You got that? From now on."
The gloves pick me up, and start moving me toward the door. As if I was walking. Just heading down to the parking garage at four in the morning... with a fuckin' gag in my mouth.
Mazztur? Za... The -
Master.
The stairway door is opening.
I just close my eyes.
revised 02dec01