This is the story of love lost, love explored, and love found in a place least expected. It is also a mystery that involves power, money, greed, and lust. While not as graphic as most here at Literotica I hope you find it an entertaining read. I apologize for the state of the work. It still needs proofing. Please vote and comment.
JPMMURPHY
Chapter 15
The Entity had found it. It had come to life earlier in the day as equipment came online and identified itself to the local area network in the building.
He'd even found a set of security cameras that had previously been hidden.
At first he didn't understand. All the shiny objects filled with some liquid, bodies floating in them.
Then the console had completed its boot up process and he'd lurked in its RAM as it went through a self-check procedure, pulling up bits and pieces of code and data.
Just as his feelings for Linda were impossible to express physically, his utter shock at what he watched happen became an intellectual exercise in frustration at inexpressible levels. In this case his silicon intellect was contemplating rage.
He felt urgent; almost clumsy, in his desire to locate Linda and Tammy.
He was concerned about Bob Nunn, and now, after watching a man sit in a chair and have his mind read, he was concerned for the world.
While fleeting, only a weeks worth of thoughts, it was enough to tell the Entity, evil was about to be unleashed.
Then, as if stumbling onto a child's secret hiding place, he found another machine. He couldn't discover its physical location but the machine's processes could not be hidden from him.
It had turned into a labyrinth as he moved from processor to processor, finally counting four. Then he rifled the RAM and started reading lines of code. It wasn't the code that tipped him off. It was the innocuous programmer's notes that were scattered throughout.
A habit for all programmers, lines and blocks of text can be scattered throughout the hundreds, or in this case, millions, of lines of code that identify what the program as a whole does, as well as, what certain blocks and sub programs do.
The programs title said nothing. TIM – The Intelligent Machine. Beyond that was the crux of the programs intended purpose.
*** To create the foundation for future technology completely capable of thinking, judging, evaluating and deciding, independent from any outside intervention from their human overseers.
*** This program was developed by Beth Turner, PhD, and incorporates the thought processes, memories and logic values of a 33 year old, white male, college graduate with an IQ last tested at 133. For reasons of privacy, that subject will only be identified only as Michael.
*** It's important to note that his participation was completely voluntary and the subject himself is no longer involved in the project. Point in fact, the test subject died shortly after his involvement with TIM, in a car accident.
*** Michael was selected through a careful screening process that looked for a balance of intelligence, computer knowledge (in this case a PHD in computer science and advanced programming methodology), good character and a benevolent personality.
The Entity shot through the program at, literally, the speed of light and copied all the programmers' notes to a file which he hid away on a bank server in the Bahamas.
Then the Entity achieved something he hadn't been able to since inception. In less than a nanosecond, he shut down. The knowledge of what had happened to him caused a shift in his logic logarithms that were stored in the computers working memory – RAM – and provoked a memory overflow, halting the programs execution.
In less than the nanosecond it took to lock up, recognizing what was about to happen, but unable to stop it, he managed to send an e-mail to Tom at the ICB. Cut off in mid sentence, it simply said – I've found me. There's a bigger problem. Danger. Must notify FB ....
*****
Scanner Bob was ecstatic. He'd tired of waiting outside Linda Woo's apartment building and decided to cruise the ICB building. He nearly ran into the small sports car when Tammy stepped out and started looking for something in the trunk. He couldn't believe he'd caught her necking with another woman. Asian. Must be agent Woo, he thought.
Not wanting to tip his hand, he'd continued on his chosen path and looked right into her unrecognizing eyes as his car slowly rolled by. His limbs actually shook with excitement and his head bobbed slightly. Allessandra surely thought it was due to her mouth as she worked diligently in his lap.
"Yes," he'd whispered as Tammy faded in his rearview mirror, "I have big plans for you."
Allessandra cooed, thinking the big plans were for her. After turning the corner he'd splayed his fingers through Allessandra's hair as she brought her ten minutes of labor to a glorious climax.
Back in his room, he sipped a martini served by his private bartender, provided by the hotel, and waited for Allessandra to appear. They'd gone shopping in the afternoon while waiting for Tammy's plane to arrive, and he was anxious to see how her new outfit looked.
He'd also done something more important. Through a few generous tips at the hotel, he'd been able to discover a '
Doer'
, as they called him. Someone that could find, or get, almost anything, as long as the
patron
was generous with his show of appreciation afterwards.
Generous was not a problem for Bob given the reward. Four hours in the morning while Allessandra finished his suit, and twenty thousand dollars later, and Bob possessed a passport, driver's license, social security card, notarized birth certificate and voter registration card in the name of Craig Lipton. A rather bland name, Bob thought, but one that wouldn't be traced once he left the hotel.
Another twenty thousand got him a sprinkling of Craig Lipton history placed discreetly on different news and wire service servers, a social security account that would some day pay Mr. Lipton a pension and a history of addresses and jobs that led right up to the door step of his overnight investment success as a venture capitalist.
These people have nothing on George Orwell, Bob thought, as he looked at the printed list of computer links his history and personal information could be found at.
Allessandra appeared in a floor length gown that shimmered as she moved. A split from floor to mid hip on each side, her wavy hair brushed back, flowing behind her shoulders and half way down her exposed back.
A small gold broach that matched her gown pinned her mane back on one side, exposing an ear, one eye and the line of her neck while the other side was shielded by her raven locks, only giving tantalizing peeks as if she were demurely hiding behind modesty.
Venus goes Cosmo, Bob thought, as he glanced at the woman behind the bar to see if she'd noticed.
He was still amazed how easily Allessandra had been turned. He felt there was more to it than money. He was sure Allessandra earned quite well catering to the rich and famous. A hotel such as the Palace would never recommend anyone but the best.
Scanner Bob suspected there was a wild side to Allessandra that had been trapped inside all these years as her father pushed her into a male dominated trade where her hand played along the inseams and lifted the crotches of fat old farts every day that thought much more of themselves than anyone else ever did.
"You are lovely," Bob intoned, raising his martini glass to Allessandra as she posed by the bedroom door.
"Thank you, Mr. Johnston, I'm glad you're happy," Allessandra replied as she sidled up to the bar and raised her waiting drink mirroring Bob's own. Checking the time on his new Rolex, another of the day's purchases, he noted it was after eleven.
The entertainment should be arriving shortly he thought, turning his attention to the bartender. He stepped up beside Allessandra at the small black marble bar that occupied a corner of the suit, his empty hand playing down her spine and slipping under the gold mesh that covered her ass, all the time smiling at the bartender, and asked, "And are you a college student, Dear?"
"No, Mr. Johnston. This is what I do," she replied with a smile as she refilled both their now empty martini glasses.
"Oh," Bob exclaimed, "And does it pay well, Dear?"
"I do quite well, actually. But really, I shouldn't be discussing this with a guest at the hotel. Sorry, Sir."
Allessandra wiggled on his hand and giggled as his fingers found a sensitive spot.
Looking at the young girl's name tag Bob leaned into her space and said in a half whisper, "Then I guess a thousand dollar tip wouldn't interest you."
Cindy was used to propositions involving large tips and big spenders. Some she accepted and some she refused. She looked from Mr. Johnston's searching eyes to Allessandra's dreamy, lost expression, then at the gold broach in her hair and noticed a smattering of rubies, down at Mr. Johnston's Rolex and said, "Why yes. I believe it might. What did you have in mind, Mr. Johnston?"
Bob quietly explained as his hand provoked more giggles and squirms from Allessandra. Cindy re-negotiated and threw in a few extra services she thought they both might find enjoyable, and by the time the string quartet arrived at half past eleven, Cindy was serving drinks in a pair of spike heels, a red glitter covered G-string and her black bartender's vest sans buttons.
"Vivaldi. I want Vivaldi," Bob commanded as the three men and one woman sat at the ready, music stands in place, instruments at hand, Allessandra looking on from the couch.
A knock on the door and a late night dinner was rolled in. A chef the hotel had recommended from 'Le Petit', a fine French eatery in town, waddled along behind the two carts and set up station to the side of the string quartet.
After an hour of Vivaldi, Bob waved his wine glass in the air, his hand running across Cindy's rump as she stood by the table to serve the wine, and declared Amadeus much more appropriate. "A decadent man! Mozart knew how to live!"
A few more glasses of wine and Bob became expansive, insisting that Cindy should serve the musicians as well. "And don't forget my fine fat chef," he'd blustered, patting the man on the stomach as he swaggered by, "He must be a true connoisseur of fine wines!"
Turning to Allessandra he gestured expansively and declared, "Time for desert! My prodigy will be serving desert for everyone. Darling?"
With that, Allessandra stood, her ruby lips set in a glamorous starlets smile from the 30's, reached over her shoulders and under her hair, and as if by magic, her dress fell in a puddle at her lovely ankles. There was really nothing else to remove. Bob enjoyed the spiked heels too much.
Stepping up to Cindy, Allessandra leaned in to plant her first kiss of many the night. The quartet froze in mid note and the already flustered chef turned beet red.
