WetWeb

WETWEB

by

Robert R. Haney

KINDLE
EDITION

* * * * *

PUBLISHED BY:

Robert R. Haney on
KINDLE

WetWeb

Copyright © 2011 by Robert R. Haney

All Rights Reserved

* * * * *

.

ISBN-13: 978-1468166996

ISBN-10:1468166999

3

WETWEB

3

WETWEB

B
y Robert
R.
Haney

WETWEB

“Synaptic Derivation
is the root of the slang term ‘Synapped’ as ‘
Synapped In
’
. When used in this context, Synaptic Derivation refers to the interface
of sensations and remote
control of a host body by a remote user over the WetWeb.”

- WetWiki

“My Warmbot died today.” Franklin Tempo was careful to say it without any emotional intonations or facial expressions. 

He knew any sign of emotion would be exaggerated by the synapse host he had rented for this meeting.

“Sorry to hear it,”
Titus said.

Titus stopped shaking hands with Franklin’s host and stepped into his office. 

Franklin perceived the desk, two chairs
,
and sparse display case.  T
itus’
office was austere. 
It had a
few antique novels were on display
, and o
n the wall there were colorful posters from old style movies that Franklin had never seen.  The posters depicted tough guys with guns and soft ladies with thick hair and thin blouses. 
His
desk included a Synapse Suit and a vid-phone.  The panoramic window across the back of the office allowed light to sparkle across the clean glass surfaces of the desk and glass poster frames.  Th
is
natural light made Franklin nervous.  He navigated his host into the room and stood behind one of the chairs that
was
positioned to face the desk.  He put the host’s hands on the back of the chair.  He could feel the smooth coolness of the pseudo-leather
surface.  By anchoring his hands, Franklin was able to relax remote manipulations and not worry about the host unconsciously moving without his knowledge.

Titus was at a side table busying
himself
.

“Coffee Frank?” he asked.

“Sure, sounds great
.
J
ust black… thanks,” Franklin’s voice was the voice of the host,
which was
high pitched and girlish.

Franklin looked out through the wide window and onto the busy skyline of San Francisco
,
w
here he saw s
kimmers mov
ing
about on the steep streets below.  Franklin’s gaze followed the line of the buildings down the streets and then swept out past the wharf and into the bay.  Franklin admired the Bay Bridge rising from the morning mist.

Franklin guided the host to sit in the chair, expertly avoiding the small coffee table that separated the two chairs.  He sat the host
down
quietly and crossed her legs.  Franklin preferred petite female hosts.  The lightness of their forms, their dexterity
,
and agility made them easy to manipulate remotely.

The smell of the strong coffee and the sound of steam filled the quiet office.   Titus
then
placed a cup of coffee on the table between them and settled into the chair opposite.  Both men knew from experience that a direct hand-off of a hot liquid to a host was difficult.  Franklin lifted the cup and took a long sip.  It was hot and rich.

“How did it die?” Titus asked politely.

“I am not sure what happened,” Franklin answered
,
“The organics were running a fever so I sent it to the dealership for maintenance
.  T
hey called and said it died.  I have to skim over this afternoon and deal with it.”

“Well, look at the bright side. Your insurance will cover it and you
can
bring home a new model
,
”
Titus explained.

“I am sure you are right,” Franklin replied
,
and took another long sip of coffee to hide any possible expression of discomfiture that he might be transmitt
ed
to the host.

In truth, Franklin was sure that Titus was wrong.  The insurance would not cover it because he had not been paying the premiums.  Franklin was broke.  The pulp he was turning in lately was not selling well.  He knew it, and Titus knew it
, but t
here was no need to discuss these failures.  His plummeting pulp feature sales were the elephant in the room. 

With no Warmbot and no way to replace it, Franklin would be forced to face Dolly and tell her they were out of funds.  Without a Warmbot servant their social standing would also plummet.  If this happened, Dolly would probably leave him.  He tried not to think about it.  Franklin felt his life was teetering on the edge of a precipice. 

Titus Briggs was Franklin’s publisher and his lifeline
, and
Titus was his only connection into the mysterious world of the WetWeb.  When Franklin turned in a pulp feature to Titus, they would work through a round of editing and then it went to into production.  The feature publishing house of Brandon and Stern who published Franklin’s pulp features to the WetWeb was a massive multi-national information conglomerate that produced countless features across all genres of pulp and content.  Titus Briggs was his link to this world. 

Franklin savored the strong dry flavor and warming sensations from the coffee.  It helped to focus him.  This meeting had to go well. 

Franklin said, “I want to write a content feature.”

Titus did not bother to hide his expression
,
which was disdain.

Titus responded saying, “Franklin, we discussed this before.  You are a pulp guy.  You have written some great pulp
and
  I
have other guys that I use to produce content features.  By the way, your host is drooling a bit.”

Franklin dried his host’s mouth and chin with a tissue.  Drooling was common and did not bother him.  He was undeterred.

“I have an idea,” Franklin said.

“OK, tell me,” Titus replied.

“I want to do a bit on Al McKnight.”

Titus dismissed the idea with a wave of his hand, saying
,
“I have a guy covering McKnight already
-
an experienced content guy.”

As well he should.  The execution of Al McKnight was shaping up to be the biggest content feature of the year.  McKnight had led the Organic Robot movement back in the early days of the WetWeb.  The story had everything that was needed for great content
.  It had
the rise of a corporate empire, the introduction of world changing technology
,
and a great man meeting a tragic end.

Franklin could feel himself nervously sweating inside his Synapse Suit.  He wondered how much his subtle anxiety was being transmitted and displayed by the host.

He tried again saying, “I want to write about the history of the WetWeb.  A retro bit, nostalgia.  You get the idea.  McKnight was there, he can tell the real story.”

“I don’t think so Franklin
,
” Titus
said
firm
ly,
“You’re a pulp guy.  I need good pulp features.”

“I thought about that.  What if I also turn in a pulp feature on the same topic?  People will go for that old school stuff.  There are still plenty of feature leeches that remember in the early days
. 
The days
when they were synapped into an actor
,
who  play
ed
  a cowboy in that Wild West game.”

“And this is your idea? This is your pulp feature?  Running
around
like
Cowboy
s
shooting at each other?  Sounds like every other Western pulp feature we have ever published
,
” Titus said
irritated
.

“This is different
,
” Franklin continued, “In this feature, we see the control room.  We understand how the game was invented and then developed.  It’s got action, but it’s still got good historic content too.  We learn about the history of the WetWeb and we get to ride on horses and shoot at the outlaws.”

Titus was thinking. 

Franklin pressed his case
,
“I’ll do the content feature on my own time.  If you like it, you can post it.  If not you will still get your retro-pulp.”

“You’re wasting your time,
” Titus said, “P
ulp writers do not break into content.  If you want to waste your time on this I won’t stop you. But I am not sending you in to interview Al McKnight.

“Let me look through my assignment stack.  I’ll send you something
,
” Titus said at last.

Titus stood and walked around to his desk.  The morning sun was above the Oakland hills now and golden light was beaming into the office.  Titus moved to stand in front of the window.  He was enjoying the warm light, drinking it in.  He seemed to be thinking
and
considering
,
so Franklin sat quietly.

Titus
then
turned and sat down at his desk signaling the end of their meeting.

“I will send you something, but not McKnight
,
” Titus said.

Franklin exhaled
,
  “
Thank you.”

Franklin synapped off from the host abruptly before Titus could change his mind.

*******

On the eighteenth floor of the Multi-National Information Conglomerate building of Brandon and Stern
,
in San Francisco, in the feature publishing office of Titus Briggs, a petite college age girl began to awaken from a deep sleep.

“Where am I?” she asked. 

Her dazed appearance sharpened
-
but not completely.

“The receptionist will tell you how to get home
,
” Titus
said
,
while he
pointed to t
he open door. 

Titus knew she would eventually find her way back to San Jose
,
or Berkeley
,
or wherever she was going to school.  Girls who rented out their bodies as Synapse hosts often woke up in much worse places than his office.

While p
eeling the Synap Suit from his torso, arms
,
and face, Franklin reached
out
for a clean towel, but
,
the side table was bare.  Normally
,
Blanco would have a clean towel waiting for him whenever he synapped off, but Blanco was dead.  Franklin would have to face the day without a Warmbot servant.  He stepped into the bathroom and washed his face and hands.  He stopped himself from reflexively dropping the wet towel onto the floor.  Instead, he carefully hung the towel to the rack.  Franklin was thinking he could post-pone the need to wash it himself by allowing it to dry.

The house was quiet
and
Dolly was still asleep upstairs.  She usually stayed up late Synapped into pulp features
,
and then slept late into the morning. 

Franklin clicked on the vid-screen and watched it buzz to life.  The screen filled with a balding analyst
who was
reviewing stocks and futures.  The screen quickly bisected
and
n
ow the screen showed the analyst and also a game show.  These two views split
,
and now the screen was divided
into quadrants: analyst, game show, weather girl
,
and classic western movie.  Franklin’s attention was drawn to the section that was showing the old-fashioned Western mov
i
e.  As he watched, a clenched jaw gunslinger stepped out into a dusty street.  Each screen sub-divided again.  Now
,
the quadrant with the western was shared by three other dramas.  The news corner was showing four different news programs.  The weather corner now showed a view into local traffic
,
live web cams from downtown
,
and also outside on Franklin
’
s street. 
       

Franklin noticed a neighbor walking
,
by followed by a Warmbot servant who was walking with a dog on a leash.  Everything displayed on the vid-screen, even the neighbor walking outside, seemed to be something he had seen before.  All the pulp programs, the game show
,
the dramas
,
all the content,
and
the news and weather seemed undifferentiated and derivatives of other programs he had already seen.  All the programming across the complex array of small screens were showing repeats, sequels
,
or spin-offs.  Franklin was bored of it.

One of the news channels flashed a photograph of Al McKnight. Here is something new.  Franklin touched this part of the screen and it expanded forcing the other content programming about news and weather screens to line up around the selected program.  On the enlarged screen, two commentators were discussing the upcoming execution of Al McKnight.